EDEN (The Union Series)

by Richards, Phillip

  I cursed under my breath. I was in Mr Barkley’s multiple, so it was my section that would have to work alongside a Presidential Guard officer.

  ‘Woah.’ Corporal Abdi, the other section commander in our multiple, held up a hand. ‘Are you saying you want me to patrol around the battlefield with a Guardsman stood right next to me?’

  Mr Barkley nodded. ‘That’s right. This is a rather risky operation, as I’m sure you will agree …’

  ‘No shit,’ Abdi said, shaking his head disapprovingly. ‘What’s to stop them shooting us in the back, or slitting our throats when we sleep? I’m not working with them!’

  The room echoed with disgruntled muttering, but the sergeant major quickly silenced the platoon as he stormed into the middle of the huddle, eyes blazing.

  He pointed with an outstretched arm, his finger almost touching Abdi on the nose. ‘You’ll do whatever you’re told! Understand?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Good!’ He scanned across the sea of glum faces, searching for any more signs of mutiny. ‘You don’t have to be here! If you want to go let me know now, and I’ll send you packing back to Paraiso! Anyone?’

  The room was silent. Whether we wanted to work with the FEA or not, we were being presented with the opportunity to take part in a major operation, and nobody wanted to miss out. Some of them, like me, just needed to be at the tip of blade for want of action, excitement or purpose. Others simply took whatever was thrown at them, just hanging on for the ride. But either way, none of us could bear the thought of staying in Paraiso while his comrades went into action.

  The sergeant major paused for a few seconds longer. ‘Didn’t think so. Shut up, then, and listen to what the Boss has to say.’

  Mr Barkley nodded. ‘Thank you, Sergeant Major.’

  He turned to address us all. ‘I know exactly what you’re thinking. The Presidential Guard has embedded its commanders into nearly every FEA unit in order to share their military knowledge - therefore the battle is orchestrated by them. By having Guard officers embedded into your section you will have the ability to pass and receive messages directly from their command, providing them with artillery and aircraft assets when required.

  There are a number of concerns that will already be running through your heads, one of them being how far we can trust the units we will be working with - the Guard or the FEA. Even if they aren’t hostile to us upon arrival, the FEA are not going to be at our standard. They are conscripts pressed into service, so don’t expect them all to be good soldiers; that will be a danger in itself. All I can say here is watch your backs, but at the same time, try not to be too obvious about it. If we offend these people then we won’t get a thing out of them.’

  Abdi spoke up again, ignoring the sergeant major’s glare. ‘And if they attack us?’

  ‘Hopefully they won’t,’ the boss replied. ‘They know that they need us - they can barely hold onto the river as it is.’

  ‘But if they do?’ I asked.

  The platoon commander’s lips tightened. ‘Get out fast.’

  ‘Jesus,’ somebody whispered behind me, out of earshot from the sergeant major, ‘this is gonna be mental.’

  ‘Yeah,’ another trooper replied, ‘if one of them wands even looks at me funny them I’m putting one between his eyes, then I’m off!’

  Mr Barkley tapped the clock on his datapad. ‘Brigade wants us ready to deploy by zero-two-hundred tomorrow morning, so I appreciate there isn’t much time to prepare your sections. I make no apologies for the tight timeframe; decisions are being made elsewhere on the planet that are outside of my control. Timings could be pushed forward, brought back, or the operation could be canned altogether. The main effort right now is to ensure that we are ready to go, and prepared for anything. I will be busy planning more detailed orders for you over the coming hours. Anticipate being called to receive them this evening, timings to be confirmed. In the meantime, I am sure that the recce 2ic has a few things that he wants to have done before we go. Sergeant Major?’

