The Empire's Corps: Book 06 - To The Shores...

by Christopher Nuttall

  Edward sighed. Command Sergeant Gwendolyn Patterson – his senior sergeant – wouldn't be accompanying him to Lakshmibai, but that hadn't stopped her issuing strict orders to Blake Coleman. 1st Platoon was to accompany him at all times and keep him out of trouble, even if they had to sit on him. Technically, Coleman outranked the sergeant, but few lieutenants would defy an order from the chief NCO.

  “I will,” he promised.

  He kissed her again, feeling her body pressing against his. It would have been easy to take it further, no matter what they’d privately agreed about not showing affection outside the bedroom. He had to force down the temptation and step backwards before it was too late.

  “You know,” he said slowly, “once I get back, we could get married.”

  Gaby laughed, although there was an undertone of sadness in it. “You’re already married,” she said, reaching up to tap the Rifleman’s Tab on his collar. “The Marine Corps is a jealous mistress. I don’t think she would approve.”

  “I know,” Edward said, quietly. Even now, with most of his duties keeping him firmly on Avalon, they could never be truly together. And she too had her own duties. The President of the Commonwealth couldn't marry her senior military officer without one of them surrendering their position. “And I’m sorry.”

  He kissed her one final time and walked out of her office.

  Chapter Four

  It may seem absurd to think of nations as people (although humans do believe in national characters), but there is a great deal of truth in it. While most nations try to govern themselves according to geopolitical imperatives, hurt feelings and other emotions can and do affect international affairs.

  -Professor Leo Caesius. Diplomacy: The Lessons of the Past.

  “He isn't doing too badly,” Joe Buckley muttered.

  Jasmine shrugged. Every soldier in the CEF – they’d avoided the Imperial Army’s concept of rear-echelon motherfuckers as much as possible – was required to undertake a two-mile run every day and she’d insisted that Emmanuel Alves join them. She’d half-expected him to decline, or to insist on being ferried around the battlefield in a luxury vehicle, but instead he’d put his head down and run with the best of them. His timings weren't very good – certainly not up to Marine standards – yet he wasn't as out of shape as most civilians.

  “I suppose he isn’t,” she said, reluctantly. He’d actually stayed in the background as she hammered the CEF into shape, only asking her questions when it was clear that she had time to spare. “Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.”

  “Wait until he’s on the transport,” Buckley advised. “You’ll see what he’s really like when he’s cooped up with thousands of sweaty soldiers.”

  “True,” Jasmine agreed. The best efforts of air scrubbers couldn't purge the air of the stench of thousands of men sharing the same compartment. She'd known otherwise promising soldiers who’d been unable to cope with the thought of spending so much time in close-proximity to hundreds of others. “But he did survive living rough while the war was waging over Avalon.”

  Buckley snorted. “But he was still out in the open air,” he pointed out. “This time, he’ll be in an interstellar transporter.”

  He gave Jasmine a rather sardonic look. “I think he’s interested in you,” he added. “Didn’t someone tell him that you could take him with both hands tied behind your back?”

  Jasmine glowered at him. “I don’t think that’s likely,” she said, crossly. “I think he’s more interested in his story than me personally.”

  “You could ensure he writes a good story about you, if you’re careful,” Buckley teased. “Or perhaps if you broke up with him ...”

  “Stop channelling Blake,” Jasmine ordered. She shook her head in rueful disbelief. “It doesn’t suit you.”

  “Blake’s got his hands full right now,” Buckley reminded her. “Someone has to take his place as regimental joker and asshole.”

  Jasmine rolled her eyes. “How come I never reached that high rank?”

  “Too responsible,” Buckley told her. He stuck out his tongue in a thoroughly childish manner. “By the time you could be considered for the post, you were already too serious and boringly mature for the position.”

  Jasmine smiled. She’d been new to the company on Han, when the entire planet had exploded into chaos and she’d probably worked too hard to fit in. But it had been worth it, she knew, even if she had had to put up with Blake’s sense of humour. Playing pranks on FNGs was an old military tradition. So was playing pranks on other units, but that was rare in the Marine Corps. Jasmine still wondered who’d suggested it to the Knights.

