They Shall Not Pass (The Empire's Corps Book 12)

by Christopher Nuttall

  Jasmine had to agree. The Slaughterhouse bound the marines together, reassuring them that a rifleman who’d been transferred from halfway across the galaxy would still speak the same language and look at the world in the same way. It had resisted all attempts to soften the training course or politicise the training cadre, concentrating on turning out the finest soldiers the galaxy had ever seen. Boot Camp was one thing - there had been a Boot Camp in each sector, preparing recruits for the Slaughterhouse, but a hundred different Slaughterhouses would rapidly lead to a hundred different kinds of marine. It could not be tolerated.

  And yet we are terrifyingly short of manpower, she thought. 1st Platoon was meant to have ten marines, but she only had seven, counting herself. There are no CROWs on their way to replace the fallen.

  “We need to be realistic,” Rifleman Gavin Jalil observed. “None of us are going to see the Core Worlds again.”

  “That’s not a bad thing,” Buckley commented. “Have you ever tried to live there?”

  “No,” Jalil said. “But our universe is a great deal smaller than it was.”

  “Matter of opinion,” Rifleman David Graf said. “It wouldn't be hard to send a starship to the Slaughterhouse, even if it will take a year before we hear anything back.”

  “Bit of a waste of resources,” Jalil argued. “We have a war to fight.”

  “The war won’t last forever,” Graf countered. “For all we know, the Traders have already sent a mission to Earth.”

  “Or what’s left of it,” Jasmine said. Reports were vague, but most of them agreed that Earth had been destroyed and a tidal wave of anarchy was spreading across the Core Worlds. Even if they did manage to get back to the Core, it wouldn’t be what they remembered. “I don’t think we can count on any help.”

  She sucked in her breath. Some of the older marines had bitched and moaned about being sent into exile, but she’d known she wouldn't be leaving the corps for at least eighteen years in any case. She’d signed up for the long haul. Now, in hindsight, being exiled to Avalon might just have saved their lives. If the Core Worlds really had collapsed into anarchy, eighty-seven marines wouldn't have made much of a difference, while they’d been able to save Avalon from disaster. And then build a whole new society ...

  “This is an interesting debate,” she said, “but it’s not why we’re here.”

  She took a seat and faced them, taking command. “Colonel Stalker is baiting a trap for Admiral Singh and the Wolves,” she said, and ran through a brief outline. “Our job is to stay behind enemy lines and make their lives as miserable as possible.”

  “Sounds just like a rerun of what you did the last time you were on Corinthian,” Buckley observed. “You just want to hurt the bastards as much as possible?”

  “Last time, we had to overthrow the government,” Jasmine reminded him. “This time, all we have to do is harry the invaders until they can be beaten.”

  “So we’re still playing insurgent,” Jalil observed. He leaned forward, excited by the challenge. “That’s not going to be easy. Sneaking up on a military force is a little harder than sneaking up on a base ...”

  “We’ve done it before,” Buckley said. He winked at Jasmine. “Remember when we broke into that Civil Guard base, wearing nothing but our birthday suits?”

  “That was Blake’s idea,” Jasmine said. “And I don’t think we’re going to be trying it on Corinthian.”

  She smiled in happy memory. The marines had been tasked with testing the base’s security to encourage the Civil Guard to close any holes before the Nihilists or another terrorist movement tried to steal weapons or launch an attack from inside the wire. Blake, always joking around, had suggested waltzing into the base wearing absolutely nothing. Somehow, the Civil Guardsmen had missed five naked men and one woman making their way through the fences and into the armoury. They’d been seated on the supply crates when the guards had finally caught up with them.

  “Probably not,” Buckley agreed. “Something might go wrong at the worst possible moment.”

  “More than that,” Graf pointed out. “Any Guardsmen who stayed alive long enough to be folded into the Wolves would be reasonably experienced.”

  Jasmine nodded. The Civil Guard had always been a mixed bag, with some units considered reasonably competent and the remainder ranging between weekend warriors to thugs, rapists and looters. But the latter wouldn't have lasted long as the Empire fell apart, she was sure; the only way to survive was to gain experience and use it before time ran out. The guardsmen she’d met on Thule hadn't been too bad, compared to some of the units she’d seen on Han.

  “We’ll be borrowing some elements from the knights to serve as our op-force,” she said, simply. “We cannot take the risk of assuming our enemies are idiots.”

  “Of course not,” Buckley said. “The youngsters aren't much by our standards, Jasmine, but they’re keen and they learn fast.”

  “It helps they don’t have any bureaucrats messing with their training patterns,” Graf added, deadpan. “They just have to cope with you teaching them what to do.”

  Buckley gave him a one-fingered gesture. He wasn't a trained Drill Instructor, Jasmine knew, but he was hardly the only person who had been given responsibilities that forced him to learn on the job. And yet, a surplus of ammunition alone would make his charges far more proficient shots. She'd wondered why the army soldiers had performed so badly on Han, only to learn that they were rarely allowed to fire their weapons for training purposes. There was just too much paperwork before they could go onto the range.

