Battle Earth (3 page)

“Thirty seconds!” shouted Rains into the intercom.

The Eagle FV assault copter soared across the treetops like a vulture to its prey. 5.45am and the sun was just rising from the trees in the distance. Rains rubbed his eyes, feeling the early start more than usual. As a navy pilot he was conditioned to early morning operations but since their new joint operations, the Commander was pushing them hard.

Behind the cockpit of the copter sat ten U.S. marines. They each wore the Universal Camouflage Pattern (UCP), which was worn by all U.S., European Union and Alliance of Asia forces, as well as a number of smaller members of the UEN, United Earth Nations. After World War 3 there had been a more determined attempt than ever to unify the major powers in the world. The world had not seen a war between major powers for sixty years.

“Another fine day in the Marine Corps,” said Captain Friday.

Mitch Taylor grinned at his second in command as he looked back out of the porthole. He could see the almost silhouettes of their other aircraft soaring along beside them, nine in his view alone. The Major led back in his seat and looked around at his HQ Squad to be sure they were ready. The side doors slid open.

“Let’s do this!” shouted Mitch.

The copter’s tail slung down as the vehicle came to an abrupt hover, the signal light turning green. Without wasting another moment the Major leapt from the door. It was a thirty-metre fall to the street below, close to the limits of their free fall boosters. They fired up within seconds of him feeling the open air, the auto-sensors doing their work.

Seconds later the ten marines hit the ground, their boosters ticking from the immense heat burn. They made a quick dash to the nearest building, not stopping to survey the terrain. They were more than familiar with their surroundings from endlessly studying the maps and intel of the area. Taylor knew it was only a training mission, but to treat it as anything but real combat could be detrimental to his soldiers in the future.

Suarez hit the wall beside him, peering around the corner into the street. The buildings were derelict but still perfectly serviceable for their purposes, one of the many reminders of what a world war could do.

“Where are the limey bastards?” asked Lieutenant Suarez.

Sergeant Silva knelt out in front of them behind a large piece of fallen concrete from a building that previously stood in their position. It was a hell of a temperature for a combat exercise. Each marine wore a minimum of sixty kilograms of gear. Body armour technology had got progressively better and lighter, but that just meant they wore more of it. The Falcon armour system gave coverage to most of their armour, except for inner joints and a few gaps.

“Guess it’s too much to hope for that they didn’t show up?” asked Silva.

“You can rely on the British bastards to be there, and they’ll give you a good kick in the nuts if they catch you napping,” said Taylor.

The Major looked around quickly surveying the situation, the one hundred and eighty strong marine unit had landed on target and in good time. It was a good start to what was becoming a gruelling day. It felt like they’d stepped out into the desert, of which the abandoned city of Reno was quickly becoming.

“Alright, let’s move up,” he ordered.

The throat mics added little weight to their payload but allowed them to stay in contact for up to thirty kilometres in open terrain. Looking around the empty streets there was little left to show that this had been a gambling hotspot of the state. Years of abandonment, followed by regular military training activities, had robbed it of any splendour. All that was left were the empty hulks of hotels, casinos and clubs, dust and sand filled.

They moved along quickly but cautiously through the eerily quiet streets, there were still the remnants of abandoned cars. Taylor looked around to see his teams pouring through the old city. They moved on three parallel streets, giving as much of a spread as they could manage. Up ahead he could make out the familiar shape of the former Cortez Casino which was their target.

The Major knelt down beside a rusted old car shell, it was so old that he couldn’t even begin to identify its model, beyond the barely visible Cadillac symbol on the trunk. He pulled out his Infopad from his webbing and flipped it open. It had an edge-to-edge display and touch screen control. The map of their location displayed from when he’d last looked at it.
 
Suarez huddled down beside him, his body armour slamming harshly into the rusted frame of the car.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I don’t like it, a hundred metres from the target and no sign of resistance or even lookouts, Sir.”

“Maybe they’re waiting inside as they’re supposed to?”

“Not a chance, Sir, they won’t give it to us easy.”

“Alpha and Delta swing wide, Bravo and Charlie down the centre with me!” Taylor ordered.

Taylor could just see a glimmer of movement out of the corner of his eye as his teams moved forward in the adjoining streets. Their task was simple, to take the casino building, secure two VIPs and neutralise any hostiles. However the reality was that they were facing a British parachute regiment platoon from the European Union Army (EUA). Despite having numerical superiority, they were going in blind.

“Move up!”

He got to his feet and continued forward at an almost jogging pace keeping his upper body hunched low. One of his men spasmed, he dropped to the floor unable to move.

“Contact!” shouted Taylor.

He looked over at his downed comrade. The devices they wore on their armour during training sent a small pulse through their gear when hit by simulated fire, it momentarily incapacitated the target. The weapons they used were running blanks with the training device fitted, meaning they could simulate both the atmosphere and audio of combat, but also the incapacitation.

Looking at his downed marine, Taylor felt a shiver run up his spine. He had been engaged in several minor conflicts and policing actions around the world, but never had the cause for a real war. Had that been for real, he’d just had lost a marine. He looked up at the casino from around the corner of a shop wall, talking to his team through the throat mics.

