‘Is there any truth in that?’
‘No. It is total madness. But the zombies will believe what they are told to believe.’
The sergeant major nodded slowly. ‘OK. Thank you, Rusakov. Your help has been appreciated.’
The burly Guard NCO returned the nod. ‘Days ago I would say that it is an insult to work with Union troopers . . .’ He regarded me for a moment. ‘It has been an honour. Please excuse me, but I must help the FEA. I will make sure you know when the network is working. It will not be longer than a few minutes.’
The other corporals arrived one by one, whilst Rusakov went to speak with one of the FEA commanders. We shared quiet greetings as we came together once more - though there was no exchange of friendly banter or jubilation over our successful capture of the headquarters. We might have managed our feat without a single drop of Union blood spilt, but the platoon had already taken crippling casualties, and our missing comrades were still nowhere to be seen.
Pulling no punches, the sergeant major started with the bad news. ‘Our comrades aren’t here, obviously.’
None of us said a word.
‘On a lighter note, it looks as though the FEA will manage to re-activate the warren network shortly.’
‘Thank god,’ Corporal Kamara said with feeling. ‘I thought that screaming would go on forever.’
‘I wasn’t happy sitting around listening to that,’ Abs agreed. ‘I know this isn’t our war, but . . .’
The sergeant major waved us silent, then regarded us all with cold eyes. ‘Frankly, I don’t care how the FEA do their business right now, and neither should you. Rusakov tells me that the network will be online soon, which should hopefully mean that we will have comms with the surface. Rigden?’
His signaller nodded. ‘Yes, sir. It shouldn’t matter that the network was switched off. If anything, by destroying half of the electronic equipment in this room we will probably have made it easier to connect.’
‘Well, let’s hope so, otherwise we won’t have achieved a thing down here,’ the sergeant major said. He paused, turning his head downward as he took a moment to reflect on the situation. ‘Corporal Moralee has found his friend Yulia amongst the prisoners,’ he explained. ‘She claims to know the route being taken by the rogue Guardsmen as we speak, which involves heading into a sewer system beneath the warren. We will wait until the network goes online, then see what the OC makes of all this. Ultimately it’s him who has the final say, since if he feels that he can’t continue to hold the ground above us then we will need to extract with him.’
We waited for several tense minutes. FEA soldiers scurried across the command chamber while we waited, performing unknown tasks amongst the smashed equipment. I assumed that they were busy attempting to salvage whatever equipment they could - though I doubted that the electronic hardware had survived the battle.
Now that Yulia’s story had been confirmed by Rusakov, waiting for comms to the surface was even more frustrating, as the distance between us and our friends grew ever greater.
Suddenly a message was shouted across the chamber. Hearing the message, Rusakov turned to us and gave a thumbs up. ‘The network is online.’
All heads turned to Rigden, the sergeant major’s signaller, whose finger tapped in a blur against his datapad screen. We were lucky that the platoon came with two command groups, otherwise losing the platoon commander and his team would have left us without a trained signaller, and no expertise to even attempt connecting to a foreign comms network.
The signaller held up a hand ‘And . . . we’re . . . in!’ He chopped the hand downward, evidently pleased with his success. We had been provided with access to the network previously, but even so, connecting to another army’s comms system was no simple task.
The sergeant major was straight on the net, sending a message out to our comrades on the surface. ‘Hello Hammersmith-Zero-Alpha, this is Blackjack-One-Zero, comms check?’
OC B Company’s response was instant. He had undoubtedly been waiting for our message with increasing unease. ‘Blackjack-One-Zero, this is Hammersmith-Zero-Alpha. You’re transmitting OK to me.’
We all breathed a collective sigh of relief, the communication lifeline having been restored between us and B Company. It didn’t matter if we wanted to give chase into the depths of the warren or make our escape, an enormous pressure had been released by our newfound ability to talk to those on the outside world. Suddenly the warren felt less claustrophobic, as if the chambers themselves had grown larger, and the tunnels had become wider. We were no longer on our own.
