RECCE (The Union Series Book 4)

by Phillip Richards

  With a dull thump the grenade detonated, tossing clumps of mud over us.

  No warning icons flashed on my visor to warn me that I was injured - not that I would have noticed if they had. I knew that somebody was throwing the grenades from nearby in an attempt to slow us down, or as a prelude to a counterattack. Either way I wasn’t going to allow my attack to stall, no matter what they threw at me. The enemy seemed more intent to throw grenades at us - a ploy which would only work if I chose to stay where I was.

  ‘Go!’ I ordered Myers, hefting him to his feet.

  Stunned by the grenade that had exploded in front of him, and perhaps even more surprised by his own survival, Myers stood. I shoved him forward, and we rounded the corner, weapons raised.

  Nobody was there. The trench continued for another twenty metres again, this time turning left. I quickly glanced over my shoulder. The remainder of my section were up and moving, spread out along the length of the trench, hugging the wall for protection against the grenades.

  Another grenade exploded nearby, and Myers hesitated, looking to see where it had landed.

  ‘Keep going!’ I hissed urgently, and we ran toward the next corner. I drew another grenade from one of my pouches as we ran, tossing it over the top of the trench in the direction of the bunker; two could play at their game.

  Taking a firm grasp of Myer’s daysack, I stopped him and waited for my grenade to detonate.

  Several darts cracked overhead just before the grenade exploded, but I didn’t have the time to wonder where they had come from, I was committed to the attack - and I had the taste of Loyalist blood in my mouth.

  Under a hail of mud and rubble, we stormed around the corner.

  Myers was the first to shoot as a bloodied Loyalist soldier tried to get to his feet, the supersonic dart knocking him back into the mud. The bunker itself was only five metres in front of us, and we quickly swept into it, stepping over the rubble as we advanced. I shot a man as he cowered in the corner, and before I managed to switch my aim, another Loyalist fell to his knees just outside the bunker - a dart fired overhead had brought his escape to a swift end.

  As I swept the bunker with my rifle, it quickly became apparent that many Loyalists had attempted to climb out when I threw my grenade and had been cut down by Puppy’s fire team. Their terror had caused them to forget that the outside of the trench was always covered. They would have fared better against the grenade.

  ‘Position clear!’ I shouted.

  Whilst the message passed verbally along the trench, I switched to the platoon net, seeing that there were no more trenches leading away from the bunker.

  ‘One-Zero-Alpha, this is One-One, position clear. No connecting trenches. It’s a dead end,’ I announced.

  ‘Roger,’ Mr Barkley replied instantly. He would redirect the next assaulting section to the right, continuing our clearance of the trench system until the Guard arrived.

  Skelton and Griffiths quickly took up positions on the edge of the bunker, looking outward just in case the enemy decided to attack - I doubted that would happen, somehow - the Loyalists had taken a kicking, and the small group of them that had holed-up in the bunker were only doing so out of desperation.

  Myers took a knee in the middle of the bunker, running his hands over his body in search of any wounds.

  I suddenly remembered the grenade that had exploded close to him. Adrenalin could cause him to fight on, despite suffering life threatening injuries … I knew, because the same thing had happened to me.

  Without a word I crouched next to him, looking him over. There didn’t appear to be any blood on him, not that I could see, and his combats hadn’t detected any injuries. Since my section net was now live, casualty information had to be passed directly to the rest of the platoon.

  Though it was hard to see his face in the dark, I thought I saw the young trooper’s lip quiver; he was pretty shaken.

  ‘You OK, mate?’ I asked, running my hands over his helmet in search of holes or cracks.

  ‘I thought that was it,’ he said, blinking disbelievingly at his vital readings on his datapad.

  ‘The blast of the grenade was absorbed by the mud,’ I explained, snatching his arm. I pulled it toward me so that I could have a look at his datapad for myself. He was fine.

  He nodded. ‘I know, but God, that thing was right in front of my face!’

