They Shall Not Pass (The Empire's Corps Book 12) Read online

  “There isn't much left for her to take in the region,” Hampton assured him. “All heavy equipment was withdrawn under the shield.”

  Ed nodded, curtly. The farmers had plenty of small weapons, but nothing that would make a decisive difference. Maybe the Wolves would take food, if there was any left, to supplement their rations ...

  He pushed the thought aside. “Mandy may have a chance to hit the bastards in orbit,” he said, instead. “Taking out one or both of the MEUs may tip the balance if done at the right time.”

  “I doubt she’ll be able to sneak up to the ships,” Gwendolyn said. “Admiral Singh isn't taking chances with them.”

  “No,” Ed agreed. “But we can probably use their over-protectiveness against them.”

  He looked at Gwendolyn. “We’ll give them a couple more days, then start interfering with their logistics,” he added. “Pass the word to 1st Platoon.”

  “Aye, sir,” Gwendolyn said. “They’re still quite close to the enemy FOB.”

  And that means that there’s a very real prospect of being stumbled over, Ed thought. He knew his men were experienced, but the Wolves couldn't be treated lightly. And if that happens, the original plan will go right off the rails.

  ***

  Jasmine pressed herself into the earth, cursing silently as the enemy patrol grew closer and closer. Seven men, making their way up the wooded hillside with calm professionalism, taking care to beat the bushes as they passed. It wasn't particularly stealthy, but they weren't trying to be stealthy. They were the beaters, trying to flush out the game.

  And that means there’s probably a larger force in front of us, she thought. The trees and bushes provided a great deal of cover, but that wouldn't last. If she tried to keep ahead of the loud and noisy threat, she’d probably run into another enemy force waiting for her. But if she stayed where she was, there was the very real risk of being discovered and caught. We need to sneak past the beaters and hope there isn't a follow-up force ...

  She held up her hands, silently flashing orders to Stewart and Buckley. Thankfully, the remainder of the platoon was well out of the way, monitoring the enemy from two other vantage points. If something happened to the three of them, there would still be four other marines in the area, ready to unleash some serious grief when the order to engage the enemy finally came. But if the beaters pushed any closer, it was possible they’d be unable to avoid opening fire and revealing their presence far too soon.

  Gritting her teeth, she slipped down the hill, keeping one hand on her pistol. Their passage was almost completely silent, but accidentally disturbing the wildlife would reveal their presence as surely as snapping a branch or stumbling into a pit. Thankfully, the beaters were making enough noise to drown out whatever noise they did make ... Jasmine wondered, idly, if they’d stumbled across one or more of the sensors or if they were merely patrolling for the hell of it. She would have made sure to patrol the surrounding hills constantly, just to keep her people alert and focused. And make life hard for anyone who tried to sneak up on the FOB.

  The noise of the beaters grew louder, suddenly, as they appeared in the distance. Jasmine braced herself, remaining still ... very few people could spot a marine in a gillie suit hidden amidst the foliage, but it was quite possible the beaters knew what to look for. The three men in her view were laughing and joking amongst themselves, even as they kept moving forward with deliberate speed. They rustled the leaves constantly as they approached her position, one so close she could have reached out and touched him, then kept moving. If they spotted the lurking marines, they showed no sign.

  She didn't relax. The beaters were loud, too loud. If she’d had the manpower, she would have added a second layer of beaters, with strict orders to remain silent as they crawled up the hill. She waited long enough for the beaters to fade into the distance - yet still close enough so they provided covering noise - and then slid down the hillside, as silently as she could. If the enemy had a second line of beaters ...

  ... But it didn't look as though they had, she decided, as they reached the bottom of the hill and headed north. She hated to be optimistic, but it was possible that the enemy had limits on its manpower - or, perhaps, hadn't really expected to find anything. Shaking her head, she kept moving, keeping under the trees as much as possible. The forest would provide both cover and food for as long as they needed it, although she wanted to check out the nearest homestead before heading back to the hide. She glanced up as she heard something high overhead, then cursed inwardly when she saw the helicopter. KEWs provided considerably more punch, at far lower cost - they were really nothing more than rocks dropped from orbit - but helicopters offered far more accuracy. If - when - the Wolves started hunting insurgents, the helicopters would be deadly weapons. Their sensors, if nothing else, would have a very good chance of picking up someone sneaking nearby.

  “I could down it with a missile,” Stewart muttered. “One good shot ...”

  Jasmine scowled. The pilot clearly wasn't expecting trouble, judging by his flight path. If she’d been in command, the pilot would have been busted down a grade or two, if she didn't beat the living daylights out of him for gross stupidity. A helicopter was a simple beast - Avalon had been producing its own variants on the standard designs for years - but shipping one across interstellar distances was hardly cost-effective. Shooting the helicopter and a trained crew out of the sky would have a very interesting effect on enemy logistics.

  “Not yet,” she said, reluctantly. She wanted to take the shot, damn it. “The colonel was quite clear that we were to evade detection as long as possible.”