  “Me and my bright ideas,” she said. She gave Buckley a long considering look. “How’s Lila taking the forthcoming separation?”

  “Not too well,” Buckley admitted. “She knew that I would have to leave eventually, but I think she hoped that it wouldn't be until much later. Right now, she’s talking about returning to her family and putting our stuff into storage until I return. Pity we can't take her with us ...”

  He gave Jasmine a beseeching look that made her roll her eyes. “I can't make those decisions,” she said, shaking her head. She had absolute authority over the CEF – certainly more than any Imperial Army officer would have enjoyed – but she had no authority to allow anyone outside the military to accompany them. Besides, Lila Buckley couldn’t really make herself useful. “Ask the Colonel.”

  “He doesn't want to be bothered by me,” Buckley said. He looked down at the concrete ground for a long moment, then back up at Jasmine. “You do realise that you technically outrank him now?”

  “I told you to stop channelling Blake,” Jasmine said, tartly. It was true that a Brigadier outranked a Colonel, at least formally, but Colonel Stalker was also the senior officer in the Army of Avalon. Like most of the detached Stalker’s Stalkers, he held several separate posts at once. “I don’t think I can give him orders.”

  “At least not now,” Buckley said. He elbowed her significantly. “What about when you’re on the ground?”

  “We’ll deal with that when it happens,” Jasmine said. It was true that there were situations where a senior officer had to defer to a junior, something most junior officers dreaded. Legal rights or no, they might still incur the wrath of a superior officer and their careers would suffer. “Anyway, it isn't as if the Colonel is going to be with the CEF.”

  “One would hope so,” Buckley agreed. He elbowed her again as the men reached the end of the two-mile track. “Look; he’s finished ... and he isn't even winded. Much.”

  Jasmine smiled, remembering her first day at Boot Camp. They’d been ordered to run a mile and a half ... and a third of the new recruits had been gasping, wheezing and coughing by the end of the run. She’d thought herself in great shape until she’d discovered just how far she had to go before she could even graduate from Boot Camp, let alone the Slaughterhouse. But, for a civilian, she had to admit that the reporter had done very well.

  “We’ll give him more time on the range,” she said, as the first flight of shuttles came into view, heading down towards the landing pad at the far side of the base. “I don’t want him behind me with a weapon until I’m sure he knows what he’s doing with it.”

  Buckley smirked. “And what sort of weapon do you have in mind?”

  “I’ll tell Lila you said that,” Jasmine said. “I’m sure she’ll be very impressed.”

  “No,” Buckley said, quickly. “Anything, but that!”

  Jasmine concealed her amusement and started to walk towards the main building, pulling her datapad off her belt as she walked. The first Warriors from the CEF were already being prepped for transfer to the shuttles – and then to the transports, waiting in high orbit.

  And then they could finally start moving.

  ***

  “All right,” Sergeant Grieves barked, as the hatch slammed open. “Everyone out!”

  Michael gripped his rifle tightly as he led the way out of
the Warrior AFV. It was a thoroughly ugly vehicle, without even the brutal elegance of the Landshark Main Battle Tanks, but he knew from experience that it was extremely tough. The vehicles were designed to take incoming fire from machine guns, RPGs and even heavy IEDs without being disabled, let alone wounding or killing the soldiers inside. During exercises, the only injuries the company had suffered had been aching ears; the soundproofing was far from perfect.

  He knelt down as the rest of the platoon formed up in a protective circle, ready to repel attack. For a long moment, they held the pose and then the Sergeant blew a whistle and they relaxed – slightly. It was quite possible that the endless exercises and simulations they’d carried out over the last two days had not yet come to an end. He looked back at the vehicle, then over at the massive shuttle waiting on the landing pad. It seemed an odd place to carry out an ambush.

