RECCE II (The Union Series Book 5)

by Phillip Richards

  ‘This has been a dark day for all of us,’ he said. ‘Mr Barkley was a good friend of mine. He was one of my platoon commanders during the invasion of New Earth, a bright, talented individual with limitless enthusiasm . . .’

  I lowered my head, thinking of our platoon commander’s fate. Nothing we had experienced so far could be worse than what he and his team were going through right now. Would they know that we had abandoned our effort to rescue them?

  He went on. ‘Gentlemen, I am truly, deeply sorry for the losses you have incurred today. I know that you must be feeling confused, perhaps even angry at the way this operation has unfolded . . .’

  ‘He’s talking like they’re already dead,’ a trooper uttered quietly behind me.

  ‘They are,’ someone replied gloomily.

  The OC continued. ‘I also know that you are beyond tired, and weary of this endless war in the Bosque. Which is why I want to address you all when I deliver this recent update to your mission.’

  The platoon exchanged puzzled glances, but I knew what was coming next.

  ‘Brigade has sent orders via my battalion headquarters, instructing you to head northward and to cross the border into Europa. There you will campaign under the command of EJOC, locating and calling fire onto key Loyalist installations, in order to disrupt their ability to engage targets in orbit.’

  ‘Fucking hell . . .’ someone exclaimed.

  The OC nodded. ‘My thoughts exactly. I have been ordered to withdraw from this location immediately. Sergeant Major, clearly you will continue as platoon commander in the absence of Mr Barkley. Do you have a replacement second in command?’

  The sergeant major nodded, then gestured toward Abs. ‘Corporal Abdi has stepped up. We only have three sections now, so he isn’t needed as a section commander anymore.’

  ‘Good.’ The OC spared Abs a respectful nod. ‘I suggest you report immediately to our company sergeant major so that we can arrange to replenish all of your supplies and equipment. We don’t have long.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Abs replied. He glanced briefly at the sergeant major, who nodded for him to go. He then picked himself up and scrambled out of the trench, assisted by a couple of nearby troopers.

  The OC continued to address the sergeant major. ‘I’ll give you a minute to delegate any implied tasks to your section commanders. Once you’re finished, please close in to me so I can deliver your orders.’ He turned toward Yulia. ‘And you must be Captain Kristov of the Presidential Guard, I presume?’

  ‘I am no longer a Guardsman,’ she replied abruptly.

  The OC didn’t appear bothered. ‘Very well. Would you like to follow me? I think it would be prudent for us to have a quick chat before we pass like ships in the night . . .’

  Yulia followed the OC. The two of them walked along the trench, the OC’s hand waving dramatically as he began to describe to her the situation as he saw it.

  The sergeant major looked to me and the other two remaining section commanders. ‘Get the lads ready. Have your 2ics prepare ammo, equipment and water states ready for Corporal Abdi.’

  ‘Yes, sir . . .’ Our chorus was glum.

  He swept a finger across the platoon. ‘Stay motivated, men!’

  As he turned to stride away in pursuit of the OC and Yulia, there was a shocked silence across the platoon. Despite our terrible losses, we were being sent behind enemy lines once again, this time against the backdrop of a full scale orbital bombardment.

  Then, after a moment, training kicked in and the mass of troopers sprang to life.

  Puppy resumed checking the section ammunition and equipment with renewed haste, knowing that Abs would expect him to provide an accurate request shortly. Each trooper held up an item as it was called for, physically checking that it still functioned correctly. Batteries were checked, as were water levels and rations. Even our respirators and visors were inspected for damage.

  The men in my section responded to Puppy’s orders without pause, such was their sense of discipline, but it was plainly obvious that they were as unhappy with the situation as I was.

  ‘I can’t believe we just left our boys for dead,’ Griffiths uttered as he rifled through his daysack, checking how many horror bag ration packs he had remaining.

  ‘Me neither,’ Myers agreed.

  ‘Well, we’ve just got to crack on,’ Puppy said. ‘Things are different now. There’s a war on.’

