He swore, ‘Corporal Myers, go!’
The other mouse-hole detonated almost instantly, although with nowhere near as much force as our own. I watched as Jimmy’s section poured into the hole it had created, then looked back down into my own.
There was nobody there. It took a couple of seconds for me to work out what had happened.
‘It was a trap,’ I said, ‘they wanted us to see that crosshair and open fire from here.’
There had been an explosive device under our feet, placed where the rebels thought we might place our fire support. The ambush was the device, I realised, not the crosshair that my visor had spotted. So what was the crosshair?
‘Let’s get away from here,’ Mr Moore decided, ‘We’ll move round to Corporal Myers, at least we know his entry point is safer than here.’
‘Fair one,’ I agreed.
I followed behind him and his signaller, patrolling slowly back the way we had come. There was no rush, we had to wait for Jimmy to secure the other side to his entry point and report before we pushed past him.
‘That was pretty clever,’ Mr Moore admitted as we moved, ‘I think our friend Evans is still putting a bit of military knowledge their way!’
I was about to reply when Jimmy spoke up on the net, ‘Boss, I think you might want to see this!’
‘What is it?’ The platoon commander asked as he neared the mouse-hole.
‘It’s a civvy, some woman who works here!’
Mr Moore glanced back at me and raised an eyebrow. Now that was interesting.
#
‘Who are you?’ Mr Moore demanded as a trooper lifted the woman’s respirator away from her face and tore away the tape that had covered her mouth and eyes.
The remainder of the platoon quickly swept across the floor, ensuring that no enemy were hidden away. Above us, Johnno had arrived with the reserve section, so that we were ready to assault again onto the next floor and resume our pursuit. The problem was that we couldn’t move without knowing if more explosives had been planted. Even more worrying was the possibility that the rebels had enough to bring down the entire building.
The woman was shivering uncontrollably, her eyes darting between all of us. She was terrified, not that I blamed her. She had been sat in a chair, tied up, gagged and blindfolded, with a Chinese military respirator placed over the top. A rifle had been taped to her hands.
The first man to enter the mouse-hole had spared her because he had landed awkwardly. The precious seconds it had taken him to raise his rifle to fire had allowed for him to identify that his target was not a target at all.
‘Who are you?’ Mr Moore asked again impatiently.
‘I… I work here,’ she mumbled nervously. She spoke English, though by her accent I assumed that it wasn’t her first language. I swear I recognised her, but I couldn’t understand how.
‘That doesn’t tell me who you are. What are you doing here?’
‘The rebels wanted us to give them access to the Citadel mainframe, then they just kept us down here and waited.’
The platoon commander frowned, ‘Waited? Here? For how long?’
‘Hours,’ the woman replied, her voice breaking. A tear crept down her cheek. ‘They said they were waiting for their commander.’
I turned to Mr Moore, ‘It doesn’t make any sense, why would they wait?’
He shrugged, ‘God knows,’ then to her, ‘What were they after? What were you accessing?’
The woman quickly shook her head, ‘I don’t know that, either. We were made to log on, then we were taken away. They did everything else.’
I leant toward her curiously, ‘You keep saying we?’
‘The whole programming management team,’ she said, ‘We were kidnapped, right after you arrested us…’
‘What? Who arrested you?’
The woman’s glistening eyes fixed on to me, ‘You did. I remember you. And him!’ She flicked her head toward somebody behind me, and we all turned to look. Okonkwo was stood just behind us, and I realised that she was talking about him.
‘Jesus Christ!’ I exclaimed.
It was the woman who had kicked and spat at Okonkwo when he had loaded her onto the LSV that morning.
Mr Moore looked at me, perplexed, ‘You know this woman?’
‘We arrested her this morning,’ I explained.
‘You arrested my whole team,’ she corrected angrily, ‘We all lived in that building, it was company accommodation. Didn’t you know that?’
‘No,’ the platoon commander replied abruptly. His signaller was tugging furiously at his arm.
