“Yeah,” Jasmine said. “This is war.”
She kept one hand on her pistol as they drove onwards, glancing from side to side. The narrowing streets weren't very secure ... they were the perfect place for an ambush, if someone considered it worth the risk. An IED in the dustbins, then a brief spray of bullets and an immediate retreat ... she’d seen it done, time and time again. No doubt, if someone didn't take control quickly, insurgents would learn how to carry out such attacks. The dumb ones would have been killed in the first round of fighting.
“Taking a detour round the plaza,” the driver called. “Someone’s turned it into a miniature fortress.”
Jasmine sucked in her breath, feeling her heart starting to pound. In her experience, unexpected detours always led to ambushes. The enemy might have done something to make the convoy change course ... and course changes, on the surface, were always predicable. But she saw nothing, apart from hundreds of armed guards, as they drove into Tallyman Tower and halted in the garage. A pair of young men were waiting for them.
“Fredrick,” Mouganthu said, as he climbed out of the car. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Sir,” Fredrick said. He had an oddly-formal way of talking. His eyes flickered over Jasmine, then returned to Mouganthu. “Father is waiting in the war room.”
“Very good,” Mouganthu said. “Take us to him at once.”
Jasmine followed the three men through a series of secure doors - each one guarded by armed men - and then into a large command and control room. She knew, immediately, that whoever had designed it had never been a soldier. It looked good, she could tell, but it wasn't very efficient. She’d have sooner worked in a makeshift command post. But it didn't look as though she had a choice.
“Herman,” Tallyman said, rising. His command chair looked like something out of a bad flick. “I’m glad you’re safe.”
“I was very nearly dead,” Mouganthu said. He glanced around the room. “You’ve done well for yourself ...”
Jasmine cleared her throat. “Can I have a SITREP?”
“Of course,” Tallyman said. He nodded to the other young man. “Major Adders?”
“The situation is as follows,” Adders drawled. “Admiral Singh’s loyalists have holed up in the fortress. From this position, they are sniping at any visible targets. Our people have been warned to stay out of sight.”
“We’ve had to clear the upper levels,” Fredrick put in. “They’ve been distressingly good at shooting our staff.”
Adders nodded, curtly. “Our own forces have established a ring of steel around the fortress,” he continued. “We believe we can keep them from breaking out, either on the ground or in the air. Portable MANPADs have been deployed to cover the airspace directly over the fortress. However, we cannot break in without taking serious losses.”
“I see,” Jasmine said. She rather suspected the corporate directors were unwilling to risk their forces in an attack on the fortress. “And Admiral Singh?”
“Is in the fortress herself, as far as we can tell,” Adders informed her. “So far, she’s ignored all our attempts to negotiate.”
Mouganthu lifted his eyebrows. “You intend to negotiate?”
“We offered her safe passage to a world of her choosing, if she surrendered without a fuss,” Tallyman said. “She didn't bother to send a response.”
Jasmine turned her attention to the displays as the two directors argued. They were hard to read - another sign that the designer hadn't really known what he was doing - but the overall situation was clear. The uprising had stalemated. Admiral Singh could not win, yet - as long as she remained alive - she couldn't be defeated. And taking the fortress would be hideously costly.
“Stalemate,” she muttered.
“Not quite,” Adders said. “She’s got a relief fleet inbound. ETA four hours.”
Jasmine cursed as he adjusted the display. If the timing worked out, Admiral Singh might just come out on top after all. The Commonwealth Navy couldn't defeat both the loyalists and the new fleet. That would allow Admiral Singh a chance to take control of the high orbitals and punish the rebels ...
And how many of the directors will try to switch sides if it looks like Admiral Singh will win, she asked herself. She was intent on weakening Wolfbane, but the corporate directors would probably have very different ideas. All of them?
“Get me a link to the fleet,” she said. “I need to talk to Colonel Stalker.”
***
“That’s another one dead,” the sniper said. “You owe me a bonus.”
Captain Joshua Forster snorted, rudely. The sniper wouldn’t be able to claim his wages, let alone a bonus. His unit had been torn to ribbons and merged with two more units as the police force struggled to cope with an uprising that far exceeded their worst nightmares. By the time the order had come to retreat to the inner circle and set up defensive lines, his body had been aching so badly that he’d practically fallen asleep on his feet. Now, the stimulants he’d been taking made his entire body jumpy.
“Just try to keep them from watching us,” he ordered. “I don’t want them getting any closer.”
He groaned as he surveyed the makeshift defence line. The fortress was heavily defended - there was a hullmetal wall and strong gates - but the policemen hadn't been allowed inside the walls. Instead, they’d resorted to using their vehicles as barricades and digging trenches in the hard ground. It would have been enough to hold off an unarmed mob - his men had long since lost any reluctance to fire on crowds - but nowhere near enough to stop a determined offensive. He was all too aware that supplies were running low and morale was at rock bottom.
