Battle Earth IX (Book 9)

by Nick S. Thomas

  "All right, we're in luck. You ready for this?"

  They all nodded in agreement as they stood in a firing line beside the door.

  "We've only got one shot at this, so you make sure they don't fly again...three...two...one!"

  He hit the door release, causing it to quickly slide across and reveal the alien fighter matching their speed alongside them.

  "Fire!"

  All six of them stood side-by-side and opened up on full auto. Several dozen shots had peppered the hull of the ship that was little larger than their copter. The engines quickly fired, but as it began to move away, they kept up the vicious barrage of fire into the rear of the ship's engines. A small explosion caused fragments to break off the rear hull, and smoke began to belch out.

  "Get us moving!" Jones shouted.

  Taylor was still firing, looking back until the craft passed beyond range. They both took a look out of the door. It was diving towards the sea and finally plunged into the water. Jones hit the door button and slumped back down into a seat with a sigh of relief.

  "Not a bad plan," said Taylor.

  Jones nodded in agreement. "Improvise and overcome, is that not what you always said?"

  "Bet your ass."

  Taylor went back to the cockpit and looked out once more. In the distance, he could see dozens of black shapes on the horizon.

  "What the hell are they?"

  "That's the enemy," replied Rains in surprise.

  "That far north?"

  He turned around. "Britain must be under attack if they're this far north of France."

  "I'd be astonished if she wasn't," Jones said.

  "And you can live with that and keep doing your job?"

  "I wasn't aware it was our job we were doing here?"

  "No, but you know what I mean."

  The other Brits all looked to Jones for answers, as they were all clearly anxious.

  "War is on all over the World. Doesn't matter where we fight, just that we win," he replied.

  Taylor gestured for Jones to come up to the cockpit. He obliged but groaned as he got to his feet.

  "What is it?" Jones asked.

  Mitch leaned in close and spoke quietly.

  "All this we're doing, all of it to get your family out of a warzone. What about theirs?" he asked, pointing over to troops who had come with them.

  Jones was stunned and speechless. Taylor could already see a little shame in his eyes for thinking only of himself.

  "They have given everything for us, everything for you. Shall we not pay it back in kind?"

  Jones coughed to clear his throat.

  "What have you got in mind?"

  "Their families, all those of the Brits amongst the Regiment, they all lived on base, right?"

  "Near enough."

  "Then that's where we're heading, once we've done our job."

  "That's probably fifty families. What are we gonna do with them?"

  "We'll find a ship, and we'll make it happen."

  "And when we get back to Pittsburgh? We'd be spiriting them away from one warzone, only to take them to another."

  "But it would give them hope, something which is sorely lacking, right now."

  Jones shook his head. "It's crazy."

  "So is flying half way across the World to rescue one women and her unborn child."

  He couldn't disagree. "All right, all right."

  "Then you tell them."

  Jones nodded in agreement and turned back to the others.

  "You've gone far beyond what I could ever, or should ever have asked of you. I do not doubt many more among our Regiment would have given it their all, but it is you four who are here with us. You are helping me to save my family, and I intend to return the favour."

  "What do you mean, Sir?" Wood asked.

  "I mean I fully intend to try and get all our families out. Once we're done in France, we'll head back to base and round up all the families we can, and who wants to come with us."

  "But why?" asked Evans.

  "Because they are counting on us for safety, and we're not giving it to them. The World is in tatters. Let's be sure to protect what we have."

  "Britain isn't lost, is it, Sir?" asked Lewis.

  Jones shook his head.

  "We're going into France because the country is on its knees, but if Britain is still in the fight, I say let 'em stay."

  Jones turned back to Taylor who seemed shocked by the response.

  "Can't force them," he said to the Colonel.

  It certainly made their lives a little easier, as the logistical nightmare was already giving him a headache even before he considered the risks involved of such an operation.

  "How long till we reach Meaux?" Jones asked Rains.

  "About twenty minutes, providing we don't hit any more trouble. I'll be hugging the coastline as long as I can."

  A flash lit up the cockpit. "Holy shit!" Rains swore loudly.

  Jones and Taylor rushed to his side. He was looking down at a battle raging below to the south.

  "Guess there is some fight left in France, after all."

  Rains banked a little for them to get a better view. For several kilometres, they could see burning wrecks of vehicles from both sides and trench works where troops still fought on, although there seemed little clarity as to where the lines were. It looked more like small skirmishes scattered about the remnants of the epic battle that had been fought there so recently.

  "Poor bastards," whispered Jones.

  "Same all over, nothing we can do for 'em," replied Taylor.

  They carried on silently for their target and awaited some news from Rains.

  "That's it!" he finally yelled, "We're on the final stretch to Meaux."

  "How does it look?"

  "Like a mess, Jones."

  He was studying his scanners, but the readings were still being jammed.

  "There's a battle going on there, for sure. You want me to put down?"

  "No, you let us out and find somewhere safe to wait."

  "Safe? You're kidding, right? But you'll have no way to contact me," he replied, looking across at a map on a screen beside them, "I'll put down here," he indicated at a small opening between trees several kilometres north of the base, "If I have to bug out at any point, I'll be airborne and looking for you."

