The Empire’s Corps: Book 01 - The Empire's Corps (37 page)

“And smart warheads for their mortars,” Gwen added. “There’s no way that a total novice of a fire team could have dropped such an accurate shot on the Civil Guard, not without an unbelievable amount of luck.”

Edward nodded. “They don’t have very many of them,” he agreed. It made sense, or so he thought. If the bandits had had more than a dozen such rounds, Alpha Company would have been wiped out. The bandits might have been able to produce mortars on the planet, but they couldn’t have produced the smart warheads. There was only
one
place on the planet where they could have found those. “Get me a link with the Raptors.”

The display altered, revealing the Raptors racing out towards the mainland as fast as they could fly, each one carrying a platoon of Marines to reinforce the platoon house and the Civil Guard. Edward couldn't understand why the bandits had set an ambush and then set out to destroy – rather than delay – a pair of Civil Guard units, but they wouldn't last long against armed Marines. They were going to be chopped to pieces...

He looked up at the display and swore as the pieces fell into place. “They’re not gunning for the Civil Guard at all,” he said, angrily. The sheer chutzpah of the enemy plan was stunning, fully the equal of a hundred other plans Edward had seen developed by armchair generals. “They’re gunning for us!”

Gwen stared at him, astonished. “They’d have to be out of their minds,” she protested, surprised. “They can’t take us on in open combat.”

“Look at the map,” Edward said, tapping it with a long finger. “They set a pair of ambushes along the obvious approach routes for the Civil Guard and pin them down, rather than fleeing for the badlands as they normally do. The Civil Guard takes the bait because they
expect
the bandits to be fleeing, except the bandits have set an ambush and the Civil Guard blunders right into it. So why haven't the bandits tried to break off or destroy the Civil Guard before we can get to them?”

“They’re the bait,” Gwen said. “They can't hope to pull it off, can they?”

Edward shook his head, trying to project confidence. The enemy had produced a nasty surprise, but he had confidence in his Marines to adapt and react to the new threat. The more he looked at the map, the more he saw the weaknesses in the enemy plan...if his Marines lasted long enough to take advantage of them.

“Pass a general message to all units,” he ordered. “I want all of us to be using a strict microburst-only policy, nothing else. No radio transmissions of any kind. I bet you that if they have access to Civil Guard military equipment, they have access to their communications gear as well.”

“No bet,” Gwen said. “They could have far more heavy weapons in reserve than we’ve seen.”

“Probably,” Edward said. He keyed the map as the satellites came into position to observe the fighting on the ground. Unsurprisingly, the Civil Guard companies were still hemmed in by rather less accurate mortar fire. The first shot had to have been with a smart warhead then, or perhaps they’d had a dose of beginner’s luck. There was no way to know now. “I want the Raptors to land here and the Marines are to proceed overland to relieve Alpha Company.”

“Yes, sir,” Gwen said, neutrally. “They’ll have to swing around the area, sir. That will slow us down before we can deploy.”

“Ten gets you twenty that the enemy have dug-in antiaircraft weapons platforms along our most likely approach path,” Edward said. It was basic tactics; Marines on the ground were tough formidable fighters, but Marines in aircraft were vulnerable to a simple missile. He’d seen entire Marine units wiped out on Han when enemy aircraft had engaged their transports during one of the early battles. That had been a clusterfuck to remember. “They can't have too many of them, or they would be in Camelot dictating terms to the Governor.”

His hand traced out an angle of approach on the map. “I want the Marines from the platoon house to leave Alpha and Beta Companies alone and head to here,” he said, tapping another location. “When they realise that their ambush has failed to produce the desired effect, they’ll try to break off and retreat. I want them in position to block their retreat before they can get out of sight and into the badlands.”

“Yes, sir,” Gwen said. “Do you have any other orders?”

“Warm up my command vehicle,” Edward added. “I’m going out there personally.”

“No you are not,” Gwen said, firmly. She fixed him with a gimlet stare. “You are the senior officer on this station and you are not to put your life at risk. You have a capable command team on the ground and they can handle anything the enemy might deploy against us.”