And discipline is in the pits, he thought, grimly. I can't control my men any longer.
The sniper fired another shot, then muttered a curse. Joshua guessed he’d missed his target, even though he’d been warned to make every shot count. Ammunition, like everything else, was in short supply. A brief hail of shots spluttered back at them, then faded back into the background noise. He found it hard to care as bullets snapped though the air. Part of him wondered if he would be relieved if a bullet struck him. He’d long-since lost track of just how long he'd been awake.
He glanced towards the far edge of the square, wondering if he could sneak out before someone put a bullet in his back. A number of policemen had already deserted, if rumour was to be believed. They’d taken off their uniforms and blended into the streets, no doubt hoping they could hide from any future reprisals. Maybe they were right. Joshua didn't think that anyone knew his face. But if he was wrong ...
A low rumble echoed through the air as a pair of AFVs drove around the barricades. The younger policemen raised a quiet cheer when they saw the vehicles, but Joshua wasn't so impressed. He'd seen too many of them struck by rockets or blown up by improvised bombs to take any comfort from their presence. The only good news was that they’d probably attract fire, but not for long. They’d be destroyed soon, once the enemy attacked. God knew just how the rebels had obtained so many weapons - the militia had probably been composed of traitors - but it didn't matter. All that mattered is that he was trapped.
Lieutenant Glomma appeared, looking haggard. His uniform was torn in a dozen places, blood staining his blue jacket. He looked a nightmare, just like Joshua himself. In calmer times, they’d be severely punished for allowing their uniforms to get so messy. The thought nearly made Joshua giggle. Under the circumstances, there was no point in caring about the state of their clothes.
“Captain,” Lieutenant Glomma said. His voice was unsteady. He’d been up almost as long as Joshua himself. “Commissioner Hendry has put you in command of this sector.”
“Joy,” Joshua said. He couldn't quite keep back a giggle. He’d been expecting the hammer to fall for hours - his superiors knew he’d fucked up by the numbers - but this ... this was a brilliant punishment. They knew he didn't have a hope of keeping the sector secure, once the enemy started to push. The rebels would kill Joshua for them. “
Is there more good news?”
Lieutenant Glomma shrugged. “There’s a handful of rebel bitches in the office,” he said, shortly. “Do you want a turn?”
Joshua snickered. “Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we will be castrated, shot and dumped in an unmarked grave?
“Something like that,” Lieutenant Glomma said. He sobered. “There’s no hope of getting out, is there?”
“Probably not,” Joshua said. “If we try to run, our own side will shoot us in the back; if we stay, the rebels will kill us. The only hope is the Admiral pulling a rabbit out of her hat.”
And then I’ll be executed for failure, he thought. He giggled, helplessly. Failure is the only option.
Lieutenant Glomma eyed him, severely. “I think you’ve had too much stimulant juice, sir.”
Joshua nodded. He was wired, practically bouncing off the walls. The hallucinations would start soon, if the medics were to be believed. He needed sleep and a purge, probably not in that order. Or perhaps a complete blood replenishment. He couldn't recall precisely what happened to people who overdosed on stimulants, but he didn't think it would be pleasant.
We’re not meant to have more than one or two cans in a day, he thought. The medics had made that clear. How many did I have?
He racked his brains. He couldn't remember. He wasn't sure he even cared.
“It doesn't matter,” he said. He nodded towards the distant buildings. The rebels were massing on the far side, plotting to storm the fortress. They might not get through the walls, but that wouldn't make any difference to the police. They’d be torn to ribbons before the Admiral’s loyalists counterattacked. “They’re coming for us.”
“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Glomma said.
“Tell the lads they can have their fun, if they like,” Joshua added. Raping subversive women had been one of the perks of the job, but he had the feeling that the rebels would take a far dimmer view of it. The mutilations they’d inflicted on lone policemen proved it. “It’ll be the last time.”
“Yes, sir.”
***
Ed had realised, a long time ago, that the universe had a grim sense of humour. He’d seen plenty of operations where random chance had made the difference between success and failure, where luck had overwhelmed careful planning ... now, he couldn't help feeling that the universe had gone too far. The battle in orbit had stalemated, but the stalemate wouldn't last. Once the newcomers arrived, the Commonwealth Navy would have to retreat.
And we don’t even know those ships are real, he thought. Admiral Singh might have gotten lucky or she could be trying to trick them. The timing suggested the latter. They could be drones.
He made a face as he ran through the calculations. It might not matter. If the ships were real and the Commonwealth Navy retreated, Admiral Singh would reassert control over Wolfbane and punish the rebels. If the ships weren’t real, Admiral Singh would still have won time to come up with something else. Ed knew, from bitter experience, that just because he couldn't see any other options didn't mean that they didn't exist. If nothing else, Admiral Singh might start thinking about preparing to take the planet with her when she died.
