Retreat Hell (36 page)

It was possible, he knew, that the answer to the question was
no
.  The Empire’s Grand Senate hadn't cared for autonomous worlds, let alone independent star systems.  Thule might have been wealthy, by the standards of the nearby sectors, but she was quite poor by the standards of the Core Worlds.  Daniel’s predecessors had known there was a risk that, one day, a corporation might push the Empire into making a grab for Thule.  But even that would have been preferable to outright war.

“I see,” he said, swallowing hard.  “Do we have an ETA?”

“Four hours, assuming they maintain their current speed,” the operator said.

“Alert the orbital defences,” Daniel ordered.  “The enemy fleet is not to enter orbit.”

He turned to see General Erwin Adalbert striding into the compartment.  “General?”

“It doesn't look good,” Adalbert said.  “We can only assume the worst.”

Daniel nodded, contemplating his options.  Could they force the enemy fleet to stay away from the planet?  It didn't seem likely – and even if they did, the enemy ships could simply obliterate the asteroid mining stations, the cloudscoops ... and everything else Thule needed to keep going.  Hell, they could just sit outside engagement range and hurl rocks towards the planet’s defences, draining their supplies as they struggled to intercept each and every rock before it hit something vital.  Or would they threaten the planet itself?

It was easy, shockingly easy, to depopulate an entire planet.  Daniel hadn't known the half of it until his first briefings, after being elected into office.  Long-range strikes with asteroids pushed up to a fair percentage of light speed, engineered viruses, radioactive warheads ... there were no shortage of tricks a ruthless enemy could pull.  But there had been no planet-killing strike for thousands of years.  Even the Nihilists on Earth had never tried to slaughter an entire planet’s population. 

But if they did that
, he thought,
surely the Commonwealth would retaliate in kind
?

He sighed.  “Have they contacted us at all?”

“No,” Adalbert said.  “They haven't even tried to demand our surrender.”

Daniel sat back in his chair and watched, feeling a growing sense of helplessness, as the enemy fleet slowly closed in on the planet.  The Commonwealth’s squadron was pulling away from the planet, heading out on a course that would allow it to enter engagement range of the enemy fleet, but somehow Daniel knew it wouldn't be enough.  He envied the operators in the bunker, wishing that he had something to do, something that would distract him from the doom advancing towards his world.  What would
happen
to Thule if Wolfbane occupied the planet?

“Picking up a signal,” one of the operator said.

“Put it on the screen,” Adalbert ordered.

A dark-skinned woman materialised on the display, sitting on the bridge of a starship.  “This is Admiral Singh, speaking on behalf of the Wolfbane Consortium,” she said.  “A state of war exists between the Commonwealth and Wolfbane.  You are ordered to surrender your star system to my fleet or face attack.  You have five minutes to signal your surrender.”

Daniel frowned.  The name was familiar.  “Admiral Singh?”

“She used to rule Corinthian,” Adalbert said.  “Assuming it’s the same woman, of course.”

Daniel swallowed.  “We can't surrender,” he said, finally.  “Order the defences to repel attack.”

Adalbert nodded, wordlessly.  “Yes, sir,” he said.  “I’ll send the orders at once.”

Five minutes passed slowly.  The enemy fleet didn't bother to send a second message demanding surrender.  Instead, it launched another flight of drones and picked up speed, shortening the time to engagement,  Daniel watched, helplessly, as the two fleets converged on one another.  Somehow, he was sure it wouldn't be enough.

Another set of alarms sounded.  “Intruder alert,” someone snapped.  “I say again ...”

The entire bunker shook, violently.  Someone had attacked the mansion, Daniel realised in horror, as half of the displays went blank.  They’d been cut off from the planetary datanet!  The bunker shook again, and again ... and then cracks appeared in the ceiling.  Daniel looked up, shocked, as pieces of debris began to fall to the ground.  They’d told him the bunker was utterly secure.  Had the enemy sneaked a starship into orbit and dropped KEWs or armour-busting warheads?  Or ...

