The Empire’s Corps: Book 01 - The Empire's Corps (50 page)

The driver’s seat was more comfortable than the ones inside the vehicle, although that wasn't saying much. Unlike the interior, he could at least see out of the vehicle, allowing him to see where he was going. It wasn't a perfect view and went a long way towards explaining why they’d been warned never to operate LAV vehicles without either AFV or infantry support. A single sneaky enemy with an antitank rocket could sneak into firing range and destroy them before they saw it coming. He keyed the command switch and started the engine, smiling as he felt it rumbling into life.

“Come onboard if you’re coming,” the Marine bellowed, urging the platoon to scramble to get into the LAV before it departed, leaving them to explain themselves to the post commander. The base had been rapidly constructed near the spaceport itself, allowing the newly-minted soldiers a chance to learn what it felt like to march through civilian-occupied areas. Michael had learned rapidly that something that looked threatening might not be...and something that wasn't threatening might be a nasty surprise, just waiting for one of them to step on it before detonating. They’d run through exercises over the last few days in a deserted village, play-acting out encounters, conversations and enemy attacks. He had never felt so capable and yet so scared. A single mistake could have disastrous consequences.

The Marine pulled herself alongside him and winked. “Not too shabby,” she said, as the hatches banged closed and were checked, and then checked again. A loose hatch could become deadly in a battle situation. “Shall we depart?”

Michael reached for the wheel, and then shook his head. “No, sir,” he said. ‘Sir’ seemed to be the default for Marine officers, male or female. “We haven’t been ordered to leave by the convoy’s commander.”

“Good,” the Marine said. Michael realised with a flush of embarrassment that it had been another test. “I’m afraid that it’s just going to be hurry up and wait now. The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

“I see,” Michael said. Marines were encouraged to be informal, but surely there were limits. “Can I ask a question?”

“You can ask anything you like, although I don’t promise to answer,” the Marine countered. “Didn't your Drill Sergeant beat that into you?”

Michael nodded. Barr had told them, time and time again, that if they didn't understand something, they had to ask and ask again until they understood. The Marines hadn't been interested in training up rote automatons, but soldiers who could actually think, and plan, and understand the reasoning behind their orders. The mission they’d been given was actually a case in point. They were being deployed away from Camelot to threaten the Crackers and challenge their control over the countryside. It was almost certain, they’d been warned, that they would come under fire.

“A question, them,” he said. “Why are there swords included in the weapons package we've been given?”

The Marine grinned, her face completely transformed by the smile. “Did no one tell you?” She asked. Michael shook his head. “Those are not swords. Those are Zombie Decapitation Devices.”

“Get away,” Michael said, automatically. “There's no such thing as zombies?”

“And how do you know that?” The Marine asked, dryly. “On some planet in a faraway sector, there was a Marine Regiment stationed there for some leave when suddenly the dead kind of rose up from their graves. They rapidly ran out of ammunition and had to resort to hacking the dead apart with swords. After that, they became part of the standard weapons package and had to be included in every deployment, just in case it happened again.”

“I don’t believe you,” Michael said. “It’s a joke, right?”

“It’s hard to say for sure,” the Marine admitted. “You know that every battle the Marines have ever taken part in is studied endlessly on the Slaughterhouse? There are very few sealed records, but the records relating to that particular deployment have been very carefully sealed. There are quite a few odd stories from deployments out along the Rim, so I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss it as impossible.”

She grinned. “And besides, it makes for a few good stories,” she added. “Now...”

The radio buzzed. “LAV-4, this is the CO,” a voice said. “Follow LAV-3 out of the complex, keeping at least ten meters between your vehicle and theirs. Acknowledge.”

“Acknowledged,” Michael said, keying his radio. He gunned the engine as LAV-3 moved out ahead of their vehicle, heading towards the gate and the great outdoors. Slowly, carefully, he followed LAV-3 and passed through the gates. The whole world opened up in front of him.

“Easy on the acceleration,” the Marine warned, as the military convoy turned onto one of the roads leading up away from the city. “We don’t want to crash into another vehicle. I’ve seen convoys take hours to cross ten miles merely because the drivers hadn't had time to practice driving in convoy.”