The nasty part of his mind pointed out that Mandy was right. They could lay waste to the system’s industrial base, then retreat to gather reinforcements. Admiral Singh wouldn't be able to rebuild before it was too late. From a coldly pragmatic point of view, letting her crush the rebels would work in the Commonwealth’s favour. And yet ... honour demanded that they find a way to help the rebels. Whatever their motives, the rebels had risked everything to help the Commonwealth. They had to be helped in turn.
His terminal bleeped. He touched a switch. Jasmine’s face appeared in front of him.
“Colonel,” she said. “We seem to have a stalemate.”
Ed nodded. “Perhaps,” he said. “We have to winkle Admiral Singh out of her lair.”
“Yes, sir,” Jasmine said. “They’re refusing to allow us to bombard the city.”
“I expected as much,” Ed said. The nasty part of his mind pointed out that the rebels couldn’t stop him bombarding the city. He told that part of him to shut up. “There’s no way they can evacuate in time?”
“The city is in chaos, sir,” Jasmine said. “Even getting a few thousand people out before it’s too late would be difficult.”
Ed frowned as a tactical assessment popped up in front of him. He knew better than to believe it was perfect - something was always missing - but there was no way to avoid the simple fact that the situation was chaotic. There was no way to evacuate the city in less than a week, assuming the various insurgents chose to cooperate. If they didn't, the task would rapidly become impossible.
“We are pulling people away from the inner circle,” Jasmine said. “But right now we can't get them much further away.”
“It looks like that,” Ed agreed.
He cursed, again. The fortress was tough. His long-range sensors had told him things he didn't want to know about its defences. The locals would bleed themselves white trying to get through the outer edge, while there was no way to know what was waiting for them inside. Admiral Singh had created a neat little trap. Starving her out was starting to look like the only realistic option, but the incoming ships had removed that as a possibility ...
Unless we take the offensive, he thought, coldly. There were sixty marines on his ships, sixty marines and all their equipment. The rebels would back us up, wouldn't they?
He couldn't help feeling a thrill, even as he forced himself to think logically. The prospect of donning his armour and jumping into a hot zone was tempting, very tempting. And yet, he knew it would be a risk. He’d been reluctant to spend his marines freely even before they’d been exiled to Avalon, with no hope of replacements in the pipeline. He might well be leading the remainder of his company to the grave.
It has to be done, he thought. They’d stormed a CityBlock on Earth, just before they’d been exiled to Avalon. And we can do it.
He took a breath. “The company will be jumping shortly,” he said. There wouldn't be much time to plan the operation, but they were used to that. “Coordinate with the locals, see what support they can offer.”
Jasmine’s eyes went wide. “Yes, sir,” she said. “And afterwards, I request permission to join you.”
Ed nodded. “I’ll be landing supplies soon,” he said. The plan was already taking shape in his mind. “Suit up, once the suit is on the ground - tell the other two to join you. Your platoon will be assaulting from the ground.”
Jasmine saluted. “Yes, sir,” she said. “Semper Fi!”
Her face vanished. Ed smiled, then called for his command staff. Three hours to plan and execute a mission ... they’d done it before, back when they’d been in the Core Worlds. Now ... it wasn't going to be easy. They were operating on a shoestring, without half the supplies or back-up they’d had on Earth. And yet, he was looking forward to it ...
And yet, he couldn't help thinking that it was going to be their last hurrah.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Everything is in place, sir,” Command Sergeant Gwendolyn Patterson said. “Platoon One is on the ground. Platoons Two through Five are in the air, ready to move. Platoon Six is in the air, ready to reinforce as necessary.”
Ed nodded, feeling the Raptor shifting under his feet as he tested his armour. How long had it been since he'd worn the combat suit? Four years? Or had it been longer? It had been carefully tailored for him, back on Earth, but now ... it didn't feel like a second skin any longer. He made a mental note to wear it more often, once he returned to Avalon. He’d fallen out of practice.
“Very good,” he said. The fortress was a daunting target, but they’d tackled worse. “Order the advance units to begin the offensive.”
“Yes, sir.”
***
Rani paced the command centre, feeling impatient. The enemy hadn't moved, suggesting they hadn't fallen for her bluff ... or that they thought they had an obli
gation to defend the planet. Not that that would last, once they confirmed that she was bluffing. She’d dispatched courier boats to summon reinforcements, but cold logic told her that the battle would be over before they could arrive.
She glanced at Paula. “Has there been any update?”
“No, Admiral,” Paula said. Her eyes flicked to the armed guards, nervously. “Just demands for your surrender.”
Rani nodded, not bothering to respond. The demands ranged from gentle suggestions that she should resign to demands for unconditional surrender, but she hadn't bothered to respond to them either. There was no way the corporate directors would allow her to go into exile, even though it would end the uprising before it could dissolve into chaos. She’d be lucky if she was only shot in the head. The atrocities her forces had committed over the last twenty-four hours would be enough to guarantee her a slow and painful death.
Wolf's Bane (The Empire's Corps Book 14) Page 37