  But even a main battle tank is hopelessly vulnerable in a shuttle, he thought, remembering some of the campaigns he’d been forced to study when he’d gone back to the Knights. The Marines had been called upon to storm entire planets in the past ... and the defenders, knowing just how deadly the Marines were on the ground, had fought hard to thin out the shuttles as much as possible. A single hit could take out an entire platoon of Marines and their support vehicles.

  “At ease,” he ordered, when he saw the signal from the Sergeant. The exercise was definitely over. Ahead of them, the shuttle was already opening its hatches. “Corporal Peotone, take the Warrior forward, into the shuttle.”

  He smiled as the Warrior hummed forward, weapons and sensors already retreating inside the heavily-armoured hull. It still surprised him just how quiet the vehicles actually were, particularly when compared to the primitive designs Avalon had been forced to use before the Marines had arrived. He hadn't believed that someone could actually sneak up to an enemy position in a tank – or an AFV – until he'd actually seen it done. The vehicles were almost impossible to hear unless one was at very close range.

  But they would probably have a sensor net out too, he told himself. The Warrior shuddered slightly as it entered the shuttle, then carefully positioned itself in place to be secured to the deck. Michael stowed his rifle over his shoulder and followed it into the shuttle, where two crewmen were already checking its moorings. The driver shut the vehicle down completely and scrambled out, dogging down the hatch behind him. Michael watched as the Warrior was secured to the deck, then checked it for himself. He’d been warned, time and time again, to take nothing for granted.

  “Good,” he grunted finally, and straightened up. The remainder of the platoon was waiting outside. “Come on in; the water’s fine.”

  Michael smiled at their expressions. It was odd, but he was one of a handful of officers and enlisted men who had any experience in operations outside the planet’s atmosphere. His men were brave, naturally, yet space held plenty of terrors for those who had never experienced it before. He recalled how nervous he’d been the first time he’d flown into space and carefully refrained from taking official notice of the more nervous soldiers. They’d grow used to it.

  Unless they’re natural-born groundhogs, he thought, remembering what the RockRats had sneered about those they called dirty-feet. They’d believed that humanity had no place on a planet’s surface and the only place to realise humanity’s destiny was out in space. There were times when he was tempted to agree with them, but then he went out to hike through the countryside and knew better. The RockRat habitats lacked the natural beauty of a planetary biosphere.

  The Sergeant checked the men as they sat down and buckled in, then sat down next to Michael and passed him a datapad. Michael took it and skimmed quickly through the final series of readiness reports, confirmed that they were accurate and then pressed his thumbprint against the sensor, sending a copy to the brigade’s CO. He in turn would report to Brigadier Yamane that the 1st Avalon Mechanized Infantry Battalion was at full combat readiness.

  Or it will be once we’re on the ground, he thought. A dull rumble ran through the shuttle as its drives powered up, then it shook violently as it lifted off and clawed frantically into the sky. There were no portholes, unlike the civilian shuttles he’d used during his brief stint with the RockRats; he had to admit that the experience was a little unnerving, even before the gravity field began to shift slightly, compensating for the loss of Avalon’s gravity field. As always, the artificial gravity field made him feel lightheaded as it shimmered into existence, although the technicians swore blind that it was his imagination. He made a mental note to check how many others were equally light-headed as the shuttle left the atmosphere and then closed his eyes. There was just enough time for a brief catnap before the shuttle docked with the Koenraad Jurgen and they had to disembark.

  And then they would finally be on their way.

  ***

  “She isn't very pretty, is she?”

  Jasmine smiled at the surprise in the reporter’s voice. Civilian starships were designed with a sense of aesthetics; military designers could hardly allow themselves such a luxury. Koenraad Jurgen – named for a Marine who’d died in combat against pirates – was a blocky mass, studded with sensor and weapons blisters. She would definitely not win any awards, Jasmine knew, but she would do the job. There was no need to ask for anything else.

