Retreat Hell (33 page)

“Keep your fool heads down,” he barked, as bullets started to crack over the rooftop.  Thankfully, the enemy didn't seem to have snipers in place to fire down at them, but it was only a matter of time.  1
st
Platoon had been on counter-sniper duty for the last few days and he had to admit the rebel snipers were alarmingly good.  They’d probably been hunters in the countryside, like some of the Crackers.  “I don’t want to lose anyone now!”

“Warning,” the drone operator said.  “They’re setting the building on fire.”

Joe swore.  If the enemy were reluctant or unable to engage them directly, setting fire to the building was a simple way to kill the intruders.  Or maybe the operator was wrong and one of the shells fired to deter intervention from outside had accidentally started the fire.  Not, in the end, that it mattered in the slightest.  All that mattered was getting out of the Zone before the flames caught them or they had to make a run for it through streets crammed with angry insurgents.

“Helicopters inbound,” the coordinator said.  “I say again, helicopters inbound.”

Joe looked up as four helicopters swooped down over the city, firing down into the streets as they approached.  One of them came to a halt over the building, then dropped down rapidly until it was hovering just above the roof.  The others started to orbit the building, firing burst after burst towards anyone who tried to fire on the helicopters.  Joe ran forward, tossed Rzeminski into the helicopter, then motioned for his men to board.  As soon as they were onboard, he climbed in and slammed the hatch shut behind him.  The helicopter pilot didn't hesitate; the helicopter rose sharply, dropping flares behind it.

Joe felt his stomach clench as he sat down on the metal deck.  There wouldn't be a better moment – a worse, from his point of view – for the enemy to reveal a final HVM.  They would never have a better shot at a whole platoon of Marines ... and their former leader, who they could expect to be bled dry of everything he knew about the insurgency.  But as the helicopter clawed for sky, the only opposition was a handful of bullets, which dinged off the armour harmlessly.

He pulled himself to his feet and peered out the porthole as they raced away from the Zone.  Flames were rising up behind them, spreading to a number of other buildings.  It was clear, part of his mind noted, that the designers hadn't even bothered to give lip-service to the Empire’s rules and regulations on fire prevention.  Not, in the end, that it mattered in the slightest.  Either the rebels managed to put out the fire or it would spread, destroying the Zone.

Success
, he thought, as he looked over at Rzeminski.  The former Marine was slowly waking up, his enhancements countering the stunner bursts.  He might have been able to shrug off one or two bursts, Joe knew; he’d hit him several times just to make sure it worked.  By the time Rzeminski woke up properly, Joe told himself, he would be in a secure cell.  He grasped the stunner in his hand, just in case.  If Rzeminski woke up too quickly, he might be able to cause real trouble before they made it back to the spaceport.

And then
, Joe thought, looking directly at Rzeminski,
we will find out just what made you turn against your oaths
.

Nor did they see the details.  The mass slaughter of military-aged males (which often ranged from ten years old onwards), the rape and then murder of women (unless the women were lucky enough to be taken as slaves instead), the forced kidnap and adoption of younger children ... all of these details were simply not visible from Earth.  Indeed, given what passed for entertainment in the final centuries of the Empire, it is possible that these details were considered titillating rather than shocking.

-
Professor Leo Caesius. 
War in a time of ‘Peace:’ The Empire’s Forgotten Military History.

It had been six years, more or less, since Jasmine had endured the dreaded Conduct After Capture course at the Slaughterhouse.  The Empire’s military – at least the part of it that actually fought wars – had no illusions about how captured prisoners would be treated by their captors.  It was unlikely, they’d believed, that prisoners wouldn't be tortured and forced to disgorge information, no matter what precautions were taken.  After all, the Empire was rarely merciful towards captured insurgents.

She shuddered at the memory as she stared through the one-way glass at Pete Rzeminski, sitting in a metal chair with his hands and feet firmly cuffed and a solid metal band around his waist.  The Conduct After Capture course was far from pleasant; she’d been beaten, deprived of food, drink and sleep ... and threatened with all kinds of horrific sexual abuse.  It was a mark of some pride to her that she hadn't broken, any more than any of the other Marines, and successfully misled her captors.  But Pete Rzeminski would have done the same himself, she knew.  It was unlikely they could get him to talk.

“We ran a full physical examination,” the medic said.  His voice was very quiet.  “He’s physically healthy, in better than average condition for someone of his age.  No major implants or additional non-standard enhancements, as far as we can tell.  There wasn't any sign of starvation rations either.”

