EDEN (The Union Series)

by Richards, Phillip

  With a few taps against my datapad I created a new crosshair, this time marking the FEA rendezvous in the distance. The platoon commander had given a grid for each section to meet with its liaison officer, the idea being that both sections within the multiple would act independently, marrying up with the FEA on their own. That way if one section failed to find their liaison officer then the other could still be successful. Our drop zones were all nearby, with no more than five kilometres between us, so if we came under attack then all we had to do was reactivate our net and go noisy, knowing that help wasn’t too far away.

  I glanced at my visor clock; it was gone zero-four-hundred hours. We had two hours to reach our rendezvous eight kilometres away, and time was ticking.

  ‘Prepare to move,’ I hissed, allowing time for the message to pass around the circular formation, before patting Myers on the shoulder. ‘You know where you’re going, mate, lead the way.’

  The young trooper picked himself up, and headed toward the rendezvous, and one by one we followed behind him into the gloom.

  My visor clock slowly counted the seconds away. I tried to ignore it as I stared out into the darkness from where I crouched, hidden among the ferns. I knew all too well that time slowed down when I stared at the clock, and the only way to speed it up was to snuggle up in my thermal bag. Unfortunately the latter wasn't an option, we were behind the FEA front line, waiting for them to come and find us.

  You will be met by an FEA escort, commanded by an officer from the Presidential Guard, the boss had told us in his orders. They will then lead you to their company command.

  There was also the possibility that they might simply blow us to pieces with a smart missile instead, I thought anxiously. I found it strange that I had become worried for my survival suddenly, but then I realised that it wasn't death I feared at that moment, it was the thought of failure that frightened me. I smiled to myself - what a disturbed individual I had become.

  'They're an hour late,' Puppy whispered, his voice amplified by my headphones.

  I nodded, still scanning the forest for signs of movement. Our visor targeting system didn't always spot everything, often confused by the mist and vegetation as it blew in the breeze. Sometimes you still had to make use of the traditional mark-one eyeball.

  'Think they're coming?'

  Another nod. 'Yeah, I think so. Hopefully not to kill us ...'

  In the eyes of the FEA, we were the enemy, though not perhaps as dangerous to them as the Loyalists. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’ - I remembered the old saying. One way or the other, though, I knew that they would come. The FEA wouldn't leave a Union recce patrol sitting around behind them, on-side or not.

  I wondered if I had made a mistake by not placing out sensors or defences. The sensors would have provided us with an early warning, but then if the FEA detected them it would damage trust between us straight away, and if they detected defences they might even assume a trap and attack.

  After another hour of waiting in silence, an orange crosshair flickered on my visor display. As one, we slowly raised our rifles into the aim, watching the new target as it drifted through the darkness.

  'Halt,' I called, quietly, but it didn't stop. I raised my voice slightly. 'Halt!'

  The crosshair froze, hovering out in the darkness. There was somebody out there; my visor was picking up a heat signature.

  'Blackjack.' I called out the code word we had been given to identify us as friendly, which had been taken from our call-sign indicator so it could easily be remembered.

  The crosshair remained still for several seconds, the only sound coming from the trees hissing in the wind.

  I waited for the inevitable crack of gunfire, but nothing came.

  At last, after ten tense seconds, a voice answered just loudly enough for me to hear: 'Armageddon.'

  I breathed a small sigh of relief, my patrol wasn't about to be hacked to pieces by darts - at least not yet.

  'Advance one to be recognised,' I instructed, and then waited.

  After another brief pause, the crosshair moved, and then changed from orange to red as it drew near enough for my visor to identify the target as an FEA soldier. I presumed that it was the liaison officer from the Presidential Guard.

  The figure was no more than ten metres away when I ordered him to halt again, giving me time to take in the uniform and equipment. He was dressed almost entirely in Alliance equipment, which was to be expected. The FEA used equipment left behind by the Alliance ground forces, abandoned during their hasty withdrawal from Eden. He clutched a rifle across his body in a non-threatening manner.

