Retreat Hell (24 page)

“See that you do,” Adalbert said.  He turned to look at Jasmine.  “The long-term solution to the crisis, I’m afraid, will depend on solving the military crisis.”

Jasmine had her doubts.  This wasn’t Avalon.  The rebels had no shortage of potential manpower – and fear and intimidation only went so far if hopelessness and despair overwhelmed them.  It was far more likely, she suspected, that the Zone would be crushed ... but the rebels would simply start again, somewhere else.  If they moved operations to the countryside, they’d be able to settle in for a long campaign intended to starve the cities.

They’d alienate the farmers if they tried
, she thought. 
But would the farmers work with the government to put down the rebels
?

She sighed.  Compared to Thule, solving the problems on Avalon had been simplicity itself.

“Then I propose we begin operations at once,” Jasmine said, shaking herself.  She’d tackle the problem she
could
tackle and hope it helped solve the other problems.  “I will move advance units of the CEF to here” – she tapped a building near one of the police stations that had been destroyed during the fighting – “and start establishing lines of control.  If you provide reinforcements ...”

“We will,” Adalbert injected.

“... We can start knocking down buildings and sealing off the Zone,” Jasmine said.  “We will move armoured units up in support, if you are prepared to allow them to deploy.  Once the Zone is sealed off, we can start preparing the forward bases for the troops to advance.”

“We can provide armoured units of our own,” Adalbert said.  “But yours can remain in reserve.”

Jasmine hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.  She would have preferred to work with her own armoured units, but she understood their reluctance to allow the Landsharks to leave the spaceport.  Quite apart from anything else, moving the colossal tanks from one side of the city to the other would leave a great many wrecked buildings in their wake.  And the local tanks might have been designed for counter-insurgency operations.  The Landsharks had been designed for full-scale war.

“Very well,” she said.  “I’ll start issuing the orders now.”

***

“She’s very competent,” Adalbert reported.  “But she put her finger on the crux of the problem.  We need a political solution, sir.”

“I know,” Daniel said.  He smiled, rather dryly.  “Would you like to convince the Senate to choose one?”

He ticked points off his fingers as he spoke.  “We’re already reaching the limit of what make-work we can provide for people,” he said.  “We cannot expand our industrial base any further until off-world sales pick up, which they are predicted to do in four years.  And if we did propose that we abandon the idea of determining who gets a vote ... well, I’d be out of office in a heartbeat.”

“The voters don’t want to give up their power,” Adalbert said.

“No, they don't,” Daniel said.  “And they may well have a point.  If we concede universal enfranchisement, regardless of contributions to the community, the new government will still face the same problems I do, except they will have a much larger constituency pressing for action.  They may knock down what remains of the economy in a desperate attempt to fix it.”

“And then make it impossible for us to fix
anything
,” Adalbert said.  “There’s no easy way out of this mess, is there?”

Daniel shrugged.  If the projections were correct, off-world sales would increase rapidly as trade with the Commonwealth became more and more established.  Given a few years of steady growth, the industrial base would start absorbing more and more people into the workforce, which would lift up the entire economy.  If
that
happened, the insurgency should come to a halt as the economy started to provide jobs and opportunities for everyone again.  But if the insurgents won first ...

“We have to hold the line,” he said.  “And pray.”

If the projections were wrong ... he shuddered, remembering the old projections of endless economic growth.  They’d been based on false figures, he recalled, figures the Empire had supplied in a desperate attempt to hide the truth.  If the new projections were also wrong, the war would continue indefinitely ...

... And the entire planet would be ripped apart into warring factions.

No
, he thought, shaking his head. 
We cannot allow that to happen
.

Furthermore, the cost of food rapidly increased.  Quite apart from the logistics of shipping food across even a relatively small interstellar gulf, the sudden demand drove prices up everywhere.  Farmers insisted on being paid more for their food, shippers insisted on being paid more for their services ... and local factions insisted on being paid for distributing the food or allowing it to be distributed within their territories. 

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

Gudrun let out a long breath as she looked at herself in the mirror.  The clothes she wore were second-hand, like the clothes she'd worn ever since her father had lost his job, hanging loosely on her as if they hadn't been fitted properly.  But then, no one would expect any better of someone who lived inside or just outside the Zone.  Fitted clothes were a luxury no one could afford these days.

“I need a jumper,” she said.  The shirt wasn't as tight as she’d feared, but it still exposed the shape of her breasts.  “Something to cover myself up properly.”

Marcy reached into a hamper of clothing and poked around for a few moments.  When her hand emerged, it was holding a tatty woollen fleece.  “Will this suffice?”

“Yes, thank you,” Gudrun said.  She took the fleece and pulled it over her head, then inspected herself again.  The trousers looked faintly odd on her, but at least they weren't tight enough to draw attention to the shape of her ass.  Ironically, the Zone was fairly safe for young women, but no one could say that about the districts surrounding the rebel-held territory.  “I look good enough, I think.”

Marcy nodded, impatiently.  “Do you remember your cover story?”

