Castle's Recon
By
UCSBdad
Disclaimer: I've found that I don't own Castle. Rating: K Time: Following Castle's Tanks.
"Ah discovered that yon bridge is a bluidy death trap, Sar'nt Telfer." He replied.
"You fell off the bridge?" The sergeant yelled. "How could even you manage that? There's a six-foot-high chain link fence on either side of the bridge to keep people from falling."
"There's a tear in tha fence. Ah caught tha hem o' ma kilt on a bit o' wire. I could nae get ma kilt loose wi'out tearing the booger. So, Ah took ma kilt off an' tried ta pull it awa. Then Ah thought Ah could pull it better if Ah was on the other side, so Ah climbed oer it. Ah was able ta pull ma kilt through an Ah thought Ah'd pit it ahn. But Ah needed two hands ta pit ma kilt on. Ah fell inna river, Sar'nt Telfer."
"And so, you lost your kilt and your bonnet?" Sergeant Telfer said coldly. "Very well, Sergeant McGaw, take him to Lieutenant MacNeill. He'll put McAuslan on jankers."
McAuslan was led away loudly protesting his innocence. By that time a small group of Highlanders had gathered to see what mischief McAuslan had gotten himself into this time.
Sergeant Saava turned to Sergeant Telfer,
"I don't wish to be critical…"
"Oh, be as critical as you wish about McAuslan. You couldn't come up with any criticism the regiment hasn't already directed at him. He's stupid, lazy, clumsy, illiterate, dirty…" Telfer shook his head. "It's hard to list all the things wrong with McAuslan,"
"But how did such an individual ever get in your regiment?"
"He's sort of like a legacy."
"Mair like a curse." Someone muttered.
"A McAuslan shows up every now and then and somehow gets in the regiment. There have been McAuslans around for centuries. Someone researching old eighteenth century records back on Earth found something that indicated that a McAuslan was responsible for our defeat at Culloden."
"Culloden?" Saava asked. "What colony was that on?"
"Oh, t'was back on Earth in 1745. A McAuslan was supposed to be bringing black powder to the Scottish army about to fight the British. That McAuslan decided to take a wee smoke with his pipe. He set the cart carrying the gunpowder alight and it blew up. McAuslan just got his eyebrows singed, but the whole ammunition train went up in smoke. The Highland army had only enough gunpowder for one volley and then had to charge with nothing but swords, dirks and Lochaber axes. We were routed."
"He was at Mons Graupius, too." Someone said.
"Now that can't be proved." Telfer said, then he continued. "The battle of Mons Graupius was fought in 83 AD in Scotland against the Romans. In those days, the chieftains rode about in chariots, wee carts pulled by horses. They say, and there's no proof of it, that a McAuslan was told by his chieftain to take his horses and water them. When the chieftain' horses smelled McAuslan, they bolted, like sensible animals. The rest of the horses ran as well and right into the Scottish army. The result was pure chaos. Even with the Romans laughing so hard, we could not have defeated a troop of Girl Guides."
There was also some muttering about something called the battle of Dunbar, but Telfer glared at the man, and no one spoke further.
Sergeant Saava had no idea what to say. He was sure that there'd never be anyone like that in Castle's platoon. He nodded.
"I must be off, Sergeant Telfer."
"What's a submarine?" Castle asked.
"A boat that goes under water." Replied the Courland Navy officer.
"Does it come back up?" Sergeant Saava asked, warily.
"Oh yes. It submerges and then surfaces. No problem. This was a research submarine, but they've pulled all of the scientific equipment out of it so there'll be plenty of room for your recon team."
'Are you sure that this will work?" Castle asked.
"No, but it's out best chance." The naval officer replied.
Castle thought the naval officer was right. The Duchy of Brabant had been raiding Courland from the sea for several years now. Their ships weren't really warships, just fast ships of a thousand tons or so, lightly armed, but carrying large, well-armed landing parties. Once Sir Clive Butler-Owens Flying Circus arrived with fighter bombers, they were able to sink five ships with no problems. Then the Brabanters changed tactics. They had been taking citizens of Courland hostage for ransom, but now they used them as human shields. They used social media to let everyone on the planet know that each ship had its contingent of hostages. Sinking the ships had become politically impossible.
There was one exception among the Brabanters. A Captain Reno had been able to berth his three ships in a large natural cave that had been artificially expanded and didn't use hostages. The cave was at a right angle to a long, narrow fjord and had proved impossible for Butler-Owens' fighters to hit. If they came straight down the fjord, their missiles would have to make a very hard right turn to fly into the cave. Attempts at this had repeatedly failed.
Then they had tried to approach the narrow fjord so as to his be able to shoot down into the fjord but then their missiles had to make a ninety degree turn from going pretty much straight down to flying parallel to the sea. Each time they had tried that, the missiles hadn't made the turn properly and impacted the water.
What the Courland Navy now suggested was to load up as many aircraft as possible with one ton guided missiles and try to hit above the cave and cause a landslide that would seal the ships inside the cave. To do that, they needed a team on the ground to use a laser designator to guide the missiles.
