She keyed her mike. “Sergeant, this is Caesius,” she said. “I’ve got one man, nine women and seventeen children here. Can I send them for processing?”
“Search them first,” Sergeant Rackham ordered. “I’ll get the escorts moving now.”
Mindy closed the channel, then leaned forward. “You’ll have to be searched, then you will be escorted through our lines,” she said. “Please don’t try to resist.”
Godey hesitated. “What will happen to us?”
“I don't know,” Mindy said. She had no idea what would happen to them afterwards; they’d probably be taken to the other side of the city and shipped to a refugee camp on the other side of the continent. Unless, of course, they had useful skills. “Please stand still and hold out your arms.”
She searched each of the refugees quickly, then pointed them towards the checkpoint. A handful of newcomers were already standing there, ready to escort the refugees through the lines. She couldn't help feeling a twinge of guilt at the relieved expressions on their faces, as if they had finally reached safety. They didn't seem to know that the Wolves were already at the door, probing under the force shield. It wouldn't be long until they launched a full-scale thrust towards Freedom City.
“Poor bastards,” she muttered, as the refugees were marched off. “Out of the frying pan and into the fire.”
“Looks like it,” Robins said. “I ...”
He broke off as a dull roar split the air. Another truck was roaring down the road towards them, its driver holding his foot to the gas. Mindy cursed, realising that they were caught out of the blockhouse, then lifted her weapon. Robins copied her as the truck came closer, refusing to slow down. It was already too close ...
She lifted her rifle and shouted a warning. The truck didn't stop. She hesitated for a long moment, then squeezed the trigger, aiming at the driver. The truck seemed to flinch, then exploded into a colossal fireball. Mindy hit the ground as pieces of debris flew over her head, careful to keep her rifle at the ready. There was no way that was anything but a bomb.
“Good shot,” Robins said. He pulled himself to his feet, peering towards the remains of the truck. It was nothing more than smouldering wreckage. The first truck, far too close to the blast, had caught fire. “That driver must have had his hand on the trigger.”
“Or someone set it off remotely,” Mindy said. Technically, a WARCAT team should try to recover DNA samples, but she suspected it would be pointless. The blast would have scattered the driver’s body to the four winds. “Either one works.”
Her earpiece crackled. “Good work, Caesius,” Sergeant Rackham said. “Return to the blockhouse.”
Mindy nodded. “On the way,” she said. She looked up at Robins. “What was the point?”
Robins shrugged.
“If they’d gotten a bit closer, they could have done us some serious harm,” Sergeant Rackham said, when they reached the blockhouse. “And even by detonating where they did, they make us jumpy. Bastards.”
“Yeah,” Robins agreed. “The next truck we blow up might be crammed with innocent children.”
Mindy shuddered.
***
“They’re genuine, as far as we can tell,” Sergeant Rackham said. “But we’re keeping a sharp eye on them until we get their sorry asses onto a boat.”
Emmanuel Alves nodded. He hadn't really expected much from the latest tour of the defence lines - solid walls of defences, solid soldiers who were solidly confident they could hold the Wolves back indefinitely - yet he had to admit that it had produced something worth recording. Avalon had never developed Earth’s perverted taste for blood sports - he recalled some of the exported programs with a shudder - but live footage showing their men at war would be warmly welcomed. The population needed to feel that their soldiers were fighting for the right side.
And that Admiral Singh’s next target might be Avalon itself, Emmanuel thought. There aren’t that many more targets worth occupying.
He recorded the refugees as they were loaded into a truck, their faces torn between relief and fear. The destroyed truck might be all they had left, if they had fled in the wake of the landings. It was unlikely they had much cash with them, if any. Corinthian had never been a cashless society, unlike some of the odder worlds nearer Earth, but most people kept their money in the bank. And the banks had been closed when the enemy fleet entered the system.
Poor bastards, he thought. They have nothing but the clothes on their backs.
“It will be on the next courier to Avalon,” he said, slowly. “Shall we go look at the trenches?”
Lieutenant Angel Patterson - his escort and minder - looked worried. Emmanuel barely managed to keep himself from rolling his eyes at her. After Jasmine - and Mindy and a number of other young women who wore military uniform - Angel was a joke. She was tall, blonde and busty enough that he had a nasty feeling he knew precisely how she’d gotten her promotion. Her uniform should have been tailored to hide her oversized breasts as much as possible, but instead it was tight around her chest and hips. She carried no weapon, which was something of a relief. He’d fired enough guns himself to suspect that the safest person in the room would be the person she was trying to hit.
“The trenches are unsafe,” she said, finally. She threw a concerned look at Sergeant Rackham’s retreating back. “We should return to the city ...”
“I have clearance to go everywhere,” Emmanuel said. It was true enough. “But you can stay with the car, if you like.”