“Get out of here,” Adalbert snapped, yanking him to his feet.  “Move ...”

There was a thunderous roar as the roof caved in.  Daniel had a moment to think about his wife and child ... and then nothing, nothing at all.

Undeterred, the social scientists tried again.  This time, they focused on the issue of shipping guns to the various warring factions and convinced the Grand Senate to order an embargo on weapons shipments.  The Grand Senate was bitterly hoplophobic, fearing (quite reasonably) that weapons would end up being pointed at their servants, so this was not a hard sell.  Unsurprisingly, this decision also failed to take note of certain local realities.

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

Jasmine heard the explosion in the distance and swore out loud.  “What was that?”

Michael looked down at his terminal.  “Explosion – a major explosion – in the city centre,” he said.  There was a long pause.  “Brigadier, the First Speaker’s mansion is gone!”

“Shit,” Jasmine said.  The enemy had clearly had plans to decapitate the government as soon as it refused to surrender.  If the blast had been powerful enough, it might have destroyed the bunker under the mansion ... or had they managed to sneak someone through vetting and trigger the bunker’s self-destruct?  It didn't seem likely.  “Do we have anything, anything at all, from the First Speaker or the local military?”

“No,” Michael said, after a long moment.  “And a chaos virus is infecting their systems.”

And we taught her how to do it
, Jasmine thought, bitterly.  She’d used similar tactics to break Admiral Singh’s grip on Corinthian.  Now, Admiral Singh had returned – and she’d learned from Jasmine’s tactics, using them against her.  The Admiral might have superior firepower, but she was playing it carefully, unbalancing her opponents as much as possible before entering engagement range.  All hell was about to break loose.

Michael muttered a curse under his breath, then looked embarrassed.  “We have reports of shootings, bomb attacks and mortar fire at a dozen local government bases,” he added.  “And no one seems to know who is in charge.”

Jasmine gritted her teeth.  Thule didn’t stand a chance, not now.  Even if they located someone in the chain of command who was still alive, they wouldn't be able to re-establish control until long after Admiral Singh was in orbit.  By then, it would be far too late.  She glanced up as she heard a handful of explosions in the distance, then looked back at the display.  There wasn't much time to act ... if, of course, there was anything they could do.

“Keep funnelling men up to the transports,” she ordered, shortly.  “Contact the units near the Zone and order them to make their way back to the spaceport, through Riverside.  All heavy equipment is to be abandoned in place.”

Michael blinked.  “Brigadier?”

“There’s no time to transport it home,” Jasmine snapped.  Losing it would be irritating – it would be costly to replace everything they’d brought to Thule – but she needed the trained manpower more than she needed the equipment.  Assuming the Colonel left her in command of the CEF after this.  She hated to admit it, yet there was no choice.  She'd screwed up rather badly more than once.  “Send the orders.”

She stood and strode out of the room, towards the makeshift prison cell.  Joe Buckley and two of his Marines stood guard outside the cell, exchanging grim looks.  They were all experienced enough to understand just how bad the situation had become.

“Go see to the loading,” Jasmine ordered, shortly.  None of her men had practiced loading under pressure.  It was possible, alarmingly so, that discipline would break down as the enemy fleet grew closer.  “Leave me here.”

Buckley gave her a surprised look.  “Jasmine ...”

“Not now,” Jasmine snapped.  “I need you to handle the loading.”

She waited until they were gone, then opened the door and stepped inside.  Pete Rzeminski was seated on the chair, looking up at her curiously.  Jasmine hesitated, then knelt down beside him and met his eyes.  He looked ... more curious than afraid.

“Going to leave me with a pistol and a single bullet?”  He asked, finally.  “Or are you going to execute me yourself?”

“There’s a large fleet bearing down on the planet and the First Speaker is dead,” Jasmine said, shortly.  “Or at least we
assume
he’s dead.  There’s nothing left of his mansion, but a big heap of smouldering rubble.”

