Retreat Hell (31 page)

She kept a wary eye on the enemy fleet as it receded into the distance, seemingly unaware that it had been located.  If they had realised that
Sword
was there, she knew, they would have attempted to trap her ... wouldn't they?  Or would they simply bring their plans forward and arrive at Thule hard on Mandy’s heels?  That was what
she
would do, she knew, if she was commanding the other side.  Surprise would have been lost, so the only real option was to attack before the defenders were ready to withstand attack.  Thule wasn't undefended, not by a long shot.  Her defences would take one hell of a bite out of an attacking formation.

But there was no sign they'd been detected as they crossed the Phase Limit.  “Take us FTL,” she ordered, shortly.  “Set course for Thule, best possible speed.”

She yawned, despite herself, as the flickering lights of Phase Space appeared on the display.  They were safe now – it was extremely difficult to track or intercept a starship in Phase Space – and on their way back to Thule.  Once they were there, she would have to devote all of her attention to preparing the planet to withstand a siege ... or withdraw, if the entire enemy fleet came to Thule.  There was no way she could sacrifice the entire squadron merely to delay the enemy for a few hours.

“XO, you have the bridge,” she said, standing.  Another yawn threatened to escape, but she held it down, somehow.  “I’ll be in my office.”

“Aye, Captain,” the XO said.  “I’ll alert you as soon as we reach Thule.”

Mandy nodded, stepped through the bridge hatch and into her office.  As soon as the hatch had hissed closed, she lay down on the sofa and closed her eyes.  Tension drained out of her mind slowly, to be replaced with fear, fear of what would happen if they were unable to reach Thule in time.  But somehow, eventually, she managed to calm her thoughts and fall asleep.

***

“There was a contact,” Rani stated.

The sensor operator looked uncomfortable.  She was young; like most sensor operators with genuine talent, she had been rushed through the training course and pushed into active service, rather than being given the seasoning of other officers.  And she wasn't even remotely comfortable in Rani’s presence.  But it didn't matter.

“Just a rough contact on the passive sensors,” the operator confirmed.  “But it could easily have been a starship.”

Rani considered it as the operator showed her the readings.  The contact had been very brief, brief enough to make her think it was just a sensor glitch ... but there was something about it that bothered her.  Reaching out, she minimised the star system on the display and sucked in her breath as she realised the contact was real.  It had been on a least-time course to the Phase Limit ... and on a course that would allow it to fly directly to Thule.

“Thank you,” she said, finally.  She was too experienced an officer to expect
all
of her plans to work perfectly, but it was irritating to have to change operational plans at such short notice.  But there was no alternative.  The Commonwealth knew the shit was about to hit the fan.  “You may go.”

She watched the operator leave her office, then keyed a switch.  “General signal to all ships,” she ordered.  “Our plans have to be moved up.  I want all ships ready to depart to their assigned targets within an hour.”

“Yes, Admiral,” Carolyn said.  At least
she
didn't sound surprised.  “I’ll alert the fleet at once.”

Rani smiled.  There would be opposition, of course.  Changing the plans so close to their scheduled departure date would cause one hell of a lot of confusion ... and some of the spies would wonder just what she was doing.  But there was no choice.  If the Commonwealth had time to prepare, the fighting would be far more costly than either she or Governor Brown wanted.  Their plans for a quick victory were about to be tested in fire.

“And then summon a courier boat,” Rani added.  “Someone has to inform Governor Brown that the war is about to begin.”

She paused, then continued.  “And assign a second one to me personally,” she said.  “I want to send a message to our operatives on Thule.”

This ensured that the best of the social scientists, the ones who did the most ‘research,’ still had a very skewed view of the crisis.  Their perceptions were often at variance with reality.  For example, the principle aggressor in the conflict, despite being responsible for genocide, attempted genocide and a number of other war crimes, was constantly referred to as responding to outside aggression.  Small incidents (post-war investigations suggested they were staged to serve as causes for war) were used to ‘justify’ the war in the eyes of the Grand Senate.

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

Thomas ducked as a bullet cracked through the air above his head, then unhooked a grenade from his belt and tossed it towards where he estimated the shooter to be lurking.  There was an explosion; he jumped up and ran down the corridor, weapon in hand, looking for the enemy combatant.  But there was nothing left of him, apart from bloody stains on the wall.

He sighed as he caught his breath.  Four days of hard fighting had allowed them to penetrate the next set of fortifications within the Zone, which the insurgents were fighting desperately to hold at all costs.  Each building had been turned into a fortress, with multiple firing positions and reinforced walls, linked into a series of interlocking defence posts.  Clearing them out cost time and lives, while the enemy fell back, then counterattacked with increasing force.  They’d even dug a warren of tunnels under the Zone, allowing them to slip their people past the front line and pop up in the rear.  One attack had nearly wiped out an entire local formation that wasn't watching its back carefully enough.

