EDEN (The Union Series)

by Richards, Phillip

  ‘Sir.’

  He stared at me in silence for a few moments, and then sighed deeply. ‘Have you handed the scanner in to Electronic Warfare downstairs?’

  ‘Puppy would have handed both section scanners in by now, Sir.’

  ‘OK. We might as well take the data and get it up to brigade, not that it’ll be any use in a few hours.’ He paused. ‘How was Gritt when you left him?’

  ‘He’ll live,’ I replied.

  ‘Well that’s the main thing, I suppose. And the men?’

  ‘They’re fine.’

  ‘Good. I’m sending your section back to Paraiso tomorrow morning for some rest.’

  ‘Sir, I’d rather just stay here …’ I protested.

  ‘I hardly think you’re in a position to dictate to me what you would prefer to do,’ the sergeant major replied harshly, the spoon raised again to point again at my head. ‘Don’t get into thinking that I give a shit about you, right now.’

  ‘Sir.’

  He lowered the spoon, stabbing it into the food inside his horror bag. ‘Your blokes need rest - a bit of time in civilization will do them good. They just saw one of their mates shot to bits, after all. Don’t listen to any of that false bravado shit they push out, half of your lads are kids and they’ll need trauma counselling. It’s pink and it’s fluffy, but it keeps troopers from losing the plot, and believe it or not, I can’t simply replace recce troopers by clicking my fingers. You’ve lost one already.’

  I swallowed hard, saying nothing.

  ‘You’re all going, end of story,’ he summarised. ‘Understand?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  The sergeant major resumed eating. ‘Good. Now, get away from me before I lose the plot.’

  I promptly left the sergeant major’s chamber, my head lowered as I negotiated the narrow warren tunnels toward my own little manmade cave.

  My mind was spinning. Was the sergeant major right, was I really as dangerous to the platoon as he was suggesting? I was sure that I had broken out from my OP with no motive other than the defence of my section, but now I wondered if maybe something else was working within my mind. Would one of the other section commanders have done the same thing? Would Puppy have done the same thing? My blood boiled as I considered the question.

  God, I hated Puppy, and yet I loved him. People often said that there was a fine line between love and hate, and that statement was never as true as it was with me and him.

  Puppy was simply amazing. He never set a foot wrong. The lads looked up to him - even though physically he was the shortest man in the platoon - and they were right to. He was more than capable as a section second in command, as well as a recce commander, and he had taken out patrols of his own plenty of times before. Tough, intelligent, and with a wicked sense of humour, Puppy was a natural leader whose ability was shrouded only by my seniority as a lance corporal - that and my Union Star. Although he had been in drops for longer than I had, he had only been a lance corporal for half the time, and hadn’t yet completed the Recce Commander’s Course. I had no doubt that he was good enough to return to Uralis and pass it, since he was already at the standard required. I often wondered if he resented me for being placed in charge of the section. I had been fortunate enough to be placed straight onto Recce Commanders after achieving top student on the Basic Recce Course only weeks prior, which effectively qualified me as a full corporal within the elite arm of the dropship infantry. It meant that I was more qualified than Puppy, even though we shared the same rank. He never showed any sign of bitterness toward me, though. It was obvious that the section didn’t need me even half as much as it needed him. If I was the head of the section, then he was its beating heart, keeping the men happy, motivated and even laughing when others might break down and cry.

  The light sticks that I used to illuminate my chamber had died out long ago, so I cracked a couple more as I entered, bathing the tiny underground room in dim yellow light as I stripped off my kit in solitude.

  I was glad that I lived alone in my own chamber, away from the section. I struggled to get on with people on a personal level, and found joining in with their banter and mindless conversations hard. I didn’t mind it for a while, but I always yearned for time to myself, to think of the future, to reflect on my past, and to grieve for my friends.

  I placed my kit down at my feet and gently sat on the end of my cot bed, the old metal frame protesting under my weight. I looked at the walls of my tiny chamber, studying the shapes of the shadows cast across them by the light sticks. They were blank, without a single picture or memento. What would I possibly want to remember? My past was soaked with blood and clouded by misery, and the less I thought of it, the better.

