And they’ll all have to be cleared, he thought, numbly.
Ryan keyed his radio as he led the way back out of the cottage. There were hundreds of bodies - new bodies - lying on the ground, men gunned down as they ran across the ruined defence line and into the city. He shuddered, sinking to his knees as he realised that it was happening again, that hundreds of thousands of men were going to die, leaving him the only survivor.
He took a deep breath, unable to force himself to rise. His entire body felt drained, deprived of energy. He didn't want to move, he couldn't move. He just couldn't face going any further, not when it would only get hundreds of men killed. And yet, somehow, he knew he had to keep going. The MPs would kill him when they pushed forward, funnelling the men into the killing zone. He could hear the sound of gunfire as the forward units pushed onwards, followed by AFVs. Their machine guns provided cover as the infantry inched forward.
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to take the injector tap and press it against his skin. A surge of energy shot through his body, driving him back to his feet. He glanced around as the energy burned through him, even though he knew it was a lie. The combat drug wouldn't last long, not when his system was already weak. But it would have to be enough.
“Forward,” he shouted. “Now!”
***
“They’re through the main defence lines,” Gwendolyn reported. “Sir ...?”
“I heard,” Ed said. Bunker-busters. He’d expected the enemy to come up with something, but this time they’d surpassed themselves. Explosive enough to blast entire blockhouses out of the ground, simple enough to be put together in a matter of days. And they’d punched a hole right through his defences. “Shift reinforcements to meet the main thrust of the enemy advance.”
“Aye, sir,” Gwendolyn said.
Ed glanced at the timer. It was a race now, a race to chase Admiral Singh away from the planet before the shield generator could be destroyed. The enemy had already knocked out two point defence units, making it harder to intercept all of the remaining shells before they struck the ground. If they were monitoring the firing patterns, he suspected, they’d probably be able to tighten their estimate of precisely where the generator was located. He’d thought about trying to create a false impression, to try to convince them that the generator was located somewhere else, but far too much could have gone spectacularly wrong. A lucky hit could have disabled the generator once and for all.
“Mandy?”
“No word,” Gwendolyn confirmed.
He looked at the display for a long moment. His forces could keep the Wolves tied up for weeks, fighting their way through the city, as long as the ammunition held out. But he doubted they’d have weeks. The prospect of a lucky shot grew more and more likely with every passing hour. And even if it didn't, he’d soon lose the ability to resist.
“General Hampton, take tactical command,” he ordered. “I’m going up there.”
Danielle gasped, but he ignored her. He was damned if he was leaving men to fight when he wasn't by their side, not any longer. Besides, he didn’t dare risk being taken prisoner. The Wolves would forget all good intentions regarding the treatment of prisoners when they realised who they’d caught. He knew far too much to risk being interrogated.
“That’s not wise, sir,” Gwendolyn said.
“It’s not debatable,” Ed said, firmly.
***
Mindy gritted her teeth as she took up position in the makeshift strongpoint, peering down the street towards the advancing Wolves. They were taking their time clearing the last set of suburban houses, but she had to admit they were doing a professional job of it. No doubt the handful of IEDs the retreating defenders had left in their wake had concentrated a few minds, not to mention the handful of troopers who’d hidden amidst the debris and then opened fire on the Wolves from the rear. They were being very careful indeed.
But it isn't going to be enough, she thought, as she slotted the magazine into place. There were ammunition stockpiles scattered throughout the city, thankfully, but it was depressingly clear that they were running short. The facilities just hadn't been able to replenish the hundreds of thousands of rounds expended during the first round of fighting. We’re waiting for them here.
A dull boom echoed over the city as someone tripped over an IED. She smiled grimly to herself, even though she knew it wasn't funny. Anything that slowed the enemy down, if only for a few minutes, was fine with her. She wondered, absently, if Jasmine was wreaking more havoc in their rear, then decided it was unlikely. The Wolves had been stung so badly, in their first attack on the city, that they’d taken extreme precautions against another commando raid. Jasmine was good - she’d kicked Mindy’s ass around the sparring ring when Mindy had challenged her to a friendly match - but even she and the marines couldn't break into an impregnable stronghold.
They’ll be shipping men and supplies up to consolidate their advantage, Mindy thought, numbly. The Wolves seemed to have unlimited ammunition, judging by the rate they were expending it. She’ll have plenty of opportunities to wreak havoc.
“Here they come,” Sergeant Rackham said, as a handful of grey figures appeared at the far end of the road. They were followed by two Landsharks, the massive tanks rumbling forward and crushing garden walls under their treads. “Get down and take cover.”
Mindy realised what was about to happen and hastily did as she was told, covering her ears as Sergeant Rackham produced a detonator. His hand pushed down on the button and the ground shook, the roar of the nearby explosion so loud it drowned out everything else. Her ears were ringing afterwards, despite the implants; she turned, just in time to see the flaming remains of a tank crashing to the ground. The tank behind it had been flipped over, crushing a number of enemy soldiers beneath its massive bulk. Other soldiers were walking around, dazed. Blood was spilling from their ears ...
