Downfall

Downfall

PanOceania Fusilier Platoon Structure

HQ Team (5 Soldiers)

Second Lieutenant or Lieutenant (Combi Rifle) Communication Callsign ‘Zero’

Sergeant (Combi Rifle, Forward Observer) ‘Zero-One’

Fusilier (Combi Rifle, MediKit) ‘Zero-Two’

Fusilier (Combi Rifle, Hacking Device) ‘Zero-Three’

Fusilier (Multi Sniper Rifle) ‘Zero-Four’

Number One Section (10 Soldiers)

Rifle Team

Corporal (Combi Rifle, Forward Observer) ‘One-One’

Fusilier (Combi Rifle + Light Grenade Launcher) ‘One-Two’

Fusilier (Combi Rifle, Hacking Device) ‘One-Three’

Fusilier (Combi Rifle, MediKit) ‘One-Four’

Fusilier (Combi Rifle) ‘One-Five’

Support Team

Lance Corporal (Combi Rifle) ‘One-Six’

Fusilier (Heavy Machine Gun) ‘One-Seven’

Fusilier (Missile Launcher) ‘One-Eight’

Fusilier (Combi Rifle) ‘One-Nine’

Fusilier (Combi Rifle) ‘One-Ten’

Number Two Section (10 Soldiers)

Rifle Team

Corporal (Combi Rifle, Forward Observer) ‘Two-One’

Fusilier (Combi Rifle + Light Grenade Launcher) ‘Two-Two’

Fusilier (Combi Rifle, Hacking Device) ‘Two-Three’

Fusilier (Combi Rifle, MediKit) ‘Two-Four’

Fusilier (Combi Rifle) ‘Two-Five’

Support Team

Lance Corporal (Combi Rifle) ‘Two-Six’

Fusilier (Heavy Machine Gun) ‘Two-Seven’

Fusilier (Missile Launcher) ‘Two-Eight’

Fusilier (Combi Rifle) ‘Two-Nine’

Fusilier (Combi Rifle) ‘Two-Ten’

Number Three Section (10 Soldiers)

Rifle Team

Corporal (Combi Rifle, Forward Observer) ‘Three-One’

Fusilier (Combi Rifle + Light Grenade Launcher) ‘Three-Two’

Fusilier (Combi Rifle, Hacking Device) ‘Three-Three’

Fusilier (Combi Rifle, MediKit) ‘Three-Four’

Fusilier (Combi Rifle) ‘Three-Five’

Support Team

Lance Corporal (Combi Rifle) ‘Three-Six’

Fusilier (Heavy Machine Gun) ‘Three-Seven’

Fusilier (Missile Launcher) ‘Three-Eight’

Fusilier (Combi Rifle) ‘Three-Nine’

Fusilier (Combi Rifle) ‘Three-Ten’

Chapter One

It was the quieter, more persistent sounds that seemed to characterize the vast, sprawling jungle; the rattling of insect wings that merged into a monotonous hiss when swarms of the thumb-sized creatures clumped together to perch atop giant, rubbery leaves of vibrant greens and yellows. As the blue-violet sky above darkened with the setting of the sun, the melodious chirps of colorful jungle birds faded away, soon to be replaced with the deeper, more threatening rasps of the nocturnal lizards that prowled the dry earth between the thick foliage. As evening fell to envelop the encampment in the jungle clearing, the temperature too fell with it, providing some respite from the relentless, humid heat of the cloudless day.

A cheer erupted from the soldiers gathered in the small clearing in the center of the encampment, signifying another fallen wicket in their game. Brother-Sub Officer Kyle Hawkins stopped and looked over his shoulder at the eight Fusiliers of Number Two Section as they gathered in the middle of the improvised cricket wicket, drawing up the stumps from the dusty earth as the falling light levels made continued play impossible. The Fusiliers wore an odd concoction of clothing, mixing sportswear with camouflaged trousers and shorts, most of the men topless in the stifling heat. Two or three of the Fusiliers eyed Hawkins silently as he passed, the smiles from their game fading as they did so. He continued to follow Fusilier Natalie Southee toward the eastern perimeter, his helmet held in one hand and his MULTI Rifle in the other as he paced after her.

Hawkins hoped silently that it was what he was rather than who he was that drew the ceaseless ill atmosphere from the soldiers of Number Three Platoon, A Company of Number One Battalion of the 12th Fusilier Regiment. It was only his third day embedded within the men and women of the platoon, but it was the first time he was openly displaying his own organization’s colors rather than his normal daily wear of combat fatigues not dissimilar to their own. Motors whirred away silently within the joints of Hawkins’ heavily armored suit as his feet thudded against the ground with each step. He had only qualified to wear the coveted red surcoat of the Holy Order of the Knights of Saint John of Skovorodino mere days ago, and it had been a long and grueling journey to achieve such an accolade. Yet, now eyed with wariness by the very men and women that the church had ordered him to serve alongside, he mentally chastised himself for feeling self-conscious and awkward for the white cross emblazoned on his red surcoat.

