"That's it!" he finally yelled, "We're on the final stretch to Meaux."
"How does it look?"
"Like a mess, Jones."
He was studying his scanners, but the readings were still being jammed.
"There's a battle going on there, for sure. You want me to put down?"
"No, you let us out and find somewhere safe to wait."
"Safe? You're kidding, right? But you'll have no way to contact me," he replied, looking across at a map on a screen beside them, "I'll put down here," he indicated at a small opening between trees several kilometres north of the base, "If I have to bug out at any point, I'll be airborne and looking for you."
"Not exactly a well structured plan."
"Was any of this?" Taylor asked.
As they flew in towards the base, they could already see Mechs advancing from the west. They had occupied more than a quarter of the base while skirmishes went on throughout many other areas.
"You'll be jumping into a shitstorm," said Rains.
"What's new?" Taylor replied.
"All right, get us over the main walls and let us out there. We'll go the rest of the way on foot."
"You sure?"
"You don't want to get in this fight. We need you and this bird in one piece."
"Yeah, well I'll try to keep her that way. But it seems every time I take Taylor somewhere, he gets us blown to hell."
Taylor and Jones stepped back towards the others and opened the door as they came in. Wind gushed into the crew compartment as they all got to their feet.
"We stay together throughout, and keep it tight!" Jones gave the order.
Rains lifted the nose and put power down on the landing thrusters to bring them to an abrupt halt so that they could jump together. Jones didn't say a word. He simply took a leap out of the door, and the others soon followed. As Taylor hit the ground, he immediately looked back at the copter. Rains got off safely, quickly soaring away, and hugging the ground at the same height he had dropped them off at.
Then he turned his attention to their surroundings. They had landed amongst a number of shipping crates, and they could hear a lot of shouting around them. They lifted their rifles and raised shields in a circle. They could tell they had incoming and had nowhere to go.
A dozen troops rushed into the grouping of containers but did not fire. One was shouting, "Identify yourselves!" in a thick French accent.
Jones immediately lowered his shield and rifle and stepped out in full view, without any concern, and Taylor felt compelled to do the same. The man who had been screaming at them seemed even more surprised to recognise them than he was by their sudden appearance.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, turning to his troops and ordering their weapons down. Their group relaxed and took relief in finding friendly forces.
"Captain Charlie Jones, and this is Colonel Mitch Taylor, Inter..."
"I know who you are," replied the Sergeant excitedly, "We need all the help we can get. You couldn't have come at a better time."
Jones looked to Taylor. He felt for the troops who looked like they were going through hell. He tried to think of a way of explaining it.
"Where is the rest of your unit?"
"This is it," replied Jones.
The Sergeant turned to Taylor for answers, but Taylor was already giving them before he could open his mouth to ask them.
"France is falling. You must see that. We're here to get one of our own out, and then we're out of here. You should do the same."
The Sergeant was shocked.
"I'm sorry, but we have a mission to accomplish, and we must get on," stated Jones.
With that, he strode forward and in between the Frenchmen, who were left stunned and bewildered. Taylor felt sick to be leaving them to fend for themselves. He didn't recognise a single one of them, but he'd bet good money he'd fought alongside them at one time or another.
"That was cold," he muttered to Jones.
"This is war. We do what we have to do."
Taylor had rarely seen him so determined in all his life, except for after his recovery from the enemy prison camp. His bitter determination had led him to near death then, and it was a warning sign Taylor knew he should take note of, and yet could not find a way to act upon.
Pulses smashed the ground throughout the base, but none came closer than fifty metres to the small group. They could hear the fiercest fighting was still going on to the east.
"You know that's where we gotta go?" asked Taylor.
Jones nodded as they took a turn and headed right for it.
"Then let's hope the hospital hasn't been overrun," he replied.
"Hope? I got room for a whole lotta hope, but it seems to be what we're living off these days, and it can't carry us through."
"Why? Why can't it?" insisted Jones.
They passed a line of wounded who were being patched up ready to go back into action, and several platoons were going the same direction as them. Nobody even noticed their presence or identity, for they looked no different than any other soldier there.
"Vive la France! Vive la France!" a voice called out.
They looked over at an officer doing his utmost to spur the troops on as he led them forward to join the fight. He was portly for a field officer, and old too. Then they realised it was Dupont, fully armoured and equipped and with rifle in hand. It was the most substantial sign of the times.
"Oh, shit, things must be bad," said Taylor.
Jones ignored it and carried on, but Taylor was right. They both knew that when a General was forced to take up arms at the frontline, it was the beginning of the end.
"There it is!" Taylor shouted.
Jones said nothing as he continued onwards in his laconic determined fashion.
We’re almost there! Please be there, please be there, and please be alive! Taylor thought.
It was a straight road leading to the hospital that lay to the northern side of the road. They were just a hundred metres from the door when a building to the south side collapsed, and an enemy tank burst out from the wreckage to block the road. Troops scattered as its turret was brought to bear on them.
"Get down!" Taylor screamed.
The others jumped for cover but not Jones. Before he could take another step, Taylor grabbed him, tossing him into an alleyway for cover and leaping after him. A pulse burst where they had stood seconds before, and two French soldiers who had made a break for cover were vaporised.
Jones was sitting up against a wall, and Taylor leapt on him, grabbing the collar of his armour. He smacked his helmet to get his attention, as he seemed to be in some haze of a dream world.
"We're getting her back, but not like this!" yelled Taylor, "I promise you we'll get her back, but not at the cost of any of our lives! I've seen you like this before, and I don't like it. Don't throw your life away because you're too embittered to think straight!"
Taylor smacked his helmet once more.
"I need your head in the game. I need Captain Jones, the soldier in you, not the single minded headstrong fool who would die through his own pig headedness!"
Jones seemed to take note of the comments and was surprised by the verbal assault that no one had ever levelled at him with such vigour.
"Now, on your feet and follow me!"
Taylor hauled him upwards and immediately jumped the wall, landing on a flat roof. They were looking down on the vast armoured vehicle that was still pounding the street below. They knew they had to move quickly. Taylor ran and jumped onto the next rooftop, and then another, before stopping to see a gaping hole in the second floor of the hospital ahead.
"Ah, shit," he said to himself, and he ran and jumped for the hole, hoping for the best. He tumbled in through the hole and barrelled into a hospital bed that was knocked aside before another finally stopped him. The other five tumbled in just as ungraciously as he had. As they got to their feet, they found themselves surrounded by bodies. The explosion that created their entry point had killed every patient in the room, as well as a doctor and several orderlies.