Guerrilla (The Royal Marine Space Commandos Book 2)

by Jon Evans

  “We’re all familiar with the protocols, Smith,” said Grimes, his strong Yorkshire accent carried over from his youth and thriving, hundreds of light years from home, “and we need to give Captain Atticus a chance to speak.”

  “Thank you, Mr Grimes,” said Atticus, somewhat relieved that the taciturn head of civil engineering was taking part in the discussion.

  “Don’t thank me yet, son, I haven’t done anything for you, and we’re still deep in the shit,” said Grimes, demonstrating an admirable, if gruff, honesty that Atticus hadn’t expected from members of this council.

  “Our agenda is short,” said Atticus in an attempt to move things along, “as is our time. The enemy fleet is only days away, there may be troops still on the ground that we don’t know about and we don’t know when we will be reinforced. That means we need to evacuate the city, move our vital equipment to safe, easily defended positions and conscript every person who can be spared into a militia. The goal will be simply to survive long enough for the fleet to arrive and effect a rescue.”

  “Evacuate?” said Smith, “Are you mad? This is our home, we can’t just abandon it to the enemy!” Atticus opened his mouth to explain but it seemed Smith wasn’t the only councillor unhappy with his suggestions.

  “I must agree with my colleague,” said Liz Sharp, deputy chief medical officer and the most senior doctor in the colony while her superior was in the queue for a new clone body, “we have injured people in the hospital and more equipment than we can feasibly move. Evacuation isn't an option.”

  “And even if it were,” interjected Smith, leaning forward and wagging his finger again to emphasise his points, “even if it were, we’ve nowhere to go. So no, we’ll have to stay in the city, it’s as simple as that.” The Captain was beginning to find the finger-wagging irritating and he briefly considered grabbing the offending digit.

  Atticus looked around the group and saw the heads nodding in agreement. This was going to be more difficult than he had hoped. He sighed, a peculiarly aggressive sound in his borrowed body, and placed his hands flat on the table.

  “Ladies, gentlemen. We have to be realistic about what is militarily possible and strategically achievable. We’ll be fighting a guerrilla war, striking hard and moving quickly to confuse the enemy and disrupt their plans. My force isn’t large enough to defend the city, so if we stay, everyone will die.” He paused to emphasise the point then continued just as the councillors realised he had paused. “If we evacuate, some at least will probably avoid body death and we should have an opportunity to recover everyone else.” He paused again to look around the room, assessing the continuing unease at abandoning the city.

  “So let’s just look at how we’ll manage the evacuation,” he said, moving on just as Sharp raised her hand to speak.

  “How many people are left in the city?” he asked, trying to keep the discussion moving, “And what options do we have to move them?”

  And now everyone spoke at once. Smith wanted to talk about the practicalities of moving large numbers of people, Sharp was witheringly critical of any suggestion that the hospital would have to move or even change, and Grimes’ deep voice growled out his scepticism about the difficulties of repositioning civil facilities and heavy equipment. Atticus could feel his patience being buried in a stream of administrative objections.

  Then the door opened and, to Atticus’ considerable relief, Governor Denmead walked into the council chamber. She looked awful, her face pale and her arm heavily strapped. The room fell silent as she walked slowly to her chair and waited pointedly until Smith pulled it out for her so that she could sit. Then she looked around at the councillors and senior personnel that ran Ashton.

  “We begin the evacuation of the city today. Captain Atticus and I have already reviewed the situation and agreed on a plan that maximises our chances of survival. This plan will now be put into operation.” She paused to take a deep breath and give her words time to sink in. “You are all, individually, welcome to stay here if you choose but your assistance in the execution of this plan is required and expected. Is that clear?”

  “But the patients in the hospital,” Sharp began.

  “Will be evacuated along with everyone else. You have a contingency plan for this sort of thing, I believe Doctor?”

  “Well, yes, it's a standard protocol for all colonies in the event of a disaster, but we never expected to actually need it,” the hospital administrator whined.

