Finishing on that note, the officer looked down at a datapad and read out a briefing on the enemies actions in Nieuwe Poort.
‘Situation enemy, NELA, are believed to have infiltrated into the Nieuwe Poort province as part of a wider campaign to spread their influence south. The enemy strength is not known, however, they are thought to operate in small teams of four to eight men who can rapidly come together to form larger platoons or even company formations under a central hierarchy. Very little is known about that hierarchy, other than that there is at least one and possibly several high level commanders actually living in Nieuwe Poort city itself.
NELA are believed to be well-equipped with a mixture of Chinese and Union equipment, most of which had been left behind after the war. They may also be in possession of equipment stolen from factories either in Nieuwe Poort or elsewhere. We expect them to have anything from magnetic rifles up to smart missiles and beyond.
NELAs intent is to infiltrate and destabilise the region in order to make it impossible for us to control. Once they have successfully infiltrated the area, we expect a sudden and dramatic increase in enemy activity, similar to that currently being experienced by the northern provinces, such as ambushes, raids and electronic attacks.
Electronic warfare is by far our enemies most effective weapon against us. The entire planet has an interconnected network of staggering complexity, and he knows his way around that network like the back of his hand. Control of the network allows NELA fighters to move around freely without being detected, and in the worst of cases it has allowed them to turn our own equipment upon us. I think you will agree, that is not a good position for anybody to be in.’
Whilst the officer continued with his sobering brief I shook my head sadly. The people of New Earth had seen so much war, surely they would have had enough of it? They were free from the Chinese, so why did they still want more fighting, more bloodshed? It was said that the soil of New Earth was red with the blood all the thousands that had died there. Perhaps it was about to receive a fresh coat.
#
I met Westy later that day in the warren gymnasium. Shared by drop troopers, conscripted soldiers and dropship crew alike, it was busy despite being one of the largest underground gymnasiums that I had ever been in; at least two hundred metres across.
We found our own corner out of the way, and I listened whilst Westy explained his new workout as if it was the best routine ever invented. He was as muscular as ever, despite his less than average height, and I could see that he lived for the gym when he wasn’t at work.
‘You’ve filled out since I last saw you, mate,’ Westy said when I stripped down to my shorts and vest, ‘You were skinny as a lamp post before!’
‘I’ve been doing a bit of stuff in the gym now and then,’ I lied. I had actually been smashing myself ever since my Junior Leaders course, training myself to be the fittest NCO that I could be. I didn’t want Westy to know that, just in case he showed me up!
Westy smiled knowingly, ‘Well, then,’ he said, ‘Let’s see what you’re made of then, eh? Try this one…’
For a whole hour Westy took me through his workout routine and my God it was hard. No wonder he had got so big, I thought, because the man sure knew how to thrash himself on the weights. Nevertheless I managed to complete every exercise he did, only not always with the same weight!
To finish the workout off we went onto the gym mats and practiced mixed martial arts, and after twenty gruelling minutes using the pads and punch bags, Westy finally nodded his head respectfully.
‘You’re pretty good, mate,’ he puffed, ‘You should join the company team.’
‘I thought it would be good for my cardio,’ I told him a half- truth. Sure, it had been, but that wasn’t the real reason for me spending almost every night practicing on the pads during my voyage back to New Earth. The last time I had been there I had been tormented by the senior privates of my platoon. I wasn’t going to allow it to happen again.
‘Well, you’ve certainly learned how to handle yourself, mate,’ he said, wiping sweat from his brow. We were both soaked. ‘Old Woody wouldn’t want to mess with you now, would he?’
I felt my cheeks redden as I sensed that Westy had seen through my lies. I hated Woody, and I would have loved to see him again so that I could put him in his place. Unfortunately he had left the service, as had many drop troopers who had survived the invasion. For the sane amongst us, one war was enough.
‘I haven’t got Climo to look after me anymore,’ I admitted, ‘Or Browner.’
Westy nodded, ‘They were good lads,’ he said sadly.
‘Yeah.’
‘So why are you back, then? The last time I saw you I thought you’d had enough.’
Westy of all people had known how the war affected me. I had kept to myself much of the time after the invasion, not wanting to become too friendly with anybody. I couldn’t bear to make another friend only to lose him again on the battlefield. Westy had found me alone on several occasions during our voyage back to Earth, hiding myself away in the bowels of the ship so that I could grieve in peace. He had only found me on that ship because he too needed somewhere quiet to weep where the company couldn’t see and think less of him.
‘I could say the same about you,’ I said.
He pursed his lips, ‘I meant it when I said I had nothing better to do. There’s nobody back home. Never was. At least out here I’m useful to someone.’
I sat down on a nearby bench, looking down at the ground thoughtfully, ‘When I first came here it was just some boyish dream for adventure. This time it feels like this place is real - and Earth is the dream.’