  Minutes passed before I finally shook my head, wrenching myself out of my funk. Snap out of it, Andy, I told myself as I stood, there are still things to do and they aren’t going to get done as long so you sit on your bed sulking. You chose this life, so deal with it.

  Leaving my chamber to find the section, I ran through a mental checklist in my head, working out what tasks still needed to be done. As the section second in command, Puppy would already be busy administering the men, but it was a task delegated down to him from me. Ultimately I was responsible for the section, and it was me who needed to check that everything was done properly before I allowed my men to rest.

  We needed to recharge the batteries on our rifles. They hadn’t been active for much of the time we had spent in the OP, but even a single per cent of battery life kept our weapons operating for an hour longer on the ground, and it might be that hour that saved our lives. We needed fresh rations and ammunition, respirator filters needed to be cleaned or replaced if required, and our gel armour needed to be inspected for any sign of excessive wear and tear. Although capable of stopping shrapnel and even darts fired at a great range by hardening on impact, the armour could easily be damaged after a prolonged period of use, so it needed to be checked regularly. Only once all this had been carried out, and I was satisfied that my section could deploy again if required, would I return to my chamber to eat. After that I would try to sleep.

  The section room was already a hive of activity, with Puppy at its centre. Fresh magazines were laid out onto the floor, and the old ones were being sorted into piles depending on whether they were full or not. Regardless of the amount of ammunition left in each magazine, they would still be taken away to be checked over and reconditioned. The MSG-20 rifle that most of us carried was a complex weapon, and even the slightest fault in a magazine could affect its ability to function properly.

  Puppy tapped away at his datapad, engrossed in the screen as he updated his section ammo state. Other troopers scurried about, laying out fresh rations and collecting water packs to be refilled.

  Myers spotted me, and holding up a ‘horror box’ of rations, said ‘There’s your rations, Andy.’

  I took the box and placed it at my feet. ‘Cheers.’

  Myers blinked. ‘You want your ammo now?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll bring the old mags down in a bit.’

  ‘OK,’ the young trooper nodded, continuing with his task.

  I should probably have brought my kit down to the section room, making it far easier to administrate myself, but my meeting with the sergeant major had rattled me a little, and I wasn’t thinking straight.

  Puppy looked up from his data pad screen. ‘All good?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I lied. ‘Just had to have a quick chat with the sergeant major.’

  ‘What about? Our extraction?’

  I paused to study the section 2ic’s face. Did he also disagree with my decision to break out of the OP? The troopers in the platoon always appeared particularly edgy around me, as though they all wanted to say something but didn’t have the guts to say it to my face. I knew they had all heard the rumours about me on New Earth.

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘I presume you know the platoon was pulled out?’

  ‘We bumped into one of the other sections when we came
in. They must have bugged out of their OPs within a few minutes of us and extracted straight back here.’

  I sighed deeply, feeling the weight of responsibility upon my shoulders; a heavier weight than any injured trooper. ‘The sergeant major’s not happy.’

  A smirk crept across Puppy’s face. ‘Is he ever happy?’

  ‘No,’ I changed the subject. ‘How’s Wildgoose’s ankle?’

  The section sniper heard his name and looked up from his rifle, holding its oversized battery in his hand. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Your ankle …’ Puppy repeated.

  ‘Oh, right.’ The trooper flexed his foot. ‘Yeah it’s fine, a bit sore.’

  ‘Awww,’ Skelton jutted out his bottom lip mockingly. ‘Is it sore?’

  The sniper grinned. ‘Shut up, mate.’

  Wildgoose was far from weak. He was as tough as any recce trooper, probably more so. A head taller than me and built like a tank, he was by far the most imposing man in the section, and one of the most dangerous weapons at my disposal. In order to ‘badge’ as a qualified sniper he had completed a gruelling course on Uralis, home of the dropship infantry. Almost every course going was taught on Uralis, a miserable planet where the weather was our only enemy, but the sniper course was known for being particularly arduous. The long range and pinpoint accuracy of our magnetic weapons meant that the sniper rifle itself was virtually obsolete, but not the sniper himself. Wildgoose was a master of camouflage, trained to position himself in the perfect location to take his shot, killing his quarry and then disappearing undetected. Many snipers operated in small teams across the planet, answering directly to EJOC, and carrying out tasks that I would never hear about. Unfortunately for Wildgoose, he had been attached to our platoon, spending much of his time observing rather than what he was trained for - hunting and killing men. He often moaned about it, and the lads in the section loved to poke fun.

