“That’s the idea, they know we need to close this down in a solid time frame. Each of our platoons is only equal to their force, they are trying to even up the odds.”
He strolled quickly over to Baker and took the Mappad device from him, studying the readings carefully.
“Alright, Alpha and Bravo take the twelfth floor, Delta the fourteenth, Charlie you’re with me on the fifteenth. Remember these guys are slimy bastards, they’ll do anything to catch you out. Okay, that’ll be all, let’s do this!”
Taylor lifted his rifle as he rushed to the steps. He was at the front of the company alongside several of Charlie squad. The heat was still intoxicating, but the shade of the building at least alleviated some of the strain.
They reached the doorway to the fifteenth floor. The entrance was a double door swing system with small windows peering into the hallway. The higher floors were mostly used as a hotel, the fifteenth not being unique in that regard. Taylor carefully moved across the wall until he was beside the doors and peered through one of the windows. It looked onto a long corridor with dozens of doors leading to hotel rooms. Many of the doors were missing or open. He turned back to look at his unit.
“Right, we’ve got a hotel corridor, perfect spot for an ambush.”
Before he could continue the radio cut in.
“This is Alpha, no contact, heat signal was a hoax, over.”
They heard an explosion erupt in the floors below.
“This is Bravo, location was booby trapped with a paint bomb, Sir.”
“Any casualties?”
“No, Sir, but I guess half of us are out of this mission.”
“Send what’s left of your platoon to the fifteenth to re-enforce Charlie, over.”
Taylor peered back through the window. It was a peaceful if desolate scene, but he knew better. The British paras were giving them hell that day, and he knew the next step wouldn’t be any easier. He turned back to his men.
“Alright, this is likely it, we’ve taken heavy losses already, I want this finished! Ready on my mark,” he lifted his rifle into both hands and took a deep breath. “Go!”
Smashing his foot through the door he rushed in, taking a quick turn into the first doorway. He quickly scanned the room, it was empty. He turned back to see his men running along the corridor. Mitch rushed back out to see Charlie squad swarming through the rooms of the corridor. The radio cut back in.
“Sir, I’m getting different readings, I think they are interfering with our equipment,” said Baker.
Taylor watched as his men and the re-enforcements from Bravo squad cleared the floor. They’d been duped, there was nothing there.
“God damn it! I should have known. Fuck the equipment! Let’s use some common sense. If you were to hold up in a world class casino and hotel, where would you be?”
“In the penthouse, Sir,” said Silva.
“Exactly! Form up, Sergeant, we’re heading upstairs, let’s end this. Bravo, head to the roof and set up a breach for the penthouse suite, over.”
Taylor leapt into a swift stride towards the stairs. Another ten flights in full gear in the heat was gruelling, but the very idea of fatigue had gone from their minds, they were eager to even the odds and set the record straight.
Less that ten minutes later they were waiting outside the entrance to the penthouse. They knew it was the location they had been looking for, they only kicked themselves for not thinking of it earlier. Taylor made a mental note to rely as much on instinct as technology on the future. For all their hardware, they had been deceived.
“This is Bravo, we’re good to go.”
“All teams, prepare to breach in ten,” Taylor ordered.
He looked around to the dozens of marines waiting in the corridor. Several stood next to charges on the walls, others beside the main entrance next to him. All in they had four breach points.
“Three, two, one, breach!”
The explosive charges fired simultaneously and were loud enough that they could not even hear the shattering of glass on the outer of the building as Bravo team swung in from abseil lines. They rushed through the breaches. The residue from the explosions had created a dust and screen throughout the room. Even before Mitch’s foot was through the door the guns were blazing.
The ruined old furniture of the luxurious room had been stacked up in make shift defences, the paras really had made maximum use of their numbers and time. So many of the training exercises involved units who put little effort into their resistance, but that was not the case here. Six marines were dropped on the breach, though Mitch could see at least a few Brits fall as the intensity of their fire increased.
The penthouse was vast, as large as their entire company’s quarters on base. They had breached the open plan living and dining area, but there were several doorways leading to other rooms.
As the fire continued, the marines were slowly advancing on the positions from both sides. Taylor held point for several of Charlie squad to head for the doorways to his left as he and Sergeant Silva went for the master bedroom.
The two marines slammed up against the wall either side of the door to the bedroom. Taylor looked at his Sergeant and nodded in readiness. Silva reached for the door handle slowly, before quickly ripping the door open. The Major rushed through the entrance with his rifle raised. Initially he could see no sign of life at all, until in his peripheral vision he just caught sight of fast movement. It was too late, a British officer grabbed for his rifle and twisted around until he held his weapon and locked against his chest. The defender was holding him from behind in a tight grasp with a knife at his throat.
Silva entered just a second too late, he raised his rifle to target the attacker but there was little he could do. From the other side of the entrance another Brit was pointing a handgun at the captured Major’s head.
“Hard luck, old boy, this day belongs to us,” said the officer.
“Nuts,” replied Taylor.
He lifted his offhand and dangled a pin, which had clearly just been drawn from a grenade on his chest rig.
“Oh, shit!” shouted the officer.
