LANCEJACK (The Union Series)
Read LANCEJACK (The Union Series) Online
Authors: Phillip Richards
-- Book Two of The Union Series --
PHILLIP RICHARDS
Digital edition
first
published
in
201
3
Published by The Electronic Book Company
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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be
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hard work of this author. This ebook contains detailed research material,
combined with the author's own subjective opinions, which are open to debate.
Any offence caused to persons either living or dead is purely unintentional.
Factual references may include or present the author's own interpretation,
based on research and study.
Copyright
2013 by Phillip Richards
All
Rights Reserved
Language: UK English Spellings
CONTENTS:
Thank
you to Florencio Duyar, who produced the amazing artwork for my latest book. It
has been a pleasure to have worked with you and I hope that we might have the
chance to do it again.
You
can view more of Florencio’s remarkable artwork here:
chimeraic.deviantart.com
Thank
you to my wonderful wife for her steadfast support, encouragement and patience.
Without you I probably would have simply given up!
Thank
you to those readers who took the chance and bought my previous ebook, and a
special thank you to those who urged me to write another. I sincerely hope that
my latest work lives up to your expectations.
Finally,
I couldn’t produce an acknowledgements page without a salute to all of those
who serve in their nation’s armed forces. Soldiers don’t just fight for their
country, they fight for their friends, and that makes them very special people
indeed.
Phillip
Richards was born and raised in Chichester, south England. He joined the
Infantry at the age of seventeen, and he still serves today. During his service
he has taken part in two operational tours in Kosovo, four in Iraq and a
further two in Afghanistan. He is now a Platoon Sergeant, and he uses what
little spare time he has to pursue his hobby, writing science fiction. This is
the second science fiction novel that he has written, which has been influenced
by his service within the British Army. The story and all of the characters
within it are entirely fictional, however, so if you know him and think that
you recognise yourself for good or bad reasons, you are mistaken!
You
can find details (and Amazon links) of his critically acclaimed first novel,
C.R.O.W.
at the end of this book.
1
I
took my first step from the dropship ramp and onto the surface of New Earth as
a man might step onto a minefield, fully expecting something to explode
beneath me. I scanned my new surroundings with my rifle half-raised into the
aim, unable to fully override my instincts. Nothing exploded though, and no enemy
darts cracked past my head. Instead a conscript stood in the darkness wearing a
florescent jacket, pointing us all toward a dim flashing light to our left.
‘This
way, please,’ he said without a shred of enthusiasm, and our small party
wandered toward the light. There were five of us in all, not even enough to
fill the dropship that had brought us down from orbit - the remaining space had
been filled with supplies. I didn’t really know much about the others except
that they, like me, were routine re-enforcements for A Company of the 5
th
Battalion English Dropship Infantry. Unlike me, however, they were fresh-faced
recruits who had completed their training on Uralis, not long after I had
completed my Junior Leaders course. They were Combat Replacements Of War: C.R.O.W.
My
respirator visor allowed me to see in the dark almost as well as I could by
day, and so I quickly identified the entrance tunnel into our new home beyond
the flashing light. Another conscript stood by the ramp that cut down into the
rock toward a gaping airlock door.
‘Down
the ramp, please,’ he pointed, and we followed his outstretched arm down into
the airlock.
‘Good
job,’ one of the group commented sarcastically, and somebody sniggered.
‘Those
idiots are only good for filling sandbags…’
‘Shut
up,’ I snapped over my shoulder.
‘Sorry,
Corporal.’
I
didn’t disagree with the recruits. We, like the conscripts, had been pressed
into service by the Union, but unlike them we had chosen to be something
better. We looked down on conscripts and quite right we should, but a cheeky
attitude would see a young recruit in a world of hurt once he arrived in his
platoon. I needed to stamp it out before it happened.
The
airlock was lit by a dim red light that enhanced the blood red pattern of our combats,
designed to camouflage us against the rocky New Earth landscape.
I
looked around at the newly trained troopers. With their armour, weapons and
respirators they would be a menacing sight to somebody outside the military,
but I was used to it. Somehow, despite my brutal introduction to the dropship
infantry two years ago, it had become my life.