Edward nodded sourly, knowing that she was right. Part of him wanted to suit up and get stuck into the bandits who had looted, raped and killed all along the perimeter, but his duty was to remain on Castle Rock and coordinate the response from a place of safety. His lips parted in a humourless smile. Marines normally didn't graduate to REMF status until they reached the rank of Colonel and even then a Colonel might be expected to serve on the battlefield. Only Major-Generals, the highest permanent rank in the Corps, never saw the face of battle. A lowly Captain who avoided battle would have been a scandal anywhere else. On Avalon, she was right. His place was out of danger.

“Yes,” he said, flatly. “Warn everyone; the enemy may have heavier weapons than we have yet seen. Tell them to be on their guard.”

***

Jasmine braced herself as the Raptor tilted sharply and fell out of the sky in a controlled crash dive...or at least she hoped that it was a controlled crash dive. The young men and women back at Castle Rock has no idea how lucky they were, for Castle Rock’s limited facilities couldn't even begin to match the facilities available at the Slaughterhouse. Jasmine had dived out of more aircraft in a month than she’d ever had to dive out of in her entire active career. In the process, she had learnt a deep and abiding respect for the crazy pilots who flew Marine aircraft. They might have been Auxiliaries, and therefore not pureblood Marines, but there was no doubting their bravery.

“Landing in ten seconds,” the pilot said, through the intercom. “Please put your vomit back in your tummies and thank you for flying Sick Comet Airlines.”

The usual chorus of insults and catcalls failed to materialise as the aircraft touched down and Marines lunged to get out of the plane before the enemy started firing on the grounded aircraft with mortars. Jasmine joined the exodus and sprinted out into the sunlight, wincing slightly as her HUD updated with datastreams from the other Marines. They were spreading out around the aircraft, just in case the enemy knew where they were going to land and had arranged a welcoming committee. It should have been impossible, but any Marine who had made it through the Slaughterhouse knew to have a healthy respect for the Demon Murphy. It wouldn't have been the first time Marine forces had accidentally landed on top of an enemy nest.

“No contact, no contact,” Lieutenant Faulkner reported. Jasmine heard the whine from behind her as the Raptor lifted off and headed back to a safe LZ some kilometres away from the battlefield. They’d be there when the Marines needed them, once the Marines had suppressed any remaining HVM threat. A Marine Raptor was a tough bird, but a direct hit with an HVM would be lethal. “There are no enemy forces on our LZ.”

“Understood,” Captain Stalker said. His voice sounded odd through the encrypted microburst channel. “Good hunting.”

Jasmine put an audio-discrimination program into primary mode as the Marines spread out, moving through the fields with a speed that would – hopefully – shock and awe their opponents. Even without powered combat armour, any Marine could have won a long-distance marathon race with ease...and wearing the armour, they could move with the speed of graceless leopards. Jasmine remembered the first days of wearing the armour, when she had been able to jump into the air and leap small buildings in a single bound, before they’d been taught that any fool who showed herself that clearly would be killed by the enemy. The program, working on the suit’s receptors, warned that there was shooting and gunfire in the distance.

“Seems kind of hard on the farmers,” Joe observed, as they entered a field of corn and started to trample through it. “What will they do when the crops fail because of us?”

“Would you rather head up the roads and get blown to hell when a mine detonates?” Blake demanded. The usual banter was gone, blown away by the HVM missiles that had destroyed the Civil Guard helicopters. The bandits were suddenly no longer a laughing matter. “I’m sure that the Captain will do his best to ensure that we pay proper compensation and save them from having to go even further into debt.”

Jasmine scowled inwardly as the first group of Marines leapt over a wooden fence, one she could have jumped even without the suit. The internal map on her visor was reporting that they were closing in on Alpha Company’s position, yet they had seen no sign of the enemy, even on the live feed downloaded from the drones that the Lieutenant had launched as they deployed. Each of the drones cost upwards of twenty million credits each, yet he’d launched them without hesitation, a worrying decision in the circumstances. He expected to run into real trouble.