‘Blackjack-One-Zero, you’re OK to me,’ the sergeant major replied. He then went on to describe our situation, keeping the information short and to the point. His eyes fixed onto mine as he explained the possibility that the platoon commander was being extracted from beneath the warren, and that we had a guide who was willing to help us give chase. He stopped short of asking for permission to do so, instead waiting for the OC to give his own update.
‘Good to hear from you!’ the OC said with feeling. ‘It sounds as though you have been busy - well done. The current situation on the surface remains dangerous, yet manageable in the short term. The Loyalist Militia appear to be attempting to consolidate their position within the village, since their rapid advance has left behind numerous pockets of FEA defenders. Those separated FEA units are now a major thorn in the Militia’s side, and as a result the fighting within Cellini remains intense. No further attacks have been directed onto Hill Kilo, therefore we have remained firm on the plateau and moved our dropships away into positions of over-watch a few kilometres away. I have attempted to provide assistance to the fragmented FEA units on the surface where possible, in the hope that they might manage to reform into a functional unit, but otherwise I have kept our forces out of contact so as not to draw unwanted attention to ourselves.
‘I am more than well aware that I don’t have the same “fingertip feel” that you have belowground,’ he went on. ‘With this in mind, I will leave your next course of action to your own judgement. The capture or destruction of the anti-orbital missiles remains a high priority, and I am tasked by brigade to facilitate your mission, so there is no question as to whether I will support you where possible, however, you must consider the risks involved and decide if you are happy to take them.’
Once the OC had finished, the sergeant major regarded us all gravely. ‘The risks we take going deeper into the warren are massive. Severe enough for me to do something rare . . . I put it to you . . . what do you want to do? I already know Corporal Moralee’s thoughts.’
We all stared back in silence, unsure how to respond.
He held out his hands, beckoning for an answer. ‘Well?’
‘Screw the missiles,’ Corporal Abdi said. ‘Let’s do it for our lads. I say we go down.’
‘We can’t leave them behind,’ Corporal Kamara said in agreement. ‘We’ve come this far for them. Let’s finish the job or die trying.’
I could swear I saw Rigden gulp at the last comment.
The sergeant major turned to Corporal Stanton, who had remained silent up to this point. ‘Well?’ he repeated.
Stan’s head hung low, as if he were deep in thought. He had suffered far more than any of us during the past few hours, mentally rather than physically. He had lost many of his men, so many that his section were now almost entirely formed of replacement troopers from the rest of the platoon, and even B Company. One of his men had been captured and executed by Helstrom over a live network feed, whilst another had disappeared, swallowed by the endless expanse of the Bosque. Stan was racked with guilt, as any commander would be, questioning whether their deaths could have been prevented if he made different decisions on the ground.
He said nothing for a moment, then nodded. ‘I don’t want to leave anyone else behind. Let’s do it.’
‘Fair enough,’ the sergeant major said. He flicked back onto the warren network, transmitting our decision to the OC. ‘This is Bl
ackjack-One-Zero. We’re going to proceed on task.’
‘Hammersmith-Zero-Alpha, roger . . . Confirm you’re giving chase?’
‘That’s correct.’
The sergeant major made a large circular motion with his finger, silently ordering us to prepare to move. As one, we flicked to our section nets and called for our men to close in. Whilst the platoon rapidly closed into the centre of the command chamber, we all listened in to the OC as he gave his final thoughts. ‘Well done, Blackjack-One-Zero, you’re doing us all proud. Make haste, but tread carefully. We will remain here in support. Call on us if and when you need us, but I will leave you with one instruction - if you meet heavy resistance then you are to extract back to the surface. Do not fight to get deeper underground. We’re in danger of allowing ourselves to get bogged into this mess, and once we are it will be near impossible to free ourselves. Brigade will not provide another company to come to our aid. This is it. Maintain constant communication from this moment onwards.’
