‘Puppy!’ I called as the sound of gunfire intensified.
‘Yeah!’ my 2ic replied.
‘Are you with us?’
‘Just behind you, mate! In the tunnel!’
‘Roger, have you–’
‘Moralee!’ another voice shouted, cutting me short. ‘Push forward! Clear the chamber!’
I looked over my shoulder. It was the sergeant major. My visor targeting system identified him within the tunnel we had emerged from, taking cover alongside Puppy and my Delta fire team. The entire platoon would be somewhere behind them, which meant at least a section of troopers and two sections of FEA in support. I knew that the sergeant major wanted me to assault forward so that he could send them out to clear the flanking chambers as we went.
‘Roger!’ I replied over the noise of the mammoth gun. ‘Puppy, form up on my right . . . on my smoke!’
‘Ready when you are!’ my second in command returned, before barking orders to his fire team.
Having heard my orders, Myers stopped firing and lifted his barrel in anticipation.
‘Myers!’ I shouted. ‘Smoke!’
‘Roger!’
The young trooper fired, sending another smoke grenade hurtling across the chamber. This time it was unable to detect a target, and detonated somewhere against the far wall. Intended to be used as a means of concealment rather than an offensive weapon, the grenade wasn’t dangerous to us even if it exploded within line of sight to us, but anyone close by would have been showered in white hot burning metal.
I beckoned with my right arm. ‘Puppy, let’s go!’
‘Moving up!’
‘Check fire!’ I shouted to my own fire team. ‘Save your ammo. Only engage if you’ve got something to shoot at!’
As our weapons fell silent, so did the entire chamber. Either the Guardsmen ahead of us had died, or the fight had been knocked out of them by the grenade - at least momentarily.
‘One Section hurry up!’ the sergeant major bellowed from behind us.
Delta fire team rapidly fanned out on my right, and my section quickly adjusted into an extended line that spanned the width of the chamber. I stood up as soon as saw them take up fire positions.
‘Delta, give cover! Charlie move!’
My fire team moved first, whilst Delta observed into the smoke. As soon as we had moved a short bound forward we then took cover amongst the smashed computers, allowing our comrades to move back up to us. Once Puppy’s men were back in line with my fire team, I then moved off again, repeating the process. Some commanders might have preferred to move their section forward as one, arguing that the covering fire team couldn’t see further than a few metres in the smoke and so could add little protection, but I considered it worthwhile to provide me some protection on the flanks. There were plenty of attaching chambers either side of the cavern, each one potentially harbouring more Guardsmen. If any of them attempted to move in behind me, Delta fire team were likely to spot them first.
The sergeant major had obviously considered the other chambers. I could hear orders barked and boots pounding as the remaining sections were launched.
We passed the hole created by our plasma charge, and I quickly flicked my section net to fully live, ensuring each trooper’s datapad constantly transmitted his location to everyone else.
‘Stan!’ I called over the platoon net, disregarding his call sign. ‘My lads are fully live! Confirm eyes on?’
‘We’ve got you,’ he replied straight away, reassuring me that there was no chance of his mammoth gunner accidentally shooting us as we advanced.
The gunner fired sporadic bursts through the smoke - though only as a deterrent. I doubted they could see any more than we could. The smoke still hung thickly in the air, leaving us little chance to identify a target until we were virtually on top of it.
We clambered over heaps of upturned computer equipment as we neared the far end of the chamber, treading carefully to avoid something giving way beneath our feet. Weatherall fired two rounds into an unseen target on the ground a few metres ahead of him, barely checking his advance. Behind us somebody shouted, and more shots were fired inside one of the smaller chambers.
The ground at the far end of the chamber was scattered with glowing metal fragments. Amongst the wreckage lay several Guardsmen, still smoking as pieces of phosphor continued to burn somewhere inside their bodies.
‘This is One-One. We’ve reached the northern side of the chamber,’ I announced over the net, scanning for threats in the swirling cloud around me.