‘Well,’ she said, her fear turning quickly into anger, ‘You gave them exactly what they wanted, you gave them us!’
Mr Moore wasn’t interested, instead he followed the signaller a few metres away to allow him to pass on his message away from earshot. I watched a grin slowly spread across his lips as the information he was given sank in. It had to be good news, I thought, for the platoon commander had never smiled during the time that I had known him.
‘You’re as bad as each other,’ the woman said to me suddenly.
‘What?’
‘You, the Chinese, the rebels… what do you do it for?’
‘Do what?’
‘Kill each other,’ she said, ‘What’s the point? There’s enough of the galaxy to go round, isn’t there?’
I sighed, ‘I don’t know. It’s not my job to know,’ then I frowned, ‘Who are you to talk, anyway? You make the weapons!’
She laughed bitterly, ‘You don’t get very much choice on New Earth, I’m afraid!’
I realised that I knew next to nothing about the life that the New Earthers’ lived, and the internal politics of their planet. So many people seemed to be against colonial rule, even those who worked for the corporations supporting the Union war machine. They lived in the lap of luxury, in beautiful cities clad in marble that the poor people of the European slums would have killed for, but for some reason that wasn’t enough. What was wrong with them all?
‘So you’re not on our side, then?’
She sniffed, ‘No.’
‘Then whose side are you on?’
‘New Earth’s side,’ the woman replied, ‘The side of humanity. We can have a second chance here, that’s why it’s called New Earth.’
I was about to reply when the platoon commander returned, smiling broadly. He was definitely the bearer of good news.
‘What’s up, Boss?’ Jimmy asked. The smile had intrigued him, as well.
Mr Moore looked down his nose at the woman, ‘Looks like NELAs plan backfired. The rebel controlled saucer has been shot down, and our friends in the Citadel decided to just run straight out into the conscript cordon.’
‘And?’
‘Surrendered,’ he said, ‘Ruckheim’s already taking them back to Eindhoven as we speak. They mustn’t have thought there wouldn’t be anyone down there. Stupid, really.’
‘Yeah,’ I agreed, nodding slowly.
That wasn’t just stupid, it was ridiculously stupid. Surely they hadn’t expected for us to leave the back door open? We had expected the conscripts to become engaged in a fierce battle with additional rebel units on the ground, who were desperate to maintain a route out of the Citadel. A platoon of drop troopers had even been placed on standby to assist them, we had been so certain. Why had they waited for so long in the first place? ‘Hours’ the woman had said. It was as if they had been waiting for us, but what possible advantage could they take from doing that? It just didn’t make sense.
‘What’s going on?’ I wondered aloud.
‘I know,’ Jimmy agreed, ‘It doesn’t add up.’
Mr Moore shrugged, ‘It doesn’t need to. These rebels are idiots. Take away their computers and they’re just a bunch of kids with no idea, doing what a has-been ex-trooper tells them to.’
‘They’ve done some pretty impressive stuff up until now,’ I said, ‘And they seem to know what we’re doing almost all the time.’
He waved his hand dismissively, ‘That’s because they have Evans telling them what to do.’
‘No,’ I shook my head, ‘There’s more to it than that. Ev - I mean Evans is a sideshow. He’s not their leader. He has something they want, but he’s not their leader. There’s somebody else in the mix, somebody who knows exactly what we’re doing and is thinking one step ahead of us.’
The platoon commander considered what I was saying for a second and then screwed his face up, ‘Don’t be so ridiculous. We’re winning, that’s all we need to know for now. We have air superiority, every rebel stronghold is falling and Major Ruckheim has captured Evans and whatever equipment his men stole from the Citadel…’
The woman’s eyes widened suddenly as if she were remembering something, and she looked up at us in alarm, ‘Ruckheim…?’
‘Yes, that’s his name,’ the boss agreed patronisingly.
‘The rebels mentioned that name,’ the woman continued, ‘That was who they were waiting for!’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Herr Ruckheim,’ she repeated, ‘They said that they were waiting for Herr Ruckheim!’
