Stars & Empire: 10 Galactic Tales

by Jay Allan

  “The evidence of this was found by the Marines and brought to the Governor’s attention,” the woman continued. “The Marine Captain branded it high treason and demanded that the Governor deal with the matter, but so far the Governor has refused. We cannot place any faith in the Governor to deal with this matter.”

  “As if we ever could,” one of the men muttered.

  “I see,” Gaby said, slowly. She would have to consider the implications carefully and discuss them with Rufus and Julian. “And the other piece of news?”

  “The Marines graduated their first class of new recruits three days ago,” the woman said. “It is their intention to deploy forces out into the countryside and challenge us directly, hammering away at our support network. This is a challenge we cannot afford to turn down.”

  “Of course we can,” Gaby said. She would have smiled at their expressions, but she was too tired. “We pulled in our horns once the Marines landed and waited to see what they would do. Apart from the abduction stunt, we did nothing to incur their wrath.”

  “That alone probably puts us on their shit list,” one of the men said. “They don’t leave their fellows behind.”

  “We are strong when we are not losing,” Gaby said. “Let us pull in our horns and let them make their patrols in peace. They will lose interest eventually and we can regain lost ground.”

  “It may not work out that way,” one of the women said. “The Marines have been creating a new Army of Avalon, one that is far more … motivated than the Civil Guard, for they have been paying their new soldiers in cash. Assuming they continued to churn out new units, they will be able to rapidly deploy thousands of infantrymen to the countryside and shift the balance of power permanently against us. The Marines may be recalled to some other world within the Empire, as the Imperial Navy starship was recalled, but the Army of Avalon will remain, building up its fighting power and intelligence links. They may possess the ability to defeat us.

  “Worse, the Civil Guard has been going through its ranks and uncovering many of our spies, cutting off links that we have cultivated for years. They may soon cleanse themselves entirely of our intelligence sources, leaving us blind, while they also dispose of their corrupt officers and even their incompetents. They may soon become a far more dangerous enemy, one that knows the ground upon which they fight. How long will it be before they start paying their men in cash too? It will motivate them like nothing else.”

  “And the locals will respond to that,” one of the men said. “They may feel closer to the new Civil Guard.”

  “Particularly if we do not terrorise the local population into supporting us,” another man said. “Perhaps we should use fear on those who might waver.”

  “No,” Gaby said, flatly. She had no words to express how disgusted she was. “If there is anything that will ensure our defeat, it is convincing the local population that we are a clear and present danger to them, far more than the debt sharks and the Council’s stupid laws. They will betray us to them and scream for them to wipe us out as dangerously insane terrorists—and they will be right.”

  There was a long pause. “You have a Marine prisoner,” one of the men said. “What have you learned from him?”

  “Very little,” Gaby admitted. “We have been unable to get much out of him, beyond name, rank and serial number. He did suggest reaching out to their Captain and trying to see what we can work out…”

  “The Marines are compliant in a system that holds the entire planet in bondage,” one of the women snapped. “How can we trust them?”

  “It gets worse,” she added, a second later. “My source was quite specific; they offered the captured bandits indenture in exchange for information and, so far, they have not moved against the Council or the network of lower-class scum who work for them. There are brothels staffed by women taken from the townships … and nothing has been done about them, even about the preteen children used as sex slaves! How can anyone argue that the Marines are here to make things better?”

  “It seems that we have a choice,” one of the men said. “We can do as she suggested”—he nodded at Gaby—“and pull in our horns, offering no resistance … or we can fight. If we fight, we risk losing; if we pull in our horns, we risk losing.”

  “We might win,” one of the other men said. “Am I the only one to be encouraged by the fact that visits from Imperial Navy ships are few and far between?”

  “No,” Gaby admitted. She took the steaming mug of hot chocolate she was offered and sipped it gratefully. “My cell has been working on a plan to take advantage of the Civil Guard’s weakness and hit Camelot itself. A long drawn-out war is not in our interests.”

  “A battle in the open is not in our interests either,” one of the men pointed out. “A Marine Company possesses more firepower than we have been able to amass, even with help from other friends.”

  “Assuming that they have a chance to deploy it,” Gaby agreed. Operation Headshot had been planned to minimise the effects of Marine firepower. It had originally been designed to take on the Civil Guard, but Rufus and Julian had updated it to counter the Marines as well. It was risky, but the sheer nerve of the move might stun the enemy, if she decided to risk it. “We remain, I see, caught between the devil and the deep blue sea.”

  “Yes,” one of the men said. He glanced from face to face. “Shall we vote?”

  “Yes,” another said. “All those in favour of challenging the Marines and their new army, raise your hands.”

  Gaby counted, quickly. Six hands were raised in favour. “I do not feel that this is the best idea,” she admitted, “but we have little choice. If the Government is unwilling to respond to actual cases of high treason on the part of its supporters, we must assume that they never will and that things will never get better. It looks as if we’re going to war.”