  ‘There was a war on before,’ Griffiths countered bitterly. ‘The only difference now is that no one gives a fuck about us.’

  I ignored the exchange, instead watching the OC as he spoke at length with the sergeant major and Yulia. The sergeant major was engrossed in his datapad, presumably downloading our orders from the company commander. I could tell by the OC’s rapid hand gestures that he was trying to get whatever points he had across quickly. Time was a commodity he no longer had.

  I expected that B Company had been ordered to extract from the Edo province entirely, avoiding any confusion in what was becoming an increasingly cluttered battlespace. With us directing our naval might onto Europa, there was no longer a need for a softly-softly approach working alongside the FEA. There was also the danger that the inner circle might use its influence to twist the bombardment into a reason for Edo’s armies to attack us instead. Perhaps they might convince them that the bombs were from Alliance ships, and that they had finally returned to capture the entire planet.

  Edo was far too volatile for us to retain our foothold on Hill Bravo. The sooner we moved, the better. I assumed that B Company’s final act would be to drop us off somewhere close to Europa so that we could make our final move on foot.

  It didn’t surprise me that we were being re-tasked. Now that we were at war with Europa, the Union’s attitude to casualty-stricken units would have altered significantly. Though we were only fifty percent of our original strength, we still had three functioning sections, with the equipment and training necessary to identify key targets for our ships to engage. Alongside marking dropship landing zones, directing orbital fire was one of our many conventional roles, so it made sense to send us in. I had no doubt that there were already people doing the job right now, including our special forces, but the philosophy would be “the more the merrier”. Every additional set of eyes on the ground was worth a thousand rifles as they selected and prioritised targets, disregarding decoys and minimising collateral damage.

  Seemingly satisfied with his instructions, the sergeant major moved away from the OC and Yulia, leaving them to talk alone. He caught my eye and gestured for me to close in the commanders with a two-fingered tap against his upper arm.

  ‘Commanders close in!’ I parroted the instruction aloud and left my section to administrate themselves.

  I felt Yulia’s stare as I moved up to the sergeant major along with the other two section commanders. Though locked into conversation with the OC, she seemed to watch me closely, as though deeply concerned by my mental state after my accidental killing of the civilians in the valley.

  My eyes briefly flicked to hers, then away again as the sergeant major began to explain the change in plan using the map on his datapad.

  He ran a hand over his visor before he spoke, indicating that he was under a great deal of pressure. ‘Right. . .’ he began, collecting his thoughts, ‘here’s the score . . . EJOC’s Union- sponsored plan to allow the Alliance back into Edo is still on, but the puzzle palace have decided that an Alliance-controlled province can’t exist alongside the Loyalists. We’re looking at more than just a bombing campaign, the required end-state is regime change in Europa.’

  ‘Regime change . . .’ I started. ‘We’re going to invade?’

  ‘When do our relief arrive?’ the sergeant major asked suddenly.

  I fell silent, thrown off by the question.

  Stan’s brow furrowed. ‘Six months?’

  The sergeant major shook his head, then pointed toward the clouds. ‘They’re here now. Three battalions of French dropship infantr
y, plus god knows how many gravtanks. Somebody called them in early.’

  We gawped at the sergeant major, shocked by the revelation. No wonder the arrival of the Alliance fleet had been kept quiet . . . it came along with a Union fleet as well.

  ‘So . . . Brussels must have known we were gonna invade Europa all along . . .’ Stan said slowly. ‘They must have been planning this for ages.’

  I wondered how long it would take to mobilise an entire brigade six months before its intended tour. They probably would have been halfway through their readiness training, a year-long series of exercises conducted on the surface of Uralis prior to their deployment. But they couldn’t just jump in their ships and head out at the drop of a hat. Moving such an enormous body of men and equipment was a massive undertaking, especially when they were likely to be rotating between exercises, in-camp training and leave. Brussels and EJOC - or at least the Union component of EJOC - must have been planning this for months, perhaps longer.

