RECCE II (The Union Series Book 5)

by Phillip Richards

  The sergeant major moved up to the other of the two northern mouse holes, ushering for the trooper there to move out of the way. ‘Corporal Moralee, wait here and move on my order!’

  ‘Roger!’ I acknowledged.

  With that, he disappeared through the mouse hole, shortly followed by his signaller. I watched as the two of them sped after Three Section, keeping themselves in a position to control the battle.

  The advancing troopers bounded over obstacles like hurdlers in a race, knowing that they needed to make best use of our smoke before it dissipated. The fighting was now focused around the two buildings as the battle broke down into fierce, room-to-room combat, but that didn’t mean that somebody might spot them and cut them down in the open.

  The figures then disappeared into the grey carpet of smoke, leaving us to wait anxiously, every trooper holding his breath as we prayed that our comrades made it safely across. We wouldn’t move off until Stan made his entry, ensuring that there was never more than one section exposed in the open ground, as well as making sure that we had a secure foothold within the barracks for me to move up to.

  ‘Stack up behind me!’ I ordered my section. ‘Prepare to move!’

  My section formed up in a line beside the mouse hole, with me leaning around to watch in eager anticipation. I was ready to go, ready to find the people who inflicted so much damage onto my platoon and make them pay.

  After almost a minute, the sergeant major spoke, breathing heavily over the net: ‘One-One, move now!’

  ‘One-One, roger!’ I replied. ‘Kam, give me smoke!’

  Corporal Kamara responded instantly, bellowing the order for his men to fire their launchers.

  I waited for the grenades to detonate, adding to the dark cloud so that almost everything ahead of us became shrouded from view. Satisfied that my approach was well concealed, I glanced over my shoulder. ‘Let’s go!’

  Boots scraped against rubble as we poured out through the mouse hole and then charged in the direction of the barracks, using the green crosshairs that marked our comrades as a guide. We ignored the gridded road system, instead cutting diagonally across patches of grass, concrete and metal. The ground was scattered with smouldering phosphor, and the bodies of the Militiamen we had caught in the open during the battle for the sangar compound.

  I saw that there were other figures ahead of us, tens of them all hurrying toward the buildings from the east. I realised that it was the Boskers, flowing across from the slave camp in order to continue their attack. The outer defences of Trondheim had failed entirely, and now they were closing in for the kill.

  Darts suddenly whipped through the smoke, causing everyone to duck. Enemy somewhere within the barrack buildings were obviously shooting into the smoke, having realised that it was being used to conceal our advance. Thankfully no casualty warnings flashed on my visor, but the good fortune didn’t extend to the Boskers. As I watched, rounds peppered the ground at their feet, striking several of them and sending them sprawling to the ground.

  ‘Hard target!’ Puppy shouted from the back of our line. ‘Don’t stop! Keep moving!’

  Rather than running in a straight line, we zig-zagged instead, trying to make ourselves a more difficult target in case somebody could see us through the smoke. As it cooled, it was possible for somebody to see through it using thermal imaging. I ducked ever lower, as low as I could without forcing myself to slow down. We were horribly exposed, with nothing more than hot smoke as our cover, and as we drew near, the barrack buildings became visible above the cloud, their dark shapes looming menacingly. Windows flashed and flickered, and shouts echoed from within them as the Boskers met with their most hated enemy.

  ‘One-One, steer onto Mathers!’ the sergeant major ordered. ‘He’s waiting at the entry point!’

  I looked at the mass of green crosshairs ahead of me, quickly identifying Mathers, one of Stan’s troopers. He was less than twenty metres away, and as I altered my course he became visible, stood just within a smashed-out window and beckoning furiously.

  ‘This way, lads!’ he called.

  As soon as I reached him, Mathers helped me to scramble through the window. All sense of grace was discarded as I allowed him to drag me over the frame, collapsing awkwardly on a pile of broken glass on the other side. My boots sent shards skittering across the tiled floor as I leapt to my feet, just in time to help Mathers to pull Myers through in the same fashion.

  ‘Help the others, mate,’ I instructed the young trooper as I helped him back up.