Angel hesitated, then led the way towards the nearest trench. Emmanuel couldn't help noticing the very unmilitary way she swung her hips. Whoever had promoted her hadn't done her any favours at all. On Avalon, she would be summarily dismissed from the service; here, without such a strong military tradition, it was quite likely she’d simply be ignored, if she tried to give orders. About the only thing he could say in her favour was that she wasn't trying to issue orders.
Jasmine would fall over laughing, he thought as he followed her. And then tell her to get that uniform off before she disgraced it any further.
He smiled at the thought, then stepped into the trench. The early earthworks had been little more than holes in the ground, but six weeks of effort had created a network of bunkers, heavy weapons and underground tunnels that would make it immensely costly for anyone who tried to break into the city. Hundreds of armed soldiers were manning the defences, checking their weapons and preparing for the onslaught. Emmanuel couldn't help wondering, as he inspected one particular fortification, if Angel realised she was actually standing far too close to him. It wasn't seductive, he thought; she wanted protection. He rolled his eyes at the thought and waved to a lieutenant who was supervising proceedings. The lieutenant looked as though he’d sooner have his teeth pulled out than talk to a reporter, but he didn't say anything out loud.
Too busy staring at Angel, he thought, wryly.
“A great deal of effort has gone into the network,” he said, instead. “Do you think it can hold?”
“There’s no such thing as an impregnable defence,” the lieutenant said. He didn't give his name, something Emmanuel had found depressingly common in his career. The only soldiers who willingly gave their names to reporters were their minders. “However, we are confident that we can seal off a breach and then crush the attackers before they can withdraw.”
Emmanuel frowned. “Even a charge led by Landsharks?”
“They are not indestructible,” the lieutenant said. “The tanks are tough, but even their armour can be broken with the right weapons. And if they charge too fast, they will be cut off from their infantry and smashed. We have heavy weapons to the rear to hammer their forces if they try anything so foolish.”
Emmanuel frowned. “Can you still fire shells under the shield?”
“Of course,” the lieutenant said. “But if they hit the shield itself they detonate.”
“Of course,” Emmanuel echoed.
He walked up and down the fortification,
silently noting all the innovations that the defenders had worked into the system to make the attackers miserable. They’d think they’d cleared one fortification, he thought, and then discover enemy forces popping up in their rear. It would force them to break off their advance and clear the rear, again. And, judging from the sheer amount of concrete - and hullmetal - worked into the fortifications, no amount of enemy shelling would be enough to shatter them. The Wolves would have to clear them, inch by bloody inch. It would cost them dearly.
“It's time to go,” Angel said. “You have a dinner tonight with General Scott.”
Emmanuel groaned, inwardly. General Scott was old, a man who had somehow survived Admiral Singh’s reign without being purged or forced into her service. He’d had a glance at the man's record, only to discover that General Scott had spent most of his career in logistics, rather than on the front lines. Admiral Singh had probably considered him neither a potential enemy nor someone who could be useful. Given that he was so boring that Emmanuel suspected his voice could be adapted for use as a weapon, he wasn't too surprised.
“I suppose,” he said. General Scott was honestly concerned about his troops, but there was little else positive about him. And he fussed over them too much to understand that their lives were always in danger. “Shall we go?”
Angel relaxed a little as soon as they were outside, walking towards the car. Emmanuel glanced at her, then turned to look northwards towards the advancing enemy. He’d heard bangs and cracks to the north earlier, when he’d first arrived, but now he couldn't hear a sound. And yet, he knew the Wolves were lurking somewhere out of sight, readying their offensive ...
“After General Scott’s dinner,” Angel said, “where do you want to go?”
Emmanuel shrugged. “My room,” he said, flatly. “I need to get some sleep before the big offensive begins.”
Angel gave him a sidelong look. “Alone?”
“My girlfriend is on the front lines,” Emmanuel said. He had to fight to keep the smile off his face at her shocked reaction. Clearly, she hadn't expected that. “So yes, alone.”
She didn't say anything else as they climbed into the car and started to drive, heading to the centre of the city. Emmanuel looked from side to side, shaking his head at all the buildings that had been turned into fortresses. The Wolves might think that cracking the defensive line would allow them access, but they were in for a very nasty surprise ...
Angel cleared her throat. “You have a girlfriend in uniform?”
“Yes,” Emmanuel said, flatly. He didn't understand Angel - the more he thought about it, the more he thought there was something wrong with her - but he had no intention of allowing himself to be seduced. “I do.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
To be fair to the Kshatriyas, they were good at putting on parades. They looked very good when they were marching around the city, wearing their fancy uniforms and showing off their precision steps. But they received almost no training in actual fighting, which meant that their first encounter with a professional force was almost always their last.
- Professor Leo Caesius. The Role of Randomness In War.
It was very quiet on the bridge.
Mandy watched the display, feeling a flicker of amusement as Defiant drew closer to her target. There was no way sound could pass through a vacuum, yet the crew spoke in whispers, as if they feared the enemy could hear every word they said. The grim awareness that they were far too close to a pair of enemy starships pervaded the compartment, reminding her that one mistake might prove fatal. In theory, the Wolves shouldn’t have a hope of peeking through an enhanced cloaking device, but no one knew for sure.
