Never Surrender (The Empire's Corps Book 10) (35 page)

“No,” Jasmine agreed.  She glanced at her watch.  Night-time on Wolfbane ... Watson, assuming that everything had gone to plan, would be moving into position now.  She needed to be in place on the armoury before it was too late.  Diversion or no diversion, she was sure alert levels would be raised all over the system once the shit hit the fan.  “Check the link with Gary, then take us in.”

“Link solid,” Stewart said.  There was a dull thud as the worker bee connected to the armoury’s airlock.  “We’re in.”

Jasmine nodded and rose to her feet as the airlock hissed open.  She stepped through the hatch, followed by Stewart, as the inner airlock opened too.  Inside, a bemused-looking functionary was staring at his datapad, clearly wondering where the newcomers had actually come from.  Clearly, they might have had a valid flight manifest, but not any actual work authorisation codes.

“We’re here to check the records,” Jasmine said, as she opened her helmet.  “I need access to your terminals.”

The functionary blinked.  “I don’t have a record of you in the files,” he said.  “I ...”

He broke off as Jasmine grabbed him by the throat.  The spacesuit had no enhancements to give her the strength of ten men, but it felt thoroughly unpleasant.  Jasmine smelled urine as she hefted him up in the air, then held him in front of her face.

“I need your ID card and your passwords,” she said, sharply.  “Now!”

The man stared at her.  “I ...”

Jasmine nodded to Stewart, who produced a sharp knife from his suit.  “Cut him,” she ordered.  “Make it painful ...”

“My card is in my pocket,” the man whimpered.  “My code is C-O-C-K-S-S-U-C-K-S!”

“Really?”  Jasmine asked, doubtfully.  “
That’s
your access code?”

“Yes,” the man said, desperately.  “I wanted something no one would ever guess!”

“I dare say you succeeded,” Jasmine said.  The advice she’d been given in the Marine Corps had been to use random letters and numbers, but she’d also been told never to rely on any system that was connected to the planetary datanet.  Gary would hardly be the first young man to hack for fun and games; hell, he probably wasn't even in the top 100.  “If this doesn't work, we will hurt you.”

She keyed the code into the hacker pack, then turned it over to Gary.  “Now, some more questions,” she said.  “How many people are on this platform?”

***

“The code works,” Gary said, as he dipped into the platform’s computer.  The laser link wasn't perfect, but better than some of the systems he’d seen on Earth.  “I can't get into all of the sections ... hang on.”

He smirked as he went to work.  Most systems had an inherent flaw, one they never quite seemed to be able to lose.  They assumed that someone with access, even limited access,
had
at least
some
right to access the entire system, simply because they were already on the interior of the firewall.  It was actually easier to start with a low-ranking peon’s code and then work one’s way up to the most secure parts of the network. 

“Ok,” he said.  “I’ve downloaded most of the codes, but I can't find any actual trigger codes.”

“Shit,” Jasmine said.  “They’re not stored on the network?”

“Not as far as I can tell,” Gary said.  “You can launch the missiles, but you can't arm them.”

***

“Understood,” Jasmine said.

She cursed under her breath.  She’d been expecting something to go wrong, but she hadn't quite expected
this
.  In hindsight, perhaps she
should
have expected it; the missiles could be launched, in the event of a disaster, but not actually armed.  A nuke that slammed into something without being armed wouldn’t make anything like as big a bang.

“We’ll target the missiles on the facilities,” she said, as her people spread through the installation.  “Even unarmed, they will do a great deal of damage.”

She led the way into the command core and stunned everyone, including the CO.  It was unlikely his codes would be any help.  Instead, she sat down in front of the console and accessed the emergency launch system.  For once, the Empire’s insistence on standardising everything would actually come in handy.  The missile pods waiting outside, prepped for being installed into starships, were identical to the ones that could be bolted to hulls or left in orbit for additional firepower.  And they could flush their missiles if necessary.

