C.R.O.W. (The Union Series)

by Richards, Phillip

  ‘Yes, Corporal,’ I agreed.

  He looked me up and down as if sizing me up, and then sighed in the same way my dad would sigh if I did something stupid, ‘Gym circuit training this morning, then more work up the stores. More ammo came in last night.’

  ‘Yes, Corporal,’ how much ammo could this ship hold? The ammo store was already stacked almost to the ceiling!

  Joe flicked his hand for me to go away, ‘Go on, then.’

  Later that morning Climo took me to the laundry drop off point, not far from the galley. Woody and Brown had looked across disapprovingly at Climo when we left, but said nothing, and Climo didn’t appear to notice.

  ‘There’s a board up outside Corporal Evans’ bulkhead where everything you need to know about the next day is written up, so just check that in the mornings,’ Climo explained as we walked with our bags slung over our shoulders around the circumference corridor. There was an awkward silence between us, and I sensed that Climo was torn between guilt for not helping me the day before and fear of reprisals from a trooper senior to him. Apart from the time he had spent on ship, and presumably an exercise or two, Climo wasn’t much more experienced as a trooper than I was, and not much more senior either. Perhaps he knew what I was going through, I thought, it couldn’t have been long since it had been him who had been at the bottom of the food chain, and possibly at the end of somebody’s fist.

  ‘What’s Corporal Evans like?’ I asked. He was the only one of the three section commanders I had noticed so far, and he was clearly revered and loved in equal measure by the platoon. Without him needing to say a word, people stepped out of his way in queues, and stiffened when he entered a room almost as if he were the OC himself.

  ‘He’s a living legend,’ Climo said simply, ‘Probably the best section commander in the company. He’s been in ten years or so, and he’s served on New Earth, Eden, Rendezvous…’

  ‘New Earth?’ I interrupted.

  Climo smiled, ‘Yeah, that’s right. He was with one of the last companies to manage to escape from the southern continent before the Chinese drove our ships out of orbit.’

  I drew in my breath. Wow, now that was, ‘hard-core,’ I said the word aloud.

  Climo laughed, ‘He never talks about it, so don’t even think of asking him about it. He’s qualified to promote to sergeant, but apparently there’s no place for him.’

  We slung our bags into the open laundry hatch and signed them in on a tablet attached to the wall beside it.

  ‘Him and Jamo don’t get on, but they try to pretend they do,’ Climo continued. ‘Jamo’ was Sergeant James’ nickname, but you daren’t call him that to his face if you value your life.

  ‘Why not?’

  Climo shrugged, ‘Jamo's a bully, and completely mental. They’re just two very different troopers and their personalities clash.’

  People like Woody probably thrived in platoons run by people like Jamo, I thought.

  ‘What’s the boss like?’

  ‘Seems okay, we don’t see him all that much really. He pretty much lets Jamo run the platoon on ship, too new to have any sway over him.’

  I nodded my understanding. In theory a platoon commander outranked his platoon sergeant and made all of the big decisions, but in practice a strong platoon sergeant would often run the platoon behind the scenes, pointing the young officer in the right direction until he was experienced enough to be trusted. Even then the platoon sergeant would watch him closely and sometimes, rarely of course, the two could come to blows.

  As we made our way back toward the galley the ship’s announcement system crackled into life, echoing around the circumference corridor, ‘Attention, attention, all personnel are to report to the galley immediately, end of message.’

  Climo smiled grimly, ‘Guess you’ll get to find out what the boss is like on the ground soon enough.’

  He would be right.

  ‘Come on, you lot, let’s get a move on, eh?’ A corporal waved the building crowds into the galley and me and Climo followed.

  The galley was rapidly filling with troopers, sailors and dropship crew alike, easily over a hundred people. The air ducts blasted cool air into the hall in an effort to keep the room from overheating and its air turning stale. Like a herd of animals, we jostled with each other as we attempted to find our platoons and the right place to form-up. It was a rare occasion to see so many people in the same place at once on a Union warship, which meant something was afoot and people murmured and chattered to each other about the meaning of this sudden change to normal ship’s routine, and almost every conversation I heard contained a familiar name that sent a cold chill down my spine; New Earth.

