Retreat Hell (23 page)

Inside, there were small gangs of young men roaming the streets, carrying weapons and walking in a disciplined manner.  The drone focused on a couple of them, allowing Marcy to note that they were wearing makeshift uniforms, then locked back on the original target.  He walked a mile into the Zone, utterly unmolested, then entered a large warehouse through a side door.

“Lost him,” Alpha said.  She didn't sound too unhappy.  “But at least we have a building to probe.”

“So it would seem,” Marcy agreed.  “And you want to bet that they’ve taken precautions against microscopic spies?”

“No bet,” Alpha said.  The screen changed rapidly as the drone probed the outer edge of the warehouse.  “I’m picking up hints of a commercial-grade electronic scrambler.  It can probably be penetrated, given time, but I’d be surprised if it was the only precaution.”

She smirked at Gudrun.  “Would you like to lay a bet?”

Gudrun stared at her.  She’d lost track, somehow, of the fact she’d swapped sides, to the point where she’d seen the drone’s images almost as a
game
.  But ... but she’d betrayed her allies and would be betraying them again in future and ...

Her head spun, suddenly.  If it hadn't been for Marcy’s hand on her shoulder, she would have fallen off the stool and landed on the cold floor.  What was
wrong
with her?

“I think you need a nap,” Marcy said.  She helped Gudrun to her feet, then guided her towards the door.  “Say goodbye to Alpha.”

“Goodbye, Alpha,” Gudrun said, obediently.  Her head was still spinning, as if she’d drunk enough to fall into a daze.  “What are we going to do now?”

“Some food and drink,” Marcy said.  “And then we will see.”

***

“This is not a particularly decent town,” someone muttered.

Thomas tossed a glare back towards the rear of the patrol, although he couldn't really disagree.  Whoever had designed the houses surrounding the spaceport had clearly been an unimaginative artist, one more interested in efficiency than actually building a community where the population had room to breathe.  The houses were made from redbrick, which was marginally attractive, but they were practically identical.  Very few of them even had differently-coloured doors!

It wasn't the only sign of trouble, he saw.  Great piles of litter lay everywhere, as if there was no garbage collection crew within the district.  Wild dogs, cats and rats darted in and out of sight, roaming through the garbage as if they expected to find food.  He paused as he caught sight of a dog pulling something out of a pile of rubbish, then felt sick as he realised it had found a human body.  The patrol stared in horror as the body was dragged out onto the street, then savaged by the dogs.  There was nothing they could do.

“These people don't know how to take care of themselves,” Private Higgs said.

“It's worse than that,” Thomas said.  Being a Marine, he’d seen so much more than his young subordinates.  “These people are so helpless, so powerless, that they don’t even care about their surroundings.”

He’d seen it before, on Han and a dozen other worlds.  The population were completely unable to control their lives.  Either the government preyed on them or criminal gangs, flourishing in the power vacuum, took control of the area.  The population sank into despair and lethargy.  If any of them showed any willingness to act at all, they were generally absorbed into the criminal gangs or killed.

And such an environment was an excellent breeding ground for an insurgency.

“Stay alert,” he added.  It was easy for such people to turn against outsiders.  They found it safer than turning against the ones truly responsible for their suffering.  “We can fix this problem, given time.”

Sure
, a voice at the back of his head said. 
Just like you solved the problems on Han
?

Unsurprisingly, this destroyed relationships between the outsiders and the local factions.  The Imperial Army’s soldiers rapidly became convinced that the locals were unrepentant thugs, parasites and generally untrustworthy, while the locals became convinced that the outsiders were either covertly on the opposing side or manipulating events to ensure as many locals as possible died.  They were unable to comprehend the simple incompetence of those issuing orders from thousands of light years away.

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

“This reminds me far too much of Han,” Jasmine said.

Mandy’s image frowned.  “You said it was bad,” she commented.  “Is this going to be worse?”

“I honestly don't know,” Jasmine said.  She shook her head.  She'd hoped to help the local government win enough breathing space to cut the insurgency’s ground out from under it, but she was starting to have the very definite feeling that it wouldn't be easy.  “The hatred might be too deeply ingrained for anything other than a sustained bloodletting to cure.”

Mandy looked shocked.  “It's unlike you just to ... give up,” she said.  “You never gave up on me.”

Jasmine smiled, humourlessly.  “I don’t think the same solution would work,” she said.  “And you had less baggage than the people on this blighted world.”

She sighed.  Two days of consultations with the local government and military officials had left her convinced that Thule was in deep trouble.  Their system had been designed for endless growth, as if they’d assumed the good times would always be there.  When disaster had struck, the system had proved unable to handle it without causing major hardship and unrest.  And none of the haves wanted to concede anything to the have-nots.  Why was she not surprised?

