“Eight years. Three with the Union.” he replied. In the distance, an orange glow was colouring the bottom of the horizon, spilling from the distant silhouette of Union City’s skyline like an infected wound into the dark sky.
Looking up, the spreading clouds still hung in the skies, darkening the morning with their ominous weight and blocking out the harsh glare of the rising sun. The lightning had stopped after the pulse but straining, he realised the morning wasn’t quiet. He could hear the sound of deep thuds drifting across the sand.
As they crested the hill he squinted, his view of the sprawl of Union City was no longer obstructed. He could make out broken streaks of white anti-aircraft fire lighting up the skies, reaching up from the city into the gathered clouds.
He was too distant to see any targets, but he doubted the troops were firing for the hell of it. He couldn’t imagine how anyone had managed to get aircraft close enough without lighting up every radar station and military satellite in Australia. The situation was grim, and everything he learnt made it get worse. So much for the world's cleanest, greenest and most peaceful city in the centre of Australia.
On the hills to the west of the city he could see the gargantuan moisture collectors that allowed them to survive in the desert perched like gargoyles overlooking the city. Several had collapsed, others trailing flames from their upper halves. The city was on fire, cut off from their water supply. In the distance, the first high-pitched wails of warning sirens had began.
IV / Close yet far
Ryder sat in the passenger side of the truck, apprehension continuing to build as he thought over the morning's events. An unprovoked and unexpected attack that had somehow caught them by surprise in the middle of the damn desert. Had military intelligence been asleep? How could none of the dozens of satellites watching the city and its surroundings have missed this? It defied explanation.
“There’s Black Canyon.” said Foster, jolting him to attention and pointing to the left of the truck. Set back a short distance from the road, forbidding grey concrete walls rising over thirty foot from the sands and crowned with regularly spaced watchtowers. A space in the southern wall was open, containing a barrier bathd in blood red light and a guard post, 4 armed guards standing to attention and watching them approach.
One of the soldiers stepped forward as they reached the barrier, holding his hand out. “Halt!" he ordered, lowering his hand to the grip of his holstered pistol, bringing up a biometric scanner with his free hand.
They slowed to a stop several meters from him and he approached the passenger's window having spied Ryder in his uniform. “Biometric verification please.” he said. He spotted the 3 bars of rank on Ryder’s upper arm and belatedly added “Sir."
Ryder waved his left wrist over the scanning wand as it fed the data back to the guards blue-lit visor.
“Uh, sir, would you mind stepping out of the vehicle?" said the guard. “Can I ask what exactly you’re doing out here? Your service record tells me you’re currently sitting in Buenos Aires"
Ryder watched as the guard involuntarily tightened his grip on his side arm as he climbed out of the vehicle. “I was on the middle of a transfer to Crown Alpha 1 from Buenos Aires when my plane was knocked out of the sky half a dozen miles south of here."
“This chatty old gent, “ he indicated towards Foster in the cab of the truck, “managed to pull me out and was gracious enough to make sure I made it to civilization.”
“You were on the jet that went down 8 clicks south?” asked the guard, surprised, “We haven’t had a chance to even send out a rescue party yet with everything that’s been happening. If you don’t mind sir, we better get you to the Major’s office ASAP."
“One moment,” said Ryder, turning back to Foster. “I owe you one old-timer. Get back home, get your head down and ride out this...whatever this is. And get in touch with your kids and let them know what’s happening if it’s not hit the SatNet yet.”
“Keep safe, Ryder. Don’t worry bout me, I survived the ice caps melting in ‘48 and I’ll make it through this. If you ever get thirsty, 3 miles up from where you landed is my bar. First one's on me but you’ll ‘ave to pay for the rest!” Foster laughed. He waved, turning his truck and heading back towards the highway.
“Good luck old man.” thought Ryder as the tail lights of the truck moved away at pace.
Ryder turned back to the guard who had stopped him at the gate. “Lead on.” Ryder gestured to the guard and they entered through the barrier gate, walking towards a square three story building to their left, a squat sensor array perched on its roof. He could see soldiers of all ranks scrambling around the base. Signs of anxiousness and agitation were easy to read in their body language as they scurried around.
Several light armored vehicles were parked up just off the entrance road, being refuelled and rearmed with live rounds. Training rounds were being thrown from the vehicles and left lying where they landed. Most of the electrical systems on the base had been electromagnetically shielded and they’d suffered little damage.
The guard led him to the building's main entrance and waved him in, leading him to the left down a corridor with full height windows overlooking the training grounds. “Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, have you any idea what the hell is going on?” the guard asked.
“I have no idea.” Ryder replied. “I was hoping someone here might. I saw the pulse before whatever happened to cause my flight to go down, and AA fire on my way here but I’m none the wiser.”
The guard looked at him sideways, something playing on his mind. “We don’t think it was an accident, sir. We think it was shot down.”
“What?”
“One of our tower guards rang it in just over an hour ago He reported a passenger aircraft heading towards the city went down trailing fire. We’ve observed several unidentified aircraft operating at high altitude." He stopped before a nondescript door in the corridor, a brass plaque on the door proclaiming it was the office of “Major E. Kelly, Training operations.” proudly. This is you, sir"
“Thank you. Do you need to wait, or..?”
