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

by Christopher Nuttall

  It would require me to raise the stakes when I might be wiser to fold, she thought. And I may be throwing good money after bad.

  She shook her head. Tactically, conceding defeat and withdrawing - after laying waste to as much of the system as possible - might be the smart choice. But it would be a disaster, a disaster that would be firmly laid at her door. Her enemies would draw their knives, while she couldn't purge them without causing all kinds of long-term problems. Wolfbane had lost too much when the shipyards were destroyed. The Consortium didn't need more problems as it struggled to rebuild. She had no choice, but to bet high and hope the dice fell in her favour.

  “Very well,” she said, slowly. “Your plan is approved.”

  “Thank you, Admiral,” Haverford said. “I would also like to ship the wounded back to Wolfbane and ...”

  Rani shook her head. “Not now, General,” she said. “They can be cared for on Corinthian.”

  “With all due respect, Admiral, they cannot be cared for on Corinthian,” Haverford said, sharply. Rani tensed at his tone, but forced herself to show no other reaction. “Our medical supplies are already running out. I doubt looting the unprotected cities for supplies and medical staff will help, certainly not enough to make a difference. We have no choice, but to ship the wounded home.”

  “Not now, General,” Rani said.

  She saw his point, even though it was something outside her experience. Battles in space rarely saw many wounded; a badly-damaged starship was more likely to explode with all hands, rather than limp home to offload its crew. She was used to watching hundreds of men die with their ships, but not to seeing her crews wounded. But damnable politics gave her no choice. If her enemies saw a string of wounded soldiers making their way home, they’d be emboldened to speak out against her ...

  ... And as long as she wasn't on Wolfbane, they’d have a chance to snatch control of the system defences and turn them against her fleet.

  That would cost us the war, she thought. The Commonwealth would have all the time it needed to muster its counterattack while Wolfbane was consumed by civil war. But do those bastards care?

  “Admiral,” Haverford said. “This isn't a game ....”

  “I know,” Rani said. She briefly considered explaining her reasoning, then dismissed the thought. Haverford wasn't a strategic thinker. He wouldn’t understand. “But there’s no choice.”

  Rani dismissed him, then looked at the planet, spinning in the holographic display. She’d made a mistake, she knew now. She had wanted to retake the planet, to crush the rebels who had chased her away; she’d allowed her plans for revenge to lead her into a trap. They were trapped now, forced to fight desperately to win ... she didn't dare withdraw. Her career would come to an end along with the campaign. Retreat - and defeat - was unthinkable.

  She made a vow to herself as she rose and walked towards the sleeping compartment. Corinthian would be hers again, whatever the cost. And then her enemies would pay for what they’d done.

  ***

  Ryan jerked awake, every inch of his body screaming in pain. His vision was blurred, lights flashing around him so brightly that he thought, through a drugged haze, that he was now in hell. Each flicker of light hurt, the flashes digging into his skull and making him scream in pain. He closed his eyes, but that only made matters worse. And his body ached so badly that he could barely think. He started to struggle, feeling soft restraints tied around his wrists and ankles ... was he a prisoner? Or was it just something to keep him under control?

  “It’s alright,” a soft voice said. It was feminine, warm and welcome, but it hurt! “Lie still and relax.”

  Ryan tried to force himself to calm down, but his thoughts kept running in dozens of different directions simultaneously. It was hard, so hard, to think when a maelstrom was blazing through his mind, tearing his thoughts to shreds. He cringed as he felt a needle pressed against his upper arm ... a needle? Needles had gone out of use on every single world, save for the most primitive. What had happened to injector tabs?

  He must have blacked out, because the next thing he knew was that he felt a little better. His eyes opened, revealing that he was lying on a bed in a small room. It didn't look like a hospital ward, rather more like a hotel room. He puzzled over it for a long moment as he tested his restraints, realising that he was firmly tied to the bed. Movement was almost impossible, beyond breathing. His first thoughts flickered through his mind, again. Was he a prisoner? Or was something badly wrong with him?

  The door opened. A young woman wearing a long white coat stepped into the room. A doctor, Ryan realised; the uniform she wore under the coat marked her as a starship doctor, probably called down from one of the orbiting ships. She was pretty too, he thought, despite the numbness flowing through his body. Her chest was covered, but her breasts were clearly large enough to be noticeable ...

  “Captain Osborne,” the doctor said. Her voice was cool and professional, disrupting his fantasy before it had time to take root. “Do you know where you are?”

  Ryan’s lips worked incoherently for a long moment. “Captain?”

  “You were promoted,” the doctor said. “Do you know where you are?”

  “Not a prisoner,” Ryan managed. “Water?”

  The doctor produced a bottle and allowed him to sip from it. “You were injured in the fight,” she said. “Do you recall what happened?”

