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

by Christopher Nuttall

  They might, Mindy thought. If a smart warhead was lurking amongst the dumb shells launched on ballistic trajectories, it might evade detection long enough to hit one of the point defence stations. And once they take out the point defence, they can wear the rest of us down.

  “Contact,” Collins screamed. “Incoming! I say again, incoming!”

  Mindy stared. A line of vehicles - a couple of Landsharks and a handful of AFVs that looked like giant bulldozers were advancing towards the fortifications, their guns already blazing madly. The tanks were firing rapidly, hurling shells into the teeth of the outer line, while the smaller vehicles were falling behind. Bullets were already pinging off their armour, slowing them down not at all ... she cursed under her breath, then signed in relief as a plasma warhead found one of the AFVs. It exploded, revealing a number of soldiers lurking behind its armour. The survivors hastily dropped to the ground as their cover was torn away, hurling grenades towards the defence line. She covered her eyes hastily as she saw the white-hot glare of a plasma grenade, followed by several more.

  A missile struck one of the Landsharks, toppling the giant vehicle onto its side. The crew must have been shocked, she thought, but they kept firing until another missile came down and shattered the tank. She breathed a sigh of relief, then winced as a line of soldiers ran towards the fortifications, using the burning remains of the tank as cover. A dozen men fell, but the rest kept coming. Behind them, another wave of tanks hurtled forward, firing constantly. She heard the noise of explosions growing louder as a helicopter swooped low along the defence line, only to explode in midair. Mindy couldn't help wondering, as the remains crashed to the ground, if the crew had had the extreme ill-luck to be hit by a shell fired by their own side. There were so many shells in the air that it was possible ...

  “Here they come,” Rackham shouted. “Fire at will!”

  Cornwallis laughed. “Which of them is Will?”

  “Fire, you fucking idiot,” Rackham bellowed.

  Mindy moved her rifle from target to target, squeezing the trigger whenever she thought she had a clean shot. The scene before her was nightmarish; hundreds of soldiers, some using the bodies of their dead comrades for cover, running towards her, shells slamming into the defences from the enemy tanks and guns. Explosions billowed up amidst the advancing hordes as the defenders returned fire, calling down shells on enemy positions. She felt a trickle running down her leg as something exploded far too close for comfort, but she ignored it and kept firing, switching out magazines one by one. And yet the enemy were still getting closer ...

  A low rumble ran through the complex. “Fall back,” Rackham snapped, as dust and grit started to fall from the ceiling. “They’ve breached the outer layer!”

  Mindy cursed, snatched up her rifle and hurried to the door as Cornwallis set the first layer of traps. Any enemy stupid enough to roll through the firing slit would get a very nasty fright - and, if he was unlucky, he’d survive the experience. Cornwallis followed her a moment later as more explosions shook the complex, although she wasn't sure what had caused them. The enemy might have hit an ammunition dump, she thought, or they might be clearing the corridors with brutal efficiency as they fought their way into the complex. There was no way to know.

  The tunnel gaped open in front of her and she practically dived into it, following the rest of her platoon as they moved to the next defensive position. She shuddered as the ground shook, time and time again, but the tunnel was solidly-constructed. And yet, they hadn't really anticipated so many dumb shells being hurled into the teeth of their defences. The threat just hadn't registered.

  But we’re hurting them badly, she told herself. They have no choice, but to keep coming into the teeth of our fire.

  ***

  Ryan crawled towards the enemy position, forcing himself to keep moving despite roiling waves of fear in his heart. The enemy fortification was nothing more than an oversized blockhouse, yet it was terrifyingly effective at sweeping all the approach routes with machine guns and missile fire. He’d watched in horror as five Landsharks were killed in quick succession, the final tank barely managing to make it to the line before being turned into a blackened hulk. The never-ending roar of incoming shellfire made it hard to hear anything, despite his enhancements. It was quite possible that his men would be accidentally killed by their own shells.

  He reached the side of the blockhouse and unhooked a pair of HE grenades from his belt, setting the timer for two seconds before rolling them both through the firing slit and into the fortification. Someone shouted in shock, a second before the grenades exploded and set off a chain reaction of smaller explosions. Ryan glanced up at two troopers who had followed them, then indicated the gap to them with his hand. They crawled through the firing slit and into the fortifications at terrifying speed.

  “Clear,” one shouted.

  Ryan nodded and followed them through the gap, fighting down claustrophobia as he made it into the compartment and fell to the ground. Inside, it was dark and shadowy, the tattered remains of two bodies lying on the floor. It didn't look as though there was any point in stripping the bodies for intelligence, but he checked them anyway as more soldiers made it through the gap. The point men opened a door in the rear of the room, then hurled another set of grenades down the corridor. Ryan glanced up, trying to gauge the strength of the roof, yet there was no way to know just how much it could take.

  It’s survived a massive bombardment, he thought, morbidly. The point men were advancing now, throwing grenades ahead of them into side rooms, just to make it impossible for the enemy to muster resistance. It’ll survive a few grenades.

