Martial Law 1: Patriotic Treason (6 page)

Another flight of helicopters flew overhead as Colonel Hoskins invited us into the vehicles. The Captain, the Master Sergeant and two armed Marines went into one of the vehicles; myself, Roger, Muna and the remaining Marines went into the other vehicle. I couldn’t help, but wince when I smelled the inside of the truck; I had a nasty feeling that it was normally used for transporting pigs, or prisoners. If I had left a compartment on the ship smelling like that, the First Lieutenant would have probably beaten us black and blue. I didn’t want to think about what the Captain would have said about it. The best thing that could be said for the vehicle was that it had no windows. I didn’t want to look outside.

The engine coughed to life, releasing a vaguely-unpleasant smell into the rear, and the vehicle started to move. I found myself tensing as it rattled back and forth, leaving us all completely confused. They could have been taking us anywhere. I pulled out my terminal and started to open a link with the ship, but it seemed that the local communications network wasn't open for mere Ensigns. The local communications node refused access.

“Try using the emergency code,” Roger suggested. I tried, but the local net continued to refuse access. He looked up at the lead Marine. “Can you reach the ship?”

“The local Marine net is still active,” the Marine said. It took me a moment to realise that she was female. The body armour she wore covered up all traces of her breasts. I didn’t know what she looked like under the mask and, somehow, I didn’t want to know. “There’s enough data there to keep us going for a while…”

The entire truck rang like a bell. “Gunshot,” one of the Marines said. I wanted to cringe inside, but somehow I managed to control myself. I had never been in a gunfight before, but I’d seen hundreds on video, late-night entertainments where the villain had used a gun to inflict nightmares. A single shot could kill easily, or so we had been told. A moment later, a handful of other shots bounced off the armour and the truck lurched violently.

“Why aren’t we shooting back?” Roger asked, plaintively. “What about the soldiers escorting us?”

“Their hands are tied by the ROE,” the lead Marine said. There was a curiously dismissive tone to her voice. “They’re not allowed to shoot back unless their lives are in real danger.”

An explosion, not too far away, made the entire vehicle shake. I heard more gunshots in the distance, but I couldn’t tell who was firing. The video heroes could tell the difference between one weapon and another by sound alone, but they all sounded the same to me. I hoped – prayed – that we weren't the targets of the assault, but somehow I felt otherwise. The enemy, whoever they were, had turned out to welcome us to Terra Nova in force. The truck kept moving rapidly and then…

It crashed to a halt as another explosion shook it. I heard shattering sounds from the front cab and knew that the crew were dead. “Out, out now,” the Marine barked. Muna hesitated and the Marine caught her arm, pushing her rapidly towards the rear. I followed her, stumbling slightly, as the Marines jumped out first, their weapons already out and seeking targets. I couldn’t understand how they were taking it all so calmly. I was on the verge of panic until the Marine cuffed my head. “Keep down, damn you!”

The noise was much louder outside the truck. We were caught in a crossfire coming from buildings on either side of us, with gunners pouring down fire towards the trucks. Half of the soldiers seemed to be dead already, their bodies draped over their burning vehicles or lying torn and broken on the ground. The Marines didn’t hesitate. Moving in perfect concert, they lifted their weapons and returned fire savagely, spending bullets like water. A handful of gunners fell out of the windows as the bullets tore through their flesh; others targeted the Marines and attempted to overwhelm them. The remaining soldiers, who had been pinned down under heavy fire, were attempting to counterattack or retreat, but neither seemed possible. The road was blocked at both ends.

Hoskins must have been working for them, I thought, angrily. The thought seemed unlikely, but even I could see that we’d driven right into a planned ambush. The enemy, whoever they were, had had the time to set up perfectly and they’d killed…they might have killed the Captain! The thought spurred me to action, despite my terror, and I started to crawl around the remains of the truck. If the Captain was alive, it was my duty to go to him; if he were dead, it was my duty to take care of the bodies. I hadn’t understood some of the muttered comments the Marines had made before now, but I saw now that those on the ground were very different to those who served in space. They didn’t understand us and we didn’t understand them.