“Man down, suspected sniper in the Cortez building, Ortiz and Campbell into firing positions on the tower, everyone else stay low and keep watch!”

“We’re getting bogged down, Sir,” said Suarez.

“Nothing much we can do about that Lieutenant, we continue the approach and we risk substantial casualties.”

“And the longer we wait, Sir, the greater their chance of re-enforcement!”

He sighed, it was yet another far from ideal choice to be making, he was only glad he was not gambling on his men’s lives. He peered back around the corner of the shop wall to the tower block of the casino. He grasped his M56 Assault carbine close, a shortened version of the typical caseless ammunition rifle in use throughout the UEN forces. The 8.6mm round had an effective range of four hundred metres and substantial armour penetration for its size.

The training missions did not allow them to make use of their high explosive weapons, artillery or other such destructive means of warfare. However, that meant that it tested their individual combat skills and unit effectiveness to the limit.

“Ortiz and Campbell, continue to setup a firing position, everyone else continue forward.”

He jumped out from the shop wall and rushed to the next piece of cover, zigzagging in between rubble, walls and doorways. Their competition would be all too pleased to bag themselves the leading officer early on in the mission. They heard the crack of a weapon firing, quickly followed by one on their own side.

“That’s a kill,” said Ortiz down the intercom.

“Alright, let’s get this shit going! Alpha, first floor breach. Delta, second floor. Bravo and Charlie with me through the ground floor!”

He lifted his rifle and leapt out from cover, upping his pace to an excited dash for the Cortez building. His marines rushed alongside him, the low drum of combat boots droning across the open street. The rest of their equipment made little noise at all, it all being padded and dampened in order to make as little noise as possible. Taylor crashed into the outer wall to the side of the main entrance that was barred shut.

“Ready?”

The men all nodded.

“Breach!” shouted Taylor.

The marines beside him fitted direction charges either end of the doors in the approximate position of the hinges, stepping back quickly to cover from what they knew was coming. All the charges blew simultaneously and the door rocked under the pressure. Finally, with little to hold it in place, it collapsed inwards.

Taylor’s two units stormed through the open door as Alpha and Delta squads fired grappling guns up to the first and second floors. The high power rifle-like devices fired a metal anchor that impeded in the concrete wall and expanded within it, hoisting the user quickly upwards under power. He watched as the first few marines soared into the air and smashed through the upper windows.

As shards of glass dropped around him and slid off his helmet, Taylor rushed through the breach into the building. Gunfire rang out in the atrium as he entered the hazy room. Three of the marines of Bravo squad were on the floor and out of action. He looked around, looking for any sign of their enemy.

“Sentry gun, Sir,” said Silva.

“Christ, that wasn’t part of the training exercise,” Suarez said.

Taylor grinned as he let his rifle hang freely on its sling.

“If they made it easy for us then this would be no kind of training exercise at all would it, Lieutenant?”

“This is supposed to be a training exercise for hostage rescue against terrorist and dissident forces!”

“And what would you do when you face terrorists who have got their hands on this sort of equipment? No good whining like a bitch because the enemy aren’t playing your game. Get your shit together and act like a marine!”

Suarez looked down, partly in shame and partly in embarrassment. He had just been humiliated in front of half their company. Taylor looked around at his men, several were covering doorways and a stairway, the others were looking on having witnessed the grilling he’d given Suarez. Had he done it to one of them the room would be filled with laughter, but no one dared angering the Lieutenant. Despite this, they were all well entertained, and they’d have a good joke about it later that evening.

“Alpha, report,” said Taylor.

“We’re in, one casualty from a sensor mine, further devices secure and floor is clear, over.”

“Delta, report.”

“We’re in, no casualties, sweeping floor now, over.”

“Four casualties to their one and we’re only just through the door. These are unacceptable losses!” shouted Mitch.

He paced up and down the entrance hall of the casino building.

“It’s time to move forward, I want section sweeps of every floor. Keep an eye out for any mines, trip wires, sensor devices, traps, anything! These bastards are here to embarrass us and they’re doing a damn fine job, it’s time to hit back. Bravo and Charlie, up to the third floor, we advance section by section as we secure floors.”

The two officers followed on after their marine squads. Mitch knew it was a harsh thing to grill an officer in front of the men, but he also knew how vital it was that they were honed into the best fighting force they could be. Despite not having faced a major war, after hundreds of years of marine combat warfare, he knew it would not be long until their services were needed. Twenty minutes later they were on the eighth floor with no more incidents but neither any sign of their targets.

“Any sign of movement?”

“Motion scanners aren’t picking up anything at all, Sir,” Baker answered.

“Switch to thermal.”

Taylor paced up and down the large room. Many of the gambling tables were still strewn about the place with chips scattered across the floor. It was a sad state to see what was once a highly successful and profitable place.

“Sir, I am getting four readings.”

“Four? They’ve split up?” asked Suarez.

“Or they’re using diversions. Either way, we have wasted enough time, we need this extraction stat. Where are the readings coming from, Baker?”

“Looks like, opposite ends of the twelfth floor, north west corner of the fourteenth and south east of the fifteenth.”

“A bit scattered aren’t they?” asked Suarez.