Whilst the sight of a Holy Order knight in full armor was something Hawkins was now well-accustomed to after four years of harsh training at the fortress-monastery of Skovorodino, he appreciated that it was a rare sight to the rank and file light infantry of PanOceania’s army. As a knight of the Order, Hawkins found himself as a rather odd blend of history and cutting edge technology. He wore an all-encasing suit of heavy combat armor, consisting of thick, angular plates of dulled, blue-silver alloy. He carried a CineticS Radjun 4.5mm MULTI Rifle, capable of nearly instantly switching between a variety of ammunition to combat any threat. Yet, atop this garb of the most modern armor available to the most technologically advanced of all humanity’s many splintered factions, he wore that same red cloth surcoat and white cross of Christianity that his Order’s forefathers had worn in the darkest, most violent ages on Earth; although the modern smart-fabric would at least subdue the color tones when standing out was no longer desirable. On his left shoulder was painted a white Maltese cross on black; the Order of Saint John’s icon that dated back to the 12th century. The symbol Hawkins’ spiritual forefathers had fought and died for throughout the bitter, bloody crusades on Earth a thousand years before.

You sure you’re okay with this, sir? Fusilier Southee asked, dropping back to walk alongside Hawkins as the two made their way past the picturesque, gently flowing stream cutting through the middle of the site toward the camp perimeter. Their path took them through the crude accommodation blocks, storage areas, and the platoon’s HQ block, all converted out of air-lifted, rectangular cargo containers that had been dumped in the clearing when the research facility was first set up.

Oh, yes, Hawkins nodded enthusiastically, yes, quite sure.

It’s just… officers don’t normally stand guard duty. Especially not… officers from outside our own ranks. Sir.

Hawkins looked across at the young soldier. Of average height and slim build, Southee’s recently somewhat sun-burnt face was crowned by straight, auburn hair that fell down to the nape of her neck. Her light blue beret stood out in stark contrast to her light body armor, which had been hastily sprayed in hues of green, brown, and tan to match the pattern of her combat trousers and shirt. Her accent, like many of the platoon’s soldiers, had that distinct non-rhotic twang that marked her out as having descended from an Australasian lineage.

You don’t have to call me ‘sir,’ Hawkins offered what he hoped was a friendly smile. I’m not part of your chain of command, really.

S’alright, sir, Southee returned the smile. Lieutenant Shankar explained that all to us just before you arrived, but she said we should treat you like a Fusilier officer with how we talk to you, an’ salutes an’ all? She was… pretty insistent.

Hawkins followed Southee to the lip of the shallow plateau that formed Alpha Four-Four: the research site and its meager military defenses. Below them, the dense, green jungle stretched out in every direction across the undulating terrain, eventually leading to the Fairbanks Sea to the north and to the city of Valkenswijk to the southwest. The jungles of Paradiso were notorious for their deadly vegetation as well as a horrific range of dangerous animals, but Hawkins had been assured that Alpha Four-Four sat in a region well away from the worst of them. Karava vine-traps and bloodbriars were certainly visible amidst the ubiquitous, drooping palm trees but not as widespread as the deadly jungles to the north. However, the average temperature in the region was notably hotter.

A handful of dull metal sensor posts dotted the site’s perimeter, but these had already proven to be all but useless. In a jungle absolutely teeming with life, sensors designed to detect nothing more than signs of life and movement provided no viable warning of intruders. From what Hawkins had been briefed by Lieutenant Shankar, this was of little concern. The research site built around the Cosmolite had attracted nothing more interesting than the occasional rogue lizard in the six weeks that A Company had been charged with ensuring the safety of the scientific research staff of the MagnaObra company.

The eastern perimeter spans this section here, sir, Southee pointed to the two ends of the plateau. It’s two hours on, two hour off for our eight-hour shift ‘til Number Three Section take the duty again, so only two stints. Just check in with Corporal Lanne every five minutes.

Understood, Hawkins replied.

Corporal Lanne is in the Platoon HQ block, running the PSC – the Perimeter Security Control, Southee continued. He is monitoring the perimeter sensors and the two security drones above us, as well as getting direct visuals from our tactical lenses. He can see everything we can see, as well as the other sensor feeds and IFF. The five soldiers from the off duty team are in the HQ block with him, ready to respond. Although obviously, that never happens.

Right. Hawkins nodded earnestly.

That’s… sort of it, really, sir. Just pace up and down here and try not to fall asleep. Nothing happens. But being here makes the civvies feel safe, I guess? It looks better for them to have Fusiliers on the perimeter instead of just drones and sensors.

Hawkins looked down at the endless canopy of green stretching out ahead of him, marveling at the sight as the shrill call of a hidden creature perhaps a quarter of a mile away caused a flock of colorful birds to flutter up into the clear sky above the trees. Southee waved across at Fusilier Marinho at the far end of the perimeter, signifying that he was relieved of sentry duty for the next two hours.

Right, Hawkins smiled, well, thank you. For letting me have your duty. It is… nice to be permitted to do something useful.

No probs, sir! Southee grinned with a wink. Nearly saluted you there, but that could’a killed you! Need to be careful I don’t identify you as an officer in front of all those Shasvastii snipers in the trees behind you!

Hawkins turned and looked out, his eyes wide.

Wh…oh! Good one! For a second, I thought you were serious!

Southee let out a brief laugh as she backed away from Hawkins.

Thanks again, sir. Give me a call if you need anything, I’ll be on comms. I’ll figure out how to repay the favor, I’m sure.

You’re too kind! I hope you manage some rest.