  “She’s designed to allow us to disembark and deploy as quickly as possible,” Jasmine said. The starship’s underside was a teeming mass of assault and transport shuttles, attached to the hull rather than being taken inside the starship. In an emergency deployment, every second counted. Disengaging a shuttle from an airlock was much quicker than launching it out of a shuttlebay. “And she’s tough.”

  But not battleship tough, she added, in the privacy of her own mind. A battleship could ride out a nuke detonating against her hullmetal, but Koenraad Jurgen would be devastated by a single direct hit. The shuttles and other attached elements would be wiped out of existence, even through the main body of the ship would survive. We dare not take on an enemy warship in space.

  The Terran Marine Corps had operated its own force of purpose-built transports, but none of them had been left at Avalon for the Commonwealth to put to work. Instead, a new class of transports had been designed, drawing on the centuries of experience in the Marine datafiles – and, more practically, the experience of the Marines serving under Colonel Stalker. Jasmine had never had to carry out a forced landing on a heavily-defended world – sneaking onto Admiral Singh’s capital didn’t count – but she knew that they could be hellish. The designers had done their best to ensure that their transports were capable of getting the Marines where they were needed and then escaping before they could be destroyed.

  She smiled at the reporter’s expression as the transport loomed up, suddenly becoming a wall of metal hanging against the endless field of stars. For a long moment, it looked as though they were going to ram the transport – the reporter blanched and clutched at his seat – before they came to a halt. A faint quiver ran through the shuttle as it docked with the transport, followed by a dull click as the hatch unlocked, allowing them to enter the ship.

  “Optical illusion,” Jasmine said, softly. “We weren't in any real danger.”

  “Thank you,” the reporter said, quietly. “It’s my first time off-world.”

  Jasmine nodded as she unstrapped herself from the seat and stood upright, pulling her duffel back from under the seat and slinging it over her back. It always struck her as strange just how few people in the Empire had been into space, even though the Empire had controlled over a third of the galaxy. But then, not everyone had the thirst for adventure – and the desire to prove herself – that had led Jasmine to leave her homeworld and join the Marines.

  She led the way through the hatch and saluted the flag painted on the bulkhead, then led the way down to where the soldiers were flowing onto the giant transport. The reporter followed her like a stray puppy, with Joe Buckley bringing up the rear. Her HQ staff would finish
unloading the shuttle and then take their place in their compartment, ready for the trip.

  The reporter muttered a curse as they stepped through an airlock and into one of the holds. A dozen Warrior AFVs were secured to the deck, having been transported up from the planet’s surface and unloaded into the transport. Behind them, a pair of Landshark tanks dominated the hold, their main guns looking thoroughly intimidating even without ammunition. Jasmine looked at their treads – which had left marks on the hullmetal that would have to be cleaned, once they were under way – and smiled to herself. The Landshark tanks were primitive, but no one could deny that they did their duties very well.

  “I always wondered,” the reporter said, “why you don’t produce hovering tanks.”

  Jasmine smiled. She'd wondered the same thing herself, back when she’d gone to Boot Camp. It was a far from uncommon question.

  “The more complex a piece of equipment is,” she said simply, “the more likely it is to fail on the battlefield. A Landshark tank’s treads are easier to repair than an antigravity generator. And besides, an antigravity generator can be detected from quite some distance. It’s much simpler to rely on something so primitive that it can be hard to detect.”

  She would have continued, but they were interrupted by an all-hands announcement that echoed through the entire ship. “NOW HEAR THIS,” a voice barked. “DEPARTURE IN SEVEN HOURS, FORTY MINUTES. I SAY AGAIN, DEPARTURE IN SEVEN HOURS, FORTY MINUTES.”

  “That’s us told,” Joe Buckley muttered, from behind her.

  “See that everything is stowed away before the loadmasters come to inspect it,” Jasmine said, turning to face him. They shared a moment of pure understanding. It was unlikely in the extreme that the loading would proceed without problems. They weren't commanding experienced Marines this time, but soldiers who’d never travelled on an interstellar transport before. “And then pass the word down the chain. Everyone is to have time to rest before we return to the training simulations.”