The Thin Blue Line (The Empire's Corps Book 9) (v5.1)

The Thin Blue Line

Christopher G. Nuttall

Book One: The Empire’s Corps

Book Two: No Worse Enemy

Book Three: When The Bough Breaks

Book Four: Semper Fi

Book Five: The Outcast

Book Six: To The Shores

Book Seven: Reality Check

Book Eight: Retreat Hell

Book Nine: The Thin Blue Line

Earth has fallen ... and humanity is holding its breath, waiting for the next blow to fall.

On Terra Nova, Earth’s oldest colony world, chaos and anarchy are threatening to break out, with total collapse only one disaster away. In a desperate attempt to save the rest of the Empire, the planet’s Governor has summoned the leaders of the Core Worlds to Terra Nova, in hopes of sharing power and preventing civil war. But dark forces are on the move, intent on ensuring that the conference fails.

As the first strands of a deadly plot are uncovered, Imperial Marshal Glen Cheal finds himself fighting to uncover the plot before it is too late. Meanwhile, on her own mission to save the last best hope for peace, Specialist Belinda Lawson of the Terran Marine Corps is plunged into a nightmare where she can no longer trust her own mind, while her decisions will save or damn the Empire ...

Failure isn't an option. But success may not be an option either ...

[Like my other self-published Kindle books,
The Thin Blue Line
is DRM-free. You may reformat it as you choose. There is a large sample of the text – and my other books – on my site: chrishanger.net. Try before you buy.]

The Thin Blue Line starts one standard month after
When The Bough Breaks
.

“It doesn't look very comfortable from up here, does it?”

Captain Kevin Vaughn – who was only a Captain by courtesy – turned and smiled at his sole crewmember. Cynthia was a bright young thing, a girl from a diehard Marine family who had insisted on becoming a spacer rather than a groundpounder like her father, brothers or cousins. He had to admire her resistance to peer pressure, even though he privately doubted that she would have survived the Slaughterhouse. It chewed up and broke an alarmingly high percentage of young recruits who made it through six months of Boot Camp.

“The Slaughterhouse isn't meant to be comfortable,” he said, feeling his legs itch. It was psychometric, the shrinks had said; he’d lost his legs on an operation that had gone badly wrong and had to have them regrown in a tube. “It’s meant to push its victims to the limits.”

He sighed as he gazed down at the planet below. The Slaughterhouse was a confused patchwork of environments, each one possessing its own nasty surprises for unwary recruits, the result of a failed terraforming program. By now, keeping its environment as uncomfortable as possible required a full-time crew, who did everything from replace topsoil to introducing nasty critters from right across the Empire. The Slaughterhouse might break far too many of the recruits, but those who survived were the best damned soldiers in all of history.

“Everything is in working order,” Cynthia assured him. “How long do we have to remain here again?”

Kevin shrugged. The Commandant’s orders had been clear.
Polly
was to remain behind in orbit after the evacuation, watching and waiting, until something happened. Something had already happened, Kevin had thought rebelliously when he’d been given his orders, but he’d done as he was told. The empty planet below was living history, even if it was a part of history most of the Empire would prefer to forget. Watching it from high orbit was not a particularly unpleasant task.

“As long as we are ordered to do so,” he said, patiently. Cynthia was young. She’d learn patience soon enough. “Besides, it does give us a chance to run all those checks we never managed to do before the state of emergency was declared.”

He sighed, inwardly. The reports had been all too clear. Earth had been destroyed, her society ripped apart by social conflict, then smashed flat as pieces of debris fell from orbit and struck the surface with terrifying force. Kevin had no particular attachment to Earth – he’d been born on a planet hundreds of light years away – but it was still horrifying. Mother Earth might have been a poisoned, polluted mess, home to literally billions of civilians who did nothing but suck at the government’s teat, yet she was still the homeworld of humanity, the planet that had birthed a hundred thousand colony worlds. To know she was gone was terrifying.

Something has been removed from our lives
, he thought. He’d heard any number of rumours before the Commandant had ordered the Slaughterhouse closed down, with all of the staff and recruits moved to a secure – and secret – location.
And nothing will ever be the same
.

“I could bring you a cup of coffee, if you’re busy woolgathering,” Cynthia said. “Or would you like to find something else for me to do?”

“Coffee would be nice,” Kevin said. “And ...”

He broke off as an alarm sounded. “Contact,” he snapped. “Man your station!”

Cynthia obeyed, scrambling into her chair and bringing the sensor console online.
Polly
was really nothing more than a handful of passive sensors and stealth systems, mounted on a squashed drive unit that had been pared down to the bare minimum. Kevin had no illusions about what would happen if they were detected, even by something as small as a gunboat or a corvette. He and his ship would be blown out of space before they knew they were under attack.

“I have five contacts, all coming out of cloak,” Cynthia snapped. “They must have realised there’s no one here to greet them.”

Kevin nodded, unsurprised. The Slaughterhouse was barely defended, compared to Earth or Terra Nova. No one in their right mind would consider attacking the Slaughterhouse when the reputation of the Marine Corps reached right across the galaxy. But Earth was gone and nothing would ever be quite the same. Who knew what was about to happen now?

“That wouldn't have been hard,” Kevin said. They weren't in the best position for optimal observation, but they were close enough to separate individual targets. It helped that the newcomers weren't even trying to hide. “Give me a complete breakdown, if you can.”

“Three destroyers,” Cynthia said. “All
Falcone—
class, I think, but one of them has been heavily modified. The other two are light cruisers, probably
Peacock
-class. They appear to be standard specification, sir.”

