RECCE II (The Union Series Book 5)

by Phillip Richards

‘Give me your pincushion!’ I hissed urgently.

  Weatherall looked at me as though I was crazy. ‘What?’

  ‘Your pincushion!’ I repeated, raising my voice above the noise of Griffiths’ mammoth.

  Weatherall rolled onto his side in order to present his daysack to me, and I rummaged inside it, quickly withdrawing the device and activating it with a tap against its control panel.

  Icons flashed across my visor display as the pincushion synched with me, confirming that it was ready to deploy. It wasn’t a grenade, but it was a potent weapon that delivered the same shock factor as any explosive device. The problem was that it was a directional weapon that was designed to be used from a fixed position, not thrown up a corridor.

  ‘What are you gonna do?’ Weatherall asked nervously.

  I didn’t have enough time to explain. It was a crazy idea, and one that could so easily result in us all being cut to pieces, but it was the only way I could think of regaining the initiative. Ignoring the darts whipping past me, I stepped up to the open doorway and tossed the pincushion up the corridor beyond. Then, just as I heard it clatter to the ground, I activated it. A sudden, ear-splitting wail echoed across the building, accompanied by a wave of dust that rushed over us, coating our equipment.

  ‘Go!’ I shouted, charging into the dust-filled corridor.

  Though I had no idea what direction it had been facing when I activated it, it was clear that the pincushion had had a devastating effect within the confined space. Tiny shreds of fabric and flecks of masonry floated in the air like confetti, though where the tiny fragments of furniture came from was anyone’s guess.

  Rapidly advancing up the corridor whilst scanning for targets, I found that much of the walls had been torn away in huge chunks, revealing many of the rooms around us.

  Two men suddenly appeared within one of the gaping holes, causing me to fall backward as I narrowly avoided their fire.

  Weatherall and Griffiths must have been just behind me, because both of them returned fire almost instantly, cutting the two hapless Militiamen down and then spraying the room with darts. Somebody shouted, and I caught fleeting glimpses of more figures running between the shredded barrack walls.

  ‘Keep going!’ I ordered, scrambling to my feet.

  Nothing mattered anymore. My section was ruined and no longer combat effective. Puppy was down, presumably being cared for by Wildgoose, and I hadn’t seen Myers since entering the building. All I had left to work with was two troopers, one of whom was already heavily wounded. There was nothing left for us to do other than to keep killing and keep advancing until either we all died or somebody ordered us to stop.

  We advanced through the hole in which the Militiamen had appeared, all our weapons firing as we stepped over the remains of the wall. The running figures had disappeared into a nearby doorway, and we directed our fire onto that in order to prevent from emerging once more.

  Just as I reached the door, my rifle clicked, causing a red error message to flash on my visor display. My magazine had run out of ammunition, and it needed changing.

  Changing a magazine is a drill which a trooper carries out so often he barely even thinks about doing it. A press of a button beneath the magazine housing deactivates the smaller magnets that feed the rounds into the weapon itself, at the same time releasing the catch that physically holds it in place. The magazine doesn’t quite fall away by itself, it needs to be tugged downward to free it from the housing.

  This time, though, rather than simply discarding the removed magazine, I did something different. I threw it through the doorway, aiming it at the wall beyond so that it bounced loudly. ‘Grenade!’

  Somebody cried out in alarm, and boots scuffed against tiles beyond the doorway.

  Instead of pausing for the phoney grenade to detonate, I charged into the room, sliding a fresh magazine back onto my rifle.

  Several Militiaman were running with their backs turned to us, trying to get away from the magazine that had landed harmlessly in the centre of them room. My trigger finger went wild as I pumped darts into them, sending them all crumpling to the ground.

  Nobody was left inside the room, but I already knew where my adversary was likely to be hiding. I opened fire against the far wall, strafing along its length beside another open door. Somebody screamed, and then a body fell to the ground inside the doorway.

  Griffiths followed me up, magnets screaming as he joined in, once again spraying the walls all around.

