Recon
A short story of The Suburban Dead
By T.A. Sorsby
This is a work of (short) fiction. Any resemblance to military persons or operations carried out in our own world is purely coincidental. Maybe.
I’d tell you more, but I’m sworn to secrecy.
All rights reserved.
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Copyright T.A. Sorsby 2020.
Here’s to writing a short story that stays that way.
I’m looking at you, Emergency...
T.A. Sorsby
Also in this series, but by no means required reading:
Left Behind
Emergency
Reunion
Part One
A flash. Whomph. A plume of smoke.
‘Lovely, lovely. Now, just one more…’
‘Yeah Shutters,’ I said, ‘not like we’ve a job on here.’
The squad chuckled, a dozen of the Republic’s finest.
Pfc. Roper, or Shutters, lowered his camera, sucking in his bottom lip. The boys ‘n girls were already falling out of position, picking their gear back up and heading through the castle’s gatehouse. I walked over and gave the wiry man a winsome grin, putting my arm around his shoulders. We were about the same height, but I still had my factory-girl muscle, so I gave him a friendly squeeze.
‘Plenty of time for that later. You’ll get your shots for the Geographic. Keep an eye on the rabble, eh? Make sure they don’t get too settled.’ I told him.
‘On it, Sergeant.’ He nodded, letting his camera hang by the strap, and reclaiming his rifle from where it lent against the bridge.
I watched him go, disappearing into the shadow cast by the gatehouse – the castle looming up behind. I gave it a withering glare before turning my back on it, and eyeballing the treeline instead.
The Alsatians were out there – somewhere. Aerial recon had those bastards moving troops into these forests, but we hadn’t seen a whole lot of them leaving. This castle would have been a prime staging area for their push, but as far as we could tell, there were no signs of life.
It didn’t sit right with me. Somehow, we’d gotten here without a fuss – and even with the best intelligence in the world, you expect a problem or two. Bizarrely, we hadn’t caught a whiff of trouble. No ambush on entry, and no little surprises left for us. At least not in the first sweep. So what the hell were the Alsatians playing at?
The foliage rustled on the overgrown path at the other end of the bridge. I had my “Sydow Typewriter” aimed that way, resting at my hip, but my finger wasn’t anywhere near the trigger. Figured it’d only be Captain Sykes – Jim – and our tame dog, Parsberg, coming back from one of their little chats. A moment later, I was proved right. I walked across the bridge, meeting them halfway.
Jim’s uniform was spotless despite the rigors of the ancient woodland, but our guide didn’t have the same fashion sense. First, the Brass let him get away without wearing our olive. It gave me visions of him switching sides again if we met any of his countrymen. But then to allow himself to get so muddy and travelworn to boot? Good Gods man, have a shave at least.
‘Ash, Mr Parsberg says we shouldn’t linger here.’ Jim said crisply.
‘He say why?’ I asked the captain.
He was the only one in the unit who could speak with Parsberg fluently. Most of the rest of us knew some core phrases, like “I surrender”, “you surrender” and a mess of swearwords. Our guide knew about the same in Voison.
‘Dark place, Sergeant Kelly.’ He said, with a voice as thick as his neck.
‘Oooh, spooky.’ I smirked, folding my arms over my gun. ‘You’re not buying this?’
‘Of course not. There must be a reason the Alsatians haven’t claimed it.’ The captain said. ‘Damned if I know what it is, but it’s too good of a position not to make use of ourselves.’
‘So we’re staying then?’
‘For now, yes.’ He said, staring up at the castle. ‘Gorgeous building, isn’t it? Reminds me of home, somewhat.’
I turned around. Clicked my tongue.
‘I’ll have to disagree, Jim. It’s not a patch on Sydow Castle.’
*
There was a dining hall, but half the windows were cracked and the rest were missing panes – glass shards still lay where they’d slipped free. Between the bowed, rotten floor, and the unthinkable horrors that lurked in the massive cobwebs overhead, eating there was a non-starter.
