C.R.O.W. (The Union Series) (29 page)

‘Andy,
grenade, set the time short,’ Westy whispered so quietly the intercom barely
carried his message.

‘Roger,’ it
was already in my hand. I knew what had to be done.

‘Boss?’ Westy
was asking for permission to assault.

‘Wait for One
section,’ was the reply.

‘One section
is ready,’ Jonesy’s message came only seconds after. We were set to assault.

A burst of
gunfire sounded off to my right, causing me to jump. It had come from the
trench. A foreign voice shouted something.

‘Contact!’ a
voice screamed over the rain, and the right hand side of our line began to fire
into the trench. The Chinese had heard us.

‘Contact,
contact!’ Jonesy’s voice was fast and barely intelligible over the intercom; he
had been surprised and was flapping.

‘Man down!’

‘Two section,
GO!’ The boss ordered without hesitation.

‘Do it, Andy!’

I tossed the
grenade. As it left my hand the mechanical fly off lever sprung away from the
main body, activating the timer. My headset beeped as a warning, as everyone
else’s would as the grenade bounced and rolled into the trench along with
another grenade thrown by Westy.

The two
grenades detonated almost simultaneously, and like an athlete waiting for the
gun to set him free at the start line, I bolted forward.

I didn’t
shout or make a sound as I charged for the kill, I knew now that there was no
need. Instead I ran forward in silence, not giving the enemy the chance to hear
me as I closed in with him.

I crouched at
the lip of the trench, my rifle up in the shoulder. There was a man curled into
a ball at the bottom ten metres to my right. I couldn’t make much out through
my visor, but I was pretty certain he was dead. Brown put a couple of darts
into him anyway.

We slid down
into the trench on our arses, keen to get out of the open as the fire fight around
us intensified. A deep puddle of water splashed beneath my boots as I landed.

The trench
looked recently constructed; it had no drainage and hadn’t been sandbagged to
prevent the walls from crumbling. It was just under shoulder height and about
as wide as a warren tunnel.

‘Boss,’ Westy
panted, ‘We’re in, one enemy dead!’

‘Roger, see
if you can get your section round to attack the enemy in front of Jonesy from
the left flank,’ the boss was urgent, but hadn’t lost his cool.

‘Roger,’
Westy looked to me, ‘Andy, keep our rear covered and move up with me.’

‘Okay, mate,’
I nodded and turned to my fire team, ‘Daniels, cover the rear, Brooks, watch
out toward the city, in case the pinkies try to come in from the top. Got it?’

‘Okay,’
Daniels replied. They moved up toward me and took their respective positions,
covering out over the top of the trench and to the rear.

The section
moved quickly along the trench. The lead pair moved in a similar fashion to the
lead pair in Warren clearance, with one at the front in a half crouch and one
stood off to the side, both able to fire in the enclosed space. Westy had
paired himself with Brown at the front; he didn’t trust Stevo. I’m not sure if
I did either.

Between me
and the lead pair Stevo walked, scanning over the top of the trench like my
fire team did behind me. A section can become too focused with trench clearance
and forget the bigger battle; there is nothing to stop the enemy assaulting
back into the trench from above. It was as important to keep eyes on outside the
trench as it was within.

The trench
turned to the right and then almost immediately back to the left. But as soon
as we rounded the second corner Westy and Brown opened fire.

‘Shit!’ Westy
cursed as the pair almost fell over each other in their effort to get back
around the corner. A spray of darts peppered the rocky wall where they had
stood only moments ago.

Westy held
his rifle around the corner and launched a grenade. Even with the grenade being
guided, and the rifle optics being connected to his visor I doubted his
accuracy, but thankfully the grenade detonated within the trench and not on top
of Jonesy and his section.

‘There’s
loads of the bastards,’ Westy shouted back to me.

‘Pinkies in
the open!’ Brooks shouted suddenly, ‘Running away!’

I raised my
head and looked over the top of the trench. Sure enough, enemy were running
away from where Westy had fired his grenade, probably three or four of them.
One was limping.

‘Well shoot
them, then,’ I ordered, angered at his stupidity. Did he really need me to tell
him?

‘Okay,’
Brooks opened fire with his mammoth, cutting two of the soldiers down with a
single sustained burst.