  ‘What do you want, a medal?’ Skelton joked from his fire position on the edge of the bunker.

  Puppy emerged from the trench, stepping over the rubble. ‘Everyone alright?’

  I looked up at him, releasing my grip on Myers’s arm. ‘No casualties.’

  ‘Blinky’s done his spine in, though,’ Skelton said, a hint of humour in his voice.

  Myers shot him an angry glance. ‘Cheers, mate,’ he said sarcastically.

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  There was nothing angry about the exchange between the two comrades - if anything Skelton’s dark humour would probably do Myers some good, keeping his mind off his near-death experience. Telling jokes and making fun of each other was the way that troopers coped with the stress and horrors of war; it reminded them that they were still human beings.

  Puppy stooped over the young trooper, the light of a distant explosion flickering across his visor. The FEA artillery had started firing.

  He patted him roughly on the helmet. ‘Chin up, mate. We’re almost done.’

  I decided not to remind them that we were far from done. We had barely started.

  8

  Relief

  Back to the contents page

  I left my section spread along the length of our cleared trench, keeping it secured under the command of Puppy whilst I made my way back to the T-Junction. He had plenty to do in my absence: rebalancing the section ammunition; checking for casualties that hadn’t been alerted over the net, and searching the enemy dead for anything of use. The final ‘regrouping’ phase of a section attack was where the 2ic really earned his money - administrating the section for whatever came next. This freed me up to liaise with the platoon commander so that I could find out what he wanted to happen next.

  I found the platoon commander’s group close to the T-Junction. Mr Barkley and his signaller were squatting with their daysacks pressed against the wall of the trench, and the remaining two troopers of his group stood up against the muddy walls, helping to provide cover. I saw that Two Section had already entered the trench and had been launched in the opposite direction at the junction, assaulting toward the centre of the hill. The plateau was far too large for our platoon to clear, but we would continue our attack until the Guard took over.

  A small cluster of green crosshairs marked the sergeant major’s group, somewhere close to the point where we had entered the trench and killed the Loyalist platoon. He would be watching the platoon commander, keeping his distance, with the next reserve section close behind him ready to launch as soon as they were needed. I noticed that the green crosshairs that marked the reserve were that of Corporal Kamara and Four Section, meaning that he had completed his task of directing the Guard to our break-in point, and they were virtually upon us.

  Sure enough, just as I reached Mr Barkley, the first Guardsman emerged into the junction, my visor display marking him with an orange crosshair. I instantly recognised his Alliance equipment and the eagle-shaped emblem on his upper arm.

  Mr Barkley pointed after Two Section, showing the Guardsman where to find the battle. He gave a small nod, and then splashed up the right-hand trench, followed by a long queue of his comrades, all eager to join the fight. I hated the Guard, and I doubted that they were anywhere close to the standard of a trained drop trooper, but even I could grudgingly admit that they were no cowards.

  ‘All call signs,’ Mr Barkley announced over the net, ‘be aware that the Guard are now echeloning through our position. One-Two-Charlie, halt your advance and allow them to take over the battle. Acknowledge.’

  ‘One-Two!’ Corporal Abdi
answered, panting slightly from the exertion of his attack.

  The platoon commander continued: ‘All remaining call signs, go firm and hold your present positions. My signaller has disclosed your locations so that the Guard know where you are, therefore if you start moving then you increase the risk of blue-on-blue. All call signs acknowledge.’

  ‘One-One,’ I replied.

  Even though I was next to the platoon commander, I needed to acknowledge, otherwise the other sections would pause and wait for me to answer before doing so themselves. All armies loved doing things numerically, and we were no exception.

  ‘One-Two!’ Corporal Abdi answered.

  ‘One-Three!’

  ‘One-Four!’

  ‘One-Zero-Bravo.’ The sergeant major was last to answer, sounding slightly irritated, and I wondered if it had something to do with the horde of Guardsmen running past his position, infuriating him with countless tactical errors that he desperately wanted to correct.

