‘Yeah?’
‘Mate, he’s smiling!’
Brown shook his head, ‘Then he needs to get a grip of himself.’
I watched the IR torch move up the tunnel, becoming a single ring of light around the lone figure. He was about a hundred metres up our tunnel, with the drill fifty metres on from him and the Chinese ten metres through the rock past that.
He didn’t get any further.
Whump!
The explosion this time was so powerful it still managed to toss us from where we sat into a crumpled heap on the ground. The overpressure created by the enemy device, whatever it was, would surely have ruptured my ear drums and caused my eye balls to bleed had I not been wearing all of my protective equipment. I rolled onto my back, in shock from the impact. Dust settled on my visor so thick I couldn’t see.
‘On your feet! On your feet! Rapid fire, now!’ I recognised our platoon commander's voice. Where before he had sounded urgent but in control, now his voice was shrill. With a terrible chill that shot up my spine, I realised it was the Chinese who had detonated a device, but this time the overpressure had been far greater than before. The Chinese had used one of their own plasma charges to explosively dig into our tunnel. Much the same as we had done to them hours earlier.
‘Shit!’ I yelled as I realised what was about to happen.
I struggled to pick myself up off my back, wiping the dust from my visor. As I did so there was a sudden flash of light that blinded my visor, accompanied by a rush of hot air that seared the exposed skin around my neck and blew me back down to the ground.
There was a massive explosion from behind as the Chinese missile struck home somewhere in the centre of the company. Somebody screamed.
I knew what was coming next. I leapt to my knees and powered up my rifle, thumbing the selector switch to automatic.
Through the cloud of dust I could see Brown picking himself up off the ground in painstakingly slow motion. For a nanosecond my mind flicked to a picture of him being cut down by enemy fire as they stormed the tunnel, with me unable to fire for fear of killing Ray, Westy and Stevo who were all obscured by the smoke. There was only one thing I could do, and in the space of the tiniest fraction of a second I made a decision that only a day ago I would never have dreamed of.
Whereas before I had been driven by fear of reprisal from my mates, or the fear of death or just blind obedience, I was now acting on something entirely different; a fear for my comrade’s lives.
Not again, my mind screamed, not my section again!
‘Brown, get down!’ I pushed Brown back to the floor as I barged past him, bounding to the front of my section. It took me less than two seconds to get next to Ray where he lay dazed at the front of the section. I took up aim into the dark and powered up my rifle. Any second the enemy would emerge and hose us down with darts while we still reeled in shock from their smart missile.
‘Fuck you!’ I screamed into the gloom and pulled the trigger.
Flashes of orange light danced up the tunnel as my darts ricocheted off the walls toward my unseen foe. Chips of rock smacked off my visor, but I was oblivious to the return fire from the Chinese that had mixed in with mine, bouncing past and creating carnage in the company behind me. Ray’s body jumped and rocked as it was struck several times by supersonic steel darts.
I don’t know why the pinkies didn’t get me. Of course it was just blind luck, pure and simple. The Chinese, like us, couldn’t see much through all the hot dust and smoke and would be firing almost blind in our general direction. Besides if anybody had deserved a miracle, it wouldn’t be me.
Another trooper joined me in my defiance, it was Sam.
‘We’re about to get spanked, Moralee!’ He shouted over the din, and at that moment I knew as Sam did what needed to be done, ‘Charge ‘em!’
We ran toward the enemy, our weapons roaring and our bayonets lusting for blood.
Now there is meant to be a method of clearing forward through the tight tunnels of a warren, advancing forward in pairs with one in a half crouch and one stood high just to the side and rear so that both troopers could fire. I’m pretty sure that me and Sam didn’t do that.
We ran almost side by side toward the enemy, firing our rifles wildly into the smoke. We had lost all sense and reason and were driven forward by pure rage, with not a shred of thought for the drills we had been taught on Uralis. All I knew at the back of my mind was that the company were battered, and that those who had lived through the blast of the missile and the enemy gunfire were probably still lying comatose on the floor. We had to take the fight to the Chinese, if anything to stall them and give the lads a fighting chance.
