She glanced up as she heard the sound of helicopters heading towards their position. She’d hoped the Wolves wouldn't have any chance to sound the alarm, but evidently someone had managed to get off an alert before it was too late. Or the guards had missed an hourly check-in or something. There was no point in worrying about it now; she barked orders to the remaining marines, then glanced at Stewart as he jumped out of the truck.
“The shells are primed,” he called. “Everything’s ready!”
Jasmine nodded, then bellowed orders for the marines to run. She glanced behind her as the sound of rotor blades grew louder, muttering curses under her breath. The helicopters were growing nearer, ducking low to avoid fire from Freedom City. Buckley unfolded a MANPAD as he ran, readying the weapon for immediate launch. If the helicopters pressed too closely they were in for a nasty surprise.
They slipped through the gate and went cross-country. Running down the road would have been suicidal. She looked at the helicopters again, then shouted a command to Buckley. He turned, locked his missile on the nearest target and fired. The helicopter twisted in mid-air, but it was far too slow to evade the missile. Its partner ducked backwards, keeping its distance, as flaming wreckage dropped to the ground. The crew hadn't stood a chance.
They must be running short of helicopters, Jasmine thought. They’re taking more care with the ones they have.
She looked at Stewart as soon as they reached a safe distance. “Blow it.”
“With pleasure,” Stewart said. The marines dropped to the ground as he produced a detonator, unlocked the safety and held his finger over the button. “Three ... two ... one ...”
He pushed the button, dramatically. There was a microsecond of pregnant silence, then a colossal explosion blasted out from the direction of the complex. The ground shook, violently; Jasmine could hear pieces of debris crashing down all around them. She turned, just in time to see an immense fireball rising into the sky. The remaining helicopter was picked up by the blast wave and thrown cart-wheeling through the air, spinning over and over again until it finally crashed into the ground. She found herself torn between hoping the crew had survived and hoping that they were dead, although they weren't so much of a problem without the helicopter. It was unlikely they were also trained infantrymen.
“Wow,” Buckley said. “Good one.”
“That’s what happens when you fuck up with primitive shells,” Stewart said. “I just rigged a couple to explode and they set off the others.”
Jasmine smiled. “And now we’d better be going,” she said. Darkness was falling, but she knew just how capable some sensors were in the dark. “I’d bet good money that there’s a QRF on the way.”
She took one final look at the burning complex, then led the way into the darkness.
***
“You shouldn't be up here,” Hampton said.
Danielle scowled at him, but nodded ruefully. She was the President, yet she was also the leader of a coalition that might not stay together without her. Her death would start a political struggle that might completely reshape planetary politics, not something that could be tolerated in the middle of a war. And yet, she owed it to her conscience to take some risks. Hundreds - perhaps thousands - of young men who’d voted for her were now dead or seriously injured. It wasn't right that she should enjoy safety in the bunker while they fought and died on her behalf.
She sat next to him, peering out into the darkness. It brought no let-up, no pause in the storm; the enemy continued their advance, pushing the offensive forward as hard as possible. A giant fireball billowed up behind enemy lines; a thunderclap rent the air ... and yet, the enemy just kept coming. She'd seen the reports and read between the lines. The outer edge of the defences was almost completely broken. There was heavy fighting within the inner defences now ...
“They’re trapped in a death match,” Hampton said. He sounded pleased, despite knowing far too many of the soldiers personally. “They can neither push through our defences nor fall back.”
“Unless they're willing to surrender their pride,” Danielle pointed out. She saw a light moving through the darkness, then falling to the ground and disappearing. “They could always fall back and concentrate on keeping us trapped here.”
“I doubt their higher-ups have any real comprehension of the problem,” Hampton said. “It was a constant headache, back when I worked for the Empire. The people in charge didn't know what was going on, so they often pushed an offensive forward when it was pointless or stopped an offensive on the brink of victory. They’ll be more concerned about saving face than saving lives.”
Danielle nodded. She’d never been in the military, but she’d worked in a bureaucracy and recalled just how ignorant some of her superiors had been. The bureaucrats in high office hadn't understood the needs of their juniors, let alone how some of their policies had been very bad for their victims. And they’d always refused to believe that the endless problems were their fault.
But then, accepting the blame would be career suicide, she thought. The bureaucrats had been more interested in their careers than actually doing good. And Admiral Singh faces far worse than merely being allowed to retire on full pay.
She looked at him, grimly. “Can we hold them?”
“I think we’re hurting them far more than they’re hurting us,” Hampton said. He waved a hand northwards. “Sooner or later, they’re going to run out of men and machines to throw at us.”
“Unless the shield fails,” Danielle said.
“Yeah,” Hampton agreed. “If the shield fails, Madam President, we fail with it.”
***
“Emmanuel,” a voice called. “Over here!”
