Cheshire had been a nice town, once upon a time, but now half its buildings were nothing more than piles of rubble. There was no resistance as the soldiers advanced, the handful of survivors too stunned to do more than stare as they were rounded up and marched to the centre of the town. He doubted any of them would dare to cause trouble while they were sitting under the Landshark’s guns, but if they did a single burst of machine gun fire would ensure they wouldn't cause it for very long.
“Sir,” Sergeant Rove said. “The lower half of the town hasn't been cleared ...”
He broke off as a shot snapped out from a nearby building. A soldier tumbled to the ground, badly injured. Ryan swore as he unhooked a grenade from his belt and hurled it into the building, hoping desperately that it would be enough to stop the sniper. There was always someone who thought they could put up a fight. The explosion shattered the wooden walls, sending the building tumbling to the ground. He led the way forward, carefully, and probed through the rubble. The sniper had been killed by the grenade, then crushed under his own roof.
Asshole, he thought, as they began to sweep the next set of buildings. The wounded man was checked by a medic, then carried off to the aid station. You could have got a lot of people killed.
The platoon fanned out, carefully. There was no joking, no quiet comments when they thought he couldn't hear. The men were on edge after the sniper. Ryan glanced into a couple of buildings, but wasn't too impressed. The people had been relatively wealthy, yet they’d built their homes from wood? And yet, if he were forced to be honest, he had to admit it did have some advantages. Expanding their homes - and carrying out repairs - would be easy.
“Looks like a glory hole,” one of the soldiers muttered, as they glanced at the wall. A handful of bullets had gone through the wood, leaving a gaping hole in their wake. “Not big enough for me, of course.”
“You nearly shot your cock off by stuffing it up a gun barrel,” another said. Ryan cringed at the thought. “And ...”
“Shut up, the pair of you,” Sergeant Rove snapped. “Keep your eye on your surroundings or something will put a bullet in your ass!”
Ryan kept his face impassive as they reached three more buildings. They looked empty, but he used hand signals to split the platoon into two groups and then led the first group into the building. It was a small family home, judging by the furniture, but it was completely deserted. And yet, it looked as though it had been cleaned and tided before the family departed. It made him wonder just what they’d been feeling ...
They thought they could just come home, he told himself. But their town is never going to be the same again.
***
Lily sat in a corner of the house, shaking with fear and horror. Everything had caught up with her the moment she’d found cover, even though she knew the wooden walls wouldn't last any longer than the barricade if the tank decided to crush the house. She'd seen too many men die - for nothing - to do anything more than collapse. Cheshire had never had a chance, she knew now. They should just have fled or surrendered the moment the enemy troops showed themselves ...
She looked up as the door crashed open, knowing it was already too late to flee. Two men stood in the doorway, weapons sweeping the room. She didn't need to see their uniforms to know they weren't friendly. The mere act of kicking their way into the house was quite enough. They stared at her, their weapons pointed at her chest, then motioned for her to stand. Lily stared back, too frightened to move.
“On your feet,” one growled. “Now!”
Lily couldn't move. The soldier nodded to his comrade, then stamped over to her, caught hold of her shirt and hauled her to her feet, spinning her round and pushing her against the wall. She heard someone else entering the house as her captor’s hands roamed her body, checking her belt and pockets before slowly creeping up to her breasts. His touch was repulsive; she tried to twist away from him, only to find herself pinned helplessly in place as he groped her.
And then her captor was yanked away from her. She turned, just in time to see an older man punch her former captor in the face.
“Behave yourself,” he growled. “Or you’ll be spending the next month in a penal battalion, if it doesn't kill you first!”
He turned to face Lily before she could do more than stare. She gasped in pain as he caught her arms, pulled them behind her back and snapped a plastic tie around her wrists with practiced ease, then took firm hold of her shoulders and pushed her towards the door. Lily tested her bonds as covertly as she could, but discovered that the plastic tie was effectively unbreakable. If they wanted to kill her - or worse - there was nothing she could do to resist.
Outside, Cheshire lay in ruins. The upper half of the town was almost completely gone, save for a couple of buildings that had somehow survived. Dead bodies lay everywhere; bile rose in her throat as she recognised a couple of the dead. Andrew, who’d been the first young man to kiss her; Tammy, who’d been married only five months ago. She blinked away tears as she remembered the wedding; Tammy, dressed in virgin white, walking down the aisle, her father by her side. And to think she’d been talking about having kids!
Soldiers were everywhere, weapons at the ready as they watched for potential threats. She shuddered at the way some of them looked at her, although none of them did any more than look. The man holding her had protected her, at least, but why? He'd punched one of his own men? Did he want her for himself?
A handful of prisoners, their hands bound, sat in front of a tank. Most of them were boys, she noted, although a couple were girls. She looked for John, but didn't see him. Her boyfriend would never forgive himself if he’d run from the fight, yet she would have been forever grateful if he had. But there was no sign of him. He’d either escaped captivity or died in the brief one-sided fight.
