EDEN (The Union Series)

by Richards, Phillip

  Wildgoose sprinted behind me, quickly finding a new location to fire onto a target he had identified. He lined himself up for the shot. With a scream of magnets and a clap of rushing air, he fired a dart across the city, not moving a centimetre as the shot was released. I never saw who or what he had fired at, but he looked up from his sights, seemingly satisfied that he had achieved his kill.

  Several smart missiles launched from amongst the buildings, detonating uselessly against the underside of the spokes. Presumably the firers had given confusing instructions to the missiles in their haste, because there was no way they could hope to bring the massive structures down with anything less than an explosive charge, and if they did it would take the whole roof with it, killing hundreds of their comrades.

  Even in a short space of time, the platoon had had a devastating effect upon the Loyalists below. Destroying an entire gun battery, several vehicles and suits and tens of Loyalist commanders all at once, we had created total mayhem across the city in less than a minute. I stopped to admire our handiwork, listening to the terrified shouts of the enemy below.

  ‘One-One-Charlie, One-Zero, close in!’

  I looked over my shoulder, seeing the platoon commander tap his helmet.

  ‘Puppy, take over!’ I shouted. ‘The Boss wants me!’

  ‘Roger!’

  Ignoring the pain that surged through my body, I ran to the platoon commander, who watched the unfolding battle from his vantage point in the middle of the hub, while his team joined in with the fire fight.

  Just as I knelt beside him, one of Mr Barkley’s team was struck by a dart, his body going into spasm as one of his comrades dragged him back from the edge. A pool of blood spilled across the metal panels like an upturned pot of paint.

  ‘Man down!’ the trooper cried in anguish, and the message repeated across the platoon. There was little chance that the lad could survive such a sudden and catastrophic loss of blood.

  I made as if to stand, but the platoon commander placed a restraining hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Leave it, Andy,’ he soothed, ‘you can’t save everyone. My lads will do what they can.’

  My muscles relaxed. He was right of course - there was nothing I could do for the stricken trooper that his comrades couldn’t do themselves.

  ‘I’ve achieved direct comms with the FEA command,’ Mr Barkley announced. ‘I’m talking via brigade to an officer within FEA ranks who claims to know where a key Loyalist command centre is within the city.’

  ‘Could be a trick,’ I said doubtfully, wincing as a stabbing pain shot across my body.

  ‘Brigade doesn’t seem to think so,’ the platoon commander continued. ‘It seems you were right about the FEA and the Guard, they are definitely divided. The FEA no longer appear to be receiving help from the Guard, possibly indicating that they have had some form of disagreement. The Guard want the FEA to hold back, so they can have the city for themselves.’

  ‘And wipe out the population of Dakar …’ I finished.

  ‘It would appear that way. Either way, they appear to be allowing the FEA to carry on in the hope that their attack fails. They want them to soften up the Loyalists before they come in to finish off the job.’

  I glanced over the city as a fresh round of grenades launched from the edge of the platform. ‘I think we’ve done more than “soften up the Loyalists” already!’

  He smiled. ‘I agree! We need to continue to assist the FEA assault, and this command centre looks like the way to do it. I intend to strike onto it from above, using our ropes to rappel from the spokes. Hard. Fast. Stacks of grenades. And it’s done.’

  ‘You realise that once we’re down there, we’ll never be able to get back out the same way?’

  The platoon commander nodded. ‘I know. We’ll have to hope that the FEA are successful, because otherwise we’ll have to fight our way out. We didn’t get into this job for a chill--out!’

  I stopped for a second to consider the idea. It was a crazy plan, but it made some sense. If we withdrew, then the FEA attack was likely to fail, and if we stayed on the roof then our effect on the battle would rapidly decrease as our ammo ran out. If the Guard took the city and massacred its entire people, then the Alliance could easily be led by Edo to believe that the Loyalists and the Union were killing their colonists, and that in turn might lead to war. I hated the Guard, and all that they stood for, so spoiling their plan was more than enough for me.

