The Price of Liberty (Empire Rising Book 4)

by D. J. Holmes

  “You’re getting slow in your old age,” Briar chuckled.

  Before Johnston could reply, Fisher and Beckworth jumped over the battlements and landed between them. Nodding to each in turn, Johnston turned and surveyed the depot. To the east, the depot seemed to be engulfed in a massive firefight. At least two hundred marines were trying to hold off more than three hundred Indian soldiers who were intent on driving them out of the depot. To the south, it looked like the marines who had landed from the shuttles had breached the outer wall and were clearing the inner wall of soldiers. More than eighty Indian soldiers who had formed up in the middle of the depot turned and sprinted towards the second British incursion.

  “I guess everyone has forgotten about us,” Briar said.

  “Look at us,” Johnston replied. “Who’s going to think a group of ruffians like us would pose any threat?”

  Briar looked insulted but Johnston knew he was only putting it on. After spending months in the Havenite forests and caves Briar knew none of them looked entirely human.

  “There,” Johnston said. Almost right in the middle of the supply depot was a large structure with multiple antenna and other communication equipment protruding from its roof. “That looks like the base’s headquarters. Let’s go cut the head off the snake.”

  Jumping off the inner wall into the depot itself, Johnston sprinted in the direction of the headquarters. The entire base was a mess of confusion and he was trusting to speed in his speed to get him to his target. Twice as he, Briar and the other two special forces marines burst into a wider opening a couple of startled Indian soldiers tried to engage them. Each time the superior reflexes of Johnston and his men ensured it was the Indian soldiers who received a face full of plasma bolts.

  As they approached the depot’s headquarters, they came across less and less Indian soldiers or other personnel. Johnston wasn’t surprised, it was likely anyone who could hold a weapon had been ordered to try and fend off the two British attacks.

  “This is too easy,” Briar said as they came to a halt outside what looked like the main door into the depot’s headquarters.

  “Let’s give them a chance to surrender,” Johnston said. “Some of the prisoners might have valuable intel.”

  “You’re the boss,” Briar said.

  Johnston nodded, he was glad there was no resistance fighters with him. From day one he had been struggling to stop the resistance fighters from simply killing every Indian they encountered.

  “Hands in the air,” Johnston shouted as he burst through the headquarters’ doors.

  Tens of startled faces looked up from computer terminals at Johnston and the other three special forces marines. In the center of the large room, a man sat on a raised dais overlooking a large holo projection of the depot and the surrounding countryside.

  “Resistance fighters,” the man spat with the unmistakable tone of fear.

  Johnston recognized the man’s uniform as that of the Brigadier General in the Indian army. He opened his mouth to let the man know that he was a British marine. However, before he could say anything, the Brigadier General’s words sent a wave of terror throughout his subordinates. They all knew what the resistance would do to them if they were captured. The command staff reached for their holstered weapons. With no other choice, Johnston opened fire, he would be damned if he was going to let a bunch of fools end his life.

  *

  Stromboli popped out from behind the wheel of the truck he had been hiding behind and fired two plasma bolts at an Indian soldier charging his platoon’s position. He ducked back into cover as a series of bolts crashed into the truck, burning large holes into its side. For the last several minutes the Indians had been trying to drive his marines out of the base.

  “This is getting close,” one of his Sergeants said over the platoon COM channel.

  Stromboli didn’t have time to coddle his subordinate’s feelings. “Keep fighting,” he ordered. Just as he was about to pop his head out and fire another few plasma bolts at the Indian defenders, the distant but unmistakable sound of landing shuttles made him pause. Finally, he thought.

  Whether the Indians paused expecting their own reinforcement, or if they were just caught off guard by the new wave of British attackers, their advance halted. Then, as the shuttles rained destruction on the supply depot, the firefight intensified once again.

  “They’re trying to drive us off before theta company can engage them,” Stromboli shouted to his men over the COM channel. “Hold the line. They will break as soon as theta company hits them in the rear.”

  Matching action to words, Stromboli ducked out from behind cover and fired as fast as he could at any Indian soldier who appeared. The Indians made one final charge to try and overrun the first wave of British attackers. From their strong positions behind the transportation and maintenance trucks, Stromboli and what was left of his platoon fended them off. As the Indian soldiers broke into the open they made easy targets. Not all of the British platoons had been so successful. Stromboli could see at least two groups of British marines were involved in a desperate hand-to-hand fight with Indians who had reached their lines.

  Stromboli hefted his plasma rifle and tried to aim at one of the nearest Indian soldiers. However, he couldn’t get a clear shot. Swearing, he spun away from the soldiers trying to kill each other. “Follow me,” he said to the rest of his platoon.

  After peeking out from his cover and seeing the Indians had pulled back, he charged towards the defensive positions they had taken up. Advancing from cover to cover, his platoon spread out around him. Looking over his shoulder at the inner wall, Stromboli tried to get his bearings and remember where the depot’s headquarters were. If he could take the headquarters, then the Indian defense would fall apart.