Mr Moore frowned, ‘What?’
It took me a couple of seconds to realise what was going on, and when I did the blood rushed away from my face as I turned to the boss in horror.
I gasped, ‘We’ve just shut down the whole city network! The whole surveillance system is down!’
‘And?’
‘Is anybody actually watching the conscripts taking the rebels away?’
Realisation spread across the platoon commander’s face, ‘Are you suggesting that Ruckheim is a rebel?’
The hairs on the back of my neck rose, ‘I don’t know, but we need to get back to Eindhoven now!’
13
Who to Trust
The platoon of conscripts who had been left defending Eindhoven never knew what hit them. They had expected to defend themselves against anything from waves of rebel fighters and LSVs, to the rogue saucer that had harassed our assault onto the Citadel, but they hadn’t banked upon an entire company of elite drop troopers descending upon them.
We stormed out of our dropships as soon as they touched down, making our way directly for the guard sangars dotted along the length of the compound wall. Our main effort, briefed down to us by the OC during our rapid return flight, was to seal off Eindhoven so that there was no escape for any of the conscripts. After that, if anybody within the FOB wanted a fight, we would make short work of them.
One of the conscripts came to the doorway of his sangar to see what was happening just as my section charged up the stairwell toward him. His eyes widened as he saw that our weapons were trained onto him and that we meant business, and he stepped backward into the sangar.
‘What is going on?’
‘Don’t move!’ Okonkwo hollered, and the conscript dropped his weapon at his feet. Like a charging bull, he pushed the conscript backwards and into the sangar. The remainder of my fire team piled in afterwards.
There were two conscripts in the sangar, both of whom stared at us wild-eyed as we rapidly stripped them of all of their weapons.
I pointed out the door, ‘Downstairs! Now!’
The conscripts couldn’t believe what was happening, and one of them threw up him arms defensively, speaking in English, ‘What is this about?’
Okonkwo jabbed at them menacingly with his bayonet, ‘DOWNSTAIRS!’
They needed no more encouragement, they ran out of the door and down the stairs where Konny and his own fire team waited to receive them. Something exploded from within the compound, causing the conscripts to jump in alarm, but my section all knew that the noise was caused by mouse-hole charges being used to enter the buildings.
I looked about the sangar, quickly assessing what equipment it had and how we might use it. Ordinarily a relieving trooper would be briefed on everything to do with his guard duty, a process that could take up to five minutes, but unfortunately I didn’t have that luxury.
The sangar was simple enough. It jutted just above the lip of the FOB wall, and had long slits along each of its four walls that allowed weapons to be fired from it, like a raised pill box. The slits were covered by hardened glass that afforded some protection from snipers if they weren’t being used. I looked out of each slit, seeing that the sangar had an unobstructed view both into the city and inside the FOB itself. In the centre of the room sat the control station for a series of remote weapon systems attached to the roof, including a smart launcher and vulcan cannon.
‘Okonkwo, work out how to operate that,’ I ordered, pointing at the control station, then I turned to Jackson, ‘Keep your eyes out.’
He nodded enthusiastically, ‘Roger!’
I switched to the platoon net, ‘Hello Two-zero, this is Two-three-Charlie, that’s my sangar secured.’
‘Two-zero, roger,’ Mr Moore acknowledged, ‘Hold your position.’
I used one of the sangar slits to look into the compound, watching as Konny’s fire team drove our prisoners toward Johnno and his work party. With their hands clasped behind their heads they were forced into a jog by relentless pushing and shouting from their drop trooper captors.
We were taught to maintain the shock of capture when dealing with prisoners by rough, aggressive treatment and rapid processing that saw them pass from frontline section to platoon sergeant to CSM and beyond, often in the blink of an eye. It wasn’t to hurt them, after all it was entirely possible that most or even all of our prisoners were innocent, but we weren’t going to take the chance. There would be time to apologise later.