  ‘One platoon! Close in over here!’ A hand waved above the crowd to identify where we should form-up and me and Climo pushed our way through the throng.

  The three rifle platoons of the company were forming-up into ranks along one side of the galley, whilst company headquarters, the ship’s crew and the dropship crews were forming-up opposite. I didn’t often see the naval personnel on ship; we lived separately, ate at different times and worked in entirely different sections of the ship. Their white uniforms clearly identified them against our grey drop trooper fatigues. The dropship crews, dressed in a similar fashion to the naval lads could be told apart by their shaven heads, a throwback to days when they had to be connected to their dropships by an implant at the back of their skulls known as a ‘jack’, which earned them their nickname. Biotech had become taboo of recent years and the jacks had settled for small implants beneath the skull that connected wirelessly to the ship instead, but they still shaved their heads, perhaps as a fashion.

  I fell in at the end of my platoon, finding myself on the front rank. I cursed silently, as being on the front rank meant I was fully on show to whoever took the parade and anything wrong with me - from the way I tucked in my shirt to how well I sewed my name badge and insignia - could be picked up and would earn me yet another telling off.

  Sergeant James was rounding up the platoon like the other three platoon sergeants, ushering stragglers into the growing formation with barked orders and scathing insults.

  ‘Hurry up you idle arse wipes! Get there no – there! Reesy, get a grip of yourself and fall in properly like everyone else!’

  Woody jogged across the centre of the galley as the last remnants of the company were finding their positions.

  ‘Hurry, up, Wood,’ Jamo changed the tone of his voice to a lesser degree of disrespect, though I swear I saw his lips curl.

  ‘Sorry, Sergeant,’ Woody chirped indifferently.

  The last man to arrive was Corporal Evans, who walked casually over toward the platoon sergeant. The two NCOs regarded each other like two Union class boxers might size each other up for a fight, one a brutish tank of a man, the other a stooping giant almost too tall for dropship service. Corporal Evans tipped his hat slightly, ‘Alright, mate? What’s happening?’

  Jamo returned the respectful nod and led the section commander into the centre of the galley and out of earshot. I watched their whispered conversation but they gave nothing away in their body language and Corporal Evans merely nodded his head slowly. They were both trained platoon sergeants, I had discovered, but unfortunately one of them hadn’t a platoon to go to and so had to remain a section commander. I imagined Corporal Evans must have hated being in such a position, and he must have resented Jamo.

  The platoon murmured softly as we waited to find out what was going on, exchanging everything from complaints of the lack of breakfast to elaborate conspiracy theories.

  ‘I heard a rumour we might be returning to Eden for another exercise, like a show of force and that for the Indians.’

  ‘I’m telling you, mate, it’s the captain, she’s gone mental, apparently the other day she got some of the navy boys to….’

  ‘FALL IN!’ I jumped at the almighty bellow. Corporal Evans and Jamo quickly scuttled behind us to where they were meant to fall in behind the platoon, and the
room suddenly silenced as the company sergeant major walked in amongst the parade like a lion might stalk into a frozen flock of sheep, sizing up each and every one of us in turn with hard unforgiving eyes. He gripped his pacing stick in both hands in such a manner that it looked as though he was about to break it in half on his knee and use the broken ends as weapons. Gold insignia decorated his fatigues and his boots were so highly polished that they reflected the room like blackened glass.

  ‘Stand still, you!’ He jabbed his pacing stick toward some unlucky man on the front rank of one of the other platoons. I gulped as he paced along in front of us all, his eyes scanning. We weren’t expected to be dressed as impeccably as he was - we were, after all, on board a ship of war - but if we weren’t up to the standard he expected there was no telling what he might do. The company sergeant major was to the company what the platoon sergeant was to the platoon, he was its beating heart, its very soul and it was he who upheld its discipline.

  The sergeant major stopped at me and looked me up and down with a scowl, ‘And who might you be, lad?’