Fortunately, there was a servants’ kitchen, a proper “below stairs” affair, where the posh gits who used to live here wouldn’t risk accidentally walking in on The Help at dinner.
Even better, for us at least, the spiders hadn’t claimed it, and most of the cooking utensils looked in serviceable condition. Never underestimate how important a decent mess hall can be; especially if you’re digging in for a while. As Sergeant, it was my responsibility to make sure this unit ran like a well-oiled machine, and keeping their bellies full was Step One.
Sandy was a farmboy, and boasted of his cooking abilities on a wood-fired stove. Sadly, we were only heating up our MCIs – canned rations – but I set the private to it anyway, while Henry laid the table. She was a good kid, can’t have been that much younger than myself, but had a tendency to walk on eggshells. Too many loud voices in this choir, so she stood at the back. I was going to throw some responsibility at her tonight, see how she bore up.
Chow time first though.
Dr Bede, a “conscientious objector” and our medic, brought in the stack of cardboard cartons, so Sandy got to unpacking and heating them through. It was good to finally eat something that hadn’t just been made lukewarm on a hobo stove. It’d been a hard trek since our landing zone, and a proper sit-down meal felt like a win.
That was, until I drew my ration straw. Turkey Loaf. Shite.
‘You not going to eat that, Sarge?’ Bones asked.
‘Better you than me.’ I said, leaning across the table with my plate. ‘Few more of my dinners and maybe you won’t fall down the drain next time you shower.’
‘You’re too good to the men.’ Jim said from where he was observing in the kitchen, ‘But I can’t let you suffer alone. I’ll share my D-ration with you.’
The table erupted in titters and wolf-whistles.
‘It’s a date, Jim.’ I grinned.
Laughter was good.
It was soon replaced by the happy chinking and grating of cutlery on plates. When everyone was finished, Jim started dishing out the orders. Three shifts for watches, positions inside the castle – there were only twelve of us in the recon team, thirteen if you counted Parsberg – so we didn’t want to draw attention to ourselves. Reinforcements would do that well enough when they came. With that in mind, nobody was leaving the castle.
Shutters and Caterpillar figured out how to lower the portcullis, and Iris hid a couple landmines by torchlight, just on our side of the gate where the broken slabs of the courtyard made good cover. Nobody was to go anywhere near that gate until the cavalry came, and if they did, we’d sure hear about it.
My shift bunked down in a room just off the entrance hall, up the grand stairs and on the left. Looked like a sitting room. Grimy windows overlooked the courtyard, and overstuffed furniture, tatty with age, surrounded low tables. There were displays of fine china in the corners, kept dust-free in their cabinets. My mother would have known if these sets were collectable. Maybe I’d have a chance to take home a few souvenirs for her, when we were done.
We cleared space, unrolled ou
r mats, and tried to get some shuteye.
Part Two
Gunfire. Bam-bam.
It woke me with a start, two of my lads sitting bolt upright, and Sandy, a heavier sleeper, simply turned over. Caterpillar looked to me, bleary eyed, moustache splayed out of place.
‘S’that a gun?’ he slurred.
‘Up, up!’ I shouted, casting off the blanket and scrambling to my feet. ‘Gunfire, up above!’
I slept in my vest and khaki bottoms, but shrugged on my suspender straps before grabbing my Typewriter. It wouldn’t do for the enemy to catch me with my trousers down.
In a variety of undress, the squad burst out into the corridor, guns and hair pointing in all directions. There wasn’t much to see. It was dim, moonlight filtering through distant windows. Fortunately, I slept with a torch. When I flicked it on, that’s when we heard a shout from the floor above, followed by rapid pounding on the floorboards.
With Caterpillar, Sandy and Iris behind me, I hit the spiral stairs that led up to the next floor, and all but collided with Bones as we hit the landing.
‘What’s the racket?’ I asked. ‘Enemy contact?’
‘No ma’am!’ Bones said, ‘It’s the Captain! Have you seen Dr Bede?’
‘He’s with Shutters, courtyard watch. But if he’s any sense he’s running here now. Is the Captain injured?’
