Dragon Two-Zero
Fury’s Fire - Book One
William McCaskey
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Falstaff Books
About the Author
Falstaff Books Patrons
Dedicated in Loving Memory To SGT. Lance O. Eakes. My brother from another mother and the inspiration for Harlequin. I’ll see you at the rally point.
“There are no atheists in foxholes.” – Rev. William T. Cummings
Chapter One
Reaver watched the go-lights flash red, his body tense as he waited for them to flip green. Twice already this night he had watched his brothers and sisters-in-arms step into the darkness at the signal of the tiny green light that would send his squad into harm’s way.
The Hawk banked sharply to the right, and he tightened his grip on the bar next to the open door to hold himself in place, though the barrel of his Recon Assault Weapon smacked painfully against his left thigh. He'd have a welt there when they got back to the ship, and he hoped that was the worst he and his team would suffer on this little walk. The Hawk crewmember opposite him on the other side of the door swayed with the motion of the aircraft, gripping a hold similar to Reaver's, while from behind him Reaver heard a muffled curse. Had to be Harlequin. The kid was on his first mission with Recon, and while school taught a great deal, some things you had to learn the hard way. Never let go of a handhold during atmospheric flight was one of them. Reaver didn't need to look back to check on Quinn; he knew that Bull would square the kid away. Bull had been Reaver's second on his first Team and was now the assistant squad leader when the entire squad went to war.
The crewmember across from him held up three fingers for Reaver to see. Reaver responded with a thumbs-up before sliding his left hand down to his rifle and flicking the push-to-talk switch for the sub-vocal mics sewn into the high collar of his combat shirt. His words carried to the earbuds worn by his teammates and matching those he wore himself, "Thirty seconds to drop. Quick out the door to cut the spread." The last words were for Harlequin's sake. Reaver voiced a silent prayer of thanks that they were dropping into a cold zone and no one would be shooting at them yet. He still expected Quinn to stall in the door like every cherry before him, and Bull to shove Harlequin out of the Hawk to ensure the ship’s speed didn't scatter them too far during the drop.
Before anyone had acknowledged Reaver’s words, Bull’s voice came across the net. “Comms only, kid. I don’t care if you’re in my pocket, you use the net. A whisper carries further than the sub-vocal will. Good to hook, Boss.” The final words were for Reaver, letting him know he had Harlequin squared away.
“Trackin’.” Quinn’s voice was shaky, but he sounded ready. Adrenaline and nerves would do that to a person.
The red light flashed faster. Reaver stepped forward to stand in the door. His right hand gripped the door’s edges, while his left hand held his RAW across his chest with the assistance of its sling. As he stepped into the doorway, the wind tore at his helmet, doing its best to pull the vital equipment from his head. The straps under his chin bit into his skin and held the pot in place. The rushing chill raised goosebumps under his sleeves, and his nose filled with the scent of coming rain.
Angled covers prevented the go-lights from being spotted by anyone outside the aircraft. These, combined with his position in the door, meant Reaver couldn't see the lights anymore. He would have to rely on the Hawk's crewmember to let him know when to let go. Reaver rolled his eyes and blinked. The sensors around the edges of his helmet picked up the movement and activated the visor slide, lowering the helmet's night-shades and turning the darkness outside the Hawk to bright as day. Now he could see the treetops rushing by beneath the Hawk. He whispered a quick prayer, the same he always whispered before a drop, that his equipment either work as intended or fail spectacularly and kill him on impact.
Reaver flexed his feet inside his boots, the frame of the slam-jets adding stiffness to the normally supple material that still felt alien. Even after so many years of drops, he didn’t think he’d ever get used to their added weight. They had been aboard the Fury’s Fire, attaching the jets, when Harlequin had asked why they were called 'slam-jets.' Bull had answered him.
"Keep you from slamming into the ground, kid." Bull's typical style; the Sergeant would warm up to the kid once he'd shown he wasn't going to get himself or anyone else in the squad killed.
Reaver remembered his own time at Recon school and knew that the Recon Instructors expected the kids to learn the book at school, then learn real-world with their units. Reaver had walked Quinn through the jets. “On their base setting, the jets will sense your fall and after about four seconds, fire once to arrest your descent. Then they’ll rapid fire to slow your descent the whole way to the ground. If the first shot doesn’t go, hit the emergency burn. That’ll activate the jets. Don’t fuck with anything on your first drop, you can alter the settings mid-drop but you’re more likely to cut your jets completely, so leave ‘em alone. Watch for branches and don’t get hung up on anything. You hang yourself, you get yourself down. Understood?”
