“Nine missiles scored direct hits,” Ed said, looking at the telemetry and the signals from the UAVs. “One crashed down in the suburbs and started a fire; I doubt that that’s going to make us very popular. And one of them caught a UAV in the fireball. It should have been vaporised, but the destruct system should have completed the job, just in case.”
I nodded. If the Communists captured a UAV, they’d know how they were being watched and start shooting all of the birds out of the sky. “Fire the second set of missiles,” I ordered, keying my earpiece. “Add Target Nine to the second firing list and fire at will.”
A second wave of cruise missiles crashed down on the city. The first wave of missiles had been targeted on known command posts. The second wave had been targeted on known strongpoints. We were taking the risk of heavy civilian casualties, but I wasn’t going to risk my men on cracking a heavily-defended city when massive applications of firepower would do the job. The feedback showed that, again, most of the missiles had scored direct hits. I’d hated facing cruise missiles myself, even with point defence systems, and the Communists had to be becoming demoralised. They might even be considering surrender.
“Launch the third set,” I ordered, again. This time, the missiles were targeted on their guard posts at the edge of the city. It was almost certain that some civilians would be caught in those blasts, if not the others, but it might just allow the survivors a chance to escape and run right into our arms. We’d take them all and interrogate them, learning everything they knew about the Communist position. It was amazing how much could be learned just by asking the right questions. Intelligence is the second most dangerous weapon in war. “Results?”
“I think we stunned them,” Ed said. “We shattered the guard posts and scouts report that there’s shooting from within the city. Their broadcasts seem to have cut off in the midst of blathering about the Communist Republic and how everything is going to be wine and roses forever.”
“Oh, what a shame,” I said, lifting my binoculars to my eyes and watching the massive black plumes of smoke as they rose into the air. The cruise missiles would not only have slaughtered most of the Communist leadership — and they might have killed the hostages as well — but they’d set parts of the city on fire. The Communists would have problems trying to organise resistance with the city burning down around their ears. “Transmit our message now.”
We’d recorded a message from Frida, not for the Communists, but for the innocent civilians caught in the midst of the fighting. It told them what was happening, promised them that the time of liberation was at hand, and ordered them to try and make their way out of the city. She’d wanted to tell them to remain in their homes and I had to admit that the idea was attractive, but we couldn’t run the risk of having people in positions where they might be mistaking for enemy combatants. The death toll was going to be high enough anyway. God alone knew how many people the cruise missiles had killed. The other part of the message warned them to come unarmed. Armed hostiles would be shot down in the streets.
“Message being transmitted now,” Ed said. We’d hijacked the local radio frequency, but it wasn’t a big loss; it had only been transmitting Communist bullshit. “Do you think anyone’s going to listen, sir?”
I shrugged. I’ve been through wars on a dozen planets and I liked to think that I was used to chaos. Combat isn’t like a disease, where a handful of doses can make you immune, but soldiers do develop a warrior mentality. The civilians wouldn’t be so used to the chaos and would probably remain cowering in their homes as long as possible. It made a pleasant change from Heinlein, in a way; there it seemed that everyone had had guns and even civilians had engaged entire UN Infantry Companies and forced them to retreat. It had been a thoroughly nasty war… and this one was shaping up to be worse.
“We can, but try, Ed,” I said, and meant it. “Order the first recon patrols to move down into the city and prepare to call in fire from the mortars.”
My earpiece roared in my ear. “God damn you, sir,” Jock’s voice bellowed. “You damn near killed me!”
“Ah… sorry?” I asked, dryly. “What’s going on in there?”
“You just kicked over a hornet’s nest and all the hornets are buzzing about looking for someone to sting,” Jock snapped, calming down slightly. “Your fucking missile nearly killed me in the blast!”
“You said,” I said, patiently. I had a million and one things to do, but I needed his report. “Did we kill the Communist leadership?”
“It doesn’t look like it,” Jock said, after a moment. “There’s still plenty of guys walking around issuing orders. It looks as if they’ve got the situation under control. I can’t find any trace of the prisoners yet — you do know you might have killed them?”
“I know,” I said. “And the civilian population?”
“Plenty of panic in places, but plenty of people just hiding indoors,” Jock reported. “I’d suggest pressing closer and trying to liberate parts of the city. The more chaos the better. Chaos is my friend.”
He cut the connection and I rubbed my ear before looking down at the display. The advance units had just reached the edge of the slums, mile upon miles of filthy squalid dwellings that had been used to house the new immigrants, and recoiled as the Communists opened fire on them. The newcomers had rapidly fallen to the bottom of the social pyramid and hated it, seeing themselves as the victims of discrimination. They might well have been right. The locals saw no reason to welcome the strangers the UN had fostered on them, seeing them as the UN’s attempt to weaken the planet and make it easier to rule. No wonder the Communists had done so well in recruiting them. They’d been the only game in town.
“They’re trying to hold us back,” Robert reported, as B Company fell back in good order. A hail of mortar shells rose from the slums and came crashing down in the general direction of my people; we answered with a wave of fire from our own mortars and a handful of long-range guns. It was a mystery why the UN had even brought them to the planet — they preferred to use KEWs to surprise ground-based defences and resistance — but they were worth their weight in gold and platinum. “It’s going to be hard to break through without the armoured vehicles.”
I swallowed a curse as the first IED exploded far too close to Robert’s position for comfort. “Tankers, this is HQ,” I ordered. “You are cleared to advance to your first positions. Do you copy?”
“Copy,” the lead tanker said. “We’re on our way now.”
I tilted the binoculars and saw the first tanks lumbering down towards the slums. The enemy noticed them as well and the tanks seemed to glitter as thousands of bullets slammed into the tanks, only to ricochet harmlessly away from the hull. The tanks couldn’t be hurt that easily, although the slums would provide plenty of places to hide IEDs or antitank weapons. Not for the first time, I cursed the weak planetary government; I believed in owning weapons, but there were limits. What else did the Communists have up their sleeves?
The tanks revolved and seemed to explode as they opened fire with all of their machine guns at once. The slums couldn’t take that weight of fire; they’d been constructed from cardboard to stolen bricks, wood taken from the nearby forests to the remains of burned-out UN vehicles. The shells cascaded through the slums and sent many of the ramshackle buildings crashing to the ground, crushing their occupants below the weight. The tankers showed little mercy to the handful of survivors crawling from the wreckage and mowed them down without hesitation.