“You think they’re concerned that we wouldn’t be able to hold them back?”
“Yes, Green. We’re facing an unknown enemy with unknown capabilities. They’d be fools to send everything to the front line, a system of layered defence has proven advantageous on countless occasions during invasion.”
Minutes later Jones arrived at the Battalion Divisional officers’ meeting while the rest of the men assembled on the parade grounds, eagerly awaiting news of who would be sent to face this new threat.
“Gentlemen, time is of the essence here, so I will be brief. Your division, along with the 2 ^ nd Armoured French Division, is being dispatched immediately to the west coast. As of this time we have absolutely no idea of the enemy strength or intentions. The two divisions will be tasked with the defence of the coast from Brest to Nantes. It’s a lot of ground to cover, but the reality is we are against the clock here. Enemy forces will be at the coastline in a matter of hours. Any questions you have will have to be answered via communication en route. That’ll be all, gentlemen, good luck,” said Dupont.
The officers all turned and rushed out of the room. They were beginning to understand the severity of the situation. They knew the military capability of units in the area, and knew that it could be days before further units could be deployed in any capacity.
Reaching his platoon, the men were already fully formed up beside their vehicles. As an infantry unit in peacetime deployment they were only equipped with unarmoured vehicles, but that would at least allow them to cover ground quickly. He surveyed his men, they carried no field equipment, only ammunition and body armour. A hasty deployment would get them in action quickly, but they’d need re-supplying fast.
“Mount up!” Jones ordered.
The parachute regiment platoon consisted of three sections of ten men, as well as a four-man command section, which included Lieutenant Green, himself and his batman, Private Saunders. The platoon loaded up into two open top trucks while the command section took the Captain’s personal vehicle, a Rapid Deployment Vehicle (RDV). In the vein of the WW2 Jeep, the RDV was a lightweight, open top all terrain vehicle. It was capable of carrying four personnel and had a passenger mounted BRUN light machinegun.
It was a hundred kilometres to the coastline and travelling in convoy their speed would be reduced. Typically their battalion would be deployed using aircraft, which would have sped up their deployment. But all aircraft in Rennes were being used to transport the armoured divisions’ vehicles, or to collect and deploy troops to the border of the city.
Getting to the coastline was not at all a concern for Jones. It would be a ninety-minute drive to reach the very start of the positions they had to defend. What concerned him more was that without a good supply of aircraft they’d have no fast way back. He’d heard from Major Taylor about the combat ability of the enemy they faced, and it was more than eye opening. He was only thankful that they could fight on home soil back on Earth.
The convoy was on the outskirts of Brest. Captain Jones had been briefed, but being only a platoon leader he knew that he’d only been given half the story. His communication with Major Taylor had put him in a better stead than most of the units, but he still felt more than just uneasy.
“Hey, Sir, why aren’t the population evacuating?” asked Saunders.
The officer’s batman was driving the RDV and Jones sat in the commander’s seat at the machine gun.
“At this stage we simply do not know what to expect, Private. Evacuating a major city would create chaos and need immense resources. More importantly, from our perspective the roads would be clogged as panic rapidly spread. Right now the priority is that we get troops at the coast as a barrier to whatever threat exists, if any.”
“So we just leave the people here and hope they’ll be ok?”
The Captain sighed as he looked out across the old city and imagined the huge innocent civilian population that inhabited it. He didn’t like it either, but he had his orders.
“Think of it this way. Private. If whatever is coming up those beaches cannot be stopped by two divisions, then what good would such a late evacuation do?”
The Private went silent. The very idea that so many thousands of the finest troops in the world could be cast aside was a chilling thought to dwell upon. The radio cut in and it ordered the parachute battalion to head for a beach south of the city. The 2 ^ nd Parachute Battalion was attached to a regular British infantry division.
Jones looked at his Mappad, it showed the positions all the units had taken up. The two divisions we spread across a fifteen-kilometre line of the coast. Most of the armour was around the traditional old naval city, though some of the heavier equipment could not be airlifted and was still en route via road.
Having no armour support was a daunting thought to the men of the parachute regiment. Jones knew how heavily armoured their enemy was and the fearful circumstances the airborne forces were now facing.
They eventually rolled up at the desolate beach. It was a mix of stone and sand. It would be a pleasant place to spend time on a warm day, though many of the men were already familiar with it, having spent time there. The barren area provided little cover beyond small embankments and dunes.
As the battalion took up its position across the beachhead they were struck by the intimidating sight of the enemy ships approaching. They could only make out a rough blurred shape of each as they used the same chameleon camouflage technology Taylor had described. However, the spray gave their position away. They were all thankful for radar and other sensory technology, otherwise the coast would have gone undefended.
Captain Jones stood up on a grass embankment and held up his binoculars to his eyes. The enemy vessels could be seen as far as he could see either side of their position. The binoculars were having difficulty calculating the size of the near invisible craft. Six were heading for the area they were covering. Jones turned pack to his platoon, some were lying prone against the mounds, others standing open mouthed. All were watching the approaching forces.
“Right, boys! No time to dig in, get the BRUNs ready and take up positions!”
Within two minutes the entire platoon lay silently beyond the raised earth and dunes, looking over the bleak coastline. They were less than two hundred metres from the water, perfect range to lay down fire. The intercoms of each man in the unit cut in, Brigadier Dupont was addressing all men of both divisions as one.
“This is Dupont. Anticipate a hostile enemy, but do not fire unless fired upon. Remember, if it comes to it, they are weaker at their joints and face. Good luck to you all!”
Jones knew that the Brigadier would be surveying the situation from long distance, likely still in the Rennes base, though he didn’t envy him. The Captain had signed up for the kind of adventure and wars that he’d read about and witnessed on the news as a child, not the uncertainty of an advanced alien race. The unknown was scarier to the men than any army in the world.
“You heard the Brigadier, not a single shot unless we are fired upon!” shouted Jones.
He stared at the mysterious and imposing craft. They were travelling at a vast speed across the water. He wondered for a moment at their intentions. With no communication, it appeared odd to him that they would simply attack. As far as he was aware, no human had shown any aggression towards whoever they were. As they were just a few hundred metres from the shoreline the vehicles slowed and their cloaking technology came off.
They appeared crude in design, with harsh lines. Earth ships had long been designed to be incredibly efficient, whether they travelled by air or water. These craft appeared to use immense power with little finesse. The skins were of a raw metal-like fabric, and they were almost twice the size of a main battle tank. Jones shot a glance around at his men.
“Have we got the ARMAL launchers with us?”
“Yes, Sir, but for what?” Hughes asked.
“Just get them ready!”
They had three of the anti-armour launchers in their platoon, one for each section. The devices folded up onto the backs of the men carrying them. At ranges of up to a hundred metres they were capable of taking out light to medium armoured vehicles, and even something heavier at close range if it hit the sweet spot.
The time for preparation was over. The platoon watched in horror as the vehicles slid up onto the beaches, but they didn’t stop. Tracks on either side running the length and outline of the vehicles began to spin, pulling the huge craft onto the beach. The giant metal monsters resembled enlarged versions of WW1 tanks, which they had only ever seen in movies and museums.
“Jesus Christ!” shouted Saunders.
“Keep it down!”
The tracked monsters were crawling up the beach at less than ten kilometres an hour. Jones hoped that was
