RECCE (The Union Series Book 4) Page 10

  Mr Barkley proffered his datapad.

  ‘Take the time now to link up and download the locations I’ve recorded,’ he said.

  We drew our optical cables from our own datapads, connecting them to his. Within moments of me plugging in my cable, the forest suddenly became decorated by tens of crosshairs and lines, all created by Mr Barkley during his recce of the target area.

  ‘I’ve marked what I believe to be potential enemy locations,’ Mr Barkley went on, ‘indicated by the red crosshairs I have placed out. The most relevant enemy positions to us at this stage are centred around Hill Kilo, those being the ones that we are about to assault.’

  I looked up at a cluster of red crosshairs that appeared to be hovering higher than everything else amongst the trees. By their range and elevation, I could tell that they were the ones Mr Barkley was talking about, and the sight of them caused me to raise an eyebrow.

  ‘There’s quite a few of them,’ Corporal Abdi remarked, clearly thinking the same as me.

  ‘There are,’ Mr Barkley agreed, ‘though it is worthwhile pointing out that I haven’t managed to gain visual confirmation onto any of those positions, instead I have taken them from scanner readings. Each one of the crosshairs you see could represent only a single soldier or piece of equipment, in which case, there isn’t much up there at all.’

  ‘That patrol we came across during our insertion was moving with every bit of kit switched on,’ Corporal Stanton pointed out. ‘They haven’t been hiding themselves well so far.’

  ‘No - which is good news for us - it suggests that our enemy isn’t expecting an attack any time soon, and that his tactical discipline is nothing short of shocking. Either way, it puts us in a good position, with a vast array of targets that our air assets can engage on H-Hour.’

  ‘Shame we can’t drop orbital artillery on their heads,’ Corporal Abdi said. ‘We’d make a right mess of that hill.’

  Mr Barkley regarded him for a second and then nodded. ‘I agree. But we work with what we have.’

  The platoon commander then lowered his arm slightly, indicating toward a green T-shaped icon that floated on our visor displays to the northeast: our forming up position.

  ‘Our FUP is just over three hundred metres away,’ he explained, ‘and it is currently being secured by Four Section. At precisely zero-four-hundred hours we will move forward into the FUP. That gives us an entire hour to get from here into position three hundred metres away. I will make sure that I set a very slow pace so as to allow your sections to move quietly, the emphasis being placed upon noise, light and electronic discipline. As I’m sure you have noticed, the undergrowth is pretty dense, so ensure that your men know to tread carefully during the move in. Make sure they understand that if they drop back or become separated for any reason, then they are not to activate any equipment in an attempt to find us, and they are not - I repeat, they are not - to attempt to wander through the trees on their own. They are to go firm and wait where they are until either we come back for them, or the shooting starts.’

  We all understood why our troopers couldn’t simply follow the green icons in the dark. Icons didn’t tell them exactly which route to take, where the fallen trees were, or the where the undergrowth became impassable. Our night vision, no matter how good it was, would be little help on a cold, wet night when the forest was shrouded in mist, and so a separated trooper would be virtually blind, crashing through the forest in his hasty attempt to catch up with everyone else.

  ‘Does anyone have any questions?’ Mr Barkley looked to each of us in turn, but there were none; we knew what we were doing. ‘Good. Return to your sections and brief your men.’

  Corporal Abdi clutched me by the shoulder as he stood, tapping his visor against mine.

  ‘Catch you at the re-org, mate,’ he whispered.

  I smiled grimly. ‘The re-org on Eden … or the one in hell?’

  He shrugged. ‘Is there a difference?’

  I watched as Corporal Abdi left, following the platoon line toward his section. I liked him, though I hadn’t had the chance to get to know him well. He was tough and brave, and not afraid to speak his mind - often to the annoyance of the sergeant major.

