“You’re right,” Mark conceded. There was no point in bickering about it. “Do I have your permission to plan and conduct an opposed landing?”
“I want boots on the ground within a day,” Admiral Singh said. “And I want that city in our hands within two weeks.”
“It will depend on what opposition we encounter,” Mark said. He’d never had to fight without orbital firepower backing him up. The enemy would have the same problem, of course, but they’d had several weeks to draw up contingency plans. There were hundreds of steps they could take to make his life miserable, if they’d thought of them. “I can't promise a victory within two weeks.”
“Time is not on our side,” Admiral Singh hissed.
“And expending thousands of lives to take one relatively meaningless city will not work in our favour,” Mark pointed out. “This is not Thule, Admiral. My forces have only the faintest idea of what they’re going to encounter. As long as that shield is in place, there's no real hope of a quick victory.”
Admiral Singh made a visible attempt to control herself. “Very well,” she said. Her voice sharpened. “You may plan your operations as you wish.”
And take the blame, if something goes wrong, Mark concluded, silently. It was almost familiar. You’ll put the blame on me to safeguard your own position.
He watched Admiral Singh stalk out of the office, then turned his attention to the orbital imagery. The force shield had an unexpected side-effect, he noted; it fuzzed orbital surveillance to some degree, making it harder to see what was under the shield. He didn't know if the enemy had done it deliberately, but he rather suspected they had. Orbital observation would have been a powerful advantage, if he’d been able to use it. The only consolation was that the enemy wouldn't have it either.
His feelings were mixed, he had to admit, as he called for his planning staff. Part of him relished the challenge, the prospect of a ground campaign that was more than taking surrenders or fighting a bitter insurgency. But the rest of him knew that it would be a nightmare. The enemy would fight for every last inch of ground, while his troops were on the end of a very long supply line. Hell, he’d have to send back to Thule and the other forward bases for additional ammunition. His most optimistic calculations suggested that they’d be running short within a week.
Good thing we can produce bullets and suchlike on site, he thought. He’d had to argue heavily to convince the shipyards that duplicating a pair of Marine Corps MEUs was worthwhile, but it had definitely worked out in his favour. Without that, we’d soon be short on everything.
“I want to put advance forces here, here and here,” he said, tapping the map when his planning team had assembled. “And then start landing the first elements here.”
He had to smile at their reactions. Landing armoured units in the middle of farmland would be difficult, if only because the muddy ground would rapidly become impassable. But there were few other options. Even if he dared land shuttles on the highways, they’d be broken into debris soon enough by the tanks. It would take time and effort to set up a prefabricated base and he doubted he had the time. No matter what she’d said, he suspected Admiral Singh would be peering over his shoulder as often as possible.
“This is a challenge,” he said. “And let’s face it. It beats chasing insurgents around on Thule.”
***
“One might say it’s almost beautiful,” Jalil said.
Jasmine snorted rudely as she stared into the sky. Pieces of debris were slowly plummeting through the upper atmosphere, burning up as they fell towards the ground. It was almost beautiful, she had to admit, but so was a KEW on its way to its final destination. A person might admire the sight from a distance, the person underneath would be unable to escape before it was far too late.
She glanced at the terminal, wishing she had a clear picture of just what was happening above the atmosphere. They’d hurried to their pre-planned rendezvous point as soon as the alert was sounded, even though she’d wanted to return to the militia camp and make sure they’d learned something from the night battle. But now it was too late. The radio spoke briefly, panicky mutterings echoing through the airwaves, yet she’d heard nothing of value. It was unlikely that anyone would take the risk of sending a message through the airwaves when there was a very real chance it would be intercepted.
And the shield plays merry hell with radio waves too, she thought. It hadn't been anticipated, according to the brief message they’d received; no one had operated a planetary shield for more than a few seconds, during tests. She hadn't bothered to follow the technobabble she’d been given, merely noted to herself that radio signals were unreliable. We may be completely cut off from Colonel Stalker.
She looked up into the sky, silently trying to pick out Admiral Singh’s warships as they entered orbit. But there was nothing, save for the falling debris and a slowly darkening sky.
“The warships are too small to be seen easily,” Stewart commented. Jasmine glanced at him, wondering how he’d practically read her mind. “But we’ll see them landing soon enough.”
Jasmine shrugged. She’d gone through all the simulations, putting herself in the enemy’s shoes, during her stint in the planning cell, but none of them had been able to put any definite timing to the enemy’s moves. It was quite possible that Admiral Singh would order an immediate landing, they’d reasoned, or that she would settle for mining the high orbitals and withdrawing, devastating the system on the way out. She shook her head slowly as the sky grew darker, tiny lights moving high overhead. The enemy fleet was still in orbit.
“And that raises a different question,” Jasmine said. “Where are they going to land?”
