“Your marines will have to manage with whatever volunteers present themselves Admiral,” Reynolds said eventually. “The fruits of any conscription will have to be aimed at reinforcing the national contingents. It is the only way people are going to stomach it.”
Eulenburg nodded his consent.
“Admiral, did we hear anything from the Chinese?” asked the French Governor.
“No. The Americans bounced a brief transmission off Endurance but we got nothing from Anshan Base. We did send a transmission but we have no indication that it was received.”
Or that anyone was there to receive it was the unspoken thought. The last transmission from Anshan had been six weeks ago. Exactly what that meant was anyone’s guess. All of Landfall’s communications and observation satellites were either jammed into uselessness or smashed. The last transmission from Anshan stated they were under heavy assault but were holding, then nothing. They were still intermittently hearing from the Americans and they had received nothing either. As the weeks went by there was a growing view that the Chinese shelter was gone.
“Could we ask the next blockade-runner to orbit over Anshan, to see what’s happened?”
“No. I never speak to those captains. They’re all busy and I won’t interrupt them.” Eulenburg shook his head, “No, we must accept that this is another matter where there is nothing we can currently do.”
“We seem to end up saying that a lot,” replied the New Zealand Governor in a disgusted voice.
___________________
When Alice led her section down through the massive blast doors into the upper levels of the shelters she was shocked to see a young man shackled, arms outstretched to a metal frame. He was stripped from the waist up, the rest of his gear piled untidily beside him. There were a lot of other groups of auxiliaries milling around the chamber.
“What the hell?” she muttered as she took the scene in. The military was usually pretty fussy about having more people than was strictly necessary in the entrance chamber, but the officers she could see didn’t seem to be trying to move people either out or down. Turning she started to shoulder her way through the crowd towards where the packages from the cargo pod were being collected and sorted.
“What’s going on over there?” she asked the lieutenant in charge of the collections.
“Oh that…” a look of disgust crossed his face, “…that arsehole was caught breaking into cargo… looking for chocolate, either for himself or the black market.”
There had been a rumour going round for weeks that chocolate would be in the next drop and it seemed to be damn near all anyone could think about. Hell, Alice had even found herself dreaming about the stuff.
“Was there any?”
“For the umpteenth time, no. Ammunition and emergency rations only.”
“What’s going to happen to him?”
“Flogged. Here in front of everyone.”
Alice did a double take.
“What? Seriously!” she exclaimed.
“Instructions from down below,” he said, ticking his pad. “Too much stuff has been disappearing and the black market is getting out of control. The days of the softly, softly approach are over. From here on in, those who get caught get made examples of.” The lieutenant didn’t sound happy. “Thirty lashes for him, then back to work.” He looked directly at her for moment then shrugged, “it’s not as if we can put him in jail.”
“Jesus.” Damien muttered when she told him the news, “next stop, the bloody middle ages.”
“Yeah,” she replied before a sergeant shouted and she started to shove her section into a rough line.
Horrible as they were, it wasn’t so much the man’s screams that stuck in Alice’s mind, as she lay in the dugout she now called home. With the first couple of strokes it had been gasps of pain. It was only with the fourth or fifth stroke, when the whip went across an area of skin already struck that he screamed. By the twentieth though, his voice had faded to a broken whisper. So she sort of got used to them and then they faded out. It was debatable whether by the time the stony faced sergeant reached thirty, he was even still conscious. Certainly as he was carried away, it was clear he wasn’t going back to work. No, what stuck in her mind was the swish and crack of the whip. Even though by now she was as used to shellfire as anyone could be, with every stroke of that whip she’d jumped. There was something just too sudden about it for her ears and mind to get used to.
How the spectacle had affected the auxiliaries was equally debatable. Two of her people had thrown up. On the way out she heard another pair speculating on the origin of the whip, with one of them wondering whether a sex shop had been looted before the siege.
Damien slipped in beside her and kissed the back of her neck.
“You all right?” he asked quietly.
“Hmm.”
“Still thinking about it?”
“Yeah.”
“Well he’s better off than the poor bastards who were in the jail when that got hit.”
“Doubt he’s feeling it,” Alice said quietly.
The two of them lay in silence. Behind them were the grunts, snores and groans of the others.
“I just don’t know how we got to this,” Damien said eventually.
“A step at a time.”
He slipped an arm round her.
“It’s getting worse isn’t it?”
“Yep.”
“You know Corp, you’re supposed to say ‘no, we’re on the way to victory’”
Alice smiled sadly in the darkness, “must have missed that memo. Alright, we’re on the way to victory.”
___________________
The intelligence annex was almost empty when Eulenburg walked in. The duty officer saluted then returned to his work. Sitting at one of the central desks in a wheelchair, Chevalier was reading from a pad.
“How did the meeting go?” the Brigadier asked looking up.
“As purposeless as ever.” Eulenburg replied as he sat.
“Did they have anything to say about the flogging?”
