RECCE II (The Union Series Book 5)

by Phillip Richards

  ‘Are the men alright?’ the sergeant major asked quietly.

  We nodded.

  ‘Good. H-Hour is in ten minutes. Hopefully the fire support group are in position by now, so when we get the message that the sangar gun has been destroyed then we’re going for it. No fancy formations. We move in single file with Corporal Moralee’s section leading. Don’t stop for anything, because if we freeze in the open ground between here and the sangar then we’re in serious trouble. Have faith in the fire support group, understand?’

  We nodded again. The fire support group’s mission wasn’t simply to destroy the automated gun on the south-eastern sangar, the small, ad-hoc unit was also required to provide us with cover on our approach. The group’s arsenal of sniper rifles, mammoth guns and smart launchers made them far more dangerous than their comparatively small number would suggest. We needed to trust them completely if we were to complete our own missions successfully.

  The sergeant major looked at us each in turn. ‘Has anybody got any final questions?’

  There were none. Our missions were all relatively simple, if rather daunting. My section’s mission was simply to destroy all enemy within the south-eastern sangar in order to allow its capture. But though the mission sounded simple, the reality was a frightening leap into the unknown. On the sergeant major’s call, we would break out from our FUP, charging across the open ground toward the defensive tower with only a few snipers and some ragged old trench coats as protection. Then, using our assault ladders to scale the perimeter wall, we would capture the sangar itself. The clearance of Trondheim barracks itself would then be conducted by an army of Boskers supposedly being brought up behind us.

  Satisfied that we were all conversant with the plan, the sergeant major regarded us all one last time. ‘Let’s get this done, men.’

  With that, we all returned to our sections. I slid back into my crater, taking up position next to Myers.

  The young trooper stared ahead toward Trondheim, like a man might stare down the barrel of a gun. I followed his gaze into the flickering smoke. Although neither one of us could see the barracks, we both knew that we would be visible to its sangars not long after breaking out from cover. Visibility appeared to be low, but the defence network would be able to communicate so that only one sangar or sensor would need to see us in order for the others to engage.

  ‘I’ll lead off,’ I whispered to him. ‘You follow on behind me.’

  Myers glanced at me for a second. ‘OK.’

  There were some occasions when leading from the very front was necessary as a symbolic gesture rather than for any tactical purpose. I had no doubt that my men were fearful of making our mad dash toward the Militia barracks, even with our comrades covering in the east, so I needed to be the example. It didn’t matter if I was cut down by the sangar guns, anyway. I deserved whatever I got.

  H-Hour was marked by a sudden outbreak of gunfire to our east. The gunfire was met immediately by the monstrous roar of nearby heavy weapons - the sangar guns. The Boskers had initiated the first stage of the attack onto Trondheim, a brazen head-on assault against the two smaller sangars guarding the slave camp. Though the fighting sounded ferocious, we all knew that it was merely a feint to distract the automated defences from the true direction of our attack - the south.

  Heads turned to the east as we all listened intently to the sound of battle. We weren’t listening to the bitter exchange between Bosker and Militia, though, we were listening for our snipers.

  A few hundred metres away, Wildgoose and the other platoon snipers would be crawling through the mud, using the nearby battle as a distraction whilst they prepared to take their shots. They would come from different directions so that they couldn’t all become compromised at once, but all of them had the same crucial target in mind, the automated gun on the south-east sangar.

  With our auto-correcting magnetic rifles we were almost as accurate as any sniper, but their art, in terms of shooting at least, was their ability to hit specific points on a target. Coupled with the armour-piercing capability of their high-powered rifles, the three platoon snipers were surprisingly effective when placed up against complex machine weaponry, including armoured suits and automated guns.

  Automated guns were frightening defensive weapons, but they were also extremely vulnerable to sniper fire, even when they were protected by armour. The gun mounted on the sangar roof was supposedly protected beneath an armoured shell, with little more than the tip of the barrel exposed, but that was all that our snipers needed. A strike against that barrel would render the gun useless.

