‘We’re coming into orbit, lads,’ Corporal Evans briefed us, ‘Chinese warships have been driven away, but we’re receiving heavy anti orbital fire from the surface. It’s going to be a rough ride down, in other words.’
We knew that anyway. The Chinese had spent the past two years since defeating the Union and its Russian allies preparing for the inevitable counter attack. New Earth was worth too much to both sides to be given up without a fight, but the Union had never anticipated a Chinese invasion. Our enemy would not repeat the same mistake with us.
I had spent weeks during our voyage being lectured on the scale of the Chinese forces garrisoned on New Earth, and it was sobering: hundreds of battalions of infantry and artillery, hundreds of warships ranging from tiny gun boats and orbital weapons platforms, to mighty battleships and carriers stocked with robotic aircraft. Again I imagined the battle that raged around us outside our tiny little compartment, and it made me feel very, very small and defenceless.
Suddenly the lights switched from bright white to a dim blood red. We all knew what that meant - it was time.
‘Helmets on, lads! Let’s do this!’
As one, we put our helmets on over our respirators, clipping them under our chins. With the last part of my body covered except for a few square inches of my neck I began to sweat profusely. The respirator automatically made its best attempt to keep my face cool, its tiny fans whirring madly, but it was never quite enough and this time was no exception.
‘One minute, lads!’ Corporal Evans warned over the intercom, just as the artificial gravity generated by Challenger disengaged. The sudden feeling of weightlessness turned my insides and I resisted the urge to puke. The dropship was moving, I could feel it. The launch bay had depressurized and we were being moved by a robotic arm into position, ready to fall from Challenger for the last time. The bay doors above us would be gaping open, and I knew that we were hanging upside down over the red surface of New Earth kilometres below.
‘Thirty seconds!’
Joe Mac pumped his fist, ‘Come on, boys,’ his bared teeth were visible through his visor as he leant forward to see us all, ‘Let’s get angry! We’re gonna have these bastards!’
The intercom filled with our personal battle cries. I couldn’t think of anything good, so I just screamed out, ‘Wooooo!’ Better than doing nothing at all I guess, and surprisingly it made me feel a lot better.
‘Ten seconds!’
We were in frenzy; blokes were shaking fists and screaming obscenities I couldn’t possibly repeat.
I did think of something to say then, something that at the time I felt would be inspiring to myself and the lads sat around me, but then I couldn’t remember what it was I was - good job - because I never got the chance to say it.
We suddenly dropped.
We fell from Challenger toward the surface of New Earth and G-forces tore at my body as the dropship began its violent manoeuvres to achieve an optimum entry, and it was then that I was glad there were no windows to see out of. Again I fought back the urge to be sick. Everything happened so fast and violently, I’m not sure I was even able to breathe!
All I could do was hold Berezynsky’s gaze. I don’t know why I did it, but I always ended up locked into eye contact with one of the lads sat across from me. I guess without anything else to look at, it was the only thing to keep me from losing it. Tony’s eyes were wild and terrified and I’m pretty sure that mine were too.
Dropships were at their most vulnerable during the entry stages of their drop, particularly from missiles and ground fire. Speed was one of their primary means of defence during that stage, and therefore instead of slowing to a more acceptable shuttle entry speed, they just kept going. Underneath a dropship was a patchwork of tiles designed to absorb the extreme heat created by the friction between the ship and the atmosphere on entry, initially at speeds as high as thirty thousand kilometres per hour.
Everything shook as the dropship entered the New Earth atmosphere, tilting backward to allow the tiles to do their job. High above us, Challenger and the other troopships would be firing us in, using an assortment of missiles and orbital artillery to cut through the enemies air defence and soften the objective for our landing, as well as making it difficult for enemy anti-air batteries to distinguish between dropships and ordinance.
There was one single fact that terrified me, a point made again and again during my training to prepare me for the reality of a ‘Hard’ drop. Not everybody would make it. On previous operations against the Indians, the Japanese and the many other enemies of the Union, statistically one in three dropships were destroyed by enemy fire during their perilous landings. And there I was, sat in one of those very dropships, strapped in so that I could hardly move, one missile away from becoming a statistic. The maddest thing about it all was that we were all troopers voluntarily; in fact we were one of the few arms in the Union military that were voluntary. In a world where freedom was only for the wealthy, we had made the only choice we were ever allowed to make; we had chosen the infantry.
I pictured phalanxes of missiles speeding toward us from every direction, blasting our mates out of the sky and sending molten metal streaking across the upper atmosphere, and then my fears intensified even more. The initial shock of the drop and the atmospheric entry were gone and my conscious mind began to contemplate what was happening. Despite what I was taught, every muscle in my body tensed and my heart felt like it was about to hurtle through the top of my skull, never mind it pumping! Some people had been known to soil themselves during a drop, and I think during training one of my mates actually did, although he always denied it.
We fell from the heavens at impossible speeds, slowing rapidly as the atmosphere thickened. The dropship would have to sacrifice its speed in order to enter the lower atmosphere without burning up, or splatting us onto the surface of New Earth like a bug on a windshield. In order to counteract the loss of speed it would then substitute with daredevil manoeuvres and more importantly use its twin vulcan cannon, capable of firing thousands of rounds a minute. Since our straps prevented our bodies being thrown about the crew compartment, our vital organs just threw themselves about inside our rib cages instead.
