Retreat Hell (17 page)

Daniel knew it wouldn't be that simple.  In politics, perception was often reality – particularly when someone
wanted
perception to be reality.  The rebels wouldn't hesitate to use the attack to showcase their ability to attack anywhere, wherever they wanted to attack, while his political enemies would use it to undermine his position.  There were even some of them who wanted to turn orbital weapons on the Zone, vaporising rebels and innocent civilians alike.  They didn't seem to care about the prospect of mass slaughter ...

But it’s so much easier
, he thought,
to propose solutions if you’re not the ones responsible for carrying them out
.

“Do what you have to do to restore security around the spaceport,” he said.  They’d hoped – even if they hadn't quite admitted it – that the criminal gangs would keep the rebels away from the spaceport.  Clearly, that hope had been worse than futile.  “And then let me speak to the Commonwealth commander directly.”

“Understood, sir,” Adalbert said.  “I believe that she will speak to you.”

***

Gudrun Gerhardt watched, feeling excitement and terror mingling in her breast, as the convoy of military vehicles headed towards the ambush.  There were only a handful of roads leading to the spaceport, she’d been told, making the path the relief forces would use extremely predictable.  And they’d be in a hurry, her trainers had added; they wouldn't take as much care as they usually would in their desperation to reach the spaceport.

She held her finger over the detonator as the first vehicles moved closer and closer to the waiting trap.  They’d been told that they had to catch the first vehicle, using it to block the others from charging into the ambush and forcing them to retreat.  She hesitated, then – at what seemed the best moment – pushed down on the trigger.  The explosion was larger than she’d expected – the entire building shook violently, with pieces of plaster falling from the ceiling – but it worked.  A military vehicle was picked up and flung against another building by the sheer force of the blast.

The sound of shooting broke out behind her as she turned and fled.  None of the bullets seemed to come anywhere near her hiding place, so she guessed they were just firing at shadows.  It was common practice, after all, to launch an attack after stalling the convoy – and the soldiers would expect it, which was why no attack had been prepared.  The sound seemed to grow louder as she exited the house and started to run, joining other civilians as they fled the shooting.  Even if the soldiers reacted fast enough to round up the civilians, they wouldn't be able to tell her from the rest of the civilians.  What could possibly be suspicious about a blonde-haired teenage girl fleeing from an incident?  No one would be stupid enough to hang around while the bullets were flying.

But no one came after her and the others.  Eventually, the sound of firing died away.  In the distance, she could hear more shooting – and explosions too.  She’d been told that she wasn't the only volunteer ready to risk her life to give the police and military a bloody nose, but they hadn't told her anything else.  After all, if they
did
realise that she was responsible for the blast, they would interrogate her as thoroughly as necessary to make her talk.

She kept walking, despite the risk.  The rebels had given the government a bloody nose – and they would want revenge.  If she didn't get out of the area before they set up roadblocks, she would have to go underground and pray the criminals didn't betray her.  If they did...

Angrily, she shook her head.  After her brother’s death, she would risk everything – life and liberty – to make sure her homeworld was free.

In some cases, the effective power structures were marginalised by the dictates from the social scientists.  Warlords, who (to be fair) could be a large part of the problem were pushed aside, even though they often possessed effective power.  Naturally, they went into opposition. 

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

Jasmine forced herself to keep her emotions in check as the situation spiralled down into chaos.  She'd seen it before, time and time again, the long chilling moments when no one knew exactly what was going on ... and all seemed lost.  Two shuttles were gone, two more had landed and were now under attack and she wasn't sure what she needed to do.

“Get me some images of the spaceport,” she ordered, “then get me a direct link to whoever’s in charge on the planet below!”

She gritted her teeth as the spaceport came under sustained attack.  It was bad enough that the rebels had caught them on the hop, but with the locals under attack as well it was alarmingly easy to imagine them shooting at her people by accident.  Even launching additional shuttles could be dangerous, if the locals really didn't know what was going on either.  But what else could she do?

“Order a cruiser to move into position to drop KEWs,” she ordered, tartly.  The mortar shells were falling on the spaceport, their patterns suggesting that the gunners were switching position after firing each shell.  It suggested a high level of training as well as an understanding of basic counter-battery fire.  But she could drop KEWs on the launchers, if she was prepared to risk firing into an urban area.  “And then launch two drones.”

“I have the planet’s military commander on the line,” Michael reported.  “Half of their system still seems to be down.”

Jasmine felt a flicker of reluctant admiration as she reached for the headset.  The insurgents had managed a series of successes – that much was clear, just from orbital observation – and they’d managed to put her on the defensive almost at once.  She had to change that, but the only way to do it was to drop reinforcements into the planet’s atmosphere, which ran the risk of being targeted by additional ground-to-air missiles.  Or wait for the locals to arrive.