Earth
, she thought.  Many of Earth’s problems, rightly or wrongly, had been blamed on the countless billions of useless inhabitants who collected their support payments from the government while churning out the next generation of burdens on society.  Once, they'd even voted for politicians who’d promised them even more benefits, before the farce that elections had become was eventually brought to an end.  After all, who could trust the people to make the right decisions for themselves?  Only the most insightful, caring and considerate politicians could hope to serve the population properly. 

But Thule, in many ways, was a reverse of the problems facing Earth.

Mandy cleared her throat.  “I believe that we’re currently surplus to requirements,” she said.  “Unless you have a strong objection, I would like to begin my reconnaissance of Wolfbane’s border systems today.”

Jasmine hesitated.  She did have an objection.  The situation was far more complex than she’d been led to believe and she would have preferred to have as much fire support as possible under her direct command.  And someone she could vent to without either compromising her position or alienating the local government.  But she knew that her selfish objections couldn't be placed ahead of the urgent need to gather intelligence on Wolfbane.

“You may depart when you’re ready,” she said, formally.  “What do you intend to do with the remainder of the squadron?”

“Battle drills,” Mandy said, promptly.  “We do have a fairly sizable local defence force here to test ourselves against.”

Jasmine had to smile.  “Trust you to find the silver lining in this dark cloud,” she said.

Mandy smiled back, looking – just for a moment – like the teenager she’d been when they’d first met.  “It has to be done,” she said.  Her face darkened for a long moment.  “Take care of yourself, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Jasmine said.  “I won’t be going anywhere near the front lines.”

Mandy didn't look convinced.  She might not have been a soldier, but she knew enough to know that the front lines in an insurgency could be anywhere.  Thule’s rebels had already proved that, much to their President’s alarm and irritation.  Given time, they might find a way to get into the spaceport and mount an attack on Jasmine and her immediate subordinates.  It would certainly be high on their agenda for the war.

“Good luck,” she said, instead.  “Bye.”

Jasmine smiled as the younger girl’s image vanished from the display, then frowned as her wristcom bleeped.  The officials from the local military had arrived at the spaceport and were just passing through security now.  It said a great deal about their paranoia – and their lack of faith in their own people – that they’d insisted on holding the meeting at the spaceport.  They’d spun it as a courtesy to Jasmine and the CEF, but she knew better.  It wasn't as if she would have refused to go to the First Speaker’s Mansion.

Standing, she walked through the door and down towards the makeshift conference room.  It had once been used as an office, according to the handful of spaceport workers who had remained in place since the economic crisis had begun, yet the chairs and tables the office workers had used had been stripped out long ago.  Jasmine had no idea what the thieves had planned to do with them – use them for firewood, perhaps – but she’d had a handful of folding tables set up to give the impression of a functional headquarters, rather than one more interested in fancy decorations than results.  The only concession to luxury she’d made was a steaming coffeemaker in the corner and a handful of plastic mugs.  She’d yet to see a military installation that could function without coffee.

“Brigadier,” General Erwin Adalbert said.  Unlike some local planetary defence force officers, he had an air of competence that Jasmine instinctively respected, even though she had the feeling that he was in over his head.  “Thank you for hosting this meeting.”

He introduced his subordinates as they saluted her, one by one.  A couple looked doubtful, wondering if she was really too young for the rank; the others accepted her, without any apparent objections.  Jasmine wondered idly if they had read her file – at least the parts the Commonwealth had chosen to make public – or if they didn't have enough experience themselves to worry about her level of experience.  The latter was a strong possibility, given the major expansion the local forces had had to undergo.  Like Avalon, they had been forced to put inexperienced officers in positions of power.  All of them, she couldn't help noticing, were men.

“Thank you for coming,” she said, wryly.  “We do have a war to plan.”

They shared a look of mutual understanding.  Jasmine had hardly been on the planet a day before she’d started ducking invitations to social events all over the city, hosted by the upper classes.  It was absurd.  Didn't the rulers of Thule know there was a war on?  Or were they so blinded by their contempt for their opponents that they didn't take them seriously, even after attacks had been mounted in Asgard itself?  Diplomatically, Jasmine knew, she should have gone to at least one of the events.  But she had too much to do on the ground.

She tapped a switch and a map appeared on the table, projected from the projector she’d fixed to the ceiling.  “The Zone,” she said.  “I understand you wish to mount an operation against the enemy positions in this location.”

“There seems to be no alternative,” Adalbert said.  “But they will know it too.”

Jasmine didn't doubt it.  The Zone threatened to be a nightmare, an endless series of buildings that could be turned into defensible positions, then held long enough to bleed her forces before the insurgents fell back and left her to advance to the next building.  She’d had her intelligence officers looking for information on the Zone, but the prisoners they’d interrogated had confirmed that the Zone no longer corresponded to the maps and building plans.  Countless buildings, they'd said, had been extensively modified to suit their inhabitants.  Some had been turned into several homes, others had been divided up into tiny housing compartments.  It would be a completely unpredictable environment.