  The hut shook slightly as a particularly strong gust of wind caught it, sending pebbles crashing down on the roof. She glanced up, despite herself, and then looked down into the flickering fire. She wouldn’t live permanently among the Mountain Men, even if the alternative was death or permanent indenture. Perhaps, at bottom, the Marines would understand; Avalon was her home and she would fight for its freedom, for they hadn’t given her another path. Independence or autonomy. Either one would be far better than rule by a weak Governor and a corrupt Council.

  Two and a half hours later, she pulled on her damp clothes and rejoined her bodyguards, heading back down the mountain. The rain had abated slightly, allowing them to make better progress down towards the little town in the hollow, even though it was merely the first stop on their long trip home. The entire population of the town, such as it was, took absolutely no interest in anyone else’s business. The Crackers were fairly safe there, as long as they didn’t bring down the Marines on their heads. The inn they’d booked for the night would have a warm bath, a comfy bed and then they could start making their way back to their base. Behind them, the others would be doing the same, heading back to their own cells. The Marines might smash one without smashing them all.

  Just as they reached the hollow, the clouds started to break up, allowing the sun to shine down on the mountains. Gaby looked back, smiling as the sunlight warmed her face and hands, casting the mountains in a whole new light. They looked almost as if they came out of a fairy tale. Their name had been well chosen.

  And they hid their secrets well.

  CHAPTER 42

  There is a very old saying that runs something like this. You can bomb a patch of ground, burn it, coat it with chemical weapons, poison it, irradiate it and destroy it … but you don’t own it until you have a man with a rifle standing on top of it. In dealing with counter-insurgency, it is important to remember that the insurgent will have freedom of movement wherever that man with the rifle is not.

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

  “So,” the Marine said. She was wearing her armour and it was hard to tell that she was a w
oman, or even that she was human at all. Michael looked at her and felt very exposed in his battledress and helmet. “Have you ever driven one of these babies before?”

  Michael followed her pointing finger to the LAV, an armoured vehicle that managed to look intimidating even without the roaring lion someone had painted on the side of the machine. He’d been told, back when they’d been taught how to drive, that the vehicles were capable of standing off all light weapons and many heavy ones, but they didn’t provide full protection against plasma cannons or heavy antitank weapons. They’d also practiced leaping from the vehicle and deploying while under fire, something he wasn’t looking forward to trying in real life. The LAV might have been designed to specifications that had been tested in battle time and time again, but he found it hard to trust it.

  “Only in training,” he said, somehow unwilling to admit that he’d never driven anything more complex than a cycle bike before joining the army. There were few privately-owned vehicles in Camelot, although most of the farmers owned vans and produce trucks. “I don’t think I was very good at it.”

  “You’ll only get better with practice,” the Marine said. She pointed him towards the hatch leading into the driver’s seat. “Get in there and start the engine.”

  Michael complied, ruefully aware that while he might have been granted the provisional rank of Corporal, he wasn’t in charge of the unit. The Marines had pushed a handful of their own people into temporary command ranks until the Army of Avalon produced its own officers, something that he’d been warned wouldn’t happen for at least a year. He had hoped that training and evaluation would be over now that they had graduated—he touched the silver badge at his collar to remind him—but he had rapidly been disabused of that thought. They would be being evaluated and judged for the rest of their careers.

  The driver’s seat was more comfortable than the ones inside the vehicle, although that wasn’t saying much. Unlike the interior, he could at least see out of the vehicle, allowing him to see where he was going. It wasn’t a perfect view and went a long way towards explaining why they’d been warned never to operate LAV vehicles without either AFV or infantry support. A single sneaky enemy with an antitank rocket could sneak into firing range and destroy them before they saw it coming. He keyed the command switch and started the engine, smiling as he felt it rumbling into life.

  “Come onboard if you’re coming,” the Marine bellowed, urging the platoon to scramble to get into the LAV before it departed, leaving them to explain themselves to the post commander. The base had been rapidly constructed near the spaceport itself, allowing the newly-minted soldiers a chance to learn what it felt like to march through civilian-occupied areas. Michael had learned rapidly that something that looked threatening might not be … and something that wasn’t threatening might be a nasty surprise, just waiting for one of them to step on it before detonating. They’d run through exercises over the last few days in a deserted village, play-acting out encounters, conversations and enemy attacks. He had never felt so capable and yet so scared. A single mistake could have disastrous consequences.

  The Marine pulled herself alongside him and winked. “Not too shabby,” she said, as the hatches banged closed and were checked, and then checked again. A loose hatch could become deadly in a battle situation. “Shall we depart?”

  Michael reached for the wheel, and then shook his head. “No, sir,” he said. ‘Sir’ seemed to be the default for Marine officers, male or female. “We haven’t been ordered to leave by the convoy’s commander.”

  “Good,” the Marine said. Michael realised with a flush of embarrassment that it had been another test. “I’m afraid that it’s just going to be hurry up and wait now. The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

  “I see,” Michael said. Marines were encouraged to be informal, but surely there were limits. “Can I ask a question?”

  “You can ask anything you like, although I don’t promise to answer,” the Marine countered. “Didn’t your Drill Sergeant beat that into you?”