More prisoners emerged from the other sangars as the two other sections announced their success, and Johnno’s work party herded them toward a growing crowd that was forming in the middle of the vehicle park. One of the conscripts fell over, and a trooper grasped him by the rim of his helmet and dragged him the final few metres.
I looked back to Okonkwo, ‘Have you worked out how to use that remote weapon yet?’
He nodded, ‘Yeah, it’s pretty simple. Designed for a conscript!’
I laughed, ‘Fair one.’
Beyond the walls of Eindhoven, the city was strangely silent. The night before domes had glowed and buildings had glittered like a collection of multi-coloured jewels, but now Neiuwe Poort was shrouded in darkness. Without power, running water or even a breathable atmosphere, its people would be hiding indoors or underground, just as they had when the Union and China had battled it out two years ago. We had wrested the city back from the rebels, I thought to myself, but at what cost?
‘All sections,’ Mr Moore ordered, ‘Close your Charlie fire teams into my mark. Leave your Delta to hold the perimeter.’
I joined the other two section commanders in a chorused ‘Roger’, and then hurried my fire team out of the sangar. Having heard the message, Konny and his own men passed us on the stairs in order to take our place.
‘There’s a remote weapon in there,’ I pointed out, ‘It’s easy to operate.’
Konny nodded, ‘No worries.’
My visor drew my attention to the platoon commander’s mark, which hovered beside the airlocks that led into the main building, and as I ran toward it I saw the other two fire teams converge with us from their own sangars.
Mr Moore was stood inside one of the locks, its smouldering outer door beneath his boots. Westy’s platoon had already blown their way inside whilst we had secured the perimeter, so that the conscripts had no chance to seal themselves in, or worse, regain the initiative and counter-attack.
‘We need to assist in clearing out the building,’ he told us as we huddled around him, ‘There are still around twenty conscripts inside.’
We nodded as one, keen to get the job done, but Mr Moore held up a finger in warning, ‘Remember to maintain the aggression, but keep it under control. Nobody has fired a round yet. We don’t know how many of the conscripts are in on this, so it’s quite possible that this lot are completely in
nocent.’
‘They’re still conscripts,’ Jimmy pointed out, and a few of us chuckled. Some of the troopers in the platoon were probably enjoying shoving their comrades around, I realised with a grin.
The platoon commander frowned irritably, ‘Controlled aggression,’ he insisted, Let’s do it.’
We advanced into the lock, our weapons raised in anticipation of whatever might lie beyond. The blackened inner lock door creaked in protest as we pushed it open, revealing the same corridor that we had used previously to enter the warrens beneath the FOB.
The lights had been cut off, either by us or the conscripts, and my visor quickly adjusted to the darkness. The building echoed with angry shouts and slamming doors.
I quickly identified two troopers stood in wait by the stairwell into the warren, and one of them raised an arm.
‘Over here,’ he called over the din.
As we approached I could hear that most of the shouting was coming from down the stairs.
‘The building itself is cleared,’ one of the troopers told us, ‘Most of the conscripts are downstairs.’
‘Good,’ Mr Moore turned to us, ‘Let’s go!’
The warrens were pitch black, and they were noisy. Troopers were screaming at frightened and confused conscripts, standing in a chain along the length of every corridor, thrusting them toward the chamber where we had originally received our orders. As I watched them violently herding prisoners through the darkness, I remembered the chaos of the underground battle my platoon had fought. Despite the carnage I had seen, at least I had known who my enemy was. Now I wasn’t so sure.
‘Bad memories?’ Okonkwo asked as we moved along the corridor.
I sighed, ‘I don’t have any good memories.’
My statement shocked me because it was true. Since leaving school I had no good memories. New Earth was hell, and if anything, it was getting worse.
‘Where is your platoon commander?’ Mr Moore demanded as he led us away from the chamber, against the flow of prisoners. He pushed them out of his way as he stormed along the corridor like a charging bull. I smiled grimly. Our boss was a dour, arrogant arsehole, but he wasn’t shy!
LANCEJACK (The Union Series) Page 18