LANCEJACK (The Union Series) (4 page)

‘I
haven’t got Climo to look after me anymore,’ I admitted, ‘Or Browner.’

Westy
nodded, ‘They were good lads,’ he said sadly.

‘Yeah.’

‘So
why are you back, then? The last time I saw you I thought you’d had enough.’

Westy
of all people had known how the war affected me. I had kept to myself much of
the time after the invasion, not wanting to become too friendly with anybody. I
couldn’t bear to make another friend only to lose him again on the battlefield.
Westy had found me alone on several occasions during our voyage back to Earth,
hiding myself away in the bowels of the ship so that I could grieve in peace.
He had only found me on that ship because he too needed somewhere quiet to weep
where the company couldn’t see and think less of him.

‘I
could say the same about you,’ I said.

He
pursed his lips, ‘I meant it when I said I had nothing better to do. There’s
nobody back home. Never was. At least out here I’m useful to someone.’

I
sat down on a nearby bench, looking down at the ground thoughtfully, ‘When I
first came here it was just some boyish dream for adventure. This time it feels
like this place is real - and Earth is the dream.’

I
remembered just after the war wandering through the streets of my home town of
Portsmouth as if in a daze, wondering what the point was of my life. My parents
went mad when I decided to go back to New Earth. I didn’t have to go, my old battalion
were to spend at least another year on Earth and then ship out to Eden. I had
never been to the green terraformed planet. It was so-called because it was one
of the few planets ever discovered that was capable of supporting life, and
over the course of two centuries it had been cultivated into a paradise. But
looks can be deceiving. It was said to be a nightmarish hellhole, where several
factions fought an endless and vicious war, with the Union square in the
middle. Westy had been there long ago, as had Ev, but neither of them ever
spoke about it. I wasn’t afraid to go there, though, I just simply couldn’t
stand to stay on Earth any longer.

I
sighed, ‘Do you ever feel like there is a purpose in you being here. Something
more?’

Westy
shrugged, ‘Not really.’

‘Oh,’
I paused, ‘I have dreams sometimes. Bad ones.’

The
Welshman looked at me, then nodded, ‘Me too.’

‘This
morning I had a dream with Ev in it.’

He
raised an eyebrow, ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.
And he said to me
‘It’s not over’
, like he always did. It was pretty
freaky, though.’

Westy
frowned, ‘Why? People have dreams all the time, mate.’

‘I
know. It was just a bit weird, that’s all.’

He
appeared irritated by my mention of our old platoon sergeant, ‘Well I wouldn’t
get too worried about a deserter haunting your dreams, that bloke is long gone.
Long gone.’

‘I
doubt it,’ I said, ‘He couldn’t get far on this planet, not with Union troops
everywhere.’

‘He’ll
have run to the Russians,’ Westy replied abruptly, ‘They wouldn’t care, even if
they are our allies.’

‘They
might do,’ I argued, ‘They would expect the same from us.’

‘Maybe.’

I
thought it a little strange that we were suddenly arguing about where Ev had
escaped to, and noticed that it was a touchy subject for Westy. I knew that he
had looked up to Ev. He had been the platoon senior screw - up until our
platoon sergeant’s untimely death had forced him to promote - but I hadn’t
realised how much his desertion from the company had upset Westy.

‘I
was just saying that it was a weird dream, and that maybe it was telling me
something. Like there’s something I need to do here, a point in it all.’

Westy
suddenly cheered up, and slapped me on the back, ‘Trust me, mate. You and I are
both equally pointless!’

‘Speak
for yourself, mate.’

‘And
what makes you think you’re so special, eh?’

I
laughed, ‘Well for starters, I’m not Welsh.’

Westy
placed his hands on his hips comically, ‘Ohhh, really? Well, at least I can
stay upright during a contact! Maybe that’s an English thing?’

After
a standard light-hearted exchange of insults we both retired to our quarters,
and as we parted ways I thought back to how Westy had become irritated at the
very mention of Ev’s name. I made a mental note not to mention him again. It
was, after all, just a dream. Like Westy had said, Ev was long gone.

3

Man Down

The
warren alarm system was going crazy, echoing up and down the corridors with ear
splitting intensity as I ran out of the accommodation to see what was going on.
I had been in the shower when it went off, preparing myself to meet Westy again
for evening meal.

Several
troopers were running toward me from the cookhouse having abandoned their food.

‘What’s
happening?’ I demanded.

‘Man
down, two platoon,’ one of the troopers shouted back at me as he passed, and a
shiver shot down my spine. Somebody from my new platoon had been injured on
patrol, or worse, killed. Gruesome images of dead comrades haunted my mind.

‘Corporal?’
A voice called from behind.

‘Not
now, Patterson,’ I told the crow trooper gruffly as I left the accommodation
corridor, ‘Stay there.’