Hawkins issued a smile and a wave and then turned to look out at the jungle ahead, glad that at least one of the Fusiliers had decided to show some consideration toward him. He took in a deep breath. This was it. Finally, after weeks of an intense and demanding selection process followed by four years of what was widely regarded to be one of the most physically and mentally demanding training processes – within or outside of the PanOceanian Military Complex – he was on duty on the front line. Weapon in hand, live ammunition loaded. He had arrived.

It only took perhaps an hour for Southee’s words to sink in and the reality of the situation to become apparent. Hawkins was not so much on duty on the front line as merely walking up and down a grassy verge in a clearing hundreds of miles from civilization, surrounded by nothing more than strange and alien sounds of indigenous wildlife as the jungle’s nocturnal inhabitants arose from their slumber. This was a backwater research facility whose location close to the border of Yingxian might fool an outsider into thinking that it was a dynamic environment; a powder keg ready to explode at any moment. In reality, it was a sleepy assignment that had immediately and utterly failed to deliver Hawkins the war stories he had wanted to take home when he enthusiastically volunteered for the task.

Still, Hawkins had stepped up to do a job, and he intended to do it well. Pulling his helmet on, he connected his armor’s own sensors to the perimeter sensor posts to augment their range and fidelity. Dialing through a variety of visual outputs, ranging from night vision through thermal to motion detection, Hawkins saw nothing more than a swarming mass of creatures of every size. His cruciform-shaped visor flickering through a dozen visual spectrums revealed only a range of animals from the tiniest insects to slothful, almost comedically slow lizards the size of large dogs dragging themselves through the dark night amidst the endless trees.

All positions, this is One-One, check in, Corporal Lanne’s voice chimed in Hawkins’ ears, as clear as if the lanky NCO was stood right next to him.

North, clear.

West, clear.

South, nothing going.

East perimeter, Hawkins replied, all clear.

Hawkins glanced down at his MULTI Rifle and raised his brow. He remembered the hive of activity at the fortress-monastery when word reached them about the alien Evolved Intelligence’s Combined Army landings at Concilium Prima. He remembered wave after wave of knights leaving the fortress to deploy to the region. Most of all, he remembered volunteering time and time again to go with them in any capacity. His entire course of knight-aspirants felt the same way. But the answer was always the same – complete your training. Yes, the Order did cut a few minor corners in the training program, but it only succeeded in shaving days off the long wait to qualify; not weeks. And despite the battles that raged in space over Helheim, even upon finally being commissioned into the ranks of the Order, that answer barely changed.

There were other commitments; other areas that required an Order presence. When a chance to volunteer to deploy to Paradiso in support of a detachment of Fusiliers engaged in security duties became available, Hawkins was the first to ensure his name was on the list. Whilst it already seemed that the events on Paradiso were already yesterday’s news, given the Combined Army’s latest focus, it still seemed closer to the proverbial coal-face than Skovorodino.

At least up until this moment. Hawkins sighed. Three days of being flat ignored until he managed to persuade the platoon commander to allow him to stand guard duty, and now only a single hour into that and he found himself realizing the gaping chasm between his expectations of Paradiso and the reality of his situation.

Hawkins’ attention was brought back to the present when a thin line of interference suddenly ran across his visor. Then a second. Within moments, half of his field of view was disturbed by white lines dancing in front of his eyes. He quickly cycled through his visor’s other modes of vision but found the interference was common in all settings. Grimacing, he took off his helmet and winced as the closeness of the still, dense evening air hit his face. Whilst he would be the first to admit that he was the furthest that one could be from a veteran operator of ORC heavy infantry armor, he had certainly never experienced a failure of all modes of vision simultaneously.

East Perimeter, Lanne’s voice chimed in his earpiece, this is One-One. Check in.

East Perimeter, Hawkins replied with some confusion, aware that only two minutes had passed since the last five minute check in.

You all good? Lanne asked. It looks like both east perimeter sensors have just failed.

Yes, all good here, Hawkins replied, switching his helmet’s power source off and then on again to attempt a reboot and initiate its built-in test function. Nothing to report.

North Perimeter, Lanne continued, his tone wary, check in.

North, clear.

West Perimeter…

Hawkins froze in place. Down at the bottom of the plateau, just on the other side of the bend in the stream, he saw a shape in the shadows. Constrained to relying on nothing more than the Mark One human eyeball and the partial augmentation provided by his tactical contact lens, with darkness rapidly falling, the observation was a one in a million. The shape was man-sized, near stationary, crouched over behind the bushes at the edge of the tree line. There was a form to the shape, with straight lines forming the edges of the silhouette that simply could not be formed by nature. Hawkins swallowed. His heart thumped in his chest. He knew the platoon’s authorized Rules of Engagement – he was mandated to shout a verbal challenge to any potentially hostile presence encountered whilst on sentry duty. He opened his mouth, but the words froze in his dry throat. The shape moved. Hawkins pulled his MULTI Rifle up to his shoulder as he dropped to one knee, and he opened fire.

***

Sergeant Jim Cochrane scratched his bearded chin as he leant back in the flimsy, fold out canvas chair, his thick fingers rapidly shuffling the deck of cards. The makeshift recreation room’s air filtration unit buzzed above him at irregular intervals as indisputable proof that the repair work carried out on it was to a poor standard, if indeed the work had been done at all. Sat around the similarly flimsy, fold out rectangular table with him was Corporal Angelo Garcia, the leader of Number Two Section, and Fusilier Lucas King, one of the platoon’s more recent additions.