  ‘Get it looked at by a medic anyway,’ I said.

  ‘Honestly, its fine,’ the big trooper insisted, and patted his rifle. ‘I’m just glad I got to use this at last.’

  ‘Yeah, I saw that,’ I said, remembering the Loyalist whose head was blown clean off his shoulders. ‘I’m pretty sure that was a confirmed kill!’

  The Orion rifle Wildgoose carried was far more powerful than the simple MSG-20. It had the power to punch through armour like butter, even at vast ranges, and using his in-depth understanding of modern vehicles, dropships and suits, he could use it to destroy equipment that even smart missiles might struggle to defeat. A dropship, for instance, was heavily armoured and moved like lightning, but if it paused to hover for too long - a single well-aimed shot to one of its cameras could leave its weapons blind. Similarly, a suit would drop to the ground with a single high-powered dart to the knee joint. The aim correction system in our visor displays meant that we were far more accurate than if we fired our weapons normally, but it couldn’t pull off such an accurate shot, adjusting our fire only to ensure we struck the target area itself. Wildgoose’s ability allowed him to hit precise locations on the target, at distances as great as two kilometres and beyond.

  ‘He fucking deserved it,’ Myers commented, and the mood turned sombre. We all knew that one of our comrades was in a critical condition in hospital, shot by a Loyalist dart.

  I looked over the section, wondering how they all felt about our extraction, but was too afraid to ask. Gritt wouldn’t die, of that I was near certain. The medical care in Paraiso was better than anywhere else on the planet, and probably better than any hospital on Earth, but it still wasn’t nice to see a member of our section so badly injured. I wondered if they blamed me.

  ‘We’re going back to Paraiso tomorrow,’ I announced, and several faces lit up.

  Myers blinked, ‘Will we be able to see Gritt?’

  ‘Probably. I don’t know if he’ll be awake yet, though.’

  Holland - or ‘Dutch’ as the lads knew him - Puppy’s mammoth gunner, looked up from the pile of rations at his feet. ‘Well at least he gets a trip home,’ he said gloomily.

  Skelton raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? He’ll go home?’

  I nodded. ‘Yeah, an injury like that will get him out of here.’

  Thapa, a rifleman in Puppy’s fire team, gasped in surprise. ‘Why didn’t anybody say it was that easy?’

  ‘Jammy bastard!’ Skelton exclaimed. ‘Somebody shoot me, quick!’

  The section laughed, and I shook my head. It never failed to surprise me how troopers could overcome the most traumatic experiences by simply laughing and telling sick jokes. A civilian might think that we were cruel, mad, or both, but it was simply how we got by.

  Most of the men in my section, apart from Myers and Gritt, had been present for the invasion of New Earth, witnessing first-hand the horrors of war. They had then arrived on Eden, after a period of recuperation back on Earth, spending the entire first half of their two year tour in the Bosque. Up until recently much of their time had involved fighting small bands of guerrilla fighters, sent by Edo to terrorise the Paraiso border. They were battle-hardened, but they were also tired. I knew, because I was tired too. I hadn’t been there to fight the guerrilla war, but I had seen more than my fair share of death and misery. I felt as though I was soaked in it.

  ‘You alright, Andy?’ Puppy asked, snapping me back to reality.

  I realised that I had been staring into space, and a few of the section were looking at me as though they expected me to do something crazy.

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied quickly, turning to make my escape, ‘just thinking I need to grab my kit. It’s easier if I bring it here.’

  ‘OK,’ the section 2ic nodded. ‘I’ve got it pretty much squared away here. We’ve taken the scanners down to EW, by the way.’

  ‘That’s good, cheers. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

  ‘No dramas.’