‘Roger, well done,’ the sergeant major answered. ‘All chambers behind you are covered. Clear your end of the command chamber and attempt to take prisoners if possible. We’ve made enough mess here, so let’s try to consolidate whatever we have left.’
‘Understood!’
On my right, Wildgoose found the source of the screaming, a man who must have been beside Myers’ smoke grenade when it landed but was unlucky enough to have survived it. Showing no pity to the horrifically burnt Guardsman, the tall sniper kicked his rifle away from him and proceeded to search his smouldering body for grenades or other weapons.
Suddenly my visor flashed red, indicating a man off to my left. He staggered, as though drunk, holding his rifle down at his side.
I aimed square at his head, my finger pressing against the trigger as I prepared to fire. ‘Stop where you are!’
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Griffiths and Myers circle the figure, slowly closing toward him as they prepared to pounce.
The figure uttered something unintelligible and then began to lift his rifle - though not toward any of us. He was obviously stunned by the blast, with little idea of where to aim.
‘PUT IT DOWN!’ I screamed, spittle spraying over my visor. ‘PUT IT ON THE FUCKING GROUND!’
Suddenly alerted by the aggression in my voice and the imminent threat of death, the Guardsman froze. That was all that Myers needed. Having circled around to the injured Guardsman’s flank, he lurched forward and grabbed his rifle barrel, snatching it upwards. Griffiths stepped in behind him and struck him in the ribs with the butt of his mammoth, sending him crashing to the ground with a painful cry. The man made as if to stand up, but his efforts were brought to an end by a swift kick to the stomach. Overcome with sudden rage, Griffiths kicked at the man repeatedly, causing him to curl into a ball.
‘That’ll do, mate!’ I ordered sharply, and Griffiths relented.
We stooped over the Guardsman, who coughed and retched at our feet.
‘Stay the fuck down!’ Myers snarled, his bayonet hovering inches from the man’s back.
As we crowded around our first prisoner, two rounds were fired in quick succession, and I looked up to see Three Section sweep into the last chamber at the north-western corner of the cavern. Their shouts echoed as they engaged more unseen targets.
I spotted the sergeant major following on behind them. He caught my eye as he passed, then pointed at the captured Guardsman. ‘Keep him alive! Search him!’
I nodded, then looked back down at the Guardsman. ‘Get into the press-up position!’
He didn’t move, probably unsure of what I wanted him to do.
‘Get up!’ Myers shouted, gripping the Guardsman by his webbing yoke and pulling him upward.
The prisoner attempted to stand, but the young trooper stopped him from lifting his hands from the ground, and then kicked at his knees until he finally got the hint and assumed the press-up position.
There are many ways to search a prisoner, but my platoon preferred to do so whilst they were in the press-up position. It meant that the captured soldier was unable to put up much of a fight whilst being searched, certainly not quick enough to avoid being shot or stabbed by another trooper. Captured enemy were never searched by anything less than two men for that reason. Keeping our unfortunate prisoners in the press-up position also maintained and enhanced the “shock of capture”, a mental state that often rendered a prisoner frightened, confus
ed and unwilling to retaliate - which was exactly what we wanted.
Griffiths kept his mammoth trained on the Guardsman, whilst Myers searched him roughly, stripping him of weapons, equipment, and anything else of interest.
One of the fallen Guardsmen moaned nearby, instantly catching my attention. I snapped my aim across to him, just as he began to stir.
‘That one’s not dead!’ I warned.
Wildgoose and Leaman hurried across to the man and began their own search. The Guardsman appeared to be fully conscious, attempting to fight back as they pinned him to the ground and ripped his weapons away from him. He couldn’t put up much of a fight, though, I could see even through the smoke that he was badly burnt.
‘Stay down, you bell end!’ Leaman grunted, kneeling heavily on the prisoner’s chest. The Guardsman’s arms still flailed around as he tried to escape.
Wildgoose looked up at me. ‘Andy . . . he’s an officer!’
