Retreat Hell Read online

She hesitated, then stepped through the door. Rzeminski lifted his head to look at her, his eyes flickering over her uniform. Jasmine wished, suddenly, that she’d thought to wear the Marine BDUs, but he would have no difficulty in recognising her service. The Slaughterhouse left its mark on everyone who passed through its doors.

  Surprisingly – and in defiance of the Conduct After Capture course – Rzeminski spoke first.

  “Why are you here?”

  Jasmine knelt down beside him, resting her arms on her knees. “Why are you here?”

  Rzeminski snorted. “Why should I not fight for what I believe in?”

  “What do you believe in?” Jasmine asked. “What made you fight?”

  “I retired,” Rzeminski said. “I came out here to live with my family. I had a wife and children. There was a government sweep just after the crisis began, hunting for the first set of insurgents. My family were killed in the crossfire.”

  “You have my sympathy,” Jasmine said. She wasn't quite sure what to feel. Part of her did feel sorry for the retired Marine, part of her hated him for betraying the Corps. But had he really betrayed the Corps if he’d been retired at the time? “And so you went to war?”

  Rzeminski looked up at her. “Why are you here?”

  Jasmine considered her answer carefully before speaking. “The Commonwealth sent me here,” she said, finally. “Because the local government asked for help.”

  “The very same local government that has pissed on everyone who lost their source of income?” Rzeminski asked. “And the one that allows the remaining corporations to dominate the economy?”

  He had a point, Jasmine knew. It wouldn't be the first time Marines had been sent into battle to uphold an unpopular or even downright evil government. In some ways, she’d escaped the worst of it – her first action had been on Han – but she’d heard the stories. Somehow, Marines would go in, kick ass and withdraw ... and the problems would resume within weeks of their departure. And she knew, from her discussions with the First Speaker, that it was unlikely Thule’s government would make any major concessions. They wanted to end the war on their terms.

  “I was under the impression,” Rzeminski said, after a long moment, “that the Commonwealth had forsworn interference in local affairs. What – exactly – do you call this?”

  “We were invited by the legitimate government of the planet,” Jasmine reminded him. She knew it was a weak argument, if only because only ten percent of the planet’s population were enfranchised. “And we had other reasons to want to keep Thule within our sphere of influence.”

  “And what would you do,” Rzeminski asked, “if Thule decided to go elsewhere?”

  Jasmine suspected that the Commonwealth would – reluctantly – accept Thule’s decision, if it was made freely. The Commonwealth couldn't hold a member world against its will, not without risking the complete collapse of the entire system. Too many worlds had only joined on the promise their internal autonomy would be respected. And the Commonwealth had certainly intended to keep that promise ...

  That’s the problem, isn't it? Her own thoughts asked. The promises we made ran into reality. And reality is that we need all the industrial base we can get.

  “I wish I knew,” Jasmine said, out loud.

  “And the vast majority of the planet’s population has been disenfranchised,” Rzeminski pressed. “How are they meant to vote in a new government when they can no longer vote?”

  “The age-old problem,” Jasmine muttered. She’d undergone theory classes at the Slaughterhouse as well as intensive physical training. People who were denied legitimate ways to change government policy had the choice between accepting the status quo or outright rebellion. “But surely if the economy improved ...”

  “If it did,” Rzeminski asked, “would that make up for the loss of my family?”

  “No, it wouldn't,” Jasmine said. The file had been barren about just why Rzeminski had joined the movement. “But does the loss of your family justify the mass slaughter you unleashed in the streets of Asgard?”

  She pressed on, without bothering to wait for his answer. “Why did you make contact with outsiders?”

  “We needed weapons,” Rzeminski said, with a shrug. “And where else could we get them?”

  Jasmine nodded. “And what, I wonder, was the price? Do you even know who you’re dealing with?”

  Rzeminski shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  “I’d say it does, yes,” Jasmine snapped. Deliberate stupidity had never sat well with her. “What do they get in exchange for helping you?”

