EDEN (The Union Series) (33 page)

A withdrawal runs in
reverse to an attack, with the platoon commander at the rear, facing the
direction of enemy threat, whilst the platoon sergeant - in this case a job
carried out by the sergeant major - maintained the movement of the withdrawing
sections and managed the extraction of casualties. The problem for us was that
we didn’t really know where the direction of enemy threat was anymore.

The platoon ran
through the ruined city, weaving through rubble and leaping over knocked down
walls. All the time rifles were raised, every trooper scanning the buildings
for Loyalists left behind, or Presidential Guard soldiers arriving in the city
to begin their killing spree.

We passed tens of
civilians, running through the city like terrified animals. Some of them
screamed and argued, while others simply sat in the rubble and wailed, waiting
for their fate. They knew that the Presidential Guard were coming, and they
knew their destiny - first they had been used as slaves and a human shield by
the Loyalists, and now they would be killed by the President’s private army.

A child lay dead on
the street, missing his respirator. His face was blue, and his swollen tongue
lolled out of his mouth. I turned away from the awful sight.

‘We’ll have you out
soon,’ Puppy assured me as he took over one of the stretcher handles, allowing
a trooper to rest his aching arm.

I said nothing.

We would leave the
city, but what about these people? How could we do this to each other?
My eyes stung.

We stopped as we
neared the city entrance, a great yawning tunnel designed to take vehicles and
people through its many airlocks. I couldn’t see much of the tunnel, but I had
a good idea why we had stopped; I could hear it.

‘The FEA are blocking
the tunnel,’ Corporal Stanton said over the net.

The shouts and
screams of desperate civilians echoed about the city, as hundreds upon hundreds
of them attempted to break through the airlocks. FEA soldiers had been placed
across the tunnel, preventing them from escaping.

‘They won’t hold the tunnel
long,’ the section commander continued, ‘there is already some arguing amongst
the FEA. I think they’re questioning their orders.’

‘That won’t matter,’
Mr Barkley replied gravely. ‘As soon as they break through that blockade it’ll
be a riot on the other side. Have you found an alternate route?’ 

‘We might be able to
use the maglev rail. It’s a few hundred metres to our east along the crater
wall.’

‘Let’s do that,
then.’

The platoon quickly
altered course, and as we did so we heard the first shots rang out from the
entrance, as the last shreds of humanity left the city and chaos consumed its
people.

Sure enough the
maglev airlock was abandoned, and we followed the rails into the tunnel.

‘The airlock is
probably sealed,’ Mr Barkley said to Corporal Stanton, who still led our
extraction along the tunnel, ‘use your remaining entry charges to blast a way
through.’

We waited, and my
stretcher was lowered while the section ahead of us laid a mouse hole charge
against the first airlock door.

‘You alright, Lance
Corporal Moralee?’ the sergeant major asked, as he stooped over to check on me.
My thermal imaging couldn’t make out much of his face in the dark, but I could
sense a hint of anger in his voice. He knew that I had kept my injury hidden so
that I could continue with the fight, and now I had become a burden.

‘I’m OK,’ I
responded. Then added, ‘I can walk.’

‘I know you can,’ he
said quickly, ‘but the stuff we injected into your body will only work if you
stay still.’

I knew that he was
right. The clotting solution injected into me by one of the platoon medics was
pretty impressive stuff, cutting off internal bleeding temporarily until a
casualty could be brought back to a hospital, but too much movement could cause
it to dislodge, either resuming the bleed or making it worse.

The sergeant major’s
voice softened. ‘Let’s just get you out of here in one piece, mate. You’ve done
what you can here.’

My jaw clenched.
Had
I, though? What had I done, except lay the grounds for a massacre?

The first charge
detonated ahead of us with a thump, and my stretcher was carried forward,
before being manoeuvred through the hole blasted out of the metal airlock door.

‘Careful!’ someone
shouted. ‘Watch his head!’

Troopers grunted on
the opposite side as they slid me through, several hands grasping at the
stretcher from either side. I hated that I had suddenly become a hindrance to
my platoon, yearning to be free of the straps that held me down so that I could
walk on my own two feet. No trooper likes to be a burden, it went against our
nature.

Another thump
vibrated the walls of the tunnel as the second airlock door was blown, several
hundred metres ahead.

‘Let’s keep moving!’
Mr Barkley shouted. ‘It won’t be long until somebody works out the tunnel is
open!’

The platoon hastened
its extraction, running up to the second hole and sliding my stretcher through
as rapidly as possible. We weren’t so concerned about the FEA or the Loyalists
at that moment; we were more worried about the civilians trying to escape from
the city. If they rushed into the tunnel en masse, then we would be crushed.

The platoon commander
took his place at the front of the platoon, wanting to be first out to get a
look at the ground outside. Breathing became ragged as my section hurried along
the tunnel with the weight of my stretcher, spurred onward by the sergeant
major, who took his place at the rear.

‘Boss, we need a
confirmed extraction point!’ he called out as we went.

‘I’m trying to get
one from brigade now, wait out!’

The tunnel took as
for another few hundred metres, slowly turning upward as it made its way toward
the surface. Its walls became lighter as we neared the entrance, and just as
darkness turned to daylight the section stopped and laid me down again,
struggling to regain their breath. A stretcher run was never easy at the best
of times, but they been carrying me for at least a kilometre now. Puppy left
the section, running up to the tunnel entrance as though he had been called
for.

There was a long,
nervous wait while all of the commanders closed-up to the entrance to observe
the situation outside the city. After almost a minute Puppy returned, his jaw
tensed in worry.

‘What’s happening,
mate?’ I asked him. I wasn’t used to knowing so little, it was a shock to the
system to go from commanding my section to being utterly dependent upon them.