“No Sir, I’ve to return to the gates. Good luck, sir." With that, he marched off without looking back.
Ryder knocked the door. “Come!” snapped a voice from inside. Opening the door, he entered a small office about 3 meters square. Major Kelly sat behind a polished oak desk, a transparent monitor perched on the left hand edge. He could make out his own face through the rear of it. “Sir, Can you te-” he began to ask before she cut him off.
“Shh." She gestured at a seat to her right and snapped her fingers. “Cheeky bitch,” he thought, sitting down and looking her her. Mid 40’s, severe haircut, a thin scar running along the edge of her right eye socket. She looked up at him. “Ryder, Lucius, Sergeant Major, 3rd Battalion Argentina under Lt. Colonel Xayne. What the hell are you doing in my base?"
“Uh, it’s Luke, Sir. I wasn’t really given too many options on where I ended up.”
“Yes, I heard about your flight. I’m assuming since you’re here, there are other surviving passengers that need a medic, and that you don’t. I can’t get any data on the flight - how many crew and passengers are likely to need assistance?”
“About a dozen and a half, sir. Some bad injuries but the local who pulled me out told me there was nothing that looked to critical.”
Major Kelly hit the intercom button on her desk. “Sergeant, tell Captain Turner to get her team together and head to that crash site. Estimate 20 casualties. And tell her to make it back as fast as she can, we’re going to need her.”
The intercom buzzed in reply, a terse “Sir.” echoing from it.
Major Kelly swiveled back to face Ryder. “Now, here’s what I know. At approximately 06:30, some kind of EMP device was detonated over the city. Civilian systems are down, military systems are widely unaffected. Several civilian flights have been downed by unknown aircraft and the city is currently suffering multiple large fires. AA fire has been
spotted in the city too, and we’ve been tracking several convoys of civilians fleeing the city to outlying hamlets. Have you anything to add?"
“No, sir. That’s more than I know.” he answered. She was growing on him. Straight to the point and honest.
“That’s a pity. Get over to B barracks. Find Sergeant Jansen, first platoon, Bravo company. Tell him you’re their acting Lieutenant for now. We had several officers and NCO’s in the city celebrating a birthday, I don’t think we’re going to see them any time soon. Get them up and moving.” said the Major. “Lieutenant,” she added, throwing a small item to him, “you’ll need this.”
“Lieutenant?” He looked in his hand, eyes widening as the silver glint of a Lieutenant’s insignia looked back at him. “Sir, I don’t understand.”.
“Battlefield promotion. Can’t lead a company if you’re a Sergeant. I’m taking it back when this is over.” she replied.
Ryder began removing the 3 bar sergeant rank insignia from his collar. “What about the company CO, sir?”.
“Captain was out on training patrol when the pulse hit. I’ve re-tasked him to Union City outskirts on recon duty but we’ve not heard from him. Get over to the barracks. Gear up, we’re leaving in 90." She pointed at the door, turning back to her monitor.
Ryder smiled as he rose from his seat and saluted. “Sir!" He turned and walked out, shutting the door firmly behind him. The Major was not what he’d expected - there was some hope for the companies here yet if she was in charge.
Checking the base map on the wall near the Major’s office, he got his bearings and headed off towards B Barracks. He needed to get changed, geared up and meet the platoon within 90 minutes. It was going to be tight.
V / Romeo-alpha-whiskey 3-1-3-niner
Ryder entered the barracks building, struggling to remove the Sergeant’s insignia. Screw it, he thought - and ripped it off. Fatigues are already ruined, he thought, so screw it. He attached the new rank pin to his collar. He spotted a trooper walking past as he entered the main corridor and stopped the young specialist. “Specialist, what’s your name?"
“Specialist Fuchs, Sergeant.” the soldier replied, seeing the rank on his arm. “Er, Lieutenant. Sorry, sir." He corrected, spotting the Lieutenant insignia on Ryder’s collar.
He had a good 5 inches of height on Ryder and at least ten kilograms of muscle too. At just over six foot one tall, it wasn’t often Ryder had to look up at someone. “I only got the rank five minutes ago, it’s fine. Can you point me to the armory?”. Fuchs raised an eyebrow, Ryder’s explanation behind his recent promotion catching him off guard - aware it was an unusual procedure. This one is no green trooper, Ryder thought.
“I’ll take you there, sir. Need to replace my sidearm." With that, Fuchs bustled off down a corridor to their right and through a steel plated door with a green light above it, the outline of a rifle picked out clearly upon it. Ryder followed him in, stripping off his damaged armor and torn fatigues as he entered.
“Weapons here too, Sir. Ammunition and explosives need collected from the depot beside headquarters." He picked a matte black standard issue sidearm up from the weapons rack on the wall and gave it a quick once over before sliding it into his chest holster.
Ryder made no move to grab a pistol - his was a customised model, nickel plated instead of the standard matte black finish with an engraved wooden grip replacing vulcanised rubber. Good thing he’d had it unloaded and holstered during his flight - it was one of the few personal items he owned.