  Satisfied that my section could gain entrance to the building without my help, I turned and inspected my surroundings, finding myself in a small room filled with upturned chairs and tables. Presumably the Militia had used the window as a fire position from which to defend the building, before beating a hasty retreat when the Boskers broke in. The building echoed loudly with the sound of battle, every gunshot and every shout seemingly magnified by the walls around us.

  The sergeant major and the rest of Stan’s section were all outside the room, spread either side of a darkened corridor. He spotted me and called me toward him with a tap on his helmet.

  ‘Take your section along the ground floor,’ he ordered when I approached. He nodded toward a stair case that opened up onto the corridor. ‘I’ll go with Corporal Stanton and move along the upper floor.’

  Something exploded within the building, causing the walls around us to shake.

  ‘What am I doing?’ I asked once the noise had subsided. ‘Am I clearing enemy?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. Not unless Aleksi asks you to. Keep the Boskers as a buffer between you and the enemy, and use the opportunity to gain any intelligence that you can. . .’

  I raised an eyebrow, detecting a hidden meaning in the sergeant major’s tone. ‘On what happened to the boss?’

  ‘The boss, the missiles, those responsible . . . anything.’ He held up a cautioning finger. ‘Remember, we are effectively under Aleksi’s command, and our role is to ensure that he achieves his mission, but that doesn’t mean we can’t keep ourselves busy while we wait.’

  I nodded, understanding the sergeant major’s view on the situation. Theoretically we could sit back and wait, allowing the Boskers to continue their clearance until they either succeeded on their own or called for our help. But we were now in the perfect position to use the chaos to our advantage, following up behind the Bosker army in search of Bhasin or Helstrom. Suddenly vengeance was a very real possibility.

  ‘Stay alert!’ the sergeant major warned me finally, before following Three Section up the staircase and leaving me and my men on our own.

  Just then Puppy gave me a pat on the shoulder. ‘All in, mate!’

  ‘Roger!’ I replied, looking behind me to see that all my section stacked up and closed up together in the corridor. Their chests were heaving from their mad dash across the open ground, and Weatherall still flashed yellow on my display, but they were all good to go.

  ‘We’re going along the ground floor,’ I explained quickly. ‘We’re surrounded by Boskers, so be careful not to shoot friendlies. I want any cleared rooms to be searched, as well as any bodies or captured personnel . . . if there are any. Understood?’

  Every trooper nodded, poised to launch on my order. They knew as I did who we were after.

  ‘Let’s get these bastards! Prepare to move!’

  ‘Prepare to move!’ they parroted back, hands instinctively reaching down to check their pouches were closed.

  ‘Let’s go!’

  Chaos reigned within the barrack building. Every corridor and every room strobed and flickered like the dancefloor of some hellish nightclub, echoing with bloodcurdling battle cries, tormented screaming, and the noise of a hundred rifles all firing at once. Upturned beds and battered furniture were strewn across the floor, often formed into crude barricades that told of a fast, yet vicious battle. The bodies of Boskers and Militiamen lay tangled together amongst the wreckage, their blood mixing together to form
pools on the cold tiles.

  I swore as I slipped on the spilt blood of a man who had clearly been shot multiple times, narrowly avoiding falling over. Boskers watched from shadowy doorways as I used my hand to steady myself against the wall, staring with the same nervous caution I had seen from the FEA and the Guard. They knew that we weren’t Militia, but they still doubted our intentions.

  ‘Keep your wits about you,’ I quietly warned my men. ‘Search all bodies you come across.’

  We systematically searched through the rooms and corridors, removing the visor from every corpse we came across and inspecting their faces with our rifle torches. More Boskers eyed us warily as we progressed through the building, unsure of who we were and what we were doing. I wondered how well Aleksi had briefed the amateur soldiers about us.

  When I rounded one corner close to the sound of fighting, I came face to face with a Bosker who was hunched over a fallen Militiaman. The Bosker looked up at me in surprise. I wasn’t sure what he had been doing, but I could see a blade in one of his hands, possibly a bayonet, hovering just over the dead Militiaman’s exposed chest. It glistened wet with blood. Without breaking eye contact with me, the man gently lowered the blade, and then his hand slowly crept toward the stock of his rifle, which he had set down beside the body.