  There was a barely audible shriek as the first rifle fired, followed by another two in quick succession. Without our headsets we probably wouldn’t have even heard them, as they were virtually drowned out by the roaring of the automated guns.

  Moments later the haze that hung over our part of the battlefield suddenly illuminated as two smart missiles exploded from their launchers a few hundred metres away. I could just see the missiles above the skyline as their main boosters ignited, accelerating them toward the base of the sangar somewhere out of sight. A couple of seconds later there was a loud explosion as they successfully smacked into the side of the sangar, finishing off what the sniper’s rifles had started.

  After a brief pause a voice spoke over the net, and I instantly recognised it as Wildgoose. ‘All call signs, this is Blackjack-Four-Zero. Sangar gun destroyed!’

  My muscles tensed. Now that the route toward the sangar was clear, it was time for the second phase of our operation: the attack itself.

  ‘Prepare to move!’ I warned my section, and all of us braced against the lips of our craters.

  This time it was the sergeant major who spoke over the net. ‘One-One, proceed when ready!’

  I looked across at Myers. ‘Follow behind me!’

  With that I scrambled out of the crater, slipping slightly before I found my feet, and then ran northward, toward Trondheim and the noise of the guns.

  Weaving through smouldering craters and bounding over fallen logs, I did my best to stick to the low ground as I left the depression in which our FUP was sited. At first I managed to do just that, keeping inside a shallow gulley that appeared to lead us toward our objective, but my luck was short-lived when the gulley quickly disappeared, as did the logs and tree stumps, to be replaced by open grassland. Suddenly I found myself completely exposed, the scorched, knee-high grass rustling noisily as it broke beneath my boots.

  The Militia weren’t entirely stupid. They had sited their barracks on a relatively flat plain, and had long ago cleared the surrounding forest to give their sangars unobstructed arcs in all directions. Though the ground was pockmarked with craters, it offered virtually no protection from the towers that menaced somewhere ahead of us.

  Thankfully the low visibility caused by the smoke obscured all but our objective sangar, which loomed like a dark sentinel above the drifting cloud. More smoke rose from the squat defensive tower, obscuring its automated gun from view. It was difficult to tell if it had been destroyed or not through the noise of all the other sangars firing around it, but even if the gun itself was destroyed, if any of its targeting system had survived then it could communicate our location to the other guns or the Militia defenders within Trondheim. I ran ever faster, expecting to be cut down at any moment . . . but nothing happened.

  Despite the south-eastern sangar coming under attack, and despite the platoon of oddly dressed figures approaching the Trondheim perimeter, not one of the other guns appeared to notice us, and it didn’t take long for me to see why. As we drew to within a hundred metres of the sangar, we caught our first glimpse of the embattled slave camp to the east. Two robotic dumper trucks were speeding through the mass of atmospheric tents and plastic domes, their metallic hulls spraying sparks as they drew fire from all the automated guns. Completely unmanned, the vehicles had only one objective, to bring their cargo of explosives up to the main gate that connected Trondheim with the home of i
ts slave workforce where they would detonate. They were the final piece in Aleksi’s feint to the east, a spectacular suicide attack that any defender, automated or human, would be forgiven for mistaking as the main offensive. Even the battle for the slave camp itself, which raged around its perimeter, was ignored by the heavy weapons as they turned their collective power against the approaching trucks. Machine was pitted against machine, leaving the human element as if it was nothing more than a sideshow, but nothing could be further from the truth.

  Just before it reached the main gate, the first truck disappeared inside a massive cloud of dust and smoke, sending burning fragments hundreds of metres in every direction and followed seconds later by an almighty thump. Though I couldn't see what damage had been done through the cloud, I knew that nobody standing near to the explosion could have survived.

  'Have it, you bastards!' Myers hissed from behind me.

  ‘Shut up!’ I panted over my shoulder. ‘Keep going!’