I looked to
my left and saw that Stevo was just staring at me.

‘Stevo,
fucking shoot them!’

Stevo jolted,
as if waking up from a dream. He took aim and fired. It was a turkey shoot,
none survived.

‘If you see
enemy run away, they’re not running off to get the next shuttle to Beijing,’ I
spat scornfully.

‘Sorry,
Andy,’ Brooks sounded hurt, but he got the message, no mercy. Stevo said
nothing.

‘I’m going
again, Andy,’ Westy said and he rounded the corner along with Brown before I
could reply and fired up the trench, ‘Boss, this is Westy, I’m clearing along
your front now, do not fire, do not fire!’

‘Roger,’ the
boss answered, ‘I can see you,’ his own visor would mark our progress.

We followed
Westy around the corner and further up the trench, stepping over bodies as we
went. I stabbed each with my bayonet as I passed them, just to be sure,
heartlessly and systematically. Stevo glanced back at one of the bodies and
then at me, as if in surprise at my actions. I suspected behind his visor his
face would be one of horror or disgust. Perhaps mine should have been too.

‘Be aware I’m
sending Jonesy forward to you,’ the boss warned.

‘Friendly forces
coming in from the south,’ I repeated to the lads.

As we pushed
ever forward Jonesy emerged over the top of the trench ten or so metres behind
us, crawling over the lip and slipping down to the ground with a splash. He
hurried his men to come down. Sergeant Evans chattered on the intercom with the
boss about bringing casualties forward and into the trench, but I was too busy
to hear how many there were.

The trench
turned to the left at a sharp angle and Westy paused at the bend whilst Brown
prepped a grenade. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.

Suddenly
darts cracked over my head, and somebody punched me on the helmet. That’s what
it felt like, anyway. I span like a ballerina on one foot and then landed in a
heap on the floor.

‘Contact left!’
Daniels screamed, and Brooks fired a burst over the lip of the trench.

The section
stood up along the trench and fired at an unseen enemy. I lay face up at the
bottom of the trench and watched as the boys fought, my body in shock. I felt
cold water running down my back and soaking into my armour.

A respirator
appeared in front of me, scaring me half to death until I realised it was
attached to a comrade’s head. My dazed mind could faintly recognise the
features behind the visor screen.

‘You okay,
Andy? Andy!’ It was Brown, his brow furrowed in concern.

‘I’m okay…,’
I said cautiously, ‘I think?’

Brown ran his
hands over my respirator and then round the back of my head, searching for
blood or holes as above us the fire fight continued. Boots slapped in the water
as a section of troopers charged past us.

‘I think I’m
alright, mate,’ I repeated.

Brown shook
his head disbelievingly, ‘It hit you, I saw you go down!’ Eventually he checked
my helmet, and stopped, ‘Jesus Christ, mate!’

‘What?’ I was
worried. I felt fine, what could possibly be wrong with me?

‘There’s a
chunk missing from your helmet, mate! Some pinkie must have missed you by a
centimetre!’ Brown sounded amazed.

I felt the
side of my helmet. Sure enough, a deep gouge ran along the side where a round
had struck and deflected slightly away from my head. How the impact hadn’t
broken my neck I’ll never know.

Brown
laughed, ‘Get up, you lizard.’ He was genuinely relieved, and his relief raised
my spirits so much that I laughed with him.

‘Andy, get up
here and suppress!’ Westy hollered, ‘Let’s go!’

As I picked
myself up I could see Three section crawling into the trench where Jonesy’s
section had entered, dragging with them the platoon casualties. Sergeant Evans
shouted orders at them.

I took aim
over the top of the trench to see what we were firing at. My visor could only
identify enemy a few hundred metres off to my left, and they appeared to be
locked into a fire fight with two platoon. The whole section were engaging a
much closer trench twenty metres to our front, but I couldn’t make out any
enemy along its length; they were probably keeping their heads down. Meanwhile
Jonesy’s section had been sent to attempt to clear the rest of our trench to
the right, and potentially come around and attack the enemy in front of us from
the flank.

Troopers were
getting through their magazines quickly, every time one was expended, the firer
took cover to change it, instinctively shouting ‘magazine!’ to warn his
comrades that he was out of the fire fight.