An hour passed slowly before the terminal buzzed, once. She picked it up and read the microburst message quickly, then passed the terminal to Stewart. Colonel Stalker had warned them that the enemy ships were dropping lower, perhaps preparing to launch drones and armoured units directly into the planet’s atmosphere. She hoped - prayed - that the microburst was as undetectable as the boffins claimed, certainly at long-range. They needed them to report back to the colonel, once they knew where the enemy were landing ...
“Look,” Rifleman William Randolph breathed.
Jasmine followed his pointing finger. A handful of streaks of light were falling from the sky, a number falling slowly while others were descending with terrifying speed. She mentally matched their trajectories to the maps she memorised and swore, inwardly, when she realised they were targeted on farmhouses. Most of the buildings had been abandoned, their crops taken to Freedom City and their farm animals marched well away from the prospective warzone, but some of the more stubborn farmers had chosen to stay put. She hoped they'd had the sense to abandon their homes, as the KEWs crashed down, yet it was unlikely that they had any idea of what was going on.
“Nineteen hits,” Stewart muttered, as flashes of light flickered in the distance. The sound reached them seconds later, crackling thunderclaps that sent shivers down her spine. She knew the sound all too well. “And after them, the invasion.”
“They’re taking a leaf out of our playbook,” Jasmine breathed. The smaller flecks of light were too slow to be KEWs ... impatiently, she reached for her binoculars and peered towards the enemy troops. “Armoured men dropping directly from orbit.”
“And heading towards one of the predicted LZs,” Jalil agreed. She passed him the binoculars, allowing him to take a look. “Is it just me, boss, or are they falling slower than us?”
“Probably never tried a jump into opposed territory before,” Buckley said.
Jasmine shrugged. “Pack up your gear,” she ordered, as she tapped a command into the transmitter. In theory, a microburst report would reach Colonel Stalker without drawing enemy fire, but just in case she ordered the terminal to send the signal once they were a safe distance from the hide. “We move out in five minutes.”
There were no more KEWs falling from orbit, she noted as they left the hide and headed towards the
enemy landing zone, but there were dozens of other troopers. The first batch had landed in one of the predicted locations, as Jalil had said, although unfortunately it wasn't a bad choice. There were no armoured units nearby, ready to charge forward and smash the LZ into rubble. If there had been, they would have been spotted from orbit and wiped out the moment they left their camouflaged bunkers. She slowed the march as they approached one of the farms, taking a moment to look for survivors. But there was nothing left of the farmhouses, save for giant craters in the ground.
“Let's hope they got out in time,” Buckley breathed.
“Definitely,” Jalil agreed. “They were good people, weren't they?”
Jasmine nodded, keeping her thoughts to herself. The farmers hadn't really needed much training, although their role in the militia had been geared towards individual hunting and sniping rather than serving as an organised unit. She'd been impressed by their stealth, even though the marines still had a slight edge. And their shooting skills were first rate. She recalled a young girl, barely old enough to marry, casually shooting birds out of the sky just to show what she could do. If that girl was dead ...
She shook her head. If that girl was dead, along with her friends and family, they were merely the first of many.
They reached the bottom of a hill and climbed slowly, weapons at the ready. They’d scouted the hill two weeks ago, but it was just possible the enemy had noted its existence from orbit and decided it would make a good vantage point. Jasmine’s eyes swept the darkness, watching for signs of movement or trouble, yet there was nothing, not even tiny animal and insect nightlife. Even the owls seemed to have decided to stay quiet. The KEWs had probably shocked them badly.
She slowed as she reached the summit, peering into the distance towards the LZ. Thirty or forty men, wearing suits of armour, stood on the ground, quartering it with practiced efficiency. There was no sign of armoured vehicles, although she hadn't really expected them to be dropped from orbit. She glanced up as she heard the unmistakable sound of a shuttle making a combat drop, weaving madly from side to side in a desperate attempt to avoid any incoming MANPAD fire. But there was none ... it grounded sharply, its hatch opening seconds later. An AFV - a design she recognised from basic training - glided out into the night, its weapons searching for targets. It was followed rapidly by two more, which followed the first into a patrol pattern.
“Oh, for a HVM,” Stewart muttered.
Jasmine shook her head. Colonel Stalker’s orders were clear. The enemy were to be allowed to establish their FOB in peace, just to ensure they didn’t get discouraged. Every fibre of her body augured against the decision - she’d been taught it was better not to give the enemy time to get organised - but she understood his logic. If someone as ruthless as Admiral Singh decided she couldn't have the planet, and there was no risk to her forces, she might just decide that no one else could have the planet either.
She placed a visual sensor in position to record the landing zone, then pulled back enough so they could be sure of breaking contact without being detected as more and more shuttles landed. There was no way to be sure, but it looked very much as though the Wolves were adopting a standard pattern for landing and securing a planetary target, even though they probably hadn't anticipated the shield. Indeed, some of the weaponry they were deploying would have made more sense for a force landing to take control of a spaceport, rather than a number of fields in the middle of nowhere. But it would probably still work out in their favour.