I remembered just after the war wandering through the streets of my home town of Portsmouth as if in a daze, wondering what the point was of my life. My parents went mad when I decided to go back to New Earth. I didn’t have to go, my old battalion were to spend at least another year on Earth and then ship out to Eden. I had never been to the green terraformed planet. It was so-called because it was one of the few planets ever discovered that was capable of supporting life, and over the course of two centuries it had been cultivated into a paradise. But looks can be deceiving. It was said to be a nightmarish hellhole, where several factions fought an endless and vicious war, with the Union square in the middle. Westy had been there long ago, as had Ev, but neither of them ever spoke about it. I wasn’t afraid to go there, though, I just simply couldn’t stand to stay on Earth any longer.
I sighed, ‘Do you ever feel like there is a purpose in you being here. Something more?’
Westy shrugged, ‘Not really.’
‘Oh,’ I paused, ‘I have dreams sometimes. Bad ones.’
The Welshman looked at me, then nodded, ‘Me too.’
‘This morning I had a dream with Ev in it.’
He raised an eyebrow, ‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. And he said to me ‘It’s not over’, like he always did. It was pretty freaky, though.’
Westy frowned, ‘Why? People have dreams all the time, mate.’
‘I know. It was just a bit weird, that’s all.’
He appeared irritated by my mention of our old platoon sergeant, ‘Well I wouldn’t get too worried about a deserter haunting your dreams, that bloke is long gone. Long gone.’
‘I doubt it,’ I said, ‘He couldn’t get far on this planet, not with Union troops everywhere.’
‘He’ll have run to the Russians,’ Westy replied abruptly, ‘They wouldn’t care, even if they are our allies.’
‘They might do,’ I argued, ‘They would expect the same from us.’
‘Maybe.’
I thought it a little strange that we were suddenly arguing about where Ev had escaped to, and noticed that it was a touchy subject for Westy. I knew that he had looked up to Ev. He had been the platoon senior screw - up until our platoon sergeant’s untimely death had forced him to promote - but I hadn’t realised how much his desertion from the company had upset Westy.
�
�I was just saying that it was a weird dream, and that maybe it was telling me something. Like there’s something I need to do here, a point in it all.’
Westy suddenly cheered up, and slapped me on the back, ‘Trust me, mate. You and I are both equally pointless!’
‘Speak for yourself, mate.’
‘And what makes you think you’re so special, eh?’
I laughed, ‘Well for starters, I’m not Welsh.’
Westy placed his hands on his hips comically, ‘Ohhh, really? Well, at least I can stay upright during a contact! Maybe that’s an English thing?’
After a standard light-hearted exchange of insults we both retired to our quarters, and as we parted ways I thought back to how Westy had become irritated at the very mention of Ev’s name. I made a mental note not to mention him again. It was, after all, just a dream. Like Westy had said, Ev was long gone.
3
Man Down
The warren alarm system was going crazy, echoing up and down the corridors with ear splitting intensity as I ran out of the accommodation to see what was going on. I had been in the shower when it went off, preparing myself to meet Westy again for evening meal.
Several troopers were running toward me from the cookhouse having abandoned their food.
‘What’s happening?’ I demanded.
‘Man down, two platoon,’ one of the troopers shouted back at me as he passed, and a shiver shot down my spine. Somebody from my new platoon had been injured on patrol, or worse, killed. Gruesome images of dead comrades haunted my mind.
‘Corporal?’ A voice called from behind.
‘Not now, Patterson,’ I told the crow trooper gruffly as I left the accommodation corridor, ‘Stay there.’
Troopers in full combat equipment were filing into the elevators, presumably deploying to the surface to assist two platoon in some way. I knew there would be no room for me as well, so I ran up hundreds of metres of sloping corridors toward the lock rooms close to the surface of the warren. I didn’t know if I was going to be of any help at all, but I’d be damned if I sat in the platoon lines twiddling my thumbs while my platoon brought in casualties.
A team of medics were already crowding around a trolley inside one of the lock rooms, prepping life support equipment and consulting the data holograms projected over it.
One of them noticed my arrival, ‘What do you want, mate?’
It was more of a challenge than a question.
‘That’s my platoon coming in,’ I said.
The medic was firm, ‘Mate, all I want you to do is stay well back. Understand?’
I simply nodded. I knew that medics could be blunt, they didn’t care about anything except keeping their man alive. I wasn’t in a position to argue.
‘Lock’s cycling,’ one of the medics announced as the light above the lock door changed from red to amber, causing a flurry of activity.
‘I’m not getting any vital signs, their pads aren’t sending info!’
‘Okay. Warn off the surgeons!’
I watched the lock door light, willing it to change quickly so that the injured trooper on the other side could be brought in to be treated before it was too late.
Finally the lock door slid open, and four troopers burst into the lock room with a laden stretcher.
‘Get him on the trolley, on the trolley!’ The medics virtually snatched the stretcher away from the four troopers and quickly placed it onto the trolley. Holograms lit around him in a sudden explosion of light, indicating injuries and other issues with the casualty for all to see.
The man on the stretcher was in a horrible mess, each of his limbs were bandaged in some way and gaping wounds to his abdomen were stuffed with quick-clot foam. He was soaked in blood. Several sealing patches had been stuck to his respirator visor where it had cracked enough to let the toxic air in.
‘Where’s his datapad?’
One of the troopers, a lance corporal, flicked his head toward the lock door, ‘Out there. We had to remove it to get to his arm.’
