Retreat Hell (19 page)

“And ask for an appointment with the planetary leader and his senior officers for me,” Jasmine added.  “We have some issues to settle, face to face.”

***

“The insurgents have broken contact,” Adalbert reported.  “But the situation is not under control.”

Daniel sighed.  He felt so fucking ...
helpless. 
His position as First Speaker had been badly undermined by the crisis, then undermined again by the insurgency.  It was easy to imagine his enemies using the new disaster to unseat him completely; the only thing keeping them in check was the awareness that one of them would have to take over as First Speaker after successfully kicking him out of office.  And ... he hadn't even been able to do anything, but cower in the bunker when the fighting began.

“In particular,” Adalbert continued, “our control over the districts surrounding the Zone has been shattered.  Police stations have been destroyed – we’re looking at near-total casualty rates – and most of the military and civil government stations have been wrecked.  Overall, we have no effective control.”

“I see,” Daniel said.  The insurgents were throwing down a gauntlet, he knew, challenging the security forces directly.  If he left them in power, even in the Zone alone, they’d undermine his authority just by existing.  And yet, if he sent his forces to engage the enemy, they’d be fighting on territory the enemy had chosen.  “Is there any
good
news?”

“The attack on the spaceport was repelled,” Adalbert said.  “And we took prisoners.”

Daniel sighed, again.  Prisoners, particularly insurgent prisoners, were a contentious subject in the Senate.  Half of the Speakers wanted to take the gloves off completely, using torture to break the handful of prisoners they had, the other half feared the long-term effects of using harsh methods to extract information.  Their enemies accused them of either being cowards, fearing that the insurgents would torture them if they took over, or of being secret enemy sympathisers.

“We can sort that out later,” he said.

“The CEF suggested the use of truth drugs,” Adalbert said.  “They could handle the prisoners ...”

“And if something goes wrong, they take the blame,” Daniel said.  He hated thinking in such terms, but he had no choice.  If he lost his position, his successor would either take the gloves off or surrender completely.  “See to it.”

“We’ve also managed to impose a curfew on the streets,” Adalbert added.  “Anyone caught outside until the state of emergency is lifted can be arrested, making it harder for the insurgents to slip out of our grasp.”

Daniel made a face.  It would work, militarily speaking, but it would upset the local population, most of whom were voters.  If the war lasted long enough, his supporters would pay for it at the next election.  And then whoever took his place ... the thought kept mocking him, every time he tried to relax.  He was caught in the middle, unable to avoid being pelted with charges and counter-charges from all sides.

He stood.  “I’m going back to my office,” he said, softly.  He was not going to remain in the bunker any longer than strictly necessary.  If it was safe outside, he could go to his office and think there.  “Call the CEF; ask the senior officer to meet me as soon as possible.  We need to discuss the future.”

“I would advise having a military representative there,” Adalbert said.  His voice was quiet, but firm.  “The Commonwealth will have its own ideas about how to conduct joint operations.”

“Better I talk to her first myself,” Daniel said.  He knew what his friend meant, but he wanted to take the measure of the person he would have to deal with.  “Can she land here safely?”

“We believe so,” Adalbert said.  “But if there are more HVMs out there ...”

“Let them decide,” Daniel said.  “We will accept their decision.”

On Janus, the social scientists saw the shortage of food and attempted to solve the problem by shipping in food from a nearby star system.  On the face of it, their proposed solution was a logical one.  However, it ran into unexpected snags that eventually made it worse than useless.

-
Professor Leo Caesius. 
War in a time of ‘Peace:’ The Empire’s Forgotten Military History.

“One minute to landing,” the pilot called back.  “Do you want me to circle the city first?”

“No,” Jasmine said, rather dryly.  She enjoyed flying, most of the time, but it was hair-raising when she knew the enemy might have HVMs targeted on her shuttle, ready to fire.  Besides, she really should be back at the spaceport.  It had only been an hour since the area had been declared quiet, if not safe.  “Just take us down as quickly as possible.”

She peered out of the cockpit as the shuttle headed down towards the mansion’s landing pad.  It was more modest, she decided, than any of the mansions the old Council had built on Avalon, a simple blocky building within a large garden.  Now, the garden was torn and broken, military vehicles spaced around the edges to provide some protection.  Outside the high wall, she could see armed troops patrolling the streets, looking for any signs of trouble. 

The city itself was a curious mix of styles.  It lacked the elegance of the buildings she’d seen on Lakshmibai, or the simplicity of Avalon’s newer buildings, but there was something about them that made her smile.  A handful of churches could be seen only bare metres from the mansion; beyond them, there was a handful of large stone buildings, surrounded by more armed soldiers.  Government offices, she guessed; it looked as though the centre of the city was heavily defended.  Outside the offices, there seemed row upon row of endless redbrick houses.  Few of them looked to be any different from the others.