“Thank you, specialist. Sniper?” Ryder asked. There was something in the way he handled the pistol. Most soldiers Ryder had served with were about as careless with their weapons as they were with their wages - most of them were penniless within 3 days of being paid. He grabbed a new set of grey & white fatigues to match those worn by Fuchs and started throwing them on.
“Scout, sir. Alpine and desert specialist. 3 years in combat, another year here training recruits. Harder work than I expected.” remarked Fuchs.
“Ah. That’ll could be useful. I’m your new Lieutenant. Anything I should know about?" He zipped up his jacket and grabbed a new set of kevlar body armor and a helmet with a built in SatNet visor. “What’s the company command channel?” he asked, adjusting the helmet in place.
“Romeo-alpha-whiskey 3-1-3-niner.” replied Fuchs.
Ryder adjusted his visor feed, information from the MilSat and squad channel starting to flood into this Heads Up Display. “Now, where’s the rest of your company?” he asked.
Fuchs smiled in relief. “Rec room, sir. Geared up already. First and second squads were out on patrol already when everything started with the Captain. Wish I’d been with them, sir. First squads scout hasn’t seen any real action." Fuchs walked out of the armory toward a double door at the opposite end of the corridor.
Ryder followed Fuchs from the armory. He finished strapping a rifle into his combat harness - a scoped, semi-automatic railgun with a laser sight - and adjusted his armor straps while he walked.
“Are you any good with that thing, sir?” called Fuchs over his shoulder.
“Do you think I’m stupid enough to risk my life by picking up a weapon I couldn’t use, specialist?” he rejoined.
Fuchs winced. “Point taken, sir. We’re in here.” he said, opening the doors in front of him.
There were about 60 men in the hall - small company - and most looked pretty green. “Company, listen up!” he bellowed. “I’m acting Lieutenant, Ryder. NCO’s on me, if you please." Several men began to walk over to him.
Several sets of eyes watched him, heavy with distrust. As he wound his way around troopers and their gear on his way to speak to the Non-coms as they gathered up, more than one trooper made no effort to ease his passage and several blatantly acted as if he wasn’t even there.
“Classer bastard.” muttered a young sharp faced Sergeant on his left as he walked past. This shit again, thought Ryder. Same thing he’d faced time and again over the past 8 years, but at least this time it didn’t involve a knife and a bar fight.
“Sergeant! At attention!” snapped Ryder spinning towards him. “That’s Classer bastard, sir. Anything else you’d like to share?" He glanced around at the squad surrounding the trooper. Australian regional patches dominated, but all citizen soldiers. He could see a Dutch First Sergeant watching him from his right.
The Sergeant straightened up and looked Ryder in the eyes, a smirk on his face. “Piss back off to wherever you came from. We don’t need your type."
Ryder smirked back. “We’re all soldiers here, not Classers or citizens. I’m not in the mood for this. Push your luck and see what happens." - Ryder paused, squaring his shoulders as he looked the Sergeant in the eye - “Well?”. The Sergeant stiffened and took a step back, shaking his head. “Anyone else? No? This isn’t a fucking tea party, ladies. Get your arses in gear and let's get moving. NCO’s, on me. Where’s Jansen?"
“Here, sir.” said the Sergeant with the Dutch patch on his fatigues, stepping over to Ryder. “You handled Smith well. The Captain was fined last year at court martial for laying him out. He hasn’t learnt much since then unfortunately."
Ryder shot Jansen an amused look. “I handled that well because that was me five years ago. Have we got transport?"
“Yes Lieutenant, out the back. 2 Light Armored Vehicles and a convoy of 6 ‘Broadsword’ armed transports that sit 10. Best we get to them before the Major tasks Charlie company and they steal the transports."
Ryder raised his voice, addressing the company. “Company, we’re moving out in 60. Gear up and mark your transports."
As Ryder walked away, he gestured towards the table beside him heaped in provisions to get Jansen’s attention, before sitting down. “Haven’t ate in about 12 damn hours.” He explained when Jansen joined him. “You’re probably wondering why a Lieutenant you’ve never seen before just walked in and told you where to jump and how high.”
Jansen nodded. “Thought had crossed my min
d, sir.”
“Just Ryder, Sergeant. I’m only an acting officer because yours are all in the city having a piss up from what the Major told me. Sergeant Major, otherwise. What can you tell me about these miserable bastards?”
He gestured at the soldiers around them before grabbing a loose ration pack off the end of the table and tearing it open before eyeing it with distrust - some kind of rice mixed with something that was allegedly dried meat. He shrugged and bit off a chunk before looking at Jansen.
“Mostly green troops, just out of combat training. We have a few specialists rotated in from campaigns. “ Said Jansen. He began listing them off, “There’s Wu standing at the windows - sniper, he’s done a tour in Eastern Africa shutting down the local militias. Good shot but needs to be told what to do and where to go. Fuchs you’ve met, scout. Lazy, but you can trust him not to make any mistakes. Good reports from his CO in Russia. Last, shaved head over by the door? That’s King. Here to help with live fire exercises, earmarked for his stripes soon. Combat medic.”
The fall of Union (Rise of the Union Book 1) Page 2