The firing seemed to intensify, joined by a CRUMP, CRUMP, CRUMP sound that, moments later, was followed by explosions all around us. It seemed as if we were caught in the midst of a civil war, or perhaps half the city was trying to get at us and hitting their own side in all the confusion. I felt sweat trickling down my back as I crawled forward, stopping only when I saw the small group of soldiers in front of me, firing into the buildings. It saved my life. A handful of grenades tumbled down amongst them and shredded them in the explosions. Blood and gore splattered over me.

Dark shapes burst out of the buildings, firing as they came. A handful fell, a dozen, but the remainder kept running, pressing their advantage. I tried to crawl backwards, but it was too late; one of them had seen me. He pointed his weapon at me, leered down the barrel of his gun, and smiled. I froze. I should have gone for the laser pistol on my belt, but somehow I couldn’t move. He held me hypnotized. I felt a warm trickle running down my leg, a moment before his head exploded as one of the Marines picked him off with a single shot. The Marine was past me in a moment, firing single shots into the group, wiping them all out. A moment later, we were in the clear.

“Stay down,” he hissed, as a new sound rent the air. I could hear the sound of mighty blades tearing through the air. “Stay down…”

The first helicopter swooped down, firing missiles into the buildings on both sides of the road. The others followed, bombarding enemy positions with missiles and gunfire, while thousands of soldiers in heavy armoured vehicles appeared at both ends of the street. The enemy forces faded away and vanished into the surrounding streets. It was over.

“Get into the trucks,” I heard the Captain order. I had never been so glad to hear someone’s voice in all my life, even if I had wet myself from fear. I thought of presenting myself to the Governor like that and had to fight to suppress a giggle. Now the fear was wearing off, I was just happy to be alive. “Move, now!”

The armoured truck was, thankfully, cooler than the outside. The Captain followed us in, with the Master Sergeant bringing up the rear. A moment later, the truck moved off. Apart from a handful of bullets pinging off the armour, the remainder of the trip was uneventful. Judging from the smell, I wasn't the only one who had wet myself either.

“I want them all started on weapons training tomorrow,” the Captain ordered. It was the first time I’d heard him sounding angry. The Master Sergeant seemed equally angry, although his anger seemed directed at the soldiers on the outside. “If this is going to happen again…”

It didn’t on that trip, but the memory stayed with me for the rest of my life.

Chapter Five

The UN’s position on weapons training and private gun ownership is, as always, presented as something its not. Citing safety fears and concerns over criminal use of weapons, the UN bans ownership of weapons, and places severe limits on those who would be expected to use weapons in the performance of their duties. It is not unknown for a person to spend their entire career in the UNPF and never fire a shot in anger, or even in training. Civilians are simply forbidden to use weapons; somehow, this does not affect criminal activity. The murder rate in Earth’s cities is shockingly high.

The real reason, of course, is simple. A disarmed population, one that has been trained to be scared of weapons, is one that is unable to revolt.

-Thomas Anderson. An Unbiased Look at the UNPF. Baen Historical Press, 2500.

“All right, pay attention,” the Master Sergeant bellowed. He had the kind of voice that seemed to echo through space, even if sound itself couldn’t travel through a vacuum. “This is Basic Weapons Handling for Dummies! When you came into this cabin, you knew nothing about weapons! When you leave, you will know enough to use a weapon in self-defence or as you are directed by senior officers! Anyone who fucks about in this course will be taken outside and soundly beaten. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” we said. Master Sergeant Erwin Herzog was not the type of person anyone would easily defy. He was a short grizzly sparkplug, but we’d all seen him exercising and none of those muscles were the result of cosmetic surgery. I’d also seen him practicing with his fellow Marines and knew just how tough he was. If he called me out, I knew I wouldn’t even be able to land a punch.