  ‘Do you have any questions, Corporal Moralee?’ Mr Barkley repeated, noting that I hadn’t left yet. Though I couldn’t see his eyes through his visor, I could feel him staring at me searchingly.

  He doubts me, I thought to myself. Maybe only a little, but enough to make him question his decision to bring me out here.

  ‘No,’ I replied. ‘I’m good to go.’

  He gave me a small nod. ‘OK.’

  With that, I picked myself up and made my way back toward my section - they were waiting for me at the far end of the platoon line. The other sections were already closing in to small huddles in the darkness, their commanders exchanging the information given to them by Mr Barkley. Puppy, having anticipated my return, had closed my section together as well, creating a small circle of troopers that faced outward in all directions. Even when waiting for a brief from your section commander in the dark, all round defence was critical.

  I closed in to the middle of my section.

  ‘Charlie fire team, close in and plug in,’ I instructed.

  My fire team of three troopers came inward from the huddle and quickly connected their datapads to my own. As soon as they had downloaded the data handed to me by Mr Barkley, I sent them back to their original positions, before closing in Delta Fire Team along with Puppy.

  Operating in such close quarters with the enemy had proven to me the true worth of our datapads, and the ability they gave us to exchange large amounts of information between each other without a single wireless transmission. In a battle like the one we were preparing for, information was key to success, but a single detected transmission could turn our attack into a massacre.

  Once I was happy that every trooper had downloaded the necessary information, I explained to them the platoon commander’s plan, stressing the necessity for total silence until H-Hour was called and the saucers descended upon the objective.

  ‘The saucers will make a mess out of that hill,’ Skelton said, hopefully. ‘Especially with all those targets marked.’

  ‘Don’t be so sure,’ I cautioned. ‘That hill is a legacy position built by the Alliance, so it’s going to be dug in deep. Whatever there is on top of it, there’s likely to be twice that number below it - plus there’s a large number of Loyalist Militia in the village itself.’

  ‘Should we even be attacking a target that big anyway?’ Griffiths asked dubiously, nodding in the direction of the hill. ‘There’s only a platoon of us.’

  ‘Probably not,’ I agreed, ‘but we’re only providing the break in point for the Guard to echelon through. Remember, all we need to do is get a foothold on the top of the hill, then let the Guard do the rest. After that, it’s just a case of providing them with support and advice as they clear the objective.’

  ‘Last time my platoon provided the Guard with support, we ended up doing the whole job for them,’ the Welsh trooper grumbled.

  ‘What about the warrens?’ Myers asked, a trace of anxiousness in his voice.

  I understood the young trooper’s concern. Nobody wanted to go into the tunnel system dug into the hill, not with a company of terrified FEA soldiers running around with their safety catches off.

  ‘Nobody is going into the warrens,’ I assured them all. ‘That’s for the FEA to deal with, not us. Nobody’s going underground on this operation…’

  The move toward the FUP was painfully slow, as the platoon stepped carefully through the dense undergrowth toward the green markers that hovered in front of us. Each trooper kept no further than a metre apart from his comrades, creeping through the forest in single file.

  Our full spectrum imaging, using every form of light from ultra-violet to infrared, still struggled to identify the separate pieces of vegetation that littered the forest floor, and we were forced to rely upon our sense of
touch to avoid making a sound. With every step I gently moved my foot forward, feeling with my boot for somewhere safe to place my weight. Occasionally somebody trod on something, or caught a branch, and we all instinctively froze, wincing at the noise that threatened to give us away. Fortunately for us, though, the beating rain drowned out the sounds that we made, making it difficult for even the best audio equipment to hear us at a distance. Unpleasant as it was, the foul weather was working to our advantage.

  The platoon was met by Corporal Kamara at the base of the green T, before being led into position. His section had marked out the FUP, with two troopers stationed on each end of the T, two at the base, and one at the centre, ensuring that it was occupied correctly, as well as keeping it secure prior to our arrival.