The recreation room itself was fashioned out of two cargo containers, welded together with the inter-joining walls removed to create one larger, open space. A drinks cooler, a Maya terminal for connecting with the sprawling, mesh network of the same name, and some simple furniture was all that populated the spartan, off-white interior. The persistently promised gaming suite was yet to arrive.

Alright, Luc, Cochrane grinned as he tossed the cards into three piles across the table, this one is five card draw. If you can play Texas hold ‘em, I’m sure you can get your head around five card draw.

Yeah, Sarn't, I know how to play. Read up on it last night. The thin, blond-haired soldier nodded enthusiastically.

Cochrane flashed a grin to Garcia. The muscular corporal folded his broad, tattooed arms and issued a barely detectable smile in return. Cochrane inspected his cards, shaking his head in derision as he saw King commit the amateur mistake of arranging his own hand in order of value. Glancing down at his own cards, Cochrane observed a pair of jacks. Not a bad start.

Ten, Garcia commenced the bet, pushing a simple plastic chip across the table, beads of sweat already forming on his bald head.

One thing I forgot, Cochrane remarked dryly, if you win, Luc, I’ll take you off sentry duty for two days. If you lose, you’re doubling up in platoon HQ and running the PSC terminal, watch on stop on, and the corporal here gets the downtime. Got it?

King looked up at Cochrane.

Wh…what if you lose, Sarn't?

Cochrane smiled broadly.

Me! First off, I never lose. Second off, I write the sentry roster, so I’ve already won. Privilege of bloody rank, mate. Now, what’s your plan?

King looked apprehensively down at his cards.

Raise ten.

Cochrane exhaled. That was confident. Too confident for this stage of the game.

Haven’t seen you much today, Jim, Garcia grunted. You still trying the moves on that researcher girl?

Cochrane glanced across at the shorter NCO. In part, he did not appreciate that line of questioning in front of a very junior soldier, but mainly because Marcia Gamble from the site’s research team had already politely, but unequivocally, rejected his advances.

Slow burner, that one, Ang. Cochrane winked. Marathon, not a sprint.

Not like Natalie Southee, then. Garcia grinned slyly.

King’s eyes widened.

You’ve nailed Nat? he exclaimed.

Cochrane slowly placed his cards down on the table. He glanced across at Garcia. The squat, burly corporal continued smiling. As a professional soldier with nine years’ experience, Cochrane was well aware that physical relations with a subordinate were a high road to disaster, let alone a disciplinary offence. But that sentiment of dedicated professionalism was almost immediately deposed by that seemingly ceaseless, primitive need he so often found in himself to prove he was the alpha male.

Twice, he smirked across the table at the young Fusilier. Girl liked what she got. Raise five.

Cochrane immediately regretted his words. Garcia let out a snorting laugh and shook his head.

"Bloody hell, Jim, you can talk some shit. First off, you think she came back because she can’t resist you? Use your head, mate! She played you! Second off, might be worth watching how you talk about shit like this. You could get into a lot of trouble."

Cochrane glowered down at the shorter NCO. A warning shot across his bows like that from an old friend was fine, but as soon as a young Fusilier was within earshot, that conversation instantly became a jumped up, insubordinate corporal talking out of turn to a sergeant. Cochrane opened his mouth to speak, but the words were cut off as a burst of gunfire erupted from outside the recreation block. Cochrane and Garcia both jumped to their feet and dashed over to the room’s entrance to haul on their body armor. King rose warily to his feet.

What’s going on?

Get your bloody armor on, digger, and grab a weapon! Cochrane yelled, shoving his comms link into one ear and snatching his Combi Rifle from the weapon stowage by the door. He opened the door warily, heard a long burst of gunfire, and saw a trio of Fusiliers running off toward the east. Having ascertained it was safe to do so, Cochrane quickly and carefully exited the block. He recognized the three soldiers as Southee, May, and Dubois from Number One Section.

You three! On me! he shouted and then picked up his pace as he jogged toward the sound of gunfire before connecting to the platoon’s communications link via his wrist-mounted comlog.

His ear was instantly bombarded with a confused cacophony of raised voices.

Where’s the firing coming from?

Dubs! Get your lot on the south edge of the ridge! I’ll set up north!

Who’s shooting?

Erm…One Section…I’m here…I’m engaging…

Who’s got east sentry?

Jonny! I’m on the ridge! There’s nobody fucking here!

Cochrane shook his head and cursed at the litany of panicked shouts over the platoon communication net as he ran past the site’s main research hub toward the eastern end of the encampment.

Zero-One on comms! I now have tactical control! All of you, shut the fuck up! Cochrane yelled as he drew closer to the sporadic gunfire, the three Fusiliers from Number One Section still in tow. One-One – set up your Fireteam on the south side of the ridge! One-Five – set up the missile launcher and HMG on the north end, how copied?

One-One, acknowledged, I’m on the way over from HQ, Corporal Lanne replied, signifying he understood his orders to set up his five-man Fireteam – half of the section – to the southeast of the encampment.