  The complex was going dark, the remaining lights flickering and failing. There were no windows, no way to see out into the daylight. He slipped his night-vision goggles over his eyes, cursing under his breath. The goggles were far from perfect, but they would have to do until they got some proper light into the bunker. Turning on their flashlights would only reveal their positions to anyone lurking in the darkness. And yet, as they pushed further into the complex, it was starting to feel deserted.

  He shuddered, torn between fear and a strange sort of admiration for the massive complex. It was fairly basic, as far as he could tell, and yet it had been erected at terrifying speed. And there were more and more of them surrounding the damned city. Just how much of his unit had been killed, trying to break into even one of them? How many more would die before the lines were broken and the city itself lay at their mercy.

  They’ve woven the suburbs into their defence line, he thought, grimly. This could get very nasty.

  He whirled around as he heard an explosion behind him, followed by shooting. A grenade exploded, the light throwing the scene into stark relief. Five men - or women; it was impossible to tell - had appeared from nowhere, attacking his men in the back. He lifted his rifle and fired, holding his finger down on the trigger to produce a spray of bullets. It was risky - bullets would bounce off the walls and ricochet around randomly - but he had no choice. He saw bodies fall to the ground and ducked himself, realising that the enemy must have built a tunnel underneath the bunker.

  No, he thought, as the point men hurried back to join him. They built several tunnels.

  They’d hidden it well, he realised, as they stumbled over the entrance. It had been concealed behind a concrete block, solid enough to resist anything less than an antitank weapon. The first point man started to advance down it, only to jump backwards as an explosion shook the tunnel, sending pieces of debris falling from the roof. Moments later, the entire structure collapsed into rubble. The tunnel was thoroughly blocked.

  “Damn it,” Ryan breathed.

  “We could have had someone caught down there, sir,” Sergeant Rove pointed out, as he stepped into view. “That would have been fatal.”

  Ryan looked past him, at the men who’d been rounded up and sent into the fortification. He didn't recognise any of them. He’d memorised the names and faces of every man in t
he company, making mental notes of their strengths and weaknesses, but the men in front of him were strangers. He didn't want to ask, but he forced himself to push forward anyway.

  “Sergeant,” he said slowly, “what happened to the others?”

  “Gone, sir,” Rove said.

  Ryan shook his head, unable to quite comprehend the magnitude of the losses. There had been one hundred and fifty men in the reformed company, ranging from experienced sweats who’d served on Thule to newcomers who’d just finished Basic Training. Captain Lancaster, Lieutenant Ava, Lieutenant Omar ... were they all dead? Omar had been a great help to him, when he’d first been assigned to the company; Ava had made sarcastic remarks that always seemed to have a worthwhile point. And Captain Lancaster ... he’d thought there wasn't anything that could kill that motherfucker ...

  “Fuck,” he breathed. “There were two whole regiments assigned to support the tanks!”

  “Yes, sir,” Rove said. His voice was flat, but it was easy to tell that some of the men behind him had been badly shaken. “And if we don’t get reinforcements soon, we’re going to be tossed back out as easily as we came.”

  “Fuck,” Ryan said, again. He wanted to sit down and shake, but he knew his duty. “Put in a call for reinforcements and supplies, then we’ll sweep the rest of this shithole for nasty surprises. And then we’ll try to force our way onwards.”

  It was hard, very hard, to force any enthusiasm into his voice. If he and Rove were the only survivors of their company, and it certainly looked that way, a hundred and forty-eight men were dead or badly wounded. And if they pushed on ...

  No one is fooled, he told himself. You’re not very enthusiastic either.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Other officers, the ones who wallowed in atrocities - one officer had a harem of women taken from various villages, the sole survivors after his men had had their fun - were often unable to command in a competent manner. They might be able to hold their men, but didn't really comprehend that they might be facing someone dangerous and therefore took no real precautions.

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

  Mark studied the live feed from the stealth drone with a grim feeling of dissatisfaction.

  The scene before him was a nightmare, strewn with the remains of dozens of tanks and thousands of men. No one had an accurate figure - yet - for how many of his men had died in the opening hours of the battle, but he had a feeling that it was well over ten thousand. The fighting raged backwards and forwards as his men pushed their way into the outer layer of fortifications, only to be thrown back by counterattacks that evicted them before they had a chance to bring up reinforcements of their own, secure their position and continue the offensive. He hadn’t expected immediate success - he’d seen too much to believe the defenders weren't serious about fighting to the end - but much of the attack had bogged down.

  “Assault forces Beta through Gamma are requesting reinforcements,” Ferguson said. “Beta is holding on to its gains, but Gamma is on the verge of being pushed back.”

  “Again,” Mark said.

  He gritted his teeth in frustration. His neatly-ordered formations had been torn to shreds. Soldiers were thrown together in scratch groups, regardless of where they’d been before the fighting, and pushed back into combat. Thankfully, their training was identical - a common headache in the Imperial Army - but it wasn't enough to make up for their problems. He needed time to regenerate his forces and consolidate his gains, yet the defenders had no intention of giving him any time. They were fighting like mad bastards to throw the attackers back out before it was too late.