  It was nearly an hour of walking before they heard the sound of someone talking ahead of them and dropped to the ground, instinctively. Jasmine assumed that they’d run into an enemy patrol, but as she braced for combat it became clear that the voices weren't getting any closer. She listened carefully, picking out individual words with her enhanced ears. The language was Imperial Standard, but the accent was very definitely Wolfbane. She’d heard it before, far too often, on Meridian. Their guards had talked with a similar accent.

  They’re not alert, she thought, as she heard laughter echoing through the trees. And they’re not supervised either.

  She crawled forward slowly, keeping her ears pricked for trouble. A long wooden cabin sat in the middle of a clearing, by a small pond. She didn't recall seeing it on the maps - indeed, judging by its appearance, it was quite possible that it had never been recorded by the cartographers. Four soldiers stood in clear view, drinking alcohol straight from the bottle, as they watched a crying girl slowly start to undress at gunpoint. Behind her, kneeling against the wooden wall, an older couple and two young men strained against their bonds, their faces twisted with horror. Jasmine had no doubt that all five of the locals would be killed, their bodies burned to a crisp, after the soldiers had had their fun with the girl. Whatever else could be said about the Wolves, they didn't encourage atrocities. The soldiers would be executed - or sent to a penal unit - if they were caught.

  Her duty told her that they should avoid contact, that they should withdraw and allow the whole tragedy to play itself out, but she couldn't just leave. Marines were meant to protect the population and she was damned if she was just turning her back and walking away, regardless of the risk. She crawled back long enough to signal the situation to her comrades, then returned to the clearing. The girl was slowly taking off her shirt, one button at a time, as the soldiers catcalled and shouted at her to move faster.

  “No guns,” Jasmine signalled. She drew her ka-bar from its sheaf and braced herself, testing the weight. It had been a long time since she'd taken a knife to a gunfight, but she didn't want to risk attracting attention. “On my mark.”

  The soldiers whooped and leaned forward as the girl undid the last button, allowing her breasts to bobble free. Jasmine sprang, throwing herself forward at lightning speed; she buried the knife in the neck of the nearest soldier, trusting her comrades to deal w
ith the others. He jerked violently, then collapsed as she yanked out the knife. The other three died just as quickly.

  “We’re here to help,” Jasmine said, addressing the girl. Her eyes were wide and staring, as if she didn't quite believe what had happened. She’d probably never been in any real danger from her fellow humans before, not in a farming community where everyone knew everyone else. “Cover yourself.”

  She checked the bodies, just to make sure they were dead, then nodded to Stewart to free the prisoners as she removed anything that might be of value. A handful of grenades, including two plasma grenades ... no doubt they’d intended to put the bodies in the cabin and swear blind that the locals had attempted to resist, forcing the soldiers to burn the house and destroy the evidence. The weapons were standard-issue, no surprise; she checked their radios before placing them under the bodies. There was no point in trying to take them with her, not when they could be tracked easily.

  “Thank you,” the older man said. “Who were they?”

  Jasmine glanced at him. “Wolves,” she said. “Didn't you hear the radio?”

  “We’re Forsakers,” the older man said. He sounded torn between taking offense and being grateful for having his family saved from certain death. “We don’t have radios.”

  “The Wolves have invaded this planet,” Jasmine said, deciding it would be better not to delay matters. “You’re all in terrible danger.”

  She was genuinely surprised by the meeting. A Forsaker? She’d never encountered any, although she’d heard of them. An agricultural cult, determined to return to a pre-technological paradise that had never really existed. They’d stuck around longer than most such cults - actually living without technology wasn't as easy as far too many people thought - but she was surprised to meet one on Corinthian. It was hardly a low-tech world.

  Maybe that’s why they remained Forsakers, she thought. The young woman was being comforted by her mother, while her brothers were collecting weapons. They weren't forced to do everything for themselves.

  “You need to move,” she said. “This place is not safe.”

  “God will protect us,” the older man said.

  Jasmine frowned. “We won’t be here a second time,” she said. There was no way the Wolves could fail to notice that four of their soldiers hadn't returned. “If they send more troopers out here, you will be discovered.”

  She left the men to argue - the women seemed unwilling or unable to join the discussion - and helped Buckley and Stewart dig a grave by the edge of the clearing. It would probably not pass unnoticed, if the Wolves made a proper search, but it was the best they could do. They dumped the bodies in the graves, then covered them with soil. She was tempted to rig up a nasty surprise for anyone who tried to dig up the bodies, yet it would only provoke retaliation.

  “We should just burn the bodies,” Stewart said. “Those idiots aren’t going to last long here, if they don’t move.”

  Jasmine shrugged. “That would be quite visible,” she said. A plasma fire would be seen from orbit. The soldiers might have had a cover story in place, but she couldn't risk detection. “And we’d better get moving. Those bastards will have friends.”