“That’s a smaller force heading towards the nearest road,” Stewart muttered. The enemy vehicles had lit up their headlights, much to her surprise. They must be sure of not running into trouble ... or, perhaps, they hadn’t expected to have to land in the dark. “Once it gets there, it will be in a position to intercept anything heading south.”
“From the city,” Jasmine agreed. She rather doubted that anything would get close enough to threaten the LZ, but she understood the precaution. The hills might be swarming with sniper-farmers, after all; there was definitely a marine platoon watching the landing. It wouldn't be long, too, before the enemy decided to sweep the hill for potential trouble. “We may need to fall back ourselves.”
She placed another pair of sensors in position to monitor the landing, keying their transmitters to keep the microbursts as low-power as possible, then led the way back down the hill, away from the enemy position. They didn't dare get caught now, not when it would throw the entire plan off kilter. Behind her, she could hear dozens of shuttles dropping out of the skies, landing, unloading and then blasting off again into the darkness.
Whatever else can be said about them, she thought, they have nerve.
“We'll be back,” Jalil muttered, as they started to move cross-country. “And we’ll have a surprise for them when we do.”
“Semper Fi,” Jasmine agreed.
Chapter Seventeen
Indeed, luck favoured the Commonwealth when the CEF was also dispatched to Lakshmibai, in a test of its ability to rapidly deploy from Avalon to a prospective trouble spot. Without it, everyone on the mission would have been killed by the locals.
- Professor Leo Caesius. The Role of Randomness In War.
Mark tensed as the shuttle lurched from side to side, its pilot trying desperately to ensure that any watching gunmen had no chance of scoring a hit before he got his cargo and passengers to the surface. He had to fight down the urge to vomit, knowing it was almost certainly futile. If a soldier with a MANPAD was hiding near the LZ, waiting for an opportunity to take a shot, the HVM would strike the shuttle and turn it into a fireball long before either the pilot or crew could react. The shuttle lurched one final time, the internal compensators struggling to dampen the stress running through the hull, and grounded with a terrifying crash. Mark jumped to his feet as the hatch slammed open, following his escorts into the fresh air. He took a long breath as he sprinted away from the shuttle, towards the handful of prefabricated buildings his engineers had already erected. The air smelt foul.
Too many shuttles landing and taking off, he thought. The Empire’s beancounters would throw a fit if they knew.
He smirked at the thought, then glanced around, hastily taking in the soldiers, armoured vehicles and SHORAD defence stations scattered around the LZ. His officers had done a good job, he noted; any attack on the LZ would have to be made in force to have a chance of success, but orbital bombardment would break up any substantial enemy force long before it reached its target. Behind him, he heard the sound of the shuttle taking off as four more came in to land, unloading more soldiers onto the ground. Officers and sergeants hurried forward to greet the new arrivals, then point them to stations along the perimeter. The outer edge of the LZ was constantly expanding, allowing his engineers to lay the groundwork for a colossal FOB.
If nothing else, he thought as he stepped into the building, it will be good practice for later operations.
“General,” Colonel Steve Ferguson said. “Welcome to Corinthian.”
“Thank you, Steve,” Mark said. He glanced around, taking in the handful of communications consoles and the big holographic display, then looked back at his subordinate. “I assume command.”
“I stand relieved, sir,” Ferguson said, tonelessly. Mark rather doubted he was pleased, but at least it would allow him to return to his infantry regiment and take command. “So far, there has been no enemy contact, but we did stumble across a pair of observation sensors. They self-destructed as soon as we removed them from their positions.”
Mark’s eyes narrowed. “Newly-placed?”
“We assume so, sir,” Ferguson said. “There were no tracks in the surrounding area, but we have to assume that we’re being watched.”
“There are too many hills nearby,” Mark agreed. A single man with a handheld sensor could monitor everything from a safe distance, as long as he was careful. Given the terrain, he might even be able to stay in place once the hills were occupied and patrolled. “And they clearly had a
good idea of where we'd land.”
He didn't like the sound of it. It wasn't common for anyone to consider potential landing zones on their planets, not when anyone in control of the high orbitals could dictate terms at will. But Corinthian had a force shield ... he wondered, grimly, if someone had deduced that Admiral Singh would make a grab for her former capital. Or had the force shield been part of a bargain with the Commonwealth? Corinthian would be stripped of its trained manpower and industrial base in exchange for something that would give them a fighting chance, when the Wolves arrived? He wasn't sure he would have made that decision, but he could see why Corinthian might have taken the risk. It wasn't as if its government had any hope of coming to an agreement with Admiral Singh.
“We have advance forces in place, as planned,” Ferguson said, pointing to the display. “I believe we can press forward to seize the highways at selected points, sir, although that will almost certainly bring us into contact with enemy partisans. If the farms we destroyed had any survivors, they will want a little revenge.”
They Shall Not Pass (The Empire's Corps Book 12) Page 17
