Picking Up the Pieces

Chapter Ten

“All right,” I said, to the room at large. “Here they come.”

We prepared as best as we could on the first floor. There were only three ways up to our level and we’d guarded them all. Anyone climbing up the stairs would be at a distant disadvantage, but they’d also be able to hurl grenades up towards us. I didn’t know what weapons they’d have, but if they’d looted a UNPF deport they probably had everything we had and more besides.

I drew my pistol and held it by my side. The reaction of some of the politicians was amusing, but I didn’t have time to enjoy it, even though they looked as if I were holding a snake in my hand. I motioned for them to head up to the second floor, but I didn’t dare move the President any more. I was rather surprised he wasn’t dead yet, but it seemed that he was just hanging on. I heard shouts and shooting as the communists broke into the ground floor, but none of it was directed. They didn’t know where we were, but I doubted it would take them long to realise we were up one flight of stairs.

Peter stepped up to me, clutching his own pistol. “Make each shot count, sir,” he muttered. “If we’d had a few dozen mines and the time to deploy them…”

I nodded. One of the standard training tests for the Specials — and my people, once I had a chance to develop it — consisted of breaking into a building that had been converted into an armed fortress. It was a thoroughly dangerous exercise and it wasn’t uncommon to end up with real fatalities. If we’d had time, we could have made the Communists pay a high price for breaking in and killing us, but we’d only had seconds. Even a few mines would have deterred them from pushing us too hard.

“We can’t surrender,” I muttered back. The Communists might want to take the politicians alive so they could be forced to stand down and surrender the planet, but Peter and I were expendable. The Legion would seek revenge for our deaths, but if the Communists took control of the Government, they’d order the Legion out and ask Fleet to back it up with force if need be. What would Ed, or Russell, do then? “Whatever happens, we go out shooting.”

A crash heralded the Communists as they broke through the locked door at the bottom of the stairs. I wasn’t too surprised. It wasn’t as if it was hard to find. I nodded to one of the Svergie soldiers and he tipped a drinks cabinet down the stairs towards the first Communist. I heard a scream over the noise of breaking glass and smiled to myself. That was one Communist who’d drink nothing, but tea for the rest of his life. The sound of curses echoed up to us, followed by two quick shots. I don’t know what they thought they were shooting at. The bullets didn’t go anywhere near us.

“You up there,” a voice shouted, loudly enough to shake the walls. A distant explosion somewhere in the city underlined his words. “We have the building surrounded and there’s no escape. No one is coming to save your sorry butts. If you give up now, we won’t kill you.”

“Fuck off and die,” I snapped, and squeezed off a single shot down the stairs. I heard a scream, but I couldn’t tell if I’d actually hit anyone or if they’d merely been surprised by the shot. I hoped that his words hadn’t demoralised the other soldiers, or the politicians; I knew that Ed was on the way, even if they didn’t. The only question was what would get in his way. “If you want us, come and get us.”

I heard muttering downstairs and struggled to listen, but it was in a dialect I didn’t understand. “Their leader is telling them to assault up the stairs,” one of the soldiers translated. “The others are telling him to set the building on fire and pull out.”

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath. I’d been more stunned than I realised. Would the Communists actually set fire to the building? It was partly built out of wood in a very old style and would go up like a furnace. We couldn’t hope to escape until the helicopters arrived to save us. I keyed my earpiece and called Jock. “Jock, come in.”

“Here,” Jock said, his voice very composed. I guessed that that meant they were far too close to the enemy and subvocalising to avoid being heard. “They’re milling about, sir, trying to decide what to do.”

“I noticed,” I said. “Can you watch out for any attempt to burn us out and distract them if they try?”

“I can try,” Jock confirmed, slowly. “It won’t be easy to intervene. The whole area is crawling with the bastards.”

“Do what you can,” I said, and broke the connection. I thought about calling Ed, but increasingly desperate pleas wouldn’t get him here any faster. The helicopters would be on their way and I spared a moment to pray for the civilians caught near then when they attacked. I hoped that the ordinary citizens were hiding in their homes, away from the chaos, but I knew that many of them would have been caught out on the streets. Some of them might even be caught up in the fighting as Ed punched his way into the city. “What are they saying now?”

“They’ve gone quiet,” the soldier said. I looked at his nametag. It read ‘Jörgen Hellqvist,’ while his rank badge marked him as a Lieutenant. He was clearly scared out of his mind, yet still holding it together, somehow. He’d go far, unless something killed him first. “I think they’re mulling over what to do.”