Lily sat down where she was bid, fighting down the urge to cry. She was a prisoner. She no longer had any control over her own life. If they wanted to kill her, they could kill her; if they wanted to rape her, or beat her, or put her to work ... they could. They could do anything to her. She tested the bonds again, but they remained resolutely unbreakable. And even if she did manage to stand, they were right in front of the tank. There was no escape.
I’m sorry, she thought. She wished she’d listened to John. Or to her father. I should have run.
***
“Trooper Eula got a little grabby,” Sergeant Rove reported. “I gave him a clout instead of sending him to a penal unit.”
Ryan nodded, curtly. He’d seen the bruise. Trooper Eula might spend the next few hours bitching and moaning about his sergeant, but if he had any sense at all he’d be grateful to be spared a penal battalion. A penal unit would be assigned the most hazardous or unpleasant jobs, everything from clearing minefields to digging latrines and carting supplies around the battlefield. The odds of an individual soldier completing his month on penal duty were not high, although there had been a number of legendary survivors.
“Make an unofficial note of it,” he said.
He scowled, inwardly. An official report would have sent Trooper Eula to the nearest penal unit, but there had to be some record. They had strict orders not to mistreat the locals. A would-be rapist - or even a groper - could cause no end of problems, when the fighting came to an end. Trooper Eula might have to be handed over. And their superiors would do it without a second thought.
Idiot, he thought, crossly. You could just wait long enough for them to set up the brothel at the FOB.
“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Rove said. No doubt he would already have composed the report for his fellow NCOs. “I moved the victim to the prisoner cache. I think she’ll be fine.”
Ryan hoped he was right. He was tempted to quietly release the prisoner, by way of apology, but he knew it would be pointless. Orders had come down from General Haverford himself, making it clear that all enemy civilians were to be rounded up and transported to the POW camp near the FOB. Ryan had no idea what they were going to do, once they had so many p
risoners the camp couldn't handle them all, but that was well above his pay grade. He couldn't deliberately defy an order without a far better reason.
“I hope so,” he said, shortly. “And the remainder of the platoon?”
“Held up well,” Rove said. “But this wasn't much of a test.”
Ryan nodded in agreement. The defenders hadn't realised what they were facing and they hadn't had time to recover from their mistake. A little forethought would have made Cheshire a more dangerous environment, although he doubted General Haverford and his officers would bother to play war with civilian insurgents. Flattening the entire town without damaging the road network would have been straightforward, if the town couldn't be preserved intact. A few dozen booby traps would have made taking and holding the town much harder.
“We’ll just have to keep reminding them of it,” he said. He glanced at his terminal, then nodded to himself. Follow-up units were already advancing into Cheshire. It wouldn't be long before they started the advance to the next target. “And make sure they don’t get overconfident by the time we slip under the shield.”
***
“On your feet,” a voice barked.
Lily sighed, then struggled to stand upright. Her hands were numb; she had a nasty feeling that her hands would never recover, even if her bonds were removed at once. The guards kept a sharp eye on the captives, their weapons following their every move. She glanced around, taking one last look at her former home, as the captives were ordered to start walking up the northern road. It was clear they were on their way to a camp.
She swallowed hard as she saw the next pile of bodies. A pair of earth-moving machines were digging a giant pit in the ground, while soldiers piled up bodies nearby. It was a mass grave, she realised in horror; they were planning to dump the bodies into the pit and cover them up, without bothering with any funeral rites. She wanted to protest, but what was the point? One of the prisoners had gotten lippy with a guard and received a rifle butt in the face for his trouble. She would just have to hope that God would accept the souls of the dead, even if they weren't given a proper funeral.
Of course He will, she told herself. And we can remember them too.
A handful of soldiers whistled at the young women as they were marched past. Lily forced herself to stand upright and glare at them, despite feeling vulnerable. The soldiers seemed amused by her defiance and waved, cheerfully, as she kept walking. Beside them, the guards kept easy pace. She couldn't help wondering if the guards thought their bound captives were really dangerous ...
Gritting her teeth, she marched onwards to an uncertain future.
Chapter Twenty-Two
This ease led to a whole host of bad practices. Looting was uncommon (the rebels very rarely had anything to loot) but the Kshatriyas frequently engaged in rape and other atrocities. Military discipline, in fact, was so poor that lower-caste workers who supported the military were often killed or raped, purely for fun.
- Professor Leo Caesius. The Role of Randomness In War.
“They’re not slowing down,” Danielle commented.
Ed nodded, shortly. A week of skirmishing had bled the Wolves, but it hadn't cost them dearly enough to slow them down. Indeed, their tactic of turning colonial dumpsters into drop ships had solved most of their logistics problems in one fell swoop. He'd missed the implications of the dumpsters, when he’d first realised that they could be captured; in hindsight, it had been a blunder of dangerous proportions.
