The Empire's Corps: Book 04 - Semper Fi

by Christopher Nuttall

  “I know,” Jasmine said, quietly. “I know.”

  They’d noticed Johan Patterson when they’d been trying to put together an organisational chart for Admiral Singh’s security forces. Patterson worked under Director Grytpype Horn, who headed Internal Security ... and, unlike his superior, he appeared to be a fairly harmless man. Not that Jasmine was too impressed; a man who could sign deportation and execution orders without batting an eyelid wasn't too much of an improvement over a perverted sadist. She couldn't help wondering if the real reason Horn kept him around was because he needed someone to do the paperwork, someone who could be trusted not to indulge himself at an inconvenient moment.

  Wonderful, she thought, as she remembered the surveillance results. We’re going to pick on the one person in Internal Security who is halfway decent.

  She’d seen the others, through the intelligence they’d collected. Horn himself was a grotesque pervert, worse than any of the pirates Mandy had encountered; many of his subordinates were worse, as unbelievable as that seemed. Some of their perversions Jasmine hadn't known were possible until she’d seen the surveillance reports. One day, she promised herself, they would all be executed at her hand.

  Admiral Singh had to be insane to tolerate it, she’d thought, but Sergeant Hampton had pointed out that it made a sickening kind of sense. If Horn was hated – and enough had leaked out to ensure that he was both hated and feared – he would have nowhere to go, if something happened to Admiral Singh. Everyone who hated him would be racing to see who got to kill him first.

  Jasmine had considered going after Horn, but the man was almost as paranoid as his superior. He rarely set foot outside the government complex; he was always guarded by professional bodyguards ... Jasmine had had no difficulty recognising the dull expressions of men who had been conditioned to be loyal. They’d die in his defence, if only because their conditioning wouldn't let them do anything else.

  But it suggested that Horn was genuinely insecure. Conditioned men lacked the ability to think for themselves; even lightly-conditioned victims lost most of their IQ under the influence of inflexible commands. Jasmine wouldn't have trusted conditioned bodyguards if there was any other choice ... but then, Horn probably didn't have any other choice. Wasn't it annoying when people thought for themselves?

  “We don’t have a choice,” she said, bitterly. Whatever else happened, they would have to move faster now – and to hell with the dangers. As long as Admiral Singh was on the ground, she was vulnerable. “And whatever happens afterwards, happens.”

  Colonel Stalker might court martial her for her decision, she knew. It would be hard to blame him, she knew; her actions would damage the Marine ethos beyond easy repair. Rogue Marines were rare, but they did happen – and somehow it was their stories that were remembered longer than the thousands of Marines who had lived and died doing their duty. In hindsight, she wondered if the Grand Senate had pushed that deliberately, even though the days that public opinion had meant anything were long gone. They’d wanted to disgrace the Marine Corps ... and now it no longer mattered what they did.

  But there was no choice, she told herself again and again. There was no choice.

  It didn't make her feel any better.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  This should not have been surprising. The interests of maintaining the governing system demanded a decentralised approach, but the underlying ethos of the Empire demanded unity. However, the natural trend of the Empire’s governing classes actually worked to split the Empire asunder. The rights of the outer colonies, for example, were sacrificed to the demands of the majority inner worlds.

  -Professor Leo Caesius, Authority, Power and the Post-Imperial Era

  Kate sucked in a breath as she cycled down towards the checkpoint, tasting the hint of gasoline by-products in the air. It still felt strange to smell them; Greenway had used draft animals rather than gasoline-powered vehicles, even before they’d been cut off from the Empire and supplies of cheap HE3. But then, Corinthian had been settled for much longer than Greenway and was far more developed. No doubt concerns over the environment had faded when the local economy demanded the use of old-style vehicles.

  She scowled as she saw the checkpoint, a simple guardhouse and a metal barrier preventing any vehicles from passing without being inspected. It looked alien against the landscape – this far from civilisation, she could almost pretend that she was back on Greenway – a dull brooding presence that cast a long shadow over the district. The building seemed isolated, yet Kate knew that it was not. It was merely a tiny part of a network that held an entire planet in bondage.