  One of his Sergeants reported engaging a squad of Indian soldiers. With no other Indian forces in sight, Stromboli sent two of his squads to flank the Indians. In less than a minute they had all been killed or driven off. Stromboli set off with his men towards the headquarters. He was surprised by how little resistance the Indians were putting up.

  “Daniels,” Stromboli ordered over the COM channel as soon as they got close to the headquarters. “Take your squad forward and secure the building. We’ll cover you from out here.”

  “Lieutenant,” Daniels said over the COM channel less than twenty seconds after entering the building. “I think you’re going to want to see this.”

  As Stromboli walked through the sliding doors into the headquarters he was sickened by the sight that greeted him. The bodies of Indian technicians and soldiers were strewn all over the large, open room. Standing in the middle of the room, looking at the holo projection of the depot were four dirty, tattered and exhausted looking armed individuals.

  “Did you do this?” Stromboli demanded. “We could have gathered valuable intel from them.”

  “Alas,” Johnston replied as he took a few steps towards Stromboli, he stopped when a number of the marines in combat armor raised their plasma rifles towards him. “Alas,” he said again, coming to a halt and raising his empty hands to waist height, “we did give the Indians the opportunity to surrender. But I think they mistook us for resistance fighters. The Havenite resistance isn’t known for its willingness to accept prisoners of war. The Brigadier General’s staff chose death rather than what the resistance might have done to them.”

  “If you’re not with the resistance, then who are you?” Stromboli demanded.

  “Major Samuel Johnston of his Majesty’s special forces marines at your service,” Johnston said, snapping to attention. “And just who are you?” he asked as he lowered his hand.

  Though they were in the middle of a battlefield, Stromboli hastily snapped to attention in response to Johnston’s question. “Lieutenant first-class Jason Stromboli, commanding officer of the Yorkshire Fusiliers, alpha platoon.”

  Before he could say anything more Colonel Sanders’ voice came over the COM channel. “Lieutenant,” Colonel Sa
nders’ demanded. “What’s going on? Have you secured the depot’s headquarters? It looks like the Indian forces are beginning to rout”

  “Eh, yes Sir,” Stromboli replied. “My men have secured the objective.”

  Stromboli figured Major Johnston had guessed who he was talking to and what he had just said, for the special forces marine raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  “Eh, that is, I should say, Major Johnston and his squad of special forces marines have secured the headquarters. It seems they beat us to it,” Stromboli explained as he wilted under the stare of the half mad looking British Major.

  Back at his vantage point in the tree line Sanders could only chuckle. Even as an instructor you could never let us beat you could you old friend? he thought.

  Chapter 30 - Diversion

  The Earth Agreement has been signed by almost every civilized species in the explored galaxy. As a result, no planet has been bombarded from space in any of our recent wars. Yet that doesn’t mean it never happens. When it does it is truly a fearful thing to behold.

  -Excerpt from Empire Rising, 3002 AD

  31st October, 2467 AD, Haven

  As the shuttle landed, Admiral Cunningham peered out one of its viewing ports to survey the battlefield. It had been two days since General Hawker’s men had captured the supply depot. Even so, he could still see a number of human forms in combat armor piled up just outside the supply depot’s outer wall. From the limited briefings General Hawker had sent him, Cunningham knew a small detail of marines had been assigned to collecting the Indian dead and burying them. With so much going on, and a near constant stream of skirmishes with the Indian soldiers within Liberty, no more marines could be spared.

  Cunningham switched his attention to the supply depot itself. Along the battlements of the inner wall groups of marines patrolled back and forth. The defenses looked heavily damaged, though there were signs someone was trying to repair them. Within the center of the depot a large space had been cleared for shuttles to land. The captured Indian supplies had been sorted and anything useless discarded. Beyond the supply depot, in the opposite direction to Liberty, Cunningham could clearly make out the two marine assault transports. Both ships were almost as large as his flagship, the battlecruiser Churchill. Whilst his ship would never touch the atmosphere of a planet, both marine assault ships had been designed to land on a planetary surface.

  The sight of both ships sitting on their landing struts, towering over the forest around them was unnatural. Even so, the sight of long lines of marines and heavy tanks snaking their way from both transport ships across the clearing towards the supply depot was reassuring. By all estimates, even once both transports were fully unloaded, the Indian forces on Haven would still outnumber the soldiers under Lieutenant General Hawker’s command. That’s why I’m here, Cunningham said to himself. For the last two days he had been getting constant updates from General Hawker as the General set about securing his landing zone and preparing to move on Liberty. The operation was planned to begin today and Cunningham wanted to get a final briefing from the General in person.

  Once the shuttle landed in the depot, Cunningham walked down the rear ramp as it descended. A full squad of marines in combat armor and a Colonel awaited him. “This way Admiral,” the Colonel said. “Lieutenant General Hawker is waiting for you.”

