First To Fight (The Empire's Corps Book 11) (15 page)

I nodded in understanding.  No one would have expected anything more in the Undercity.  A person with power and influence would use that power and influence to get more, at least until they grew old and were replaced by someone even nastier.  The corporations had the same issue, on a much larger scale; the only major difference, as far as I could tell, was that people actually
rebelled
against them.  It took me years to realise that the gangs had been up close and personal in the Undercity, while the corporations were often a distant threat.

“Humans do not appreciate acts of blatant unfairness,” Baldwin noted.  “A colonist who is emotionally invested in his farm will not like losing it because someone thousands of light years away has made a decision.  He will fight - and so will hundreds of others.  A person who faces legal discrimination on a regular basis will rapidly lose all respect for the law - and why should he respect it, when it is biased against him?  Their unwillingness to submit to outside arbitration will eventually lead to social collapse.  Indeed, I was once on a planet where the victors in a legal dispute would always be the ones who laid on the biggest feast for the outsiders.  Would you be surprised to hear that their opponents often refused to accept the rulings against them?”

There was another point right there, I noted silently.  No one in the Undercity had been emotionally invested in anything.  We had been given the apartment, rather than paying for it ourselves; we were given prizes at school, even if we hadn't earned them.  Finding a partner, having children ... even they were stripped of all feeling.  But if someone had mocked my time at Boot Camp, I would have been furious.  Because, in the end, I’d worked hard to get as far as I had.  We’d
all
worked hard.

“You will discover, as you start your careers, that the marine corps is one of the few institutions left to hold any public trust,” Baldwin added.  “Despite those awful flicks, despite the fact we’re summoned to deal with problems caused by political misjudgements, we are still trusted.  We are regarded as being tough, but fair.  We must struggle, constantly, to live up to the trust they place in us.”

I nodded.  We’d been told there were lines we must never cross, regardless of the situation.  It was a far cry from the Undercity, where there had been
no
lines, but I understood.  A reputation for looting, raping and burning our way through civilian towns would undermine their trust in us at terrifying speed.  We’d wind up as just another bunch of thugs, as unreliable as the Civil Guard. 

“That won’t be easy,” Baldwin concluded.  His voice was suddenly very cold.  “Once, the Empire was held together by trust, by faith in its government.  Now, there is no trust and no faith in government, or the courts, or the military.  Most of the problems you will have to tackle are
caused
, directly or indirectly, by that lack of faith.  There may come a time when the weight of that distrust pulls the Empire down around our ears.”

That was, in hindsight, the first time I heard a suggestion that the Empire was falling apart.  It wasn't something I wanted to hear, not really.  I
liked
the thought of being able to go somewhere else, somewhere better.  But, the more I came to grapple with the realities of Empire, the more I realised that Baldwin had - if anything - understated the case.  No one trusted anyone ...

... And, because of it, the Empire was gravely weakened.

Everywhere might end up like the Undercity
, I thought.  It was a terrifying prospect.  No law ... nothing, but the rule of the strong, forever.  Gangs taking territory, only to lose it again when their leaders died or their enemies made common cause long enough to prune them back, with countless civilians caught in the middle. 
Everything we built might be lost
.

It wasn't a comforting thought. 

From then onwards, we were given one lecture a week, covering dozens of different subjects that touched on future issues.  We looked forward to them, because they were a chance to sit down and relax; they also made us think, for the first time, of just what it was like to operate in the midst of a civilian population.  It wasn't something we’d encountered in the simulations.  We’d only had to worry about defeating the other squads without being defeated ourselves.

Naturally, that changed shortly afterwards.

Chapter Fifteen

If anything, as Colonel Stalker noted, Professor Baldwin understated the problem.  The lack of trust was everywhere.  No one trusted the law courts, true, but no one trusted the schools, or the universities, or the media, or anything else.  Indeed, education was so badly out of shape because teachers weren't trusted to use their common sense.  Instead, they were expected to follow a specific learning plan, even when the plan didn't fit the situation.  A teacher who tried to do otherwise, who taught the kids the truth, could expect to be fired in short order.

-Professor Leo Caesius

“All right,” Nordstrom said, when we had assembled at the RV point.  “It's time for something a
little
more challenging.”

We winced, inwardly.  Weeks of training had introduced us to everything from simulated IEDs to simulated mortar fire.  We’d learned, very rapidly, how to lay traps for the enemy and, at the same time, what to watch for when advancing towards the enemy position.  It hadn't been easy.  I’d lost my ‘life’ during one particularly embarrassing exercise when I’d located a poorly-hidden sensor, only to discover - too late - that some smartass on the other side had placed an IED underneath, just waiting for someone to come along and try to take the sensor.  Nordstrom had been
quite
sarcastic about the whole affair.