The troopers looked exhausted, both emotionally and physically.
‘Well what the fuck is it doing out there?’
The team of medics didn’t wait for the reply, once the stretcher was secure on the trolley they were off, wheeling it down one of the ramps away from the lock rooms and down to the medical centre one floor below.
The inner lock door closed and the light changed to red, meaning that the rest of the platoon would be coming in. I fidgeted awkwardly while the four troopers panted, barely aware that I was there. One of them walked slowly to the far wall and sat himself down, ripping his respirator from his face. He started to cry quietly.
The lance corporal looked around himself as if he were lost, then he frowned as he saw me, ‘Who are you?’
‘Andy Moralee, new lancejack,’ I said, ‘I just thought I’d come up to try to help.’
‘There’s nothing you can do here,’ his tone was harsh.
‘No.’
The lance corporal turned away from me and to his men, ‘Unload your weapons, lads. Let’s go. Okonkwo, pick yourself up, snap out of it.’
The trooper who had been crying wiped the tears from his eyes and joined his comrades in a line ready to unload. As he did so he shot me a hateful look, one I recognised straight away. It was the look of someone who had been somewhere and experienced something I hadn’t. It was almost irrational, he didn’t care where I might have been and what I might have done, all he knew was that his mate had been seriously hurt, and I hadn’t been there.
The lock door slid open just as I considered leaving, and the rest of the platoon piled into the lock room. NCOs angrily shouted instructions at their men, who were clearly in shock after seeing one of their mates so badly injured. I remembered how well-organised they had been when they left the warren two days ago and the difference was impossible to ignore. Whatever happened, they’d had a hard time out there.
‘Let’s go,’ Mr Moore shouted as the sections were lined up to unload, ‘NCOs check over your blokes, make sure nobody does anything stupid!’
‘Get in a line and point your weapons in a safe direction! Switch on!’
‘Stop feeling sorry for yourselves lads, save it for later!’
Amongst the shouting NCOs I noticed one of the lance corporals crouched in the centre of the lock room, his shoulders shaking violently as he cried his heart out. I then saw one of the screws crouch beside him and gently wrap him in his arms. The platoon had lost more than a comrade, they had lost a brother. A tear rolled down my cheek as the memories came flooding back. I was powerless to help those poor troopers.
‘What are you doing here, Moralee?’ The platoon commander frowned at me as he ripped his respirator away from his face.
I stiffened, quickly brushing the tear away from my face, ‘I’ve just come to try to help, Sir.’ I hoped that he hadn’t seen my emotion at the plight of the young trooper.
‘Well you aren’t,’ he snapped, ‘So fuck off.’
I thought about saying something, but closed my mouth tightly. There was nothing I could say. I went.
#
Two platoon’s accommodation was empty for hours. They had been taken into the cookhouse for a cool-off period - time spent alone so that they could come to terms with what had happened and let off steam. The room was sealed whilst the platoon talked about their ordeal; crying, shouting, and even fighting under the watchful eye of company headquarters.
Westy came to my room later that evening to tell me that the injured trooper had died.
‘He was brain-dead when he came in through the airlock,’ he said, ‘We don’t have the kit to bring him back.’
I sighed, ‘Troopers just aren’t worth enough.’
‘Very few people are worth that much.’
I knew that Westy was right. While the technology existed to create nearly everlasting life, it was worth more money than neither he nor I could imagine, ‘What happened?’
‘It sounds like
they were patrolling just off to the east of the city, checking out an old Chinese trench system. Rebels ambushed them, fired a smart missile straight at them and then disappeared. They hit three section’s section commander, a screw called Gaz. Really good bloke. It was a miracle not more of them were hurt, but we think the missile was faulty and detonated early. They got off lightly.’
‘Not lightly enough.’
‘No.’
I shook my head disbelievingly, ‘How could this happen? Did they not have any air assets watching them?’
‘Yeah they did, then just a few seconds before it happened…’ Westy clicked his fingers, ‘No visual. There was an orbital platform and a saucer nearby, but they didn’t see anything. By the time everything started working again the ambush was over and the enemy were long gone.’
‘Back into the tunnels,’ I finished, and Westy nodded.
‘There’s a million kilometres of tunnels under that city, and some we don’t even know about.’
‘So you think they’re hiding under the city?’
The Welshman shrugged, ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so, though. They hide in amongst the people. They’re slick. They don’t leave behind any evidence, not so much as a hair molecule. Hide your weapons somewhere and go back onto the street, and you’re just another civilian going about his business. It’s the perfect camouflage.’
‘Which means that just about anyone can be a NELA fighter?’
Westy nodded slowly, ‘Exactly.’
#
It was late in the evening when the platoon finally returned to their accommodation. I heard the rumble of their combined footsteps outside my door and then it slid open to reveal the NCO who had brought Gaz in through the lock earlier on.
Roughly the same build as me, he had a thick mop of blonde hair and a chiselled jaw and I thought to myself that he wouldn’t have looked out of place in a modelling agency. He glared at me as though I were the enemy himself.
LANCEJACK (The Union Series) Page 3