‘Roger,’ the sergeant major acknowledged. He then bellowed out across the chamber, causing even the FEA to stop what they were doing. ‘Let’s move, men! I want to be moving off from here in the next minute! Corporal Moralee, you will lead along with our new guide!’
‘Order of march - One Section, then Two and Three!’ Corporal Abdi added as the platoon formed into single file.
I moved up to the front of my section, where Myers waited along with Yulia.
‘Yulia will stay alongside me,’ I told Myers. ‘You will remain as point man.’
The young trooper nodded. There was nothing cowardly in keeping him ahead of me and Yulia, our minds were kept busy navigating the tunnels, which meant that we weren’t necessarily paying enough attention to our own security.
I took a knee behind Myers, and Yulia followed suit, crouching beside me. The remainder of the platoon closed up behind us, keeping tightly together as Abs counted us all to make sure nobody else was left behind.
Yulia regarded me with a cocked eyebrow. ‘We are going after Bhasin?’
‘Yeah.’ I looked over my shoulder, checking that the remainder of my section were behind me. ‘Puppy, good to go?’
‘Good to go, mate.’
‘Bhasin has left here several hours ago,’ Yulia warned. ‘He may be a long way from here . . .’
I turned back to her. ‘We’ll just have to move fast then, won’t we?’
‘Yes. We will.’
Evidently growing impatient, the sergeant major lifted his head to check that the entire platoon was assembled. ‘All in, Corporal Abdi?’
Abs finished counting the last few troopers of three section. ‘All in, sir!’
‘Let’s go, then, Corporal Moralee!’
‘Roger.’ I turned to Yulia. ‘Ready when you are.’
‘OK. Head back out of the command chamber,’ Yulia said to Myers.
Myers picked himself up and headed off instantly, heading back the way we had come.
‘Corporal Moralee!’ the sergeant major’s voice called out from behind, stopping my section in its tracks.
I looked back over my shoulder. ‘Yes, sir?’
He pointed a finger at me. ‘I hope you’re right about this . . . for all our sakes’.’
I returned a grim nod. ‘Me too, sir.’
5
The Sewers
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Yulia directed us deep into the bowels of the warren, using a mixture of memory and my datapad map to weave our platoon through the maze of tunnels and chambers. No more gunshots or screams echoed through the darkened labyrinth anymore, and the warren fell utterly silent, like a tomb.
Myers and I used our rifle torches to help Yulia navigate through the pitch-black tunnels, judging that our enemy was far too far ahead of us to pose a threat.
‘Shame the FEA can’t get the lights working,’ Myers said, flicking his torch beam to illuminate a strip light above his head.
‘I’d imagine they have more important things on their minds than making this place more welcoming,’ I replied in a whisper. There was no longer any need to be so quiet, not yet anyway, but there was no point in breaking good habits.
Yulia’s knowledge of the underground fortress was clearly intimate. Every time she looked down at my map she pointed out something new, like a tunnel that was no longer passable or a new section that had recently been added. I double-checked my datapad constantly as we went, trying to keep a sense of where we were, but it was hard not to become disorientated. So many of the tunnels she took us down weren’t on the map, confusing even the computer within my datapad that was tracking our movements.
It was fascinating moving through such an old warren that had changed hands so many times. Some of the tunnels had been hastily cut out of the rock, with ribbed, perfectly cylindrical walls typically left behind by a laser drill, whilst others took the form of neat square corridors that could easily be found inside a regular building. Occasionally we passed through accommodation similar to that which I was used to inside the more established Union warrens, with solid bulkhead doors, panelled walls and abandoned pieces of furniture. Other times we entered large cavernous chambers stacked with supplies, ammunition and equipment - the gold which had drawn Edo into taking the warren in the first place. I wondered which of these chambers had held the anti-orbital missiles that Bhasin and Helstrom so desperately wanted, missiles that had somehow turned enemies into friends, and friends into enemies.
