The Empire’s Corps: Book 01 - The Empire's Corps (55 page)

One of the girls looked up at him. “But who will look after the shop?”

Her plaintive voice sent an oddly protective feeling rushing down Michael’s spine, followed by a flash of pure rage, directed not at the girls, but at the Council. It just didn't seem fair, somehow, that they should have a chance at a better life while Michael and his counterparts remained stuck in the slums, weighed down by debts they’d never assumed. If he got through the war alive, he vowed, there would be a reckoning. The Marines had taught him that uncomfortable realities could be changed with a little effort. The Council was more isolated than it knew.

“We’ll come back,” he promised, and beckoned to them. Slowly, they followed him down the stairs. “Come on.”

The two soldiers at the bottom had already rigged the wall to blow. At Michael’s command, they trigged the blast, sending the wall tumbling down. The next-door shop was deserted, thankfully, but Michael took no chances. As soon as they were through, they were already blowing their way into the next one and the next. There was no sign of anyone until they hit the sixth store, where they ran into a group of Crackers who had clearly been waiting for them to come walking down the road, somehow missing the sounds of their transit through the walls. The soldiers opened fire at point-blank range and killed them before they had a chance to react.

Michael heard a scream behind him and remembered the girls. They hadn’t even had the casual exposure to violence that marked someone growing up in Camelot’s slums; they’d grown up somewhere safe, where everyone could be trusted. The lucky bitches...he bit off that thought and silently prayed that they wouldn't be too traumatised by what they saw. He checked the bodies quickly, confirmed that they were dead, and then led his men into the final shop. They’d have to move quickly now. It wouldn't be long before the Crackers realised what was happening, if they didn't already know.

“Outside, now,” he snapped, and led two men out into the open. The air, which had been fresh and clear only thirty minutes ago – it felt like years, somehow – now stank of burning flesh and smoke. The towering pillars of smoke hadn't abated at all, although the sound of shooting seemed to have faded. He saw a pair of armed men swinging around to cover them and fired twice, knocking one of them down and sending the other diving for cover. There had been no time to wait and see if they were hostile, but they’d been in the middle of a war zone. “Come on!”

The sound of shooting grew louder as they double-timed it back towards the base. The whole environment was taking on an increasingly surreal appearance; in places, it was blackened by gunfire and helicopter missiles and in other places it was normal, just as it had been before all hell broke loose. He caught sight of a smaller and broken body lying by the side of the road and had to swallow hard to prevent himself from vomiting. The child – male or female; it was impossible to tell – had been shot in the head by a heavy weapon and had been left headless, completely beyond hope of salvation. His heart almost broke when he saw the doll on the ground, a few steps beyond its former owner. He wanted to study the body, to work out who had killed her and seek justice, but the truth was that it could have been either side. The child had simply been caught in the middle of the fighting and cut down in passing. No one could have mistaken her for a threat.

They rounded the corner and he swore under his breath. The enemy had established a barricade across the road, trying to prevent anyone from coming out of the base. He grinned suddenly, realising that the Crackers hadn't realised that his force was coming right up their rear end, and issued orders to his men using hand signals. The
crump-crump-crump
of a mortar started up as one of the enemy fighters started to open fire, tossing shells towards the base. Michael motioned the girls into cover, cursing himself for bringing them right into the heart of danger, and opened fire. The enemy were taken completely by surprise.

He keyed his radio as they blew through the defenders, sending the survivors scurrying for cover. “Dispatch; enemy position under attack,” he snapped, knowing that the dispatcher would have located him the moment he started transmitting. “We need support as quickly as possible; I say again, we need support as quickly as possible!”

“Understood,” the dispatcher said. “Help is on the way.”

***

Jasmine threw a grenade into a room, waited for it to detonate and jumped inside, rifle at the ready. The final house had been a nightmarish combination of traps and enemy fighters, suggesting that they’d either intended to confuse the Marines or had been caught before they’d managed to withdraw from the area. A dead enemy leered at her before falling to the floor, allowing her to step back and survey the entire room. It was empty. It was also going to need a heavy repair job before someone could use it again. With soldier and even a Marine down, no one was interested in taking chances.