  Michael nodded. Barr had told them, time and time again, that if they didn’t understand something, they had to ask and ask again until they understood. The Marines hadn’t been interested in training up rote automatons, but soldiers who could actually think, and plan, and understand the reasoning behind their orders. The mission they’d been given was actually a case in point. They were being deployed away from Camelot to threaten the Crackers and challenge their control over the countryside. It was almost certain, they’d been warned, that they would come under fire.

  “A question, them,” he said. “Why are there swords included in the weapons package we’ve been given?”

  The Marine grinned, her face completely transformed by the smile. “Did no one tell you?” She asked. Michael shook his head. “Those are not swords. Those are Zombie Decapitation Devices.”

  “Get away,” Michael said, automatically. “There’s no such thing as zombies?”

  “And how do you know that?” The Marine asked, dryly. “On some planet in a faraway sector, there was a Marine Regiment stationed there for some leave when suddenly the dead kind of rose up from their graves. They rapidly ran out of ammunition and had to resort to hacking the dead apart with swords. After that, they became part of the standard weapons package and had to be included in every deployment, just in case it happened again.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Michael said. “It’s a joke, right?”

  “It’s hard to say for sure,” the Marine admitted. “You know that every battle the Marines have ever taken part in is studied endlessly on the Slaughterhouse? There are very few sealed records, but the records relating to that particular deployment have been very carefully sealed. There are quite a few odd stories from deployments out along the Rim, so I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss it as impossible.”

  She grinned. “And besides, it makes for a few good stories,” she added. “Now…”

  The radio buzzed. “LAV-4, this is the CO,” a voice said. “Follow LAV-3 out of the complex, keeping at least ten meters between your vehicle and theirs. Acknowledge.”

  “Acknowledged,” Michael said, keying his radio. He gunned the engine as LAV-3 moved out ahead of their vehicle, heading towards the gate and the great outdoors. Slowly, carefully, he followed LAV-3 and passed through the gates. The whole world opened up in front of him.

  “Easy on the acceleration,” the Marine warned, as the military convoy turned onto one of the roads leading up away from the city. “We don’t want to crash into another vehicle. I’ve seen convoys take hours to cross ten miles merely because the drivers hadn’t had time to practice driving in convoy.”

  Something crossed Michael’s mind. “The Crackers are going to know that we’re coming,” he said, as they passed a group of farm vans heading down to the city. “They’re going to have plenty of time to prepare an ambush.”

  “Yep,” the Marine said, with a grin. “Hang on to that thought. It will keep you alert.”

  Michael looked up at her, and then returned his gaze to the road ahead, suddenly feeling very exposed. Anything could be out there, waiting for them.

  -o0o-

  Jasmine watched the young soldier’s face and knew that it was sinking in. No one who hadn’t spent any time in the countryside could grasp, intellectually, just how large it was. Experienced soldiers hated the thought of MOUT—Military Operations in Urban Terrain—yet fighting out in the countryside could be just as dangerous. They were horrifically exposed in their vehicles, escorts or no escorts, and she had little faith in the drones or satellites to pick up something truly dangerous. She kept her eyes on the road and silently blessed the workers who had cut the foliage well back from the tarmac. It would be hard to launch an effective ambush, even if they did somehow force the convoy to come to a stop.

  The trip passed slowly, but she kept alert, knowing that she had to set a good example to the troops. Marine Companies were generally over-officered compared to the
Imperial Army, but then the Imperial Army rarely operated in less than Regimental strength. Captain Stalker had had to spare some of his officers to mentor the soldiers Barr had picked out as POM—Possible Officer Material—and even some of his Riflemen, like Jasmine herself. It had crossed her mind that it was an attempt to distract her and the remainder of 2nd Platoon from worrying about their missing comrade, but that wasn’t a Marine tradition. They could lose someone to death, or abduction, yet they would still have to carry on. Wherever Blake was, he would have to take care of himself.

  It was possible that he would escape, she told herself, although it would require luck or a mistake on the part of his captors. If they bought into the ‘Marines-as-Supermen’ myth, they’d have him chained down and probably drugged. Given time, the implants in his body would help him build up an immunity to whatever they were giving him, but by then they’d probably decide to release him, kill him or attempt to use him as a bargaining chip. Jasmine knew the rules as well as anyone else; there would be no negotiations. The thought ran round and round in her mind. They couldn’t allow Blake to be used as a bargaining chip.

  She scowled as she tapped her helmet, linking into the live feed from the drone high above. There was no sign of anything that might threaten them … but then, there had been little sign of anything when the bandits attacked, either. If the bandits could get access to weapons from the Civil Guard, why couldn’t the Crackers do the same? Or, perhaps, get weapons from off-world. Before the Marines had arrived, the handful of orbital systems in orbit around Avalon could hardly have detected a single shuttle landing somewhere in the hinterlands. A hidden mortar, set to fire on automatic, or perhaps even home-made rockets … they’d suffice to slow the convoy and delay the operation. If she was in command of the enemy forces, and there was no reason to believe that the Crackers were stupid, that was exactly what she would do, if only to damage morale.