I nodded. A military unit would have hit all of the ways up at the same time, clearing the way ruthlessly with grenades and softening fire. The downside of a citizen militia, which the Communists probably thought they were, was that they weren’t always keen on taking insane risks. Local discipline would probably be a problem for their commanders, even if they were dedicated and loyal. The longer they spent worrying about what they should do, the better.

“They’re coming,” Peter snapped suddenly. An instant later, a grenade detonated at the bottom of the stairs, clearing the remains of the drinks cabinet out of the way. The same happened at the other stairs, allowing the first group of enemy fighters to attack and make their way up to the first floor. We greeted them with a round of shots and sent the first ones tumbling backwards, but the second group threw additional grenades ahead of them. I kicked one back down the stairwell and it exploded among the enemy, but another one nearly killed us all. We were only saved by a young private who threw himself on the grenade and took the brunt of the blast. We owed him our lives, yet we didn’t even know his name. I silently promised him a grave fit for a war hero and a posthumous promotion, but for the moment all we could do was fight.

“Keep them back,” I snapped. The enemy were hampered by the small size of the stairwells, but if they knew how short we were on ammunition, they’d press the attack regardless. The muttering from downstairs was growing louder, with a sharper undertone, but they didn’t seem any less determined. I heard faint noises I couldn’t identify, no matter how hard I listened, but in the distance, I could hear more explosions. Someone was tearing the entire city apart.

My earpiece buzzed suddenly. “Boss, this is Eye-Spy,” a voice said, sharply. I recognised it and blinked in surprise. Eye-Spy was the code name for Commander Daniel Webster. “We’re over your position. Be advised that the helicopters are about to make their final approach now, but enemy have portable SAM units; I repeat, the enemy have portable SAM units.”

“I heard,” I said, silently cursing Fleet under my breath. If that was all they would do, then how much use was the destroyer, high overhead? It might as well have been thousands of light years away. They couldn’t tell the difference between the terrorists attacking us and the civilians trying to flee in terror, away from the nightmare their city had become. “Thank you.”

I altered the earpiece and called Jock. “Jock, where are the helicopters?”

“Just coming in now,” Jock said. “One of them was engaged by a portable missile and had to sheer off, firing flares, to escape. No vehicles lost as yet, but the enemy are moving up more of their own men and trying to get into firing position.”

The roar of the helicopter blades suddenly broke in through the windows and deafened us all. I used hand signals, warning Peter and the others to keep a sharp eye on the stairwell, knowing that the enemy might use the distraction to attack. A pair of heavy helicopters drifted into view, their weapons blazing away at targets on the ground, and I allowed myself a moment of relief. That lasted barely a second before a SAM smashed into the lead helicopter and sent it crashing to the ground in flames.

“Shit, boss,” Jock said, grimly. “They brought her down and killed everyone. No one got out, sir.”

“Fuck,” I said, as a wave of tiredness swept over me. They built the little helicopters tough, but a missile at point-blank range, or close enough to ignore the difference, would always be lethal. There would be no hope of escape in the seconds it took for them to die. I rekeyed my earpiece. “Got nuts; I repeat, go nuts.”

The helicopters took me at my word and opened fire with furious abandon. Every building that could have hidden an enemy sniper or heavy weapon was ruthlessly hosed down, devastating the centre of town. I found myself hoping that Svergie didn’t send us the bill afterwards… or that they didn’t blame us for the civilians who would be caught up in the fire and killed. The rockets, normally designed for use on tanks and armoured bunkers, made short work of the surrounding area. The flames were already spreading out of control.

“That’s half the city on fire, looks like,” Peter commented, from his position. I desperately hoped that he was wrong. Between us and the Communists, we’d done more to render the city uninhabitable than the UN. “Do you think that the fire department can get a crew out here in time to save the rest of the buildings?”

“Fuck, no,” I said. The helicopters were very close now, the larger ones dropping down towards the roof. “Keep an eye on…”

The enemy down below took the opportunity to launch another rush attack, which we beat back soundly, losing two more of our number. A ricochet took out a politician who had insisted on staying on the first floor, rather than heading upstairs to the relative safety of the second floor, and we laid his body out next to the President. I looked into Suki’s eyes and saw her growing fear, but she was still in control. I heard the first soldier arriving on the roof and felt a moment of relief. We were no longer alone.

“F Unit, sir,” someone called down from the third floor. “King takes Bishop, Knight’s Move.”

“Advance and be recognised,” I said, coldly. The soldier stepped into the light, his assault rifle slung across his shoulder, and I allowed myself to relax as I recognised Captain Kendrick. The code phases weren’t perfect, but they were the best we had. Expensive IFF equipment had a tendency to fail when we needed it. The rest of his men soon followed and looked ready for orders. “Take position at the head of the stairs and advance downwards when ready.”