  He was a Yorkshire man, the accent was unmistakably thick. Cold eyes stared deep into mine and I might as well have been looking at the Devil himself because I was terrified.

  I stammered, ‘I…P-Private Moralee, Sir.’

  ‘Moralee,’ he repeated the word with a grimace as if he found it distasteful, ‘Haven’t seen you before. New lad is he, Sergeant James?’

  ‘He is, Sir,’ Jamo answered from behind, ‘Arrived yesterday, Sir.’

  He turned back to me, ‘How are you finding it, Moralee?’

  ‘V-very good, Sir.’

  The sergeant major appeared unsatisfied with the answer, ‘Good?’

  Everyone was listening in silence but thankfully they were all facing rigidly to their fronts and could not see me blush red, ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘You’re on one of the great ships of the Union navy, lad, poised to go forth and see the world, and all you can say is its ‘good?’’ He rested the end of his stick on the ground and leant on it with the palms of his hands. He was bored, I realised, and was probably playing with me while he waited for something to happen.

  Something did happen - somebody moved a few places to my left and the monstrous man’s face contorted into rage so suddenly it made me jump.

  ‘Who was that? Who in God’s creation was that?! Why are you moving, you little weasel? Who are you?’ His stick pointed directly into the ranks - but I couldn’t see his victim.

  ‘Greggerson, Sir,’ a tiny voice replied. I felt instantly relieved to no longer be the focus of the sergeant major’s attention, but that relief quickly turned to guilt as I realised poor Greggerson was now on the firing line. I hadn’t known him well on Uralis, but he seemed a nice, if slightly timid young lad, who had been a friend to me during the past twenty-four hours.

  ‘If you don’t have the discipline to stay still during a parade then how will you have the discipline to assault the enemy at close quarters upon orders?’

  ‘I-I don’t know, Sir.’

  ‘You don’t know,’ he spat, stalking toward his prey, ‘Well God help the Union if you’re all that England has left to offer. Sergeant James!’ he snapped, ‘This man needs to be educated!’

  ‘Sir!’

  We waited in silence while the sergeant major paced impatiently around the middle of the galley, tapping a tune only he knew with the golden tip of his pacing stick. Suddenly he noticed somebody emerge from a nearby bulkhead and snapped smartly to attention.

  ‘Parade!’ He screamed, and the formation of men appeared to grow several centimetres as we thrust out our chests and lifted our heads proudly upwards as one, ‘Parade…..SHUN!’

  Two hundred boots stamped against the deck with an almighty crump that echoed about the ship’s metal walls as we came to attention, feet together and arms tucked firmly against our sides.

  The ship’s captain, unmistakable in her smart white uniform and peaked cap and glistening with medals and golden embroidery, strode into the centre of the formation where the sergeant major waited.

  The sergeant major saluted her as she approached, ‘Ma’am, A Company are formed up and are ready for your address.’

  The Captain returned the salute with a smile, ‘Thank you, Sergeant Major, please have the men stand at ease.’

  ‘As you wish, Ma’am,’ then, to us, ‘Stand at…… EASE!’

  Our boots crashed against the floor again so that we now stood with our feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind our backs.

  The captain’s smile faded as she looked around her at those under her command. She had absolute power over all of us, the power of life and death entrusted to her by the Union and not even the company commander who was a major by army ranks escaped her authority. She was a distinctly uninteresting looking woman were it not for her uniform, as white as a brand new set of bed sheets and glistening with polished campaign medals and golden buttons.

  The captain frowned as she recalled a terrible memory, ‘Two years…,’ she began.

  She allowed those two words to sink in, and instantly I knew exactly what she was talking about. We all did.

  ‘Two years ago this fine vessel fled in defeat from New Earth with the few survivors of the third fleet. She fled without having even fired a shot, and her drop troopers never left their hangars.’

  Somehow Corporal Evans had. He had been down on the surface of New Earth as the terrible and unstoppable onslaught of the Chinese invasion engulfed the colony. I imagined him and others like him fighting a futile defence and then making their desperate withdrawal to the dropships and then into space, and I shuddered.