The
door to the airlock closed with a thump. With a rush of wind and a flashing
amber light, the toxic air was exchanged for something we could breathe without
the aid of our respirators. Finally the amber light changed to a steady green
to announce that the air was safe to breathe. We still didn’t remove our
respirators though, we had been through enough airlocks to know not to remove
them until the inner airlock door was open. ‘
Never trust blindly in
technology’,
we had been taught.
With
barely a sound the airlock door slid open, and our visors quickly adjusted to
the brightly lit lock room beyond.
I
unclipped my helmet and pulled my respirator away from my face. The respirator
was designed to be so unrestrictive that its user could almost forget that he
was wearing it, the filters maintaining a supply of cool fresh air, but it was always
a relief to finally remove it. The new recruits did the same and waited for
further instructions.
I
realised that it was me that they were waiting for. I was a Non-Commissioned
Officer, NCO, now, after all. But I was yet to get used to it.
'Point
your weapons toward the wall, lads,’ I ordered, ‘Ensure they're powered down
and unload.'
We
checked that the magnets on our rifles were powered down with a quick check of
the power button located beside the trigger guard of our MSG-20s. For safety’s
sake, as well as the preservation of battery life, weapons were never powered
up during a 'soft' drop onto a friendly planet surface. We removed our
magazines and placed them away into our pouches - just as a man dressed only in
combats emerged from a bulkhead at the far end of the lock room - my eyes
flicked instinctively to his rank; he was a full corporal.
'Lance
Corporal Moralee?' He asked, and I nodded, ‘Cool. Welcome to Fort Lash. I’ll quickly
show you to your accommodation so the new lads can get some head-down, then
I’ll take you to your boss, mate.’
I
checked my wristpad and raised an eyebrow. Did the platoon commander really
want to see me now? It was already past two in the morning.
‘Two
platoon are on their way out on patrol, mate,’ the corporal said, noticing me
check the time, ‘We should just catch them at the lock room.’
I
nodded, ‘Fair one.’
With
that, the corporal led us down into the depths of the warren, a purpose built underground
fortress designed to provide its occupants as much protection as possible from
orbital bombardment. Most military facilities were built underground, and much
of the planet was networked with thousands of kilometres of tunnels and caves,
a legacy of our recent war with China. Fighting underground was common in
modern warfare, and it was a terrifying experience that I never wanted to
repeat.
Our
route took us deeper into the rock using a large elevator capable of taking
tens of troopers
in one go. We stopped off at
the armoury where we handed in our weapons and then went on to our accommodation.
By then we were at the second lowermost section of the warren, with only life
support, control rooms and essential stores beneath us. Even a nuke would be
incapable of penetrating so deep.
Only
one of the new troopers was joining my platoon, the other three were all being
split across the remainder of the company. The corporal took them around to
their respective accommodation, briefing them each in turn.
‘Your
names are on your doors,’ he said, ‘There’ll be some admin to do tomorrow and a
couple of briefs. Get your heads down. Reveille is at seven and the cookhouse
opens at half-seven. After you’ve eaten wait in your rooms for me to grab you.
Happy?’
They
nodded, happy to have the extra hour, since reveille during our voyage to New
Earth had been at six. I wondered if they had realised that hours were shorter
on New Earth, so that actually the extra hour in bed wasn’t an extra hour at
all!
Finally
we arrived at a bulkhead door marked ‘Three Platoon Lines’ in black
stencilling. It was to be my home for the next two years.
I
waited whilst the corporal repeated his brief to the fresh trooper. His name
was Patterson, and he was little older than nineteen. He reminded me of myself as
I had been two years ago, young and terrified of my new surroundings.
Once
his brief was finished and Patterson had entered the lines the corporal turned
to me, ‘Shall we?’
We
made our way back up toward the surface leaving the new troopers to find their
rooms within their new platoon lines. I remembered how it felt to be a fresh
trooper walking into his lines for the first time, not knowing what to expect.