  Don’t fuck up, she told herself, as she pulled on the brakes. Fuck this up and you will be dead.

  She allowed herself a smile as she saw the young man standing outside the guardhouse, an assault rifle slung over his shoulder. From what she’d been told by the militia officers – and the Marines, later – standing guard was thoroughly boring, no matter what was going on around the guardhouse. The guard would probably not pay the wrong kind of attention to a young girl on a bicycle, she’d been assured. Just to be sure, she’d donned a tight shirt that exposed the tops of her breasts to male eyes. The young man would be too busy staring at her chest, she hoped, to pay attention to what else she was doing.

  And if you fuck up, she reminded herself ...

  They’d heard the stories. The forests were heavily populated with refugees and resistance fighters, all driven into hiding by Admiral Singh and her forces. People had been taken away and never seen again, unless they’d graced one of the warning channels Admiral Singh used to show the planet’s population what happened to those who defied her. Others had been beaten, or forced to surrender their farms to higher authority – and yet keep working them for the benefit of their new masters. Kate didn't want to think about what could happen if she fell into their hands. But she had to risk herself.

  She resisted the temptation to glance behind her as she slowed to a halt in front of the guardhouse. The guard was staring at her, so much so that she was tempted to point out that he wasn't looking at her eyes. Instead, she thrust out her chest a little, giving him a show. It took several moments before he cleared his throat and asked for papers.

  “Certainly,” Kate said. Her accent wasn't good, but it was doubtful that the young man had noticed. “I have them in my knapsack.”

  She unslung the bag, smiling at him ... and produced the stunner. The guard’s eyes went wide before she pushed the trigger and he crumpled to the ground with a thud. Kate felt a hint of pity as she climbed off the bike and allowed it to fall over with a crash. A second guard ran out of the guardhouse, right into the stunner’s field of fire. She knocked him out too and then checked inside the guardhouse. The reports, she was relieved to see, had been right. There had only been two guards inside the building.

  Back outside, she looked towards the forest and raised her hand in signal. The first part of the operation had been completed successfully. Now, they had to capitalise on their success.

  She knew they were coming, but she was still surprised when the two Marines materialised out of the forest alarmingly close to her. “Good work,” the leader said, gruffly. The other Marine tended to the two prisoners, searching them and then binding them hand and foot to ensure that they couldn't escape. It was difficult to predict just how long someone would remain stunned after being zapped with a stunner. “You nip off back into the forest now.”

  Kate scowled at him, but nodded. She’d trained with the militia on Greenway, yet it hadn't taken long for her to realise that they weren't anything close to Marine standards. And the next phase of the operation would require careful timing ...

  “Understood,” she said, briskly. “Good luck.”

  ***

  Fritz’s mind spun as he fought his way back to consciousness. What was wrong with him? Had he been drinking on duty? He hoped not; the last person who’d drunk on duty had been beaten into a pulp by the sergeants and th
en sent to spend the rest of his conscription period as a target in live-fire exercises. Or so he had been told, but he found it hard to disbelieve the sergeants. They were utterly ruthless with their young charges.

  No, he hadn't been drinking, he assured himself. There had been a girl and ...

  His memory grew fuzzy. Had they ... done something? He hoped not; the sergeants would have taken a dim view of them entertaining themselves when it was just the two of them on duty. It wasn't as if there was a large detachment up here. They’d been told, in no uncertain terms, that duty came before pleasure ... and that there was no shortage of whores in the barracks when they were rotated back into base. There was a twang of pain from his hands and his mind cleared, just long enough for him to realise that there was a wire wrapped around his wrists. He was a prisoner!

  “The wire is quite sharp,” a strangely-accented voice said, as Fritz opened his eyes. “If you pull too hard you’re likely to slice off your own hands.”