“Got a hatch there, sir,” one of his men said.  Thomas didn't know him personally; he was a CROW, a Combat Replacement Of War, sent into the unit to replace a man he'd lost days ago.  Normally, Thomas knew, it would be hard for a newcomer to be accepted until he’d proven himself.  Now, the fires of war made it easier for the newcomer to join a unit.  “Want me to do something about it?”

Thomas shrugged as he eyed the tunnel, lying temptingly open.  Going down was almost certainly a mistake, though.  The tunnel would be difficult to explore while the enemy, who would know it very well, would be lurking in ambush.  Or maybe they would simply have rigged the tunnel to fall in when the CEF troops advanced into the darkness.

“Drop a couple of grenades down there,” he ordered, instead.  “I want you to collapse it, if possible.”

There was a dull roar as the grenades exploded, followed by a series of crashing sounds that suggested the tunnel had caved in on itself.  Thomas dropped a motion sensor down into the darkness anyway, just in case, then keyed his HUD for updates.  The advance had slowed almost to a halt as the soldiers had encountered the new defence zone, but higher command seemed to believe the rebels couldn't hold out for long.  Thomas had his doubts; so far, the rebels had fought savagely and very well.

He motioned to his unit to follow him as they swept the rest of the makeshift fortress.  For once, the remaining enemy seemed to have fallen back, either out of fear of being cut off from their fellows or because they were planning a counterattack as soon as the invaders relaxed.  Thomas had to admire their determination, no matter how irritating it was to him personally.  The remainder of the house was empty, so he called for reinforcements so it could be converted into a makeshift FOB.  Not a perfect arrangement, he knew, but it would provide some shelter to advancing troops before they returned to the fight.

“Incoming!”

He cursed as another wave of mortar shells echoed through the air and came down on the other side of the front line, explosions shaking the entire area.  Moments later, he heard a series of more distant explosions as the counter-battery fire went to work, trying to kill the mortar teams before they rushed their weapon to a new firing location.  Either the enemy teams were
very
good, Thomas had decided long ago, or the insurgents had thousands of the weapons.  No matter how many shells the invaders fired, the enemy still launched mortar shells towards the advancing troops.  And they were extracting a price from the CEF ...

A dull rumble caught his attention and he turned to stare through a gap in the wall, just in time to see one of the massive apartment blocks in the distance collapse into a pile of rubble.  For a long moment, silence seemed to fall over the battlefield, as if both sides were stunned by the sudden collapse, then shooting resumed, greater than ever before.  Gritting his teeth, shaking off the tiredness that seemed to pervade his bones, Thomas motioned for his troops to follow him.  Surely, sooner or later, the rebels would run out of men to throw at the CEF. 

But it didn't seem likely, he admitted, in the privacy of his own mind.  The discipline the rebels were showing, even under extreme pressure would do credit to
any
military unit, even the Marines.  And they were brave too, he knew; brave ... and dreadfully misguided.

Poor bastards
, he thought.

A quick check of his HUD revealed that a local infantry unit was moving into position as backstop, ready to support his unit if necessary.  Sighing, hoping it was one of the good units, he turned and led his men onwards, back into the fight.

***

“They took down the Rosetta,” Stone said.

“It took them a while,” Pete said.  So far, the advancing force had hesitated to fire on the largest buildings, even though their snipers had been quite effective at clearing
his
snipers from the building.  “I think it might have been an accident.”

Stone eyed him, dubiously.  She hadn't hesitated to tell the troops that the advancing forces had looting, raping and burning on their minds, in that order.  With so many families, including wives and daughters, within the Zone, it had proved hellishly effective at preventing the fighters from surrendering.  But it was also giving rise to a worrying amount of savagery.  Despite his strict orders, a Commonwealth soldier who’d been captured had been beaten to death rather than handed over to him and his enforcers.  But how could he blame his men after what they’d been told.

“An accident,” Stone repeated.  “And how do you know that?”

Pete shrugged.  “You know how accurate their guns are,” he said.  The CEF had been alarmingly precise, precise enough to wipe out over two dozen mortar teams in the last few days of fighting.  “If they’d wanted to bring down all the buildings, they would have done so by now.”

He looked down at the map, mentally collating the latest series of reports from his observers and placing them on the chart.  There was no way to deny the simple fact that the Zone’s defences were starting to crumble, no matter how desperately his men fought to keep the invaders back.  Logistics, once again, had proven the bane of a military operation.  The high-intensity fighting was sapping his stockpiles of ammunition faster than they could hope to replace them.  If the invaders ever realised that he’d run out of HVMs to fire at their aircraft ...

“I think it’s time to consider withdrawing the lighter units,” he said.  “They can go through the tunnels and then fade away into the countryside.”

Stone’s head snapped up.  “You propose to abandon the Zone?”

“I propose to withdraw some of our forces,” Pete countered.  The operation had succeeded, in one sense; the Zone was absorbing more and more of the forces available to the government.  Judging from how one regiment had come apart at the first hint of gunfire, they were even throwing completely untrained units into the maelstrom.  But he knew there was no point in fighting till the bitter end.  “They will go into position for the next phase of the war.”