“This is Yamane,” she said.  She hesitated; diplomacy wasn't her strong suit.  “I need a sit-rep, now.”

“A number of military and police installations have come under attack,” a strongly-accented voice said.  “Our forces are responding, but the attacks on our communications and logistic networks have proven quite successful.  We are having problems running reinforcements to the spaceport.”

Jasmine nodded, unsurprised.  She'd seen the relief force coming under attack from orbit, running straight into an ambush that should have been predicable.  But then, they’d been caught by surprise too.  Gritting her teeth, she checked the status display and saw that four more shuttles were ready to launch.  The problem would be getting them down to the ground safely.  Perhaps she should land them outside the urban sprawl ... no, she saw as she skimmed the map, the closest safe place they could land was over ten kilometres away.  Far too far to be of any immediate use.

“I intend to drop more troops into the spaceport,” she said.  An idea occurred to her and she smiled.  “Perhaps if your troops surround the area, rather than trying to push into the district, we will be successful in catching the gunners when they try to retreat.”

“Understood,” the voice said.  “Good hunting.”

Jasmine felt her smile grow wider.  “Launch hunter-killer drones, then send the shuttles down in their wake,” she ordered.  A glance at the situation board told her that Rifleman Stewart had assumed command of the troops on the ground.  If that had happened in the days of the Empire, she knew, it would have caused years of inquires and bureaucratic wrangling.  In the Commonwealth, it hardly mattered.  “And make sure the shuttles are prepped for ground fire.”

Michael worked his terminal for a long moment.  “The shuttles are detaching themselves now,” he said.  “Estimated ETA; five minutes.”

Jasmine winced in sympathy.  The shuttles would be dropping through the atmosphere like stones, violently enough to make even hardened Marines throw up in their suits.  But there was no alternative.  A stately descent from high orbit would merely make them targets for hidden gunners.  Even if the enemy had no more HVMs to throw at the shuttles, she knew, a lucky hit with a mortar shell could be disastrous.

“Good,” she said. 

Looking back at the display, she thought through her options and conceded that they were remarkably limited.  She would just have to improvise and keep feeding troops down to the spaceport – and hope that the spaceport wasn't assaulted heavily enough to fall, despite the presence of her troops.  But if there was a Marine commanding the opposing faction ... she shook her head.  Surely an experienced Marine would know his forces were no match for hers in a stand-up battle.

But if he has far more men to burn than us, he might think it’s worth the cost
, she thought, sourly. 
But will his own people let him waste their lives
?

She shook her head.  There was no way to know.

***

Thomas ducked under cover as the mortar shells crashed down on the spaceport, doing remarkably little damage.  The locals hadn't done a bad job, he had to admit; the barracks were hardened against outside attack while the runways themselves were solid and incredibly hard to damage without specialised equipment.  He glanced at his HUD, then kept barking orders.  It was quite possible that the mortars were intended to force him and his men to take cover while the enemy forces closed in on the spaceport from all sides.

“Get up to the fence,” he ordered, as the explosions faded away.  In their absence, he could hear shooting, but it was hard to tell where the shooting was coming from.  It seemed as if the entire surrounding area was trapped in a civil war.  “And launch two drones!”

He took another glance at his HUD, then followed his men outside.  The fence surrounding the spaceport would stop petty thieves, but it wouldn't slow down a determined assault for more than a few seconds.  Indeed, at least one mortar shell had come down close enough to the fence to knock part of it down.  Outside, there were several metres of grass and then the start of the urban sprawl.  The more he looked at it, the less he liked it.  A major enemy attack could come quite close to the spaceport without being detected, as long as the enemy soldiers were careful.  And then he heard the sound of incoming shells again.

“Hit the deck,” he bellowed.  He heard the sound of shooting growing louder too, just before the first set of shells crashed to the ground.  They seemed to be firing randomly into the spaceport, rather than targeting specific buildings, something that struck him as odd.  Surely they’d had enough time to range their weapons and calculate firing angles positions properly.  “Any news on the drones?”

“They’re both gone,” a soldier called back to him.  “Five seconds of flight ... and then they were taken down.”

Definitely dealing with a smartass
, Thomas thought.  The rebels clearly understood both the value and vulnerability of man-portable drones.  It wasn't as if they were difficult to hit, once the shooter had a rough idea of their location. 
They must have anticipated our move
.

He glanced back, just in time to see a new shuttle fall out of the sky and come to a halt, bare metres above the ground.  The noise of its engines rose to a crescendo as it lowered itself the final few metres to the ground, then popped open its hatches.  A line of men ran out, half of them clearly unwell; Thomas felt a moment of sympathy, then pushed it aside ruthlessly.  The reinforcements could secure the rest of the spaceport before they tried to push their zone of control outside the complex.