Something crossed Michael’s mind. “The Crackers are going to know that we’re coming,” he said, as they passed a group of farm vans heading down to the city. “They’re going to have plenty of time to prepare an ambush.”

“Yep,” the Marine said, with a grin. “Hang on to that thought. It will keep you alert.”

Michael looked up at her, and then returned his gaze to the road ahead, suddenly feeling very exposed. Anything could be out there, waiting for them.

***

Jasmine watched the young soldier’s face and knew that it was sinking in. No one who hadn't spent any time in the countryside could grasp, intellectually, just how large it was. Experienced soldiers hated the thought of MOUT – Military Operations in Urban Terrain – yet fighting out in the countryside could be just as dangerous. They were horrifically exposed in their vehicles, escorts or no escorts, and she had little faith in the drones or satellites to pick up something truly dangerous. She kept her eyes on the road and silently blessed the workers who had cut the foliage well back from the tarmac. It would be hard to launch an effective ambush, even if they did somehow force the convoy to come to a stop.

The trip passed slowly, but she kept alert, knowing that she had to set a good example to the troops. Marine Companies were generally over-officered compared to the Imperial Army, but then the Imperial Army rarely operated in less than Regimental strength. Captain Stalker had had to spare some of his officers to mentor the soldiers Barr had picked out as POM – Possible Officer Material – and even some of his Riflemen, like Jasmine herself. It had crossed her mind that it was an attempt to distract her and the remainder of 2
^nd
Platoon from worrying about their missing comrade, but that wasn't a Marine tradition. They could lose someone to death, or abduction, yet they would still have to carry on. Wherever Blake was, he would have to take care of himself.

It was possible that he would escape, she told herself, although it would require luck or a mistake on the part of his captors. If they bought into the ‘Marines-as-Supermen’ myth, they’d have him chained down and probably drugged. Given time, the implants in his body would help him build up an immunity to whatever they were giving him, but by then they’d probably decide to release him, kill him or attempt to use him as a bargaining chip. Jasmine knew the rules as well as anyone else; there would be no negotiations. The thought ran round and round in her mind. They couldn't allow Blake to be used as a bargaining chip.

She scowled as she tapped her helmet, linking into the live feed from the drone high above. There was no sign of anything that might threaten them...but then, there had been little sign of anything when the bandits attacked, either. If the bandits could get access to weapons from the Civil Guard, why couldn't the Crackers do the same? Or, perhaps, get weapons from off-world. Before the Marines had arrived, the handful of orbital systems in orbit around Avalon could hardly have detected a single shuttle landing somewhere in the hinterlands. A hidden mortar, set to fire on automatic, or perhaps even home-made rockets...they’d suffice to slow the convoy and delay the operation. If she was in command of the enemy forces, and there was no reason to believe that the Crackers were stupid, that was exactly what she would do, if only to damage morale.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” she warned, as the driver’s eyes began to slip. There was only so much training could prepare a new recruit for, and a tension-filled drive through hostile country, every nerve on alert, wasn't one of them. “You never know what might happen if you take your eyes off the vehicle in front.”

***

Under other circumstances, Gavin Patel’s little hiding place was used to hunt for birds, mainly the ducks and other waterfowl that used the lake beside the road as a resting place. The ADC had introduced them to the local ecosystem and they’d taken to it like a duck to water – quite literally, in their case. Now, he lay in the hide and peered down towards the road, watching and waiting for the first military vehicles to come into view.

The road itself was a remarkable achievement on Avalon. It had been ordered by the ADC and constructed over the years by indents and, later, by conscripted farmers and indebted slaves. It had survived the years surprisingly well, even though the farmers rarely bothered to do any maintenance work and the only people who did were indentured work gangs marched out of Camelot for a few days and then sent back to their normal working habits. It was the work gangs that had turned the young Gavin into a Cracker, after one of the indents had gotten free and cornered little Sabena Patel in a field. His sister’s death had radicalised him as nothing else could have, pushing him to join the Crackers and launching a series of attacks on indent work gangs. They were nothing more than brutes in human form.