  'What unit are you with?’ I asked. I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear it answer from him. In the Bosque, you could never be too careful. Enemies of the Union lurked in every corner.

  ‘Second Dropship Battalion,’ the figure responded. It was a woman, I realised, speaking in thickly accented English. ‘I am here to escort you back to my headquarters.’

  I had heard as much as I needed to hear. 'Advance.'

  The woman walked right up to me, crouching close enough for us to talk quietly. She was indeed Presidential Guard, I saw the eagle insignia just visible on her shoulder, and a quick look at the rank badge on her armour confirmed that she was a captain. Her tinted visor hid much of her face in the dark.

  'You’re late,' I said flatly.

  She shrugged indifferently. 'This could not be helped. We are at war.'

  I thought to point out that timings were critical, and not flexible, but decided against it. There was no use in annoying our hosts before we even began. We were lucky they hadn't decided to attack us instead.

  'I am Captain Yulia Kristov of the Presidential Guard,' she introduced herself, before gesturing into the darkness behind her. 'I have brought my patrol here to escort you to the front line.'

  I followed her arm, seeing nothing. I had no doubt that there were more of them out there, as clearly Yulia wouldn’t have travelled on her own.

  I remembered my manners. ‘Lance Corporal Andy Moralee. So you will be our liaison officer?’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered, as though it was a disappointment. ‘I would rather be fighting, but my commanders want me to look after you instead.’

  My jaw clenched as I willed myself not to say anything. We didn’t need looking after, not by the Presidential Guard anyway. Most of my men would sooner slit her throat from ear to ear than follow her around. I hadn’t been involved in the guerrilla campaign fought along the border between the Union and the Guard, having only arrived on Eden a few months ago, but I knew that it had been vicious and bloody. Like the Loyalists that gathered in the north, the Guard were happy to kill and maim innocent civilians to achieve their aim. Control and terror went hand in hand in the Bosque.

  ‘Shall we go, then?’ I asked gruffly.

  ‘Yes,’ Yulia replied, ‘follow me.’

  We followed Yulia and her FEA guides as they snaked through the undergrowth toward their company headquarters. During the final part of our patrol the weather suddenly turned, and the forest canopy hissed loudly as it was battered with rain and high winds. Big droplets splashed down onto us, quickly soaking our combats.

  We were lucky that the weather hadn’t been so bad during our landing, I thought, the wind was so powerful it was causing the trees to sway, but the mist was gone, giving us good visibility in the dense vegetation beneath the canopy.

  We were totally reliant upon our escorts. I had no idea of where their headquarters was located or the whereabouts of the Loyalist forces. If we lost eyes-on, then we would have to stop and wait for them to come back, if they did at all.

  ‘Keep your eyes out,’ I ordered my men quietly. ‘Expect anything.’

  We kept our weapons raised as we patrolled, sweeping the darkness for any sign of the Loyalists, or an FEA trap. I doubted the FEA would go to the trouble of escorting us only to then hit us with an ambush, but anything was possible.

  The patrol took us through thic
k clusters of ferns, and skirted around old impact craters overgrown with grass. I wondered if the craters were formed from old meteor impacts from before the golden age of terraforming, or if they were in fact the result of an old battle.

  Eden had been ravaged by war for over a century, from epic planet-wide battles fought between the Union, Russia and the Alliance, to smaller provincial conflicts. During that period, the original dream of creating a utopia away from Earth was lost, like a beautiful painting drenched in blood. No man would ever walk the surface of Eden without a respirator on his face, I decided, or a rifle in his hands.

  Suddenly there was a bright flash of light that lit the entire canopy. The section dropped to the ground instinctively, as seconds later a mighty explosion echoed across the forest.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ Skelton asked.

  There was another flash, then another, each one followed seconds later by a thump that shook the trees around us.