  “No, I dare say you didn’t. Nonetheless, we are facing just such a disaster and this is not the first time a British colony has had to evacuate a hospital during an emergency. The protocols for doing so are well established, so please activate your plan.”

  “What about the fabrication plants?” asked Smith as Sharp, defeated, began tapping instructions into her tablet, “We can’t just unplug the manufactories and simply plonk them down somewhere else, and we’ll need all the production capacity we can get. How are we going to manage that?”

  “The Redcliffe cave system was earmarked for just this sort of eventuality,” said Denmead, “as you all know from the extensive planning meetings of last year.” Extensive, detailed and very, very long. “Work began on the caves in the middle of last year and, incomplete though they are, we will be moving there immediately.”

  Smith blinked and shared a look with Grimes.

  “The fabricator plants aren’t ready, Governor,” said Grimes, “it’ll take months just to finish the foundations and prepare the ground, not to mention the time needed to actually move and install the larger manufactory units.”

  “You have five days,” said Atticus, “and the smaller fabs need to be up and running by this evening.”

  “What?” said Smith, “That’s outrageous! Governor, I must protest. We must have time to do the work properly.”

  “Well, we don’t have time. Either we get the fabs installed and working or we’re finished. You're quite right; we need all the manufacturing capacity we can get, both for the colonists and to supply Captain Atticus,” Denmead stared coldly at Smith and spared a little glare for Grimes as well, who looked like he might object. “This is war, gentlemen, and we can’t hamper our chances by constraining our supply of vital materiel.”

  “The cloning bays also need to be relocated,” said Atticus, piling on the pressure, “because we’re going to make heavy use of them. We need them running constantly, so they need to be continuously supplied with raw materials and power.”

  Grimes sat back in his chair, scrolling through something on his tablet and muttering under his breath. Smith just shook his head, still not able to grasp the scale of the undertaking.

  “I’ve triggered the hospital’s contingency plan,” said Sharp, looking up from her data slate, “we have around a hundred patients in the wards plus beds and equipment for another hundred. The first people can be moved within thirty minutes, and the building can be clear by the end of the day.”

  “Good, thank you, Doctor,” said Denmead, satisfied that something, finally, was beginning to happen.

  “We’ll need transport, of course, and somewhere to set up shop.” She paused as Denmead raised an eyebrow. “It’s thirty kilometres to the caves, Governor, and we don’t keep enough ATVs to move everyone and everything that distance in the time allowed. You’ll need to find us some lifters.”

  “Leave that to me,” said Atticus, “I have a squad out scavenging for working or repairable vehicles. You’re their top priority.”

  “And what about the conditions at the caves, Mr Grimes?” asked Governor Denmead, “How are we for power, water, space etc.?”

  “Let me just get the latest report,” muttered Grimes, flicking at his tablet, “ok, there are two small fusion generators in the deepest part of the system, so power should be fine. They’re up and running, providing emergency power to the city. We’ll divert the cables, no problem.

  “Water is more complicated but we have a filtration system and some tanks in place. They were inte
nded for hydroponics, of course, but they produce potable water. We’ll need to run hoses and channel additional pipes and tanks into the network to cope with the load. Water will be in short supply for a few weeks at least. There won’t be enough for bathing but we won’t die of thirst.”

  “Good, thank you,” Denmead said.

  “Floor space is more difficult. Levelling the caverns takes a very great deal of work and it wasn't a high priority task, so we’ve been doing it only when we needed to. There’s a rudimentary road network so that you can drive to and into the caves but, beyond that, it’s fairly ad hoc. Same with the walkways. Some of the caverns have raised paths, some have paths ground into the floor, but most don’t have anything, at all, yet.”

  “We have some patients that need sterile environments, Mr Grimes,” Sharp said.

  He nodded. “There are some prefabricated building units that could be assembled in the caves and they would be at least as sterile as your hospital. Probably better, as they're completely new.”