  Like a well-rehearsed, silent precession, the platoon occupied the FUP without a sound. Mr Barkley stopped at the centre of the T, the four troopers of his group closing up behind him. Three and Two Section then filed past him, splitting off to the left and right to take up their positions of the forward edge of the T. My section stopped behind the platoon commander, and the sergeant major’s group, who had been bringing up the rear to catch any stragglers, stopped behind us at the base of the T.

  Myers knelt in front of me, right beside the last man of the platoon commander’s group. He turned to face his left, so that he knelt shoulder to shoulder with the other trooper, covering out into the forest. The two troopers exchanged a quiet whisper, and Myers gave an exaggerated nod.

  I closed up behind Myers, turning to face the opposite direction before dropping into the wet undergrowth, adjusting the position of my knee to get as comfortable as possible. We would be waiting in the FUP for almost another thirty minutes by my visor clock, and the kneeling position could turn into a stress position over time.

  Ahead of us I could just make out pillars of grey light in the darkness, and I realised I was looking at the edge of the forest, perhaps twenty metres beyond the forward edge of the T. Beyond that was Hill Kilo, atop which the enemy was perched.

  Myers leant close to me and whispered, so quietly I needed my headset to help me hear: ‘FUP. We’re here for thirty minutes.’ He then pointed with an outstretched arm toward the forward edge of the T and the cluster of red crosshairs hanging above it. ‘Enemy direction.’

  I nodded, and waited for Skelton to close up with me, before passing the message in turn. Of course we all knew that we were in the FUP and where the enemy was, but we still followed the drill rigidly, removing any risk of human or electronic error.

  Whilst the message continued to pass, the sergeant major slowly crept along the T, gently tapping helmets as he counted us. This was the last chance for him to confirm that everyone was present before all hell broke loose.

  ‘No going back now,’ Myers hissed apprehensively, as we watched him go.

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ I reassured him.

  ‘I hope so,’ he said sadly. ‘I’ve had enough of this.’

  6

  H-Hour

  Back to the contents page

  After over twenty long minutes shivering in the cold, there was a stir across the platoon as the first message passed back from the platoon commander.

  Myers turned around and tapped me on the shoulder: ‘Five minutes.’

  I nodded and passed the message back to Skelton. We all knew the time for H-Hour and all of our clocks were synchronised, but the messages would keep coming back, ensuring that nobody was asleep or surprised when the moment came. Despite the cold and the fear of death, it was pretty easy for a trooper to fall asleep when he was as fatigued as we were.

  I watched the minutes disappear, listening to the sound of the rain dripping through the branches and the trees creaking as they swayed. The atmosphere was electrified by a whole range of emotions, as individual troopers contemplated the approaching battle - fear, anticipation, excitement - every trooper handled the last few moments differently.

  Then, as the final seconds ticked away, the whole forest seemed to go quiet, even the air became deathly still, as if everybody - including Mother Nature - was holding their breath.

  Five, four, three, two, one … H-Hour.

  At the forward edge of the T, the platoon commander reached out and tapped the platoon signaller on the arm. With a single touch on his datapad, the signaller sent a message via his tight beam carrying all of our target data to be relayed instantly back to the approaching saucers.

  The silence continued, nobody daring to move a muscle as we waited for the saucers to strike. We were all wondering the same things: would the saucers be late? Had something gone wrong? Had they not received our message?

  Suddenly a distant voice cried out in alarm, breaking the silence. Voices chattered urgently, the sound carrying through the still night air.

  We remained still, every trooper focusing his attention toward the edge of the tree line and the hill beyond. Like a pack of wolves waiting to strike at their prey, we waited as the alarm spread across the enemy position.

  Perhaps they had picked up the electronic reading created by our tight beam, I wondered nervously. It was designed to be virtually undetectable, but we were so close to our enemy it was entirely possible that it had given us away. I imagined the Loyalists scrambling to their positions, weapons powering up, and smart launchers being hefted onto shoulders ready to fire.