“You should know the dangers of assuming anything,” Rzeminski said, dryly.  “What do you want from me?”

“We’re withdrawing from the planet – or trying to,” Jasmine said.  “I’m going to let you go, in exchange for you going underground.  When Wolfbane starts abusing the planet’s population, I want you to lead resistance to their occupation.”

Rzeminski smiled.  “Don’t you think you’re taking one hell of a chance?”

Jasmine smiled back, coldly.  “The alternative is shooting you in the head now,” she said.  “I think my career has just hit a roadblock anyway.”

“A large enemy fleet would be one hell of a roadblock,” Rzeminski smiled.  “But what will your superiors say?”

“Under the circumstances,” Jasmine sighed, “I may never find out.”

She stood and stared down at him.  “I have no more time,” she warned.  “Decide now; death or resistance.”

“Resistance,” Rzeminski said.

Jasmine started to undo the cuffs securing his hands.  It was one hell of a chance, just as he’d said, but there was no alternative apart from executing him herself.  Besides, she suspected that it wouldn't be long before the planet's population grew tired of Wolfbane’s presence and started plotting a second insurgency.  Rzeminski would be able to train up new insurgents and give them a fighting chance.

“That feels much better,” Rzeminski said, as he rubbed his wrists.  “Do you think whoever designed this chair was a bondage freak?”

Jasmine scowled as she released his legs, keeping a wary eye on him as she moved.  “I remember breaking out of a prison cell when I had half a chance,” she countered.  “We didn't want to lose you, did we?”

She straightened up, allowing him to pull himself free of the straps and stand.  “And yet,” he said, “you’re letting me go now.”

“Yes,” Jasmine said.  “I think you’ll cause as much trouble for Wolfbane as you caused for us, perhaps more.  But I’d advise you to be careful with their weapons.  You never know what they might have included in the software.”

She led him out of the building, then escorted him towards the gates.  “Have a good one,” she said, as they stopped and waited for the guards to open the barricades.  “And try not to get caught before the planet is occupied.”

“Thanks,” Rzeminski said, dryly.  He smiled at her.  “Can I tell you something?”

Jasmine nodded.

“You were promoted too far, too fast,” Rzeminski said.  “I’d bet you’re at your best in small-unit actions – most Marines are.  But large-scale operations are a little different.  You let me lead you by the nose more than once.”

Jasmine gritted her teeth in frustration, but said nothing.  He was right.

“Goodbye,” Rzeminski said.

Jasmine watched him walk away from the spaceport, then turned and strode back towards her office.  Despite her glib words, she knew she might well have destroyed her career by letting him go.  But she did have wide authority and besides, there were few other alternatives.  Admiral Singh, she knew, wouldn't have shown him mercy when she occupied the planet, if he’d still been a prisoner.

Absently, she wondered just how Admiral Singh had linked up with Wolfbane and become a commander in their navy.  Perhaps she’d escaped Corinthian with enough ships to make her a major player, despite her non-existent supply base.  Or perhaps she was the best Governor Brown had been able to find.  She
had
managed to take and hold a small empire of her own until Jasmine had taken it from her, through subversion and a careful plan to hit her at her weakest point.  And it had worked.

And if she catches you now
, she thought coldly,
she will kill you
.

Michael looked up as she entered the office.  “I’ve got several units on the way back from the Zone,” he said, “but others are taking fire from enemy positions.  They're having to cut their way through.

“Understood,” Jasmine said.  “Keep me informed.”

She shook her head.  There was nothing she could do, save wait and pray she managed to get enough men out before Admiral Singh entered orbit.  After that ... she’d have to make a choice between going underground on a planet that largely hated the CEF or surrendering to Admiral Singh.  And
that
wouldn't be a pleasant experience at all. 

Let’s hope Mandy manages to deter her
, she thought. 
Even a day’s delay would be enough to get everyone out of the trap
.

