Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Might

There was a click, loud enough to be heard over the communications network, then a colossal explosion. The three Blackshirts who had taken point were blown backwards, their armoured bodies tossed out of the passageway like ragdolls. Their successors opened fire, raking the burning corridor with bursts of plasma fire. As far as Jackson could tell, there was nothing there now the IED had detonated, but they were trained and conditioned to respond to any provocation with maximum force. It helped deter future attacks, their conditioners had claimed. Jackson had his doubts.

“Cease fire,” he snapped, angrily. He didn’t manage to keep the anger out of his voice. “Hold your fucking fire!”

The Blackshirts slowly stopped firing. Their shots had left the corridor scorched and pitted, but otherwise undamaged. Jackson muttered another curse under his breath, then detailed the Blackshirts to start advancing forward again, carefully. The first IED probably wouldn’t be the last and, unlike operating in the open, the corridors ensured that the Blackshirts would follow a predicable course. It would be easy for the underground to mine all the approaches to the complex.

A second explosion blasted out ahead of him as the Blackshirts stumbled over another IED. This time, no one was hurt. Jackson let out a sigh of relief as they broke into the complex and looked around. It seemed deserted, but closer inspection revealed that someone had definitely been in the complex not too long ago. There was almost no dust on the floor. In fact, he decided, the signs suggested that there had been quite a few people in the complex.

“This seems to have been an operating base,” he said, keying his radio. If something happened to the advance teams, their commanders would know that a rebel base had been uncovered. By now, every exit route should have been firmly secured. Either the rebels had abandoned the base… or they were frantically preparing to make a last stand. “So far, all we have encountered is traps, but there might be live rebels further down.”

“Understood,” his CO said. “If you can take some rebels alive, Jackson, there will be a promotion in it for you.”

Jackson nodded, then directed the Blackshirts to fan out. It was time to search the entire complex piece by piece. And if they found the rebels… they’d give them a nasty surprise.

Adeeba gritted her teeth as they came out of the pipe and found themselves looking at a vast reservoir. Once, she recalled, the city’s water supply would have been drawn from this huge tank of water, then pumped up through a network of pipes and then recycled after use. Now, the tank had been walled over and forgotten by the city’s officials. The only source of illumination was a faint glow from high overhead. She caught a glimpse of something moving under the water and wondered, suddenly, if entirely new forms of life had had time to evolve. Or if the rebels, trying to ensure a secure food supply, had introduced fish into the tank.

“Here,” Gaunt said, passing her a breathing mask. “Stick your shoes in the bag, then put the mask on and get ready to swim.”

Frandsen scowled. “Where are we going?”

Gaunt gave him a brilliant grin, her teeth shining in the semi-darkness. “There’s a passageway under the water,” she informed him. “We can use it to get out.”

She checked Adeeba’s mask, then smiled. “You have two hours worth of air in the mask,” she added. “If we don’t get out by then, they’ll never find our bodies.”

Frandsen gave her a reassuring look as Gaunt turned and jumped into the water. There was a loud splash — deafeningly loud in the silent compartment — and then Gaunt surfaced, waving at them to follow her. Adeeba hesitated, standing on the edge of the water, then felt a push on her back. She tilted and plummeted into the water. It was cold, cold enough to make her shiver; her clothes suddenly felt very heavy. Frandsen joined her a moment later, then nodded to Gaunt. The underground fighter dived under the water and vanished.

Adeeba took a breath, even though she knew the mask should take care of her, then followed. It was hard to see Gaunt in the gloom; tiny fish swam nearby, confusing her. Dark shapes appeared as she swam deeper, some of them unrecognisable and others familiar enough for her imagination to fill in the details. She couldn’t help shivering again as Gaunt led her towards a pipe, then dived right inside. Adeeba hesitated — she was no claustrophobe, but the pipe seemed too small for anything human — and then followed Gaunt, trying not to think about where she was.

It felt like hours before they finally came out of the pipe. The darkness pressed around her like a living thing; it was a relief when they saw glimmers of light in the distance. Gaunt swam upwards as soon as they reached the end; Adeeba followed her, gasping as her head broke the surface. They seemed to have come out in a giant swimming pool, although it looked as disused as the reservoir. But there were working lights in the ceiling…

“Get out of the water,” Gaunt ordered, as she clambered up the ladder and out of the pool. “We’ll need to dry ourselves, then run for it.”

“Understood,” Adeeba said. The whole experience seemed to have become a nightmare. She would sooner have been on a starship hulk than go swimming through the pipes again. “Where are we?”

“This used to be a famous resort,” Gaunt said. “That was centuries ago, of course.”

“Of course,” Adeeba agreed.

Jackson was starting to think that the rebels had definitely abandoned the complex before the Blackshirts had arrived. Apart from a handful of IEDs, they’d found no one — and nothing that they could use to find other rebel bases. Indeed, it looked as though the underground had been very careful to strip out anything that could be used to locate other bases. They were normally careful, but there was usually something . This time, there was nothing.

“There are forensic teams on the way,” his CO said. He’d been logging onto the command network and nagging for results, then logging off before Jackson could work up the nerve to point out that nagging him wasn’t exactly productive. “Secure the complex, then clear the way for them.”

“Understood,” Jackson said. He checked his HUD — the Blackshirts had swept the entire complex — then nodded. “We’ll wait for them here.”

He couldn’t help wondering just what the underground had been thinking. Sure, life on Earth wasn’t good, but they could easily emigrate to another planet. There were colony missions departing all the time. Or they could get proper jobs. Jackson himself hadn’t whined about unfairness when he’d finally grown old enough to seek employment, he’d gone out and looked for work. And when they’d decided that he was suited to be a Blackshirt supervising officer, he’d been certain of a good career. There was no reason the underground couldn’t do the same.

Probably they prefer to whine instead of actually doing something to improve their lives , Jackson thought, as the Blackshirts returned to the centre of the complex. It had been certified IED-free after a quick check. Or knock us down rather than build themselves up …

There was a dull rumble in the distance. Jackson blinked in surprise, wondering if someone had discovered another IED, then frowned as he realised that the rumbling was actually getting closer . Had the bastards managed to collapse the ceiling? It was solid, according to the briefing; the city’s designers had made it’s foundations out of the strongest material they’d had at the time. It would take a nuke to do real damage…

And then he saw the water, rushing through the corridors and coming right at him.