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

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Pick up the landing schedule,” another operator barked. “Get them all down on the ground.”

  And hope to hell some bastard with a mortar isn't taking aim at the FOB, Mark thought, grimly. The FOB was protected by SHORAD units, but a single shell that made it through the network of laser defences would be devastating, if it struck a shuttle. They won’t be content with just taking out a single shuttle ...

  “Colonel Mustard reports that his men are heading towards the launch site,” Ferguson said, sharply. “He’s confident that they’ll be able to catch the missile crews ...”

  Mark shook his head. He’d fought insurgents long enough to know that the cowardly bastards wouldn’t stick around for a fair fight. HVMs were single-shot weapons; they’d fire their missiles, then run for their lives without sticking around to watch the fireworks. And he didn't dare send his remaining helicopters after them. He’d lost too many craft on Thule when they ran into a HVM the enemy had kept in reserve. No, there was only one option.

  “Call in a KEW,” he ordered. They had to move fast, before the enemy had a chance to escape the blast radius. As soon as they were off the hillside, they’d head off in a random direction and vanish. “I want that hill flattened into the ground.”

  “Our troops are heading towards it,” Ferguson pointed out.

  “Then tell them to take cover,” Mark snapped. He admired initiative - he certainly wasn't going to reprimand whoever was on the ground - but there just wasn’t time to set up a cordon and catch the bastards. “Call down the KEW.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ferguson said.

  ***

  Ryan’s headset buzzed. “Code Red, Danger Close,” it barked. “I say again, Code Red, Danger Close.”

  “Get down,” he bellowed. Code Red meant an incoming KEW strike; Danger Close meant that it would be impacting alarmingly close to their position. He glanced for cover, but saw nothing. “Danger Close, Danger Close!”

  Ryan hit the ground, covering his head with his hands, as Sergeant Rove took up the cry. KEW strikes were accurate, but not always that accurate. It was just possible that the strike would come down right on top of them, slamming into the ground before they knew they were in trouble. He was suddenly very aware of his own fragility. A single KEW, a rock little bigger than his head, would smash him and his platoon so thoroughly that no one would recover anything bigger than DNA traces, if they were lucky. He covered his ears as time seemed to slow down ...

  ... And then the earth shook violently. The sound was deafening, even though his covered ears; he was silently grateful for the implants he'd been given in basic training. Without them, he would have been deafened. He heard pieces of debris crashing to the ground, followed by splashing sounds from the direction of the river. Gritting his teeth, he looked up at the hillside and stared in astonishment. The hill had been cleaved in two, smashed and scattered trees lying everywhere. If the insurgents had been there, when the KEW hit, they were gone. There was nothing left of them.

  He pulled himself to his feet slowly, glancing at the river. Hundreds of trees had fallen down the hillside and landed in the water, damming it quite effectively. The water was already building up behind the makeshift dam, although he doubted it would be long before it found a new way through the debris and down to the sea. He wondered, absently, if flooding would pose a problem, but decided it wouldn't. There just wasn't enough water in the river to do more than muddy the ground.

  “Call it in,” he ordered, once he’d checked his men for injuries. No one had been hurt, thankfully. “Ask if we should sweep the remains of the hillside.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sergeant Rove said.

  ***

  The blast came without warning. Jasmine was picked up and thrown forward, tossed almost casually into a tree as the shockwave roared through the forest. She heard the sound of trees toppling in the distance as she caught herself, gritting her teeth as she fell to the ground and landed badly. She’d regret that, she knew, even though nothing was broken. An injury, even a small one, could be disastrous on campaign. There were no proper medical facilities for miles.

  And spraining your ankle now could end our lives, she thought, numbly. They cannot be allowed to catch us.

  “Ouch,” Stewart said.

  Jasmine gave him a sharp look as she picked herself up. “Everyone all right?”

  “Got a nosebleed here, boss,” Buckley said. “I’m going to die!”

  “You’ll outlive us all,” Jasmine said, sharply. His nose looked fine to her. Joe Buckley’s reputation for horrific bad luck hadn't got him killed yet, although he'd argued that it proved he merely had very bad luck to remain alive and escape the afterlife. She hadn't found that argument very convincing. “Anyone else?”

  She allowed herself a moment of relief as she realised no one was seriously hurt. The KEW - it couldn't have been anything else - had come down too late to kill them, even though they’d been caught by the shockwave. She glanced up towards the clear blue sky, wondering if the enemy was considering another shot, then reminded herself that there was no point in worrying about it. They’d be smashed before they knew it, if the enemy caught a glimpse of them and called in additional fire.

  “Move out,” she snapped. “We want to put some distance between us and them before it gets dark.”