I felt the dropship dip its nosecone - enabling the vulcan to fire. No sooner had it done so then the crew compartment shook. It didn’t take the brains of a scientist to know that the vibrations were caused by the vulcan firing, and that meant enemy missiles. Anti-air missiles of all types and sizes, which could not hope to hit us before, would now be in their element as we slowed in the lower atmosphere.
‘Screw the nut!’ Climo shouted in protest at yet another sudden drop that left our stomachs where our mouths should be. I’m still amazed he even got the words out.
‘Keep it together, lads,’ Corporal Evans boomed, ‘We’ll be flat to the deck soon. Anti-air ain’t even getting close!’
I chose to believe him, although as it turned out he was actually lying. The Chinese air defences had successfully taken down dozens of dropships and gravtanks from our battle group, which had been one of the first to drop. They had also caused significant damage to our fleet in orbit, despite being completely outgunned. However, Dropship Infantry were organised to operate with the grim acceptance that ships would be lost. In a modern war against a well-matched foe like the Chinese, it was inevitable. To lose ten or so ships wasn’t actually that bad going, believe it or not.
I could feel us begin to level out. Dropships had a symbiosis between pilot and machine that enabled them to fly at breakneck speeds only a few metres from the ground, making them harder to detect and engage. Rather than just dropping straight onto an objective, which made us an easier target, we would drop to a location a few kilometres away and then fly in flat to the deck with the gravtanks in support. The final stage of the drop was known as the ‘run in’, and it was just as dangerous.
I could imagine outside our tiny compartment the armada of ships forming up as it came closer and closer to the gro
und, blasting missiles away with sprays of vulcan.
We levelled out suddenly with a jolt, and I knew then that we were on the surface of New Earth. The objective would be in the distance, obscured by clouds created by smoke bombs dropped by the fleet to mask our approach. Not much defence against the advanced targeting systems used by robotic enemy fighters and missiles, but a smoke screen was better than absolutely nothing!
We jerked to the left and right as the dropship weaved around unseen obstacles, through valleys, around hills and whatever else my imagination could cook up. We were really going for it, even though we were only travelling at a fraction of our entry speed, the G-forces of the final run in were easily enough to turn my stomach a few times. We ‘leapt’ over something, and I honestly thought all my intestines had dropped out of me.
It was then that Brown puked into his respirator, ‘Oh God!’ I thought. I couldn’t see his face, just what he’d had for breakfast smeared all over his visor. In other circumstances, I would have considered what I saw as hilarious. I despised Brown, but I didn’t want to see him choke before he even made the landing.
‘Brown, sort your life out! Now!’ Joe Mac snarled as Brown struggled to remove the respirators.
I can’t really say that I blame Brown for puking, lots of people do from time to time, and it’s a wonder I didn’t puke too, because I was absolutely terrified. Imagine the maddest rollercoaster on Earth and then get thousands of people to shoot at it, and that still wouldn’t even come halfway to a drop!
Outside we were beginning to get into an assault formation. The company were assaulting with two platoons up front, with one to the rear in reserve, I remembered from my briefings. In each of those platoons were four dropships, in a box formation with two up front and two to the rear. In front of each platoon were the gravtanks, at a ratio of one to every two dropships. They were essentially a dropship, but with a lower profile, more armour and a turret mounted rail gun. Each ship would be a few hundred metres apart in order to minimise the damage the company could take from explosive area weapons used by the enemy. From above the formation would look like a large triangle, concealed in smoke and the dust and sand thrown up in its wake, hurtling toward its target.
Brown removed his respirator and tipped the puke onto the floor at his feet. He looked like he was about to cry. He shook it and tried to wipe the inside on his knee.
‘No time for that now, you lizard!’ Mac scorned, ‘Put it back on!’
Brown obeyed. The respirators might well stink, but it would work, and that was the main thing.
‘Thirty seconds boys!’
Funnily enough I felt almost elated. I had survived the drop with all of my section. Whatever happened when we touched down and the back door opened, at least I would have a chance to do something about it rather than sitting there, strapped in and ready to die.
I doubt that Tony Berezynsky felt the same; he looked like he was losing it.
‘Tony you’ll be alright, mate,’ I offered him encouragement. It was a pretty empty gesture, but something is always better than nothing I liked to think.
Tony shook his head, ‘This is crazy!’
‘You’re right there, mate, this is mental!’ Climo shouted. The vulcan was going berserk and we were slowing down rapidly: Party time.
It wasn’t just mental, it was unreal. Here I was, sat in a marvel of science and engineering turned into a weapon of war, on an alien planet light years from Earth, about to go into battle. How do you explain that to your kids? If you make it that far that is?
My elation was all but gone, and for the first time in my life I made a prayer to God.
‘Twenty seconds!’
Dear Lord, please don’t let me die.