  My fears were quickly put to bed, though, as the hillside flashed brightly with a series of explosions that echoed across the forest. A few troopers ducked instinctively at the noise, only raising their heads again when they realised what had caused it.

  One of the two saucers shot overhead, so low that the sonic boom that followed it flattened plants around us and caused the trees to sway violently. Its twin cannon roared as it hammered the hill, peppering it with explosive shells that lit the sky with every impact.

  Having received all of the target information that we had gathered, the two saucers pounded the hill with shells and missiles. With devastating accuracy, they struck at every target we had given them. Their robotic minds were capable of inspecting every location we had given them simultaneously, deciding whether there was anything present to engage and then prioritising their targets in less than a millisecond.

  Blinding white light flickered through the trees as smart missiles were launched from the hill and the nearby village. The Loyalists were desperately attempting to fend off the saucers with everything they had, their attention turned away from the edge of the forest where we lay in wait.

  The platoon commander’s message came back less than a minute after the saucers struck: ‘Prepare to move.’

  As I watched, he ordered the first section to advance with a sweep of his arm. Three Section bounded forward instantly, breaking out of the tree line and into the open. The battle overhead illuminated the eight troopers as they ran toward the foot of the hill, stopping no more than ten metres out of the forest.

  As soon as Three Section had completed their bound, Two Section leapt into action, charging out after them. No orders were shouted as they ran forward, and not a single trooper powered up his rifle or activated his net. In total silence, the assaulting sections bounded onward up the hill, taking full advantage of the distraction created by the attacking saucers.

  As the two sections moved up onto the slope, Mr Barkley’s four-man group began to follow on behind, keeping close enough to control the battle once it began, but far away enough to reduce the risk of the platoon commander dying early. The sergeant major then moved up in turn, bypassing my section to stop at the edge of the forest.

  I remained in amongst the trees, watching the sergeant major’s group intently. Acting as a platoon sergeant would in a regular platoon, he was holding my section back as reserve until we were needed. It was important to keep the reserve uncommitted to the battle until it was required, though still readily available. Soon we would move forward, I knew - once the sergeant major was happy that a large enough gap had formed between him and the
platoon commander. Having the two of them together was a sin during battle, risking them both being killed at once, and they often repelled each other like opposing magnets.

  I noticed the sergeant major brace, as if he was happy that there was a sufficient distance between him and Mr Barkley.

  ‘Prepare to move,’ I hissed back to the rest of the section, and as the message passed back every trooper automatically checked his pouches and his rifle one last time.

  The sergeant major turned around and beckoned for us to follow. His party then stood as one, and were suddenly lit by a smart missile passing over the canopy. They froze momentarily, waiting for the light to subside, and then crept out of the trees.

  Once the last man of the sergeant major’s group had broken out of the tree line, I stood and began to follow. There was no need to run - we were out of contact, and the two advancing sections would be moving more slowly because they were taking turns to bound forward. I moved carefully and deliberately, stepping gently through the undergrowth. Thankfully I knew that any noise I made would be drowned out by the constant roar of the two saucers firing, darting from one side of the hill to the other with impossible speed.

  We passed the two troopers marking the top of the T, and as we did one of them gave me a respectful nod. My visor recognised him, and identified him as Corporal Kamara.

  ‘Good luck, mate,’ he said earnestly.

  I didn’t really know Corporal Kamara, or what he thought of me. I often saw him whispering quietly with his friend Corporal Stanton whenever I was near, most likely wondering how I’d managed to get into the platoon in the first place. Whatever he thought, though, it didn’t really matter anymore; we were going into battle, and there was no room for personal opinions.

  ‘And you,’ I replied. Though Corporal Kamara’s initial role was to remain behind and receive the first company of Guardsmen as they landed, he would soon end up sucked into combat himself, of that I had no doubt. He would need as much luck as I did.