  Ryan thought for a moment. His memory was flawed. All he recalled were flashes of impressions - and pain, lots of pain. They’d been in a bunker, he thought, and he’d been half-convinced he was in hell. But the angel beside his bed suggested otherwise. Unless, of course, it was just part of his torment ...

  “No,” he said, finally. “I don’t remember much.”

  The doctor grimaced. “You were wounded,” she said. “Your sergeant brought you back here, to the makeshift field hospital. We did what we could for you, but a combination of the drugs in your body and the shortage of supplies made it difficult to do much ...”

  Ryan stared at her, then glanced down the length of his body. Everything seemed normal, as far as he could tell. And yet, he was covered and numb and ...

  “Tell me,” he growled. He wanted to pull at the restraints until they burst, but he suspected they were too strong for him. “What happened?”

  “I’m sorry,” the doctor said.

  An awful suspicion began to blossom in Ryan’s mind. “What happened?”

  “You took two bullets,” the doctor told him. Her voice was flat, but he could tell she wasn't comfortable. “One of them went through your groin. By the time we got you here ...”

  Ryan jerked up, clashing against the restraints. “I ... they blew off my balls?”

  “We had to remove the remainder,” the doctor said. She shifted backwards, as if she were preparing to run. “We don’t have regeneration tubes on site.”

  “Untie me,” Ryan growled. “Now!”

  “You need to remain calm,” the doctor said. “You’re not in any immediate danger ...”

  “Untie me,” Ryan snapped.

  The doctor hesitated, then carefully undid the restraints on his wrists. Ryan pulled himself free and hastily sat upright, feeling between his legs. He hoped - prayed - that it was a nightmare, but his fingers touched nothing. His penis was gone. In its place, there was a pucker of flesh ...

  He stared at her in numb horror. His manhood was gone. He wanted to scream ... he’d done everything right, he’d kept up the offensive when men were dropping like flies and yet he’d been unmanned? He’d been allowed to lie on the bed while his manhood was taken from him? He found himself torn between fury, horror and an insane urge to laugh. What was he now? A useless shell of a man? A woman?

  “You can regrow dicks,” he snarled, turning to her. “Regrow mine!”

  The doctor paled. “It’s not an essential requirement ...”

  “It fucking is,” Ryan shouted. His temper surged out of control; he swung his legs over the side of th
e bed and stood. “I fucking lost my fucking manhood attacking that fucking defence line and you can fucking regrow it!”

  He grabbed the doctor by the shirt and yanked her forward. “Regrow it!”

  “I can't,” the doctor stammered. “There are others who will die without urgent treatment ...”

  Ryan sagged, letting go of her as he stumbled back and sat on the bed. His rage vanished as quickly as it had come, mocking him. He was an eunuch. Nothing would ever be normal again. He was barely aware of the doctor hurrying out of the door, closing it sharply behind her. No doubt she was off to whine to her superiors ...

  Sitting on the bed, Ryan began to weep helplessly.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  And the third type (or the handful of competent officers) would actually stand and fight. They would pose a threat, forcing a competent officer to either bypass them or accept the losses inherent in defeating them.

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

  “That’s another freighter convoy, Captain,” the sensor officer said. “She’s heavily escorted.”

  Mandy pursed her lips in disapproval. Admiral Singh must have summoned reinforcements long before the Battle of Freedom City, if only because they were arriving before her messages to Wolfbane could have reached their destination. The soldiers on the freighters couldn't know what they were facing, but they would find out long before they walked into the meatgrinder and got themselves torn to ribbons. And there were too many warships escorting the convoy for her to risk an attack.

  Admiral Singh learned from our first attack, she thought, grimly. She’s making sure that her positions are heavily fortified.

  “Pull us back,” she ordered, reluctantly.

  She shook her head in irritation. Popping off a missile or two towards the freighters was a tempting prospect, but she knew it would be pointless. The escorts would swat the missiles out of space long before they reached their targets. And Admiral Singh was too experienced an admiral to make basic mistakes, like insisting that all her convoys arrived on the same approach vector. Mandy had hoped she’d have a chance to scatter mines throughout space, but it would be nothing more than a waste of time. There was no way she could produce the sheer number of mines required to cover all possible approach vectors.

  “Aye, Captain,” the helmsman said.

  Mandy nodded, then turned her attention back to the system display. Admiral Singh was running patrols around the planet, routinely detaching a pair of destroyers to sweep space for stealthed platforms and other surprises. It was largely a waste of time, but they had managed to stumble across one platform - which had self-destructed as soon as the enemy had locked on - and it kept the crews occupied. The only relief, as far as Mandy was concerned, was that Admiral Singh had detached two of her battleships shortly after occupying the system.

  But that’s not enough to reduce the KEW threat, she thought. If the shield fails, the entire plan goes straight into the crapper.