“Shoot them,” Sergeant Rackham bellowed. “Now!”
Mindy hastily lifted her rifle, retook the firing position and opened fire.
***
Ryan stared in disbelief as the remains of one Landshark tank crashed down, nothing more than a pile of scrap metal, while the other flipped over and came down hard. There was a giant crater below where the first tank had been, suggesting that the entire street had been rigged to blow! And if he’d taken one less minute clearing the last house, finding nothing apart from a handful of rude taunts scrawled on the wall, he would probably have been caught in the blast and killed ...
Bullets started cracking through the air, picking off men who’d been far too close to the blast and were too dazed to take cover. Ryan stared in horror as Lieutenant Gordon, trying desperately to get one man out of the enemy gunsights, was shot right through the throat, his blood splashing down to the ground as his body collapsed. He’d been an ass, but he’d been trying to do something useful.
He turned and saw a pair of MPs, advancing forward. He’d seen them at work over the last two hours, urging some men forward and arresting two more for self-inflicted wounds. Cold hatred flared in his heart as he saw them eying him, clearly wondering if he’d decided he didn't want to go on any longer. And they’d be right, he thought, as he raised his rifle. The flicker of sudden alarm in their eyes, as he pulled the trigger twice, was gratifying. They weren't real soldiers. Real soldiers would have realised the danger and jumped for cover at once.
“No more,” he shouted. His company was already coming apart at the seams. Like before, he’d found himself in command of men from a dozen different units, men who'd been fed into the sausage grinder by unfeeling superiors. “No more!”
His men took up the cry as he led them away from the enemy position. “No more!”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Indeed, the Imperial Navy squadron that lost the Battle of New Preston did, at least in part, because its quartermaster was selling off supplies on the black market. They were not expecting to go to war, so the quartermaster saw no harm in allowing the stockpile
of spare parts to drop to a critically-low level.
- Professor Leo Caesius. The Role of Randomness In War.
Rani allowed herself a cold smile as the enemy defence line started to crumble. It gave her very little pleasure to admit that General Haverford had known what he was doing when he insisted on deploying the weapons, but there was no way to avoid it. Her forward units were already advancing into the city, cutting a bloody swath towards the shield generator. It didn't matter, in the end, just how much of the city was destroyed before the generator was finally smashed. All that mattered was stamping her iron will on the city and forcing its population to acknowledge her.
Not long now, she told herself. And then it will all be worthwhile.
She leaned back in her chair, watching the reports as they were put together by her analysis crews. The enemy fire was already slacking, some said; it was clear they were on the verge of running out of ammunition. Others warned that the enemy were attempting to shorten their defence line, fighting to the last to keep her from reaching the generator. It didn't matter, she told herself, as she watched shells striking down within the city. Either her forces captured the generator or they destroyed it. She would come out ahead whatever happened.
And then I can crush my enemies, she thought. The latest set of reports from Wolfbane - three weeks out of date, despite the best efforts of her courier crews - had made it clear that her supporters were in trouble. Her enemies weren't making any overt moves, but they were repositioning themselves to snatch power or protect themselves in the case of a general revolution. I have to prove that taking Corinthian was worth the effort.
Her console chimed. “Admiral, this is Henderson in Communications,” a voice said. “I just picked up an urgent message from the surface. There’s been a mutiny!”
Rani leaned forward, shocked. “A mutiny?”
“Yes, Admiral,” Henderson said. “A number of units have refused to advance against the enemy positions.”
General Haverford didn't call me, Rani thought. Cold suspicion flowed through her mind. If she was planning to dispose of Haverford, and turn him into a scapegoat for hundreds of thousands of deaths and billions of credits worth of destroyed equipment and property damage, he might be planning to do the same to her. Is he up to something?
She glared at the display. “Do we have any detailed reports?”
“Not as yet, Admiral,” Henderson said. “The report came from a source within FOB II.”
Haverford’s new base, Rani thought. And that means ...?
She forced herself to think, despite the growing urge to just contact Haverford and order him to put the mutiny down with extreme force. Mutineers knew they faced execution, if they were taken alive. It was one of the few Imperial Navy regulations that Governor Brown had kept in force, without rewriting it to avoid all the pesky little quibbles the lawyers had inserted to earn their pay. And Haverford would have to be mad if he was planning to turn against her. He had no way to get an assault team onto her flagship and, without that, she could simply destroy his forces from orbit.
And he may be dealing with the mutiny already, she thought. He may think he doesn't need to inform me.
“Put me through to General Haverford,” she ordered. “And be quick about it!”
“Aye, Admiral,” Henderson said.
General Haverford’s face appeared in front of her moments later, slightly fuzzed because of the jamming and the enemy shield. “Admiral,” he said. “We have a situation.”