  Sergeant Major Davies strode out into the middle of us, eyeing each trooper in turn with dark, hawk-like eyes. ‘Right, listen in, men. There isn’t much time, and there’s a lot to get done. Clearly the nature of this operation requires us to revise our kit carriage, namely ammunition. You need to be able to operate for an extended period without replenishment. Consider increasing your ammunition, but try to maintain a balance between firepower and weight. Remember - if you want it - you carry it. Section commanders, consider up-scaling your smart missiles and grenade launcher ammunition in order to increase the punch your section delivers. A few darts simply won’t cut it if you come up against a Loyalist company on your own. Also consider sustainability, rations, water and spare canisters. Don’t rely on resupply, because you may not get it. Aim off for seven days on your own. Understand?’

  We nodded.

  ‘I will conduct a kit inspection at …’ he looked down at his datapad, ‘nineteen hundred. That gives you a few hours to square yourselves away. I want all the kit laid out, with the 2ics and section commanders prepared to explain what their section is carrying and why. I want to see that everything works, and I want every battery at a hundred per cent for every single piece of kit. I’m sure you know the score by now, you’ve been here long enough.’

  I joined in with the nodded agreement. I liked the way that the sergeant major worked, even if he didn’t necessarily like the way I did. He allowed for us to plan and organise our own section kit, so long as we conformed with the requirements dictated by the task - as well as common sense. A section couldn’t patrol into the Bosque with only a single magazine each, and they certainly couldn’t carry two days rations for a seven-day operation, not unless the commander expected to be lynched! The sergeant major often inspected the sections himself to ensure that we were correctly administering ourselves, but he was happy as long as a section commander could justify why he had chosen to pack certain items. It was a more grown-up way of doing things - far different from the rigid organisation of the traditional rifle platoons back in battalion - it allowed commanders the flexibility to apply their own initiative, tailoring their sections to the task at hand.

  The sergeant major continued. ‘Commanders, ensure your wizard kit is fully functional, and ensure it goes down to EW to be tested. Just because it worked a few days ago doesn’t mean that it works now. Any questions?’

  There were none. We all knew what needed to be done.

  ‘Good. Go.’

  There was no time to waste. The sections quickly dispersed back into the warren, the tunnels filling with chatter as commanders briefed their men with their own instructions. I ordered my men to return to their accommodation to check through their own kit, allowing me time to talk to Puppy about alterations to our equipment.

  ‘We need to be packed in a similar fashion to the OP, less the spades and pick axes,’ I explained. ‘I want to maintain a balance of kit between both fire teams, just in case we end up breaking down further.’

  Unlike regular dropship sections, recce sections could be broken down into smaller four-man patrols that acted independently from one another. Although I didn’t like the idea of working in such a small team in a combat situation, it might be necessary if I was tasked to conduct a recce patrol up to, or even behind enemy lines. I had already assessed that the operation was going to be constantly changing, with us having to second guess what the FEA were going to do next. Flexibility was key.

  Puppy tapped the screen on his datapad, preparing to take notes. ‘Weapons?’

  ‘No change to primary weapons. Two mammoths, five MSGs, plus the sniper rifle …’

  ‘You mean four MSGs,’ Puppy corrected.

  I stopped, realizing that I had included Gritt in my numbers. Was Puppy taking a cheap shot at me? I studied his face, but there was no sign of malice.

  ‘Four, sorry,’ I continued after a pause. There was no time to replace Gritt, not at such short notice. The casualty replac
ement system on Eden was pretty slick, replacing lost troopers within days, but recce troopers were harder to come by. They didn’t just float around Paraiso without a job. I would have to make do without.

  ‘Four MSGs,’ I continued, ‘all equipped with grenade launchers.’

  ‘All four?’

  ‘Yeah. I want the section to pack a punch. We’ll also take a smart launcher in each fire team, with eight missiles for each.’

  Puppy spoke through clenched teeth. ‘That’s a fair bit of weight …’

  ‘It is,’ I agreed, ‘but if each man carries a couple it’ll spread the load. We’ll also up the ammunition - every man is to carry an additional ten per cent reserve on top of his usual allocation.’