“Clear,” she reported, as she slipped back outside into the hallway. It was blackened, the remains of an IED that had thrown ball bearings towards the Marines when they’d detonated it. Only long experience had kept them back far enough to avoid another casualty. “Dispatch; house is clear. I say again; house is clear.”

“Copy that,” the dispatcher said. New orders blinked up in front of her eyes, displayed by her helmet. “Some of the locals need your help.”

Jasmine surveyed the orders quickly and then fired off a stream of her own orders to her fire squad, ordering them outside to meet up with the rest of the platoon. As soon as they were out, they started to run up the street, disregarding the increasingly accurate shots from Cracker snipers. The armour could handle most of it and the remainder had their own problems. With helicopters overhead and AFVs advancing behind the Marines, the Cracker resistance was slowly starting to melt away. The battle had lasted barely an hour. It wouldn't even have been that long if there had been a Regiment of Marines in the town.

This was a nice town once
, she thought sourly, as they turned the corner and ran right towards the Crackers, firing on automatic. They might not have been able to believe their eyes, she knew; they’d only faced the Civil Guard before and the Guard wouldn't do something as insane as charging an enemy position. Jasmine’s thoughts were moving slower than her body and the reflexes she’d learned from the harshest training course in the Empire. The Crackers wouldn't be able to
see
her as anything other than a blur. They slashed into them as if they were made of paper...

And then, suddenly, it was all over. The Crackers broke contact and faded away, leaving the Marines and the new soldiers to mourn their dead. Jasmine found her body shaking as she slowed down from combat reflexes, trying to relax. It wasn't easy. The bandits had been easy prey. If the Crackers had had equal training and weapons...she wasn't sure how the battle would have turned out.

“All units, return to base,” the dispatcher ordered. “I say again...”

“I heard,” Jasmine grunted. “We’re on our way.”

***

Michael wanted to take off his helmet and pour cold water onto his head, but he didn't quite dare, not until they were safely back in the base. The AFVs and armoured Marines had formed a guard of honour for the new soldiers, covering their backs as they limped towards the base, but Michael had no illusions. They didn't look like real soldiers, not now. They looked like sweaty tramps and probably smelled bad as well. The thought couldn't even make him smile, for he felt as if he had aged a hundred years overnight. The combat had finished, but the scars it had left on his soul would never fade.

“Thank you,” he said, as one of the base’s small complement of staff took care of the girls. The new soldiers were pointed towards their barracks and bunks, but Michael was too exhausted to even
try
to get into the shower. He pulled off his helmet and body armour as soon as they were safely inside the barracks and then sat down hard on the ground, unable to remain upright any longer. He had never dreamed, he had never realised, he had never understood...not until he was too late. He felt the shaking welling up from somewhere deep inside and he was no longer able to resist it. The shakes swept through his entire body, leaving him shivering on the ground. He’d been in battle; he’d survived...somehow. Not all of the men under his command had been so lucky.

He knew that he should be seeing to them, that he should be carrying out his duties, but he couldn't muster the energy. If the Crackers had launched another attack, he would have been unable to resist and he didn't think that any of his platoon would have been in any better condition. He couldn't believe just how quickly the entire situation had simply collapsed into hell, or just how much damage both sides had done to the town. What would it be like, he asked himself, if they ever had to fight such a battle in Camelot itself?

“Hey,” a voice said. He looked up to see the female Marine; Jasmine, her name was. “Are you all right?”

“No,” Michael growled. All the frustrations boiled up inside him. “I got some of my men killed. I might as well have killed them myself.”

“Don’t think like that,” Jasmine advised, dryly. “It doesn't make it any easier.”

Michael looked up at her. She didn't look tired, yet he knew she had to be tired, even though she’d been at the base rather than trapped in an isolated shop. “They knew that this was a populated town and they decided to fight in it,” he protested. “What sort of monsters are we fighting?”