Gudrun recited it for what felt like the tenth time.  “I was running after setting off the mine,” she said.  “In order to hide, I broke into a house and discovered an old man.  The man hid me in exchange for sexual favours.  I did a striptease for him, then sucked him off; he had problems performing, so he didn't ask for anything more.  After two days, I snuck out and made it through the barricade under cover of darkness.  No one saw me as I slipped back towards the Zone.”

“Good,” Marcy said.  “And do you remember all the details?”

“I think so,” Gudrun said.  Marcy had interrogated her, time and time again, until she'd got everything straight.  The level of detail the older woman had insisted on including was astonishing, right down to the colour of the old man’s underwear.  Gudrun had asked why she wanted to dwell on every last detail, only to be told that the insurgents might not take her back without questioning her story.  “What happens if I fuck up?”

“Your former comrades will kill you,” Marcy said.  “And your family, if we can't get them out in time.”

Gudrun swallowed.  Her family – what remained of it – lived near the Zone.  From what Marcy had said, they’d be taken to a camp with the other residents, then separated out and told they were leaving the planet instead.  She wondered, absently, what they would make of her betrayal, before deciding it didn't matter.  At least they’d be safe.

She scratched her shoulder carefully, hoping to banish the itch.  When she’d woken up, Marcy had told her that the doctors had implanted a tracer and communicator under her skin, allowing the CEF to track her down wherever she went.  Marcy had explained that it was intended to help them rescue her if she ran into trouble, but Gudrun hadn't missed the unspoken subtext.  There would be no place to hide if she double-crossed her new masters.  She couldn't see anything different about her skin, yet it
itched
.

“You will be transported to here,” Marcy said, tapping a location on the map.  “Once you’re there, you can make your way to the Zone.  I would suggest you hurried.  Oh, and do try to stay out of trouble.”

Gudrun scowled.  The streets weren't safe; ever since the police force had turned from friends to enemies, there had been little law and order on the streets.  The police could be as dangerous, perhaps more so, as the gangs of teenage thugs that roamed the districts, looking for fun.  Some of them had come alarmingly close to catching her before she'd joined the insurgents.  She still had nightmares over what would have happened to her if they’d succeeded.  It had been one of her motivations for joining up with a force that could protect her or avenge whatever happened to her. 

“I’ll do my best,” she said.  The instructions she’d given hadn’t been very precise.  If she located the rebel HQ, she was supposed to use the communicator to get in touch with Marcy and tell her where it was.  “If I get caught ...”

“We’ll still look after your family,” Marcy said.  “Good luck.”

***

An hour later, Gudrun found herself walking through a deserted neighbourhood, keeping a sharp eye out for human predators.  She saw nothing, apart from boarded-up windows, makeshift barricades and other signs that people were hiding in their homes, cowering in fear and horror.  Rats, dogs and cats ran freely across the streets, completely ignoring her presence.  She walked past the remains of a police station and shuddered when she saw the body of a policeman, hanging from a lamppost.  His uniform was stained with blood.

She didn’t see anyone else until she entered one of the districts close to the Zone.  A handful of clergymen had set up a soup kitchen, offering free food and water to the inhabitants.  One of them waved her over and she came, gratefully, even though she’d been fed before she’d left the spaceport.  It would be out of character for anyone in the city to pass up the chance for a meal, no matter the price.  She still felt ashamed, sometimes, of the times she’d offered her body to a man, in exchange for food.  But, after a few times, the shame had slowly faded away to nothingness.

You can get used to anything
, she thought morbidly,
if you do it enough
.

The priest passed her a small plate of stew and a piece of flat bread.  Gudrun carefully
didn't
ask what was in the stew ... but then, no one did these days.  The handful of people who’d had religious taboos against certain foods were the quietest of all.  It was quite possible that she was eating cat, or dog, or even rat ... hell, there were rumours that some districts had even forgotten the taboo against cannibalism.  She hoped – she prayed – that there was no truth to those rumours, yet they seemed terrifyingly likely.  There were entire districts that seemed lost to government forces and rebels alike.

Once she had finished her meal, she passed the plate back to the priest.  She felt an odd sort of envy as she met his eyes, wondering how his faith kept him going in the nightmare the planet had become.  How could anyone keep believing in God when humans were trapped in an endless war zone?  But somehow they kept going, despite the odds.

She turned and left, striding down the street in the hopes no one would see her as a potential victim.  No one moved to confront her or try to catch her until she reached the edge of the Zone itself, where a small group of guards stood in position to block entry.  Gudrun hesitated, then walked up towards them and smiled in relief when she saw the makeshift uniforms.  She didn't know how the insurgents had turned young men into committed fighters, but they had a better reputation than the police and security forces.  And their superiors hung fighters who stepped over the line without hesitation.

“I’ve come from Tarrytown,” she said, when they challenged her.  It was the one code her contact had given her, should she have to flee to the Zone.  “I want to go to Jonesville.”

The fighters exchanged glances, then one of them stepped forward.  “Come with me,” he said.  “I’ll take you to the boss.”

