First To Fight (The Empire's Corps Book 11) (26 page)

“They must know who we’ve caught,” Joker muttered.

“Maybe it was a mistake to leave those women alive,” I agreed.  I could have killed them, then burned the building to ashes.  They wouldn't have
known
their leader had been kidnapped.  “I ...”

My terminal buzzed.  I glanced at it and swore.  ELINT - Electronic Intelligence - was warning us that the enemy was sending signals - and picking up replies from locations all around us.  The BLA had to have hidden more than one of its armies under the jungle, I realised; they were trying to organise an ambush.  And the location of the transmitters might not be where the armies were ...

“We could make a stand,” Joker suggested.

“We’d be overwhelmed,” I said, shaking my head.  It was tempting, but we only had a limited supply of ammunition.  We’d sell our lives dearly, yet we’d definitely end up dead - or, worse, captured.  “We have to keep moving.”

I glanced at the map, thinking hard.  The enemy wasn't stupid.  Sure, they’d made the mistake of leaving their commander in a vulnerable location, but they really hadn't had a choice.  A bigger town, crammed with fighters, would be an easy target for orbital bombardment.  They would expect us to try to use helicopters to get out of the mess ... and they'd know, roughly, where the helicopters would have to land, if they wanted to pick us up.  I would be surprised if they didn't have the LZ already targeted, just waiting for us to call the helicopters ...

“I’ve had an idea,” I said. 

It was risky, but the original plan had been blown out of the water.  Staying where we were wasn't an option; we might have been able to sneak clear, if we weren't encumbered by a prisoner, but there was no way Comrade Li could be trusted to come with us.  I keyed my radio again, knowing it ran the risk of exposing our position.  Moments later, the helicopters were on their way towards us.

“Sif, Dodger, get up the trees,” I ordered.  “Comrade Li will have to be hauled up.”

We’d practiced using ropes to carry a wounded comrade over some distance, but it was the first time we’d ever tried making a net for a POW.  Comrade Li eyed us - for the first time, I thought I saw uncertainty in her eyes - as we bundled her up, then waited for Sif and Dodger to drop ropes down to us.  Moments later, Comrade Li was hauled up into the branches and we followed, just as the first helicopter swooped down.  We tied Comrade Li to the dangling harnesses, then grabbed hold ourselves.  The helicopter lunged upwards as a hail of bullets rose up from below, yanking us into the sky.  Moments later, we were safe.

“Made it,” I breathed, as we headed back towards the base.  If the enemy had had a single MANPAD, it would have been a very different story.  “We did it.”

“Congratulations,” Southard said, when we landed.  “You did a very good job of escaping a trap.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said.

“Leaving the women alive was dangerous, though,” Southard added.  “You could easily have been wrong about Comrade Li’s identity.”

I hesitated. 
Was
I wrong?

“I didn't feel right about killing them, sir,” I said, carefully.

Southard lifted his eyebrows.  “Even during a simulated exercise?”

“I was told to treat it as real,” I reminded him.  “If I had killed them, I would have been guilty ...”

“Perhaps,” Southard said.  “Why
do
you believe you walked away with the
right
Comrade Li?”

“Comrade Li is a woman doing a job that many of her followers believe could be done better by a man,” I said.  It hadn't been
that
long since I’d held many similar attitudes, shaped by life in the Undercity.  “The last thing she would want is to keep a woman so battered down that she takes off her clothes the minute she believes herself to be threatened with rape.  It would undermine her position.  She really wouldn't want to make her male followers start thinking about weak and feeble women.”

I paused, then went on.  “It was an act, sir,” I concluded.  “She acted submissive because it would have made us underestimate her.  And it nearly worked.”

“So it did,” Southard said.  He raised his voice, addressing us all.  “Grab some sleep, troopers.  You’re going to Chesty tomorrow.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Psychologically, it is fatal for a woman to convince a man that she is weak, emotional, dependent or prone to female tribalism.  Any of the above can seriously weaken a woman’s position and compromise her authority.  Indeed, if the only way to get ahead in a male-dominated environment is to be ‘one of the boys,’ revealing oneself to be ‘one of the girls’ can be disastrous.  It may not breed hatred, but it can breed contempt.

Ed’s reasoning, therefore, was sound.  ‘Comrade Li’ had nothing to gain - and a great deal to lose - from keeping a reminder that women can be broken in her headquarters.  Further, her pretence might just have led the troopers to hold her in contempt, which might have led to them turning their backs on her ...

-Professor Leo Caesius

“Joker, you’re Troop Leader,” Southard said, as soon as we landed at the FOB on the outskirts of Chesty.  I hadn’t realised that several different platoons were being exercised at the same time, but they wouldn't have laid so much on for us alone.  “You’ll have a somewhat less challenging mission, on the face of it.”

We eyed him suspiciously.  Less challenging?  There had to be a sting in the tail somewhere.