  The 2ic looked up at me in alarm, but I waved his concern away. ‘We’re not on a recce patrol, mate. If we’re just walking around watching the FEA do the work, then the blokes will hate me for lumbering them with kit they don’t need, but if we end up doing anything remotely like what the boss just described, we will need plenty of weapons and ammo. A smart missile weighs nothing once you’ve fired it.’

  Puppy didn’t speak for a few seconds, then finally nodded. It was my decision, at the end of the day, and I was right. I knew it, even if he didn’t. I wasn’t about to drop into a warzone and rub shoulders with our old enemy without some serious firepower at my disposal.

  Once Puppy was happy with all that he had to do, I returned to my chamber to prepare my own kit. The sergeant major would want to see my kit as well during his inspection, not that it made a difference, I would have spent hours tinkering with it even if he wasn’t going to look, checking every item twice. Now that I had a new mission, I absorbed myself in it.

  After an hour of checking batteries and canisters, and packing and repacking my kit until it was perfect, I took my gel armour, datapad and respirator down to Electronic Warfare.

  Deemed to be one of the most important assets to the platoon, the EW team were located at the lowest depths of the warren, even beneath life support. Their chamber was lined with wires and cables, crossing over each other and running through computer hardware like the roots of a plant. Several EW operators sat around the room, waving their arms through holograms that scrolled with endless streams of data. I never really understood everything that they did, but I did know that a constant electronic war was being fought by them, with dire consequences if it was lost. I remembered when New Earth hackers tried to force Union ships to bomb their own people, and shuddered at the thought of what the FEA or the Loyalists might do if they ever managed to break through our EW defences.

  I didn’t bother the operators whilst they worked, knowing that I would probably be rudely told where to go. Instead I walked over to the far side of the chamber, where two other NCOs stood waiting with their kit in their arms, talking quietly. I recognised them instantly. Corporal Stanton and Corporal Kamara were both section commanders from the sergeant major’s multiple, neither of whom I got on with well. They never gave me any trouble, but the air was always icy whenever I was near them. I suspected it had something to do with what had happened to Westy and Ev, and the stories that circulated about my involvement with them.

  The two NCOs spotted my approach, suddenly falling silent. They regarded me warily.

  ‘Alright, mate?’ one asked with caution.

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied brusquely, cutting off any opportunity to continue the conversation.

  What a pair of belters, I thought, knowing they had probably been talking about me. I could tell what was going through their minds as they stood waiting to have their wizard kit checked: there’s Lance Corporal Moralee, the lunatic who gets his mates shot up and sent to jail. What’s he still doing here, shouldn’t he be sacked? I could feel my anger building at the awkward silence.

  Fortunately I was saved by the arrival of an operator, who began plugging each item of our kit into a tablet that he carried. He checked the calibration, making sure that the retinal scanners in our respirator visors were communicating with our datapads through the wires woven into the fabric of our armour.

  The wizard kit wasn’t anything special, in fact you didn’t know that a trooper was equipped with it just by looking at him. It was nothing more than a few additional chips and wires added to the Integrated Soldier Technology we already carried- the same system that allowed us to mark targets and locations with crosshairs that only our sections could see. It allowed a trooper to direct a saucer, warship or missile onto a target by simply looking and pointing. He could even drop entire salvos across the landscape with little more than a sweep of the arm, so long as the ships were available and they were happy to fire. A trooper using the kit really did look like a wizard, pointing and sweeping his arms to direct bombs toward their targets. The only disadvantage was that you had to be able to see the target to use the wizard kit, otherwise you had to resort to using the datapad like everyone else.

  ‘Remember, take good care of this kit around the FEA,’ the operator warned us as he checked each piece of kit. ‘They’d love to get hold of it, even if they can’t use it. It’ll go back to their own EW, and probably be turned against us. The people of Edo can be pretty resourceful.’

  Corporal Kamara laughed. ‘Well, I think I’d notice if they took it, I need my respirator to breathe!’

  The operator regarded him sternly. ‘I don’t think they’ll much care if you’re breathing or not.’

