Retreat Hell (22 page)

It was risky, he knew.  If they were wrong, if Wolfbane wasn't involved, he might have given his forces clearance to
start
a war.  Case Theta-One authorised commanding officers to open fire if they believed their positions were threatened, without waiting for the enemy to fire first.  After a few brief exchanges of fire, it would be much harder to come to terms with Wolfbane without the war spinning right out of control.

But there was no alternative.  If they failed to assume the worst, they would just leave themselves vulnerable, waiting to be hit.

***

Councillor Gordon Travis was used to violence and the threat of violence, or so he had told himself.  Certainly, he hadn't taken part in the Cracker War as anything other than a supply officer, but that was a risky profession when the old Council had been quite willing to torture any Cracker they captured.  But since the end of the war, he’d been at peace.  Even his son had died on a wretched foreign world rather than Avalon’s streets.

But the assassin had shattered Gordon’s composure.  One of the bullets had flashed past him and struck the wall.  A centimetre or two to the left and the bullet would have punched into his head, killing him instantly.  And Gaby was in hospital, fighting for her life ... it was shocking, truly shocking, that anyone on Avalon would resort to violence to make their voice heard.  Hadn't they realised, he asked himself, that violence only bred violence?

He watched as Colonel Stalker entered the underground bunker, looking as tired as Gordon felt.  Oddly, he felt a hint of pity for the military officer.  His lover was in the hospital, upsetting both his personal and professional lives.  Gordon had had no time to carry out any polls, but he was sure that there would be an upswing of sympathy for the Colonel after Gaby had been injured.

“We may be at war,” Colonel Stalker said, when Councillor Jackson invited him to speak.  “That assassin was carefully inserted into our society for one specific action.”

Gordon listened in growing disbelief as Colonel Stalker outlined what they’d discovered in the hours since the assassination attempt.  A conditioned assassin?  It made sense – there were countless stories about conditioned assassins getting close to their targets because they were programmed not to reveal any fear – but someone who was instantly identifiable?  Someone who had vanished on
Lakshmibai? 

And if this was the opening move in a war, as the Colonel suspected, who knew what would happen next?

He stared down at his hands, thinking hard.  He’d had his doubts about the Commonwealth for a long time, but ... but it had just blown up in his face.  If he pressed for Avalon to leave the Commonwealth under such conditions, his supporters would desert him in droves.  Gaby had practically become a martyr already, without even dying!  And ... if the war had already begun, as much as he hated to admit it, the Commonwealth might be their only hope of survival.

Councillor Jackson cleared his throat.  “It seems to me that we are in a state of war,” he said.  “Colonel, how do you believe we should react?”

“I believe that we should concentrate our forces and then prepare for offensive operations,” Colonel Stalker said.  “Right now, our forces along the border are spread out and vulnerable.  We should re-concentrate, then force them to go on the defensive.”

Gordon gritted his teeth, then held up his hand for attention.  “We should send a diplomatic note,” he said, “if the war has not already begun, demanding to know what the hell they’re doing.”

“The war began the moment Gaby was shot,” Councillor Jackson snapped.  Two of his compatriots howled their agreement.  “It's too late to try to come to terms!”

“We should at least attempt to keep the lines of communication open,” Gordon said.  He’d suffer in the polls, but as long as his support didn't fall too far he wouldn't be recalled and forced to stand for re-election.  “No one has fought a full-scale interstellar war in centuries, have they?  We do not
know
what has already happened along the border!”

He took a breath.  “They have attacked us,” he said, “but do we really want a war to the knife?”

Looking at some of his fellow Councillors, he rather suspected the answer to that question was
yes
.

Eventually, this problem was noticed and distribution responsibilities were handed over to the Imperial Army.  However, the forces deployed on Janus were nowhere near numerous enough to handle the task in a reasonable space of time – hence the food often went rotten before distribution – and were often attacked by local factions intent on stealing the food.  A small-scale deployment rapidly became a much larger one.

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

“All things considered,” Pete said, “I think matters worked out surprisingly well.”

He looked down at the estimates from his spies in Asgard.  Most of the attacks had shocked the security forces, rather than doing any real damage, but that hadn’t been the purpose of the attacks.  The
real
purpose had been to give the CEF a bloody nose and
that
had been accomplished quite nicely.  It had also given him a chance to watch the CEF in action, admittedly at a closer range than he might have preferred, and he had to admit that they were clearly capable soldiers.  A little inexperienced, he’d noted, but still quite capable.  And experience was just a matter of time.

“They pushed us back from the spaceport,” one of his fellows objected.  “They reacted very quickly to our attacks.”

Pete shrugged.  Given the shortage of time to prepare the area around the spaceport to make life miserable for the CEF, they'd done better than he'd expected.  The criminals, fortunately, had kept their heads down rather than come into the open against either side, although
that
would probably change.  After the planetary government had been humiliated so badly, they’d want to make damn sure the spaceport was secure in future and to hell with the criminals who thought they owned the district. 