  “And I say again,” Rzeminski said. “Does it matter?”

  Jasmine looked at him for a long moment, then straightened up. “I think they’ll have a price for their help,” she said. “I think they’ll demand it from you, sooner or later. And I think you may discover that their motives are far from friendly. You may find yourself in a far worse position by accepting their help.”

  Rzeminski shrugged, again. “Does it matter?”

  Jasmine controlled her irritation with an effort. “I have not yet told the local government that we have you,” she said. Her voice grew harder as she spoke. “Once we do, I imagine they will demand that you be handed over to them. If they don't trigger your implants through interrogating you, they’ll execute you publically as one of the rebel leaders. A sad end for someone who once wore a Rifleman’s Tab!”

  “You don't have any good options,” Rzeminski said, softly. Oddly, he was looking down at the concrete floor, rather than up at her. “Nor do you have any good arguments to use against me. We wanted to be free, we wanted to be decent citizens, not ... not peons, not the victims of a galactic collapse utterly outside our control. We wanted ...”

  “You wanted revenge,” Jasmine snapped.

  “If it had been just me, I would have gone on an assassination spree,” Rzeminski said. “But it isn't just me, is it?”

  Jasmine turned and marched out of the cell. Outside, she took a long moment to calm herself, analysing her own thoughts and feelings. The hell of it was that she did understand his motivations, she understood them all too well. What would she do, she asked herself, if her husband and family were killed by accident? Or if she watched as the planet she loved became a nightmare? Marines weren't trained to sit on their asses and do nothing. She’d been taught to take the initiative at all times.

  So was he, she thought, morbidly.

  She understood him, more than she cared to admit. But she also knew that, no matter his pretensions to decency, the war had turned savage long before the CEF had arrived. The war was an endless litany of horror, from assassination attempts that killed families as well as the intended targets to mass counter-terror sweeps that penalised the innocent as well as the guilty. Entire villages had been rounded up on suspicion of being involved with insurgents, families of government workers and the lucky enfranchised had been exterminated; men, women and children were all dying, slaughtered in a war that was rapidly becoming more and more pointless. By the time the Zone was completely destroyed, the local forces would be so badly gored that they’d be almost useless. And the CEF wouldn't be much better.

  We could withdraw, she thought, grimly.

  She did have authority to withdraw, if she deemed the situation beyond repair. But the situation wasn't beyond repair, not if the local government stepped up its act and actually tried to bring the fighting to an end. It wouldn't be difficult to set up algae farms, she reminded herself, and feed the starving. And it wouldn't be that hard to help people to retrain and take advantage of the opportunities the Commonwealth was bringing to Thule. Hell, given a few more years, most of the economy might well recover.

  But the local government was being stubborn.

  She understood, too, their feelings on the subject. Their whole system had been designed on the basis that those who paid the bills made the decisions. Taxpayers were allowed to vote, others – people who weren’t earning money – got no say in how the money was
spent. It was a simple system, a response to the crisis that had overwhelmed and eventually destroyed Earth, but it wasn't designed to cope with a crisis that tossed millions of people out of work and enfranchisement. They were unmanned at the same time as they lost the work that gave their life meaning.

  And even if the local government wanted to make changes, the voters would rebel against it. Why should they make concessions, they would demand; they were the ones who made the system work, the ones who actually paid the bills. They wouldn't want to surrender what they had, even though their survival was largely a matter of luck, rather than judgement. No trying to make concessions would rip the local government apart.

  She considered, very briefly, allying herself with the rebels. They could overthrow the local government ... and then what? There would be pogroms and purges as the hatred of five years of bitter war spent itself, while the Commonwealth collapsed into chaos and Wolfbane surged across the border to destroy it while it was weakened. Maybe she could arrange matters so she was the only one who was blamed ... but it wouldn't matter. The Commonwealth would still be doomed.