***

“Sniper!”

“I see the bastard,” Thomas snapped, as he ducked behind an armoured car.  The insurgents either hadn't realised the CEF was retreating or were intent on hounding them as much as possible.  They’d been hit by snipers, IEDs and even a rush of fighters that had been swiftly wiped out.  “I’ll get him.”

He took aim as the sniper revealed himself again and fired, once.  The body fell from the rooftop and landed somewhere in the alleyway.  He gritted his teeth as he swept the weapon over the rest of the houses, looking for targets, but found nothing.  The local civilians, he hoped, were either keeping their heads down or had had the common sense to evacuate the entire area.

We should have moved them into the DP camps
, he thought.  But the last thing he’d heard from the camps had claimed that there were riots in three of them, along with one of the POW camps.  The guards had had to seal the fences and then start their own trek towards the spaceport. 
Or maybe we should just have flattened the Zone from orbit
.

He jumped back into the AFV as the driver gunned the engine, sending it rushing forward at high speed.  The handheld drone he’d launched showed no sign of anything large enough to bar their way, as far as he could tell, but it hadn't spotted the sniper either.  But at least they could rush through any other sniper attacks, rather than having to slow down to deal with them.

His communicator buzzed.  “IED strike; AFV 34,” it said.  “Vehicle disabled; I say again, vehicle disabled.”

Thomas swallowed the vilest curse he knew.  The front line – what had once been an organised front line – was dissolving into absolute chaos.  Some local units had maintained their discipline, others had fragmented into individuals or simply started firing into the Zone, as if they wanted to crush the insurgents before Wolfbane’s forces arrived.  The shattered communications net didn't help; Thomas had tried to contact one unit, only to be told he didn't have the right communications codes and if he tried to contact them again he would be fired upon.  Judging from the other comments on the radio, several units
had
ended up firing on other friendly units.

Friendly fire isn't
, he reminded himself.

He keyed his communicator, then glanced at a map.  “Abandon the vehicle,” he ordered.  Normally, he would have preferred to recover the AFV – the vehicles were designed to be cannibalised, if they couldn't be repaired – but there was no time.  “Get out of the area ASAP.”

He rubbed his forehead as he heard the acknowledgements from the vehicle’s crew.  If there had been time to do some proper planning ... but there hadn't been any time, not really.  Instead of an orderly withdrawal, they were heading out along roads that might well be mined, operating in scattered units rather than as a group.  Hell, if they kept spreading out, they’d be completely isolated soon enough.  And then they’d be overrun piece by piece.

The AFV lurched to a halt as a group of insurgents appeared ahead of them, firing rifles towards the armoured vehicle.  Its gunners returned fire with machine guns, no longer bothering to conserve ammunition; the insurgents, caught by the bullets, were literally ripped apart into chunks of bloody flesh.  Behind them, one of their fellows launched an RPG, which – thankfully – went wide of its intended target.

“Contact the spaceport,” Thomas ordered, grimly.  They would be delayed ... and the delays would keep mounting up until it was too late.  “Give them our revised ETA.”

***

Mustapha Wellington hadn't found it hard to blend into Thule’s society.  Unlike the world of his birth, Thule prided itself on being cosmopolitan; as long as someone was prepared to work they were more than welcome.  There were so many different faces – natural faces as well as the results of bioengineering – that it was quite hard to be actually
noticed
.  He’d kept his head down, worked as a waiter in a criminal-run dive and kept himself in readiness for the moment the call arrived.

When it did, he walked out on his employer and returned to his apartment, where he recovered the HVM from the hidden compartment under the floorboards.  Keeping it so close had been a risk, particularly since the local forces had begun random sweeps for weapons, but there hadn't been anywhere else he’d cared to hide it.  A HVM in usable condition would be worth enough credits to his employers to encourage them to take it from him, perhaps putting a knife in his back if he dared to complain.  But no one apart from him knew that it was there.