  The sergeant major tapped his datapad screen. ‘We’re pressed for time, so I don’t have the luxury to go through our orders in great detail. All you need to know is that we’re now working directly under EJOC command rather than brigade, and that we’re being sent to disrupt Loyalist anti-orbital defences in a marked “ops box” to the north of this area. Our main effort is the location and destruction of anti-orbital launch sites, including the stolen missiles which could still theoretically be used to target Alliance warships when they begin the annexation of Edo.’

  A glimmer of hope flickered faintly in the back of my mind as I wondered if somehow we might get to resume our pursuit of Bhasin and Helstrom. I quickly suppressed the thought, though, as I remembered that our ops box would restrict us to a certain area in order to prevent us from accidentally stumbling upon other call signs such as special forces units. There was no guarantee the missiles would be taken there.

  The sergeant major glanced over at the OC. ‘B Company are going to extract from here in the next five minutes. The OC’s plan is to conduct a tactical withdrawal southward, with One and Two Platoons’ dropships bounding rearwards on the west and eastern flanks whilst company headquarters moves up the middle. Three platoon is going to move further out to the west to cover that withdrawal from enemy missile fire. We will join Three Platoon, but when they go firm we will dismount and move off.’

  We nodded, understanding the ruse to drop us off away from the village. B Company could have escaped easily enough by speeding southward in a single formation, since the threat posed by the Militia’s meagre shoulder-launched anti-aircraft capability was minimal, but an elaborate withdrawal would provide the smokescreen we needed to continue with our mission. The Militia wouldn’t think anything of B Company’s manoeuvres, instead assuming that we were playing careful. Whilst Three Platoon waited out to the west of the village as an apparent flank protection, we would melt into the forest, heading northward to our new objective.

  ‘Did the OC say anything about the boss?’ Corporal Kamara asked.

  The sergeant major fixed him with a hard stare. ‘Nobody is specifically looking for him anymore.’

  We all stared back at him for a moment. In my mind I searched for arguments why we couldn’t simply give up on our fellow platoon members, but relented as the grim reality finally set in. Our heedless pursuit of our platoon commander had resulted in nothing but death and injury, and the victims were mainly civilian. There would be no further search for our missing troopers. They would be classed as “missing in action” . . . but Mr Barkley and his men were almost certainly already dead.

  ‘What about Yulia?’ I asked.

  ‘It seems she has the OC’s approval,’ the sergeant major said, nodding toward where she and the company commander were deep in conversation. ‘He thinks we should take her with us.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Why?’

  ‘She claims to have a good knowledge of the border area, and has friends up there who can help us. The OC is confirming her story with brigade.’

  ‘What do you think?’ I asked. Despite the difference in rank, the OC didn’t have any authority over us. Since we were now working directly to EJOC, the OC’s opinion was just that - an opinion. We didn’t have to do anything he told us to if we didn’t think it benefitted our mission. That was another reason why the role of Recce 2ic was taken by a sergeant major. He needed the respect and the presence to be able to tell company commanders if we weren’t going to do what they wanted.

  The sergeant major paused for a moment, before replying, ‘As much as it pains me to admit when I’m wrong, I think I’m willing to take her if she’s up for it. She’s proven herself reliable up until now. But we should still be careful. While I agree that the hum-int she offers could be priceless, it could also turn the other way.’

  We all nodded.

  Human intelligence, or hum-int as we called it, was one of the most useful methods of obtaining information, especially in the Bosque. No warship in orbit, saucer or drone could ever collect information as effectively or as covertly as the local population. If Yulia knew people who were willing to share information about the Loyalist’s movements, then she would truly be worth her weight in gold. For all his reservations over Yulia, though, the sergeant major was right about one thing - even if we could trust her, we didn’t know anything about her “friends” or where their loyalties lay. People living close to the border were undoubtedly influenced by the Loyalists and their marauding Militiamen, and the threat of reprisals would be severe for any suspected informant. If that wasn’t enough, the reward for handing over a platoon of traitorous Union troopers was probably temping as well.