“No. Nothing at all as it turned out. ”
“Unspoken approval perhaps?”
“A lovely but unlikely scenario. No, if it is ever queried they will claim distraction by the blockade-runner and keep their own hands clean by hanging it around my neck, should it become politically prudent.” Eulenburg replied, “But what choice did I have.”
“Precious little.”
“Little choice just about sums up every decision I’ve made in months.” Eulenburg shook his head and added: “what do you have for me.”
“A recon party came in via the backdoor,” Chevalier replied. “I’ve been looking over the report.”
The Brigadier’s treatment had reached the limits of what Douglas base could provide. The doctors had without question saved his life but the burns made him virtually unrecognisable. Plastic surgery had been limited to saving his sight. Eulenburg had given him oversight of the intelligence section as much to ensure that he wouldn’t have too much time to think and Chevalier had thrown himself into the task.
“They followed protocol?”
“Yes. It doesn’t seem to have occurred to the Nameless that we might have another way in and out of the base. The security around their landing zone seems to be largely based around assault from the air. The team was able to get in close enough to take the following pictures.” Chevalier passed across the pad. Eulenburg looked them over, his eyes widening with surprise.
“There is a small hill five kilometres away from the central complex. The Nameless haven’t secured it, so our team was able to take up position there for over a week.”
The last photos they’d got had been from an airborne reconnaissance drone received shortly after the initial landing. Since then the Nameless had clearly been busy. The buildings themselves, even though alien, had a something about them that screamed prefabricated, but even so to construct a fully sized spaceport in the timeframe was impressive.
<
br /> “You said security isn’t very good. Is there any possibilities in the direction of a ground assault?”
“No. Getting a four-man team in is one thing, but an assault would require hundreds. Once the Nameless became aware of them there would be no coming back here. At best they would have to retreat and scatter into the wilds and more likely they would be overrun. Either way, they would be off the board in terms of defending this base.”
“Well it was an idea. But if the fleet does try to make a major drop, there might be an opportunity to call down a bombardment on them.” Eulenburg smiled briefly at that thought.
“Hmm…” Chevalier replied and Eulenburg looked at him quizzically. The burns made his face all but unreadable now.
“I do wonder at the wisdom of requesting a major drop.”
“We’re bleeding up there Sebastian. I’m trying to organise a draft from the civilians, but in truth any results will be at best third class soldiers. As for supplies, mortar rounds are but a distant memory, artillery limited to no more than two rounds per gun per day and small arms ammunition levels are frighteningly low. I make much of the blockade-runners’ efforts but the reality is that what they bring in is a daisy in a bull’s mouth.”
“Yes, Yes. I know, but…” Chevalier trailed off.
“But what?”
“If they put in an assault like the first one. It is doubtful whether we could stop them.”
“We have good reason to believe they threw nearly everything they’d landed at us. They only stopped when they
virtually ran out of soldiers,” Eulenburg replied.
“Yet they have long since replenished so why no further large scale assaults? Why have they contented themselves with shelling and small scale skirmishing?” Chevalier asked. “I don’t know why, but I do know this. By our most conservative estimates they have landing thousands of tonnes of cargo every month. Our recon teams have observed huge convoys leaving the spaceport, heading directly away from Douglas.”
“What point are you trying to make Sebastian?”
“That right now we are perhaps only an inconvenience. They made one attempt to sweep us away and when that failed were content to merely bottle us up. A major drop might serve to refocus their attention, which might be what happened to the Chinese.”
Eulenburg made no immediate reply as he looked through the images.
“What are these?” He tapped his finger on the pad to zoom in on the picture but the image pixelated too much to make out detail. They appeared to be some kind of walker though.
“Unknown. They’ve only been seen a few times, always at distance and never by a camera with good enough resolution to make out detail. And you’re changing the subject, sir.”
Eulenburg sat back in his chair.
“Maybe you are right Sebastian. Maybe a major drop will move us from inconvenience to thorn in their side, one that they will decide to tear out. Without resupply, we are dying a slow death. I have…” he paused and smiled bitterly, “…I have no choice.”
Chapter Sixteen
Operation Kite String
16th June 2067
“My name is General Xiaochuan of the Chinese People’s Liberation Army, commanding officer of Anshan Ground Base.” The General’s voice was firm, his posture rigid, and despite what he said next, he showed no sign of weariness or fear.
“I regret to report we have lost control of the surface of the base. On the First of May a raid by Nameless ground forces penetrated a weak point in our lines. Before we were able to react they poured several battalions worth of troops into the breach, overrunning two of our laser batteries. We counter-attacked as soon as we could but although we inflicted heavy casualties, we have failed to dislodge them. At this moment the situation on the surface is in a condition of stalemate but it is my opinion and that of my officers that our situation is now untenable. The Nameless have positioned anti-aircraft weapons close to the peak, allowing them to destroy any supply drop. They are rebuilding their strength and once they have the numbers they will sweep us from the surface. Unless Battle Fleet is in a position to break the siege of the planet within the next month, it is inevitable that Anshan will fall. I therefore intend while we still have the means, to mount a breakout from the mountain and lead as many as we can into the undeveloped and unexplored regions around Anshan. It is likely that we will lose many, if not most, of those who currently shelter within the base. But the alternative is to hope for a miracle and that, I cannot in good conscience do. This is the final report of General Xiaochuan, commanding officer of Anshan Ground Base.”