“The weapons of the weak,” Jasmine said, coldly. “Even Kappa Company could have beaten them in the open before they were disbanded. What did you expect from them? Did you expect that they would line up and be slaughtered?”

“I expected...I don't know what I expected,” Michael admitted. “I thought that training was bad.”

“It’s bad for a reason,” Jasmine said. “But you’re right. Open warfare is worse.”

She patted him on the shoulder. “You did all right, for your first engagement,” she added. “I did far worse on mine, despite going through the Slaughterhouse. You did fine.”

“Thanks,” Michael said, sourly. “It's no consolation.”

“No,” Jasmine agreed. “It never is. On the other hand, you can only lose your virginity once.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

The core goal of an insurgency is to erode the government’s control and eventually cause it to collapse. The government, often having more resources on hand than the insurgents, cannot easily be toppled, unless its will can be broken. As so much else, it is mainly a matter of perception. To consider two pre-spaceflight examples, both the United States of America and France fought counter-insurgency campaigns in Vietnam and Algeria respectively. Both sides secured a military victory, but by the time they won the war the political will to win no longer existed and the wars were declared ‘lost.’

-Major-General Thomas Kratman (Ret), A Marine’s Guide to Insurgency.

“Is it ever going to end?”

Edward looked up sharply at the Governor. The war had barely touched Camelot yet, but they both knew that it was just a matter of time. The Crackers had proven tougher than he’d realised and the fighting was rapidly spreading out of control. The Marines, the Army of Avalon and the Civil Guard were badly overstretched, even though they possessed vastly superior firepower to their enemies.

“It's been five days,” the Governor continued, blankly. “Is it ever going to stop?”

Edward shrugged. After the first battles, when the Crackers had concentrated on hitting as many bases and patrols as possible, the fighting had dulled down to a steady series of attacks and counter-attacks. The bases were regularly attacked, while patrols in the towns and countryside found themselves under open and covert attack. Five Marines had been killed, along with over forty new soldiers and Civil Guardsmen. The Crackers, by the most optimistic count, had lost around seventy fighters, a low total considering the intensity of the fighting. It was hard to know for sure. They had a habit of removing their bodies from the battlefield if possible. Edward would have admitted that under other circumstances.

A new contact report flashed up on the main terminal and he scowled down at it. A convoy of supply trucks had come under fire briefly; the attackers had broken contact and vanished when the convoy’s escorts had returned fire. It was just another harassing raid designed to keep his men and women tired and exhausted and he had to admit that it was working. Raids into Cracker-held territory, locating bases fingered by captured prisoners, had yielded little. The Crackers had taken the art of operational security to a whole new level. If Edward hadn't known better, he would have wondered if the Crackers had been studying Marine textbooks on insurgent warfare. Their targets were carefully picked and targeted, while civilians were kept out of the crossfire as much as possible. Even so, there were over seventy confirmed civilian dead in the fighting.

“It will stop when we beat them,” Edward said, projecting an image of calm he didn't feel. It was important to reassure the Governor, for he looked as if he were on the verge of coming apart. He’d had enough problems grasping the fact that the Council had tried to diminish his authority, let alone the fundamentals of insurgent warfare. The important thing was that they didn't lose their nerve. “They are not gods, Governor.”

“It’s easy for you to say,” the Governor protested. “What’s to stop them from trying to cut Camelot off from our food supplies?”

Edward knew that that was a problem, although they had handled it by amassing stores since the Marines had landed, preparing for a siege. The insurgents probably couldn't impose a physical blockade of Camelot – not unless they had enough heavy weapons to take the city in one fell swoop – but they could intimidate or harass farmers into refusing to send their produce to the city. They might not even need to be unpleasant about it. Half of the farmers – if not more – were either Crackers themselves or shared their goals. Edward had, very quietly, deployed a pair of his medics to keep a careful eye on the incoming food. Poison would probably wipe out a third of the city if it was used properly.