A flash of light alerted him as the first military vehicle appeared in the distance. It was a small AFV, bristling with machine guns and observation ports, suggesting that it could fire in multiple directions at the same time. The part of Gavin’s mind that had once hoped to be an engineer was impressed with the simplicity of the design, even as the rest of him hated its existence and mere presence in his territory. The next set of vehicles came into view and he identified them as transports, each one capable of carrying up to twenty soldiers. He counted them rapidly and concluded that over three hundred soldiers – counting the drivers of the AFVs – were heading towards Sangria. Three hundred soldiers would be more than enough to dominate the area and impede Cracker operations.

“Damn you,” he muttered, as he keyed his camera and started to take photographs. All of the Cracker leaders he had met had been keen on gathering intelligence, but his cell leader was positively obsessed with collecting everything, even information that seemed to have no bearing on the war. The camera alone meant certain detention if he were caught with it, particularly once they saw the pictures he'd taken, but she had insisted. “We’ll fix you all, one day.”

Once he'd finished taking pictures, he slid away from the hide, pausing long enough to set the anti-personal mine he’d emplaced to help conceal his secrets. If someone stumbled across his nest, they’d be in for a nasty surprise before they died. Taking a last look towards the advancing convoy, he turned and headed down towards the town. It was time to blend in with the townspeople again.

Behind him, he heard the first shots ringing out.

***

Michael, despite himself, had been losing his concentration when the first bullets slammed into the LAV. The sound of them pinging off the armour jerked him back to full wakefulness, clutching the steering wheel as if his life depended on it. The pinging sound didn't fade as someone hosed the convoy with bullets, but there was no danger, not yet. Shamefaced, he concentrated on steering, waiting for orders from the CO.

“Just a machine gun, perhaps two,” the Marine said. She seemed unbothered by the shots, but then, she'd been in far worse positions. “I think it’s just their way of welcoming us to Sangria.”

“I feel so loved,” Michael growled. His heartbeat was pounding madly in his ears. “I think they don’t love us very much.”

“No,” the Marine agreed. Michael muttered a curse under his breath as he saw a bullet strike the ground ahead of the LAV, sending up a spurt of dust from the road. “Do you blame them?”

“All units, this is the CO,” a voice broke in. “Hold your course; I say again, hold your course. There's no reason to panic.”

“Unless, of course, the bullets are meant to distract us from the minefield up ahead,” the Marine said. “Or perhaps we’re meant to go charging into the underground after them and running right into a field of fire. We've used both tricks in the past ourselves.”

The sound of shooting suddenly creased. “They’ve stopped,” Michael said. “Do you think they ran out of bullets?”

“They could have done,” the Marine said. She nodded towards the steeling wheel. “Keep focused on driving down into the town and leave the overall situation to the CO. It’s what he’s paid for. You’re paid to drive and command a platoon, nothing else.”

Michael gripped the steering wheel so tightly his hands went white. “I’ve got a lot to learn, haven’t I?”

“Yep,” the Marine said, with a grin. “On the other hand, you are smart enough to realised that you have a lot to learn. You’d be surprised how many soldiers never realise that, before it’s too late.”

An hour later, they drove into Sangria.

***

“They weren't deterred,” Julian said. “They kept coming and took up a position in the town.”

Gaby shrugged. The images Gavin had taken had been carefully studied, although he had overestimated the enemy strength. They had ‘only’ two hundred and fifty soldiers. The odds hadn't improved that much, although the missing fifty soldiers would be sorely missed by the enemy CO.

“Did you think they would be deterred?” Rufus asked, dryly. “We just sprayed a few bullets at them. They get more of a threat from their own training exercises.”

Gaby held up a hand before they could start arguing. “We wanted them to know that they wouldn't be unopposed,” she said. She hadn't been keen on the idea, but she’d agreed to it to prevent the young hotheads from going and doing something stupid. They had wanted to greet the military convoy with a hail of fire, just incidentally exposing themselves to the enemy. The Marines and their new recruits would have torn then apart. “Now they know that, it’s time to start hacking away at them and keeping them on their toes.”