  The thought made her snort. She doubted that one in a million Commonwealth citizens had even heard of Thule. God knew she hadn't until she'd started reading up on new member worlds, worlds that might – one day – become a battleground. But Thule might become the catalyst for a war that would rip the Commonwealth apart. Or perhaps there would be no war, merely ... an end to the united government.

  Councillor Travis will be pleased, she thought, darkly. Whatever decision I make here is almost certain to be the wrong one.

  “Brigadier?”

  Jasmine looked up to see Michael standing there, looking worried. She had to fight down an insane urge to start giggling inanely, then gathered herself and stood upright. He’d seen her distracted and started to worry ...

  “Yes?” She said. “What’s happened now?”

  “A courier boat has just entered the system,” Michael said. “She sent a message requesting a secure laser link with you as soon as possible.”

  “Understood,” Jasmine said. Courier boats were the fastest ships in known space, but their range was short and they were almost defenceless. “How long until she enters laser range?”

  “Three hours,” Michael said. “She's coming in hot.”

  “Very hot,” Jasmine agreed. She glanced at her wristcom. It was 0123, but it felt like she’d kept herself awake for days. “I’ll take it in my office.”

  She turned to face the two guards. “The prisoner is to remain here,” she said, flatly. “You are to take every precaution in the book when dealing with him. He is to remain cuffed firmly at all times. His feeding will be done through IV tubes rather than though his mouth. Whatever he says or does, he is not to be released at all without my permission. If you take risks with him, he is likely to take advantage of your mistake and kill you.”

  The guards looked nervous, which was understandable. Jasmine knew they’d be embarrassed about it later, but better embarrassed than dead. A Marine was also trained to take the slightest opportunity to escape, just as Jasmine herself had done on Corinthian. Rzeminski could not be permitted to escape her custody, particularly when she hadn't decided what to do with him. Perhaps they could use him to put together a peace agreement of some kind.

  And pigs will fly, she thought, crossly.

  She walked back to her office, then spent the next three hours reviewing the latest reports from the Zone. Apart from some minor trembles, the defenders still seemed to be holding themselves together, despite losing their leader. Of course, they also had nowhere to go, as far as anyone knew. They could only fight or surrender. And surrender didn't seem to be an option.

  Jasmine sighed. She’d had to assign companies of infantry from the CEF to serve as POW guards, despite the fact she needed them on the front lines. Some local units treated prisoners reasonably well, others ... others were not much better than the rebels she’d worked with on Lakshmibai. They’d wanted to slaughter all the prisoners and had to be prevented from doing so at gunpoint. It wasn't much of an improvement from what the Lakshmibai rebels had wanted to do.

  “Message packet downloading now,” her terminal said. Jasmine rubbed her tired eyes as the compressed packet flowed into the buffer, then started to decrypt itself. “Confirm ID.”

  Jasmine pressed her palm against the terminal, allowing it to scan her ID.

  “Identity confirmed,” the terminal said. “Message packet open. Nine messages inside, opening now.”

  The first message was a personal note from Colonel Stalker. “Jasmine,” he said, “this message may reach you too late, despite the orders I’ve given the two courier boats. We may well be at war with Wolfbane by the time you read this and you may already have been attacked. There was an attack mounted on the Council Chambers ...”

  Jasmine listened to the remainder of the message in stark disbelief. She’d never been particularly fond of Gaby Cracker, although she’d understood and appreciated her achievement in converting the Marine tactical victory into a long-term success. Hell, Thule needed someone like her to bring the war to an end. But now she was wounded, perhaps dying ...

  And the shooter had been Private Polk!

  Jasmine had always hated to lose people under her command, but it was worse – far worse – when she had no idea what had really happened to them. Private Polk had vanished on Lakshmibai and then ... there had never been any trace of him. Jasmine had concluded, finally, that he'd been murdered by his captors and his body burned to ash. But instead he’d been conditioned and turned into an assassin? It wasn't just an assassination attempt, it was a deliberate slap in the face to the Commonwealth. The coming war – and the Colonel seemed to hold out no hope that it could be averted – would be merciless.