  I flicked my rifle to automatic. There was no longer a need to hold back. It was us versus the world. I fired the entire magazine into the walls, not stopping until it was depleted.

  ‘Let’s just keep going!’ Griffiths snarled, letting loose another long burst whilst I changed magazines again.

  It was then that I became aware of a cheer reverberating through the building, and I looked to see a wave of Boskers pouring through the holes in the walls around us. There must have been an entire company of them, sent by the Frenchman to reinforce us once we had secured a foothold. They opened fire as they passed us, their combined firepower completely drowning ours out.

  I was about to follow them when some tiny shred of sense gripped me, and I reached out and patted Griffiths on the shoulder. ‘Check fire, mate.’

  The Welsh trooper stopped firing and regarded me angrily. ‘Helstrom’s out there!’

  ‘I know, but he’s not going anywhere just yet. We’ve got casualties.’

  Griffiths lowered his mammoth as his rage subsided just enough for him to return to reality. The horde of Boskers that swarmed around us had taken over the battle, meaning that we were no longer locked in a fight to the death. That meant we had more pressing concerns, like our fallen comrades that almost certainly needed our help.

  ‘Come on!’ I ordered. ‘Let’s get back!’

  As we ran back to the window through which we had entered the building, I realised that there were now two troopers flashing yellow on my display, not one. Myers was a casualty as well.

  16

  The Shuttle Port

  To contents page

  Wildgoose had his hands full when we returned to the entry point. He was tending to Puppy in the middle of the room, whilst Myers was left with his back against the wall, whimpering loudly. The young trooper’s arm was almost completely severed just below the elbow, held in place by only a few strips of skin and meat. Wildgoose had applied a tourniquet to his upper arm to stop him bleeding out, and had then turned his attention back to Puppy. Though I couldn’t see exactly what was wrong with Puppy when I entered the room, I knew that he was a higher priority to Wildgoose, because unlike Myers he was lying on his back, unconscious and with his abdomen exposed. The section sniper had opened Puppy’s armour to get to his chest.

  As I came close to Wildgoose, I saw that he was applying a chest seal to my stricken 2ic. He had a sucking chest wound.

  I pointed toward Myers. ‘Lads, get to work on him! Make sure his arm is immobilised!’

  Weatherall and Griffiths hurried over to their injured comrade, whilst I stood back, gazing in dismay at the remains of my section. A wave of guilt washed over me as I wondered how I had survived unscathed when so many of my men had been severely wounded.

  ‘One-One, this is One-Zero,’ the sergeant major’s disembodied voice called in my ear, but I didn’t respond. It was as though I was in a daze, suddenly numbed by the slaughter that I had taken part in, and the hammer-blow realisation that my section hadn’t survived it unscathed.

  ‘One-One, this is One-Zero.’

  At that moment I thought of Stan, and how losing most of his men had virtually torn him apart, and then I thought of Ev and Westy, my old section commanders on New Earth. We all now shared one common experience - we had seen our sections destroyed at the hands of the enemy. Seeing all of my men either injured or treating the injured was probably one of the most awful things I had ever seen in my entire life. Whether their injury was my fault or not, it was still my responsibil
ity to look after them, and in that sense I had failed. Suddenly I remembered my nightmare vision of the pipeline, sucking me and all the bodies of my friends into the darkness . . .

  ‘One-One, this is One-Zero.’ the sergeant major repeated with growing urgency, snapping me out of my funk. ‘I see you have casualties . . . send me an update?’

  I pulled myself together, then replied on the net. ‘One-One, roger. I have two casualties, both priority one. One is unconscious with a sucking chest wound, the other has a catastrophic bleed to the arm.’

  ‘Poltergeist-One, this is Blackjack-One-Zero,’ the sergeant major relayed straight to Aleksi. ‘Confirm you received the last message from my One-One call sign?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’ Aleksi’s reply was swift. ‘One-One, stand by for casualty exchange point . . .’

  A blue crosshair appeared on my display, marking a location just outside the eastern end of the barrack building, out of line of sight to the Militia defenders.