Emmanuel blinked, looking around. There were dozens of injured men - and a handful of injured women - in the makeshift field hospital, but he didn't recognise any of them. And then he spotted Mindy Caesius reclining on a bed, stripped to the waist with a medical cast attached to her shoulder. She’d always been pale, he recalled - Jasmine had introduced them, back on Avalon - but now she was covered in bruises and cuts. He didn't want to think about what had happened to her shoulder ...
But he had to ask. “What happened to you?”
“Landed badly,” Mindy said, nodding to the cast. “They say I should be back on my feet within a day or two.”
Emmanuel stepped backwards, studying her critically. A handful of medical packets were attached to her arms, save one that was positioned below her right breast. It looked as though she'd been through a nightmare, which he rather suspected she had. He didn't want to ask any more questions, but it was his job. And yet, he knew from experience that soldiers didn't always want to talk about what had happened to them. He’d be kicked out of the field hospital if he upset anyone, let alone made it harder for the medics to do their work.
“You should see the other guy,” Mindy added. She sounded proud, yet hyper in a way that suggested she’d been drugged. “I knifed him with his own knife.”
“Good for you,” Emmanuel said. Behind him, he heard Angel gasp. “How ... how bad is it out there?”
“Hellish,” Mindy said, flatly. “They just keep coming and coming and coming. But it’s much worse for them, I think. They have much less cover as they advance towards us.”
“That’s good,” Emmanuel said.
He didn't ask any questions, just waited to see what she had to say. But she seemed more interested in staring at her pale hands than anything else. He watched her for a long moment, then stepped backwards as one of the medics inspected the medical packages. Mindy’s eyes closed a second later; the medic gently attached a bracelet to her wrist, then turned to leave.
Emmanuel caught his arm. “How is she?”
“Badly bruised, but otherwise largely intact,” the medic said. “We’ve given her something to help her relax, as well as feeding her. She should be discharged tomorrow, barring complications. We’re going to need the bed for someone else.”
“I understand,” Emma
nuel said.
He swallowed as he looked at the wounded. Military medicine operated on the triage principle, where soldiers who were too badly wounded to survive without intensive effort were given painkillers and left to die. It sounded heartless, but he understood the grim logic behind the system. The resources expended in healing a badly-wounded soldier might be better spent healing a handful of less-injured young men.
“We’d better go,” Angel said, catching his arm. “There are too many wounded here. We’ll just get in the way.”
“I suppose,” Emmanuel said. For once, she was right. “Let’s go.”
He took one last look at Mindy - she looked so fragile, lying on the bed - and then followed Angel out of the room. The corridors were lined with wounded men, some trying hard to keep their spirits up while others were clearly on the verge of death. Angel kept her distance from the groaning men, her entire stance suggesting she was horrified. Emmanuel didn't blame her. He was horrified too.
These men will be scarred for life, he thought, numbly. Whoever wins the war, they lose.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
As you can see, the question of just who is in command of a particular military force can cast a baleful shadow over the battlefield.
- Professor Leo Caesius. The Role of Randomness In War.
“Sir,” Sergeant Rove said. “They’re coming!”
Ryan staggered back to wakefulness, wishing he was dead. Or maybe he was dead and in hell. It certainly seemed plausible. He'd been fighting for hours, then practically collapsed in the enemy bunker. How long had he been asleep? It felt like bare seconds had passed between opening and closing his eyes. He glanced at his watch as he reached for his rifle and a stimulant tab, pushing the latter against his bare skin. Two hours. He’d slept for no longer than two hours.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
He knew his duty. He was a lieutenant; he’d survived when countless others had died during the bitter fighting. For all he knew, he was the sole surviving officer. He was certainly the senior officer in the captured blockhouse. His body shuddered as the stimulant took effect, warning him that he was pushing his body too far. Too many tabs, taken too quickly, could cause addiction - or worse. The thought of spending the rest of his life dependent on the tabs was horrific. But he had no choice.
“Report,” he said. His voice sounded shaky. He damned himself as he staggered to his feet, leaning on his rifle to remain upright. “What’s happening?”
Rove didn't look back at him. “They’re mustering for a counterattack,” he said. “They know we’re running short on reinforcements.”
Ryan swallowed. He’d thought they were on the tip of the spear ... hell, perhaps they were on the tip of the spear. And yet there were no reinforcements? He swallowed again, his mouth suddenly very dry. What if they were the last soldiers left alive? He retched, cursing his mouth, then forced himself to check the soldiers. They looked as battered and drained as he felt.
“Grab your weapons,” he ordered, somehow. They weren't moving right either. A couple were wounded, but not badly enough to justify evacuating them. And even if he did, he had an uncomfortable feeling they’d never reach a field hospital. The enemy’s shellfire wasn't as prevalent, but it was still pretty nasty. “Stand by to resist attack.”