‘Henry’s on it, but I don’t think he’s…’
‘Get the doctor.’ I cut him off. ‘Now!’
Inside Jim’s room, it was a grizzly sight.
He’d stripped the moth-eaten bedsheets off, and slept with his bedroll and blanket atop the mattress. They were both stained black with his blood. It dripped off the edge of the bed with a lazy patter, but Henry’s hands were soaked in it, where she’d tried to stop the bleeding.
Poor girl – I wouldn’t have bothered. A fist-sized lump of his neck had been torn away, from his windpipe to under his ear. Blood was smeared all around his mouth and jaw, like he’d been choking on it, and spitting it back out.
‘Caterpillar, Iris, Sandy,’ I said, ‘search this damn castle top to bottom. Look under the beds, behind the curtains, every wardrobe and privy. Someone did this. Find them.’
‘Yes ma’am.’ The boys saluted, before haring off.
Henry went to wipe her eyes, but stopped herself, seeing her hands slick with fresh blood. Her bottom lip bent in, but she kept the top one stiff.
‘What happened?’ I asked her, slowly moving forward, eyes casting about the room, taking it all in, from the bloodstained bed and my dead CO, to the broken mirror on the wall.
Henry sniffed in a deep breath, steadying herself.
‘Was on patrol, me and Bones. Heard gunshots and we come running. Get here and Captain Skyes is bleeding and pointing his gun at nothing. Sent Bones for the doc, but I wasn’t quick enough. I saw the light leave his eyes, Sarge.’
I glanced over to Jim again, just to make sure.
‘Damn!’ I spat. ‘We’re not as safe as we thought. Henry, I want you to know – you did nothing wrong here. We let our guard down too soon. We should have swept the castle better, and that’s on us, the Captain and myself.’
‘I was on the sweep, maybe I missed something-’
‘I said it was Jim, and me. Command oversight. This was not you. Tell me you understand, Private.’
‘Y-yes, Sarge.’
‘Atta girl.’
I’d intended to clap her on the shoulder, but instead, I let my gun hang, and turned it into a bracing, one-armed hug. She kept her bloodied hands off my back, but squeezed with her forearms. ‘We’ll find the bastard who did this, and put a bullet in him. That’s a promise.’ I told her.
*
‘What do you mean, you “lost” him?’ I shouted, despite the lads only being across the table. I’d made a brief stop to get properly dressed, before setting up to coordinate the search from the servant’s kitchen. It’d run into the morning now, and we hadn’t turned up anyone unexpected. Rather, we’d lost someone else.
‘He was with us one second, then plum gone the next,’ Sandy explained, ‘I’m sorry Sarge, we didn’t hear a peep outta him.’
‘You know why we call him Iris?’ I asked, rhetorically. ‘I Require Intense Supervision. He wanders off. He gets distracted. Explosives expert or not, the man’s a toddler!’
‘Sorry Sarge.’ Caterpillar repeated.
‘Get back out there. Find me Iris. Or whoever took a knife to Jim’s neck. Find me something, for the love of Gods, or you two will be the ones trying to disarm Iris’ landmines. Understood?’
They saluted, and excused themselves from the kitchen.
Shutters, who had been standing beside me looking grim, finally relaxed. He wasn’t one for dishing out discipline, but he might have to get used to it. He’d been third in the chain of command, now he was my second.
‘Managed to get the radio up at least.’ He said, ‘Bit of good news.’
‘I’m sure there’ll be more bad news though. Tell me.’
‘I can’t get through to Headquarters. Or the Tarachian Resistance. There’s a storm coming in though, so I think it’s just weather interference.’
‘Blast. Hopefully they’ll see the storm clouds themselves and realise we haven’t just missed check-in for no reason. Don’t want them thinking we’re all…well, all dead.’ I added, hesitant.
‘Still doesn’t seem real, does it?’ Shutters asked.
‘His body’s still warm, Shutters.’ I sighed. ‘It’s not quite sunk in yet.’