We were firing
rapid, which amounts to about one round every two seconds. It’s the fastest
accurate rate of fire that could still allow the firer to recover his aim after
the weapon’s recoil. The only drama with rapid fire was the speed you could get
through ammunition. Maintenance of the section ammunition was the section 2ic’s
main role in combat, and that meant me.

I crouched
low and tapped on my wristpad
screen, which then
glowed dimly from behind droplets of rain. It had been Sam’s, and before Sam
another unfortunate section second in command had carried it. The rain had
washed off most of the blood.

‘Daniels, how
many mags have you fired?’ I called over the intercom.

‘One!’

‘Brooks?’

‘Two!’

With each
response I tapped figures into the wristpad to get my final total of magazines
and mammoth available to my section. The final total would then be sent up to
the platoon sergeant who maintained a constant vigil on the platoon’s
ammunition totals. He could then request a resupply from the company sergeant
major when needed, or redistribute the ammunition within the sections, giving
more to where it was needed. Apparently the Chinese used a fully automated
electronic system that managed their ammunition, making platoon sergeants and
sergeant majors little more than glorified medics and anti-air sentries. Our
electronic warfare teams had a field day with it.

I sent my
total up to Sergeant Evans and then stood back up to join in with the battle.

‘Westy, we’ve
cleared the rest of our trench,’ the boss was panting over the intercom, ‘I’m
taking One section around to assault the trench in front of you, be aware of
friendlies to your front and prepare to switch fire. You should see my forward
line now!’ The boss was panting again. He would be up with Jonesy’s section,
the platoon commander always stuck close to the front of the battle, as all
good leaders should.

Our visors clearly
marked the friendly troopers as they moved along our front and into our arc of
fire.

‘Switch, fire
left!’ I shouted over the intercom. The section repeated the order and obeyed,
switching their suppressive fire to further along the trench. Wherever the
enemy were, they weren’t coming up to play, which meant we were doing our job.

A grenade
detonated in the enemy held trench, followed by bursts of gunfire. I heard
Jonesy shouting for someone to move.

‘Check fire,
check fire!’ The boss shouted and we obeyed, repeating the command onto our own
section intercom.

‘Observe your
arcs, boys!’ Westy ordered.

We watched over
the top of the trench for One section’s progress, and more importantly any
further enemy positions within the trench system. I could see two helmets
poking out, identified as friendly by my visor.

‘That was
mental,’ Brown exclaimed, elation in his voice. I shared his sentiment, even
though the battle was far from over I was in good cover and I was alive.
However brief it might be we could take a breather.

‘Mate, I
thought that was me,’ I said, feeling the gouge in my helmet.

‘So did I,
mate, you went down like a sack of shit, ha-ha!’

‘Why are you
laughing, mate?’ I asked with mock hurt.

‘Err…. Coz
you’re a sack of shit?’ Everyone laughed, including Westy, which was unusual;  I
hadn’t really heard him laugh or joke since we left Challenger.

‘Ev, it’s the
boss, keep Westy back in reserve and send up Three section, please.’

‘Roger,
they’re already on their way. Westy! Keep your section where they are, I need a
work party to extract casualties!’ Casualty extraction was part of the 2ic’s
job, and that meant me.

‘No worries,’
Westy looked to me, ‘Take two, mate.’

I chose Brown
and Daniels because I couldn’t take both mammoths away from Westy and I didn’t
trust Stevo. We ran back to the entry point, where Sergeant Evans and his
launchers remained with the casualties. Three section charged past us on their
way into the battle. No doubt there would be depth positions within the trench
system, plus there had to at least be a couple of burrows as well.

Sergeant
Evans waited with the casualties while his two smart gunners scanned the skies,
‘Moralee, you need to hand these casualties over to the sergeant major. Happy?’

I glanced
down at the casualties; one had been shot through the stomach, and looked in a
very bad way, barely conscious, probably through loss of blood. His stomach had
been packed with a clotting foam and then wrapped in bandages. The other had
received a dart to the thigh, and was lucky he still had it attached. His
armour had been cut away and a bandage applied to his injury; obviously the
automatic response had not worked properly. He had been administered morphine,
you could tell because the used injector pen had been attached to his helmet as
a simple marker for medics. Both had already been moved onto collapsible
stretchers.