The team of medics who followed him were almost more welcome than the reinforcements. Doctor Patrick Keegan examined the President quickly and professionally, inspecting the wound and muttering curses under his breath before injecting the President with a small fortune’s worth of drugs. I waited as patiently as I could for the report, while Kendrick led his men down the stairs and into the teeth of the Communist position. He had some advantages over the Communists. His men were all wearing heavy body armour and had training in MOUT — Military Operations in Urban Terrain. It was still deadly dangerous and four of his men — my men — went into body bags before the remainder of the Communists were flushed out and killed. None even tried to surrender. I wondered at that, before I realised they’d probably been told that we’d torture prisoners to gain whatever information they had, even though I would never have permitted torture except as a desperate measure.

“The President is a very strong man,” the Doctor said, finally. “He’s also seriously injured. The bullet is pressing on his lung and the damage is threatening to cause serious complications, even with the drugs I’ve pumped into his bloodstream to slow the collapse. He’s damn lucky to be alive and we have to get him to a clinic.”

I swore, even though I’d expected that. “How long can we wait?”

“Not long,” the Doctor said. “If the damage gets worse, the odds are that he’ll die here on this cold floor. We can’t wait long before we have to operate.” He hesitated for a moment. “I might have to operate here.”

“Do so,” I ordered tightly. The noise of battle echoed again from the outside. Someone was launching mortar shells at someone else, although it didn’t seem as if we were the targets. The CRUMP-CRUMP-CRUMP of the incoming shells seemed to be coming from the other side of the river. I wondered who was shooting and at what, before it dawned on me that they had to be trying to impede Ed from reaching us. They might even succeed. MOUT is the worst form of military operation, although Fleet’s Marines, used to boarding starships in space, might just disagree. “Suki, help him as much as you can.”

I turned and headed down the stairs. Now that the reinforcements were here, I could leave them taking care of the politicians — one of which was demanding that the medic see to him at once, never mind the President — and see what remained of the stadium. Peter’s horrified expression made me smile inwardly, before he ordered a pair of heavily-armed soldiers to escort me everywhere and protect my life. I wished that I didn’t need a bodyguard, but I had to bow to his logic. The Communists certainly wanted me dead.

“What a mess,” I said, as we stepped down onto the ground floor. The fighting had torn the area apart, leaving nothing, but wreckage and dead bodies. The noise wasn’t so loud down here, but I could still hear the helicopters as they dealt death to anyone who threatened us… and the sound of explosions and gunshots in the distance. It sounded as if the entire city was at war, against us… or each other. I’d been in city-fighting before, but this was different; now that we’d pushed the Communists away from the Government buildings, it was as if the civil war was flowing around us without touching our lives. It was… strange, almost uncanny.

I keyed my earpiece. “Jock, come in,” I ordered. “What’s going on out there?”

“The fighting seems to be shifting towards the industrial regions,” Jock said. A shriek followed by a massive explosion underscored his words. “Sir, they just took out a transport helicopter.”

I winced. There’d be time enough to mourn later. One expensive helicopter and an irreplaceable crew had just died. The sound of shooting and rockets being fired grew louder and, unable to prevent myself, I stepped outside, to find that I was standing in a pile of wreckage. Dead bodies were everywhere, the stink of blood and piss and shit was almost overpowering… I had never gotten used to it, no matter what my trainers had promised. This was what happened when the military world interacted badly with the civilian world.

“They’re going to burn for this,” I promised. The growing black smoke rising up from the city smelt of fire and burning bodied. “The people responsible for this will pay in blood and suffering.”

“Stay back, sir,” one of the soldiers warned. I knew better than to object. Standing orders concerning bodyguard duties authorised everything, including physical force, to prevent the protected person from being endangered. They’d knock me down and sit on me if they had to. I couldn’t even object. I’d drawn up the rules myself. “The Captain’s on his way now.”

I heard the approaching convoy and allowed myself to be escorted back into shelter, watching as the first vehicles rounded the corner and sped towards us. The light tanks parked in a position to cover the area, while the men of A Company dismounted from their trucks and rushed to secure the area. Ten minutes later, we held the area surrounding Government House and it was over. The remaining Communists had retreated, leaving nothing, but devastation behind.

But I could still hear fighting in the distance.

Ed jumped out of a vehicle and marched over to me, before nodding respectfully. Salutes were forbidden in a combat zone. “Sir,” he said. “Captain-General Nolte, I presume?”

I cracked up laughing.