“Thanks to your earlier mission, the BLA is pulling back from Chesty in some disarray,” Southard continued.  “This gives us an opportunity to ship additional supplies into the city and feed the starving women and children.  Your mission is to provide security for the food supplies and oversee distribution.  Be warned; local factions will attempt to steal the food for themselves in the hopes of leaving the other factions to starve.”

I winced, inwardly.  I’d learned a great deal about psychology in the last few months, including how badly humans could behave when they were under pressure.  The whole idea of snatching food from starving women and children was horrific, but I had no doubt that some of the local factions would do it, if we gave them the chance.  Relying on the locals to distribute the aid was asking for trouble.  But trying to distribute the food even-handedly would also cause problems.

“Take the trucks to the distribution point, then start handing the food out,” Southard concluded.  “Good luck.”

I watched as Joker looked down at the map.  “We’ll take the trucks and four AFVs,” he said, after a moment.  “The roads should be largely clear, but we’ll respond with lethal force if challenged.”

We hastily checked the vehicles, then mounted up.  Joker sat behind me in the lead AFV as I took the wheel, even though it would probably be the first vehicle to attract fire if we ran into an ambush.  I was tempted to tell him he should probably pick another vehicle, but we had practiced what to do if we lost our commanding officer.  Bloodnok - Joker’s second - would take command at once.

It might still disorientate us for a second
, I thought, grimly.  There were too many things that could go wrong before Bloodnok assumed command - and let us know that he
had
. 
But Joker would think that we would think less of him if he stayed in the rear.

“Let’s go,” Joker said.

I gunned the engine, then led the way onto the highway leading down towards Chesty.  It was strewn with the rubble of hundreds of vehicles, providing far too many places to hide an IED or stage an ambush, but nothing happened apart from a handful of shots fired from the distant jungle.  The machine gunners rotated their guns and searched for targets, finding nothing.  I wondered if Joker would order them to lay down suppressing fire anyway, but he said nothing.  There was little point in wasting ammunition without clear targets.

Chesty itself was both strange and alien.  I’d never seen a true city until leaving Earth - I had had a chance to visit Wells on Mars, where humanity had established its first foothold on another world - but Chesty was in ruins.  Hundreds of buildings were pockmarked with bullet holes, showing where the local defenders and the BLA had fought desperately for control.  In the absence of heavy weapons, taking a large city is far from easy.  Starving Chesty out had probably been their best option, assuming the starships played no further role in the engagement. 

And they might have been right
, I thought, grimly. 
A thousand civilians dead as collateral damage wouldn't play well with the media.

I pushed the thought aside as we rolled past the defenders - who looked little more organised than the BLA fighters we’d attacked earlier - and headed for the distribution point.  Most of the city’s menfolk had been press-ganged into one militia or another, leaving the women and children at home; I hoped, numbly, that they were relieved that we’d saved the city from starvation.  The fighters would have had the best food, such as it was; everyone else, civilian or not, would have been left to starve.  By now, they’d probably started considering how best to cook human flesh.

Joker coughed as I turned the corner.  “This is the distribution point?”

“GPS says it is,” I said.  Once, it had been a nice piece of parkland; now, the trees had been cut down and everything else had been dug up in the city’s desperate attempt to find something - anything - to eat.  Maybe people
could
eat grass - genetic engineering could work miracles - but it wasn’t very tasty, let alone nutritious.  “At least we have clear fields of fire.”

“So do the tower blocks,” Joker muttered.

I followed his gaze and swore.  The towers were nowhere near as impressive as Earth’s CityBlocks, but they still provided ample room for snipers.  We could come under fire quite easily.  If we’d had a choice, I would have set up a base in one of the buildings; it might have been more awkward, but at least it would have provided protection ...

“Squad Two, secure that warehouse,” Joker ordered, keying his radio.  “If it’s abandoned, we’ll use it as the distribution point.”

We dismounted, then hastily started to unload the supplies and carry them into the warehouse.  Joker would have been in deep shit if he’d been in the Imperial Army, where rewriting orders to suit local conditions was heavily discouraged, but the marines took a different view of things.  If he succeeded in his mission, any small revisions of his orders would be overlooked; even if he failed, it might not be enough to end his career.  Squad three patrolled the edges, while Sif and Bloodnok scrambled onto the roof to provide top cover.  If the militias - or anyone - tried to make a go of it, we’d give them a hot reception.

“Joker’s Joke Shop is now open for business,” Joker declared, when we had unloaded the trucks and moved them to a safer location.  We weren't planning to transport the supplies back
out
of the city.  “Let’s see who comes calling, shall we?”

Our first customers were a handful of middle-aged women and a number of children, too hungry and thin to care about the possible dangers in approaching strangers.  We did our best to look friendly, then passed out ration packs and offered to let them sit in the park - or what was left of it - to eat.  Some of them accepted; others, their eyes fearful, took the food and scurried away.  I watched them go, understanding their fear more than I cared to admit.  We might have been distributing food, but - just like anyone in the Undercity - we could turn nasty or demanding at any moment.