  ‘Reference my mark, this will be the exchange point. I will have a vehicle with you in figures five!’

  ‘Roger.’ I raised my voice for my men to hear. ‘Lads, get these casualties ready to move! We have a vehicle inbound in five minutes!’

  Wildgoose quickly laid out a stretcher beside Puppy, and I helped him to lift the injured trooper onto it, before strapping him in. Griffiths and Weatherall did the same for Myers, whose arm was now heavily bandaged and secured to his side to stop him from attempting to move it. He moaned painfully as he was moved, despite the painkillers he had been given.

  Satisfied that both our injured comrades were ready to move, I took up the handles of Puppy’s stretcher. ‘Let’s go!’

  We carried our casualties through the building, turning our backs on the battle in search of a way out through its eastern side. Whilst we searched, Aleksi sent another update on the situation. ‘The southern building is now fully under our control,’ he said proudly. ‘And the northern building is fifty percent cleared. I expect the defenders will fight to the death rather than surrender, so the fight should intensify during the final clearance. There shouldn’t be any further requirement for Blackjack call signs to assist, however. Blackjack-One-Zero, I suggest you use this time to prepare your platoon for extraction back into the forest. Keep all of your casualties within the south-eastern sangar and remain there until I can have them collected.’

  ‘Blackjack-One-Zero, roger,’ the sergeant major responded. ‘I will have my sections remain within the barrack buildings and only move back on your call. One-One, confirm you are extracting your casualties?’

  ‘One-One,’ I acknowledged.

  ‘Good. Clearly your section is no longer combat effective, so you are to stay out of contact. I am happy for you to remain where you are for now, since any attempt to cross back to us will be dangerous prior to the successful clearance of the northern building. Once you have handed over your casualties remain where you are and continue in a recce function, as previously discussed.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘What was that?’ Wildgoose asked as we humped Puppy toward what appeared to be a small airlock at the end of a corridor.

  ‘The first building is clear,’ I summarised. ‘This one is almost clear as well. We’re gonna carry on searching the place but stay out of contact.’

  ‘That’s probably for the best,’ the section sniper said. ‘If we keep going then we won’t have anyone left!’

  Wildgoose wasn’t speaking with feeling, he was simply stating a fact. The section was destroyed by definition, having been reduced to the point where it could no longer have any significant effect on the battlefield on its own. I looked down at Puppy, whose chest valve fluttered every time he breathed outward. We couldn’t keep going anymore, I realised, not without some serious re-organisation. Einsatzgruppe-19 had used us as much as they possibly could, giving their army of Boskers the edge over their opponents, but now we were an expended force. I had no doubt that EJOC would take a different opinion, though, sending us further north once we had re-organised, pushing us ever onward until even our platoon was unable to function. Then we would probably be disbanded and used to bolster the French drop trooper units as they landed. There would be no peace for us now, not until the invasion of Europa was complete . . . or we were wiped out entirely.

  The outer door to the airlock was closed. Unlike the heavy duty door that gave access to the sangar, though, this one was fortunately little more than a regular door with a rubber seal. Without even putting the stretcher down, Wildgoose shifted his weight and kicked the door open, revealing the blackened barracks outside.

  Trondheim still echoed with the sound of gunfire, but it was evident that the battle was now contained within the barrack buildings. The orbital bombardment had stopped entirely as our ships switched their sights onto targets elsewhere. Flames were left dancing along the remains of the main gate, casting long shadows across the slave camp beyond. I could still make out the screaming of the Bosker slaves, and wondered how many of them had died in the crossfire between the Boskers and the automated guns. Lone figures wandered aimlessly through the darkness, staggering as if drunk. I suspected they were in shock.

  We placed the stretchers down on a grassy patch beside the airlock, and checked our casualties to make sure their vital signs hadn’t changed. Puppy seemed OK for now at least. He remained unconscious, but his breathing was fairly regular and his pulse remained heightened, yet steady. I knew that could change quickly, though.