Corporal Draan hated being under water. He was from Golden Life Valley on Tark where almost all streams and ponds were shallow enough to wade through. When the rainy season arrived, no one tried to cross the streams as they had become raging torrents, and the ponds were too deep for poor swimmers to risk. He had learned to swim when he'd entered Castle's Scouts but had hated it.
Now he was in a metal cylinder three hundred feet below the surface. He couldn't actually see the water outside, of course, but he knew it was out there, malevolently waiting for something to go wrong and for Draan and his whole team to die.
But I am a Tarkai. He thought. It is better to die than to live as a coward. The water can do no more than kill me. Nothing else. He felt better.
"Corporal Draan?" Said the ship's captain. "We'll be surfacing in ten minutes. Get your team ready."
Although Draan had gone over the whole mission a dozen times before with his team, he quickly went over everything with his team, remembering one of Lieutenant Castle's sayings: Things that are easy in peacetime become difficult in combat; Things that are difficult in peacetime can be impossible in wartime unless you're totally prepared.
He could feel the submarine rising and then he knew it had surfaced because the ship moved back and forth when on the surface.
One at a time, the six male team scrambled out onto the deck of the sub. Attached to the deck were two small boats, each capable of carrying the team. They had carried a spare in case one came loose under water, or if the sub's crew had to come and get Draan's team. The six scouts piled into the boat, and one started the engine. It started with no trouble. They headed for the darkened shore.
Once ashore, they hauled the boat up a very narrow and steep canyon until they came upon a small cave that had been spotted from space by a recon satellite. The boat was camouflaged and left behind. The six scouts began the long trek up the very steep canyon.
A bit before sunrise, Draan stopped his team. This area wasn't patrolled often, but it was patrolled and anyone standing on the cliffs above them might be able to see the Tarkai. The scouts found another small cave, ate, checked their weapons and equipment then camouflaged their hide and went to sleep.
Draan woke them an hour before sunset so they could prepare for the next part of the climb. The canyon was getting less steep, and they moved at a more rapid pace. At the end of the night, they had almost reached the cliffs at the top. Again, Draan stopped his team, and they settled in for the day.
The cliffs at the top were flat and almost completely barren of cover. If anyone was watching, the scouts could be seen from a very long way away. The six scouts used their own superb senses and the human technology they had to check the plateau they were on. They decided that either there was no one there, or whoever was there was very, very good at staying hidden. They began crossing the plateau.
By dawn the next day, they had not only crossed the plateau, but had gone down a short trail that allowed them to see the cave system bolding the enemy ships and to be able to focus their laser designator on the area above the cave entrance.
"We're a day early." Draan told his team. "We did a good job of getting here. Now we just have to wait until tomorrow night when our attack begins."
One scout kept watch for the day. At nightfall, they crawled to where they could best set up their laser designator.
"Recon Team Lion to Central. Recon Team Lion to Central. Over."
"This is Central, Recon Team Lion. Mission Status. Over."
"Central, we are in position. Ready to proceed. Over."
"Recon Team Lion, I copy you are in position and ready to proceed. I am turning you over to the strike leader, Ringmaster Zero One."
"Recon Team Lion this is Ringmaster. Please illuminate target. Over."
Draan looked at the scout who was handling the illuminator. He nodded and Drann heard the low hum that meant the laser was operational.
"Ringmaster, this is Recon Team Lion. We have illuminated. Over"
"Excellent, old boy. Starting the fun now. Out."
The jets were too high for the scouts to hear, but they soon saw the bright lights of the missiles' motors and heard their sound. Draan knew there were sixteen jets in the attack, and each carried four one-ton missiles. He counted the explosions and only counted sixty-one. Three must have somehow malfunctioned. He got on the radio again.
"Ringmaster this is Recon Team Lion. I counted six one, repeat six one, explosions. Over."
"These things happen, old boy, but can you see how the ones that hit did? Over?"
Draan had to wait for the smoke and dust to clear. What he saw was disappointing.
"Ringmaster, this is Recon Team Lion. No joy. The missiles did not, repeat, did not bring down the fjord wall covering the cave mouth. Over."
"They didn't? Well, damn. Back to the old drawing board, old boy. Out."
"Old boy?" Asked one of the Riflemen.
Draan shrugged.
"Human can be…unusual."
They decided that the only way to take Brabant out of the war was the old-fashioned way. The hard way. A force made up of armor and airmobile infantry invaded Brabant and fought their way to the capitol. The government of Brabant surrendered. However, not all of the ship captains did. They took their ships to sea, still with Courland hostages aboard. However, they found that there were very few ports open to them where they could replenish food, fuel and other supplies. Those that were available charged extremely high prices for their goods and services. Eventually, all of the ships surrendered, and the hostages freed.
Shortly after the end of the Brabant campaign, Schram called Castle to his headquarters.
"Ah, Captain Castle. Just the man I need."
TBC