  She keyed her wristcom. “Inform the local government that I need to meet with the First Speaker, at once,” she ordered. “And then prepare a helicopter for me.”

  Closing the channel, she forwarded the message packet to the remaining starships and her senior officers. They had to know what was happening – and that war might be about to break out. The closest Wolfbane-occupied star was bare hours away in Phase Space. How long would it be, she wondered, before an enemy fleet arrived? Or had their timing misfired, somehow?

  She didn't dare, she knew, take that for granted. All hell was about to break loose.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Instead, the social scientists saw a version of the locals that bore little relationship to the truth. Instead of bloody murderers, they saw noble savages; instead of rapists, they saw quaint local customs; instead of child soldiers (forbidden by the Imperial Charter), they saw children fighting to defend their faith. These delusions proved impossible to surmount, not least because the social scientists never even tried to come face-to-face with reality.

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

  Daniel heard the knocking and jerked awake, half-convinced that the rebels had finally burst into the mansion and intended to kill him. It took him several moments to sort out the nightmare from reality and establish that he was safe and warm in his own bed, rather than anywhere else. The last tendrils of the nightmare faded away as he sat upright and keyed the switch that opened the door. Outside, one of his secretaries was waiting for him.

  “First Speaker, there has been an urgent message from the spaceport,” she said. “The CEF’s commander is on her way to speak with you.”

  “At ... whatever time this is?” Daniel asked. He glanced at his watch and swore. It was still earlier than he’d thought. “What for?”

  “She didn't say,” the secretary said. “But it is apparently urgent.”

  Daniel pulled himself to his feet and reached for a dressing gown. “Have some very strong coffee prepared for us,” he ordered, as he pulled the dressing gown over his pyjamas. He never quite dared sleep naked in the mansion, not when there was almost no pri
vacy at all. “And some stimulants, if the doctors will authorise them.”

  The secretary looked doubtful. Daniel sighed, inwardly. He was, at least in theory, the most powerful man on the planet ... and he couldn't get stimulants without permission from his doctors. Didn't they know he couldn’t afford to make decisions while he was half-asleep? But they never listened to him, even when he told them he barely slept at nights. There was just too much to think about ...

  He pushed the self-pity aside as he stumbled into the small office and sat down on the comfortable chair. There was a large pile of reports he had to read, reports he took a certain private pleasure in ignoring as long as possible. Didn't anyone know how to think for themselves these days? Of course they did, he answered himself crossly; they just feared the consequences of making a mistake. It would cost them their jobs, their status and quite possibly their lives.

  A door opened, revealing a maid wearing a traditional little black dress. Daniel was too tired to notice the generous amount of cleavage she was showing, or her long shapely legs; his attention was firmly fixed on the jug of coffee. She poured him a mug, bowing deeply enough to expose far more of herself than he cared to see, and placed it in front of him. Daniel sipped it gratefully and waited, feeling the caffeine moving through his system. It was about the only drug the doctors would allow him to use without ticking him off for it.

  Another door opened, revealing Brigadier Jasmine Yamane. She looked disgustingly alert, even though she’d probably been awake for hours. Daniel rose to his feet, waved her to a chair facing his desk and poured her a mug of coffee. She took it gratefully, her every motion that of a predator rather than one of the society ladies who would have fainted at the thought of being served by the First Speaker.

  “There have been developments,” Jasmine said, without preamble. She dropped a datachip on the desk. “The short version of the story is that there has been an assassination attempt on Avalon – and that we may already be at war with Wolfbane.”

  Daniel considered it, tiredly. He knew next to nothing about interstellar power projection, but he did know that Thule was right next to the border. Surely, the planet represented enough of a prize – and a threat – to be considered a primary target. And yet no enemy starships had materialised in his skies.