She checked her weapons out of habit as the shuttle touched down, her four armed bodyguards jumping out ahead of her and sweeping the area for prospective threats.  Buckley had insisted on her taking a section of Marines with her, just in case the insurgents decided to try to attack while she was on the ground.  Jasmine thought he was being paranoid – and that they were likely to offend the local government – but she’d conceded the point.  If she hadn't been high on the list of people the insurgents would like to assassinate, she would be by the time the CEF had finished deploying.

Outside, the air smelt faintly of burning ashes and the dead.  Jasmine wondered, briefly, just how bad it had been in the city, then pushed the thought aside as a civilian flunky ran up to her.  Her reminded her a little of the supply officers she’d seen on Earth, right down to the slightly nervous expression on his face when he saw her and her guards.  Surely, she couldn't help thinking, he’d have had plenty of time to get used to armed soldiers surrounding the palace.  But some people were never comfortable with weapons in their vicinity.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, with a half-bow.  His voice had the local accent, but it was clear enough for her to understand.  “The First Speaker is waiting for you in his office.”

“Thank you,” Jasmine said.  “Please take me to him.”

Inside, the mansion was surprisingly demure, compared to the mansions on Avalon or Admiral Singh’s palace.  Jasmine couldn't help noting the shortage of gilt or expensive artworks.  The only real decorations were portraits of important figures in the planet’s past, ranging from its founders to later First Speakers.  All of them, she couldn't help noticing, broadcast steely resolve with their eyes.  Jasmine had never been particularly interested in artwork, but she would have bet good money that they’d all been painted by the same artist.

“That’s right,” her guide confirmed, when she asked.  “The previous First Speaker thought it was important for us to remember the great heroes of the past, so he had the paintings produced and hung on the walls.  I believe there was quite a competition for the post of official government artist.”

Jasmine listened with half an ear as he talked about the paintings, telling her a little of the history behind each one.  Some of the stories were absurd enough to make her wonder if they’d been invented in hindsight, although there were stories about Avalon that certainly sounded absurd, if someone hadn't known they were real.  Eighty-odd Marines landing on a war-torn planet and bringing peace within six months of hard fighting?  Or the story behind
Sword’s
entry into the Commonwealth Navy?  Who would believe
that
?

They paused outside a pair of heavy wooden doors.  “The First Speaker has granted you permission to keep your weapons,” the guide said.  “But your guards must stay outside.”

Jasmine nodded, wordlessly.  She wasn't blind to the significance of the gesture.  On Earth, no one was admitted into the presence of the Grand Senate without surrendering their weapons and passing through the security scanners.  But then, if she couldn't kill the First Speaker with her bare hands she’d be kicked out of the Marine Corps.  The only way to be truly
safe
would be to have the conversation through the communications network.

She stepped through the door, indicating silently to her escorts that they should stay outside, and smiled as she saw the First Speaker.  He was shorter than his official portrait had suggested, although that might have been because he walked in a permanent stoop.  His hair was shading rapidly to gray and his suit, despite clearly being the product of careful tailoring, seemed to hang loosely on him.  This, Jasmine realised, was a man worn down by circumstances beyond his control.  She couldn't help being reminded of Avalon’s former governor, who had retired the year after first contact with Admiral Singh.

“You may call me Daniel,” he said, as he held out a hand.  “We shall not stand on ceremony here.”

“Jasmine,” Jasmine said.  His hand felt dusty to the touch.  She shook it gently, then sat down where he indicated.  “Thank you for inviting me.”

The First Speaker laughed, humourlessly.  “We try not to greet our guests with fireworks,” he said, rather sardonically.  “And I’m sorry for your loss.”

Jasmine nodded.  Overall, seventy soldiers had died in the first engagement, most of them on the destroyed shuttles.  Thankfully, some of the soldiers from the shuttle that had crashed almost intact had survived long enough to be rescued.  Even so, it was a major disaster – and an obvious propaganda victory for the insurgents.  The fact they’d extracted most of their forces despite the best efforts of both the locals and the CEF was only the icing on the cake.

“They will be remembered,” she said, quietly.  “I confess, sir, that I am no diplomat ...”

“I don’t believe diplomacy will be of any use,” the First Speaker said.  He smiled at her, more openly.  “You may speak freely.”

“We have to take the offensive as soon as possible,” Jasmine said.  “The CEF is a formidable fighting force, sir, but it isn't designed to hold territory indefinitely.  We also need to undermine the basis for the insurgency’s existence.”

“We can do one of those,” the First Speaker admitted.  Behind his smile, she saw a sudden hint of bitter tiredness.  He would have six more years of his term to go, she knew, if he didn't get kicked out by the planet’s Senate.  By the end of his term, he would be an old man.  “But forcing a compromise solution through the Senate ... it might be impossible.”

Jasmine nodded in understanding.  Avalon had had plenty of room to expand, it had merely been held back by the old Council.  Once the barriers had been removed, the economy and employment had expanded rapidly.  But Thule didn't really have that option, unless the government invested money in trying to create busy-work.  And even
that
would have its limits. 