“Good for them,” he said.  “But we didn't give them a
real
challenge.”

He looked back down at the reports.  The spaceport crews had been thoroughly infiltrated long ago, with strict orders to do nothing more than report back to the movement.  Judging from their reports, most of the CEF was already down on the ground, accompanied by enough Imperial-standard supplies to fight a small war.  He wondered, absently, if they’d brought enough to fight the war he intended to give them, then dismissed the thought as unimportant.  The government’s habit of throwing money at the local defence establishment had ensured that there were plenty of supplies to go around.

But the government would be having problems of its own.  Quite apart from the embarrassment, they’d discovered that the movement had infiltrated a number of police and military bases.  Right now, they would be looking for spies, people who would remain quiet until the signal arrived and then start a new campaign of sabotage.  The witch-hunt would utterly destroy morale, even in the most capable infantry units.  No one would be able to trust anyone else for a very long time.

“They’ll come here, of course,” he said.  “We made damn sure of that, didn't we?”

He pulled the map out from under the table and peered down at it, silently matching the buildings on the sheet of paper with the information stored in his brain.  The Zone, four hundred square miles of residential buildings, shopping malls and warehouses ... now the home to the displaced, the dispossessed and the rebels.  It had been unsurprisingly easy to recruit all the footsoldiers the movement could possibly need from the Zone, young men desperate to prove themselves and do something useful with their lives.  Pete knew that most of them were going to die, but their sacrifice would take the government down too.

Outside the Zone, the government had created a network of military and police stations, intending to try to keep the contamination in the Zone from spreading.  Pete could have told them it was a waste of time, not with the economic crisis gathering steam; they’d merely created more targets for the rebels, when the time came to strike.  Now, most of those police and military stations were in ruins, while the reputation of those forces had been shattered.  And, while he knew it would be costly, the outsiders had committed themselves when they’d lynched stranded policemen and soldiers.  The government would not forgive them for choosing the rebel side.

The longer the Zone remained outside the government’s control, the weaker the government would become.  They
had
to deal with the Zone ... and they had to do it quickly.  Whatever the CEF’s commander thought, she would have to fall in line.  The alternative would be surrendering the initiative to the rebels.

“Make sure the newcomers are properly screened,” he ordered.  Refugees had been streaming into the Zone for hours, now the war had begun in earnest.  It wouldn't be long before the government started to slip spies of their own into the Zone, using the refugees as cover.  “And remember to ration the food.”

He smirked at the thought.  The government had done nothing for the people in the Zone, the victims of a galactic crisis that was none of their making, but the movement had started to help them long before Pete himself had chosen a side.  It was the movement that had started the soup kitchens, it was the movement that had restarted the schools, it was the movement that had even provided a semblance of law and order ... allowing it to claim a morale authority the local government had long since surrendered.  Pete hadn't hesitated to take advantage of it.

“Of course, sir,” his aide said.  The fact they’d managed to set up an algae-production facility under the Zone was one of their most tightly-guarded secrets.  Sooner or later, someone would work out the truth, but by then it would be too late.  “And the preparations?”

“Begin them in earnest,” Pete ordered.  “But make damn sure the children are kept away from those buildings.”

He shuddered at the thought.  The local government had failed in many ways, but they’d failed the children worst of all.  Schools had had to close, leaving the children growing up on the streets, unable to read or write.  Older children, those who had had a few years under their belt when the crisis hit, had been unable to take the exams that would qualify them for jobs ... or, for that matter, to get jobs at all.  Even positions like street cleaner or toilet attendant had hundreds of applicants.  The movement had tried to do what it could for the children, but it didn't have the resources to give them all the attention they deserved.

Shaking his head, he looked back at the map.  Bare as it was, it was easy to envisage the first line of defence.  The CEF would expect it, of course – the tactic was older than the Empire – but it would have real problems dealing with it.  And then the real excitement would begin.

***

Gudrun hadn't been quite sure what to expect after an uncomfortable night in a makeshift prison cell.  She certainly hadn't expected to be woken in the morning, offered a reasonably civilised shower and a change of clothes, then an escort into a former office building that had been turned into a command centre.  A dozen men and women wearing blue uniforms had set up dozens of portable computers, then started to work on them.  Half of the screens showed orbital images, she realised; the others showed live feeds from a dozen cameras around the spaceport.

She recoiled inwardly as heads turned to look at her.  No matter what she’d agreed to do for the CEF, her escort – who had admitted to being called Marcy – had cuffed Gudrun again after she’d showered and dressed.  Marcy had pointed out, when Gudrun had complained, that she was a known danger and couldn't be allowed in a secure environment without some precautions.  Gudrun had tried to object by remarking that Marcy could probably beat her to death with one hand tied behind her back, but Marcy had ignored the logic.  All Gudrun could do was put up with it.