One-Five, copied, Lance Corporal Dubois responded – one of the runners behind Cochrane who was now tasked with ensuring the second Fireteam, equipped with a missile launcher and machine gun in addition to their three Combi Rifles, would take position to the northeast.

Cochrane reached the end of the research facility building and sprinted along the edge of the stream leading to the open ground forming the eastern edge of the site. He quickly brought up his left arm and glanced down at his comlog. Rapidly cycling through the controls on his forearm, he brought up a local area map, projected from his linked contact lens directly into his retina. He noted that each of the Fusiliers was rapidly activating their own IFF – Identification Friend or Foe – emitters so as to appear as blue dots on friendly comlog displays and highlighted in blue on tactical contact lens. He saw the evening sky lit up ahead by flashes, his experienced ears recognizing the familiar sound of short, sharp bursts of automatic fire from Dayak Combi Rifles.

Zero-One, this is Three-One, on comms, Cochrane heard Corporal Rossi check in, signifying that she had mobilized the ten Fusiliers of Number Three Section to join the defense.

Zero-One, copies, Cochrane replied, set up your rifle team on the north perimeter and your support team on the south.

Three-One, understood.

Cochrane exhaled briefly in relief; with one of his sections positioning along the axis of threat to the east and a second section splitting to move across to cover the north and south in case of a flanking move, he now had a viable C-shaped defensive position – even if it was thinly spread. He checked the comlog’s tactical map again, the top-down view of the immediate area projected directly onto his retina and appeared in the upper left corner of his field of vision. A defensive perimeter of sorts was now established. He noted with more than mild concern that whoever was on sentry duty and fired the first shot was not displaying on IFF.

Jim! Garcia called from behind him. D’you want me here or shall I fall back and get my section in order?

Cochrane looked over his shoulder.

Get back, mate! Get to HQ, man the PSC, and then get your lot together! Check in on comms as soon as you’re good to get in position! We’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with by then!

The stocky corporal nodded, tapped Fusilier King on the shoulder, and then headed back toward the center of the encampment. Cochrane reached the eastern end of the site where a single Fusilier lay prone at the edge of the gentle plateau, reloading a fresh magazine in front of the pistol grip of his Combi Rifle. The air stank of burnt propellant. Cochrane dove to the ground a few meters behind him and rapidly crawled up to the lip of the ridge, Southee following him.

What’s going on, digger? he demanded. What are you shooting at?

In the darkness to his left, another Fusilier arrived, dropped to the ground, and then the entire ridge exploded in a blinding, continuous flashing of yellow light as his heavy machine gun opened fire. The weapon sprayed a ceaseless stream of bullets down into the jungle below, carving up vegetation and sending leaves and branches twirling up into the air in a swath of green destruction.

Cease fire! Cochrane boomed. Cease fire, you fucking prick! That goes for everybody! None of you fire a shot until you’ve identified a clear target! Missile launchers, that especially goes for you!

He turned back to the pale-faced soldier who lay next to him.

Fischer, he glowered, what the bloody hell were you shooting at?

Something down there, Sarn't! the young trooper replied breathlessly. I saw movement and gunfire! Human shapes through my scope! There was no IFF, so I fired!

A sickening nausea clawed at Cochrane’s gut as the slow realization of what the situation might actually be began to kick in.

Zero-One to all teams! Cochrane called over the comm net. Cease fire! Nobody fire another shot unless you have visually ID’ed and confirmed your target is hostile!

Corporal Lanne crawled over from the darkness to Cochrane’s right, his blue IFF silhouette displaying clearly on Cochrane’s lens well before his eyes actually made him out.

Jim, are we shooting at ourselves here?

Cochrane exhaled and shook his head. Silence descended back on the jungle. The ceaseless rattle of insects broke the silence. A few jungle birds and lizards cawed and hissed from the dark trees ahead. A new voice joined the platoon’s tactical communication network.

Zero, on comms.

Cochrane swore under his breath.

Zero, this is Zero-One, he reported. I currently have tactical control of the platoon. One Section is deployed on the eastern ridge in two teams. Two Section is split north and south. Three Section is still mobilizing.

Yes, I can see that, Lieutenant Shankar replied. I have tactical control. I’m moving to Platoon HQ to coordinate from there.

Cochrane glanced back across to face Lanne. The tall, red-haired soldier was dimly visible next to him as the light continued to fade.

Who was on sentry duty here, Jonny?

Sub Officer Hawkins, Lanne replied.

Cochrane’s eyes widened.

The Hospitaller?! Who the hell authorized that?

I did, Shankar spoke calmly over the tactical net. PSC now back online, I have you all on display.

Cochrane grunted under his breath and peered down into the dark tree line ahead. The jungle remained silent. A small surveillance drone, barely larger than a gull, whined invisibly overhead.

One-One from Zero, Shankar transmitted from the HQ, bring your rifle scope two points left. I think there’s somebody down in the trees.

Cochrane looked through his own riflescope, rapidly changing and filtering the display to optimize the light levels. He saw a figure crouched low by one of the trees ahead. The figure was still and did not display on the map as a friendly blue dot. Cochrane reactivated his comlog and created a waypoint on the platoon’s shared map display.

Zero-One to all positions, I am visual with a possible friendly at Marker Alpha, not emitting IFF. Check your IFF and call in if you’re not transmitting.