I hurried across to him, eager to see for myself. If we had indeed miraculously captured the enemy commander, then we would have gained access to a wealth of information. He would know where the hostages were, or maybe the location of the secret anti-orbital missile stockpile. He might even be able to shed light on who was giving them their orders, both in Edo and in our own Province of Paraiso.
I recognised the Guard officer as soon as I caught a glimpse of his face in the dim flicker of a nearby fire, and the sight of him caused my lip to curl.
‘You!’ I snarled. I crouched over him, lowering my rifle and pressing the cutting edge of my bayonet against his throat.
It was Captain Mori, one of One Company’s platoon commanders. His company had been tasked with assisting the FEA in holding Cellini, but in the end it was their own retreat that had caused mass panic, and led to the loss of the village.
‘Where’s our platoon commander?’ I demanded through bared teeth, leaning down toward him. My visor pressed against his. ‘Where is he?!’
Mori smiled. ‘He is long gone. You have wasted your time looking here, earthling!’
‘Where is he, you prick?’ I raged. ‘Tell me now, or I swear I’ll cut you from ear to ear!’
‘Kill me,’ the Guard officer taunted. ‘You won’t get anything from me, Union scum! Reinforcements will arrive soon. We have been tasked to secure our headquarters until then–’
‘Reinforcements?’ I spat. ‘From who? The Militia?’
I then felt a hand pushing me gently to one side, and realised that Rusakov was behind me, flanked by several FEA soldiers. They had followed the platoon into the chamber, and no doubt they now wanted to take charge. This was their warren, after all, and they needed to take control of it before a far more dangerous enemy took advantage of the chaos underground.
I withdrew my bayonet from Mori’s throat and stood up. Wildgoose and Leaman followed suit, stepping back so the FEA could get to him. As soon as we moved out of the way they took our place around the Guard officer, gripping him by his body armour and pulling him to his feet. The Guard officer winced in pain as his burnt skin was stretched, then the pained expression turned to one of agony as one of the FEA punched him in the gut.
‘The FEA will deal with the prisoners,’ Rusakov assured me as Mori was dragged away. ‘They must find out what the traitors have done to the warren communication network so it can be repaired. Otherwise all is lost.’
‘And the hostages . . .?’
‘We will find out where they are,’ he said.
I gestured toward Mori. ‘What if he doesn’t talk?’
The Guard NCO’s lips curled into a cruel smile. ‘He will talk.’
Whilst the FEA took control of the headquarters, the sergeant major ordered us to search for our comrades. It turned out that there were tens of hostages, perhaps even a hundred of them, all kept in the various adjoining chambers. Our sections had bypassed them as they battled against the rogue Guardsmen, but now that the headquarters had been captured we were free to search them.
My fire team were ordered into one of the chambers, where we found at least twenty hostages. They had been made to sit facing the walls with their hands bound behind their backs and hoods pulled over their respirators. In the middle of the room was a pile of bodies, thrown on top of each other like discarded waste.
‘Jesus . . . ’I breathed, a lump forming in my throat.
I flashed my rifle torch over the bodies, desperately hoping not to find our comrades amongst them. I recognised Guard uniforms, FEA uniforms and civilian clothing. Fortunately, there was no distinctive green Union camouflage amongst the sorry mound of victims.
‘Tell me none of our lads are in that?’ Myers pleaded, having finished his scan of the live prisoners.
‘No,’ I said.
He sighed, sharing my relief.
I swept my gaze around the chamber, searching for any sign of a familiar uniform. ‘What about this lot?’
‘Doesn’t look like the boss is here,’ Weatherall replied.
‘Check them,’ I ordered. ‘Lift their hoods and have a look, just in case they’ve had a change of clothes.’
We had to be thorough in our search for our comrades. For all we knew, the rogue Guardsmen might have stripped them of their uniform so that they could smuggle them out of the warren.
Myers hesitated. ‘Do you want us to release the ones we check?’
I considered the question. ‘No. Not if we don’t recognise them. Some could be captured Militia for all we know. We’ll let the FEA deal with them when they’re ready.’
‘Roger.’