The First Speaker looked at her.  “How long will the Commonwealth permit you and your men to remain here?”

“At least nine months,” Jasmine said, wishing she was as confident as she sounded.  If Councillor Travis had his way, the CEF would be recalled and disbanded within months, an act that would probably tear the Commonwealth apart.  “After that, I don’t know.”

“So we have that long to produce results,” the First Speaker mused.  “And the insurgents might know there’s a time limit.”

He sighed, then looked up at her.  “I believe it is time to call my advisors,” he said.  “We need to plan our operations with extreme care.  A victory – any victory – would make it easier for us to seek a political solution.”

***

The hanger had once been completely empty, stripped bare of everything from machine tools to personal possessions.  Now, it had been taken over by the medics, who had placed blankets on the floor and used them as makeshift beds for wounded soldiers and civilians.  Thomas entered through the side door and winced, bitterly, when he saw the wounded men.  Half of them would have to be evacuated to the starships and returned to Avalon to recover there.

He looked over at the medic, who stepped over and led him into a private office.  It was as bare as the rest of the hanger, apart from a pornographic calendar that hung on the walls that was around two years old.  Thomas made a mental note to place it in the main room – it might distract the wounded – then looked back at the medic.  He looked tired.

“Nine men will have to be shipped back to Avalon,” the medic said, “unless we can get them proper treatment here.  Their wounds are beyond field treatment, sir.  There’s also a handful of civilians in similar condition ...”

“Place them in stasis tubes,” Thomas ordered.  If the locals could take them, well and good; if not, the CEF would assume responsibility.  “And the others?”

“Should be back up within a week at the most,” the medic said.  “A couple probably should go back to the starships – I’d prefer not to treat them here if possible – but they will heal.”

He paused.  “There's some odd points on the civilians, though,” he added.  “The girls in particular.  Some of them are drug addicts, others have clearly been abused as well as forced to prostitute themselves.  They’re frightened of men, yet any fight has been beaten out of them so completely that they’re unable to offer any resistance.  From what they’ve said, they were sold by their families and ... well, if they tried to resist, they were simply beaten into submission.

“They – and most of the civilians – are also suffering the effects of starvation and poor nutrition.  The drugs don’t make it any easier for them.”

Thomas nodded, unsurprised.  War zones tended to be hellish for everyone, but it was worst of all for the helpless civilians caught in the middle.

“Treat them as best as you can,” he said.  “And if anyone complains, send them to me.”

“Yes, sir,” the medic said.

***

Gudrun’s arms and wrists were aching, but there was nothing she could do about it.  She – and around a dozen other prisoners, mostly men – had been marched into a disused hanger and told to sit by the wall, waiting for attention.  Part of her wanted the waiting to come to an end, part of her knew all-too-well that when it did, she was likely to regret it.  There were just too many rumours, some backed up with hard facts, about what happened to young men and women who were arrested by the security forces.

She risked a glance at the soldiers watching her, but they seemed to be paying her no special attention.  One of the prisoners had made a terrible fuss, only to be gagged with a piece of duct tape and dropped in the corner; the others had kept their mouths shut.  But them, cuffed as they were, there was little they could do to cause trouble.  All they could do was wait and see what happened to them.

Two men marched into the hanger and walked over to her.  Before she could say a word, they caught her shoulders and hauled her to her feet, then half-pushed her towards the door.  Outside, more and more shuttles were landing, some of them disgorging tanks that looked larger than her father’s house, before it had been repossessed by the bank.  Others were unloading soldiers, more soldiers than she could possibly count.  It looked as if the outsiders had brought enough soldiers to occupy the entire planet.  None of them paid any attention to her as she was walked past them and into a small building that, she guessed, had once been part of the administrative centre.  Now, the only occupant was a tough-looking woman wearing a black uniform and a nasty scowl.

A moment later, she was forced into a chair and her escorts headed outside, leaving her alone with the intimidating woman.  Up close, her skin-tight uniform revealed an alarming amount of muscles, while her cold eyes betrayed no hint of anything, but absolute confidence she could handle anything Gudrun threw at her.

“I should tell you, just in case you have any ideas, that I have permission to maim you if you do anything stupid,” she said.  Her voice had a thin nasal accent that reminded Gudrun of her younger brother, who’d had his nose broken during a childhood fight.  “And even if you do manage to overcome me, there is only one door and it is heavily guarded by armed men.”

She plucked Gudrun to her feet with one hand, then spun her around.  Gudrun yelped as she felt something cold touching her wrists, then there was a snapping sound and her hands came free.  She pulled them forward and rubbed her wrists, frantically.  Her captor spun her around until she was facing her, then gave her an odd little smile.

“Tell me,” she said.  “Are you carrying anything that could be used as a weapon?”