  She gritted her teeth at the thought. There had been a brief - very brief - message from Mindy, transmitted out through the network of platforms, informing Mandy that she had been lightly wounded. Mandy had been in worse places - being on a pirate ship meant running the risk of being robbed, raped or murdered at any moment - but the thought of her sister being hurt was terrifying. Mindy might be a soldier now, yet part of Mandy would always see her as a helpless little girl, someone she needed to protect. But there was nothing she could do to protect her sister now.

  “They’re dispatching a courier boat,” the sensor officer reported. “She's heading straight up towards the ecliptic.”

  “Plot an intercept course,” Mandy ordered, although she suspected it would be hopeless. The pre-collapse courier boats had been the fastest things in space and even now they still moved at a respectable clip. Their acceleration rates were staggering. Defiant probably didn't have a hope of overhauling the craft, let alone bringing it to a halt. “Can we catch them?”

  “They’re moving too quickly, Captain,” the helmsman said. “They’ll be over the limit before we could get into firing range.”

  Mandy nodded, slowly. The war in space had effectively stalemated, unless she chose to bring the rest of the squadron into the system. And yet, she knew that would give the game away far too soon. Admiral Singh had enough firepower to make the odds even ... and if there was one thing she’d learned from the pirates, it was that only a sucker sought even odds. He might just lose. It was far better to have the odds stacked in your favour when you finally went to the mat.

  “Keep us within sensor range of the convoy,” she ordered, instead. “We may just learn something useful.”

  “Aye, Captain,” the helmsman said.

  It was frustrating, but it would keep her crew occupied. There had been a couple of fights below decks, between crewmen who were constantly on edge. She didn't blame the brawlers, even though she would have to stand in judgement of them soon. Skulking around the system while their friends and comrades fought for their lives didn't sit well with anyone on the ship. The rivalry between spacers and soldiers barely mattered when so much was at stake.

  She shook her head in irritation. The only consolation, she thought, was that Admiral Singh was probably feeling the same way. Battles in space could be violent, staggeringly so, but they didn't take very long. One side either lost quickly or managed to break contact and escape. A long drawn-out conflict had to be frustrating to Admiral Singh, particularly when she had to worry about events right along the border. Who knew what was happening on Thule, or Night’s Edge, or Rosebud while she was waiting at Corinthian?

  But she has more time on her side than we do, Mandy thought.

  It wasn’t a pleasant thought. She'd looked for ways to sneak supplies through the blockade, but found nothing. Admiral Singh would intercept anything she launched into the planet’s atmosphere, if she even managed to get that close. She would have been surprised if she had, given just how thoroughly Admiral Singh had seeded space with her own platforms. The Admiral probably knew the location of every grain of dust orbiting the planet.

  She shook her head as the enemy convoy finally entered orbit, Defiant hanging back to avoid detection. No matter how she looked at it, the coming battle was going to be hellish. The Wolves didn't hold all the cards, but they held enough to put up a vicious fight. And all she could do was pray she was in time to save something of the forces on the ground ...

  And Mindy, she thought. I don’t want to go home and tell mother and father she’s dead.

  ***

  Jasmine fought down, somehow, the urge to charge forward and run to the rescue of the unnamed town. Both sides had ignored it during the march to Freedom City, but that had changed as the Wolves started to sweep their rear much more effectively. Two whole companies of soldiers had surrounded the town, then summoned the inhabitants to come out or face the consequences. As soon as the town was empty, they’d fired the buildings and burned the entire settlement to the ground. It looked, very much, as though the Wolves were losing control.

  “They’re separating the young women from everyone else,” Buckley breathed. Below them, the prisoners were being searched and then bound. “That doesn't look good.”

  Jasmine nodded, curtly. The Wolves had been remarkably disciplined, given the sheer size of their army; she knew their superiors had hung a number of men for mistreating the civilian population. And she’d killed four soldiers who might have gotten away with it, if they kept their mouths shut afterwards. But now, their army was crumbling at the seams. She’d stumbled across enough dead and mutilated bodies to know that their discipline was breaking down. She wouldn't have given a counterfeit credit for the fate of the young women below her.

  They took too many losses in the battle, she thought. Their command network has been shot to hell.

  She closed her eyes in pain, then forced herself to watch as the men were lined up and shot down, one by one. No doubt whoever was in command of the for
ce below her would claim they were all insurgents or something along those lines ... if, of course, anyone bothered to ask at all. Jasmine hated to admit it, but if discipline was that far gone their superiors would probably be hesitant to do anything to reassert their authority. The threat of a mutiny would be far too dangerous. She shuddered, wondering what would happen to the discipline of her unit if its commanding officers were killed and the remaining marines slotted into other units, with unfamiliar commanders. God alone knew how many of them had seen the field hospitals before they were pushed back onto the front lines.

  “Jasmine,” Buckley said, quietly. “They’re going to gang-rape the women.”

  Jasmine glared at him. “And what would you suggest we did about it?”