Stone sneered.  “You plan to join them?”

“No,” Pete lied.  He had no shortage of bravery, but he knew, without false modesty, that he couldn't meet his death in the Zone.  The movement needed him to help guide the war.  “I will stay here until the bitter end.”

“See that you do,” Stone said, darkly.

Pete eyed her back as she turned and stamped out of the room.  She was a fanatic, unsurprisingly; she’d executed cowards – or men she’d seen as cowards – with an enthusiasm that disturbed him.  He had already decided that Stone wasn't going to survive the war, hopefully breathing her last as a martyr – although he was quite prepared to shoot her in the back if necessary.  Any hope of rebuilding the planet along more peaceful lines would be lost if Stone took power.  She would start by purging the government and civil service – and whatever remained of the military – then move on to eradiating all members of the movement who didn't live up to her standards.  By the time she’d finished, her reign of terror would leave scars that wouldn't heal for years to come.

Shaking his head, he lifted an eyebrow as a pretty blonde girl – one of the messengers – knocked on the open door.  “Message for you, sir,” she said, her entire body trembling.  “Will there be a reply.”

Pete took the message, wondering if she was shaking because she was scared of him or if she was more worried about the constant shooting that kept everyone awake.  The children were having real problems ... indeed, he had seriously considered calling a ceasefire long enough to get them into a DP camp.  But Stone and the others would never have agreed, either out of fear of what would befall their women and children or simple reluctance to let go of even a shred of their power.

He scanned the letter quickly, then nodded.  “Tell them to take no action,” he said, sticking the piece of paper in his pocket.  One piece of the defences had crumbled – and a number of fighters had surrendered.  The gunners wanted to drop a mortar shell on the defenceless POWs before they were taken out of range.  “Pass on those words – and nothing else.”

The blonde girl nodded, still trembling.  She was pretty enough, Pete noted, the type of girl who should be attending college or university rather than being trapped in a warzone.  Guilt tore at him as he realised she was the type of person the Terran Marines existed to defend, even if they weren't always grateful for the military’s mere existence.  Hell, the girl was old enough to be his daughter, if his daughter had lived.  She shouldn’t have been in a warzone.  But the war on Thule had been brewing long before he'd joined the movement ...

He smiled at her.  “What is your name?”

“Gudrun,” the girl said. 

Pete sighed as she looked down at the ground, perhaps expecting him to make an indecent suggestion.  Some of the smaller resistance groups had had too many footsoldiers who’d done just that, trading on their position to talk girls into bed.  But Gudrun was really too young to be interesting.  She should be innocent.

But she probably isn’t
, Pete thought.  It was astonishing just how quickly reluctance to open one’s legs vanished when one was confronted by starvation.  Or worse; one of the reasons he’d joined the movement was to prevent exploitation far worse than simple prostitution.  In the end, he knew he hadn't entirely succeeded.  It was quite possible that Gudrun had already traded her body for food and protection before joining the movement.  Or ...

And she wasn't really his daughter.

“Take the message back, quickly now,” he said.  He didn't miss the brief expression of relief crossing her face, an expression that horrified him more than he cared to say.  “And then take a break.  You need it.”

Gudrun turned and practically ran out of the chamber.  Pete shook his head.  In a sense, the movement had become parasites, no matter the rightness of their cause.  They had complete power over the Zone, power to do whatever they wanted with its inhabitants, with the only thing holding them in check being an awareness of their own weaknesses.  After all, if everyone who wasn't part of the movement rose up against them, the movement would be doomed.

Poor girl
, he thought.  His daughter ... would his daughter have been like Gudrun, if she had lived?  Or would his daughter have wanted to stay out of the fighting?  Or would she have been intimately involved with the fighting?  Or ... what?

He shook his head, again.  There was nothing he could do for Gudrun, not now.  All he could do was pray that she survived the fighting without harm.

***

Gudrun had believed, the moment she set eyes on the movement’s leader, that he would know just how badly she’d been compromised.  She’d lowered her eyes, unable to stop her entire body shaking with fear ... and he'd sent her away with kindly words.  It was odd, but there was no time to wonder about what he’d been thinking.  All she could do was use the communicator to tell Marcy where the leader was hiding ... and hope like hell it was enough to win her freedom.  She didn't want to be a spy any longer.

She sent the message, then hurried over to where the gunners were waiting under a protective awning.  They didn't seem pleased with her words, but they accepted them without demur.  As soon as they banished her, Gudrun left and sneaked back towards the hospital.  Maybe, if she was lucky, she would be able to keep her head down until the fighting came to an end.

Her shoulder itched.  No, she knew, that wouldn't be a possibility.

***

“They flew two helicopters over the Zone,” Michael said.  “Neither of them were engaged with anything other than rifle fire.”

“Interesting,” Jasmine mused.  Could it be that the Zone’s defenders had run out of HVMs?  The last one they’d fired, at a drone she’d sent in a day ago, had missed its target and exploded harmlessly in midair.  “How low were they flying?”