  ‘OK,’ I answered, ‘let’s do it.’

  I quickly explained my plan to the section over the net, making sure that Wildgoose knew to remain on the spokes. He was in his element, now, along with the rest of the snipers.

  Mr Barkley patted my shoulder. ‘Good to go?’

  I nodded and the platoon commander picked himself up, running back toward Corporal Abdi’s section on the nearest spoke with his signaller in tow, leaving the remainder of his team to deal with the casualty. By the looks of him he was already dead, but I decided not to point that out - the platoon commander had enough on his plate. I followed, and as I did the remainder of my section joined on behind me, making best speed to where the headquarter building was located.

  Smoke billowed from the buildings on the southern end of the crater, and flames licked up the walls, telling a tale of the epic battle being fought between the two sides, street-by-street and room-by-room. Soon we would be joining them in the city, I thought.

  Corporal Abdi was already in position over the target building, his section tucked behind the lip of the spoke so that they couldn’t be seen. We didn’t want the Loyalists to know we were coming until the last safe moment, when the ropes were thrown over the edge.

  I poked my head over the edge of the spoke, feeling giddy as I looked at the streets far below.

  The platoon commander reached over and pointed out a wide, four-storey building almost directly beneath us, marking it with a crosshair. ‘It’s there,’ he said.

  I looked at him dubiously. It was an awfully long way down, forty metres according to my visor display. Would our ropes even reach that far?

  ‘What makes this building so important again?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s a command centre,’ Mr Barkley replied. ‘Communications equipment, electronic warfare equipment, not to mention the commanders themselves. Apparently there’s a brigadier in there.’

  I laughed. ‘He’ll be kilometres away by now!’

  Most, if not all of the remaining gravtanks and dropships would have made their escape from Dakar, where their speed and manoeuvrability was greatly reduced. I had no doubt that any high-ranking officer would have made his escape with them, flying back to the safety of Europa whilst the remaining aircraft duelled with the FEA dropships in the hills around the city.

  ‘Maybe,’ Mr Barkley conceded, ‘but if we take this command centre, we cut the head off the snake. The Loyalist commanders are too fearful of punishment to think for themselves - without their chain of command they’ll simply break and run.’

  That was good enough for me. I ordered my section to prepare the ropes. We had two in total, and another two handed to us by Corporal Abdi’s 2ic, which meant that we could insert near enough all at once.

  We hooked up the ropes, whilst Corporal Abdi continued to engage targets across the city. Each rope was attached to the edge of the spoke, using hooks that had been placed along its length for just that purpose. During maintenance, city workers would use ropes so that they could move across the plastic roof, safe in the knowledge that if it tore open they wouldn’t fall to their deaths. Now that the roof had been taken away, it was a perfect method for insertion. Once connected, the ropes were left coiled up, not to be thrown until we were ready for our descent.

  I took one last look over the edge. We couldn’t fast-rope down, the distance was too great. The intense heat generated by the friction of sliding the length of the ropes would simply burn through our gloves before we reached the bottom. Instead we would need to rappel, and that took time.
<
br />   It was madness, sheer madness - but if it was necessary to end the fighting quickly, then it was probably worth the risk.

  I took a deep breath, nodded to the others, and we cast the ropes off the edge. As we did so, the entire platoon let rip from across the city, hammering the streets with darts and grenades in an effort to distract anybody observing from below. It was now or never - time was ammo after all.

  ‘I’ll be right behind you, Andy,’ the platoon commander said, as I hooked myself up and threw my bodyweight onto the edge, sitting with my boots dangling over the cityscape below.

  ‘I’ll see you down there, then,’ I replied, and pushed away from the spoke, steadily descending toward the building below.

  How we survived the descent I don’t know. Whether it was because the hail of darts from above prevented the Loyalists from noticing, or the fact that they never thought that we would be mad enough to attempt such a risky method of insertion, we descended unobserved. I felt totally exposed as I plummeted toward the flat roof of the target building, one hand gripping my rifle, while the other controlled the rope. Rope was not a good method of insertion, contrary to popular belief, not on a battlefield anyway - it made you a fantastic target.

