“Got it, Sir,” replied the young Lance Corporal.
“Alright, let’s move out.”
The group of paras ambled towards the ration wagons, giving every indication that they were relaxed and ready to settle down. Jones looked to Matthews. The soldier was completely unfazed by the situation, having absolute confidence in his team.
“If we are caught, there will be hell to pay. Do what you can to give us a clear run, but don’t put your neck out.”
“Don’t worry about us, Captain. You just find the Major. We’ve lost enough brothers already, don’t let that tally increase.”
Jones nodded in both agreement and gratitude. They reached a swarm of troops from different regiments and nations who were scattered across an area the size of a football pitch. As they dispersed into the mass of camouflage, Jones surveyed the situation. The command truck was out of view, so they were well covered.
“Alright, that’ll do, break.”
He split off from the others towards the northern perimeter, the other three men following suit. Moments later they were at the rim of the square and winding their way through lines of parked vehicles. They found a small jeep, similar to what they were used to.
“This’ll do, get in.”
The Captain leapt into the driver’s seat and looked down at the controls, trying to find the engine start.
“Going somewhere, Captain?”
Jones jumped in his seat and shot a look up above the screen as he reached for his sidearm. Sergeant Dubois stood in front of the vehicle. He gave a sigh of relief and relaxed his shoulders although his pulse still raced.
“Can’t imagine you were given the authority to commandeer this vehicle?” she asked.
“No.”
The Captain replied with an exhausted tone and dipped his head. The French Sergeant had done them a good turn back in Brest, and he felt shamed at having been caught by her taking one of the vehicles.
“If you’re going out, you’ll want a little more armour, Captain.”
He shot a glance up to the woman, hoping he had heard her right.
“Come with me.”
“You could get in major trouble for this, Sergeant.”
She turned back to them as they walked.
“The world is already in deep trouble, Captain, so it can’t get any worse.”
Jones smiled in response.
“So you are going after someone, I take it?” she asked.
“Why would you think that?”
“A small team without permission going into unprotected territory, why else would you risk your lives?”
The Captain could not hide it. Dubois had a sharp mind and had already proven to be a fine soldier. She still bore scars on her face from the wounds sustained a week ago, and several of them would never fully heal.
“Major Taylor. He went out hours ago and hasn’t returned or been in contact. He was investigating some peculiar readings from surveillance images.”
“And you think he found trouble?”
“I bet money on it. We’ve been ordered to return across the channel within the hour. If we can’t find the Major, nobody will.”
She looked at him. “You’re a loyal friend.”
“Without men like Taylor, we wouldn’t have got this far. I am not willing to give up on him.”
The Sergeant stopped at a vehicle they had reached and tapped the hull.
“Here’s my girl.”
It was a medium weight, six-wheeled armoured car with small turret and light cannon.
“After we lost our armour in Brest, the survivors were reformed as a reconnaissance and infantry support battalion. These were the only vehicles that could be spared to replace it.”
“That’s a bit of a step down.”
“Hey, we’re still alive, that counts for a lot.”
The Captain wished he could take the words back, but it was too late.
“True, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“Enough of your apologies, Captain. We have a job to do, climb aboard.”
She hauled open the rear door allowing the troops to clamber in. The vehicle had seating for six as well as its three crew. Jones climbed through into the commander’s chair next to Dubois’ driving position.
“Where are your crew, Sergeant?”
“Nowhere you need to worry about, Captain, so where are we heading?”
Jones looked at the map displayed on a screen in front of him. Paris was quickly becoming familiar from such a view. His hand stretched across the map, tracing the steps Taylor had explained to him before he left.
“Here, the Major saw a small anomaly on surveillance photos, and that’s the area.”
“That’s about half an hour’s drive from here, if we are quick.”
Before the Captain could respond, Dubois planted her foot to the floor and the vehicle rushed forwards. The crew watched as they stormed out of the base without opposition. Nobody questioned troops that were heading anywhere but east. It was not long before they were free of the war-torn centre and driving among peaceful and intact neighbourhoods. Jones had begun to forget anything but the devastated rubble of the west.
“You got ammo aboard?”
“Of course, Captain.”
He turned back to Monty. “Get on that gun.”
“Got it, boss.”
The man weaved his way through the cramped seating to the gun position.
“We expecting trouble?” he asked.
“Always,” replied Jones.
The Captain turned to Dubois. She rode towards danger with no fear or regard for her own life at all.
“Will this armour hold up to their weapons?” he asked.
“I haven’t found out personally. I’ve heard they can take a few hits from the Mechs’ guns but nothing from their heavier weapons.”
“It’s an improvement over soft skin.”
They heard a heavy clunk as Monty loaded the turret-mounted cannon.
“Think you can handle that?” shouted Jones.
“Looks pretty simple, Captain!”
“Fuck!” Taylor screamed through clenched teeth as Silva reset his leg.
He spat out the block he’d been biting down on and took a deep breath.
“We should never have come out alone.”
“We didn’t, Sir,” replied Silva.
“Should have brought the whole battalion out for this.”
Silva helped lift the Major’s foot and rested it on a stool as he winced in pain. The Sergeant picked up two metal poles which he had collected from the store and placed them either side of the leg.
“It’s gonna hurt like hell to walk, but at least you’ll be on your feet.”
“Right now, anything is an improvement.”
Silva picked up a packet of duct tape and ripped it open. He quickly wrapped the silver tape around with some pressure along the length of most of the leg.
“That should do it.”
Taylor lowered his leg and winced with pain as it dropped to the ground. He pulled himself up. His wounded left leg was at least now useable. The splint had given the strength for him to walk. He hobbled a few steps and was glad to be back on his own two feet. Mitch stopped and froze at a sound from outside. Silva reached for his gun, but Taylor put his hand up to call for silence.
The two marines stared intently at the glass front of the shop, trying to identify the noise. Seconds later they