“From a self-defence force, then,” Kevin said. That proved nothing. A number of star systems possessed semi-independent self-defence forces. The Grand Senate had regularly considered bills to disarm them, only to run into the threat of outright rebellion. “There aren't any
Peacocks
left in the Imperial Navy.”

“Ship-spotter,” Cynthia accused. On the display, the small flotilla moved into orbit, scanning aggressively. “What are they doing here?”

“Good question,” Kevin said. “I have a feeling we’re not going to like the answer.”

The unknowns, whoever they were, were thorough. It was nearly forty minutes of constant scanning before they decided, apparently, that the planet was abandoned. Kevin wouldn't have taken that for granted, not with the Slaughterhouse; he’d seen entire army divisions carefully camouflaged against orbital observation. There were no shortage of places where the Marines could have hidden their personnel, if they’d remained on the planet. Planets were big, after all. Spacers had a nasty habit of forgetting just how difficult it could be to move from one place to another.

Particularly if there’s an enemy force trying to stop you
, Kevin thought, with grim amusement.
It can take days to move from one system to another, but it can take weeks to move a hundred kilometres if the enemy is willing to do whatever it takes to slow you down
.

Cynthia tapped his shoulder. “What are they doing?”

“I don’t know,” Kevin said, shortly. “I ...”

An alarm sounded. “Missile separation,” Cynthia said, swinging her chair back to her console. “Multiple missile separations ... sir, they’re firing on the planet!”

Kevin swore. The Slaughterhouse was living history. Hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of Marines had emerged from the Slaughterhouse to fight for the Empire. The structures on the surface contained histories and relics the rest of the Empire, even the military, had chosen to forget. And it was part of a tradition he’d embraced with all his heart, long ago. To be forced to watch it die ...

“Airburst detonations,” Cynthia said. “Sir ... I don’t understand.”

“Radioactive poison,” Kevin said. Planet-killing weapons were forbidden, full stop. Bombarding a planet was one thing, but actively rendering it uninhabitable ... the entire galaxy would rise up in horror. “I ...”

He gritted his teeth in bitter frustration as lethal radiation spread through the planet’s atmosphere. Within days, there would be nothing left alive on the surface, unless it was
very
well protected. Even combat suits would be hard-pressed to shield their users against such levels of radiation. It would be years before radiation levels dropped to the point that anything could be recovered from the surface, then it would need intensive decontamination before it could be touched safely. He sought, frantically, for options, but found nothing.

There was nothing he could do but watch, helplessly, as the Slaughterhouse died.

The law, as the old saying goes, is the true embodiment of society. One can tell a great deal about a society by what it chooses to forbid and what it chooses to permit – and, perhaps more importantly, how it handles crimes.

- Professor Leo Caesius.
The Decline of Law and Order and the Rise of Anarchy.

Earth was gone.

Marshall (Detective Inspector) Glen Cheal shook his head bitterly as the unmarked van made its way through Terra Nova’s darkened streets. The sun was setting in the sky, the remaining shoppers hurrying home for fear of being caught outside after curfew. Everywhere he looked he could see the signs of decay and despair; closed shops, abandoned vehicles and armed guards everywhere. It wouldn't be long, he thought as they drove past a soup kitchen, before Terra Nova followed Earth into the fire.

He caught sight of his own reflection in the wing mirror and shivered. His brown hair was turning grey, his skin leathered and lined after too many stressful years as an Imperial Marshal. It was impossible to escape the feeling that he was old, old and tired. After Hazel had died, after his unborn daughter had died with her, part of him had just wanted to give up on life. Or maybe it was just a reflection of the lost Earth. What was humanity without its homeworld?

“Sandy’s been volunteering at her local kitchen,” Marshall (Detective) Isabel Freeman said, softly. “She says it’s getting harder to find anything, even processed algae.”

Glen nodded, unsurprised. The soup kitchens were the only places still feeding vast numbers of people who had been rendered suddenly destitute by the economic crash, when they’d discovered that all the money they’d invested in the imperial banking system had suddenly evaporated. But with funds drying up everywhere, it was getting harder to ship food from the farms and growth facilities into the cities. It would
definitely
not be long before the first food riots started, even without the Nihilists pouring fuel on the flames.

“Tell her to stay indoors in future,” Glen said. He rather envied Isabel her skill at managing her work along with a personal life, but right now it just gave her hostages to fortune. His daughter would have been fifteen two days ago, if she had lived. “The shit is heading towards the fan.”

He rubbed his eyes as they passed a school, now shuttered and dark. In his early years as a Marshal, he'd been called to deal with one riot or another on school grounds when the permissiveness of Imperial society finally led to its logical conclusion. Now, the children were either on the streets or cowering at home, mesmerised by the thought of the onrushing tidal wave of destruction. Earth was gone. There were no longer any certainties in the universe.

Isabel nodded. She was tough, Glen had to admit, certainly tougher than she looked. He’d been astonished when she’d been presented to him as a new graduate, one of the last before the Marshal Academy had been closed for the duration of the emergency. At the time, he’d looked her up and down and concluded she’d slept with one or more of the examiners. Now, he knew better. Isabel was tough enough to survive anything. And warm enough to join a group marriage and become a part of something greater than herself.

Something else greater than herself
, Glen thought, tiredly. It was late; he would have preferred to go back to his apartment and sleep until his next shift was about to begin. But the tip-off had been urgent, urgent enough for him to forget the idea of going home and arrange for a raid without waiting for clearance. The Nihilists, God damn their black little souls, had a nasty habit of moving around at short notice before popping up to cause chaos.