Grimly, he checked the terminal. Dawn was breaking; there were no reinforcements within easy reach. He hoped that meant that the other forces were doing well, punching through what remained of the enemy’s defences, but he had a feeling that it meant that they weren't doing well at all. Or maybe he’d been locked out of the overall network, if the defenders weren't jamming it. Their damnable bunkers seemed practically designed to play merry hell with signalling.
He looked at Rove. “Any word from the others?”
“The attack through the second line of defences bogged down,” Rove said. “They got caught in the open and slaughtered. And then half of the reinforcements were pulled back to comb the surrounding area for insurgents.”
“Shit,” Ryan said. The tab was taking effect, but it came at a price. His heartbeat was racing madly, erratically. He wondered, absently, just how close he was to a heart attack. “Can we send a runner back to beg for help?”
“I doubt there’s any to send,” Rove admitted.
Ryan closed his eyes in pain. He was too tired to care about showing weakness in front of the men. If there were no reinforcements, the remains of his company were dangerously exposed. The enemy would have no difficulty overwhelming them, either driving them back or crushing them like bugs. And yet, he had no authority to order a retreat. He might just be put in front of a wall and shot for cowardice in the face of the enemy.
He opened his eyes. “Start preparing for a fighting withdrawal,” he ordered. If it was clear that he had issued the orders, his men shouldn't suffer. Besides, the regular chain of command had been shot to hell. He didn't know any of the men who’d attached themselves to the remains of his unit. “And then ...”
A hail of gunfire echoed out in the distance. He swore, venomously.
“Too late, sir,” Rove said.
***
Ed studied the reports, hoping desperately that they were reasonably accurate. Marines would have sent accurate reports, of course, and so would the CEF, but the planet’s defenders had trained separately and didn't use the same nomenclature. He thought he understood what they were saying, yet if he was wrong ...
“It looks as though the enemy has finally slacked off,” he said. It had been nearly an entire day of fighting, at a tempo unseen since the Unification Wars. He dreaded to think just how much ammunition had been expended, even before Jasmine and her team had hit a gunnery station and blown it all to hell. “Do you concur?”
“Yes, sir,” Hampton said. “They’ve finally lost their edge.”
And plenty of material too, Ed thought. By his count, the Wolves had expended more material than an entire marine regiment would have had at its disposal. Hundreds of tanks, armoured vehicles, guns ... the list goes on and on.
“Then it’s time to launch the counterattack,” he said. “Pass the word. I want a general counter-offensive, as planned, to jump off in twenty minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” Hampton said.
***
“Admiral,” Mark said. He forced himself to speak calmly and clearly, even though his mouth was dry. “The offensive has failed.”
Admiral Singh stared at him. He was relieved, more relieved than he cared to admit, that she was in orbit, rather than standing in the same room. He’d had too much experience with bad commanding officers to feel comfortable, particularly when he was admitting defeat on a terrifying scale. They’d expended more material than he cared to think about for nothing!
“Failed,” she said, finally.
“Failed,” Mark confirmed. He spoke on before she could say a word. “Admiral, we have over twenty thousand dead or wounded. Twenty thousand! We’ve lost over two hundred tanks and armoured vehicles and expended more ammunition than even our worst-case projections. I don’t know if I can extract the forward elements before it’s too late to stop the counterattack!”
“There is no counterattack,” Admiral Singh said.
“There will be,” Mark said. He forced himself forward. “Our shellfire has been slacking for the last two hours, Admiral. They will know they have the edge now. The battle is lost, Admiral. All we can do is save as much as possible and prepare for a second offensive.”
“I will not countenance surrender,” Admiral Singh snapped.
“I’m not asking you to surrender,” Mark insisted. “I’m asking you to call off the offensive before it’s too late!”
He cleared his throat, taking a moment to get his thoughts in order. “We pull back to our own lines, keeping the envelopment in place. Then we muster the forces for a second thrust into the city, using what we’ve learned to punch through the defences. We can still win the campaign, Admiral, but this battle is going to cost us everything! It h
as to end now.”
“Hold as much as you can,” Admiral Singh said, finally. “We do hold some of their defence points, don’t we?”
“Not enough,” Mark snapped. “Do you really want to explain why you threw an extra ten thousand men after twenty thousand?”
Admiral Singh’s eyes narrowed, darkly. Mark braced himself, wondering just what she’d say. An order to Mark’s subordinates, perhaps, ordering them to kill him? Or a command to her own people? He suspected that some of his aides were probably also her agents ...
“Withdraw the troops as you see fit, but keep a stranglehold on the city,” Admiral Singh ordered, finally. “They are not to have a chance to resupply themselves.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Mark said. He breathed a sigh of relief. “I understand.”
Her face vanished from the display. “Send the word,” Mark ordered, turning back to his subordinates. “Our forces are to pull back to their jump-off points, then start erecting fortifications of their own.”
They Shall Not Pass (The Empire's Corps Book 12) Page 28