  ‘You’ll be alright, mate,’ I told my 2ic, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I doubted he could hear me, but the reassurance was as much for me as it was for him.

  Ordinarily I would have expected both our casualties to survive, knowing that a casualty loaded onto a dropship was only a short flight away from the best hospital outside the solar system, but with Aleksi’s secretive casualty evacuation chain, I was growing increasingly nervous.

  I left Puppy and then stooped over Myers. The young trooper was no longer sobbing as the effects of his painkillers had kicked in, dulling the pain as well as his own mind. His head kept turning from side to side, though, as if denying anything happening around him was real.

  ‘How is he?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s fine,’ Griffiths replied, crouched next to the stretcher. He looked down at Myers and patted his helmet. ‘Nothing Paraiso hospital can’t fix!’

  Griffiths was lying, of course. Myers wasn’t fine. I had seen his injury with my own eyes, and even if he made it back to Paraiso in good time, I knew that the odds of him keeping his arm were slim. Still, I wasn’t going to inquire any further, since the young trooper didn’t need to hear any more.

  ‘Did he say how it happened?’ I asked.

  ‘He ran back out,’ Wildgoose said. ‘I was dragging Puppy after you, and he came to help me. Crazy bastard. I never saw who shot him, but it looked like it was someone on the upper floor. The dart must have hit the bone and near enough took the arm with it.’

  Idiot, I thought to myself. Why had Myers run back out onto the square, when he was needed on the assault? His act of misplaced bravery could have cost all our lives, let alone his.

  ‘I just couldn’t bear it,’ Myers suddenly uttered.

  I frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘I just couldn’t bear it anymore,’ the young trooper repeated, still shaking his head.

  Before I had a chance to ask what he was talking about, I saw a large dark shape emerge through the main gate to Trondheim, coming toward us at speed. It was a robotic truck, similar to the two that had carried explosives onto the barracks at the beginning of our attack. Rumbling right up to us on its eight massive wheels, the vehicle turned sharply to present its rear ramp, which was already lowering. A lone figure waited inside, hanging onto a handle with one arm whilst beckoning for us to load the casualties with the other.

  ‘Bring them on, guys!’ the figure said, and I recognised the voice as that of Van-Zyl. His role within his team was clearly
that of an administrator, controlling the rear supply elements of the Bosker army.

  We took up our stretchers and hurried them up the ramp, placing them on the floor inside the spacious rear compartment.

  I glanced around me dubiously. The vehicle didn’t appear to come with any medical equipment, nor did it carry any medical staff, just Van-Zyl. I had no doubt that he was medically trained, but I was still nervous about releasing my casualties into the care of Einsatzgruppe-19 when I still didn’t know what they intended to do with them.

  I suddenly noticed Weatherall flashing yellow beside Myers’ stretcher. I hadn’t really thought about him until that moment. He needed to go as well, which worked in our favour. Though heavily injured, he was still physically able to look after the others.

  ‘You’ll go as well, Weatherall,’ I ordered.

  ‘I’m not,’ the trooper replied defiantly.

  There was no way I was putting up with more argumentative young troopers, not after having seen Myers with his arm hanging off. ‘I’m sorry . . . when did my section become a democracy? You’re injured, and you’re going, end of discussion! You can help look after these two during their extraction.’

  Weatherall fell silent, knowing not to argue any further. The heat of battle had disintegrated our section cohesion, but he still knew to obey his superiors.

  ‘I’m sorry, Andy,’ Myers said, stealing my attention. He wasn’t looking at me, but rather staring straight through the roof of the truck. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Well, you can apologise properly when we get back to Paraiso,’ I said. I didn’t want to tell him the odds of us meeting again were slim.

  ‘I’m sorry . . .’ the young trooper repeated. ‘I couldn’t bear it anymore . . .’

  ‘Where are you taking them?’ I asked Van-Zyl anxiously, turning my attention away from Myers’ babbling.

  Van-Zyl pointed. ‘Back to the south-east sangar. We’re setting up an emergency landing site there to take all your casualties away.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘You have dropships?’