  “Our hospital is completely clean, Mr Grimes,” said Sharp, testily.

  “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything, Doctor,” Grimes said, “but newer buildings should be easy to control and cleanse.”

  Denmead waved her hands, “Ladies and gentlemen, we don't have time for these sorts of arguments. Dr Sharp, I'm sure the hospital is normally clean, and we'll do whatever we can to provide you with as many sterile rooms as possible, but resources are limited. Mr Grimes, I'll need you to work with Dr Sharp to establish how many prefabricated units are needed. Dr Sharp, I need you to pare everything to the bone, only the minimum facilities necessary to support your patients.”

  Dr Sharp opened her mouth, clearly about to protest, but Denmead held up her hand, “No. I'm sorry Doctor, I understand you must have objections but we don't have the luxury of providing casualties the standard of care you're used to. You are not setting up a civilian hospital facility, you are going to be running a military field hospital. I need you to cope with the bare minimum you can. If we can spare resources later then you’ll have them but right now we're facing a harsh choice; either we supply Captain Atticus, his Marines and our own militia, or New Bristol will become an occupied world.”

  Grimes spoke up, “We can get you enough pre-fabricated units, Doctor, I just need to discuss numbers with you. The rest of the beds might have to be in open cavern space with improvised flooring that won't all be on the same level. It'll be well lit, and the temperature in the caves is pretty constant. Unfortunately, the fabricators can’t operate without being level so the majority of the existing foamcrete floor spaces will have to be used for manufacturing space.”

  “We’ll cope,” said Sharp, standing up, “but I need to go. There is much to oversee, especially with Flint offline for the foreseeable future.” She looked to the Governor for permission to leave, and Denmead nodded. Sharp was already talking into her comm before she had left the room.

  The Governor turned to Smith, the manager of the production facilities. “Mr Smith?”

  “Hmm, what?” said Smith, looking up from his data slate. “Oh, yes, sorry. Well, er, tricky,” he said, sucking air through his teeth, “we can relocate the smaller fabs easily enough - they’ll fit on the standard transport sleds. The larger fabs will need the heavy transport lifters because they're too big to be moved that distance with a sled over rough ground. We can get them out of the buildings and then they need to be airlifted.”

  Smith sighed heavily. “The problem is, the lifters are designed for efficiency not speed so they aren't quick and we need them for anything heavy or bulky. That means we don't have lots of spare transport capacity to move the cloning pods and the supporting equipment to the cave. Would it be possible to use the drop-ships that the Lieutenant captured?”

  Atticus nodded and made a note, “Yes, for the next few days until the fleet is close enough to pick up their movement. I’ll ask Colour Sergeant Jenkins to be your liaison on that as soon as she’s been decanted into her new clone. She’ll get you a window that will minimise the risk of dropships being detected as you move your materials. The same restrictions will apply to the transport lifters; they have a smaller signature but could still be picked up by enemy scanning and, obviously, we don’t want to reveal the location of our base. Once the window closes, we’ll have to mothball any air or spacecraft but that’s a discussion for another time. You should move the heaviest gear as early as possible.”

  “So really it’s just a question of time, space and materials. Relocating everything in five days is going to be very challenging, especially as half my people are either dead or missing,” said Smith, frowning at his tablet again.

  “I know your teams were badly hit, Phil,” said Governor Denmead sympathetically, “but anything you can do would help. Drones, arms and ammunition are the immediate priorities. We have to know what’s going on and we need tools to defend ourselves. After that, larger items like, oh, tanks, or something.”

  “Armour and larger-calibre specialist weapons are likely to be more useful than tanks,” said Atticus, “I’ll have Lieutenant Warden bring you a list of our needs, if that would help?”

  “It will, thank you, Captain. And I’ve got a few ideas about how we might provide you with drones and other light equipment. Let me look into that, and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Is there anything else you need, Mr Smith?” Denmead asked.