After a brief silence, a voice crackled onto the comm net.

Zero-One, this is Eastern Sentry, Hawkins said. I…I think you are looking at me. I’m a few meters beyond the tree line. My visual display, map, and IFF aren’t working.

Eastern Sentry, this is Zero, Shankar said slowly, her voice wary. I have your visual display. It shows you are in position on the ridge, right next to Zero-One.

Cochrane swore again. Either the Hospitaller’s visual feed to the PSC was frozen and caught in a loop, or something more sinister entirely had happened.

Zero, this is Zero-One, Cochrane said. He’s not here with us. I can see him below at Marker Alpha.

Sentry, chop channel two, the lieutenant commanded.

Eager to remain in the picture as to what was occurring around him, Cochrane also activated the comlog second channel to listen in to the conversation.

Kyle, it’s Priya, Shankar said. We’ve got eyes on you. Are you hit?

I’m… not sure. My helmet visuals all failed so I’m working without. I’m not hurt. Not sure if I was hit, though. There was a lot of incoming fire.

Cochrane stared across angrily at Fischer.

You’ve just been shooting at one of God’s warriors, you dumb shit! he growled. If God existed, you’d be buggered, mate!

All positions, this is Zero, Shankar called back on channel one of the comms network. We have a friendly trooper not transmitting on IFF at Marker Alpha. He’s moving to Marker Bravo. Hold fire. Hold fire.

Cochrane stared down into the tree line below. Nothing else moved.

Kyle, Shankar spoke again on channel two, we’re not visual with any enemy force. You’re clear to come back up to us on the eastern ridge.

I saw something, Hawkins said, I’m sure I saw something.

Cochrane shook his head in despair. The entire engagement was a complete farce of wasted firepower. Every shot fired was in error. The administrative work and follow up investigation would be a nightmare. All of the training in the world and all of the money spent on cutting edge armor and weapons in the Military Orders was no substitute for experience. And the Hospitaller had none of that.

Move back to the ridge, Shankar insisted, we’ve got you covered.

Cochrane watched as the armored bulk of the Holy Order knight stood and carefully moved back up the shallow slope to drop to one knee next to the Fusiliers. He pointed back to the tree line below.

There were a couple of figures down there, he gasped, maybe even three. I fired and they moved off. I advanced on them but didn’t see anything again. My… visuals all failed.

Cochrane’s brow furrowed. Just as quickly as the sickening feeling arrived over the thought of a friendly fire incident, it quickly reversed to create a similar level of unease in the opposite direction.

Sir, Cochrane looked up at the young Hospitaller, just confirm to me that you simultaneously lost all of your visuals, your map, and your IFF?

That’s right, the dark-haired knight nodded.

Cochrane brought up his comlog and checked the eastern perimeter sensors. Both had failed.

Zero, from Zero-One, Cochrane transmitted to Shankar. The eastern sensors are both offline.

That’s right, Lanne chirped in, they both failed just before this all kicked off.

I don’t think this is a blue-on-blue, Cochrane declared. Sir says he saw something. Just before that, two independently powered sensors and multiple systems on sir’s armor all failed. We’ve been hacked. There’s some bastard out there.

The tactical communication network fell silent for a few moments. Shankar hailed Cochrane on a new channel.

Jim, you used to do this sort of stuff in Indigo, she said. If you were probing an enemy site, what would you do if they opened fire?

Cochrane paused for a moment’s thought before responding.

Depends, he replied, depends on what the team was cleared to do. If it was a recce and we were busted, we’d do the Harry and bugger off. If we had less restricted RoE, I’d double my team around and have another go from the west.

Another few moments of silence on the communication network, buzzing insects and whining drones in the darkness above passed by.

All teams, listen in, Shankar called on the comm net. We may have a hostile force probing from the east. Two Section, hold position. Three Section, take up a defensive position on the western perimeter. One Section, advance to Marker Alpha and commence a sweep of the area.

Cochrane winced at the commands, agreeing with most of his platoon commander’s thought process but certainly not all. And whilst she held the rank and the authority, he certainly possessed the lion’s share of the experience. He hailed Shankar on their private channel again.

Priya, he began in a hushed voice, I agree with your plan to form a defensive perimeter, but I don’t think we should be sending guys and girls out into that jungle. If I was falling back with a recce team, we’d be planting explosives all over the place. We don’t know what we’re facing.

Okay, Shankar replied, understood. But we need to at least investigate that tree line. See if there’s any evidence of intruders.

Yeah, fair enough, Cochrane said. I’ll take them down and have a look.

No, you get back to Platoon HQ and coordinate this with me. We need to control this centrally, not from the front.

Priya! Cochrane urged, struggling to keep the volume of his voice down. Half of this lot have never even been shot at! If there’s some SF team out there, you need me down there with them!

Cochrane heard Shankar sigh in frustration.

Jim, I need your ideas, not your trigger finger. I need you here with me to coordinate this mess. Corporal Lanne can lead a section in a brief search. I need you up here with me.

Cochrane placed his Combi Rifle over his shoulder to magnetically clamp to the back of his body armor. The smallest hint of a cool, refreshing breeze momentarily wafted across the clearing atop the plateau. He looked up at the twin moons above in the clear, dark violet sky.

Sure thing, Boss, he replied, before turning to Hawkins. Sir, you’d best come with me.