“So I hear,” Rani said. There was no point in hiding the fact she had agents on his staff. She rather suspected it would make it harder for him to put together a conspiracy. If, of course, he didn't have one already. Soldiers wound up loyal to their commanders, after all; it was how she’d bested Admiral Bainbridge and taken Trafalgar for her own. “What - precisely - is happening?”
“We have small mutinies in a dozen sectors,” General Haverford said. “I sent in the MPs to restore order, but they were greeted with gunfire. Right now, the enemy doesn't seem to have realised our weakness ...”
Rani jerked as the alarms sounded. “Red alert,” Captain Gowon bellowed. His voice echoed through the giant battleship. “I say again, red alert! All hands to battlestations! Admiral Singh to the CIC!”
“It seems I have a situation too,” Rani said, rising. “General, do whatever you have to do to squash this mutiny and resume the offensive. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Admiral,” Haverford said. “I understand perfectly.”
***
“They have us, Captain,” the sensor officer reported. “They’ve locked on.”
Mandy nodded, curtly. She hadn't expected to get that close to the planet, even though her squadron was masked by the most advanced cloaking devices known to exist. Admiral Singh had seeded local space with countless sensor platforms, after all, and it only needed a single flicker of turbulence to betray their presence. And yet, it suggested Admiral Singh was rather more concerned about allowing her squadron anywhere near the planet than Mandy might have expected. A cunning officer might just have quietly tracked her ships with passive sensors, then opened fire without warning.
“Drop the cloaks,” she ordered. They were of only limited value, now the enemy knew where they were. “Deploy sensor decoys, launch probes.”
“Aye, Captain,” the tactical officer said.
Mandy felt a flicker of relief. Admiral Singh had concentrated her ships above Freedom City, as if she’d hoped to cow the inhabitants from orbit. Or, perhaps, intervene at once if the shield generator failed. Now, the four giant battleships and supporting units were altering position, shifting away from the planet to gain manoeuvring room. No, Mandy realised as the enemy ships picked up speed. They were heading right towards her!
“Enemy ships on attack vector,” the tactical officer said, confirming her thoughts. “Enhanced missile range in seven minutes, standard missile range in twelve.”
“Lock enhanced missiles on the battleships,” Mandy ordered. She had twenty-four ships to Admiral Singh’s forty, but her advanced weapons would make up for her shortage of warships. Or so she hoped. Admiral Singh would have problems replacing any losses in a hurry, if Jasmine was right, yet the Commonwealth wasn’t much better off. “Prepare to fire.”
She thought fast as the two fleets converged. What was going through Admiral Singh’s mind? Did she see a chance to crush a sizable enemy force while she had the advantage or was she planning a long-range engagement before breaking off and escaping across the phase limit? But Mandy was reasonably sure she could break off the engagement herself, on her own terms, if things went badly wrong. If nothing else, a long drawn-out engagement worked in her favour. She could hammer Admiral Singh from beyond her effective range.
“Weapons locked,” the tactical officer reported. “Missiles armed, ready to fire; point defence network up, ready to engage.”
Mandy sucked in a breath as the timer ticked down to zero. “Fire.”
“Aye, Captain,” the tactical officer said. “Firing ... now.”
***
Rani swore inwardly as the two fleets converged. The Commonwealth Navy had picked a particularly bad time to arrive, if only because of the threatened mutiny. She didn't dare allow them a chance to take control of the high orbitals, but - at the same time - she didn’t dare risk allowing them an engagement on their terms. And she couldn't simply withdraw because there would be no way to spin it in her favour.
“Admiral,” the sensor officer said. “The enemy fleet has opened fire.”
Impossible, Rani thought.
She quashed the impulse a moment later. The enemy wouldn't have wasted upwards of three hundred missiles without reason, which suggested that they knew they could hit her at this range. And they were well outside her range. Even if the two fleets continued converging, there was no way she could engage them now. Her missiles would burn out long before they reached their targets.
“Bring the point defence network
online,” she ordered. The enemy missiles weren't just longer-ranged than hers, they were faster too. Thankfully, she’d had her crews training on the assumption that better missiles were not only possible, but plausible. “And then ...”
She thought with desperate speed. If the missiles carried standard warheads, it was quite likely her fleet would survive long enough to get into engagement range and return fire. But if they didn't, if their warheads were as advanced as their drives, they might inflict serious damage outside her own range. She’d done it herself to pirate ships, back in the day; the Commonwealth would have no qualms about doing it to her. Only a sucker sought a fair fight when she could tip the odds in her favour instead.
Morton’s Fork, she acknowledged, silently saluting her unknown enemy. If she fought, she might lose everything; if she ran, she’d never be able to convince her enemies that it had been nothing more than a prudent move. Whatever I do, it may not rebound in my favour.
They Shall Not Pass (The Empire's Corps Book 12) Page 37