‘We need to get south
of the river to extract,’ he explained gloomily, ‘but there’s only one bridge
that looks workable - the maglev bridge.’

‘Is that bad?’

‘It’s not good. Wait
till you see it. Come on, let’s get moving.’

The maglev bridge
wasn’t designed to take people - it was only built to support the rails
themselves, connecting the train depot with the city itself. A network of metal
girders and struts suspended the bridge over the fast-flowing river below. We
had made the crossing the night before, but further down river where the
current slowed and the banks weren’t so steep. That wasn’t the only problem
though, the platoon had used most of their ropes during the descent into the
city, and I couldn’t see anywhere that we could use them effectively anyway.

I turned my head to
look down river at the other bridges. There were five of them in total, though
three of them had already been destroyed during the battle. The closest two
appeared to be completely intact, but they were still a kilometre away, and I
could just make out the distinctive shapes of vehicles either side of them. The
bridges had been closed off to prevent the civilians from escaping out of the
main access tunnel, probably by the few Guard companies that had remained
behind the FEA in their advance across the Bosque. The door to the trap had
closed.

The depot was vast, lined
with tens of trains that had rested idle for decades, slowly gathering filth
and rust. The maze of carriages offered a safe, concealed escape for the
platoon, leading to the thick, green forest beyond. Behind us the sound of gun
fire rang out across the smoking crater of Dakar.

‘Can’t we just use
the bridges down there?’ Myers asked, as the section crouched around my stretcher,
looking out over river in dismay.

‘No,’ I answered. ‘We’d
probably get shot trying.’

Our platoon was no
longer useful to the Guard, that was clear, and there was no telling what its
commanders would order if we attempted to cross the bridge. Killing us after
our assistance against the Loyalists would piss off the Union - but pissed off
wasn’t a good enough reason to retaliate. Our lives weren’t that important.

‘I’ve managed to get
through to brigade,’ Mr Barkley announced over the net, as he crept up with his
team to inspect the maglev bridge. ‘Our extraction point is approximately three
kilometres south of here. Our sister platoon are already across the river
providing protection for our withdrawal. There have been no sightings of any
forces - Loyalists or Guard - around the maglev bridge, so they suggest we use
it to cross. I think given the situation, it’s probably the best option.’

I grew more and more
anxious as my stretcher was carried toward the edge of the maglev bridge,
lifting my head to watch as the first section crossed the bridge, edging
precariously along the girders. It wasn’t that far to fall, but anybody who
fell into the water would surely be swept away to drown, weighted down by his
own equipment.

‘Fuck that,’ I
cursed. ‘Put me down! Take off the damn straps and I’ll walk across!’

‘No, Andy,’ Puppy
shot back, ‘you have to stay on the stretcher!’

My blood boiled.
Puppy was a good commander, and perhaps he was glad to finally be in charge,
but there was no way he was carrying me across the bridge attached to a
stretcher.

‘Think about it,
mate,’ I argued angrily. ‘You carry me over that on this stretcher and you risk
not just my life, but every man in the section! Undo the fucking straps, and
let me walk across! I’ll get back on it when we get to the other side.’

He hesitated for a
moment, and then gave in. ‘OK. But you’re straight back in the stretcher
afterwards!’

Where I couldn’t
do any more harm …
I finished for him
inside my head.

The straps were
unclipped, and I slowly sat up, flexing my arms and legs. My body ached all
over, especially my chest, but I was able to move well enough to get to the
other side of the river.

The sergeant major
spotted me as my section helped me onto my feet, storming over to us with his
finger pointing at them like a gun.

‘Who told you to let
him up? Puppy?’ he raged.

Puppy looked back
sheepishly. ‘Andy did …’

‘So if
Andy
told you to smack yourself around the face with a hammer, would you do that
too?’

‘No, Sir!’

‘I’m walking across,’
I said. ‘My men aren’t risking their lives carrying me.’

The sergeant major’s
eyes burned with fury as he switched fire onto me. ‘Is that a logical thought
process, or your ego doing the talking? I don’t give a fuck about you and your
death wish …’

I don’t know if he
knew what he was saying, but the sergeant major hit a nerve. I threw up my arms
as my temper flared. ‘This isn’t a discussion! It’s happening! End of story!’

He stepped back,
stunned by my vehemence, but he recovered his composure quickly. ‘If you were
anywhere else I’d …’

‘Well I’m not!’ I
snapped. ‘I’m on a battlefield, and I’m making a command decision, that’s it!
Charge me when we get back!’

Blood pumped through
my skull, and my body shook with rage as I glared into the sergeant major’s
eyes.

‘Next section, let’s
go!’ Mr Barkley shouted, and the stalemate was broken.

The sergeant major
shook his head in exasperation. ‘Fine, but remember that Puppy is still in
command! Go!’

I walked toward the
bridge, careful to be light on my feet. Even a slight jar to my innards could
reopen the wound inside of me.

We moved painfully
slow across the bridge, stepping across the girders, whilst making a conscious
effort not to look down at the brown water surging below. I lost my balance a
couple of times, but a helping hand from the troopers around me prevented me
from stumbling, or worse, falling into the river.

As we edged closer to
the far bank, there was a sudden roar of gunfire from one of the other bridges.
We looked on in horror as civilians poured out of the main city entrance in a
human wave, only to be met by the Guard companies blocking their escape. Before
the main force had even arrived, the massacre of Dakar had begun.

‘My God,’ Myers
whispered.

I said nothing -
there was nothing that could be said about the terrible scene before us. I
wondered if Yulia was now there amongst the blockade on the bridges, organising
the indiscriminate killing of her own people. Perhaps she had assembled a small
team, just as Makito had, to terrorise the city before the rest of her comrades
arrived. It turned my stomach to think that I had worked with, and even tried
to respect somebody so evil.