  ‘Friendlies!’ I whispered, holding a hand out to show that I meant no harm.

  The Bosker stared back blankly for several seconds, then snapped up his rifle and pointed it straight at my head.

  I didn’t exercise any form of restraint, I simply didn’t have the time to respond. My life didn’t flash before my eyes, and I didn’t have the time to contemplate my fate as I looked down the barrel of the Bosker’s rifle and saw him pull the trigger.

  Nothing happened, though. The Bosker’s weapon didn’t fire, and for a second we both froze, him through confusion, and me through shock.

  It took me a second to realise that the friendly fire lock on the Bosker’s visor, synced with his rifle, had prevented it from firing. It had saved my life just as it had saved one of the members of the fire support group outside the barracks.

  ‘We’re friendlies, you stroker!’ Myers snapped at the Bosker, holding out his arms with exasperation.

  Realisation spread across the Bosker’s face as it became apparent that his rifle had refused to fire, and that his supposed enemy were resorting to foul language rather than shooting him. His blade then clattered to the floor as he scurried away.

  ‘That’s it!’ Myers shouted after him scornfully. ‘Run along, you belter!’

  I puffed my cheeks, taken aback by the close encounter. I then looked down at the Militiaman that the Bosker had been crouched over. It was difficult to see what exactly the man had done, but it looked as though he had been carving a symbol onto his victim’s chest. The Militiaman was dead, but whether he had been dead before the Bosker went about his grisly work, I didn’t know.

  ‘Sick bastards!’ Myers commented, moving close to see the man’s bloodied chest for himself.

  ‘They’re having their revenge,’ I said darkly.

  The young trooper grunted. ‘I could think of less messy ways to have my revenge.’

  I regarded him for a moment, then turned back to the corridor beyond. ‘Come on.’

  Our route took us close to the northern side of the building, where tens of Boskers were locked in battle, firing out from smashed windows toward the second building. The window frames sparked and filled with puffs of dust as they were struck by darts returned by the Militia, causing the Boskers to jerk in and out of cover, firing wildly with little care to their fire positions. I doubted their rounds were accurate, with or without the visors Aleksi gave them.

  ‘I think the Militia might have met their match,’ Puppy said as we passed the embattled Boskers. ‘This lot are as mad as they are. Who’d have known the Boskers could fight?’

  ‘Aleksi did, apparently,’ I replied.

  ‘I guess the threat of slavery or genocide is a pretty strong motivation,’ Wildgoose added from the back of the section.

  ‘All Blackjack call signs, this is Poltergeist-One,’ Aleksi spoke up over the net, causing me to halt our advance with a raised hand. ‘Just thought I’d send you an update. The clearance of the first building is seventy-five percent complete. The Militia have placed too much reliance on their outer defences, and now that we are inside the camp perimeter their resolve is quickly crumbling. I don’t expect the Loyalists to send any support out for them, since the Union air campaign is officially underway. However, if they were to send in any aircraft or dropships then we have already established an air defence screen out to the north.

  ‘I am preparing the Boskers to launch an attack onto the second building shortly. I want this to be a Bosker operation as much as possible, but if their attack stalls, then be prepared to assist.’

  I nodded to nobody in particular, understanding the Scandinavian’s thought process. Due to Trondheim’s proximity to a Russian commercial shuttle port, his operation was meant to be seen by all outside observers as a Bosker-led attack, with minimum support from EJOC and the Union. Even the slightest hint at Union troops attacking Russian interests, however secret they might be, could swiftly pull the plug on the entire plan to annex the province. Aleksi would hold us back unless he had no choice, preferring to risk large Bosker casualties rather than risk the political fallout of a trooper accidentally damaging nearby Russian property. Their shuttle port was only on the other side of the northern fence, less than a few hundred metres away.