  ‘It’s the artillery again,’ I said, my head turned to the source of the noise. ‘About a kilometre away, maybe less.’

  ‘Is it for us?’

  I shook my head. ‘No. Highly unlikely.’

  Seeing that my section had stopped, Yulia walked back toward us, ignoring the continuing barrage. The flashes lit her, revealing a hardened face beneath her visor that even I found slightly intimidating.

  ‘The Loyalists have been firing railgun artillery for several hours,’ she explained as she joined us. ‘They think that they have located our headquarters and are trying to destroy it.’

  ‘So that isn’t your headquarters there?’ I asked as another shell detonated.

  She casually lifted her head and looked toward the source of the noise. ‘No. They are just wasting ammunition.’

  I shrugged. ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘Are you ready to go now?’

  I bristled. Despite her strong accent, I could swear that she was being condescending.

  ‘Yes, we’re good to go.’

  ‘Good,’ she turned back to the other escorts, signalling for them to carry on. I watched as the small party of FEA patrolled off into the forest once more, irritated by the way she had spoken to me.

  ‘They think they’re hard as nails, don’t they?’ Myers observed, and I nodded.

  ‘We’ll find out soon enough.’

  It was still raining when we arrived at the FEA battalion headquarters, despite the first slivers of morning light appearing in the clouds. The headquarters was a collection of tents, covered over with thermal sheeting, and then scattered with clods of earth and ferns for camouflage. It was nothing special, but enough to hide them from aerial observation. A few FEA soldiers moved about the tents conducting random tasks, and in particular I noted one group working on an antennae mast that stood almost as tall as the canopy. They were taking it down, which made sense. After all, the FEA were about to switch onto the offensive, and their headquarters couldn’t remain static for too long with the Loyalist artillery trying to hit it.

  Nearby I noticed a platoon of FEA soldiers, their equipment soaked by the rain, looking as though they too were preparing to move. They eyed us warily, some of them angrily, wondering why a Union patrol had arrived in their midst. I wondered if anybody had even told them that we were coming, half expecting one of them to raise his rifle and start shooting.

  I was about to announce our arrival over the platoon net, but there was no need; the boss was already there. Two of his team waited beside one of the tents, and I presumed that he was inside with his signaller.

  ‘Alright?’ I asked one of them as I approached, happy to see another Union trooper.

  ‘Yeah, apart from the weather,’ he replied gloomily, lifting his head up toward the dark clouds high above us. He then eyed our escorts warily. ‘Not so happy being here, either,’ he added.

  It must be pretty nerve wracking being in the platoon commanders group, I thought. Their escort party had probably outnumbered them, and now they were split into two pairs, each one surrounded by potentially dangerous FEA soldiers.

  Yulia beckoned me toward the nearest tent, and said, ‘Come with me.’

  I patted Myers on the shoulder. ‘Let’s go, then, mate.’

  The Guard captain looked alternately at each of us, apparently unhappy that I wasn’t going in alone, saying curtly, ‘You do not need protection.’

  I’ll be the judge of that, I thought.

  ‘It’s standard procedure,’ I explained calmly. ‘He’s just a runner in case I need to pass a message.’

  Yulia hesitated, she clearly didn’t believe me. ‘Very well. The rest must stay outside.’

  ‘That’s fine. Puppy will keep the lads outside.’

  Yulia led us to the tent, opening the outer airlock door and gesturing for us to follow her in. We stepped inside cautiously, as though we were expecting a trap door to open beneath us, or Yulia to pull out a knife. Without thinking, we left a natural gap between us and the Guard captain, both facing her. There was no way she couldn’t have noticed our defensive posture, but she didn’t say anything.

  ‘Your commander is already in here,’ Yulia observed as she closed the door behind us, ‘and you have another section on the way now?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  There was a light breeze that brushed against our combats, and a red light indicated that the airlock filters were scrubbing the air, removing the toxins that made the Eden atmosphere lethal to humans.