Gudrun nodded and followed him into the Zone.  She couldn't help noticing that most of the buildings seemed to have been abandoned; apart from her and her escort, there was almost no one on the streets.  Some of the buildings had been extensively remodelled, turned into strongholds that looked surprisingly formidable, others seemed to have been left almost untouched.  It wasn't until they had walked some distance into the Zone that they encountered a large group of other people.  Somehow, Gudrun wasn't surprised to see that it was a weapons training class.

Her escort motioned for her to stay where she was as he advanced and spoke to a dark-skinned man who seemed to be supervising the training session.  There was a brief exchange of words, then the dark-skinned man beckoned for her to follow him into a large warehouse that seemed to have been turned into a barracks.  The ground was covered with blankets and sleeping bags, half of them occupied by men who were catching up on their sleep.  Behind a thin partition, there was another row of sleeping bags.  These were occupied by women. 

Finally, she reached a smaller room, where two women waited for her.  Both of them wore masks, suggesting she would recognise them – or that they were worried about being recognised in the future.  Gudrun sighed, then submitted to the strip search, hoping that Marcy was right about the tracer being undetectable.  By the time she was tossed a robe to wear, she felt as though the two women had examined every last inch of her skin.  Her last boyfriend hadn't explored her so enthusiastically.

“We feared the worst when you didn't return within a day,” one of the women said, apologetically.  “What happened?”

Gudrun sighed as she sat down, then went through the whole cover story.  Marcy had been right, she discovered, as the women poked and prodded at her words.  They wanted to know everything, from the old man’s name to the exact location of his house.  At least she had a plausible excuse for not knowing the former, she knew, while the latter hardly mattered.  The inhabitants of the area she claimed to have hidden in were being rounded up and moved to DP camps.  By the time the women had finished, she was feeling perversely grateful for Marcy’s torment.

“You will stay here for the moment,” one of the women said, finally.  She seemed to be in charge, although it was hard to tell.  “There may be more debriefings in your future.”

Gudrun’s dismay must have shown on her face, for the woman laughed at her.  “Don’t worry,” she added, “they won’t be as bad.  You just have to answer a few questions.”

“And then?”  Gudrun said.  “What will happen
then
?”

“We will see,” the woman said.  “This place
is
about to be attacked, you know.”

Gudrun swallowed.  She didn't have to pretend to be afraid.

***

Thomas had seen unpleasant streets before, on Han and a dozen other worlds, but there was something about the streets of Thule that sent cold shivers of ice running down his spine.  Perhaps it was the awareness that all of the other streets were in the past and he’d survived, or perhaps it was the understanding that the inhabitants had fallen suddenly and very hard, moving from riches to rags within the space of a few months.  They’d had hope, he recalled, and the promise of a better life.  Perhaps that, more than anything else, had fuelled the anger that led to the insurgency.

“Stay alert,” he hissed, as the truck rocked.  The vehicle was open-topped, rather than the heavily-armoured transports he would have preferred.  Personally, he was rather surprised no one had taken a shot at them yet.  “Don’t lose your situational awareness.”

He glanced back at his men and smiled, inwardly.  For some of them, the coming war would be their first taste of combat and they relished the challenge, but – at the same time – they were seeing the evidence that they would be fighting in a zone partly occupied by civilians as well as insurgents.  Many of them had grown to manhood during the Cracker War, even
fought
during the war ... and some of them would almost certainly sympathise with the local population.  Thomas, with the more detached perspective a Marine was encouraged to develop, was less inclined to blame outside forces.  In hindsight, Thule had made a number of very poor decisions based on bad intelligence.

But at least they’re from Avalon
, he thought.  The combat losses had made his brevet shift to combat command permanent, at least for the moment. 
I don’t have to worry about being embedded.

The truck reached the remains of the police station and stopped.  Thomas didn't hesitate; he hefted his rifle and scrambled over the side of the truck, dropping down to the ground.  His men followed him, spreading out to pose a less vulnerable target to the enemy ... but no enemy materialised.  The streets surrounding the destroyed building were completely deserted, at least of human life.  He winced as he saw another wave of rats running from the ruins, scared off by the sound of the truck.  They’d been seeing rats everywhere for the past couple of days.

“Shit,” one of his men breathed.

Thomas followed his gaze.  There was a lamppost on the other side of the street, with a policeman’s body dangling down from a long piece of rope.  The bloodstains on his uniform seemed to have congealed around his groin, suggesting ... Thomas had seen horrors before, but some of his men, judging by the sounds behind him, hadn't seen or imagined anything like it.  It looked as though the lynch mob had cut off the man’s balls before they hung him.

“Leave the body,” Thomas ordered.  He wanted to cut it down and give the man a proper burial, but there was no time.  “Squad A, secure this location; Squad B, with me.”

He led them towards the first intact building, eyes alert for signs that someone had left a nasty surprise in place.  But there was nothing ... he braced himself, then kicked open the door.  Inside, a faintly unpleasant smell drifted towards him, a combination of human fear and wastes.  Blocking out the distraction, he activated his goggles as he led the way into the building, peering into the darkened rooms one by one.  Someone had boarded over the windows in hopes of preventing thieves from breaking into the house.  Judging by the bullet holes in one particular window, the precaution hadn't made the house noticeably safer.