“They’re brushing along the edge of the shield, without actually entering territory covered from orbital strikes,” he said. “It won’t last.”
Danielle glanced at him. “Are you sure?”
“They can't hold the siege indefinitely,” Ed said. “The only way to actually beat us is to advance on the ground.”
He shook his head, slowly. The figures were unreliable, but he was fairly sure the main thrust of the advance would begin within a week, perhaps sooner. Using the dumpsters had probably caused some problems at the other end, yet they wouldn't be anything the logistics officers couldn't handle. He would be astonished if they took longer than two weeks before beginning their advance. They had to know that he’d already had far too long to prepare for them on the ground.
But not in towns and villages unprotected by the shield, he thought. Stealth drones had made it clear that the Wolves were taking prisoners, evacuating the survivors to camps near the FOB. He had no idea what was happening to them there - no drone had survived long enough to send back pictures - but he doubted it was anything pleasant. They barely slowed the enemy for more than a few hours.
“And in the meantime they’re tearing the land apart,” Danielle said. “Countless lives are being destroyed.”
Ed bit down the urge to remind her, sharply, that he’d strongly advised her to order a general evacuation. Thousands had left the land, of course, but thousands more had stayed where they were, either to fight or in the simple belief that the war wouldn't touch them. But they’d been wrong. Even clear non-combatants were being rounded up and sent to the camps. The planet would have one hell of a mess to clear up, afterwards, but the Wolves didn't give a damn. They didn't care about the farms.
“It won’t last,” he reassured her, instead. “They’ll be advancing against us soon enough.”
He glanced at the last set of reports from the drones. The Wolves were bringing forward short-range artillery pieces, setting them up for a general bombardment. Thankfully, they didn't seem to have anything large enough to throw a shell all the way into Freedom City, but that might change if the war lasted a few years more. Using dumpsters as drop ships ... what else would the bastards reinvent?
“I think we’ll start seeing raiders soon enough,” he said. “And then all hell will break loose.”
“It’s already broken loose,” Danielle said. “And it won’t be long before the pieces start to fall in unpredictable directions.”
***
Mindy tensed, lifting her rifle into firing position, as the farm truck advanced down the road towards the checkpoint. It shouldn't have been moving at all - the government had issued strong orders that all vehicles were to be moved out of the war zone or immobilised - but it wasn't hard to put such a simple vehicle back into service. She took a breath and regretted it, instantly. The stench from the vehicle reminded her far too much of the farm she’d stayed on, the year before she’d entered basic training.
“Pooh,” Stormtrooper Robins said. “What a stench!”
“Smells like one of yours,” Mindy shot back. “Are you ready?”
Robins nodded, curtly. Mindy stepped forward, tapping her mike, then bellowed an order for the truck to stop. It was already too close for comfort, really. She hadn't been a soldier during the Cracker War, but she’d heard the stories of truck bombs from the old hands. A truck crammed with explosive could do real damage, if it went off in the right place ...
She winced, remembering the other stories. There had been soldiers who’d opened fire on vehicles that simply didn't stop, only to find they’d shot innocent civilians, and soldiers who’d held their fire too long and been blown up when the bomb exploded. It was never easy, she’d been told, to make the right decision at the right time, while someone millions of miles away would be happy to tell her what she really should have done. The fact that those armchair soldiers had the benefit of hindsight was something they were quite willing to ignore.
The truck lurched to a halt. She breathed a sigh of relief, then walked forward, keeping her weapon in plain view. This was always the part she hated, feeling naked even though she was wearing body armour as well as her urban combat outfit. If there was anyone in the vehicle who felt like causing trouble, he’d have a free shot at her. Her platoon would riddle the truck with bullets, of course, but she’d probably be dead.
Or nursing my wounds, she thought. She'd had a bullet fired into her armour during training and it had felt like a punch in the gut. That would be very bad.
T
he door opened, jerkily. “Step out of the vehicle slowly,” she barked. It was important not to allow any appearance of weakness, she’d been taught. “Keep your hands where I can see them!”
She watched as a middle-aged man stumbled out of the vehicle. “Who are you?”
“I’m Godey,” the man said. The accent, at least, matched the others she’d heard. “I have a number of women and children in the truck.”
“They’ll have to get out,” Mindy ordered. She didn't dare relax. The Crackers had fought a relatively clean war, but there was no shortage of factions that would happily use women and children as human shields. Or as cover for a bomb. “Now, if you please.”
Godey nodded and turned to shout a command. The rear doors opened, allowing nine women and seventeen children to spill out onto the road. They had to have been packed in like sardines, Mindy thought, or soldiers in a helicopter. She swept her eyes over them and relaxed, very slightly, as it became clear that they were genuine refugees. There had been quite a few walking into the defence lines over the last few days.
They Shall Not Pass (The Empire's Corps Book 12) Page 22