  She contemplated the problem as they started to walk, keeping under the forest canopy as much as they could. It was quite possible the enemy would send infantry into the forest after them. She would have classed it as a fool’s errand, but the enemy CO might think differently. Losing a shuttle would sting. Indeed, depending on how many they’d brought with them, it might cause all sorts of long-term logistics problems. If nothing else, it would make a mess of their landing schedule. She’d seen it herself on Thule.

  And they’ll know it too, she thought. They’ll hate it.

  ***

  “There were no survivors,” Ferguson said. “Advance elements secured the remains of the shuttle, but all they found were bodies.”

  Mark clenched his fist in rage. Three hundred men - two companies of infantry and one company of logistics support officers - were dead, blown out of the sky and killed by a single missile. Capturing and killing the insurgents who’d fired the shot would be immensely satisfying, but it wouldn't bring the dead back to life. And losing the shuttle was almost worse. The landing operation had placed so much pressure on the shuttles that it was quite likely a number of craft would break down over the next week, simply through normal wear and tear.

  And we can't guarantee keeping the region around the LZ swept clean of insurgents, he thought, darkly. It had been a persistent problem on Thule, although the insurgents had been short on advanced weapons. They’d grown too dependent on Wolfbane as a source of supply, never realising that the weapons could be deactivated at will. A single shot will be enough to slow down the landing schedule again.

  He shook his head. The Admiral was not going to be pleased.

  “Have the bodies brought back here for storage,” he ordered. He studied the orbital imagery of the KEW strike for a long moment, then shrugged. “And then order the forward elements to advance into Cheshire. The town is to be taken intact.”

  “Aye, sir,” Ferguson said. “The locals have been erecting defences.”

  “Then crush them,” Mark snapped.

  He turned to study the map. “I want a series of heavy patrols run around the LZ before we start shipping more men and equipment down to the surface,” he said. “The enemy is to know they’re there. In addition, I want the shuttles and helicopters to take full precautions. I don’t want to lose another craft to enemy fire.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ferguson said. He paused. “What about the hermits?”

  Mark scowled. The patrols had stumbled across a number of tiny settlements, only a couple larger than a single family farm. He honestly had no idea how they’d managed to avoid going mad from the isolation, although there were times when he had to admit the attraction of bei
ng spared the attentions of idiots. But such tough self-reliant folk would be natural insurgents, being both stealthy and excellent shots. They’d even know how to keep themselves alive in the forest, rather than hunting food at the local store. Such skills had been practically unknown on Earth for years.

  The Wolves had left the hermits alone. But that might have been a mistake.

  “Round them up,” he ordered. They already had a detention camp; it would just have to be expanded, long enough to hold the hermits and any other civilians they swept up. The population of Cheshire couldn’t be allowed to get in the way, unless they had useful skills ... but then, they probably couldn't be trusted. “Put them in the camp. And warn the men that I expect to see them treated decently.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ferguson said.

  Mark dismissed him, cursing silently as he studied the map. His troops were far better trained and disciplined than any regiment from the pre-fall Imperial Army, but counter-insurgency duties could wear down the strongest of men. The mixture of fear and frustration could lead to madness ... or a sheer lack of concern for the civilians that could lead directly to atrocities. He’d had four men hung for rape on Thule, even though there had been military-run brothels at all of the major bases. The bastards had just wanted to make the locals suffer.

  “Sir,” one of the operators said. He sounded hesitant, as if he were reluctant to be the bearer of bad news. In the old days, Mark had to admit, it would have been a valid fear. His old superiors had never liked hearing bad news. “I’ve reformatted the landing schedule, but there are quite a few kinks in it.”

  Mark bit down the response that came to mind. There had been little margin for error - or unanticipated attacks - in the original schedule. Of course there were a few kinks in the new one! Shuttles that had been tasked to do one thing had been redeployed, which meant that a number of other tasks would be delayed, causing a knock-on effect that would eventually shatter the schedule completely. Compensating for that would not be an easy task.

  “It’s understandable,” he said, firmly.

  “But I did have an idea,” the operator said. “We could ground one of the freighters ...”

  “Oh,” Mark said.

  He managed - somehow - to avoid laughing. As solutions went, it was innovative ... and completely useless. Grounding a bulk freighter was theoretically possible, but getting it back off the ground would be impossible. Nothing larger than a light freighter could land and take off from a planet without a great deal of help. He’d given some thought to dropping the supplies on the surface, but they didn't have the equipment on hand. It wasn't something anyone had ever anticipated.

  They did it during the Unification Wars, he thought. And they still do it ...

  He looked up. “We’ll stick with the shuttles, for the moment,” he said. A colonial dumpster would be perfect, if they could get their hands on one or more. Could one of the MEUs put a dumpster together? Or a captured industrial node? Corinthian had certainly supported colony missions in the past. “But well done for at least considering it.”

  “Thank you, sir,” the operator said.

  Mark shook his head in amusement - grounding a freighter indeed - and then turned his attention back to the display. His forces were finally moving into place to take Cheshire by storm, rather than trying to starve the defenders out. He just didn't have time to be clever ...