They were bunched up in the tunnel when we reached them, a mass of men desperately trying to drag casualties out of the way and bring their weapons to bear again. Our rounds hacked at them as we charged, spattering them with each other’s blood. They were a thronging mass of chaos and confusion, like a herd of animals that had hurtled straight into the path of some terrible predator. They had not expected us to respond with such ferocity.
One of the pinkies managed to force his way around an injured comrade, bringing his rifle up to aim at the screaming Europeans bearing down upon him. He let off a burst at the same time as he died by my own rifle.
That was the last time I saw Sam.
I ran over the bodies of the dead and into the enemy, with the rest of the company following.
That was the beginning of what was to be one of the most violent and bloody underground battles fought beneath the surface of New Earth. I can’t tell you that I remember all of what happened. I stabbed and slashed and hacked at my foe as if possessed. Where the enemy fell, I finished him with a thrust to his upper torso, or simply stepped over him so that somebody behind me could do it. When I was out of stabbing range I fired my rifle instead and charged again, scarcely aware of comrades trying to keep up with me.
Sometimes a trooper fell, I think, but I didn’t stop to see who it was. I was lost in my own world of horror and pain and misery, and before me were the very people I blamed for it all. If I killed enough of them, maybe it would all go away. Or maybe they would just kill me.
Suddenly a hand clasped my shoulder and threw me to the ground in a crumpled heap and then a knee landed on my back with the full weight of a man upon it. Pinned, I struggled to release myself, desperate to get back into the fight. But I had already been relieved, another pair of troopers were now ahead of me followed by a long line of troopers waiting to take their turn, all crouching as low as their bodies allowed. The noise of battle gradually receded up the tunnel.
A hand patted my shoulder gently, and a familiar voice said reassuringly, ‘It’s alright, Moralee.’
My eyes were wet. I bit my lip to keep it from trembling.
‘I’m good, Brown,’ I protested, ‘Let me up!’
‘Advance forward in your pairs!’ The platoon commander was ordering over the intercom, ‘Everyone else should be keeping as low as possible! Smart missile prepare to engage incendiaries… Fire in the hole, get down!’
I struggled again, but Brown was too strong and heavy for me to escape from under him, ‘Let me up, Brown, I’m fine!’
Mitch and his smart missile launcher were only metres from us when he fired over the heads of our platoon, sending a missile screaming away at the enemy.
Brown got off of me, and as soon as he did so I spun around in fury, raising my fist toward him.
‘You fucking bastard! Who do you think you are?!’ I raged, and I threw a wild punch that Brown ducked with ease. Brown was a fighter, one far more dangerous than me, but he made no effort to retaliate.
‘What are you gonna do?’ Brown asked, ‘Try and fight me again?’ Gunfire rattled from up the tunnel.
‘I hate you!’ I screamed, my rifle raised ready to stab at Brown. He saw the gesture and took a step back, one hand raised defensively, ‘Climo should have lived! You should have fucking died, you prick!’
&nb
sp; Brown’s voice became angry, ‘Do you think I wanted Climo to die? What kind of sick bastard do you take me for?’
The anger in Brown’s voice only enraged me further, ‘You made my life a misery, that’s how sick you are! Why did you stop me, I’d have died and you could have rid of me…’
‘Because you’re all I’ve got left!’ Brown shouted, stunning me into silence, ‘And I’m all you’ve got!’
We both just stood there stunned. ‘Get out of the way,’ a trooper shoved his way past me and Brown, followed by the first section of the next platoon making its way into the battle. We had broken the Chinese, so it was critical that the pressure was kept on and they remained off balance. If we paused for even a minute they would re-group, blow out their tunnels and counter-attack.
Brown slumped himself down against the wall of the tunnel, breathing heavily. I paused for a second, unsure of what to do, and then sat down beside him.