  During our sweep through the building we came across a team of Boskers waiting in a darkened room. There was around a section of them, all huddled together as if they were receiving a brief. Unlike the other Boskers I had seen, these ones were all equipped with smart launchers, and many of them wore satchels loaded with missiles. They had a professional air about them, from the way they crouched calmly together despite the battle raging nearby, to the way they wore their kit correctly.

  One of the Boskers noticed my arrival at the doorway, and tapped the shoulder of one of his comrades. Before I knew it their briefing had stopped, and they all looked at me cautiously.

  ‘Andy . . .’ one of them said with a familiar voice, sounding as surprised as I was. It was Yulia. She stood, then crossed the room and clasped my forearm in a heartfelt greeting. ‘I knew that you were here, but I was not expecting to see you!’

  I hadn’t really thought about the likelihood of Yulia being at Trondheim, but in hindsight it was fairly obvious that she would be. Her desire to find Bhasin and Helstrom, as well as her sense of duty to the Boskers that had been forcibly removed from Edo, and drove her to the Militia barracks in the same way that our desire to find some closure to our past mission drove us. I fought the urge to embrace her, tempted by memories of the intimacy we had shared at Copehill. Though it had been a bittersweet moment that I would never forget, it meant nothing on the blood-drenched battlefield.

  ‘We’re helping Aleksi take the barracks,’ I said woodenly.

  Yulia nodded. ‘We know. We know what you did for us. We could never get this far if you had not destroyed the towers.’

  Ignoring her praise, I glanced down at the launchers that Yulia’s team carried on their backs. It was the largest collection of shoulder launched weapons I had seen outside our own unit, clearly intended to have some devastating effect on a specific target.

  ‘Are those for taking the next building?’ I asked. The Boskers still hadn’t secured a foothold there.

  ‘No, they are for the tower on the north-west corner,’ Yulia corrected. ‘But we cannot attack it until the next building has been taken.’

  ‘Have you found Helstrom? Or Bhasin?’

  ‘Not yet,’ she replied. ‘But he is running out of places to hide from us. The Loyalists will not come for him. They are too frightened of your aircraft. They have left him here to die.’

  I decided to change the subject, noting another much larger force beginn
ing to build at a corridor junction ahead of us, comprised of at least a platoon of Boskers. ‘Are those lot about to cross to the second building?’

  Yulia leaned out of the room to have a look for herself. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘I think Aleksi is about to send them. He is ordering our commanders to fire onto the building from as many positions as possible.’

  I understood Aleksi’s plan without even needing to speak with him. The Boskers weren’t tactical geniuses, they were relying entirely upon members of Einzatgruppe-19 and ex-soldiers like Yulia to help them make decisions on the ground. Because of this he needed to use simple manoeuvres that the Boskers could easily understand and that he could control. In this case, the simple manoeuvre was to send an assault party between the two buildings, supported by a massive barrage of suppressive fire. No fancy flanking manoeuvres, no smoke, just a tonne of magnetised steel.

  ‘I need to speak with Aleksi,’ I decided. ‘Take care, Yulia.’

  She nodded reluctantly, accepting that our unlikely partnership was at an end. ‘Thank you, Andy. I wish we could meet in better times.’

  My mouth opened as I thought to say something more, but a nearby scream pulled me back to reality. We were in a warzone, a horrific one at that, and it was no place for romance. And the odds of us both surviving the fighting in the Bosque, and then meeting again afterward, were close to zero.

  I turned and led my men toward the massing Boskers. They were pressed together either side of the corridor, waiting in the shadows for the call to launch their attack through a nearby airlock.

  ‘Corporal Moralee?’ a voice called from amongst them. The voice wasn’t translated for me by my headset . . . it spoke in English.

  I stopped and scanned the Boskers, searching for the source of the voice. One of the men was marked with a green crosshair on my visor, somehow identified by my targeting system as friendly despite him looking almost identical to those around him. He lifted a hand in greeting. It wasn’t Aleksi, but it was clearly one of his men. Dressed in a similar manner to the Boskers, he wore some form of gel armour that was just visible beneath his jumpsuit, and he wielded a strange rifle I had never seen before.