“The other teams are in place,” Stewart said.  “And Gary has the worker bees ready to go.”

Jasmine took a breath, then programmed in the firing sequence.  The missiles refused to lock on to anything without the arming codes, so she merely pointed them on courses that would intersect their targets.  If nothing else, the combination of immobile targets and imprecise targeting would make it harder for any countermeasures to do their work.  And then she hesitated ...

“Carl should be in place,” she said.  She glanced at her wristcom, then frowned.  “But there’s no way to know.”

“I think they’re supposed to check in every hour,” Stewart countered.  “The last thing we want is a security alert here, now ...”

Jasmine nodded, then smiled in relief as an alert popped up on front of her.  “He’s done it,” she said.  She tapped a switch, then smirked.  “Firing missiles ... now!”

Chapter Thirty-Five

The Empire didn't care.  The people making the decisions, the Grand Senate, were completely disconnected from the situation on the ground.  They simply didn't care about either the risk to their servants - or the misery they were inflicting on countless occupied worlds.

- Professor Leo Caesius. 
The Empire and its Prisoners of War.

Wolfbane City, Wolfbane, Year 5 (PE)

Private Jonathan Williams couldn't help feeling uncomfortable as he stood at his post, just outside the Governor’s Mansion.  It was a cold night and he was grimly aware that it wouldn’t be over for hours.  He was stuck outside, watching the deserted streets, while his superiors partied inside the mansion, enjoying themselves while he froze halfway to death.  It wasn't something he wanted to think about, but he had no choice.  He could hear the tinkling of the music from his guardpost on the edge of the complex, making it hard to keep his ears open for problems.  It was a persistent distraction.

“Betty should be free when we get off this weekend,” Private Hobbes offered.  “We can go have some fun with her after this.”

Jonathan shook his head.  The only advantage to being on the Governor’s personal security detail was a brothel, right next to the barracks, and he wasn't sure it made up for the difficulties of the job.  Hundreds of high-ranking men and women - and the ass-kissers attached to their bodies who could only be removed through surgical intervention - passed him every day, each and every one of them grumbling over the inconvenience of having to be scanned, searched and then cleared against the master list of permitted guests.  It was his duty to check them before they entered, yet he knew a single word from one of them could end his career.  The guards wore no nametags merely to make identification difficult, if not impossible.  It was the only way to do their job.

“I prefer Sharon myself,” he said.  “She’s kinder.”

He ignored Hobbes’s rude sound of disbelief.  Sharon might be fatter than Betty, but she was far more welcoming - or at least better at faking it.  Betty might be hot enough to pass for a porn star, yet it was clear she hated men with a white-hot passion.  Jonathan had no idea why a woman who hated men would work in a brothel, but it was hard to blame her for her feelings.  None of the troops were very considerate lovers.  Besides, there was always a shorter line outside Sharon’s door.

“I think you’re mad,” Hobbes said.  “I ...”

He broke off as a fancy car came into view, gleaming black under the streetlights as it slowed to a halt outside the guardpost.  The windows were tinted, but he had the impression there was only one man in the car; a moment later, the door opened, revealing a stocky man wearing a very ill-fitting suit.  He must be important, Jonathan reasoned, as the man stumbled towards him.  The mixture of awful dressing and drinking while driving - he could smell whiskey splashed on the man’s suit - meant a very important person indeed.  No one else would
dare
show up to the Governor’s party in such a state.

Must be one of his senior officers
, he thought, as he walked closer. 
Someone important enough not to give a damn.

“I need your ID,” he said.  “And your name ...”

“Don’t have it,” the man slurred.  He sounded drunk enough to wind up on the ground any second, probably wondering just what had hit him.  It was a minor miracle he’d managed to drive without crashing or hitting anyone, although the onboard computer had probably handled most of the driving for him.  “Need to go see the Governor ...”