The intercom was filled with chatter from the platoon as it advanced into the Chinese defensive complex. The platoon commander was calling for the OC to task the next platoon to echelon through him and continue the assault before he became over extended. The company second in command announced that the OC was a casualty himself, and that he would send up what the company had right away.
‘Where are the others?’ My visor had identified every man and not one was from our section.
‘Dunno,’ Brown answered. We both knew that most of the section would be dead or wounded. I knew for certain that Ray hadn’t made it, and I was pretty sure Sam had died or been injured during our charge up the tunnels.
‘Well what do we do now?’
Brown shrugged, ‘I dunno.’
#
The battle for control of Hill Bravo’s warrens continued for two more bloody hours. The Chinese were unable to match the ferocious momentum of our assault and they began to fall back, allowing us to punch deep into the bowels of their warren. Instead of mazes of empty tunnels designed to be fought in, we encountered store rooms, warehouses and accommodation. Unable to find survivors of our own section in the noise and confusion, me and Brown attached ourselves to any section we could in the platoon, or what was left of them. We fought through the tight two-man-wide tunnels we had become used to, one section assaulting at a time with grenades, rifles and bayonets whilst the others followed behind, dragging back casualties and the dead, and sending forward ammo and replacement troopers. We fought along corridors and through rooms that looked not entirely unlike the warrens on Uralis but without the lights working and the doors not operating, and through large cathedral-like hangars filled with Chinese vehicles and weapons.
Me and Brown were leading the platoon through a maze of vehicles packed into one such hangar, the sounds of our footsteps and heavy breathing seeming to echo between the vast metal walls, when several Chinamen opened fire from only a few tens of metres away. They missed us, their aim was poor and they were too close for their rifles to compensate for the inaccuracy. The Chinese were known for being worse shots at close quarters. We dove for cover behind the nearest vehicle, some kind of artillery piece mounted on caterpillar tracks.
‘Contact front!’ I yelled and fired, catching one Chinaman on the arm and sending him tumbling to the ground. He tried to crawl away but somebody finished him off with a shot to the head.
‘What’s going on?’ I realised that a section commander had managed to get right up behind me, it was Corporal Jones.
‘We’ve got enemy literally on the other side of this vehicle,’ Brown said, firing a burst with his mammoth.
‘Grenade!’ Someone shouted, and we ducked, but the grenade exploded uselessly on the wrong side of our cover, sending pieces of shrapnel zinging off of the vehicles.
‘Right, I’ll go round the left,’ the section commander said, but I had an idea and stopped him. I flicked my head upwards, and he took less than a second to understand.
Corporal Jones nodded and looked back to his men, ‘Rapid fire, boys, we’re going over the top!’
Several rifles opened fire as the three of us clambered up onto the artillery piece. Its armour was smooth, but covered with hand holds, presumably for people to climb up and maintain it. As I reached the top and perched beside the barrel of the massive weapon I could see at least five pinkies huddled on the other side of the vehicle. It looked like they were preparing to assault, their commander was pointing around the left side where Corporal Jones had wanted to go on a flank attack. No doubt there were more, but I couldn’t see them and there wasn’t time for us to ponder, we had to take advantage of the surprise.
I charged down the other side of the vehicle, somehow miraculously not losing my balance on the smooth, steep armour, and I fired repeatedly into the mass of men. We were on top of them so fast they had no time to react before the three of us stabbed and beat at those who hadn’t died outright.
‘Position clear!’ Corporal Jones shouted, and more troopers poured past us. He patted me on the arm, ‘Well done, mate,’ and he was off. Brown said nothing, he simply nodded.