Cochrane tapped Lanne on the shoulder and warily retreated back toward the center of the site, away from the ridge line. He brought up the map display on his tactical lens and watched as the three sections of the platoon moved into their positions. Lanne led his ten Fusiliers down to the tree line to scout through the swath of destruction wreaked by the HMG only minutes before. It was not long before an excited voice blasted out over the comm.

Jonny! Fusilier May called out. I’ve got something!

Comm discipline, dick heads! Cochrane snapped.

Err… One-One, this is One-Six. I have something.

One-Six, this is Zero-One, Cochrane cut in, get a picture and send it to me.

Cochrane cycled through his comlog and brought the image up on the right hand side of his visual display. A darkened patch of grass with the unmistakable, rectangular prism shape of a single round of unfired caseless ammunition.

Get me a picture of the back of that, Cochrane ordered.

The picture came through moments later. Cochrane swore. He reconnected to the channel with Shankar.

Nine point five mil, he confirmed. We only use those in sub machine guns, and we haven’t got any sub machine guns with us. One of them must have had a stoppage and ejected an unfired round to clear his weapon. That’s it, then, Priya. Somebody’s been here and had a pop at us. I think we need to pass that up the chain to Company Command.

Already on it, Shankar replied.

Chapter Two

Alpha Four-Four’s Platoon Headquarters block was, like nearly every other military building on the site, a simple conversion of a large storage container brought in by air or by truck. Three terminals dominated one of the dull, white walls; the Perimeter Security Control, the Platoon Briefing Facility, and a dedicated long-range communication terminal. Four of the five soldiers inside the block sat on the ubiquitous, fold out chairs that regularly punctuated the encampment; the final soldier leaned back against the long wall opposite the terminals, the chairs being unable to support the weight of his armor.

Lieutenant Priya Shankar looked across at her four colleagues. Sergeant Jim Cochrane was, in many ways, everything that most of the platoon’s soldiers aspired to be. Thirty years old and standing as a wall of muscle, the tallest in the room by some margin, the indigo-colored beret he was still permitted to wear with his Fusilier uniform marked him out as a veteran of Spec-Ops. A thick, brown beard covered a broad, almost crude face that was not without some charm. That charm, coupled with a dark but endearing sense of humor was, in the year he had been Shankar’s platoon sergeant, an attribute that she had witnessed him exploit far too often.

Stood behind him was a man who was, in many ways, Cochrane’s polar opposite. Shankar had only known Sub Officer Kyle Hawkins for a few days, and in that brief span of time had deduced very little about him, on account of him actually saying very little. What little conversation did come out of the Hospitaller tended to be questions about procedures and tactics, giving Shankar the impression that it was a lack of confidence rather than a quiet assurance that led to his introverted tendencies.

That aside, Hawkins certainly seemed to illicit suspicion in most of the Fusiliers in her platoon who had, no doubt, heard of the rumors of the zealous, dangerous and fanatical soldiers of the NeoVatican’s Holy Orders, even if few of them had ever worked alongside one. A far cry indeed from the tragic, troubled, and selfless heroes of the caricatured, fictitious Order Knights that frequented Maya-series. That seemed to be the opinion of most of her soldiers, at least, but certainly not all. Shankar had already warned three of her female Fusiliers concerning a lack of professionalism around the young Hospitaller, which she understood entirely given his flawlessly handsome face and toned physique.

The final two occupants of the room had arrived less than an hour before. Major Nicholas Barker was the Commanding Officer of A Company, Number One Battalion; a unit made up of three platoons of which Shankar’s was one. Barker’s short, graying hair and weathered face highlighted him as older than most Fusilier majors, a product of him being promoted to a commissioned officer from the ranks after a fifteen year career as an NCO; a relatively common career path but still far less common than the normal practice of accepting junior officers into the military directly from school or university. Barker wore the same camouflaged fatigues and light body armor as the other Fusiliers, with his light blue beret resting on the table in front of him. Seated next to him was Captain Zofia Waczek, the Company second-in-command, or 2IC. Waczek was a tall, muscular woman in her late twenties whose cropped, short, blonde hair seemed only to accentuate her rather blunt facial features.

Let’s sum this up, Barker leaned forward, placing the tips of his fingers against each other. Sub Officer Hawkins, you were on sentry duty when you saw an unidentified unit. You issued a challenge and opened fire.

I… Well, sir, as I said in my recorded statement, I don’t recall issuing a verbal challenge… I definitely remember the thought crossing my mind, but everything happened very quickly. I’m afraid with my armor being hacked, there is no recording of what I sad.

He did issue a challenge, sir, Cochrane drawled, suppressing a yawn. I spoke to the guys after the exchange of fire. One of the other sentries distinctly remembers hearing the sub officer shout out a challenge. I can’t for the life of me remember who said they heard it, but somebody definitely did.

Hawkins looked across at Cochrane, his pale face a mixture of surprise and relief.

Good thing, Sergeant, Barker smiled, because this incident is escalating rapidly, and it would not look favorable if a sentry did not issue a verbal warning before firing, without good reason. But that was not the case, so nobody needs to worry.

Hawkins took a pace forward.

Should we ask the other sentries again, sir? the young Hospitaller asked, sweat glistening on his short, dark hair. I really don’t remember issuing a verbal challenge, and it might be best to make sure there hasn’t been a mistake.