  I felt the section watch me as I left their chamber, waiting for me to be out of earshot so they could talk behind my back.

  He’s mad, did you see his face? Did you hear about what he did on New Earth? People say he sided with a traitor, and then killed him to clear his name! He nearly got Gritt killed just because he wanted to start a fight - who’s he gonna get killed next?

  Was I mad? I wondered as I made my way to my own chamber to grab my kit. Perhaps I was, but I had no lust for blood, or at least I didn’t think that I did. My only fear was failing in my mission, that and losing one of my own men. I couldn’t bear to have another man haunting me in my nightmares, and I was genuinely relieved to know that Gritt was in safe hands.

  There was only one thing that I wanted; I wanted to escape. I wanted an end to my suffering. Perhaps even die. I just didn’t have the guts to do it myself.

  Processing back into the Paraiso province was always laborious. I had done so several times during my six months in theatre, and every time I found the experience more frustrating than the last.

  Having landed that morning within the military sector of the capital’s sprawling spaceport, we were marched from our dropship into a ‘containment facility’ - a large and uninteresting building where we would be kept for twenty-four hours. Like a factory, the containment facility took a constant stream of personnel from bases outside the province and churned out ‘normalised’ personnel the other end, safe to enter the affluent city without going insane and attacking the population. Paraiso was rich, blissfully unaware of the brutal war being fought in the Bosque - the vast and beautiful expanse of forest that straddled all three provinces. Despite being a European province, the Union still needed to keep the people of Paraiso on side for fear of another New Earth scenario. It didn’t need drunken troopers suffering from violent flashbacks in the local bars.

  Our weapons were handed into an armoury, and all of our equipment was taken from us. Nothing we owned was to be seen again until after our ‘normalisation’ was complete.

  Stripped of my gel armour and respirator, I felt naked as my section were led through the maze
of corridors and shown to our accommodation; a tiny room lined with bunk beds. We viewed the bunks with disinterest. It was hardly home, since we had no kit to put in the room anyway.

  ‘You have twenty minutes to grab a shower, fellas,’ our conscript usher explained with far too much enthusiasm, indicating the towels and shower shoes that had been provided at the foot of our bunks. ‘Fill your boots.’

  ‘Roger!’ Myers needed no encouragement, almost ripping his combat shirt away in his haste.

  The others quickly followed, throwing their clothes onto their bunks as they rushed to get a shower within the allocated time. We all stank - some of us hadn’t washed properly in weeks.

  ‘Oh, God!’ Puppy grimaced, pointing at Myers’s boyish physique. ‘That’s one thing I haven’t missed!’

  ‘Bore off, mate,’ Myers retorted, ‘you’re just jealous of this!’

  ‘Mate, you’re built like you have a week to live! I’ve had shits bigger than you!’

  The room echoed with laughter. Myers, young as he was, had the body of a child. How he ever made it through training was beyond me, but appearances could be deceptive.

  ‘Whatever, fat boy,’ Myers replied, and he ran out of the room before Puppy could grab him, whooping down the corridor with his towel and shower shoes still in his hands.

  ‘Come on, then,’ Puppy ushered the others. ‘Get your disgusting bodies moving!’

  It was all banter, I knew. I watched the section exit the room, and heard the first sound of running water from along the corridor. Skelton yelped loudly, presumably as Puppy finally caught up with him.

  I sighed as I sat heavily upon my bunk and began to undress. Puppy was a good NCO - no, he wasn’t a good NCO - he was amazing, I admitted almost begrudgingly. He could easily take over from me, and it would probably be better that way. I wiped the thought from my mind, knowing that the section shouldn’t see me feeling sorry for myself, and followed them into the shower.

  Shortly after getting cleaned up, we were taken to the same briefing room we had sat in many times before, packed in with tens of other troopers and conscripts who had returned to Paraiso from bases scattered across the Bosque. As we filed in, I noticed that some of the troopers were also recce, identified by the lightning bolt insignia sewn onto their uniform. We exchanged respectful nods as we took our seats, ignoring the curious stares of the conscripts. Even regular troopers considered conscripts to be below them, so we certainly weren’t likely to pay them any interest.