A flicker of energy in the distance popped up on the display, a moment before a flare of blue-white light shot past her, narrowly missing two of the Marines. She threw herself down and started to bury herself in the soil as pulse after pulse ranged towards them, daring them to keep moving forward and impale themselves on the plasma bolts. Her suit provided an intelligence estimate as she crawled towards the edge of the field, warning her that at least four medium-sized plasma cannons had been emplaced ahead them. Jasmine had used the weapons herself and knew their limitations – they had a nasty habit of overheating when the weapons were fired too quickly – yet it was evident that their new owners had never even heard of the concept. They were firing too rapidly for that.

“We could just stay low,” Joe said. There was an odd quiver in his voice and Jasmine winced, wondering if he was truly healed after his last encounter with a plasma cannon. He should have stayed in regeneration longer, but very few Marines would stay in the tank any longer than they absolutely had to. “We give them seven minutes and the bastards will blow themselves up.”

“Not before they get lucky and rip us to shreds,” Blake growled. He didn't sound happy, but Jasmine could hear the note of concern in his voice as well. The platoon was her family and something that affected one of them affected all of them. “One shot in the wrong place and your family will be getting a sealed casket for your remains.”

“As you were,” Lieutenant Faulkner ordered. “Prepare to start throwing grenades.”

“Yes, sir,” Jasmine said. A grenade fell out of her suit’s storage compartment and into her armoured hand. She cocked her wrist, running through possible trajectories with the suit’s computer systems. “Ready...”

“Now,” Faulkner snapped. A line of twelve grenades flew towards their targets. Two went wide, but the remainder detonated near the plasma cannons. The explosions blew the enemy position into flaming ruin, vaporising the bandits before they had a chance to escape. Jasmine ran forward with the rest of the platoon, looking for targets, but there was no point. The entire bandit position had been wiped out.

“Camouflage netting,” Blake said, as he tripped over something on the ground. There was a rare note of wonder in his voice. “They hid their guns under fucking camouflage netting.”

“Clever,” Jasmine said, as her suit registered incoming mortar rounds, splashing down around the platoon. The enemy fire wasn't very accurate, but a single hit would cripple a Marine, even if it didn't kill him outright.

“Take them,” Faulkner ordered. “Move now!”

Jasmine triggered her suit’s systems and charged right across country towards the second bandit position, lowering her weapon and firing round after round towards the mortar operators. The others followed her, sweeping through the bandit position and tearing it apart. A handful of bandits turned to run, only to be shot down as they tried to flee, while others threw their hands up in desperate surrender. The noise of incoming rounds shifted as another enemy position tried to bring its weapons to bear on the Marines, but they hadn't laid their weapons properly. The shells went wide.

“They timed this well,” Blake said, as they overran a smaller position. The bandits were scattering now, feeling the weight of the Marines as they moved faster than the bandits could react. “If the destroyers had still been in orbit...”

Jasmine nodded bitterly, concentrating on shooting down a bandit who was carrying what looked like a homemade antitank rocket. The destroyers could have ended the whole battle by dropping killer crowbars from orbit onto the heads of the bandits, but then...no one on Avalon would ever underestimate the firepower of a single Imperial Navy destroyer. A lone destroyer had ended the Cracker Rebellion; two of them could have scorched the badlands from orbit.

“2
^nd
Platoon, this is 3
^rd
Lead,” a voice said, on the general frequency. “The bandits are starting to break, but they’re pushing harder at the Guard’s Alpha Company as they leave.”

“Advance on Alpha Company and relieve them,” Captain Stalker ordered, grimly. Jasmine could understand why. The Civil Guard wasn't particularly competent by Marine standards, but Alpha and Beta Companies were among their best. Losing them would be painful as hell. They would certainly be impossible to replace within the next few years, at least until the Council dropped its short-sighted insistence on paying its recruits electronically. It wouldn't be the first time that local authority didn't seem to know that there was a war on, but this example was particularly odd.

“Understood,” Faulkner said. 1
^st
and 2
^nd
Platoon reformed and jogged rapidly towards the enemy firing positions, ducking as the enemy brought their heavy weapons around and fired rapidly, trying to keep the Marines back. Jasmine felt the impact of light chemically-propelled weapons and winced, even as she kept moving. They would need something heavier than that to break through even light powered combat armour. “I’m switching to loudspeaker now.”