  Fritz stared up at the speaker. He was a big bulky man, wearing dark overalls and a mask that concealed his face.

  “There are two ways this can go,” the man continued. “You tell us what we want to know and we ensure that you remain safe for the rest of the war. Or you refuse and we force the information out of you. After that, you will be left here to face the tender mercies of the security forces after they find out what happened to you.”

  Fritz stared at him, the rest of his memories clicking into place. He’d let the girl come too close ... and she’d stunned him. Where had she even found a stunner? But it had clearly worked out for her; he looked around, hoping to see his teammate, but there was no sign of him. No doubt their captors would be comparing their answers to make sure that they were telling the truth. It was a basic interrogation technique, after all.

  He hesitated. They'd been told that if they were captured, they had to keep their mouths shut ... but he didn't want to be tortured. He hadn't even wanted to join the army. But it had been a choice between the infantry or digging ditches and he hadn't wanted to do that either. And rumour had even suggested that there were worse jobs for those who refused to cooperate.

  “I ...” He swallowed hard and started again. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything,” his captor said. “How often do you contact your superiors and what codes do you use to signify that everything is fine?”

  Fritz bowed his head and started to explain.

  ***

  Private Abdul Donner disliked Corinthian; the world was too green for his tastes, with a population that clearly hated each and every single one of the off-worlders who had landed with Admiral Singh. There had been enough incidents to make him thoroughly paranoid, along with most of the rest of his unit; they’d been told that if they thought they were in danger, they could open fire and leave the Admiral to worry about the resulting mess. He gripped the machine gun as the armoured car rolled along the road, watching for the first sign of trouble. Those damned forests came too close to the roadside.

  He gritted his teeth. Convoy duty was unpleasant; no one knew when someone would take a shot at the vehicles, forcing them to disembark and search for the shooter, wasting their time. At least the insurgency had been taught a sharp lesson in the months since the conquest; they'd learned to fall back and not engage heavily-armed convoys. He swung the machine gun around as the lead vehicle approached yet another patch of forest, shaking his head in disbelief. If it had been up to him, as he’d grumbled often enough, he would have cleared fields of fire all around the main roads.

  But the Admiral forgot to ask my advice, he thought, with a flicker of wry amusement.

  Instead, he glanced at the truck. Each one held thirty soldiers, ready to reinforce the garrison that kept watch over the northern farmlands. It was the most dangerous part of the planet; there were just too many mountains and forests for the occupation force to maintain perfect security. Abdul was privately surprised that the Admiral hadn't ordered a saturation nuclear bombardment; it wasn't as if they actually needed the food. They had enough farming worlds – and algae farms, if it came to that – under their control to feed the entire population several times over.

  He looked back towards the lead vehicle, just in time to see it blown up by a colossal explosion. For an instant, he gaped, watching in horror as the lead truck ran into the fireball and skidded to a halt. The drivers of the other trucks hit their brakes, but it was too late to stop many of them from slamming into the vehicles in front of them. Abdul cursed as the driver of the armoured car swung wide to avoid a truck that had rammed its fellow and toppled over, then swung the machine gun around as the shooting started. Someone had taken pains to set up a really good ambush and they’d walked right into it.

  “Open fire,” the convoy commander ordered. Half of the troops in the trucks were raw recruits, straight out of basic training; they’d be shitting themselves as the bullets tore through the metal vehicles and flesh with equal abandon. “Push the bastards back from the roadside!”

  Abdul depressed his trigger, firing a long burst towards the source of some of the incoming fire. It slacked off sharply; he felt a moment of gratification, which vanished the moment the first mortar shell landed in the midst of the crashed vehicles. Only a tiny percentage of the troops had managed to jump out of the trucks before HE shells blew them apart. The more skilled ones were doing their best to organise a defence, but the soldiers had been taken completely by surprise. Abdul cursed again and swung the gun around, firing randomly into the forest. It should have disconcerted the enemy soldiers.

