Favour the Bold, page 32
part #16 of The Empire's Corps Series
“Welcome to Hameau,” he said, finally. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”
***
Ginny had forced herself to think, as her captors had marched her further and further away from the crash site, of a plan to get away before they handed her over to their superiors. But nothing came to mind. Her hands were bound, her pistol was lost, her tools, wristcom and datapad had been left behind in the wreckage of her Raptor. A Pathfinder could probably have taken all five of her captors without breaking a sweat, but everyone knew Pathfinders ate iron bars for breakfast and could leap tall buildings in a single bound. She found herself wishing she had a locator implant, although they’d been banned long ago. The SAR team might have liberated her well before it was too late.
She eyed her captors, trying to look for weaknesses. They were rough around the edges, but professional ... certainly, more professional than the insurgents who would have raped and killed her by now. It was unfortunate that their very professionalism worked against her. If they’d been sloppy, they might have given her a chance to break free. Instead ...
They gave her a hat and a battered coat before leading her onto the road. From above, she’d look like just another refugee. She was sure the SAR team was out there, but ...
She gritted her teeth. It looked as if she was going into captivity. And escape was impossible.
There will be a chance to escape, she told herself, firmly. You just have to wait and see.
Chapter Thirty-Two
It is impossible to calculate how many people fled their homes, let alone their homeworlds, in the first few weeks after Earthfall. As interstellar shipping steadily collapsed, it became harder for people to board ships and escape. The death toll might well have been in the trillions. We simply don’t know.
- Professor Leo Caesius. Earthfall and its Aftermath.
“There’s no sign of our missing pilot,” General Anderson said. “The SAR team found nothing.”
Kerri nodded, shortly. “They won’t kill her out of hand, sir.”
She looked around her ready room, feeling an odd little pang. It felt strange, in some ways, to be worrying about a single life. She was used to watching starships die, each explosion taking dozens of men into the next world. A single life seemed meaningless on such a scale, but she understood the General’s concern. The marines had to look out for their fellows. No one else would.
“One would hope not,” General Anderson said. “Of course, they might have taken her to Bouchon.”
“Yes, sir.” Kerri couldn’t disagree. “And she’ll be caught in the midst of the assault.”
She shook her head, slowly. “I’ve got pickets and drones covering all the approaches, sir. If an enemy fleet arrives, we’ll know about it before they get into firing range. We’ve also sent a request for additional firepower, so ... we might be able to stand them off when they arrive.”
“But we have no way to know when they will arrive,” Anderson mused. “They could be coming from anywhere.”
“Yes, sir.” Kerri had put her analysts to work as soon as she heard the news. “It’s possible the corporation has controlling interests in a number of other worlds, all within a few dozen light years. They might have intended to snap them up like windfalls after Earthfall, but ... we don’t know what happened. The plan might have gone completely haywire.”
“We don’t dare count on it,” Anderson said. “And that means the offensive has to go ahead as planned.”
“Yes, sir,” Kerri said. “Good luck.”
Anderson grunted. “Have a good one yourself, Commodore. We’ll see you on the other side.”
***
Rachel was already awake when the alarm rang, jerking the rest of the evacuees out of a fitful sleep. The arrival of others - farmers, technicians, corprats - had worried her, if only because some of them might know the people they were impersonating, but nothing had happened overnight. Most of the evacuees looked stunned, as if they knew they’d already lost everything and couldn’t hope to get it back. She told herself that most of them would have good jobs, when the war finally came to an end. If they survived ...
She rolled out of bed and stood, trying to stumble around like a middle-aged woman who hadn’t had enough sleep. She thought she was overdoing it a little, but none of the civilians looked much better. Instead, they were marched into the next room, told to take a ration bar for breakfast and then hurried to the helicopter pad. Rachel chewed her ration bar, trying to conceal her disgust at the taste. She’d always thought the Imperial Army’s ration bars were the worst - soldiers used to joke they were made from cardboard and old gym mats - but these were worse. Somehow. She guessed the procurer had managed to find someone who bid even lower to produce the bars. Honestly, she would have thought that was impossible.
A pair of evacuees looked nervous, when they were pushed into the helicopter. Rachel kept her face impassive, snapping her buckle into place without help from the flight crew. The helicopter looked a damn sight safer than some of the aircraft she’d used, during basic training and afterwards. She’d always suspected the Drill Instructors deliberately chose aircraft that looked as if they were on the verge of falling apart, but she’d never dared ask. It would be odd otherwise. The training budget would easily have covered better aircraft if they’d wanted them.
Phelps sat next to her, his face as impassive as her own. She resisted the urge to start a conversation in sign language, not when someone might notice and start asking why. Instead, she took a deep breath as the helicopter roared to life. A handful of evacuees started moaning behind her as the roar grew louder, the entire aircraft rattling uncomfortably as it staggered into the air. Someone muttered something about the pilot being drunk ... she rolled her eyes in annoyance. She really had been in worse places. It certainly beat crawling through a bog, trying to get back to the RV point without being caught. She still had nightmares about the Mohinga. God knew there were trainees who’d gone in and never come out again.