  I could now make out the shape of the sangar, as well as the perimeter of Trondheim. The sangar was enclosed inside a five-metre-high compound wall, almost like a keep within a small castle. In contrast, the perimeter fence that surrounded Trondheim barracks was exactly that, a wire fence, though that fence was re-enforced by numerous coils of concertina wire. Nobody could cross it as long as the sangar guns were operational, which was why capturing one was so crucial for Aleksi’s plan to succeed.

  As we covered the last twenty metres to the sangar wall, the second truck hurtled toward the main gate, hoping to break through into the barracks and detonate itself inside. Unfortunately, something appeared to go wrong, and the vehicle veered sharply left as if it had lost control. Perhaps the guns had damaged its steering somehow, or knocked out the last of its robotic cameras. Either way, it was never going to make it into the barracks, and so it too detonated close to the gate - though too far away to have any effect.

  I slammed against the relative safety of the sangar wall, chest heaving as I looked back for Weatherall. Following just behind Myers with the ladder over his shoulder, the trooper was with me within seconds, and I reached out to help him as he planted it onto the ground.

  We drove the ladder’s legs into the wet earth, slamming it against the top of the perimeter wall. Griffiths instantly swung around the rear of the ladder, clutching it by the legs and using all of his body weight to hold it firmly in place. There was always a chance that the ladder might slip in the soft soil, especially since it was going to take at least two heavily laden troopers at any time.

  'Go, go, go!' I drove Myers up the ladder, following just behind him.

  We sped up the ladder, knowing that we needed to scale the wall as quickly as possible.

  Myers stopped just before he reached the top of the ladder, careful not to expose his helmet above the wall and the sangar that loomed above it. We didn't want the enemy to know we were there, and if they did then we certainly didn't want them to know where our ladder was, not until it was too late.

  I climbed the ladder until my helmet was just below Myers’ boot. It was important for me to stay as close as possible so that I could cover him when he made his descent on the other side of the wall.

  From my vantage point near the top of the ladder, I could see the battle that now raged to the east as the Bosker rebels spilled out from the trees and through the wire fencing that surrounded the prison camp. It looked as though both of the sangars that guarded the camp were destroyed, but the remaining three sangars that guarded Trondheim were ripping through the tents as they engaged anything that moved. I couldn’t tell whether the guns were inflicting casualties upon the Bosker fighters or not, but I knew that the occupants of the tents were getting hit . . . I could hear them screaming.

  I ignored their plight, reminding myself that it didn’t matter, not as far as our mission was concerned. The Bosker attack was loud, brazen and chaotic, and in being so it drew the Militia’s attention from the southern sangar.

  Keeping his head low, Myers drew a grenade from his belt kit, quickly setting its timer. He looked down at me to make sure I was ready.

  I nodded. 'Do it.'

  There was no need for an exaggerated throw. Myers simply popped the grenade over the lip of the wall with a flick of his hand, then waited for it to detonate. All of our headsets bleeped in warning only a second before the grenade exploded with a loud thump. Small clods of earth leapt from behind the wall, passing over our heads before falling back to the ground below.

  As if released by the explosion, Myers stood up to full height, leaning over the wall and aiming down into the sangar compound.

  'Clear!' he shouted. 'No enemy!'

  'Well get down there, then!' I snapped.

  Myers hesitated, unsure about the drop below him. The wall was almost five metres high, high enough to make the fall dangerous no matter how well it was controlled. Unfortunately for him, he was the first man, and as such his descent was always going to be the most dangerous.

  'Myers!’ I hissed at him. ‘Get down there!'

  Deciding that a five-metre drop was far less dangerous than my rage, Myers swung himself over the wall and then lowered himself down the opposite side, scraping his kit against the masonry. There was no way he could fall five metres without severely injuring himself, so he needed to reduce the distance between his boots and the ground as much as possible before letting go.

  Not waiting for Myers to drop, I clambered up to the top of the ladder, grasping my rifle where it hung at my side and then swinging it around to take my first look into the sangar compound.