As I looked across the row of prisoners, I noticed that one of them was wearing a bloodstained blue jumpsuit. My heart jumped as I recognised the outfit, and I walked across the chamber and snatched the hood from the prisoner’s head.
‘Fancy seeing you here,’ I said, staring down at a familiar face.
Yulia blinked up at me, startled, until she realised it was me. The corners of her mouth twitched in a brief flash of relief before hardening back into the expressionless mask I was used to.
‘You have come back for your friends,’ she said cynically.
‘And you,’ I added. I crouched behind her, removing my bayonet from my rifle and using it to saw through the plastic cuffs binding her wrists. They were the same cuffs my comrades had used to restrain her after our chase through the tunnels, I noticed.
Yulia rubbed her wrists once I had removed the cuffs. ‘You want the missiles.’
‘Yeah,’ I answered honestly. ‘A company of Union troopers are on the surface. I told their OC you knew where they were–’
A long, agonised scream filled the chamber, stopping me mid-sentence. Somewhere within the captured headquarters the torture of Captain Mori and his men had begun. I couldn’t imagine what awful pain the FEA would inflict upon them in order to extract the information they needed. They were determined to restore communications to the warren, and would do whatever was necessary to find out how. If they couldn’t work out how to fix the warren network, then the rogue Guardsmen would probably die horrifically disfigured.
I looked back down at Yulia. ‘Do you know where the missiles are?’
She regarded me for a moment, as if deciding whether I could be trusted. ‘Yes.’
‘How?’
‘I was based in this warren,’ she explained, ‘before the Loyalists invaded. The missiles were hidden so Union spies could not find them. Only some of us knew where they were.’
‘Can you take us to them?’
‘Yes. But I think that we may be too late. The missiles are probably already being moved.’
I flicked my head toward the pile of bodies. ‘Did some of these talk?’
Yulia followed my eyes, then shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I heard them being dragged in, but they were already dead, I think. Bhasin already knew where the missiles were, but he needed to know how to get them out of the warren.’
It took a couple of seconds for the familiar name to sink in. My eyebrows r
aised in surprise as I remembered the shady man who had helped to orchestrate the massacre at Dakar. He had sent his own son to kill me and my men - a son who I had killed instead. ‘Bhasin?’
She nodded slowly. ‘Yes. Bhasin.’
4
Tactical Questioning
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It was hard to think straight whilst listening to the constant shrieking of Captain Mori and the other unfortunate rogue Guard survivors. Nobody dared to venture near to the small storage chamber from which their tormented screams emanated. Instead every trooper remained rooted to the spot, unsure how to respond. God only knew what the FEA were doing to their prisoners in order to extract the information they needed, and to be honest we didn’t want to know. There were no rules of war out in the Bosque, and even if there were, nobody was going to follow them.
I helped Yulia to turn around so that she could rest her back against the chamber wall. I flicked my torch over her jumpsuit to inspect for injuries, but it was hard to tell if she had been hurt since her outfit was already stained with the blood of another rogue Guardsman she had killed in Cellini a few hours before.
‘Are you hurt?’ I asked.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘I have been left alone since I was brought here. My hood was placed on as soon as I was brought into the warren, so nobody recognised me–’
Our conversation was cut short as the sergeant major emerged within the chamber entrance. ‘Don’t release anyone! Not unless they’re wearing a trooper’s uniform!’
‘Yes, sir!’ my men chorused in response, stepping away from the hooded prisoners as if to prove their innocence.
The sergeant major swept his gaze across the room, scanning for our missing comrades. Eventually his eyes fell upon me and Yulia, and he frowned deeply. ‘You found your mate, then?’ he asked, a hint of scorn in his voice.
‘Yeah,’ I replied, ignoring his disdain.
He jutted a finger at her. ‘You watch her like a hawk . . . understand?’
‘Understood.’
Yulia watched stone-faced as the sergeant major disappeared back into the smoke. ‘He does not want you to rescue me,’ she observed.
RECCE II (The Union Series Book 5) Page 6