Jasmine wasn't surprised.  Somehow, the insurgents had clearly managed to stockpile enough food supplies to feed
everyone
in the Zone.  Or had they set up an algae farm?  There were none on Thule, she knew, but they were hardly difficult to establish.  Hell, the local government could have established a few years ago and used them to feed the poor and starving.  It would have cut some of the ground out from under the insurgency.

She made a mental note to mention it to the First Speaker, then looked at the medic.  “Does he have any implants that might enable him to resist interrogation?”

“He does,” the medic confirmed.  “They weren't removed when he left the corps.”

“I see,” Jasmine said.  “Can the implant be removed?”

The medic shook his head.  Jasmine sighed.  Unless there was something non-standard about the implants, they would activate if they believed Rzeminski was being interrogated, killing him before anyone could react.  Everything from drugs to outright torture ran the risk of activating the implants.  They were normally deactivated when someone no longer needed to take precautions, but Rzeminski had clearly kept his.  What secrets had he had, she wondered, that had made him take the risk?

“Then there’s no way to interrogate him,” she said, out loud.  “Unless ...”

She hesitated, then stepped through the door.  Rzeminski lifted his head to look at her, his eyes flickering over her uniform.  Jasmine wished, suddenly, that she’d thought to wear the
Marine
BDUs, but he would have no difficulty in recognising her service.  The Slaughterhouse left its mark on everyone who passed through its doors.

Surprisingly – and in defiance of the Conduct After Capture course – Rzeminski spoke first.

“Why are you here?”

Jasmine knelt down beside him, resting her arms on her knees.  “Why are
you
here?”

Rzeminski snorted.  “Why should I not fight for what I believe in?”

“What do you believe in?”  Jasmine asked.  “What made you fight?”

“I retired,” Rzeminski said.  “I came out here to live with my family.  I had a wife and children.  There was a government sweep just after the crisis began, hunting for the first set of insurgents.  My family were killed in the crossfire.”

“You have my sympathy,” Jasmine said.  She wasn't quite sure what to feel.  Part of her
did
feel sorry for the retired Marine, part of her hated him for betraying the Corps.  But had he
really
betrayed the Corps if he’d been retired at the time?  “And so you went to war?”

Rzeminski looked up at her.  “Why are
you
here?”

Jasmine considered her answer carefully before speaking.  “The Commonwealth sent me here,” she said, finally.  “Because the local government asked for help.”

“The very same local government that has pissed on everyone who lost their source of income?”  Rzeminski asked.  “And the one that allows the remaining corporations to dominate the economy?”

He had a point, Jasmine knew.  It wouldn't be the first time Marines had been sent into battle to uphold an unpopular or even downright evil government.  In some ways, she’d escaped the worst of it – her first action had been on Han – but she’d heard the stories.  Somehow, Marines would go in, kick ass and withdraw ... and the problems would resume within weeks of their departure.  And she knew, from her discussions with the First Speaker, that it was unlikely Thule’s government would make any major concessions.  They wanted to end the war on their terms.

“I was under the impression,” Rzeminski said, after a long moment, “that the Commonwealth had forsworn interference in local affairs.  What – exactly – do you call this?”

“We were invited by the legitimate government of the planet,” Jasmine reminded him.  She knew it was a weak argument, if only because only ten percent of the planet’s population were enfranchised.  “And we had other reasons to want to keep Thule within our sphere of influence.”

“And what would you do,” Rzeminski asked, “if Thule decided to go elsewhere?”

Jasmine suspected that the Commonwealth would – reluctantly – accept Thule’s decision, if it was made freely.  The Commonwealth couldn't hold a member world against its will, not without risking the complete collapse of the entire system.  Too many worlds had only joined on the promise their internal autonomy would be respected.  And the Commonwealth had certainly intended to
keep
that promise ...

That’s the problem, isn't it
?  Her own thoughts asked. 
The promises we made ran into reality.  And reality is that we need all the industrial base we can get
.

“I wish I knew,” Jasmine said, out loud.

“And the vast majority of the planet’s population has been disenfranchised,” Rzeminski pressed.  “How are they meant to vote in a new government when they can no longer vote?”

“The age-old problem,” Jasmine muttered.  She’d undergone theory classes at the Slaughterhouse as well as intensive physical training.  People who were denied legitimate ways to change government policy had the choice between accepting the status quo or outright rebellion.  “But surely if the economy improved ...”

“If it did,” Rzeminski asked, “would that make up for the loss of my family?”

“No, it wouldn't,” Jasmine said.  The file had been barren about just
why
Rzeminski had joined the movement.  “But does the loss of your family justify the mass slaughter you unleashed in the streets of Asgard?”

She pressed on, without bothering to wait for his answer.  “Why did you make contact with outsiders?”

“We needed weapons,” Rzeminski said, with a shrug.  “And where else could we get them?”