  And I need to win a victory, he thought. Losing a shuttle was annoying, but the delays promised to be worse. The Admiral will definitely not be pleased if we run into more problems.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The belief that they were the ultimate warriors did give the Kshatriyas some advantages, but the simple inability to grasp that military perfection required realistic training, experience and competent officers weakened them. Their only opponents, prior to the CEF, were poorly-armed peasants, driven into desperate revolt by unbearable living conditions. The Kshatriyas had very little trouble in squashing those revolts.

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

  “You really shouldn’t be here,” John said.

  Lily eyed him mulishly. He might be her boyfriend - and they’d already started talking about getting married - but he didn't own her. She was a crack shot and she was damned if she was simply abandoning her home, even if the children and half the women had been evacuated as soon as the Wolves began to land. If her father had reluctantly agreed she could stay behind, her boyfriend could like it or lump it.

  She shrugged and glanced towards the barricade. It had taken four days with earth-moving machines to put it together, blocking all access to the town. Cheshire might well fall - no one seemed to think they had a chance - but they’d make the enemy pay. Watching one of their shuttles being blown out of the sky had only heightened their determination to resist. Her grandfather, among others, had settled Cheshire. None of their descendants wanted to surrender to the invader or walk away. They recalled Admiral Singh all too well.

  “They’re coming,” someone shouted.

  “I’d better get into position,” she said. She gave John a quick kiss, then kissed him again for luck. “Goodbye.”

  “See you on the other side,” John called after her. “But run if you have to.”

  Lily scowled to herself as she hurried into the house and climbed up the ladder onto the rooftop, where she’d already set up a perch. She’d never hunted humans - she’d never needed to defend herself - but the principle wasn't that different from shooting birds or small animals. Hell, she’d even killed one of the wild boars with a single shot from her rifle, much to her father’s surprise. The wretched beasts were very tasty, but they were crop-destroying pests that needed to be killed.

  What is it, she asked herself, that makes men so irritatingly protective?

  She mulled the thought over and over again as she peered through her scope towards the enemy positions. There wasn't much in sight, save for a pair of armoured vehicles and a handful of men. She wasn't even sure why the watchers thought the enemy were on the move, unless they’d seen something that had faded away by the time she reached her perch and readied herself. And then she saw the tank rumbling into view.

  Her heart sank as she took in the massive vehicle. It was huge, easily as large as a house, studded with weapons that moved constantly, searching for targets. The immense main gun didn't move, but it didn't have to. It was pointed directly at the barricade. She fought down the urge to run for her life as the tank moved closer, willing herself to stay in place despite the trickle of fear making its way into her gut. She’d told John too many times that she would be staying to run now.

  She heard shots cracking out from the men manning the barricade, but the tank didn't slow or return fire. It just kept coming. She searched for a target, sweeping the tank with her scope, yet there was nothing. Sparks were flickering on its armoured hull as bullets bounced off, as if the defenders were searching for a weak spot. She rather doubted that such a spot existed, not on a tank. They needed something far more powerful to tear through its armour.

  The tank smashed into the barricade and crushed it, effortlessly. Lily stared in horror, watching as men toppled from their perches only to be crushed under its treads. John had been there, supporting the gunners; was he alive or dead? She saw a stream of men running from the nearest building, heading to the fallback position ... was John amongst them? The tank kept moving forward, an explosion blasting out on its hull as someone hurled a grenade at the vehicle. Others followed ... she saw a young man running forward, carrying a whole bag of grenades. He scrambled onto the hull and pulled the pin. The explosion blew him to bits, but it didn't even scratch the tank ...

  And then the tank opened fire, a deafening rattle splitting the air as machine gun bullets tore through the air, seeking out the defenders. Lily saw a building disintegrate under the impact, bullets tearing through its walls as if they were made of paper. A pair of men ran forward, carrying yet more grenades ... the gunners blew th
em away, casually. The tank kept moving, even as the defenders broke and ran rather than face it any longer. Lily wanted to damn them for cowards, but she knew the only reason she hadn’t run herself was that she was frozen in horror ...

  The entire building shook, violently, as the tank brushed against it. Lily snapped out of her shock as the walls tottered and fell, turning to run as the rooftop smashed down into the rubble. She dropped her rifle as she fled, but she didn't have time to recover it. The tank was moving onwards and there was no safety anywhere, not any longer.

  And it dawned on her, as she ran, that she hadn't fired a single shot.

  ***

  Ryan advanced carefully into the town, silently noting the remains of the barricade and the dead bodies. The former wasn't a bad piece of work, he had to admit, but they’d criminally underestimated the sheer mass and power of Landshark tanks. All the tankers had had to do was give the barricade a push and it had fallen over, burying too many of the defenders beneath it.