  The OC returned with Yulia. ‘You’ve struck gold with Captain Kristov, here, Sergeant Major. She has agreed to come along with you, and I think she will serve as a useful asset.’

  The sergeant major looked at Yulia and nodded. ‘Good. I’ll show you where we’ll be operating in a moment.’

  ‘Corporal Moralee, Union Star . . .’ The OC switched his attention to me. ‘I heard your name when we met earlier today. It’s been a long while since we last worked together, and it’s such a shame that we meet again under such heart-breaking circumstances.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ My reply was wooden.

  ‘You’re still a Lance Corporal, is that right?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘The first thing I’ll do when my company return to Helsinki is contact battalion headquarters to see that you wear a rank that befits your role. Since I doubt that anyone will argue, you should consider yourself a corporal once you return to Paraiso.’

  I swallowed hard. This definitely wasn’t how I imagined my next promotion. What was the OC thinking?

  He held up a disarming hand. ‘I appreciate that this isn’t the best time to be talking about my intent to have you promoted . . . and it’s not intended as a gesture to cheer you up. This is, rather, my way of expressing my faith in your judgement, and in your qualities as a leader.’

  I said nothing for a moment. Somebody had been speaking with the OC about the civilians I had killed, and he was using a field promotion as a way to say we still trust you. I glanced at Yulia. It was she who had told him what had happened, and presumably she who had told him that I had taken it badly.

  Corporal Kamara gave me a gentle nudge, urging me to break the awkward silence.

  ‘Sir,’ I acknowledged flatly.

  The OC gave a small nod, then turned his attention to the sergeant major. ‘If you need anything, then ask. My company might end up far away, but we will remain stood by to mount up if you need us.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘Let me know when you’re ready to go. God speed, Recce Platoon.’ With that, he clambered out of the trench and disappeared back toward his headquarters.

  Nobody said a word about my upcoming promotion. Instead, the sergeant major proffered his datapad. ‘Let’s get these orders synced.’

  We took advantage of our live network, downloading our order
s without the need for optical cables. I didn’t have the time to study the finer details, but I quickly added the fresh overlay to my digital map, checking to see where our ops box was situated. We had been given a strip of land just beyond the border, over a hundred kilometres from east to west, and almost twenty kilometres from north to south. It was an enormous area for our relatively small platoon to cover, dotted with suspected enemy burrows, warrens and forward operating bases.

  ‘Obviously I don’t have time to prepare a proper set of orders,’ the sergeant major said as we all studied the maps on our datapads. ‘For the moment, focus your attention on the insertion phase of this op. We’ll dismount from our dropships close to the border. From there we’ll make best speed northwards, where we’ll set up a platoon harbour. The lads can then get some rest while we take the time to come up with a plan of action. I make no apologies, it’s a sketchy set of orders at best, but we’ll have to make do. Any questions, bearing in mind I’ve barely even glanced at these orders myself?’

  There were none.

  ‘Good. Get back to your sections. I want this admin battle won in the next ten minutes. Consider your sustainability when stocking up on kit. I have no idea when our next replen will be. Go.’

  With a wave of the sergeant major’s arm, we dispersed to our sections, fighting our way through what was now a flurry of activity as fresh kit was repacked and expended items were replaced.

  ‘B Company’s been generous,’ Puppy said on my return, pointing to a pile of rations, ammunition and equipment stacked on the edge of the trench near to my section.

  Troopers helped themselves to the pile, stocking up on what they needed and discarding what they didn’t. Water reservoirs were topped up using plastic bottles, ration packs were stuffed into daysacks, and critical kit was laid out at every man’s feet, ready for Puppy to inspect. Inspections were a life-saving stage to any battle preparation, even to troopers of our calibre. It wasn’t because we didn’t trust each other, nobody was going to intentionally leave something behind just to save himself the weight, but we were all exhausted, and the risk of making a mistake was far higher than normal.