“Got trouble moving towards us,” Sif warned, through the radio net.  “Five men, carrying weapons.  One of them looks to be a boss.”

“Copy,” Joker said.  “I’ll meet them in the park.  Squad One will cover me.”

The newcomers strode into the park as if they owned the place, surrounded by an air of competence and barely-restrained violence that practically gave me flashbacks to the Undercity’s gangsters.  None of the footsoldiers looked particularly competent, but their weapons and their willingness to use them gave the bastards more than enough power to dominate the city.  Their master, who had a rifle casually slung over his shoulder, had a nasty expression on his face.  I disliked him on sight.

“Got an ID,” someone whispered through the radio net.  The FOB was looking through the handful of sensors we’d scattered around the perimeter.  “Boss Gordon, leader of the Blue Boys Militia.” 

Joker opened his mike, so we could all hear, and stepped forward.  The boss scowled at him, then glanced at the rest of us, holding our weapons with easy precision.  He didn't look up, much to my private amusement; Sif and Bloodnok could have wiped all five of them out before the rest of us had our guns up and ready to fire.  We didn't want a fight, but we would win within a second if one started.

“Thank you for bringing us food,” Boss Gordon said.  If he was aware of just how much danger he was in, he didn't show it.  I would have awarded him points for composure if I hadn't been so sure he was too stupid to realise just how badly he was outmatched.  “My men will take over distribution.  You may hand it over to us and return to your base.”

It was, I suspected, a situation that called for diplomacy.  Unfortunately, marines are not known for diplomacy.

“Fuck off,” Joker said.

Boss Gordon gaped at him.  He’d grown too used to being the big man in the city - or one of them, at least.  His militia had given him access to everything from food - such as it was - to wine, women and song.  No one had dared defy him for a very long time.

“I would ask you to reconsider,” he said, lowering his voice.  I gripped my weapon, bracing myself.  There was no hierarchy keeping Boss Gordon in position, nothing but the threat of superior force.  He had no choice; either he made us back down or the spell would be broken and his own people would turn on him.  “We control this city.  Either you give us the food to distribute or no one will get the food.”

Joker slammed his rifle into Boss Gordon’s chest.  The man doubled over, gagging; we sprang forward and overpowered his four guards before they could even get their weapons up and aimed at us.  Joker smacked Boss Gordon to the ground, searched him roughly and bound his hands with a plastic tie.  Once we had secured the others, we picked them up and carried them into the warehouse.  They could either be carried out to the FOB, once the distribution was over, or just left to the tender mercies of the city’s inhabitants.  I had a feeling Joker would probably be publically reprimanded and privately congratulated for his coup.  The Blue Boys Militia, having lost their leader, would have to decide who would succeed him before launching an attack.

“Watch for incoming threats,” Joker ordered, as the trickle of starving citizens turned into a flood.  “The militia isn't likely to let this pass.”

“No, sir,” I agreed.

I kept running security around the edge of the park as the civilians walked through, some concealing weapons; we didn't disarm them as long as they kept their weapons firmly holstered.  The Imperial Army would probably have snatched their weapons, on the grounds that they
might
pose a threat, but we knew it was pointless.  Everyone who could buy, beg or steal a weapon would be armed, knowing that there was no other defence against the human animals unleashed by the siege.  One man started to beat his wife - I have no idea why - only to be shot by one of our snipers.  The crowd rustled uncomfortably as we pulled the body out and dumped it by the side of the road, but did nothing.  We'd been taught that showing the merest hint of weakness to a crowd was fatal.

And besides, I didn't like wife-beaters.  None of us did.

All hell broke loose two hours after we’d arrested Boss Gordon and his men.  A large mass of civilians, male and female, appeared at the edge of the park and advanced towards our positions.  Very few of them seemed to be armed with anything more dangerous than sticks and stones - which can be very dangerous in the wrong hands - yet sheer pressure alone would eventually overwhelm us.  We levelled our weapons, but held our fire.  We'd slaughter hundreds, perhaps thousands, if we pulled the triggers.  The bullets would slice through the first rank and injure others in the rear before they finally stopped.

“There are people at the end, encouraging the mob forward,” Sif reported.  “I can slot them.”

“Take them out,” Joker ordered.  “Squad One; deploy shields.  Squad Two; prepare to launch gas grenades.”

The mob surged forward as we deployed our shields and locked them together.  They struck the shields with astonishing force, but we held; I prayed, inwardly, that the mob would start coming apart now the agitators were dead.  But a mob has a mind of its own.  Someone a great deal smarter than me said, years ago, that a crowd is only as smart as the stupidest person in it; personally, I believe a crowd is only
half
as smart as the stupidest person in it.  A person smart enough to run, when faced with deadly danger, would think himself invulnerable if he was part of a mob.  I cringed as the surging tidal wave of emotions raged over me, a force threatening to suck me into the mass.  There is something in all of us that seeks to be part of a crowd ...