  Finally, after an awkward silence, the light changed to green and we made our way into the tent.

  The Mr Barkley was inside, stood in front of a large hologram of the Bosque with several officers, most of them FEA but some of them from the Presidential Guard. His helmet and respirator were tucked under one arm, and his face was screwed up in concentration as he tapped information into his datapad. His signaller stood nearby, scanning the tent for any sign of danger toward the platoon commander.

  The other officers jabbered at each other in their own language, in a heated debate about how to stop the Loyalists from pouring across the river. My headset could barely translate the argument, as they all seemed to be talking at once.

  Mr Barkley spotted me and smiled, raising a hand in greeting. ‘Ah, there you are. I was beginning to get worried.’

  I glanced at my visor clock. Despite the late arrival of my liaison officer, I had still made it to the headquarters on time. ‘I’m not late, Sir.’

  ‘I know, but things are happening faster here than we expected. The Loyalists are on the move again.’

  I unclipped my helmet and removed it, before pulling my respirator up away from my face. ‘They’re trying to cross the river?’

  ‘Yes,’ the boss affirmed, stretching out a finger to point toward a section of the Ghandi River. ‘I think they’re going to attempt to cross here. The sergeant major reported a build-up of Loyalist soldiers early this morning.’

  I studied the holographic image of the Bosque, noting the highlands in the west, from which the Ghandi River flowed, splitting the region into two as it made its way toward Paraiso. I also noted the city of Dakar to the north, not far from the original Edo-Europa border, which apparently was being used as a staging point by the Loyalists. During our final confirmatory orders, the boss had explained how the city was being used to house artillery and anti-aircraft batteries. In order for Edo to restore its borders, Dakar would need to be re-taken.

  ‘So the sergeant major crossed the river alright?’

  ‘Yes, he did.’ Mr Barkley sounded genuinely relieved that his other multiple had made the river crossing in good order. It was a dangerous task to conduct in the dark, even without the Loyalist forces on the opposite side. Troopers could easily be swept away if the drills weren’t carried out properly, and the Ghandi was a very fast-flowing river indeed.

  The platoon commander pointed at a location between the river and Dakar. ‘He’s presently around here, having located several Loyalist artillery batteries. He plans to call in our own artillery
shortly.’

  Slowly and methodically the sergeant majors sections would be probing the Loyalist batteries, making sure they had the location of every gun before they ordered for them to be destroyed. I expected the platoon commander would have preferred the task for his own multiple, but he needed to be back with the FEA in order to understand what they were doing.

  I looked down at the hologram, at the site where he believed the Loyalists wanted to cross. ‘What units do the FEA have to defend here?’

  The platoon commander explained the battlefield layout, describing the strengths and capabilities of each FEA battalion, as well as their missions and tasks.

  ‘It looks like they have several regular infantry battalions holding along the length of the river,’ he summarised, ‘but many of these have taken severe losses. Battalions like this one are preparing to go back on the offensive, but even they have suffered crippling casualties during their withdrawal from Dakar, so most of their soldiers are battlefield replacements, drafted in from the remaining Edo population.’

  ‘So who are all these officers?’ I asked.

  Mr Barkley looked around at the arguing officers. ‘These are their company commanders and their Guard advisors. They’re all receiving orders from the CO to relieve a battalion holding on the river, so another battalion can punch across to set up a bridgehead on the far bank.’

  Myers raised an eyebrow. ‘Orders? It looks like the beginning of a punch up!’

  The platoon commander gave us a thin smile, ‘I don’t think the FEA and the Guard are in full agreement. The commanding officer is FEA, but he has several Presidential Guard advisors telling him what to do and he doesn’t like it.’

  ‘Are the Guard right?’

  ‘Probably. They have the experience. Apparently the CO used to be a school teacher, so he’s hardly a master tactician. It doesn’t make a difference, though, if both sides keep arguing. They could both be right, but at the rate they’re going the Loyalists will be across the river before they make their minds up.’