  No more than thirty metres across, the compound was little more than a muddy rectangular courtyard, with the sangar on one end and a small outbuilding on the other. A few crates were stacked against the wall, and pieces of discarded litter were strewn everywhere, indicating that the sangar was at least occasionally occupied. Whoever stayed in there was undisciplined, I quickly decided, but that didn't necessarily mean that they couldn't handle themselves.

  Myers continued to slide down the wall until his arms were fully extended. Then, after a second’s hesitation, he let go, falling awkwardly to the ground and promptly collapsing in a heap.

  Conscious of exposing myself above the lip of the wall, I quickly swung myself over to the other side before lowering myself down, just as Myers had. Once I let go, I landed next to Myers, allowing my legs to give way underneath me. Collapsing to the ground absorbed some of the shock of my landing, reducing the risk of injury. We weren't high enough to break a limb, especially on the soft earth, but a severely sprained ankle would be just as serious in such a dangerous environment where casualty evacuation was a major issue.

  Myers was already on his feet, covering to his left. I sprang up, quickly composing myself and taking up aim to the right. At least initially, the upper portion of the sangar was being observed by whoever waited at the top of the ladder. Since there were five of us, that afforded me a reasonable space of time to focus upon securing the courtyard itself.

  As soon as Weatherall hit the ground next to me, I lifted him to his feet and pointed toward the outbuilding.

  'Keep eyes on!' I ordered.

  Weatherall nodded his understanding. The main effort was to secure the sangar itself, rather than a smaller building. Without any visible windows to shoot from, anybody hiding inside it only posed a threat once they stepped out into the open, and into his sights.

  I patted Myers on the shoulder. 'Let’s go.'

  The two of us followed the base of the sangar in a clockwise direction, hugging the sides of the structure to avoid exposing ourselves to any potential observers above.

  The entrance to the sangar was a single, sturdy-looking airlock door that appeared to be sealed shut, with a keypad beside it to prevent people gaining entry.

  ‘Mouse hole!’ I ordered, pointing at the door itself.

  ‘It’s in my daysack!’ the young trooper responded, turning to present his daysack to me.

  I
removed his smart launcher, placed it on the ground, and then began to dig inside his daysack. Finding the mouse hole charge, I pulled it out and then quickly returned the launcher.

  ‘Andy!’ Puppy called over the net. ‘We’re all in! Two Section are coming up behind! I’m gonna clear that small building!’

  ‘Roger!’ I replied, fixing the mouse hole to the airlock door.

  Due to the small size of the sangar, I doubted that there was a second door to the lock. Even if there was, the directed power of the mouse hole charge would probably blast through that as well.

  Once I was finished, Myers and I stepped around the side of the sangar, and I detonated the device moments later.

  We stormed through the smoking airlock. As I had expected, there was only one door to the lock, since the sangar wasn’t built for human comfort. It probably had some form of air purification system so that the occupants could occasionally remove their respirators, but it didn’t matter if the clean air got out.

  Finding nothing more than a collection of smashed computers and other electronic hardware, we pounded up a metal flight of stairs that led us to a trapdoor at the top of the sangar.

  We didn’t throw any grenades through the trapdoor. It was already virtually bent in half, and the scorch marks surrounding it confirmed that our smart missiles would have killed anybody inside.

  We clambered up and quickly swept the room, inspecting the damage we had caused. The walls were blackened, and rows of electronic equipment still burned and smouldered. Firing ports that lined the walls had been blasted open by the overpressure caused by the smart missile when it exploded, allowing the smoke to escape and block our view out into the barracks. There were no bodies, not that I was expecting any, and whatever electronic equipment that had controlled the automated gun on the roof had been completely destroyed.

  I flicked to the platoon net. ‘One-Zero, this is One-One-Charlie, sangar fully cleared. One-One-Delta is currently clearing an outbuilding within the sangar compound.’

  ‘One-Zero, roger. I’m inside the compound now, located with your Delta fire team. One-Two is about to start preparing fire ports in the compound wall using explosives. Once your clearance is complete then help them where possible.’