  ‘Two years on and still now the Union aches with the shame of its defeat. But nobody on Earth can possibly understand the shame brought upon Challenger and her crew. No politician sat in Brussels or Berlin can ever possibly feel the same hunger for revenge as we have done, patrolling the remaining colonies like starved dogs left to settle for scraps while the cowardly victors wallow in their ill found glory.’

  The captain paused for dramatic effect, ‘Two years we have yearned for revenge against our traitorous old allies the Chinese. Two years we have bottled our rage and bitten our tongues and some people said we were trying to forget. But we never forget. We have planned. We have re-trained, rebuilt and recruited. Our new enemy thought that they had succeeded in cutting us off at the knees, ending the fight in us once and for all, but all they have done is fill us with a ferocious anger that cannot be subdued. We have been waiting, but now my friends, we are ready, and the waiting is over.’

  The captain paced the room, sweeping her gaze across all of us as she spoke, her movements becoming more and more animated as she spoke with increasing vehemence.

  ‘They say that the soil of New Earth is stained red with the blood of Union soldiers. But now it shall be Chinese blood that will flow freely across those unforgiving lands like rivers!’

  ‘Guess we’re going in, then,’ somebody murmured behind me, clearly unimpressed by the speech.

  A tingling wave shot across my nerve endings as I realised that the impact of the captain’s announcement. We all knew what the captain was going to say next. In my mind’s eye I pictured the dead surface of New Earth, and it was indeed as red as though it were stained by the blood of the thousands who had died there since it had been colonized centuries ago.

  ‘I have received orders today for a move to a rendezvous outside of the Hope system with the third and first fleet,’ the captain continued, reading now from a tablet she had retrieved and unfolded from her pocket, ‘It contains the preliminary orders for a voyage into the Centauri system. Our mission is outlined within those orders and it reads as follows; “The third fleet is to capture New Earth in orbit and on the surface in concert with elements of the first fleet, in order to bring about the enemies defeat in the Centauri system.”’

  The Captain returned her tablet and looked around us once more, ‘More details with regards
to those orders will be passed down to you through your relevant chains of command, and much more detailed orders will be received and disseminated in due course. What you need to know for now is that we will shortly be departing from Hope for our rendezvous which will take approximately two days. From there we will depart for the Centauri system.’

  My nerves tingled again. This is really it, I thought, the reason why I had joined the dropship infantry: We were going to war. A strange mixture of emotions passed through my body; excitement at the thought of doing my duty and being part of something historians might speak of for hundreds of years but also a terrible sense of foreboding. Everybody knew the statistics of making a ‘hard drop’ onto a hostile surface. One in three dropships didn’t make it.

  ‘The Chinese have had two years to prepare for us. They have dug deep into the rock, so deep that only infantry will prize them out. They are highly trained, equipped and motivated. We must break their will. We will strike hard and we will strike fast to shatter their resolve, and we will win. People will die, I won’t lie,’ she shook her head gravely, ‘Some of you won’t return with us to Earth, some of you will lose friends, most of you will kill, and all of you will lose what is left of the innocence of your youth,’ she was looking over to us, the drop troopers who would land on the surface and do the dirty work with dropships, gravtanks, rifles and, if necessary, bayonets.

  ‘Get on with it,’ another voice hissed in frustration. The vast majority of Challenger’s troopers had never carried out a combat drop for real, but we were all volunteers and we had known what we were in for when we enlisted.

  ‘Too long has the Union felt the shame of its defeat. Now it is time for us to show the world that we are not a fleeting nation on the brink of losing its grip on the cosmos, but a superpower who bows to no man. We will defeat the Chinese, and the Union will go on to rule the known galaxy for a millennia. Gentlemen, I wish you good luck. All of you. Sergeant Major, carry on, please.’

  The sergeant major snapped again to attention, ‘Parade…….SHUN!’

  We stood silently at attention as the captain strode away. Satisfied that she was gone and out of earshot the sergeant major relaxed and strode back into the centre of the parade.