  ‘Never thought I’d be happy to see this lot,’ Mr Barkley’s signaller grumbled, as we watched the precession of fresh soldiers splashing through the trenches toward the enemy.

  I crouched next to the platoon commander, just as another barrage of railgun shells exploded somewhere near to the village.

  ‘Thank God that worked out alright,’ he said - to nobody in particular.

  I looked at him, noting the heartfelt relief in his voice. The Guard were now pouring through the trench in a steady stream, and the battle was officially handed to them. I could imagine the huge weight of responsibility being lifted from Mr Barkley’s shoulders - if only for a moment.

  ‘What now, boss?’ I asked, snatching him back to reality.

  The platoon commander regarded me for a moment, the flickering light enhancing the harsh lines across his face. At first it looked as though he was scowling at me, annoyed that I had approached him, despite being told to remain firm, but then I realised it wasn’t that at all - he looked exhausted.

  ‘We’ll see what the Guard want from us,’ he said. ‘Otherwise we’ll wait here until they’ve managed to secure the hill and the first FEA company enters the warren. After that we’ll look to move to its northern and eastern edge, so that we can get eyes onto the village.’

  I nodded in understanding - there was no rush - we had completed our part of the operation, and now it was up to the Guard and the FEA to finish the job. All we could do was provide them with support if they wanted it.

  One of the Guardsmen stopped at the junction, noticing the platoon commander. Rather than following his comrades, he strode purposefully toward us, an entourage of Guardsmen trailing behind him.

  ‘That’ll be the OC of One Company,’ Mr Barkley said.

  My heart jumped as I realised how close I was to the approaching Guard officer. Major Bhasin had commanded a company at Dakar, but I never knew the name of that company, or the battalion it had been part of. What would I do if this man turned out to be him, bringing with him an entire company of Guardsmen loyal only to him?

  A Guardsman from the OC’s entourage stood close to his shoulder, rifle half-raised, and glaring at us as if daring us to do something.

  Mr Barkley stood in polite greeting to the approaching officer, though not high enough to expose his head above the trench. I remained squatting next to the signaller, keeping my head low and making no effort to do likewise. Nobody expected any of us to stand anyway. This was a warzone, after all - we weren’t on parade.

  The Guard officer didn’t appear to understand why Mr Barkley was crouching, instead bowing and then standing fully upright again, as if he didn’t care that the battle for the hill was raging only a hundred metres away. The gunfire increased, suggesting that the first Guard platoon had made contact with the Loyalists.

  ‘Good to see you again,’ the platoon commander said to the Guard officer, as the two of them shook hands. Presumably they had met during their shared orders at Dakar.

  The Guardsman replied gruffly in his own language, leaving our headsets to translate in a toneless male voice: ‘It is good to see you too.’

  I scanned the officer out of the corner of my eye. Without my visor being able to identify individual Guardsmen, it was nearly impossible to tell if it was Bhasin or not in the dark. I took comfort in the knowledge that if it was him, he would have the same difficulty identifying me.

  Mr Barkley pointed toward the bunker where my fire team were waiting.

  ‘This section of trench leads nowhere, and is held by one of my sections,’ he said. ‘There is another smaller trench system to the east which is held by one other section …’

  ‘I have already received this information from your platoon sergeant,’ the officer confirmed abruptly.

  It was hard to tell if he was being rude, or simply stating a fact, but nevertheless I winced at the incorrect assumption of the sergeant major’s rank. It was a good job that he wasn’t around to hear it, though to be fair, he was doing the job of an ordinary sergeant at that moment anyway.

  ‘Good.’ Mr Barkley flashed a wooden smile. ‘I shall withdraw those sections once I feel it is safe to do so. Is there anything else you need from us?’

  The officer waited for the translation, and then promptly shook his head. ‘No. Stay out of our way until we have captured the hill.’

  ‘Very well. Remember that I still have control of our saucers, if you need them.’

  ‘We have our artillery. They will not be needed.’