The large screen behind the council table went blank and after a moment the light came back on. There were grim faces all around the chamber.
“That went out on the major news networks thirty minutes ago,” President Clifton said, her voice tight with anger. “It’s already filtering across the internet, so we have to get ahead of this. There are one point one million people in Anshan. What is the fleet going to do?” she demanded.
“I know this is not the answer anyone wants to hear,” Wingate said. “It’s not the answer I want to give but the fleet is in no position to do anything. We cannot lift the siege and as the general has made clear that is the only thing that would save Anshan.”
“Admiral, that’s not good enough!” Clifton shouted. “The Council has so far given Battle Fleet free rein in the operational control of this war. But this is not acceptable! We are not writing off hundreds of thousands of people as unavoidable casualties of war!”
“Madam President. General Xiaochuan gave a detailed list of his plans for his breakout, including timing. By now he has already made his attempt and has either succeeded or failed. Either way, it’s now too late to do anything. I am sorry if I sound callous…”
“The other two shelters are still intact, but by their own accounts coming under heavy pressure,” butted in the Russian President. “Do we intend to wait until it is ‘too late’ there as well?”
“Respectfully sir, right now we are only just holding the Junction Line. A convoy into Landfall would mean a major withdrawal of forces from those positions for an extended period.
“Maybe so Admiral, but we have agreed to merging and a reduction of the forces on Aèllr frontier and Dryad station. Given that, we believe that an effort must be made.
To the left and right the rest of the Council sounded their agreement. Wingate tried to point out the military realities but instead lost ground. Finally Clifton called for a show of hands and with a sinking feeling Wingate watched as the motion to reinforce Landfall was unanimously passed.
Admiral Lewis looked up from the meeting minutes, his expression predictably grim. “So much for classified, sir,” Lewis said dryly. “Do we have any idea who leaked it to the media?”
“No and I doubt we’ll ever find out,” Wingate replied grimly. “It was either someone who got a big payday via a journalist or someone overwhelmed by their own sense of moral purity. I was coming under enough pressure from the Council as it was, but I was starting to make progress in persuading them to continue the blockade-runner policy as the only means of bringing in supplies to Landfall. But this, combined with the requests for a major resupply that we’ve received from both the remaining shelters, mean that politically an effort has become a necessity. I had hoped the fact that Dryad was held would be enough to satisfy them.”
“Given that the public at large didn’t really know how seriously the system was under threat in the first place, there wasn’t much hope of that.” Lewis paused as he continued to read the minutes.
“You’re taking this more calmly than I expected,” Wingate observed as he sat down heavily.
“I always thought that if we lost one or more of the shelters our political masters would be overwhelmed by that vice of their trade - the desperate need to be seen to be ‘doing something’,” Lewis’s voice dripped sarcasm. “A couple of months ago my staff and I investigated the possibility of a convoy. It’s in the fl
eet mainframe under name the Project L Seven, Three, Nine.”
“We’ve been granted use of all the national military troop transports. Well actually I’ve been told to get them to Landfall.”
Lewis closed his eyes for a few moments. “We couldn’t be sure of the exact ship composition of the convoy, transports or ours,” he said finally, “but all the troop transports are highly capable vessels. The rest are going to have to be equally capable. The key to success will be evasive plotting. If we can get the convoy to the Landfall System with little or no notice, then that will probably oblige the Nameless to pull mobile units off the Junction Line and station them closer to Landfall to prevent us from doing it again.”
“So L Seven, Three, Nine is an exercise that is more about taking pressure off Junction and Earth,” Wingate inquired, “than it is about landing supplies.”
“As I’ve said more than once, to attempt to defend everything means defending nothing.” Lewis’s face was expressionless. “We’re trying to save the human race, not every member of it.”
“You’re becoming more political in your old age, Paul.”
“It comes with the wrinkles and is about as welcome.”
___________________
2nd July 2067
“Confirmed orbital control, this is Deimos over and out,” Crowe replied before adding: “Helm, take us to our assigned position.”
“Yes sir,” the helmsman replied as Deimos moved into her assigned orbital position, slotted between two of Earth’s star forts.
“It’s good to be back,” Command Hockley remarked as they started the changeover from the main to the orbital watch. “It’s been a long time since we were home.” Crowe gave him a slightly odd look before he remembered that for Battle Fleet anything over six months away from Earth was a long deployment. In Science Fleet anything less than nine months out was barely worth mentioning.
The Landfall Campaign (The Nameless War) Page 34