She studied the target thoughtfully, silently cursing Admiral Singh - or one of her officers - under her breath. The industrial node was basic, so basic that it barely deserved the title. It had certainly passed largely unnoticed when the planners had contemplated what needed to be removed from the system and what needed to be rigged to blow, in the event of the Commonwealth losing the battle. And yet, its mere presence had given Admiral Singh an advantage. Time would tell if it was a decisive advantage.
We should have thought of colony dumpsters, she told herself, tartly. Avalon’s dumpsters had only been broken down completely two years ago, even though the planet had been settled for over a century. She’d seen them herself, when she’d landed on the planet for the first time, but she hadn't given any thought to the implications. No one had. But someone on the other side beat us to it.
“Get me a solid lock on the enemy ships,” she ordered, glancing at the sensor officer. “Do we have a tactical breakdown yet?”
“No, Captain,” the tactical officer stated. “There’s no hint of how the ships have been modified, if they’ve been modified.”
Mandy scowled. The Imperial Navy had designed its starships on a modular pattern, primarily to make repairs nothing more than removing a damaged component and slotting in a new one. But it also made it impossible to be certain what she was facing. The destroyer and light cruiser Admiral Singh had assigned to protect the industrial node might carry a standard weapons load, in which case she could kick their asses without serious problems, or they might be crammed with new and better weapons. There was no way to be sure without actually engaging the enemy, at which point she would be committed.
And if we fail to take out the industrial node, they’ll move more ships to defend it, she thought, grimly. Indeed, she was surprised the Wolves hadn't moved the node to Corinthian to make it easier to defend, although she supposed there was a very real risk of taking fire from the ground. They’ll know what we know.
She contemplated the tactical position for a long moment. If she fired on the node, both enemy ships would have a free shot at her hull; if she engaged both ships, they might overwhelm Defiant before she could take them out and destroy the node. In hindsight, she should have brought additional ships, but she knew she dare didn't reveal just how many starships were lurking near Corinthian. A raider or two wouldn't trigger any significant alarms - the Commonwealth Navy had been raiding behind enemy lines ever since the war began - but an entire squadron would raise hackles. Admiral Singh would start to wonder if she was being played.
“Lock weapons on the cruiser,” she ordered. Unless the Wolves had come up with something she’d never heard of, which she had to admit was a valid possibility, the cruiser would be the most dangerous opponent. “Prepare to fire.”
“Weapons locked, Captain,” the tactical officer said.
“Fire,” Mandy snapped.
The enemy ship was caught by surprise, she noted as the barrage of missiles roared towards its target, but there was nothing wrong with her reaction time. Her CO swung the ship around, launching decoys and engaging with point defence even as he plunged towards the missile swarm. A civilian would have been horrified, but it actually gave him the best chance of surviving the barrage and getting his own hits in before it was too late. His companion reacted too, adding her point defence to the cruiser’s even as her sensors sought out Defiant and locked on. No cloaking device could hide a ship that was firing missiles.
“Shield raised,” the tactical officer said. Both enemy ships opened fire, launching their missiles as fast as they could. “Impact in thirty seconds ...”
Mandy sucked in her breath as the enemy cruiser fought for survival, feeling an odd mix of emotions. The cruiser was the enemy; she had to be destroyed. And yet, she couldn't help feeling a kinship too with the enemy spacers. They were doomed, yet they fought hard to strike back and survive for a few seconds more. And they nearly made it, evading two-thirds of the missiles she’d fired. The remainder slammed into their hull, blowing the cruiser into an expanding wave of debris. She glanced at the display, hoping to see distress signals from lifepods, but it looked very much as though the enemy hadn't had time to abandon ship before it was too late.
“The destroyer is picking up speed,” the tactical officer reported, as enemy missiles started to slam int
o Defiant’s shield. They hadn't had time to reprogram them to evade the shield, even though it was a standard tactic by now. Any hopes that force shields would make the Commonwealth Navy invincible had faded quickly, after the first battles. “She’s trying to ram!”
“Evasive action, continue firing,” Mandy ordered. The destroyer didn't have any other option, not now her consort had been destroyed. Ramming Defiant would destroy both ships, an exchange that would be solidly in their favour. “Take the bastard out!”
She tensed as the enemy destroyer came closer, before staggering to one side as a direct hit shattered its left drive node. Mandy allowed herself a flicker of relief as the enemy ship spun out of control, leaking atmosphere from a dozen gashes in her hull. Her main power had either failed or been shut down, according to the sensors. She no longer posed any real threat.
And it will take years to repair her, she thought. Unless she was very wrong - and she had a great deal of experience with ships that had been mistreated or badly damaged - it would be cheaper to scrap the hulk and build a whole new ship. There’s no point in finishing the job.
They Shall Not Pass (The Empire's Corps Book 12) Page 23