  My boots struck the roof hard, and I grimaced as another wave of agony passed over my body, threatening to make me throw-up inside my respirator. The rest of the fire team, including Yulia, touched the ground, with Puppy’s fire team following close behind.

  ‘You OK, Andy?’ Myers asked, and I realised that I was standing awkwardly in a subconscious effort to take away the pain. I felt slightly dizzy.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I snapped angrily, turning to survey my new surroundings.

  We had landed close to the edge of the roof, overlooking a wide street littered with burnt out vehicles and rubble. From above the city it had appeared relatively tranquil, but now that I was inside the crater I could see the damage it had taken from the Loyalist occupation. Most of the windows in the buildings across the street had been smashed, probably by the overpressure created by shells exploding nearby, and huge chunks of masonry were missing from blackened walls. Dakar was a warzone, and it had already taken a battering.

  There was no way into the building from the roof, I decided, none that I could see anyway. We needed a rapid method of entry, and I didn’t have time to search for a ladder or a hatch. It was a miracle that we had made it down without being spotted in the first place, and I doubted our fortune would last much longer.

  ‘Mouse hole!’ I shouted, and then pointed to the ground at my feet.

  Skelton quickly threw his daysack to the ground, ripping a mouse hole charge from the bundle of kit and equipment he carried inside. He was more than happy to use the charge, knowing that every piece of ammunition he used made him slightly lighter on his feet.

  The section quickly stacked up ready to assault, whilst Skelton placed the charge against the roof. Just as he finished, the platoon commander landed, quickly disconnecting himself and stepping away from the rope before Corporal Abdi’s section landed on top of him.

  Happy that the charge was set, the two of us stepped back, taking our place behind Myers. I didn’t wait for Mr Barkley to give the word, we were already committed anyway.

  ‘Skelton, fire!’

  Skelton tapped his datapad, and with a mighty bang the charge exploded in a sudden cloud of smoke, driving its shaped charge down into the roof.

  We didn’t wait for the smoke to clear, instead we charged up to the hole, as if the noise of the explosion had set us free.

  Myers stuck his rifle into the hole, searching for targets. ‘Clear! Large office type room!’

  I looked over his shoulder at the drop below. ‘Can you jump it?’

  He blinked. ‘Should be able to …’

  It wasn’t worth the risk, though, we didn’t need more casualties, especially not something as stupid as a sprained ankle or a fractured foot.

  ‘Skelton, give me a hand!’

  We gripped Myers by his daysack straps, using them to lower him over the edge of the hole. I clenched my teeth and growled at the pain as my arm fully extended, before letting the trooper drop the rest of the way to the ground.

  ‘Now me!’ I shouted, quickly perching myself on the edge.

  Skelton grasped me by one strap of my daysack, while Yulia grasped the other. I looked up at her, realising that I was so swept up with our attack I had forgotten her; either that or blood loss was effecting my concentration. I wondered why she was helping, and then cast the thought aside - I needed to go with it. Skelton was keeping an eye on her, and that would have to do.

  I shuffled my weight off the edge, and Myers grasped me by the legs as I was lowered to the ground.

  It was indeed some kind of office building, not entirely dissimilar from the Citadel building I had fought through on Nieuwe Poort.

  Yulia was next to be lowered into the building, and I eyed her suspiciously as I helped her down, waiting for the sudden glint of a knife to finish me off.

  As soon as her boots stuck the ground she pushed out into the room, facing outward for hidden threats amongst the empty offices.

  The section piled in after her, followed shortly afterwards by Mr Barkley.

  ‘So far, so good,’ he said as he landed.

  He spoke too soon. There was a shriek of magnets on the roof as Corporal Abdi’s section opened fire on something in the city.

  ‘Contact! It’s a suit!’

  Corporal Abdi’s order was shrill: ‘Smart missile! Now!’