  “We’re not here to fight each other,” Jasmine said, before Buckley could make a cutting remark. “Our job is to fight the enemy.”

  She went on, quickly. “Joe Buckley will be my second,” she continued. “Below that, we’ll go by strict seniority, but I don’t envisage any problems. We’ve all seen the elephant. We can and we will argue out what we’re going to do, if we have time.”

  “It strikes me that most of our operations will have to be worked out on the fly,” Jalil said. “I don’t see how we can plan if there are too many variables.”

  “Me neither,” Jasmine confirmed. She tapped the projector to display the map. “There are simply too many possible landing sites within a hundred kilometres of the city. Or they may land some distance from the city, just to assemble their forces before commencing the advance. We’ll do our best to guess where they might land, but it really won’t be any better than a guess. If I was in charge of the landing operation, I’d make damn sure to lay as many false trails as possible before landing the main force.”

  “That’s standard procedure,” Jalil said.

  “Insofar that there is a standard procedure for this,” Jasmine agreed. “How many times have we made a forced landing on a planetary surface?”

  “We have sneaked insertion teams down to the surface,” Buckley reminded her. “But landing an entire army without orbital fire support? It’s never happened.”

  “There was the landing on Thule,” Stewart said, quietly. “But there were friends on the ground too.”

  Jasmine winced. Thule had been an elephant trap, all right, one they’d had no choice but to spring. Wolfbane had done an excellent job of laying the groundwork for a successful invasion, even though her escape from Meridian had more than evened the score. The bastards still had a major advantage over the Commonwealth ...

  “We’ll go through the possible options now,” she said, “and then start our training schedule.”

  “That’s right,” Buckley said. “How much fat have you picked up from being a Brigadier?”

  Jasmine resisted - barely - the urge to stick her tongue out at him. The hell of it was that he had a point. She just hadn't had the time to keep up with her daily exercises, not even the intensive running that marked the start of every day in the marines. There was no doubt that she was still stronger and fitter than ninety-nine percent of the people she met, but she had let herself slip. Two weeks wasn't enough
to repair the damage, yet it would have to do.

  And I can rely on Buckley to chase me around with a cattle prod, if necessary, she thought, ruefully. Drill Instructors never forced their charges to do anything - they needed to find their motivation from within - but she was hardly a raw recruit. The marines under her command relied on her. Joe won’t let me slip any further.

  “Too much,” she said, finally. “It's sitting on my ass all day, really.”

  “Sounds like a nightmare,” Graf teased. “What were you thinking when you took the job?”

  “Someone had to take command,” Jasmine said. She hadn't done too badly on Lakshmibai, had she? “And it was quite an interesting challenge.”

  She shook her head slowly. The CEF had been better-trained than almost every other unit she’d seen of comparable size, but its collective reaction time was far slower than a marine platoon’s. Striking a balance between giving the point men their heads and keeping a firm grip on her command hadn't been easy; indeed, she had a feeling she’d made more than a few mistakes on campaign. Being back in command of a small unit of highly-trained soldiers was a relief. She could rely on the marines to react instantly to any possible threats.

  “Not that it matters right now,” she added. She unfurled a sheet of paper, laying it out on the table. “How should we proceed?”

  “Hit their landing shuttles,” Buckley said, instantly. “It's what they did to us on Thule.”

  “If we can get a MANPAD unit into range,” Stewart countered. “We might want to leave that task to the planetary militia.”

  “If the militia will fight,” Graf said. “Can they fight?”

  “The reports say they’re good,” Jasmine said. She didn't know for sure - she wouldn't, until she saw the militia personally - but Corinthian had good reason to keep a standing army in place. “And they should have enough HVMs to make life interesting for the landing forces.”

  “Then we stay low and slip out at night,” Buckley said. “They’ll need to set up supply dumps before they can muster the forces for a general offensive.”

  “Assuming they don’t just give up,” Stewart said. “Is Singh really going to over-commit herself?”

  “I think so, if she takes the bait,” Jasmine said. “Her pride was badly dented when we drove her off for the first time.”

  “That’s something for the colonel to worry about,” Graf said. He traced out a line on the map. “They’ll practically have to secure this road, if they want to get supply trucks moving down to the city. We can do something with that, I think ...”

  Jasmine nodded, scribbling down a note. “An IED,” she said. “Mine the road ahead of time.”

  “And a few more nasty surprises,” Buckley added. “This should be an interesting mission.”

  “And too many innocents will be mashed in the gears,” Graf warned. “Whatever happens, nothing is ever going to be the same again.”

  Chapter Six

  Hindsight tells us that the Crackers took an insane gamble, but it didn't look that way at the time! They had no way to know just what decisions were being taken in Camelot (and Castle Rock.) How could they?

  - Professor Leo Caesius. The Role of Randomness In War.

  “Colonel,” Emmanuel Alves said, as he was shown into Ed’s office. “You wanted to see me?”