‘Dr Bede has taken him down to the cellar. We can go say a few words, if you like? I think Sandy is a layman in the Temple, might be able to perform funeral rites…’
‘We’re not burying Jim here. We’ll get him back home. But it might be nice to say goodbye. Later. When we’re sure nobody else will be joining him.’
‘Alright Sarge.’ Shutters nodded. ‘I’ll get back on the search, see if we can turn up Iris.’
‘If anyone was going to go missing, it was always going to be him.’ I said. ‘Made the mistake of promising his sister I’d look after him. Was bound to happen.’
When Shutters left, I was alone. Nothing but radio static from the setup on the table, and the rattling of the glass in the windows as the wind began to pick up.
Shutters was right. Storm was coming in. But I couldn’t call the search off yet. We’d already covered the place top to bottom three times, if you include the first sweep on arrival. But someone had to be out there. Someone cut a chunk out of our Captain.
Unless…
Maybe it wasn’t someone else. Maybe it was one of us.
Parsberg. Where was that slippery git in all this?
I dashed out of the kitchen, catching Shutters at the top of the stairs back to the main hall.
‘The guide! We need to find out what he knows.’
*
It was later, well into the afternoon. Shutters and Not-So had climbed a rope down from the wall beside the gatehouse, avoiding Iris’ landmines, to make their way across the bridge and back into the woods. They were trying to see if they could spot any signs of life that weren’t ours, but they’d been gone since lunchtime, and when the sun was lost to the rain, I started getting worried.
I’d called off the search in the castle, turning up no sign of Iris or Jim’s killer – assuming it wasn’t Parsberg. To be safe, I’d had our guide confined to quarters, just down the hall from the bloodied bedroom. Weathersby and Pursall, who hadn’t blundered their way into a nickname yet, were to make sure he didn’t leave.
Parsberg knew nothing of Jim’s murder – or so he claimed. He was in bed. Didn’t even hear the shots. Woke up to find the squad already running about like headless chickens. At least, I think that’s what he said. Trying to interrogate him through the language barrier was tricky, but until I found someone else to string up, he was staying put.
Shutters and the “Not-So” aptly named Private Bright came back just as the rain really started
to lash the castle walls, the former with muddy knees and the latter with his uniform caked in the stuff.
‘Get into any trouble?’ I asked them wryly, pulling the rope back up after them.
‘Think I found an old bear pit, some kind of hunting trap.’ Not-So said, gesturing at his soiled uniform. Between the mud and the rain, the poor lad looked wretched.
‘The woods are full of them,’ Shutters said as we descended the steps to the courtyard, ‘either they had a real problem with the wildlife around here, or they were some sort of defence to stop saboteurs scaling the hill and getting up to the castle.’
‘How old did these pits look? Abandoned or fresh?’ I asked.
‘The sides of the one I fell in were sloping, and wet as hell. I was able to climb out with a bit of help.’ Not-So replied. ‘But the brush at the top was fresh, or I wouldn’t have been caught out.’
‘If you say so.’ I smirked, but it was soon wiped off my face. ‘If that pit’s been freshly concealed, then someone’s about. Can’t be in the castle, we’ve dusted every cobweb, flipped every rotten mattress. It’s clean – there’s nowhere left to hide. Don’t suppose you saw any sign of enemy encampment?’
‘Afraid not, Sarge.’ Shutters said with a shake of his head. ‘Got some good pictures though, before I lost the light entirely. Do you mind if I get them developing?’
‘Recon snaps, or are they for the Geographic?’
‘Bit of both.’ He said, scratching his ear. ‘After that, would you like to come and say goodbye to the Captain with me?’
‘Aye, go on then. Come down to dinner when you’re ready. I’ll give the men their watches, then we’ll try getting another call out through this storm.’
*
Dinner was a tense affair. Two men gone, one of them our commanding officer, and with the killer potentially unaccounted for.
‘Do you think he did it?’ Sandy asked as he set the plates down. ‘Parsberg?’
The Suburban Dead | Short Story | Recon Page 1