  The boss and I looked at each other in alarm, just as the section above us released a volley of grenades.

  There was a bang as a missile was fired, and Corporal Abdi’s section piled through the hole, each trooper tumbling into a heap in the middle of the room in their haste to escape the Loyalist suit, the used launcher clattering onto the floor beside them.

  ‘Shit!’ one of them swore. ‘I think I broke a rib!’

  ‘Shut up, you bell end,’ Corporal Abdi scalded, brushing dust from his combats as we helped them all to their feet.

  ‘We need to move,’ Mr Barkley urged me. ‘Now!’

  I needed no encouragement, quickly spotting the building staircase. Normally such a method of movement was unwise, but I doubted that the Loyalists expected us to enter from the roof.

  I charged toward the staircase, bursting through a glass door on the way. Boots pounded as we stormed down the stairs, weapons bristling from our formation in anticipation of the enemy.

  Sure enough, there was a confused commotion at the foot of the stairs, and I tossed a grenade over the banister, allowing it to tumble onto the hapless Loyalists below.

  ‘Grenade!’ one of them screamed, but it would have been too late to react, for the detonation cut him short. Glass panels cracked with the sudden explosion, but we continued to hurtle downward toward our quarry, our boots pounding against the staircase as we went.

  The Loyalists I had dropped the grenade onto weren’t on the bottom of the staircase - they were atop a makeshift sandbag platform that blocked us off from the ground floor. Two of them had died on top of the platform, riddled with holes, while another was slumped over the edge of a hatch - his bloody body slumped over a reel of razor wire.

  Although they hadn’t expected an assault from the roof, the Loyalists had still prepared their position so that the staircase couldn’t be used properly to reach the ground floor.

  Myers aimed his rifle into the hatch, whilst I tried to pull the body out of the way. He was stuck fast onto the wire, every one of the wicked blades along its length digging into his combats and ripped skin. It was like something out of a horror hologram.

  Suddenly Myers opened fire, staggering backward in surprise at a sudden threat. Skelton and Yulia responded instantly, firing their weapons wildly into the sandbag platform.

  I chucked a smoke grenade into the hole, and we threw ourselves backward just before it detonated in a plume of smoke that shot up the stairca
se.

  ‘Fuck!’ I swore as the fire team resumed firing into the platform. The body was stuck fast, making it impossible to enter - not without being shot.

  I looked up at Puppy, whose fire team waited halfway up the stairwell, shrouded in smoke. Mr Barkley watched anxiously from behind him.

  ‘Mouse hole,’ I whispered, despite the noise of gunfire next to me.

  He responded instantly, sending Dutch down with his charge. I crept with him, off the sandbag platform and back onto the solid staircase landing, standing directly above where the Loyalist defenders were firing. We set the charge, and then stepped away, just far enough not to be hurt when it was fired.

  ‘Fire!’ I shouted.

  The charge thumped, and as one my fire team stopped what they were doing and bolted toward the fresh opening, I tossed another grenade into the hole, waiting for it to explode, before throwing myself through the hole, not thinking about the landing.

  I crashed into the room, landing awkwardly on my feet before crumpling to the ground. Excruciating pain shot across my chest.

  I held out my arms, just managing to catch Myers as he landed on top of me. He sprayed the smoking room with automatic, almost toppling over after his fall.

  Yulia and Skelton landed around me as I struggled to return to my feet, checking my respirator seal with my free hand. Their weapons unleashed fury into the smoking room, cutting down any Loyalist survivors as they fanned out into cover.

  The ground floor was an office just like the floors above, except that it had been virtually cleared out and its windows lined with sandbags. Apart from the tens of Loyalists who had either died by my grenade, or been cut down by my fire team, the massive room was empty.

  I staggered slightly as I looked around me, trying to see what made the building so important that it needed so many defenders. There was nothing there except for some old office furniture and stack of sandbags at the far end of the room. For a second my vision began to blur, until I focused again with a shake of my head. The pain was making me queasy.