“A gang of terrorist scumbags have taken over the local village,” Nordstrom continued, darkly.  “Your task is to liberate the village, free the hostages and capture or kill as many of the terrorists as possible.  There are no other units in the vicinity, so everything rests on you.”

No artillery
, I thought, sourly.  Not that I
wanted
to pound the village into bedrock - that would kill hostages and terrorists alike - but it would have been nice to know that some big guns were on hand. 
And we won’t have any specialised snipers either
.

Nordstrom looked us up and down.  “Viper will be in command, this time,” he said.  “Try not to fuck up.”

He took a step backwards, making it clear that he was now nothing more than an observer.  I cursed under my breath as Viper unfurled the map and peered down at the village; we'd all been given opportunities to command, but none of us particularly trusted Viper.  How could we?  I suppose that was what Baldwin had meant, when he’d talked about how the loss of trust undermined society.  Our lack of trust in him made him an ineffective commander at best, an outright failure at worst.

“This is how we’re going to do it,” he said, pointing to the map.  “Joker and Stalker have the best eyes, so I want you to crawl to here” - he tapped a location on the map - “and observe the village from a distance.  Locate the terrorists and report back to me.  The rest of us will proceed to here” - another location, closer to the village - “and make more detailed plans based on their reports.”

I glanced at the map, making sure I knew where to go.  Our first exercises in map-reading had taught us precisely why one of the most dangerous things in the world is a junior officer with a map - we got rather badly lost, which led to more sarcasm from the Drill Instructors - but we'd managed to get a great deal better with practice.  In theory, Viper was right; the position he’d selected should allow us to peer down at the village without being seen, provided we approached with care.  There shouldn't be any villagers in the fields, not if they were being held hostage, but smart terrorists would watch for approaching trouble. 

And as the terrorists are being played by a senior platoon
, I thought,
they'd know the tricks and the terrain already
.

“It doesn't sound like a bad plan,” Joker muttered, as we slipped away from the platoon.  “I expected something worse.”

I frowned.  Viper hadn't done badly, so far, but I still didn't trust him.  I kept that thought to myself as we approached the fields, keeping low, then started to crawl up the hill overlooking the village.  There were no sensors watching for trouble, as far as we could tell, but we took precautions anyway.  It wasn't until we were halfway up the hill that we ran straight into a watching terrorist, half-hidden under a bush.  We blinked at him for a second, then charged before he could raise his gun.  We didn't dare shoot him - the sound would have alerted his friends - so we crashed into him, battering the bastard to the ground.  He fought back viciously until Joker pushed his unopened Ka-Bar into his neck.

“You’re dead, asshole,” he muttered.

“Fuck it,” the ‘terrorist’ muttered back.

I keyed my radio.  “Viper, Stalker,” I said, subvocalising the words so they couldn’t be overhead by anyone without access to the radio net.  “One tango located and neutralised; I say again, one tango located and neutralised.  Proceeding.”

There was a pause before he replied.  “Did he get an alert out?”

“Unknown, but probably not,” I said.  “Proceeding.”

Viper, thankfully, didn't ask anything else as we reached the ridge and peered down at the village.  It was, I’d been assured, a typical farming hamlet; a general store, a church, a school, a handful of houses and very little else.  I wouldn't have considered it particularly important, but I supposed the locals thought it the centre of their universe.  We peered down, searching for targets, and saw nothing.  The entire village looked deserted.

I frowned.  “Could they have moved the hostages
out
of the village?”

“It wasn't included in the briefing,” Joker pointed out.

That
meant nothing, I knew.  Briefings covered the bare facts and little else; sometimes, the facts were wrong, just to keep us on our toes.  If I’d been taking hostages, I might have considered moving them elsewhere, just to make life interesting for any would-be rescuers.  But then, it would really depend on my long-term objectives.  Just what did the terrorists actually
want
?

Something
moved
.  I tensed as I saw someone sneaking through the village, carrying a rifle in one hand.  It
had
to be one of the terrorists.  We’d been told that some terrorists were downright idiotic - videos of bomb-making classes blowing themselves up had made us all laugh - but it wasn't something to take for granted.  I peered down at him, watching closely as he walked over to the school.  Two more armed men appeared, both looking grim.  If there were others, they had to be inside the building.

Unless they’re turning the place into a fortress
, I thought.  Given our lack of heavy weapons, they could slow us down considerably if they decided to fight for every building. 
But do they have the numbers to do that
?