  She spoke briefly to the Forsakers, warning them of the dangers of staying in their home, and then led the way northwards. A handful of shuttles passed overhead, some slowing enough to make her wonder if the enemy had started work on a second LZ, but there were no other signs of enemy contact. By the time they reached the hide and compared notes with the other marines, she was tired and cranky. But she had to make her report before she went to sleep.

  “Poor girl,” Jalil commented, once they’d finished outlining what had happened. “To be stuck with a family like that.”

  Buckley frowned. “You think they’ll insist she has to marry her brother?”

  “No,” Jalil said. “They’re not that sort of people. But I once dated a girl who escaped a Forsaker commune. They’re not bad people, but they have very firm ideas of a woman’s role in society. And now she was almost molested ... well, I wouldn't care to be in her shoes.”

  Jasmine shuddered. “Maybe we should have taken her with us.”

  “She would have complained,” Jalil said. “Most of them think that’s the way the world is supposed to be.”

  “At least she’s still alive to complain,” Buckley said. “And who knows? After what happened, they may realise the error of their ways.”

  Jasmine had her doubts, but she kept them to herself.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Indeed, as Ed is fond of remarking, one should not have blind faith in the efficiency of the military machine. Bad officers, bad NCOs and simple bad luck can reduce a crack regiment to a mob within months. A handful of battles have been decided simply by the enemy commanders not being up to their jobs.

  - Professor Leo Caesius. The Role of Randomness In War.

  “Soldiers do not go missing,” Lieutenant Ryan Osborne said, as the platoon advanced along the half-beaten track. The trees had been cut back enough to allow his men to move two abreast, but beyond that they pressed together so closely that a large enemy force could be shadowing them in the undergrowth and they’d never know it. “Even if they are inexperienced idiots.”

  Sergeant Hove gave him a sharp glance, but said nothing. Ryan understood anyway, without the need for words. He’d been an inexperienced idiot too, when he’d arrived on Thule as a newly-commissioned officer. It was astonishing just how fast someone learned when he was put under heavy fire, if he survived the experience. But the platoon that was now reporting that four of its men were overdue had been shipped directly from Wolfbane. Their experience was limited to training exercises and simulations, neither of which could capture the vagaries of the battlefield. A beaten foe might keep running ... or he might turn and face you, one final time.

  Ryan scowled as they hurried down the track, wondering just what had happened. Had the soldiers managed to get lost? Or had they run into an insurgent camp and been killed - or captured? Wolfbane didn't pay ransoms for soldiers - a decision that made more sense to beancounters who were in no danger of being kidnapped - and if they had been captured, it wouldn’t be long before they were killed. Unless, of course, they were interrogated first ...

  But that isn't likely, he thought, as the track widened suddenly. What would a common soldier know that would help the enemy?

  He tensed as he saw the wooden cabin in the middle of the clearing, a single young man standing outside it. Had the soldiers come along the track? It was impossible to be certain, although they should have stumbled across the cabin. He barked a command to the young man, ordering him to summon everyone else out of the cabin. Moments later, five people stood in front of him; an older man who eyed him with wary defiance, two young men who eyed him with open hostility and two women, both of whom seemed determined not to make eye contact. The younger woman was pretty, despite her shapeless dress; he reminded himself, sharply, that there were strict rules against fraternising with the locals. There would be a brothel soon enough, if he was any judge. His superiors had decided it was better to ship whores in from Wolfbane rather than risk having their men sneaking over the wire and being brutally killed by the insurgents.

  “We’re looking for four of our men,” he said, shortly. They’d speak Imperial Standard, whatever else they spoke. “Have you seen anyone else?”

  “No,” the elder man said, shortly. “We do not get visitors here.”

  Ryan wasn't too surprised. He might have been born a farmer, but there was something a little creepy about the cabin. There was plenty of wildlife in the surrounding forest to keep a family alive - and he could hear the sound of hens clucking and pigs grunting around the far side of the cabin - yet the isolation would have worn him down, eventually. Surely the locals needed some contact with the nearby hamlets?

  “We have to search your property,” he said, curtly. “Remain here and you will not be harmed.”

  He nodded a command to Sergean
t Hove, then stepped through the wooden door and into the cabin. It was like stepping back in time. A faint pungent smell hung in the air. The only illumination, save for the windows, came from candles perched neatly in alcoves carved into the walls. There was nothing within eyeshot, save for a pair of rifles, that couldn't be made by hand. He glanced into the bedrooms and shook his head in disbelief. A blanket made from sheepskin couldn't possibly be as comfortable as something made from modern materials. There was no toilet; he puzzled over it for a moment before deciding they probably crapped in the woods. He couldn't help feeling a little sick as he emerged from the cabin, breathing in the fresh air with relief. How could anyone live like that?

  They swept the rest of the property quickly and efficiently, but found nothing save for a number of hens. He was tempted to buy - or requisition - a number of fresh eggs, yet he was too concerned about the missing men. If they were somewhere within the forest, where? It was quite possible they were lost, but they had been carrying emergency beacons. Hell, if worst came to worst, all they had to do to call help was light a fire.