The helicopter stayed low as it roared over the city, heading west. She craned her neck, peering out of the porthole. Bouchon didn’t look any better, she thought; the city seemed even more crowded, thousands of soldiers and refugees crowding the streets. A line of lorries made their way out of the city, loaded to the gunwales with refugees ... mostly women and children. She hoped the local government had made some kind of provision for their food, shelter and security. She’d seen enough refugee camps to know the locals could easily start exploiting the homeless and dispossessed, if the government didn’t keep a firm grip on the situation. A sizable chunk of those women were probably going to be sold into sexual slavery.
I want to go to a ghastly little religious world, where I don’t have to feel the slightest twinge of guilt for killing the bastards, she thought, although she knew it was unjust. Most civilians on religious worlds kept their heads down, all too aware they’d lose them the moment they raised their voice. And then I want to go on shore leave to somewhere nice and relaxing.
She allowed herself to dream of pleasant beaches, hazardous mountain climbs and studs with hot bodies - male or female, she wasn’t fussy - then leaned forward to watch the world go by. The western side of the mountains seemed to be considerably more developed than the eastern side, with dozens of towns and hamlets laid out below her. She couldn’t spot any defences, but they were too high for her to see much even with enhanced eyesight. The locals were probably pouring everything they had into Bouchon. The city was effectively a bottleneck. If the marines broke through, there would be no natural barriers between them and Haverford.
The helicopter jerked. Behind her, she heard someone being sick. Civilians. She gritted her teeth as the stench wafted towards her, reminding herself that she’d been airsick too when she’d been a little girl. And she’d smelt worse too. There had been times when she’d been convinced the stench of the dead and dying would never leave her nostrils, as if it had embedded itself within her flesh. Her stomach churned, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten much. She was going to have to find something as soon as they landed, if she wanted to keep going. She couldn’t afford to run out of energy in the middle of the enemy capital.
Not when we’ll have to duck out of sight as quickly as possible, she thought. It would be unfortunate if they actually forwarded us to a farm.
Her lips quirked as the helicopter jerked again, then started to descend. Haverford came into view, a mid-sized city resting beside a large river. That wasn’t uncommon, she knew. Rivers provided cheap transport - and power, sometimes - on colony worlds that couldn’t afford more than a handful of basic vehicles. She could see dozens of boats, from small sailing boats to giant barges, making their way down to the sea. It was quite possible their crews had decided to put some distance between themselves and the city until the war came to an end. She didn’t blame them. Anyone who wanted to lay siege to the city wouldn’t hesitate to start sinking boats to put an end to water-borne trade. Or turn the boats into pontoon bridges.
“Rats leaving the sinking ship,” someone muttered behind her.
Rachel blinked in surprise, resisting the urge to turn her head and see who’d spoken. It was rare, in her experience, to hear open dissent. Not here. No one could ever be sure they weren’t being recorded, not on a world that was utterly riddled with surveillance systems. But ... she rather suspected people were starting to realise that the surveillance systems were breaking down. Who knew how much trouble was going to start when it really sank in?
She smiled, tightly, as the helicopter dropped lower. The riverside was lined with giant warehouses and barracks, waiting for new colonists who would never come. Earth was gone. The seemingly-infinite supply of new colonists had tapered off. She wondered how the locals would cope, then shrugged. The colony was firmly established. It was the stage-one colonies that would have real trouble.
The helicopter touched down with a bump. She reached for her buckle as the hatch slammed open, the stench of burning hydrocarbons assaulting her nostrils. The helicopter blades were still spinning, whipping through the air in a manner that suggested they were actually sinking. Rachel kept her head low as she ducked out of the helicopter and headed for the nearest building. The complex seemed to be largely empty, but armed guards were everywhere. Getting out would be easy, she thought; getting out unremarked would be a great deal harder.
Another official - she was starting to wonder if they were mass-produced in a cloning tank somewhere - met them as they were chivvied into the building. “I’m afraid that all transport has been seconded to the needs of the war,” he said, as if he was unaware of what he was actually saying. “You’ll have to remain in the barracks until we can organise transport upriver.”
“We quite understand,” Phelps said. “Right now, we’re just glad to be away from the fighting.”
The clerk gave him an odd look. Rachel tensed. She’d made sure to insert all the right documents and permissions into the right places, but she was uncomfortably aware that something could go badly wrong at any moment. A skilled WebHead would have no trouble discovering what she’d done, if he bothered to look. There was a war on. Chances were that normal services had been suspended for the duration. And then it struck her. The clerk was delighted that he too was away from the fighting.
REMF, she thought.
The clerk glanced at her, then back at Phelps. “How much did you see?”