Jasmine nodded.  “And what, I wonder, was the price?  Do you even know who you’re dealing with?”

Rzeminski shrugged.  “Does it matter?”

“I’d say it does, yes,” Jasmine snapped.  Deliberate stupidity had never sat well with her.  “What do they get in exchange for helping you?”

“And I say again,” Rzeminski said.  “Does it matter?”

Jasmine looked at him for a long moment, then straightened up.  “I think they’ll have a price for their help,” she said.  “I think they’ll demand it from you, sooner or later.  And I think you may discover that their motives are far from friendly.  You may find yourself in a far worse position by accepting their help.”

Rzeminski shrugged, again.  “Does it matter?”

Jasmine controlled her irritation with an effort.  “I have not yet told the local government that we have you,” she said.  Her voice grew harder as she spoke.  “Once we do, I imagine they will demand that you be handed over to them.  If they don't trigger your implants through interrogating you, they’ll execute you publically as one of the rebel leaders.  A sad end for someone who once wore a Rifleman’s Tab!”

“You don't have any good options,” Rzeminski said, softly.  Oddly, he was looking down at the concrete floor, rather than up at her.  “Nor do you have any good arguments to use against me.  We wanted to be free, we wanted to be decent citizens, not ... not peons, not the victims of a galactic collapse utterly outside our control.  We wanted ...”

“You wanted revenge,” Jasmine snapped.

“If it had been just me, I would have gone on an assassination spree,” Rzeminski said.  “But it isn't just me, is it?”

Jasmine turned and marched out of the cell.  Outside, she took a long moment to calm herself, analysing her own thoughts and feelings.  The hell of it was that she
did
understand his motivations, she understood them all too well.  What would she do, she asked herself, if her husband and family were killed by accident?  Or if she watched as the planet she loved became a nightmare?  Marines weren't trained to sit on their asses and do nothing.  She’d been taught to take the initiative at all times.

So was he
, she thought, morbidly.

She understood him, more than she cared to admit.  But she also knew that, no matter his pretensions to decency, the war had turned savage long before the CEF had arrived.  The war was an endless litany of horror, from assassination attempts that killed families as well as the intended targets to mass counter-terror sweeps that penalised the innocent as well as the guilty.  Entire villages had been rounded up on suspicion of being involved with insurgents, families of government workers and the lucky enfranchised had been exterminated; men, women and children were all dying, slaughtered in a war that was rapidly becoming more and more pointless.  By the time the Zone was completely destroyed, the local forces would be so badly gored that they’d be almost useless.  And the CEF wouldn't be much better.

We could withdraw
, she thought, grimly. 

She
did
have authority to withdraw, if she deemed the situation beyond repair.  But the situation wasn't beyond repair, not if the local government stepped up its act and actually tried to bring the fighting to an end.  It wouldn't be difficult to set up algae farms, she reminded herself, and feed the starving.  And it wouldn't be
that
hard to help people to retrain and take advantage of the opportunities the Commonwealth was bringing to Thule.  Hell, given a few more years, most of the economy might well recover. 

But the local government was being stubborn.

She understood, too, their feelings on the subject.  Their whole system had been designed on the basis that those who paid the bills made the decisions.  Taxpayers were allowed to vote, others – people who weren’t earning money – got no say in how the money was spent.  It was a simple system, a response to the crisis that had overwhelmed and eventually destroyed Earth, but it wasn't designed to cope with a crisis that tossed millions of people out of work and enfranchisement.  They were unmanned at the same time as they lost the work that gave their life meaning.

And even if the local government wanted to make changes, the voters would rebel against it.  Why should
they
make concessions, they would demand;
they
were the ones who made the system work, the ones who actually paid the bills.  They wouldn't want to surrender what they had, even though their survival was largely a matter of luck, rather than judgement.  No trying to make concessions would rip the local government apart.

She considered, very briefly, allying herself with the rebels.  They could overthrow the local government ... and then what?  There would be pogroms and purges as the hatred of five years of bitter war spent itself, while the Commonwealth collapsed into chaos and Wolfbane surged across the border to destroy it while it was weakened.  Maybe she could arrange matters so she was the only one who was blamed ... but it wouldn't matter.  The Commonwealth would still be doomed.

The thought made her snort.  She doubted that one in a million Commonwealth citizens had even
heard
of Thule.  God knew she hadn't until she'd started reading up on new member worlds, worlds that might – one day – become a battleground.  But Thule might become the catalyst for a war that would rip the Commonwealth apart.  Or perhaps there would be no war, merely ... an end to the united government. 

Councillor Travis will be pleased
, she thought, darkly. 
Whatever decision I make here is almost certain to be the wrong one
.