Troopers
in full combat equipment were filing into the elevators, presumably deploying
to the surface to assist two platoon in some way. I knew there would be no room
for me as well, so I ran up hundreds of metres of sloping corridors toward the
lock rooms close to the surface of the warren. I didn’t know if I was going to
be of any help at all, but I’d be damned if I sat in the platoon lines
twiddling my thumbs while my platoon brought in casualties.

A
team of medics were already crowding around a trolley inside one of the lock
rooms, prepping life support equipment and consulting the data holograms
projected over it.

One
of them noticed my arrival, ‘What do you want, mate?’

It
was more of a challenge than a question.

‘That’s
my platoon coming in,’ I said.

The
medic was firm, ‘Mate, all I want you to do is stay well back. Understand?’

I
simply nodded. I knew that medics could be blunt, they didn’t care about
anything except keeping their man alive. I wasn’t in a position to argue.

‘Lock’s
cycling,’ one of the medics announced as the light above the lock door changed
from red to amber, causing a flurry of activity.

‘I’m
not getting any vital signs, their pads aren’t sending info!’

‘Okay.
Warn off the surgeons!’

I
watched the lock door light, willing it to change quickly so that the injured
trooper on the other side could be brought in to be treated before it was too
late.

Finally
the lock door slid open, and four troopers burst into the lock room with a
laden stretcher.

‘Get
him on the trolley, on the trolley!’ The medics virtually snatched the
stretcher away from the four troopers and quickly placed it onto the trolley.
Holograms lit around him in a sudden explosion of light, indicating injuries
and other issues with the casualty for all to see.

The
man on the stretcher was in a horrible mess, each of his limbs were bandaged in
some way and gaping wounds to his abdomen were stuffed with quick-clot foam. He
was soaked in blood. Several sealing patches had been stuck to his respirator
visor where it had cracked enough to let the toxic air in.

‘Where’s
his datapad?’

One
of the troopers, a lance corporal, flicked his head toward the lock door, ‘Out
there. We had to remove it to get to his arm.’

The
troopers looked exhausted, both emotionally and physically.

‘Well
what the fuck is it doing out there?’

The
team of medics didn’t wait for the reply, once the stretcher was secure on the
trolley they were off, wheeling it down one of the ramps away from the lock
rooms and down to the medical centre one floor below.

The
inner lock door closed and the light changed to red, meaning that the rest of
the platoon would be coming in. I fidgeted awkwardly while the four troopers
panted, barely aware that I was there. One of them walked slowly to the far
wall and sat himself down, ripping his respirator from his face. He started to
cry quietly.

The
lance corporal looked around himself as if he were lost, then he frowned as he
saw me, ‘Who are you?’

‘Andy
Moralee, new lancejack,’ I said, ‘I just thought I’d come up to try to help.’

‘There’s
nothing you can do here,’ his tone was harsh.

‘No.’

The
lance corporal turned away from me and to his men, ‘Unload your weapons, lads.
Let’s go. Okonkwo, pick yourself up, snap out of it.’

The
trooper who had been crying wiped the tears from his eyes and joined his
comrades in a line ready to unload. As he did so he shot me a hateful look, one
I recognised straight away. It was the look of someone who had been somewhere
and experienced something I hadn’t. It was almost irrational, he didn’t care
where I might have been and what I might have done, all he knew was that his
mate had been seriously hurt, and I hadn’t been there.

The
lock door slid open just as I considered leaving, and the rest of the platoon
piled into the lock room. NCOs angrily shouted instructions at their men, who
were clearly in shock after seeing one of their mates so badly injured. I
remembered how well-organised they had been when they left the warren two days
ago and the difference was impossible to ignore. Whatever happened, they’d had
a hard time out there.

‘Let’s
go,’ Mr Moore shouted as the sections were lined up to unload, ‘NCOs check over
your blokes, make sure nobody does anything stupid!’

‘Get
in a line and point your weapons in a safe direction! Switch on!’

‘Stop
feeling sorry for yourselves lads, save it for later!’

Amongst
the shouting NCOs I noticed one of the lance corporals crouched in the centre
of the lock room, his shoulders shaking violently as he cried his heart out. I
then saw one of the screws crouch beside him and gently wrap him in his arms.
The platoon had lost more than a comrade, they had lost a brother. A tear
rolled down my cheek as the memories came flooding back
.
I was powerless to help those poor troopers.

‘What
are you doing here, Moralee?’ The platoon commander frowned at me as he ripped
his respirator away from his face.

I
stiffened, quickly brushing the tear away from my face, ‘I’ve just come to try
to help, Sir.’ I hoped that he hadn’t seen my emotion at the plight of the
young trooper.

‘Well
you aren’t,’ he snapped, ‘So fuck off.’

I
thought about saying something, but closed my mouth tightly. There was nothing
I could say. I went.