Jonathan winced.  A man who could not be allowed admittance, but also a man important enough to have both of them sent to an asteroid mining station or a garrison on a rebellious world ... if they weren't summarily exiled to a penal colony.  The man's suit alone cost more than Jonathan could expect to make in his entire career, yet he could not allow him to pass through the guardpost.  He was damned whatever he did ...

There was a whine cutting through the air.  Jonathan looked up, just in time to see an aircar flashing overhead and heading right towards the mansion.  A brilliant flash of light blasted the aircar out of the air as the plasma cannons engaged automatically, then swung around, searching for new targets, as a whole
line
of aircars appeared out of nowhere.  One by one, they died, sending pieces of white-hot-metal flying everywhere.  Jonathan cursed, then grabbed the newcomer and dragged him bodily into the guardhouse.  With a little bit of luck, he could spin it into a heroic rescue that would save both of their careers.  Another aircar exploded, almost directly overhead, as they plunged into the armoured post.  He heard the sound of debris bouncing off the roof as he closed the door, firmly.

“The complex is being sealed,” Hobbes said.  “Our friend will have to stay with us ...”

The newcomer moved like greased lightning.  Hobbes bent over, then collapsed to the floor, hitting the ground like a sack of potatoes.  Jonathan had barely a second to realise that the newcomer had killed his friend before a second fist slammed right into his throat.  There was a moment of absolute pain, then nothing at all.

***

Carl Watson allowed himself a moment of pleasure as the two guards died, then pushed it aside as he stripped the first man's uniform and pulled it over the expensive suit he’d stolen from a nearby store.  It had served its purpose, getting him close enough to the guards to take them all out when the diversion began; now, he needed another disguise to get close to the Governor.  The aircars would, he suspected, provide enough inducement to keep the Governor inside, protected by the emplaced defences.  They wouldn't be expecting a single man on the ground to be the real threat.  Besides, even if they did, the helmet he’d stolen would make it impossible for them to separate him from the remainder of the soldiers.

Scooping up the weapons and ID cards, he ran through the rear door and across to the mansion.  The plasma cannons were still firing, bolts of brilliant white fire burning through the darkness, although he wasn't sure what they thought they were engaging.  He’d only launched nineteen aircars, after all, and by his count they’d all been destroyed.  Their computers wouldn't have been able to handle the evasive manoeuvres required to keep them intact long enough to slam into the mansion.

Not that it would have worked in any case
, he thought, as he reached the rear door. 
The entire building is laced with hullmetal.  A nuke couldn't have done more than wreck the centre of the city
.

He tapped on the door once, hoping someone would be fool enough to open it.  It clicked open seconds later, revealing a young girl in a classical maid’s outfit.  Behind her, there were a handful of others, male and female, all wearing extremely revealing clothes.  Carl concealed his amusement with an effort, then nodded to them and walked into the mansion itself.  The lower floors didn't look particularly luxurious, but that wasn't too much of a surprise.  It was quite possible the Governor and his guests never ventured into the servants quarters.

Can't waste good money on keeping servants in luxury,
he thought, as he raced up the stairwell and through a door into a long corridor. 
They’d never appreciate the effort
.

“Attention,” a voice said, from overhead.  “This is a security alert.  All guests are advised to remain inside, well away from the windows.  I say again, all guests are advised to remain inside, well away from the windows.”

Carl smirked -
they must not have found the bodies yet
- and then ran onwards.   There was no point in trying to deduce how long it would take them to realise that one of the guardposts wasn't answering.  A Marine CO would have called them all at once, then dispatched the QRF to investigate if there was no reply from one or more of the guards.  But who knew how Wolfbane would deal with an intruder?  They might have drilled endlessly, like the Marines, or they might have allowed themselves to go slack.  There was no way to know until it was far too late.

“I say, old chap,” a voice called.  Carl slowed, then turned to see a middle-aged man carrying a bottle of blood-coloured liquid in one hand.  “Do you know where the emergency shelters are?”