The sound of shooting grew even louder as the rebels started to fire into the complex from the surrounding area.  They didn't seem to intend to try to actually overrun the spaceport, something that nagged at his mind; instead, they just fired whenever they saw a target.  Thomas barked orders, detailing snipers to return fire, sweeping the buildings the enemy were using as firing platforms.  If there were civilians in the buildings ... he shook his head, bitterly.  They’d have to take their chances.

Two more shuttles landed, unloading a small battery of self-propelled guns along with additional soldiers.  A third shuttle came in to land, only to be struck by a mortar shell and fall the remaining few metres out of the sky.  Thomas braced himself as it struck the ground, but there was no explosion.  Instead, the entire spacecraft was rapidly evacuated.

“Get the radar up and running,” he ordered, as the firing grew even louder.  “I want you firing back at the mortar shells!”

The gunners were well trained; they set up their guns, then opened fire, using radars to track the enemy shells back to their launchers.  It was clear that the rebels were breaking down their weapons and switching position after each shot, but could they do it quickly enough to escape the inevitable response?  Thomas briefly considered calling orbit and requesting orbital fire support, despite the threat to civilians caught in the battlefield, then relaxed slightly as the weight of incoming fire started to drop off.  The rebels were either losing men or playing it more carefully, now the CEF was countering their shells. 

He glanced back to see the remaining shuttles leaping upwards, clawing for space in a desperate attempt to outrun prospective missiles, then started barking orders to the newcomers.  Thankfully, most of their chain of command had survived intact – and that they’d been trained to take orders from Marines, even if he wasn't their formal commanding officer.  The person on the spot, after all, knew more about what was going on than the new arrivals.  Thomas smiled briefly, then watched as the soldiers took up positions around the spaceport, shielding themselves from incoming shells as best as they could.  They’d have to start advancing out from the spaceport as soon as possible.

We’re going to need more protection
, he thought, grimly.  It hadn't been so hair-raising on Han ... or Avalon, for that matter. 
And probably more ammunition
.

Bracing himself, he keyed his communicator.  “This is Stewart,” he said, checking the live feed from the HUD.  As always, orbital observation wasn't entirely useful for immediate action.  “I am requesting permission to advance.”

***

Pete had to admit, however reluctantly, that the CEF was well-trained.  They’d taken heavy losses during their landing, but the survivors had secured the spaceport and were landing more troops, despite the best efforts of Pete’s mortars.  Indeed, they were showing a remarkable sense of restraint, compared to the Empire.  If half the stories Pete had heard about Han were true, the Empire hadn't hesitated to fire KEWs into cities, just to eradicate alarmingly persistent snipers.  But then, the Empire had never given a damn about civilian casualties.

“Sir,” one of his spotters snapped.  “The reinforcements are taking up positions outside the city!”

“Interesting,” Pete mused.  He didn't need to look at a map to understand what the security forces were doing.  Rather than poke their heads into the territory controlled by the criminal gangs, they were sealing off the escape routes and waiting for the CEF to flush the insurgents towards them.  Hammer and anvil, he noted; the tactic was older than firearms themselves.  “They must have regained control of their communications networks.”

He briefly considered his options, then sighed.  There was only one realistic option, now the security forces were recovering and moving rapidly to block his escape.

“Launch the flare,” he ordered.  “And then leave the blocking force in place while the rest of us fall back.”

***

Thomas wished, with a sudden bitterness that surprised him, that he had a whole division of Terran Marines behind him.  Clearing out cities was something Marines were trained to do, even though the CEF had gained some experience of its own during the first deployment.  But he knew that far too many of the soldiers who were following him had no real experience ... and they were about to start learning the hard way.

He kept his head down as he led the way towards the first complex of buildings, a nightmarish mixture of transit dorms and warehouses for new immigrants and their possessions.  His awareness shrank rapidly as he crossed the line and entered the complex, leaving him only truly aware of the soldiers following him.  In the distance, he could still hear the sound of mortar fire and snipers taking shots in and out of the spaceport, but they didn't matter.  All that mattered was his local awareness.

Bracing himself, he peered around the corner into an empty dorm.  It had been stripped bare of everything moveable, leaving only the framework of bunk beds and a shower complex that had once served hundreds of people.  One wall was covered with a mural, welcoming the immigrants to Thule.  Thomas’s lips quirked in silent amusement – it looked as though it had been painted by schoolchildren, then vandalised by young adults – before he could make his way out of the dorm.  Outside, two wrecked vehicles were propped against the wall. 

A shot rang out.  Thomas ducked instinctively, then caught sight of the sniper, hiding in the next building.  He barked orders, then led one group of soldiers towards the building while a second group covered their advance.  If the sniper showed himself again, he’d be in for a nasty surprise.  But no shots rang out as they reached the door and slapped an explosive charge against the metal, blowing it open.  Thomas threw a smoke grenade into the building, then followed, relying on his visor to see through the smoke.  If the insurgents weren't similarly prepared, they would be blinded.