  “Mass reinforcements, then send them to support Beta,” he ordered. He’d thrown thirty Landsharks into the teeth of enemy fire and they’d done a great deal of damage, but not enough to keep the defenders from wiping them out. No one had taken loss rates like that since ... since ever. “Gamma is to hold as long as possible.”

  “Senior officers worry about morale,” Ferguson warned. “A number of units have simply disintegrated.”

  Mark glared at him. Was Ferguson trying to establish a paper trail in the hopes of avoiding blame, if the offensive failed completely? Or was he just making a very clumsy point? No one had taken so many losses in such a short space of time for centuries. Normally, KEWs would clear the way and the soldiers would take possession of smouldering debris. Now ... losing so many of their friends and comrades would undermine anyone’s morale. It was a short step from that to outright mutiny. Or desertion. Anyone who wanted to desert could simply run towards the enemy positions, hands in the air.

  They might get shot, he thought, morbidly. But if they make it through the lines, they could tell the enemy a great deal about our current position.

  “Morale is not a concern right now,” he insisted. It was true; his men had signed up to fight, not pick daises. “The concern is getting through the enemy lines.”

  Ferguson turned back to his console, allowing Mark to study the display. Cold ice ran down his spine at the mounting loss rates. The enemy’s positions had taken a hammering, but they were solid enough to hold up under heavy shellfire and keep firing as his forces advanced. He really needed heavier penetrator weapons, he noted, yet their stockpile had been very limited and half the weapons he’d fired had been intercepted in midflight. In hindsight, it might have been better to rain shells down on the enemy rear, hoping to take out their point defence systems. But right now his gunners had to support the advance. The only hope of victory was to keep pushing forward, drawing the enemy into a kill-zone of his own ...

  The Admiral is not going to be pleased, he thought. Such losses were unprecedented in Wolfbane’s history. Even a battleship being blown out of space only took a couple of thousand officers and men with it. And nor is anyone else.

  “Beta has come under heavy attack,” Ferguson warned. “The reinforcements may not get there in time.”

  “Then tell them to hurry,” Mark snapped. “We have to break their lines!”

  ***

  Emmanuel had seen hell, or so he’d thought. Lakshmibai had been a hellish place to live, even before it became a battleground. He still had nightmares about the extremes of wealth and poverty that dominated the world, starving children sold into slavery to well-fed aristocrats who happened to have been born to a higher caste. But the scene before him was far, far worse. The entire front line seemed consumed by fire, flames licking up as tanks advanced through the smog, only to be struck by missiles that destroyed them or forced them to fall back.

  He peered through his binoculars, heedless of the danger. The Wolves hadn’t randomly bombarded the city, as some had feared, but if they spotted him they’d assume he was a FFC and target his skyscraper for destruction. A handful of shells had already brought down a pair of skyscrapers, one of them toppling into another and sending both buildings crashing to the ground. Emmanuel hoped - prayed - that the buildings had been empty, although he knew the skyscrapers made ideal observation posts. There might well have been a spotter hidden in one of them ...

  The sound of bombardment grew louder as the enemy attack intensified. Men, looking as small as ants, ran forward, dozens falling as the defenders returned fire. The battleground was strewn with bodies, the attackers pushing the offensive over their fallen comrades. It was a staggering sight, utterly unprecedented in his experience. Surely, even religious fanatics couldn't keep up such an attack for long. And yet they just kept coming!

  “This is madness,” Angel said. She’d been reluctant to join him on the skyscraper and only a direct order from her superior had forced her into it. “They’re going to burn the entire city.”

  “It looks like it,” Emmanuel said. “But they haven't managed to get into the second line of defences yet.”

  He forced himself to keep watching, even though a voice at the back of his mind was yammering in terror, urging him to curl up in a ball and hide. A pair of missiles flared across the sky and came down somewhere ami
dst the defenders. There was a brilliant flash of white light, followed by a colossal fireball and a thunderclap that, just for a second, drowned out everything else. It looked like a plasma warhead, judging by the light, although he had no way to be sure. Everyone caught in the blast radius would be cooked before they had a chance to escape. The flickers of secondary explosions seemed almost an afterthought.

  Sweat trickled down his face as the intense battle raged on. Another row of heavy tanks charged forward, crashing over the defence line and crushing fleeing defenders beneath their treads. His heart almost stopped beating before shellfire started to land amidst the tanks, destroying two of the giant vehicles and disabling three more. The remainder kept moving, only to run into missile fire that picked them off one by one. A line of enemy infantry, hoping to take advantage of the armoured assault, bogged down seconds later. He felt a flicker of sympathy for the men who’d been fed into the meat-grinder, mixed with a cool disdain for their leaders. Couldn't they think of any better tactics than just pressing the offensive at all costs?

  “They’re mustering another assault,” he mused. It was hard to be sure - there was so much smoke drifting across the battlefield - but it looked as though hundreds of infantrymen were mustering near one of the captured fortifications. Behind them, he caught glimpses of armoured vehicles and self-propelled guns. “What are they doing ...?”