“Not much,” Phelps said, shortly. They’d been careful not to make their cover story too interesting. The last thing they wanted was to be interrogated by enemy intelligence officers. “We heard the alert and ran for our lives. And when they reached Bouchon they sent us here.”
“Where you will stay for the next few days,” the clerk said. He sounded disappointed. “You have a set of bunks in the barracks. Stay inside, unless given permission to leave. The city is currently under martial law.”
“Drat,” Phelps said. “I was hoping to see the sights.”
“You’ll see the inside of a jail cell if you leave the complex,” the clerk said, flatly. “Don’t leave the barracks.”
“Yes, sir,” Phelps said.
He grinned at the rest of the team, then led them down to the barracks. Rachel was almost disappointed. The prefabricated barracks could have been on any world, as if the locals hadn’t bothered to reconfigure or replace them over the years. Perhaps it was deliberate, she considered. They’d want to encourage newcomers to get settled elsewhere as quickly as possible. She dropped her knapsack on the bunk - there was nothing in it worth stealing, save for a change of clothes - and glanced into the common room. A handful of evacuees were watching the idiot box. Her lips quirked in disgust as she realised it was a particularly soppy romantic comedy. The lead actress apparently had it written into her contracts that she had to take off her top at least four times per flick.
I’m sure the scriptwriters find it difficult to write around, she thought, sarcastically. And we’ll find it just as hard to tear ourselves away from the box ourselves.
They exchanged hand signals, then set out to tour the barracks complex. It was just as she’d expected. A handful of buildings, a concrete play area designed for children - she had the feeling that whoever had designed it really hated children - and a single dining hall, all surrounded by chain-link fencing and armed guards. She silently counted them as she assessed the situation, trying to decide how best to leave the compound. Getting over the fence and taking the guards wouldn’t be a problem. Doing it without their absence being noticed would be a great deal harder.
We might have no choice, she thought, as they went back to the barracks and checked for pickups. The locals weren’t even trying to hide them. She wasn’t surprised to find a dozen in the bathroom block, all carefully positioned so they peered down into the showers. And the sooner we get out of here, the better.
“We leave at nightfall,” Phelps signalled. “And hide ourselves in the big city.”
“Go west,” Perkins signalled back. He jabbed a hand towards the distant river, on the other side of the fence. “Let them think we drowned.”
“Good thinking,” Phelps signalled. “Once we’re out of here, we should be able to hide.”
Rachel nodded, then hurried up to the roof and looked over the city. The barracks wasn’t that big, but she still managed to get a good view. The other barracks were being crammed with refugees and, beyond them, thousands more refugees crowded the streets. She couldn’t see many guards, beyond the handful surrounding the complex. She doubted the locals had enough manpower to secure the streets. There was a faint sense of unease in the air, a sense the shit could hit the fan at any time. She smiled, knowing what it meant. The government’s grip on its city was weakening.
They ate a dinner that was almost, but not quite, inedible, then returned to their bunks and waited for night to fall. The locals seemed oddly slack, as if they thought they had too many problems elsewhere to worry about a handful of refugees. Rachel was surprised they hadn’t crammed more people into their barracks. She watched the others go to sleep, then joined the rest of the team as they crept into the darkness. The door wasn’t locked. She supposed the locals assumed the chain-link fence would be enough to keep the refugees from getting lost in the city. Instead, it barely posed a problem. Rachel scrambled over it with ease. The two guards within eyesight never knew what hit them.
“Got their guns.” Bonkowski snickered. “They use palm-readers, sir.”
Rachel snorted. The government probably thought that keying their guns to a single authorised user - or a handful of authorised users - would keep them from falling into unfriendly hands. It would work too, if the unfriendly hands didn’t know how to bypass the security system. She doubted it would take more than a few minutes with a toolkit to make sure anyone could fire the guns. Hell, the system might have been jury-rigged already. The palm-readers were notoriously unreliable. Even the Imperial Army had never adopted them in combat.
“They’ll be after us when they realise the guards are missing,” Phelps said. He turned and led them away from the barracks. “Let’s go.”
Rachel nodded to herself as they hurried into the darkness, heading straight for the centre of town. In her experience, the middle and upper class sections tended to be the easiest places to hide. There were fewer friendly people there, fewer people who might look away and keep their mouths shut, but the police were often reluctant to really ransack the place. They could break into a house, steal enough clothes and supplies to change their appearance completely and then ... do whatever they had to do. If the briefing officers had been right, if General Taggard had been telling the truth ...
Don’t get ahead of yourself, she thought, sharply. First things first, in that order.
They stayed in the shadows as they headed west, deeper into the city. The towering warehouses and barracks were rapidly replaced by apartment blocks, then middle-class accommodation. Haverford had been designed for working professionals, she guessed. There was a curfew, but hardly anyone seemed to be honouring it. She didn’t see many policemen - or soldiers - on the streets. Crime didn’t look to be on the rise ... not yet, anyway. It was just a matter of time. People would start stealing because they were desperate and things would go downhill from there.