I keyed my radio, again.  “Viper, Stalker; the tangos appear to have occupied the schoolhouse.  I say again, the tangos appear to have occupied the schoolhouse.  No other buildings appear to be occupied.  I say again, no other buildings appear to be occupied.”

“As far as we can tell,” Joker added. 

“Understood, Stalker,” Viper said.  “Numbers?”

“Three living tangos,” I said.  “If there are others ...”

Viper cut me off.  “Remain in place; I say again, remain in place,” he said.  “We’re moving to launch position now.”

I scowled as the connection broke, then peered down at the hillside.  It wouldn't be easy to get down to the village from where we were, at least not without being seen.  I looked for a prospective route that might give us at least some cover, but saw nothing.  We’d have to sneak back the way we came, then around the village to have any hope at all of getting close without being detected.

“Fourth tango,” Joker whispered.  “On the church roof.”

“Shit,” I muttered.  “Call it in.”

Joker did so, just as two more terrorists emerged from the schoolhouse.  I hastily tried to estimate how many terrorists - and hostages - might be hidden in the building, but gave up when I realised it was impossible.  Growing up in the Undercity had left me with a skewed idea of just how many people could be fitted into a tiny apartment and my first estimates had always been an order of magnitude too high.  There were six terrorists now, not counting the one we’d killed.  God alone knew if there were any others.

And my estimates for how many villagers there are might be off too
, I thought, grimly. 
There can't be more than a hundred people in the village.

Actually, there were probably a great deal less.  Most people in the Undercity were either sheep or wolves; the former would offer no resistance to terrorists, the latter would probably be dead by now, having flung themselves on their tormentors.  But villagers on a colony world?  They might well know how to use weapons, or have the nerve to defend themselves ... I contemplated what my life might have been like, if I’d grown up in such a place, then pushed the thought aside as the squad appeared at the edge of the village, moving forward in a careful manner.  Something was nagging at my mind, but I wasn't sure what it was ... something worrying.

“Tangos one, two and three are still outside the schoolhouse,” I warned, keying my radio.  “Tangos four and five are advancing towards our position; tango six is on top of the church.”

“They may be coming to relieve the moron we killed,” Joker muttered.  “Or to check on him.  He didn't have a visible radio, but that means nothing.”

I cursed under my breath.  We’d been told a little about human augmentation, which ranged from implanted weapons to enhanced muscles and cyborg modifications that allowed humans to survive in space without protective garments.  If a terrorist happened to have an implanted radio ... it wasn't something I would care to have, but it might come in handy, under the right circumstances.  Or what if there had been some kind of signal the dead terrorist was meant to send that had been missed?

“Understood,” Viper said.  “Remain in place, but avoid contact.”

Joker blinked.  “Avoid contact?”

I shared his astonishment.  If the terrorists came up the hillside, they’d stumble over us no matter what we did.  There was no way we could both remain in place and avoid contact!  My mouth dropped open as I realised, finally, what was bothering me about the advance.  The squad wasn't moving forward organically; it was being directed, with Viper pulling the strings.  He wasn’t leaving any room for the point men to take advantage of unexpected opportunities or to react to any surprises.

“They’ll be on us in minutes,” I said.  If there had been just one terrorist, we might have jumped him, but two were depressingly even odds.  “We need to leave or engage them as soon as they come closer.”

“Do
not
engage,” Viper ordered.  Down below, the terrorists had started walking up the hillside.  “When we engage ...”

It became academic before he could finish the sentence.  Tango six had spotted the advancing squad and opened fire, alerting his comrades.  I swore, then opened fire myself, picking off both tangos four and five.  Tangos one and two had started to run towards the squad; tango three had jumped back into the schoolhouse.  I knew it wouldn't be long before they started killing hostages, if they hadn't already.

“Take out six,” I ordered, sharply.  Joker was a better shot that me, even though I hated to admit it.  “Viper, Stalker; get in quickly, now!”

“Countermand,” Viper snapped.  “We need to get all our people into the village!”

“
This isn't the time for a fucking debate
,” I snapped back.  On paper, there was nothing wrong with what he was doing, but time had just run out!  We needed to save the remainder of the hostages before it was too late.  “Get the point men forward ...”

“Don’t argue with me,” Viper thundered.  “Get ...”

He was drowned out by a sudden burst of shooting from one of the buildings.  I swore out loud as the point men came under heavy fire.  They hadn't taken the time to check for traps, even though they should have
known
to take precautions.  Viper barked orders no one heeded as the advance came apart, Professor hurling a grenade into the building seconds before a burst of fire sent him tumbling to the ground.  The shooting stopped, too late.  A flash of light marked the destruction of the schoolhouse ...