  “Lead on,” Cunningham said as he fell in behind the Colonel and proceeded through the supply depot. As he walked he couldn’t help but notice signs of the fighting. Almost every building or piece of machinery that looked like it was Indian in design had multiple scorch marks from being hit by stray plasma rifle bolts.

  “Were you involved in the fighting for the depot?” Cunningham asked the Colonel escorting him.

  “Yes Admiral, I’m Colonel Sanders. My men were the ones who stormed the depot,” Sanders explained.

  “I’ve read the battle reports,” Cunningham said. “Your men fought bravely. You can tell them that they far exceeded my expectations.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be pleased to hear that,” Sanders replied.

  Cunningham hoped so. Technically, the marines were outside of his command structure and historically there had always been competition between the marines and the navy. Even so, since the outbreak of war with the Indians, Cunningham had been working closely with Lieutenant General Hawker and his forces. He hoped his praise would be taken seriously.

  “Right through here Admiral,” Sanders said as they approached one of the largest buildings in the supply depot.

  As Sanders stepped to one side, Cunningham walked through the sliding doors that opened as he approached. He was greeted by a spacious room with a number of computer terminals spread all around its walls. In the middle, a large holo projector was running and a quick glance told Cunningham it was displaying Liberty and the surrounding countryside.

  “Admiral Cunningham,” Lieutenant General Hawker said as he saw who had entered his headquarters. “Welcome, you’re just in time. I have half an hour before the final briefing with my commanders. If you want, I can walk you through our plans.”

  “Thank you,” Cunningham said. “That is why I requested to see you in person.”

  “Well, as you can see,” Hawker began as he walked Cunningham over to the large holo- display. “We have Liberty all but surrounded. These red dots around the city are our forward operating bases. In total we have eight of them encircling the city. Between each base we have both aerial and ground drones operating, as well as regular patrols. As yet, there’s been no sign any Indian forces have tried to break out of the city. I think they believe their best bet is to dig in and hold us off as long as possible. I assume they’re hoping their fleet will return to drive us away or their government will negotiate a ceasefire.”

  “We haven’t made any attempts to enter the city yet?” Cunningham asked.

  “We have made a few small pushes into the outer suburbs,” Hawker answered. “We’ve been testing the Indians’ outer defenses. We believe the vast majority of their forces are concentrated in the inner city but they have left enough soldiers scattered throughout the city to impede any attempt we might make to move a major force directly towards the Council Chambers.”

  “This is where they have set up their headquarters?” Cunningham followed up.

  “Yes,” Hawker replied. “They have more of their air and ground based lasers and anti-plasma cannons protecting the government buildings. My analysts are taking that as evidence they have their headquarters within the Council Chambers itself.”

  “How many soldiers do you reckon the Indians have within the city?” Cunningham asked.

  “Working from the hybrid estimate of my own analysts and figures from the resistance, I believe there to be upwards of fifteen thousand soldiers,” Hawker answered. “Alongside the soldiers themselves, there are at least a hundred heavy combat tanks within the city. Our aerial drones have located more than eighty of them and we believe we can take out many of them as soon as we make our first move. However, it will be difficult to destroy them without doing significant damage to the surrounding civilian buildings.”

  “I know your men will do their best,” Cunningham said. “But if it comes down to it, make sure they know their own lives come first. We’ve been broadcasting constantly from orbit warning all the civilians in Liberty to take shelter as far away from any Indian forces as they can. We’re not going to go about needlessly destroying buildings, but this is a war, things are going to get destroyed.”

  “I know,” Hawker said. “My men are fully briefed on their orders. They know they can do what they need to do to win. Even so, I can’t help thinking that every building we destroy will give the resistance fighters and the rest of the Havenite population one more reason to turn on us once the Indians are beaten. You haven’t had to deal with the resistance, they are a prickly bunch.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Cunningham said. “I’m scheduled to meet Councilwoman Pennington later this afternoon so I’m sure I’
ll get the full experience myself soon enough. How are they working out for you? I know Major Johnston advised attaching at least one or two fighters to each platoon. Have you followed his advice?”

  “There’s no doubt they are useful,” Hawker answered. “I have indeed followed Major Johnston’s suggestion. So far the resistance fighters have proved invaluable in each of the minor pushes we’ve made into the city. Most of them know the city like the back of their hands. There can be no doubting their fighting spirit either. That’s what worries me though, if the resistance decides they want to fight us after we’ve driven off the Indians, I’m not sure we could ever defeat them. We would end up having to fight a guerrilla war indefinitely.”

  “Don’t worry,” Cunningham said in a reassuring manner. “I’m sure it won’t come to that. Hopefully my meeting with Pennington later today will be the start of a fruitful relationship. After everything they’ve been through, they would be insane not to take the help our government is offering them.”