  “I did,” Ed said. He rose, nodding towards the drinks dispenser. “Do you want coffee?”

  “Yes, please,” Emmanuel said. “I’ve developed a taste for it.”

  Ed smiled as he poured two cups, then added milk and sugar. He’d grown used to drinking his coffee black, when he’d started at the Slaughterhouse, but in truth all that really mattered was that it had a good kick. There were times when he wondered if the entire Marine Corps ran on coffee. It was certainly drunk in vast quantities during deployments.

  He passed Emmanuel his cup, then sat down behind his desk, studying the reporter. It was hard to trust any reporter, but he had to admit that Emmanuel was very different from the idiots and assholes who’d been assigned to shadow his unit on Han. The man actually had a working brain, for one thing, and an actual understanding of how the universe worked. But then, he had been on the fringes of the Crackers, back during the war. He might not have been a fighter, unlike so many others, but he’d been far from useless.

  And he’s dating a marine, Ed reminded himself. It was odd for such a relationship to last, but it had. There’s more to him than merely being a reporter.

  “You were on Lakshmibai, as I recall,” he said, without preamble. “Your first embed went very well.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Emmanuel said. “It was a very interesting experience.”

  Ed smiled, rather ruefully. It had been rather more interesting in the embassy complex, with howling barbarians struggling desperately to break down the doors and get their hands on the offworlders. He knew, all too well, just how close they’d come to total disaster, losing both the Commonwealth and Wolfbane representatives to the enemy. In hindsight, they’d badly underestimated the fanaticism of the planet’s population.

  “I’m offering you the chance to do another embed,” he said. “The standard conditions apply, I’m afraid; you can back out now, if you wish, but afterwards you will be going into the lockbox until it no longer matters. Do you want to back out now?”

  Emmanuel didn't hesitate. “No, sir.”

  Ed nodded. The reporters he’d known in the past would have demanded details, details he was unwilling to give without a clear commitment to either embed or remain in the lockbox until the operation was well underway. There might be some advantages to having hints of the overall plan escaping onto the datanet, but he wanted - needed - to keep the information as compartmentalised as possible. Admiral Singh couldn't be allowed enough time to think about her choices.

  “There will be a major deployment to Corinthian,” he said. He ran through the idea as tersely as possible. Emmanuel was more trustworthy than any other reporter, perhaps, but there were still limits. “Are you still interested in embedding with the CEF?”

  “Yes, sir,” Emmanuel said.

  There was no hesitation, Ed noted. But he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign.

  “Very well,” Ed said. He smiled, rather coldly. “You’ll be going through a brief refresher course, along with a handful of others who will be accompanying the CEF. If you change your mind at any point, you will be going straight into the lockbox. Any questions?”

  “Just one,” Emmanuel said. “I assume we will be following standard censorship protocols?”

  “Correct,” Ed said. “We do need to tell people what we’re doing, but we can’t allow information of tactical value to leak out.”

  “There will be a time delay,” Emmanuel pointed out. “Surely ...”

  “It isn't something I want to test,” Ed said, cutting him off. Emmanuel was right, to be fair, but there was no point in taking unnecessary chances. “The wrong piece of information, in the wrong hands, could be disastrous. Even if it’s contained to the newsroom ...”

  He sighed. There was no way to be sure that all of the spy rings had been identified and quietly isolated. A single agent in the newsrooms - and that was where he would put an agent, if he could - could be disastrous. Simply knowing what the Commonwealth was trying to censor might be very helpful for the enemy. There was little more conspicuous than a man ducking for cover.

  “This isn’t negotiable,” he concluded. “If you have a problem with it, say so now and you can go into the lockbox.”

  “I’ll cope,” Emmanuel said, dryly. “What happens now?”

  Ed tapped his terminal. “You’ll be escorted to the barracks; your refresher course starts tomorrow. Make sure you update your will, write a set of final letters and tie up loose ends before the course starts. You may not come back alive.”

  “Yes, sir,” Emmanuel said. “And thank you.”

  “Thank me when you come back,” Ed said. He disliked taking half-trained civilians into d
anger, even if there were certain advantages to the whole affair. But it was important to keep public support for the war. “And Emmanuel?”

  Emmanuel blinked. “Yes, sir?”

  “She didn't have the right to tell you,” Ed said. He trusted Jasmine to keep her mouth shut, but it could cause problems when Emmanuel figured out that she'd known ahead of time. “I told her to keep it to herself.”

  “Yes, sir,” Emmanuel said. “I understand.”

  Sergeant Lewis appeared and escorted Emmanuel out the door, taking him down to the guest barracks. Ed watched him go, shaking his head in quiet amusement. A reporter with a working brain, a reporter who understood ... he’d always thought such people simply didn't exist. But then, on Avalon, a competent reporter could go far ... and no one would complain if one was hanged for revealing classified information. Far too many people had fought in the war, on one side or the other, to take such matters lightly.