“Out the door and on the lawn,” Carl said.  He had no particular dislike for the man - and he had no idea who he was - but he could serve as a diversion.  Maybe he’d wind up being shot by his own people.  “Go now.”

He ran on, leaving the man spluttering behind him.  A large pair of doors loomed in front of him, leading - if the diagrams he’d seen were accurate - to the master ballroom.  He pulled a HE grenade from his belt, then opened the doors.  Inside, a number of men and women clustered together, drinking fancy wine and chatting about nothing in particular.  None of them seemed to care that a security alert had been sounded, although he did have to admit they would have been safe in the inner room, if he hadn't been running through the corridors. 

Unhooking the pin from the grenade, he hurled it into the room and slammed the doors closed, counting to three under his breath.  The doors shook violently, but held; he pulled them open again to reveal a scene from hell.   Dead and wounded bodies lay everywhere, some clearly well beyond salvation, others who might survive, if they got medical treatment before it was too late.  Carl felt an odd flicker of guilt - the men and women he’d killed had been defenceless, even though their mere existence was a threat to the Commonwealth - which he ruthlessly pushed aside.  There was no sign of the Governor.

“Security alert,” his stolen radio proclaimed.  “Intruder alert; I say again, intruder alert!”

Carl nodded, then ran into the next room and hastily removed the guard’s uniform.  They must have found the bodies by now and it wouldn’t be hard to deduce what he’d done, not when one of them had been left in his underwear.  He briefly considered using the radio to try to sow confusion, then dismissed the thought and dropped the radio on the floor, crushing it below his boot heel.  Given time, the security forces could have used it to trace him. 

He glanced around, then hastened up the next set of stairs towards the business floors.  If the Governor’s security team were on the ball, they would have taken him to a panic room ... and the best place to find it would be near his office.  Carl would have preferred to get his principal, the person he was trying to protect, out of the building completely, but the aircars would discourage anyone leaving until the entire district was secure.  Given how much chaos Carl had tried to sow, it would be hours before anyone felt confident of anything.  He reached into his pocket and produced a detonator, then held it in his hand as he reached the top of the stairs.  The two guards standing in front of the Governor’s office glared at him, nastily.

“You can't hide here,” one sneered.  He wore a different uniform to the outer set of guards, probably indicating that he worked directly for the Governor.  “This place isn't safe.”

“Indeed,” the other said.  They both held their guns at the ready, but the way they held them told Carl that they weren't taking him seriously.  “Go downstairs to the shelters and ...”

Carl drew the pistol from his pocket and shot the first one through the head, then ducked to the side as the second one returned fire.  He felt a moment later as Carl shot him in the throat.  They hadn't expected him to be
dangerous
... he sighed, then clicked the detonator.  A second later, the building shook violently as the explosives he’d left in the stolen car detonated.  Whatever the enemy commander thought about the situation - probably that it was getting back under control - he wouldn't be thinking for much longer.  Carl smirked - it was so much easier when one had given up all hope of getting out alive - then took one of the uniforms and quickly pulled it over his head.  The helmet was a poor fit - it was just short of battlesuit-class - but it would suffice.  He pulled the visor down, checked to make sure there was no visible sign of blood, then stepped through the door and into the Governor’s office. 

It was empty.  Carl took a moment to admire the window that made up one of the walls, then glanced around, looking for the panic room.  It took him several seconds to find the entrance, hidden behind a giant painting of a dark-skinned woman wearing old-style robes.  Carl pulled it open, then stopped.  Inside, there was a second armoured door and a camera, watching his every move.

He cursed inwardly, then stepped back into the office and hunted for paper.  A panic room
couldn't
be opened from the outside, not when it would defeat the whole objective of the exercise.  And, unless he missed his guess, nothing short of a nuke would burn through the hullmetal shielding the occupants from the outside world.  The only way to get in would be to make them open the door, somehow.  It wouldn't be easy.  They’d have an entire life support system to make sure they stayed alive, no matter what happened outside, until help came.