#

Two
platoon’s accommodation was empty for hours. They had been taken into the
cookhouse for a cool-off period - time spent alone so that they could come to
terms with what had happened and let off steam. The room was sealed whilst the
platoon talked about their ordeal; crying, shouting, and even fighting under
the watchful eye of company headquarters.

Westy
came to my room later that evening to tell me that the injured trooper had
died.

‘He
was brain-dead when he came in through the airlock,’ he said, ‘We don’t have
the kit to bring him back.’

I
sighed, ‘Troopers just aren’t worth enough.’

‘Very
few people are worth that much.’

I
knew that Westy was right. While the technology existed to create nearly
everlasting life, it was worth more money than neither he nor I could imagine,
‘What happened?’

‘It
sounds like they were patrolling just off to the east of the city, checking out
an old Chinese trench system. Rebels ambushed them, fired a smart missile
straight at them and then disappeared. They hit three section’s section
commander, a screw called Gaz. Really good bloke. It was a miracle not more of
them were hurt, but we think the missile was faulty and detonated early. They
got off lightly.’

‘Not
lightly enough.’

‘No.’

I
shook my head disbelievingly, ‘How could this happen? Did they not have any air
assets watching them?’

‘Yeah
they did, then just a few seconds before it happened…’ Westy clicked his
fingers, ‘No visual. There was an orbital platform and a saucer nearby, but
they didn’t see anything. By the time everything started working again the
ambush was over and the enemy were long gone.’

‘Back
into the tunnels,’ I finished, and Westy nodded.

‘There’s
a million kilometres of tunnels under that city, and some we don’t even know
about.’

‘So
you think they’re hiding under the city?’

The
Welshman shrugged, ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so, though. They hide in
amongst the people. They’re slick. They don’t leave behind any evidence, not so
much as a hair molecule. Hide your weapons somewhere and go back onto the
street, and you’re just another civilian going about his business. It’s the
perfect camouflage.’

‘Which
means that just about anyone can be a NELA fighter?’

Westy
nodded slowly, ‘Exactly.’

#

It
was late in the evening when the platoon finally returned to their
accommodation. I heard the rumble of their combined footsteps outside my door
and then it slid open to reveal the NCO who had brought Gaz in through the lock
earlier on.

Roughly
the same build as me, he had a thick mop of blonde hair and a chiselled jaw and
I thought to myself that he wouldn’t have looked out of place in a modelling
agency. He glared at me as though I were the enemy himself.

‘Orders,’
he grunted, and left.

I
made my way out into the corridor to find the platoon lined along its walls,
with the platoon commander at the far end with a young corporal stood beside
him, who I presumed was Johnno, the man Westy had said was standing in for the
absent platoon sergeant.

A
sea of eyes regarded me wearily for a second as I found somewhere to stand
amongst them.

‘This
man,’ Mr Moore pointed toward me, ‘Is Lance Corporal Moralee, US, and he will
now be taking the place of second in command for three section. Lance Corporal
Wysocki will be stepping up to be the section commander. Are there any
questions?’

There
were none. I had been moved into the section that had been hit by the smart
missile and Lance Corporal Wysocki, my new section commander, was the same blonde-haired
man who had called me outside and had carried Gaz’s bleeding body.

‘We’re
going back out,’ the boss said bluntly, ‘Reveille will be at zero-one hundred
hours.’

Although
not a word was spoken, the platoon bristled visibly, and the corporal stood
beside the boss soothed their anger with a downward gesture of his hand.

‘Nobody
wants to go back out,’ the platoon commander continued with a harsh frown, ‘But
we have a job to do. Apparently NELA have given away a few clues as to their
whereabouts during the attack, and the conscript company based in Nieuwe Poort
are planning an arrest operation, going into the city tonight. The OC has been
told about the operation, and has ordered for us to assist. The other platoons
will be clearing the tunnels around the ambush area, so nobody will be getting
a full night in bed anyway.’

The
platoon were hardly won over by their commander’s speech.

Johnno
stepped in, ‘Look, lads. We’ve had a bad thing happen to us, and we’re all
hurting. This is our opportunity to try to make some good of it. Gaz would want
us to avenge him. He wouldn’t want us to stay in camp and cry ourselves to
sleep, so let’s get this done.’

The
corporal’s simple approach to the situation appeared to appease the platoon,
and he nodded to Mr Moore to carry on.

‘As
I said, reveille will be at zero-one
hundred. An
early meal is booked for us before we go. Further instructions will be received
when we get to the conscript base in Nieuwe Poort. Any questions?’

Again
there was silence.

‘That’s
it. Go to bed.’

The
corridor rapidly emptied of grumbling troopers, and I returned to my room. I
didn’t feel tired, but I knew that I needed sleep because I didn’t know when I
was next going to get any. Once again I was going back into the fray.