The room erupted into a blinding flash of light. The two British soldiers dropped to the ground stunned and disorientated, the two marines stood as if nothing had happened. Taylor stepped over the officer who was rubbing his eyes in a desperate attempt to regain his vision. He was just beginning to get some sight back as Mitch offered out his hand, which the man gladly took.
“Your boys don’t have flash protectors yet, Charlie? It’s an amazing piece of kit really, a liquified contact lens which increases vision abilities by ten percent while providing a barrier shield against extreme bursts of light.”
Taylor hauled him to his feet, a man who had quickly become a friend of over the last three years. Captain Charlie Jones of the British Parachute Regiment, EUA army. Jones shook his head, trying to stabilise his body and regain balance.
“That’s a hell of a way to regain control of a situation. It isn’t too sporting but if it gets the job done, well!”
“You didn’t exactly play it straight yourself, Captain, I lost a lot of men getting up here.”
He was glad of the challenge Jones had presented, but aware that had it been for real, they would have experienced far heavier casualties that he’d consider acceptable. The four men went from the bedroom and into the open plan vastness of the penthouse. The mission was over and both sides were hauling fallen comrades to their feet and patting each other on the back.
“What are the total losses, Lieutenant Suarez?”
“Twenty-one casualties, Sir.”
Taylor turned to Jones and reached out his hand, which Jones took gladly.
“Good job, Captain, a pleasure training with you once again. All I can say is that I hope we never come out on opposing sides, as it’d be a real meat grinder.”
“Agreed.”
One of the British soldiers stepped forward to Jones. “Sir, I am getting an urgent request from Commander Phillips to speak with you personally.”
“Patch it through to my comm.”
“Sir, this is Jones.”
The Captain strolled off to the corner of the room, away from the troops. The British and American equipment was largely the same, but what few differences were now masked by the dust that had settled on their gear, making them blend into the demolished room. The men mingled and the ambience grew as they broke out into conversation. Taylor and Suarez stood off to the side of the room watching the men switch from hard-line enemies to the best of friends.
“I am sorry I had to speak to you the way I did, but you must know that it was of the utmost importance. In the field these men rely on our strength and leadership, it is no time to act like a civilian.”
“I know, I don’t know what came over me.”
“I do, you saw the loss of your friends. I know this was a simulation, but I know that you took it hard when you saw it, just as I did. The realisation that had it been for real that we would have just lost many of the men under our command is never an easy one, but it is one that we must accept. You can’t win a war without taking casualties, fretting over those already gone will only get more killed, got it?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. I know you’re a good officer. You have a lot of potential. As long as you can learn to keep a cool head you’ll do fine.”
Jones strolled back across the room to where the two marine officers were stood.
“All okay, Captain?”
“Not sure. We are being called back to our EU bases immediately. Seems there has been some cause for major concern but nobody is discussing across the airwaves. Our bird has to be in the air within the hour. Sorry to have to leave so soon, Major, but orders are what they are.”
“Of course, thank you, Captain. It’s a shame we couldn’t catch a beer together to finish the day off, but next time.”
Jones quickly saluted, waited for Taylor to respond and then turned quickly back to the crowd of soldiers.
“Platoon! Outside, now!” he shouted.
The British paras quickly assembled and were running for the steps, their Captain at the front.
“Sir, I am getting orders to return to base immediately, the Colonel says it is a matter of urgency!” shouted Baker.
“Right, get the birds on the line, we need pickup, stat!”
Baker called in the signal as Taylor turned back to his men.
“Good work here today. We took higher casualties than are acceptable, but we were facing a bastard of an enemy! Next time I want twice as much effort and half as many casualties! We’re being pulled back to base on an emergency basis. I have no further information at this time, but I can only imagine the shit that’s about to be put before us. Back to the landing zone, now!”
It was less than ten minutes before they reached the point where they were dropped by the copters that morning. They had jogged the whole way back, yet again in the burning sun. It was a relief to see that the birds landing just as they were arriving. They wanted nothing more than to rest their feet and relax in the air-conditioned cabins.
The marines didn’t stop on their approach, running directly from the town into the Eagle FVs. It was an hour’s ride back to their base, a long haul to be left wondering what was so urgent that required their attention. Many wondered if they had finally been called into a war worthy of their services. There was as much excitement among the men as there was relief at lying back in their seats.
For most of the men it was a welcome break from their early morning mission, but not Major Taylor. He had never been called away in such an emergency before. The fact that their British counterparts had been withdrawn at that exact same moment made him highly suspicious. Something big was going on, he wasn’t sure whether to be excited or concerned.
As the copter soared back to base, never lifting more than a few hundred feet above the open plain, the Major got to his feet and went up to the cockpit. The Navy pilot flying the transport was Lieutenant Eddie Rains, a man who to look at lacked discipline. However, years of experience had taught Taylor that Rains was the best pilot he’d met. His ragged appearance and slack manner covered up his courage and abilities.
Rains wore a jumpsuit in the same camouflage pattern that the marines wore, though his sleeves were rolled up. He wore a tattered old desert colour shemagh around his neck. On his front was a shoulder holster that could only be described as a relic. His helmet was decorated with wise cracking quotes from his favourite historical figures. The pilot looked more he’d come from their nations first helicopter war in the 21
st
century.