A smaller room had been converted into a private office, with two armed guards wearing helmets and body armour at the door.  They insisted on running a sensor over Gudrun’s body before allowing her to enter – the handcuffs set the alarms off, she noticed with some amusement – and then did the same to Marcy.  Irritatingly, the overbuilt woman took it in her stride. 

“You think this is secure,” Marcy hissed, as they stepped through the door.  “There’s a secret post on Avalon where everyone is strip-searched before being allowed to enter.”

Gudrun kept her thoughts to herself as she looked into the room.  A small table sat in the exact centre of the room, surrounded by four uncomfortable looking chairs and a stool.  The windows had not only been closed, but boarded up; the only source of light was a portable lamp someone had fixed to the ceiling.  There was nothing on the table, but another portable computer attached to a series of wires that ran out of the room.  She looked around, hoping to see something other than bare walls, then looked back at the room’s sole occupant.  The girl looked no older than Gudrun herself.

“Take a seat,” she said, with a smile.  “I’m Alpha.”

“You must have had odd parents,” Gudrun muttered, as she sat on the stool.  Oddly, that small consideration made her feel weepy.  “What sort of name is Alpha?”

“The kind we use when we are not allowed to disclose our real names,” Marcy grated.  She stood behind Gudrun, her looming presence a constant reminder – as if she needed one – that she was hardly in friendly territory.  “I suggest you pay close attention.”

Alpha gave her a wink, then tapped a key on the computer.  The screen lit up, revealing an image from another orbiting satellite.  It looked as though she was staring down at the Zone from a great height ... no, somewhere outside the Zone.  The green park near the houses, complete with duck pond, was a dead giveaway.  No one had wasted money on beautifying the Zone, not when everyone who lived there had been expected to move out as soon as they found a job.

“This is the address you gave us,” Alpha said.  On the screen, Gudrun saw red letters marking the street names and house numbers.  There were no such luxuries in the Zone, of course.  “Will you confirm that it is the correct location?”

Gudrun leaned closer, cursing the cuffs as they dug into her hands.  She’d never flown in her life, let alone been in space.  It took her several moments to be sure it was the right location.  Officially, the house belonged to a piano-teacher who had tried to make a living through giving lessons, allowing him to have an excuse for meeting with people like Gudrun.  But inside it had been a rebel base through and through.

“Yes,” she said, positively.  “I’m confident it’s his base.”

Alpha turned to look at her.  “What’s the interior like?”

Gudrun shrugged.  “A set of rooms, mostly barren; a toilet, a kitchen ... not much there, really,” she said.  “I never saw the basement, though.  There could be anything there.”

“Yes, there could,” Alpha said.  A window popped up on her display and she smiled, hastily pressing her finger to the screen.  “Let’s see what we have here.”

The image altered rapidly, zeroing in on the front door.  A man had appeared, walking out of the house and onto the streets as if he didn't have a care in the world.  Gudrun watched in a mixture of horror and awe as the image closed in on his face, revealing a light-skinned man with a brown head of hair and a moustache.

Marcy poked her the back of Gudrun’s neck.  “Do you recognise him?”

Gudrun swallowed.  “Yes,” she confessed.  “That’s my contract.”

Alpha gave her a reassuring look.  “I’ll detail the drone to follow him,” she said.  On the screen, a line of letters and numbers appeared beside the walking man.  Gudrun had no idea what they signified.  “Luckily, we can keep the entire city under observation with only a handful of drones.”

“No replacement for a physical eye,” Marcy grumbled.  Gudrun had the feeling that it was an old argument between the two of them.  “Drones just don’t have the intuition of a human being.”

Gudrun looked from one to the other, then back at the screen.  Her contact had walked into an alleyway and started to pull off his hair.  She gaped in surprise, then realised that it had been a wig all the time she’d known him ... and she’d never guessed the truth.  The moustache vanished a moment later, dropped into a hiding place in the alleyway.  Without the hair, he looked completely different.

“I thought the moustache was a fake,” Alpha said, happily.  “When someone has one that big, chances are it’s meant to draw attention.  Given the right kind of support, no one ever bothers to question it.”

She looked at Gudrun.  “Did
you
ever question the moustache?”

Gudrun shook her head, embarrassed.  “They were fashionable ten years ago,” she said, remembering how her father had kept his handlebar moustache for years, despite her mother’s endless nagging and unsubtle hints about shaving it off.  “I never thought it might not be real.”

“I guess you weren't taught to ask questions,” Marcy said, darkly.  She peered past Gudrun towards the computer.  “Where’s he going now?”

“Into the Zone,” Gudrun said.  “The border is there, roughly.”

There was no formal border to the Zone, she knew.  Originally, it had been intended as nothing more than a supersize transit barracks, back when anyone who wanted to catch hold of the Thule economic miracle only had to get on a starship to reach the developing world, then look around for a few days to find a job.  Now, it had sprawled out of control as the government retreated, creating a morass of buildings inhabited by people with no reason to love the government.  Growing up there, she thought, would be a nightmare.