“I am a Sergeant,” he snapped. “You will address me as Sergeant! I work for a living. I once tried out for officer status, but I was disadvantaged. My parents were married!”

He glared around at us impartially. “First model, the standard-issue UN Model Seven Laser Pistol,” he announced, picking up the pistol and waving it under our noses. “Fires a beam of laser light capable of burning through flesh and light armour. Powered by a single power cell emplaced in the hilt. Designed by a gay sausage sucker and used only by little girls and girly men. What is wrong with this weapon?”

I winced under his tone. The Model Seven looked like something out of a science-fiction movie, one of the endless videos produced about the UNPF and its services to Peace along the frontier. The weapon looked cool, but in the Master Sergeant’s hand, it began to look almost like a toy. It might well have been a toy in a previous incarnation. One of my former friends at school had actually had a set of contraband toy guns.

“I don’t know, Sir…ah, Sergeant,” Roger said, finally. “It kills people, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it kills,” Herzog agreed, slowly. “It kills an opponent who is not smart enough to wear heavy armour, but it kills. Never underestimate just how stupid an enemy soldier can be. At the same time, never underestimate the scale of your own mistakes, or just how ignorant you actually are.” He glared at Roger. “What is wrong with this weapon?”

He carried on without waiting for Roger to answer. “There are two things wrong with this piece of shit,” he thundered. “The first thing is that it’s fragile. Slam it to the ground and it will break! The second thing is that the power pack” – he opened the hilt of the pistol and removed the small cell from the weapon – “cannot hold a charge more than a week, if that. If you charge this weapon on Monday, you will be unable to fire it on Sunday. That could be unpleasant.”

Sally spoke into the silence. “Sergeant,” she said, carefully, “why can’t the weapon hold a charge that long?”

“Because some penny-pinching asshole in the Department of Supply decided that it would be cheaper to purchase these shitty power packs from one manufacturer than spend additional money on power packs that actually work,” Herzog informed her. “That asshole probably got a promotion for his stroke of genius, but we on the front lines have to pay the price. Those of you who went down to the surface of the world below will know now that we’re at war. The assholes back home do not believe it in their bones. They are quite happy to give us shit like this to save a few billion credits.”

He threw the pistol to the deck hard enough to make me wince. “You’ll see this again and again in your careers,” he added, icily. “Those of you who have been working off their demerits by doing the replacement work will have realised that all of the components on this ship have around half the lifespan we were promised. The soldiers down on the ground are meant to be able to communicate with one another with ease. Naturally, half the radios don’t link into the other half, which is why the ambush went off so well. The bastard in charge didn’t know that the convoy was under attack until it was almost too late.”

I shivered, remembering the brief…incident. The Captain hadn’t said anything to us about it, even during the brief pointless ceremony at Government House, but on the way back we’d been escorted by hundreds of soldiers. We’d also seen something of the city. It looked like a war zone…no, it was a war zone. The various factions fighting it out for control had somehow managed to learn the route of the convoy and plan an ambush in advance. They’d almost killed all of us.

“This is something a little different,” Herzog snapped, holding up a second weapon. Unlike the laser pistol, it was made of dark metal and gleamed in his hand. “This is as Standard-Issue Marine Automatic Pistol, based on a design hundreds of years old. It fires a clip of nine bullets” – he opened the weapon to reveal the clip stored inside the gun – “and is fucking difficult to fuck up, although knowing most spacer babies you’ll manage it somehow! You shoot someone with this, they’re going to be dead or seriously injured, if you hit them. The one advantage of the laser pistol is that it fires a beam in a straight line. This weapon…you jerk when you fire and you’ll miss.”

He looked from face to face, and then finally pushed the weapon, hilt first, at Roger. “Take it,” he ordered, nodding towards a target set up at the rear of the room. “Hit that target now and you’ll lose a demerit.”