  "Not exactly a well structured plan."

  "Was any of this?" Taylor asked.

  As they flew in towards the base, they could already see Mechs advancing from the west. They had occupied more than a quarter of the base while skirmishes went on throughout many other areas.

  "You'll be jumping into a shitstorm," said Rains.

  "What's new?" Taylor replied.

  "All right, get us over the main walls and let us out there. We'll go the rest of the way on foot."

  "You sure?"

  "You don't want to get in this fight. We need you and this bird in one piece."

  "Yeah, well I'll try to keep her that way. But it seems every time I take Taylor somewhere, he gets us blown to hell."

  Taylor and Jones stepped back towards the others and opened the door as they came in. Wind gushed into the crew compartment as they all got to their feet.

  "We stay together throughout, and keep it tight!" Jones gave the order.

  Rains lifted the nose and put power down on the landing thrusters to bring them to an abrupt halt so that they could jump together. Jones didn't say a word. He simply took a leap out of the door, and the others soon followed. As Taylor hit the ground, he immediately looked back at the copter. Rains got off safely, quickly soaring away, and hugging the ground at the same height he had dropped them off at.

  Then he turned his attention to their surroundings. They had landed amongst a number of shipping crates, and they could hear a lot of shouting around them. They lifted their rifles and raised shields in a circle. They could tell they had incoming and had nowhere to go.

  A dozen troops rushed into the grouping of containers but did n
ot fire. One was shouting, "Identify yourselves!" in a thick French accent.

  Jones immediately lowered his shield and rifle and stepped out in full view, without any concern, and Taylor felt compelled to do the same. The man who had been screaming at them seemed even more surprised to recognise them than he was by their sudden appearance.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, turning to his troops and ordering their weapons down. Their group relaxed and took relief in finding friendly forces.

  "Captain Charlie Jones, and this is Colonel Mitch Taylor, Inter..."

  "I know who you are," replied the Sergeant excitedly, "We need all the help we can get. You couldn't have come at a better time."

  Jones looked to Taylor. He felt for the troops who looked like they were going through hell. He tried to think of a way of explaining it.

  "Where is the rest of your unit?"

  "This is it," replied Jones.

  The Sergeant turned to Taylor for answers, but Taylor was already giving them before he could open his mouth to ask them.

  "France is falling. You must see that. We're here to get one of our own out, and then we're out of here. You should do the same."

  The Sergeant was shocked.

  "I'm sorry, but we have a mission to accomplish, and we must get on," stated Jones.

  With that, he strode forward and in between the Frenchmen, who were left stunned and bewildered. Taylor felt sick to be leaving them to fend for themselves. He didn't recognise a single one of them, but he'd bet good money he'd fought alongside them at one time or another.

  "That was cold," he muttered to Jones.

  "This is war. We do what we have to do."

  Taylor had rarely seen him so determined in all his life, except for after his recovery from the enemy prison camp. His bitter determination had led him to near death then, and it was a warning sign Taylor knew he should take note of, and yet could not find a way to act upon.

  Pulses smashed the ground throughout the base, but none came closer than fifty metres to the small group. They could hear the fiercest fighting was still going on to the east.

  "You know that's where we gotta go?" asked Taylor.

  Jones nodded as they took a turn and headed right for it.

  "Then let's hope the hospital hasn't been overrun," he replied.

  "Hope? I got room for a whole lotta hope, but it seems to be what we're living off these days, and it can't carry us through."

  "Why? Why can't it?" insisted Jones.

  They passed a line of wounded who were being patched up ready to go back into action, and several platoons were going the same direction as them. Nobody even noticed their presence or identity, for they looked no different than any other soldier there.

  "Vive la France! Vive la France!" a voice called out.

  They looked over at an officer doing his utmost to spur the troops on as he led them forward to join the fight. He was portly for a field officer, and old too. Then they realised it was Dupont, fully armoured and equipped and with rifle in hand. It was the most substantial sign of the times.

  "Oh, shit, things must be bad," said Taylor.

  Jones ignored it and carried on, but Taylor was right. They both knew that when a General was forced to take up arms at the frontline, it was the beginning of the end.

  "There it is!" Taylor shouted.

  Jones said nothing as he continued onwards in his laconic determined fashion.

  We’re almost there! Please be there, please be there, and please be alive! Taylor thought.

  It was a straight road leading to the hospital that lay to the northern side of the road. They were just a hundred metres from the door when a building to the south side collapsed, and an enemy tank burst out from the wreckage to block the road. Troops scattered as its turret was brought to bear on them.

  "Get down!" Taylor screamed.

  The others jumped for cover but not Jones. Before he could take another step, Taylor grabbed him, tossing him into an alleyway for cover and leaping after him. A pulse burst where they had stood seconds before, and two French soldiers who had made a break for cover were vaporised.

  Jones was sitting up against a wall, and Taylor leapt on him, grabbing the collar of his armour. He smacked his helmet to get his attention, as he seemed to be in some haze of a dream world.

  "We're getting her back, but not like this!" yelled Taylor, "I promise you we'll get her back, but not at the cost of any of our lives! I've seen you like this before, and I don't like it. Don't throw your life away because you're too embittered to think straight!"