  “Only everything we haven’t got,” he said, “but it wouldn’t be a challenge if there weren’t a few tricky bits.”

  “Good. Let me know if anything comes up. Carry on.”

  “By the way, I've been meaning to ask, do we have a name for the cave site, Governor?” Smith asked, “I think it would help during discussions.”

  “Does anyone which to suggest something?” Denmead asked.

  Atticus coughed, “How about Fort Widley? It’s a Palmerston fort overlooking Pompey, and it’s famously concealed within the hill so an army approaching from the north wouldn’t know it was there until they were caught out.”

  “Fort Widley it is.” Denmead turned to Sandra Walker, her Director of Communications, “Let’s release a colony-wide communication announcing the evacuation to the newly named Fort Widley. Advise everyone to be on standby to receive their assignments and that every uninjured colonist above the age of thirteen will be given a role.” Walker nodded and began typing up a statement for immediate release. It would go directly to the comms system of each colonist and interrupt anything non-critical they might be looking at.

  Denmead stood up with some effort and faced her audience. It was a fairly even split between the councillors of Ashton, who formed the local government, and the staff from her own office, which oversaw the colony on behalf of the British government.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I know that the situation is dire, but we can deal with it. I am only following one guideline during this invasion; utter commitment to the protection of New Bristol and the colony we have worked so hard to build. That's it. One guiding principle to bring us all together and in our darkest hour, bind us so that we are of one will, one purpose. I expect each of you to do your duty, whether civilian or military. If my expectation is too high, if you aren’t committed, I will take your resignation now and show you to the window myself,” she said, pointing toward the end of the conference room which overlooked New Ashton and offered an impressive view of the city.

  “Governor, we’re on the fifth floor, I think you mean you’d show people to the door,” said Councillor Stoat with a laugh that didn’t seem to catch on. After a moment he looked around the table, but nobody caught his eye.

  Denmead let it hang for just a second longer.

  “I meant what I said, Councillor Stoat. I will have total commitment from you all to the defence of this colony and if anyone doesn’t intend to give me that, I expect them to take the honourable way out and retire their body for spare parts or redeployment. We don’t have the food or resources to suppo
rt anyone who won’t contribute and I’m not sending adults to Fort Widley to hide with the small children and wounded.”

  The room was completely silent. Stoat, pale-faced, opened his mouth as if to reply then thought better of it and just nodded instead. Governor Denmead faced the full table, expression grim and features ashen from the loss of blood and the nagging pain of her injuries.

  “I will take your silence as confirmation that I have your full commitment, ladies and gentlemen. Now, we must move on to other business. I would like to keep these meetings as short and decisive as possible, folks, better to meet again later if need be. Please remember we are at war and we don’t have time for extensive back and forth debates; we need to keep the decision-making process as efficient as possible. I will step in and make final decisions when required though I’d rather the Council, the Captain and my team work together. I will point out that as the ranking officer on New Bristol, all military decisions rest with Captain Atticus and his officers.”

  “Mr Smith and Mr Grimes, unless you have anything immediate, I believe you will be needed elsewhere.”

  Smith nodded and turned to Grimes. “Shall we?” The two men left, heads together and deep in conversation.

  “Captain Atticus, do you have anything further to add? I was intending to move on to the civilian issues for now. If you don’t have anything to we need to address right now, I suggest you and I reconvene later, and we’ll bring the full group together for an update in the early evening.”

  Atticus stood up, “Thank you, Governor. I only want to say that you have my full support and that my Marines will do everything possible to defeat this invasion.” With that, he turned and left, off to deal with the next problem and thoroughly relieved that the Governor was back in play.

  “And that leaves the rest of us,” said Governor Denmead, as she eased herself back into her chair, “to work out how to move several thousand people to the newly named Fort Widley in the caves at Redcliffe. We need to divide up the long list of tasks that are necessary for our survival and identify the people to lead each team.” She paused to look again at her councillors and staff. They seemed to be suitably attentive. “Good, let’s get cracking.”