Casualties came thick and fast, the platoons at the front of the company often bearing the brunt. Though we sensed the Chinese were broken they still put up a good fight. Lone pinkies would spray wild bursts of automatic and charge with bayonets as if they were possessed and without fear, and they often got the better of us. Every pair of troopers behind the assaulting sections formed part of a human chain, dragging casualties back five or ten metres to the pair behind them until they reached the medics. I lost count of how many I helped move. Gunshot wounds and concussion from explosions were common. Sometimes we helped move casualties back who appeared almost uninjured, apart from a small trickle of blood from the nose or twitching like a crushed insect. Others had horrific traumatic injuries, missing limbs and gaping holes that exposed organs and burnt meat. I remember dragging one man back with Brown and noticing that he was choking and wheezing from within his respirator. A quick flash of a torch on IR identified the problem, a round had struck the visor of his respirator, passing through it at an angle and out the other side close to his face. Nobody had noticed it, for whatever reason, perhaps haste, and nobody had checked his vitals. We tried to patch the hole with our respirator repair kits but too late. He died before we even patched the first hole.
‘Shit,’ Brown simply said, flicking off his torch.
He was just another dead trooper now. We stripped his ammo and passed him rearward.
We were losing blokes fast, and as we did the structure of the company was beginning to break down. Blokes were being grabbed by section commanders of all three platoons regardless of whether they belonged to them or not. Platoon sergeants stalked the tunnels organising the ammunition and casualty chain of the entire company, since they would never be able to identify all of their own platoon in the maze much less work out how much ammo they all needed. They spat orders and threw troopers about by the collar, enforcing rigid discipline in every individual they passed.
I was taken forward by several section commanders on numerous occasions, but I always managed to keep Brown with me. We no longer moved forward in a frenzy, but in calculated moves often initiated by the smart missiles or by tossing grenades around corners. I would crouch low whilst Brown would stand above and to the side of me covering my back. We would often move forward without firing unless we knew that there would be enemy, as we were getting through magazines fast and firing blindly often only served to tell the enemy where we were.
I stepped over bodies like any other man on Earth would step over a curb. Someone behind could search the body. One time we were clearing forward as the lead pair again and we came across a Chinaman who lay on his back with his feet toward us. His weapon was too far from him to reach, but he was still reaching for it anyway. My visor was relying upon thermal imaging and I couldn’t really distinguish what injuries he had sustained, but I guessed he had been hit by shrapnel from a grenade we had thrown from around a corner.
He lifted his head to look up at us, ‘Ma…..ma..….’ I didn’t have a clue what he was trying to say, even if he was trying to say anything at all. His voice sounded weak.
We stepped over the injured Chinaman as if he weren’t even there, only taking the time to take his weapon away from him so that he couldn’t shoot us in the back. Behind us the next pair quickly stripped him of his equipment so that he couldn’t find any more weapons, or worse a grenade.
I knew that the Union preferred to treat the enemy injured when the situation permitted, so long as the resources were available. If the enemy knew he would die anyway, he would fight to the death, which in the end turned him into a tougher opponent.
But I felt no pity for the Chinaman, only the same hatred I now had for all of them. The last shreds of humanity had left me down there in those caves. Nobody in the company said anything as one by one we left the man behind to die.
On several occasions I came to within centimetres of death. One such time I rounded a doorway into a room fitted with bunk beds just like the ones in training, failing to notice a pinkie in hiding to my right. Brown snatched me out of the way milliseconds before the Chinaman opened fire, before we both managed to get our own weapons round and fill him with more holes than a Swiss cheese. Upon checking me over we found no wounds, only several holes through my combats, including one that ran through the edge of my helmet just missing my respirator. To be fair, those holes could have been from as long ago as the landings, but we still had a good laugh about it.
Our biggest fear by far, though, was explosives. The Chinese had rigged them up everywhere, from high-tech devices to slabs of plastic explosives dug into a wall with a pick and spade. We relied upon our visor to hopefully detect anything before we got too close. Anything recently made could be picked up as a lighter patch on thermal, and anything that didn’t match the shape of the tunnel would be flagged up by our visor display with a flashing red warning triangle. But eighty-percent of making sure you didn’t get blown to bits was instinct. If we didn’t feel good about something we pushed back and threw a grenade, just to be sure.
C.R.O.W. (The Union Series) Page 24