  Taylor smacked his helmet once more.

  "I need your head in the game. I need Captain Jones, the soldier in you, not the single minded headstrong fool who would die through his own pig headedness!"

  Jones seemed to take note of the comments and was surprised by the verbal assault that no one had ever levelled at him with such vigour.

  "Now, on your feet and follow me!"

  Taylor hauled him upwards and immediately jumped the wall, landing on a flat roof. They were looking down on the vast armoured vehicle that was still pounding the street below. They knew they had to move quickly. Taylor ran and jumped onto the next rooftop, and then another, before stopping to see a gaping hole in the second floor of the hospital ahead.

  "Ah, shit," he said to himself, and he ran and jumped for the hole, hoping for the best. He tumbled in through the hole and barrelled into a hospital bed that was knocked aside before another finally stopped him. The other five tumbled in just as ungraciously as he had. As they got to their feet, they found themselves surrounded by bodies. The explosion that created their entry point had killed every patient in the room, as well as a doctor and several orderlies.

  Jones went frantically from one body to another to check none were Coco, and eventually looked back at Taylor in relief.

  "Come on, we need to move fast."

  Taylor led them out into the corridor where staff ran back and forth still doing their jobs as if it were just another day. They passed the burnt out wrecked room as if it were not there. As one nurse rushed past, Taylor grabbed her arm and stopped her dead in her tracks. She opened her mouth to complain, but on seeing his rank and grizzled state, held her tongue.

  "We're looking for a Sergeant Coco Dubois."

  "I'll, I'll have to check the records."

  Taylor released his grip and allowed her to lead the way.

  She stepped up to a console on the wall and tapped a few buttons before turning back to them.

  "I'm sorry, but she's been checked out."

  "By who?" Jones demanded.

  Taylor half expected it to be Dubois herself, ever persistent to join the fight.

  If only that were the case, he thought, as the nurse continued.

  "It says she was checked out just a few moments ago under the supervision of Major Martin."

  "Martin?" Jones queried.

  Taylor thought on it for a moment and began shaking his head.

  "If it's the same Martin, he's one of them, a clone!"

  Jones face turned to horror, and he rushed through the ward with the others chasing him. He was heading for the nearest outlook over the frontage of the building; Taylor only two paces behind him. They rushed into a busy ward, stopping when they reached a window looking out onto the road. They spotted Coco immediately. She was walking on her own feet and being pushed along by a couple of humans dressed as French officers. Mechs surrounded them as they approached a small transport craft that had put down between several armoured vehicles.

  "They're taking her, no!" he screamed at the top of his voice.

  Jones reversed his rifle and smashed the window out with it. He put his foot on the edge to climb out, but Taylor got a hold and pulled him back. Jones turned and shoved Taylor back and tried again. Taylor was just as quick and hauled him inside once again. But as he was pushed back as before, he was backed against a wall and found Jones' rifle forced against his chin.

  "Don't y
ou stop me!" he cried.

  Taylor kept a firm grip on Jones and would not let him move.

  "You can save her. We can save her, but not now. We've lost this battle, but not the war. I will not let you die needlessly!"

  Jones looked back to the window, and he could see the ship lift off and soar into the distance. He lowered his rifle.

  "I've lost her," he said soulfully.

  His shoulders were hunched, and he had the look of a defeated man.

  "No," replied Taylor, "She's alive, and so are we. We'll find a way. Whatever we have to do, we'll do it. We'll get her back."

  Chapter 8

  Jones sat on the floor, looking helpless. The others fired from positions at the window ledges onto the Mechs below.

  "Jones, come on!" Taylor ordered.

  Patients were being wheeled out by orderlies, and occasional pulses raced through the room. They kept their heads down. Taylor ducked down to put a fresh magazine in, but as he jumped back to his position, he could see the turret of the tank turn and begin elevating towards them. He quickly looked back to the others.

  "Run!" he shouted.

  He rushed towards Jones and grabbed him, dragging him towards the archway leading to the corridor. A few seconds later, the room flashed with a blinding light, and they were thrown forwards. Taylor plummeted right through an interior wall that did little to slow him down. As the dust began to settle, he got to his feet. All of them had made it, but the room they had been in was devastated. The floor had collapsed onto people below, and part of the ceiling was also missing. They could see right out to the enemy positions and soon rushed to cover.

  "What are we gonna do?" asked Robinson.

  Taylor paused to think for a moment; there seemed to be no easy answer. He looked down at Jones, who still seemed oblivious to the danger around them. He looked up and asked.

  "Why did they take her?"

  Taylor hadn't had any time to think about it, but now his head was filled with sinister thoughts he’d rather not have there.

  "A whole hospital full of patients, a base full of soldiers, why her, Mitch?" Jones continued.

  "I doubt it is any coincidence," replied Taylor.

  "How do you mean, Sir?" Lewis asked.

  "You all know this Erdogan guy, whatever he is, wants to bring me down. It's not just about me. It's about us. It's about what our unit stands for, and what we're famed for. He wants to make us suffer for his own amusement and for all to see."