I was to be bullied and treated like a lower form of life for a whole month,
and the abuse would have been for much longer had it not been cut short by the
invasion of New Earth. It was common for new troopers to be bullied for up to a
year before they were finally accepted by their peers. I remembered my
tormentor from my old platoon, Woody, and his suck-up sidekick, Brown. Brown
had started out as my most hated enemy, and somehow in the bloody chaos of the
invasion he had become my friend. I missed Browner.
‘Your
platoon are about to go on patrol around Nieuwe Poort,’ the corporal explained
as we walked, ‘It’s a city about forty kilometres from here. You been there?’
I
shook my head, ‘No, mate.’
The
corporal nodded, ‘Right. It’s safe enough there, but Nelly’s been moving in
apparently. We’ve been doing a lot of patrols there.’
‘Nelly?’
‘New
Earth Liberation Army; NELA. New Earth JOint Command reckon they’re using old
abandoned Chinese warrens to move about, so we’ve been blowing tunnels up and
laying sensors to catch them out.’
‘And
have you?’
‘Nah.
We’ve not heard a peep. The rebels are too busy spanking the Russians in the
north. Hopefully it’ll stay that way.’
Apparently
our Russian allies were struggling with a raging insurgency in several of their
more populated provinces and had even requested assistance from the Union.
‘Hopefully.’
I agreed.
Two
platoon were carrying out their final kit check in one of the warren’s many
lock rooms when we found them. The sections were lined up along the walls of
the room with their equipment laid out at their feet, holding up items as they
were called out.
Kit
checks were a critical aspect of pre-operational admin. Troopers never carried
anything that wasn’t mission critical, and so forgetting an item was
unthinkable, especially in the harsh environment of New Earth.
The
boss stood in the centre of the room, busying himself with his own equipment.
He glanced up at me briefly as I approached him, and then continued to check
that his gel armour was fitted correctly about his body.
'Lance
Corporal Moralee, I presume,' he said indifferently.
I
hesitated… 'Yes, Sir.'
The
platoon commander strapped his belt kit around his waist and ensured that the pouches
were fastened correctly. He was a tall, dour looking man, and he spoke to me as
though my very presence was an annoyance, 'I’m Lieutenant Moore. I’ve read your
Junior Leaders course report. And your citation.'
The
citation for my Union Star read like something out of an action hologram,
telling of how I
'Charged tens of Chinese soldiers with such ferocity that
they broke and ran'
. It was little more than propaganda, of course, I had
been made into an example of the European trooper who would lead the Union to
ultimate victory over its enemies. The medal, and the title that came with it,
were not optional. Every day I cursed my old platoon commander for writing me
up for that damned medal.
'It’s
all an exaggeration, Sir.' I said.
The
officer frowned, 'I hope you're only talking about the citation, and not
suggesting that your course report was exaggerated as well?' He looked me
squarely in the eye for the first time.
'Sir,'
I nodded. My Junior Leaders course report had been good, the war had forced me
to grow up and I had experience that belied my time served.
'Most
citations are exaggerated, I find,' he said as he pulled his respirator over
his head, breathing heavily to test the filters.
Slightly
taken aback, I decided to change the subject, 'When will you be returning from
patrol, then, Sir? I'll use the time to square myself away.'
'Two
days. We're west of the city.'
‘West
of the city’ meant nothing to me. I knew very little about the area we were
based in, other than that it was in a province that neighboured Jersey Island,
where I had fought alongside my old platoon two years ago.
I
nodded my understanding anyway, not wanting to appear stupid.
The
platoon commander checked his rifle, ensuring that the battery was fully
charged and the sighting system was working correctly in conjunction with his
visor display, 'I will speak to you upon our return, Lance Corporal Moralee, as
you can see I'm somewhat preoccupied. The situation on New Earth has become far
more difficult than you will remember.'
I
bristled. 'I'm sure, Sir,' I said flatly.
'Corporal
Johnston, are we good to go?'
One
of the corporals gave a thumbs up, 'Good to go, Boss.'
'Well
let’s get loaded into the lock, then, before the dropships leave without us!'
'Roger,
Boss! Let's go then, lizards!'
With
the NCOs hurrying them from behind, the platoon herded into the open lock.