  This won’t have passed unnoticed, he told himself, as the enemy fire began to slack off. They’d done all they could do; now, they would have to break contact and escape before reinforcements arrived. The resistance couldn't win a stand-up battle, no matter how much firepower they’d managed to hide away since Corinthian had been occupied. There’ll be helicopters on their way.

  Something exploded, too close to the armoured car for comfort. Abdul felt the blast pick him up and throw him halfway across the road, right into the ground. There was a long moment of pain, then nothing. Nothing at all.

  ***

  The enemy soldiers were raw, Sergeant Chester Harris realised, as the insurgents ripped their convoy apart. They hadn't even managed to put up a real defence, apart from a handful who seemed to know what they were doing. Chester had expected to get in, land a few blows and then get out again before the enemy pushed him back, but instead he was being offered an opportunity to hand out a smashing tactical defeat.

  He shook his head as the next set of mortar rounds struck the remains of the enemy convoy. A final series of explosions tore through the vehicles; the enemy fire, as pitiful as it was, slacked off, coming to an end. Chester watched as flames spread through the burning vehicles, feeling a moment of pity for his opponents. Most of them would have been unwilling conscripts, men who would have preferred not to fight for their planet’s unwanted mistress. They hadn’t deserved to die.

  No choice, he reminded himself.

  “Hold fire,” he bellowed. Years of experience had taught him how to throw his voice. Normally, they would have used battlefield microburst communicators, but Admiral Singh had sensor equipment that might have been able to pick up the signals. They might as well have called her up and asked her to drop rocks on their position. “Hold fire!”

  Silence fell over the battlefield, broken only by the sound of flames burning through the remains of the convoy. The enemy had definitely stopped shooting; Chester couldn't help wondering if that meant they were all dead, or if some of them were still alive, but too injured to continue the fight. Part of him wanted to slip down to the vehicles and make certain they were all dead; he considered it for a long moment before dismissing it. They weren't pirates, or insurgents from Han. Besides, they were almost certainly out of the fight.

  “Fall back,” he bellowed, shouldering his rifle. It was too much to hope that the enemy soldiers hadn't transmitte
d a distress call. The enemy would already have reinforcements on the way, probably including helicopters ... and the small stockpile of HVMs the resistance had saved were reserved for later operations. “Get back to base, now!”

  He allowed himself a tight smile as they scattered through the forest. If nothing else, they’d given Admiral Singh’s forces a bloody nose. And, if all of the planned attacks had been as successful, she’d be convinced that half of the countryside was rising against her.

  Yeah, we’ve done great, he told himself. Now, what are we going to say to those who get mashed in the gears when she starts her retaliation.

  ***

  They saw the plume of smoke from miles away as the four attack helicopters raced towards the source of the distress beacon. Standing in the cabin, staring over the pilot’s head, Captain Ivan Shako couldn't help shivering at the sheer size of the smoke cloud. There had been so many emergency calls to the closest garrison that the helicopters had been ordered to go to one location, than another, and another ... it had taken nearly twenty minutes for the higher ups to start prioritising the distress calls. A convoy of nearly three hundred soldiers had been top of the list.

  It was hard to imagine the insurgents having a go at such a convoy; hell, the reason such convoys always moved in force was to discourage such attacks. But it was starting to look like the insurgents had dared to strike ... and that they’d succeeded beyond their wildest imaginations. He gritted his teeth as the helicopters swooped closer, two of them watching from high overhead while the other two flew low, far too close to the damned forest. Anything could be lurking there, under the trees, and they wouldn't know about it until it was too late.

  He sucked in his breath as the remains of the convoy came into view. Twenty vehicles, fourteen of them troop trucks, burning away merrily. There were bodies everywhere, all mown down by fire that had to have come pouring out of the trees ... and a smoking crater, right where the lead vehicle in the convoy should have been. Someone had planned the ambush with care, he realised, as the helicopter slowed to a hover over the burning vehicles. The soldiers had been caught in a trap that would have made it difficult to escape, or to do anything but die.