  The officer bowed, signalling that the conversation was over. As he did so, I caught a glimpse of his face in the light of another nearby explosion. My muscles relaxed - it wasn’t Bhasin.

  With that, the officer spun on his heel and marched off in pursuit of his company. The Guardsman that had been covering us gave one final glare, and then turned to follow on after his OC and the rest of his entourage.

  The officer made no attempt to take cover as he headed toward the battle, even as the nearby gunfire increased and several smart missiles screamed across the sky, momentarily lighting the trench as if it was day. I wondered if it was a display of bravery, perhaps, but if the officer thought anyone was impressed then he was wrong; we respected good soldiering, not pointless displays of bravado.

  ‘Friendly fuckers, aren’t they?’ one of Mr Barkley’s troopers said, as we watched him go.

  The platoon signaller chuckled. ‘Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m taking him off my Christmas card list ...’

  Even Mr Barkley laughed at the last comment, and I laughed too - we had been away from Earth for so long we didn’t even know when Christmas was anymore.

  ‘I thought he might have been Bhasin for a moment,’ I said to the platoon commander quietly, as the laughter subsided.

  He frowned at me. ‘Who?’

  ‘They guy whose son I killed …’

  ‘Oh, Bhasin …’ he said, realisation spreading across his face. ‘I remember you telling me. Don’t worry - I can assure you there’s no one on this operation by that name. The Guard are nowhere near the size of the Union army, but they’re still pretty big, so the chances of you ever seeing him again and him recognising you are close to zero. This is a completely new unit to us. We’ve never worked with them before.’

  I nodded my head slowly, taking some reassurance from his words. The relationship between the two of us was permanently damaged, but he was still the platoon commander - with our best interests at heart.

  Mr Barkley beckoned to his command group. ‘Come on, lads. I need to speak with the sergeant major. Stay with your section, Corporal Moralee. I’ll call for you when I need you.’

  ‘Roger that, boss.’

  With that, he led his group back through the junction toward the sergeant major, negotiating his way through the advancing Guardsmen.

  I picked myself up and made my way back to the bunker, checking on the men in my section as I went. Everyone was soaked through to the bone, but relieved to have survived the attack on the hill. I reminded t
hem all to eat and drink, because the battle wasn’t finished yet.

  Puppy was sat amongst the rubble of the bunker chattering over the net, confirming with the sergeant major that the ammunition totals he had uploaded to him were correct.

  I sat next to him and waited for him to finish.

  Seemingly satisfied, the sergeant major finally acknowledged, and Puppy flicked off the net.

  ‘He’s a straight-lined bastard, sometimes,’ he moaned. ‘I wouldn’t send the figures if I hadn’t checked them first.’

  ‘He’s probably just double-checking so he can work out what he needs from the Guard,’ I said, remembering the replenishment of ammunition, water and rations that we were supposedly about to receive.

  ‘We don’t need ammo, yet,’ Puppy said. ‘We haven’t fired that much.’

  ‘No?’ I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  I hadn’t really thought about what had been fired. It was Puppy’s job to do that, so I could focus on leading the attack.

  ‘Most of the blokes didn’t even change magazines,’ he explained, ‘and we’ve thrown only one grenade. The two lead sections fired quite a bit, though, especially Two Section. They were in fire support for ages.’

  It was true that trench warfare wasn’t as ammunition-intensive as somebody might expect, mostly because only one person could fire from within a trench at any one time - unless the enemy was stupid enough to climb out of it.

  ‘Fair enough,’ I said, leaving the issue with Puppy.

  ‘So what’s going on?’

  ‘The Guard seem to want us to stay out of their way and leave them to it,’ I replied.

  Puppy smiled. ‘I’m happy with that!’

  ‘Let them all crack on,’ Myers said bitterly, having overheard our conversation from his fire position at the edge of the bunker. ‘Hopefully they’ll all get themselves killed.’

  I turned around to look at him. ‘If they all get killed, then there’s a good chance we’ll all get killed too.’