Cochrane shook his head grimly. Waczek leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. Shankar looked up at the Hospitaller, her feelings mixed over his clear display of both total honesty and naivety over the admittedly dishonest lifeline Cochrane was throwing to him.

I don’t think it will be necessary, Sub Officer. Barker shrugged. Sergeant Cochrane has interviewed the other sentries and officially reported that one heard a verbal challenge. We don’t need to dig any deeper than that. So, you fired your weapon and then advanced on what you say looked to be two or three figures in the jungle. According to your statement, you advanced into the jungle to close with the enemy whilst the platoon was mobilized.

Yes, sir.

Barker turned back to Shankar.

Priya, whilst all this was going on, you were off duty and asleep. On being woken by gunfire, you equipped yourself for the engagement and moved to this room to coordinate the platoon.

That’s right, sir, Shankar nodded.

By the time the platoon secured the site’s perimeter, there was no sign of the enemy. Post the incident, it was revealed that elements of both the perimeter security and Sub Officer Hawkins’ armor had been hacked. Further evidence of hostile acts was confirmed in a perimeter sweep, where six expended rounds of nine point five millimeter ammunition were discovered; a caliber not used by any weapon at this site.

That’s about the size of it, sir. Cochrane leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head.

Barker looked across at Waczek. The stern woman nodded a confirmation that the details were recorded.

That’s the formalities taken care of, Barker sighed, before turning to Cochrane. Jim, you have a background in this sort of thing. Tell me what you think happened here.

Pretty simple, sir. Cochrane rocked back and forth on his chair. We’re ordered to maintain security on site made up of a privately contracted civilian research company. They’re looking at this Cosmolite. Every day they are digging into evidence of alien technology, and that’s hugely attractive to every other player in the Human Sphere; state actors, nomads, mercenaries, the lot. Somebody decided to come and take a closer look at what was going on. My guess is that they’ve been watching us for a day or two now.

Why? Waczek suddenly demanded. Based on what?

Cochrane nodded at Hawkins.

Him. If I was in an SF Fireteam of five guys – and I’m pretty sure that’s what was here tonight – and suddenly the regular sentry was replaced with heavy infantry in an armored suit that was particularly vulnerable to hacking, I’d make a move there and then. Those guys would have been pissing themselves laughing. Hackable sentry takes over right as the sun is setting? They took the opportunity to hack the sub officer and the perimeter sensors, then quickly made a move to slip past to try to get inside the perimeter and see what we’re up to. Problem was, the sub officer saw them and started shooting.

At that point it’s all for naught, I’d imagine, Barker added.

Spot on, sir, Cochrane said, and that’s why we found a nine point five round. That’s been ejected from an assault pistol – a single-handed weapon. Whoever fired at the sub officer here was retreating and possibly trying to do something with the other hand – another attempt to hack or to activate long-range comms, maybe. Possibly even holding a dressing against a wound. Something that stopped him going for his rifle. Those guys are long gone. Back over the border into Yingxian.

Barker’s dark brows raised.

You think this was a Yujingyu SF team?

Cochrane shrugged nonchalantly.

We’re what, less than fifty miles from their border? A PanO research base within spitting distance of their line? Gotta be them, sir. This jungle is so dense that it’s stopping our sensors from working effectively. That stops their kit from having a proper look at what we’re up to, but it also gives them the cover they need to sneak into our territory to take a quick peek.

Seems a bit presumptuous, Waczek declared. As you yourself said, Sergeant, this site is of interest to everybody. We have no evidence that this was a Yujingyu operation.

But I asked the man for his opinion, Barker cut in assertively, and that’s what he’s giving me. The colonel will want to hear that opinion, too. That’s where I’m off to next.

Barker stood and pulled his blue beret onto his head. The room’s other occupants all stood as one to attention before the company commander held his hand out to stop them.

S’alright. Priya, let’s have a quick chat.

Shankar pulled on her own beret and followed Barker out of the HQ block, leaving Waczek, Hawkins, and Cochrane behind. The first rays of dawn sunshine greeted her as a fiery orange glow illuminated the horizon. Color slowly bled back into the world, with a hundred shades of green and yellow bursting into life from the darkness of the long night. Shankar looked around the encampment, her field of view restricted by the haphazard scatter of container accommodation blocks. Visible not far to the north, a trio of scientists from the MagnaObra company waited by the doors of the smooth, white research building built over the top of the exotic, subterranean alien Cosmolite; the site housing evidence of a long departed alien race. Even from this range, their body language betrayed their fear and anxiety to Shankar. She did not blame them.

Good job here last night, Priya, Barker said, his hands thrust into his pockets as he stared out at the rising sun. This could have gone to shit quite badly.

Shankar folded her arms across her narrow chest and bit her lip. The early morning rays of sun were already warming the air. The sound of trickling water from the stream on the other side of the Platoon HQ block seemed purposefully intended to calm her nerves from the night’s events. The planet of Paradiso did, in so many ways, deserve its name.

Sergeant Cochrane had it under control by the time I was up and running, sir, Shankar admitted. I just crossed the Ts.

Yes, well, he’s a good man.

Shankar winced at the statement. Unfortunately, it was just at the time Barker turned to face her.