Some of the lower tunnels still told of the fighting that had raged over the past few years, with scattered bodies and scorched walls that had been peppered with shrapnel. At one point we made our way down a steep tunnel with crude steps cut out of the rock, only those steps had been virtually covered in corpses and discarded equipment. The bodies were old, I could tell by the thick layer of dust that had settled on them. Perhaps they were the original combatants that had fought when the Loyalists had invaded months ago, or perhaps they were even older. Things didn’t decompose very quickly on Eden, and not at all when underground.
It was strange to think that the warren had changed hands so many times. I wondered what secrets it held, how many men and women had died within its darkened tunnels, then I wondered how many more were yet to join them. I shook off the last thought.
We had descended several hundred metres when Yulia eventually called for us to halt along a wide supply tunnel, and crouched beside an open bulkhead door framed by hazard markings. Large signs flanked the doorway, and though I couldn’t read the writing, I could see that the large red letters were obviously meant to warn people not to enter without good cause.
‘We are in the life support level,’ Yulia told me as the remainder of the platoon closed up behind us.
I nodded knowingly. The lowest section of any warren was home to life support, power supply and other critical functions, kept as deep as physically possible to counter the risk from orbital bombardment.
‘What’s through there, then?’ I asked, gesturing toward the bulkhead.
‘This is one of the entrances into the sewer that I told you about,’ she replied.
I raised an eyebrow. ‘So this is how you came up into the warren?’
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Two hundred of us. The Loyalists had never expected us to enter from the sewers, so we had taken the entire lower level before they knew what was happening. Our attack was timed with the attack on the surface. They had little hope.’
My brow furrowed. ‘How did you time it together with us on the surface? So you knew when our H-Hour was?’
She looked back at me blankly.
‘I just don’t understand . . .’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Are you working with the FEA and the Guard, or are you some kind of splinter group?’
‘I work for the FEA now,’ Yulia replied, ‘but most of the FEA do not know that I do. The Guard watch them too closely.’
My mouth opened to speak, then Weatherall tapped my shoulder, cutting me short. He leaned close to pass the
message. ‘Last man in.’
I looked back at Yulia, the next question still hanging on the tip of my tongue, and sighed. It could wait.
Clearing the question from my mind, I leant through the bulkhead, using my rifle torch to see into the darkness beyond. A long, narrow metal staircase descended for twenty metres, before opening up into a room. With a flick of my hand, I beckoned Myers to join me, and the two of us slowly crept down the staircase, half expecting to bump into a Guardsman left behind by Bhasin.
Would he leave people behind to cover his withdrawal? I wondered. I imagined that he probably saw a speedy escape as his best defence, but then if he had an entire platoon with him, then it wouldn’t be much of a sacrifice to leave behind a rear guard of some form. Even a couple of Guardsmen left behind could force us to move with caution, slowing us down so much there would be absolutely no hope of us ever catching him.
At the foot of the staircase we found ourselves in a long, rectangular room with a high ceiling. Huge pieces of machinery loomed over us, connected by large pipes that crossed the ceiling, running out from the walls. My headset magnified the sound of running water, and I realised that it was flowing through the pipes above my head.
‘These pipes collect water from all over the warren,’ Yulia explained as she followed us into the room. She traced one of the pipes with an outstretched arm. ‘It runs down here, and then into tunnels beneath our feet.’
‘So how do we get into those tunnels?’
She walked around the back of one of the larger pieces of machinery in the centre of the room, then pointed at the floor. ‘In here.’
Myers and I followed her, to find a large, open drain . . . large enough to fit several men through at once.
Myers leant out over the drain and shone his torch into the gloom. ‘There’s a shit-load of water down there, Andy . . .’ he warned.
‘I said that there would be water,’ Yulia reminded him sternly.
RECCE II (The Union Series Book 5) Page 8