  ‘They’ll have to get me first.’

  The operator appeared unimpressed by the display of bravado, and returned our kit to us. ‘Whatever. Just make sure your men know. If you go down they are to take your respirator and datapad away with them. If they can’t, they are to deny them, on or off your body …’

  To a trooper, ‘deny’ meant to destroy a piece of equipment that he couldn’t take with him, rather than leaving it for the enemy. The action was often carried out using a grenade.

  ‘At least I’m guaranteed to go out with a bang, then,’ Stan said sarcastically, and then left along with Joe.

  ‘I’m being serious,’ the operator insisted, as I turned to follow them.

  ‘They know you’re being serious,’ I assured him. ‘That’s just the way some troopers are. Don’t worry about it, they took the point.’

  ‘The wizard kit gives you complete access to everything in the sky,’ he went on. ‘You can’t use it to drop bombs on Paraiso, but you can drop them pretty much anywhere else. It can’t fall into the wrong hands.’

  I shrugged. ‘It’s hardly new technology, is it? Anyway, if they got hold of it we’d simply change the net scramble. Plus it only works if it recognises my retina anyway.’

  ‘That’s one of the things we worry about. All these people need is this kit …’ he pointed at my respirator visor, then poked my chest, ‘… and you.’

  Back to the contents page

  Rendezvous

  The platoon extracted from the warren just after midnight, having been relieved by a small detachment of troopers provided by our battalion to secure our home whilst we were away. After a two kilometre patrol through the forest, we were met by several dropships, waiting to take us back to Paraiso to prepare for deployment.

  My section clambered aboard our dropship whilst I stood by the ramp, counting them on. Buckles clipped as they strapped themselves into the tiny compartment, making sure each strap was tight so that they couldn’t be thrown around inside.

  My visor display identified the sergeant major walking around the dropships in the dark, checking that all the commanders were happy, and that their men were all present and loaded up. I gave him a thumbs-up, and when he returned it, I stepped up onto the ramp.

  The section was already half-asleep as I took my seat, their heads lolling forward. There was no reason to wake them, they were only flying back to Paraiso, and there was no telling how much sleep they would get in the coming days. Troopers slept when they could - it was good personal administration, after all.

  As I pulled my strap
s tight and fastened my rifle into the rack beside me. I thought about what I needed to do upon our arrival in Paraiso. We had already received our orders, although there was always a chance they might change again during the night. We knew we were inserting deep into the Bosque by parachute, so we all needed to collect and pack them. We always packed our own chutes, because it was our lives they were saving. We never trusted another trooper to do it for us, and we certainly didn’t trust the conscripts to do it either. Once all that was done, and hopefully with enough time to spare, we would rest, waiting for the green light to go.

  ‘What are you guys doing now?’ a Danish accented voice asked over the dropship net. ‘Anything exciting?’

  I smiled, although the dropship commander wouldn’t be able to see it. ‘I wish I could tell you, mate.’

  ‘I have a good idea.’

  The dropship ramp closed, and we sped off toward Paraiso to prepare for our jump.

  Paraiso spaceport was dead by the time we arrived, with only a few military aircraft coming and going, their landing lights flashing just before they disappeared into the night sky. With little to distract us, we busied ourselves loading our saucer within its hangar. Cradled in a shrine of wires and girders, the machine was deathly silent, its perfect lines and smooth surface masking its purpose as a killing machine that could turn entire sections, even companies into pink mush.

  I had been at the mercy of saucers before, once during the war, when the robotic craft had strafed down the ditch where my platoon had taken cover, tossing limbs and organs into the air and scattering them across the ground. The second time it was one of our own saucers, turned against us by hackers whilst we cleared through one of the tallest buildings on New Earth. They were terrifying machines, shaped to allow maximum acceleration in all directions, and armed with a devastating payload of bombs, missiles and thirty-millimetre shells. If you saw one that wasn’t yours, you ran. If you saw one that was yours, you stayed out of the way!