“We could seal the Zone off completely,” she said.  She used the pointer to draw lines on the map.  “Knock down a line of buildings surrounding the zone, then set up barricades.  Anyone who wants to come out will have to cross the barricades ...”

“But that would leave the rebels in possession of the territory,” Adalbert said.  “They’ve already declared themselves an opposing government.”

Jasmine sighed.  She’d heard about political considerations that forced military officers to act against their own best interests, but she’d never seen it happen personally ... unless one counted Lakshmibai.  Here, the ideal solution was to starve the insurgents out – and it was doable.  There were no farms in the Zone, no sources of food ... they would have stockpiles, of course, but those stockpiles would rapidly run out.

She remembered the courses on urban combat she’d taken at the Slaughterhouse.  “The combat environment is slippery and treacherous,” her instructor had said.  “Some insurgents will attempt to hold the food for themselves, leaving the civilians to starve.  But this tends to alienate the civilians, who will forget ideology if they see their wives and children starving to death.  Indeed, some insurgencies have expelled civilians to prevent them from becoming a drain on their resources.”

Gritting her teeth, she looked up at Adalbert.  “How many civilians are trapped in the Zone?”

Adalbert met her gaze.  “Roughly nine million,” he said.  “But we don’t know for sure.”

Jasmine shook her head.  She’d seen bigger cities – and each of the cityblocks on Earth had had a population in the millions – but nine million people crammed into the Zone seemed excessive.  How were they feeding themselves?  The logistics of feeding the CEF alone were a major headache and there were only ten thousand soldiers in the entire force.  It was possible, she knew, that the figures were an exaggeration, but the Zone was certainly crowded.

“We need to try to urge the civilians out of the firing line,” she said.  She tapped the map.  “I want to set up Displaced Person camps for them.”

“Traitors,” one of the officers snapped.  “Why should we take care of them?”

“Because it would reduce the number of civilian casualties,” Jasmine said, with a tone of patience she didn't feel.  “It will also pressure the insurgents to release the women and children, at the very least, because otherwise their local support might crack.”

“They might not trust us with their women and children,” Adalbert observed.  “But you’re right.  It's worth making the effort.”

He looked over at his officers.  “Set up the camps ... here,” he said, tapping the map to indicate a point seven miles from the outer edge of the Zone.  “Make sure there’s enough food and water on hand to keep the population alive.”

“Make a register of everyone who goes into the camp,” Jasmine added.  “We can use it to gather intelligence.  If some of them will talk to us, let them.  They’ll know more about what actually happening in the Zone than us.”

She sighed.  The rebels were good at security, good enough to ensure that she had little specific intelligence on how the Zone actually functioned.  Which building served as rebel HQ?  Or was there even a formal HQ?  If Jasmine had been planning an insurgency, deliberately luring an enemy force into urban combat, she would have avoided any formal HQ and commanded her men from a mobile command post.  There was nothing to be gained by exposing herself to enemy fire. 

“Unless we get an intelligence break,” she said, “my proposed plan is to surround the Zone, seal it off and then advance along a broad front as slowly and deliberately as possible.  This will make it harder for the insurgents to get around us and break up the front line.  Any prisoners we take will be transported to POW camps set up near the Zone and interrogated for intelligence.  Hopefully, we will be able to draw a bead on the insurgent commander.”

The thought made her grit her teeth.  They were looking for an experienced Marine, one who would understand and anticipate her plan for dealing with the problem.  He wouldn't be stupid enough to expose himself, she knew, and he would probably have set matters up so the insurgency could fight on even without him.  Unless he was mad, of course.  The attacks his forces had mounted had shown a chilling lack of concern for civilian casualties.

Her own words echoed through her mind. 
The hatred might be too deeply ingrained for anything other than a sustained bloodletting to cure ...

She shook her head.  “In the long term,” she admitted, “this is merely dealing with a symptom of the problem.  You will need to come to terms with the fact there is serious discontent in your society and ...”

“That’s not
your
problem,” the officer who’d spoken earlier snapped.  “These people are
not
deserving of mercy.”

“That will do, Adolf,” Adalbert said.  There was no mistaking the authority in his voice – or the warning.  “If you feel yourself unable to work here ...”

Jasmine made a mental note to find Adolf’s file and read it as soon as possible.  Something was bothering him enough to make him act unprofessionally, something that would have to be identified and dealt with before it caused a major problem.  He didn't seem to have doubts about her youth or general level of competence, as far as she could tell; instead, he seemed to have a more personal hatred of the rebels and insurgents than she would have preferred.  Hate made people do stupid things.

“I will do my job,” Adolf said, stiffly.