‘Okay, okay!’ Corporal Evans hurriedly answered to the pilot on the intercom, then turned to us, ‘Lads, when you exit, you go left! There’s a ditch you can get in. Left, Berezynsky you got me?’
Tony would be the first man out, ‘Yeah I got you!’
If you let me live I promise Ill change.
‘Ten seconds!’
I’ll believe in you. I’ll go to church. I’ll never pick up a weapon again.
‘Five! This is it, lads!’
My stomach lurched for the last time as the dropship came to an abrupt standstill. My straps disengaged automatically and I reached for my rifle by instinct. Light poured in as the rear ramp began to fall.
It was raining on the surface of New Earth.
The noise outside was deafening even with my earphones on. The dropship was unleashing everything it had to cover our exit.
‘GO, GO, GO!’ Corporal Evans screamed, but Tony hesitated.
‘GO, you knob!’ Climo shoved him out the door, and I followed.
2: One month Ago: New Arrivals
I probably wouldn’t have felt the gradual return of gravity and the gentle thud of the shuttle mating with Challenger’s airlock had I been asleep like the others. I had been comfortable enough, the shuttle was far less cramped than a dropship compartment and the zero-G was quite relaxing once you got used to it. But I hadn’t found myself able to fall asleep during our ten hour voyage into deep space, instead I had passed the time staring at a tiny green computer screen at the far end of the compartment, our only illumination since the pilot had turned off the internal lighting. For the best part of the journey it had flashed on and off, with a single message, ‘NO INTERFACE.’ At times during the journey I had pondered over its meaning, but coming up with no answers I had long since given up and simply watched it blinking on and off. Like a clock ticking, it counted the seconds to our arrival.
I never could sleep during shuttle journeys, not necessarily through fear or excitement, but rather through anticipation of whatever I might encounter at my destination. My mind raced through scenarios of what might happen when we stepped aboard Challenger for the first time, wondering if the reception would be frosty or friendly and if the ship would be vast and awesome like the troopship that had taken me to Uralis for my training, or cramped and uncomfortable like the warrens of Fort Abu Naji, deep beneath the Uralian surface.
It would be my second time aboard a ship of the Union Navy. Well, it would be my third, but the second time didn’t really count - we had flown up from the surface of Uralis by dropship, docked with an old decommissioned warship and then dropped only fifteen minutes later - we never even left the crew compartment. The thing that made Challenger different was not to do with the ship itself, it was who was on it. Challenger was a troopship with a formidable cargo, it was home to A Company of the 3rd Battalion English Dropship Infantry, a company of fully-trained and combat-hardened drop troopers and it was preparing for war. Onboard the comparatively tiny transport shuttle there were only fifteen of us, the rest of the platoon I had trained with had been split up into the flotilla of troopships that orbited silently, high above the brown and white surface of Uralis. Soon we - the fresh meat - would be the minority, instead of the majority as we had been in training. Challenger carried two hundred and fifty men, a hundred of whom were drop troopers.
I remembered the final words of wisdom from my section commander, the man who had trained me, before we nervously boarded the shuttle to leave Uralis for the last time, ‘Be the grey man. Do what you’re told and never answer back. Keep your head down and eventually you will be accepted.’ I told myself I would follow his words to the letter.
Suddenly the compartment lights switched on, blinding me with their intensity. I covered my face with my hands as the shuttle AI spoke over the intercom with an almost mockingly cheerful voice and a strong German accent.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard challenger! The time onboard is 0400 hours. Please wait while the docking procedure completes, this may take a few minutes.’
The compartment filled then with the groans of troopers unimpressed by their rude awakening, straining against their straps in an attempt to stretch their limbs.
As if anticipating what the lads in the compar
tment would surely attempt next, the AI added, ‘Please may I remind all personnel that it is not permitted to remove your safety harness until the docking procedure is complete.’
‘Yeah, thanks for that one,’ somebody moaned sarcastically, followed by the sound of buckles being unfastened.
‘Somebody tell that robot to ram it, I need a few more hours!’
‘Yeah, let’s do a lap round the planet or something.’
I smiled at the absurdity of the last comment. Of course we had no choice in the matter, not anymore anyway. Sign up to the dropship infantry and you choose not to have a choice.
A chime and a light at the far end of the crew compartment announced that we were allowed to remove our straps and I quickly unbuckled myself, flexing unused muscles and massaging aching joints. Uralis had added years onto my body, and sometimes I felt more like a middle-aged man than an eighteen-year-old boy. We stood and it felt good to feel gravity working against my bones again, even if I did know that it wasn’t the real thing - like on Earth. Although I had learnt to handle zero-G without puking all over the place, it always reminded me how far from home I really was.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are successfully docked with Challenger, please ensure you collect your equipment when you disembark, or you will not see it again.’
‘No ladies on here!’
‘No gents, either!’
I ignored the moans and rants of the other recruits, disconnecting my sausage bag from the straps that held it in place beneath my seat, straps that prevented it from bouncing around the compartment in the event of decompression. I had always thought it quite ridiculous, none of us were given suits, so decompression - however unlikely - meant certain death anyway. Who gave a stuff about things bouncing around or shooting out of the crew compartment?
C.R.O.W. (The Union Series) Page 2