“Yes, Staff Sergeant,” Quinn acknowledged and returned to strapping his boots into the frames. Reaver could see the kid taking care not to twist any sensors or make any adjustments other than tightening straps.
A dull impact in the middle of his shoulder blades and the heavy bass of Bull's voice through his earbuds brought Reaver’s thoughts hurtling back to the present. “Green, green, green!" Reaver released the door’s edges and into the night air. Gravity quickly arrested his forward momentum from the speeding Hawk and pulled him toward the forest below.
The wind whipped at his body, threatening to tumble him, so Reaver tucked his chin down and crossed his arms over his chest, aiming his feet at the ground. His internal clock had started as soon as he had stepped from the bird, and as it hit four, the slam-jets attached to his boots switched on, slowing his descent.
Reaver hung for a half-second from the initial blast of the jets a meter above the canopy, displaced leaves flashing up past him. The vibrations from the jets sent ripples up his legs like the tingling of awakening nerves, and Reaver entered a controlled fall. As he broke through the canopy, Reaver looked down to watch the approaching forest floor, instinctively shifting left or right to avoid branches. Four meters above the ground he cut the jets and hoped for no large rocks or roots in his landing area. Gravity grabbed hold of him and pulled him down rapidly. His boots made contact first, and his training took over; Reaver let his body crumple to his right side to protect the muzzle of his rifle. A sharp pain flashed through his right thigh, pulling a grunted curse from him as he rolled over a rock jutting up from the soil, followed soon by the side of his ass and then his rucksack to protect his back. Rolling to a kneeling position, Reaver probed at his thigh with his right hand to gauge how bad he’d banged himself up, and let his gaze scan the surrounding tree line. He clenched his teeth to hold in the hiss of pain threatening to escape as his fingers pressed against the rising bruise; at least nothing felt broken. Rising to his feet, Reaver slowly shifted his full weight onto his right leg to test it. The pain throbbed deep in the muscle of his thigh, just a br
uise and he had done more in a worse state. With the knowledge he was still mission capable now fixed in his mind, Reaver stepped away from the small clearing and deeper into the surrounding forest.
Reaver caught the scent of recent rain from the trees around him, and the cool night air against his face reminded him of early spring on Earth. Cold droplets of water, shaken loose by his passage, slipped beneath his collar and ran down his back. Reaver didn't stop moving until he had put a good hundred meters between himself and his landing spot. Kneeling, he faced toward his landing zone, shifting his grip on his rifle to ensure he would have it ready to raise if needed.
The utility circuitry woven throughout his uniform soon offset the cold of the damp ground soaking into the knee pad of his right pants leg. As the system came to life, it shifted the shadows and shading of his uniform's camouflage to more closely match the foliage around him. Reaver allowed himself a split-second to mouth a thank you to whoever had designed the circuitry. A pleasant side-effect of the weaving was that it kept the wearer dry and warm without giving off an infrared signature.
Reaver blinked his left eye twice as he looked at the upper left corner of his helmet’s night-shades to bring up the proximity map of the surrounding area. Two dots were nearing his position, and he knew Harlequin and Bull had made it down safely and were moving toward him. Every Marine's uniform carried a passive transmitter that could only be picked up by receivers in their fellow Marines' uniforms. Ambushes and fatalities would be reduced if the map displays integrated a way to pick up enemy movements and Reaver quietly lamented the lack. Bard had mentioned ideas on ways to do just that; Reaver wondered if the tech whiz had made any progress.
The loud crack of a twig caused Reaver to snap his rifle to his shoulder as he turned toward the sound and dropped lower to present a smaller target. The noise had come from the direction of his teammates, but confirmation instead of assumption meant going home alive. His right forefinger remained out of the trigger guard of his rifle, extended and parallel to the trigger, ready to dart in and fire if needed. He scanned the forest, his breathing controlled and steady, until his earbud crackled to life and Bull's voice came into his ear. “Boss, I'm gonna stand up, and I swear to God if I get shot I'm stomping a new mud-hole in Quinn's ass." The channel cut off and Bull rose slowly to his feet from behind a thick cluster of scrub brushes, and Reaver lowered his rifle.
Reaver opened his mouth in a silent laugh as Bull hauled Harlequin to his feet from where it appeared the Recon Sergeant had thrown the Corporal to the forest floor. Both Marines had also lowered their night-shades, the visors covering a full two-thirds of their faces. Reaver couldn't clearly see the look on Quinn's face, but the way he was brushing himself off showed that he knew he had screwed up. Bull hefted his Ogre, a heavy assault cannon, from the forest floor and moved toward his squad leader. He clapped a large hand on Reaver's left shoulder, his quiet voice over the net completely out of match to his large frame. “Remind me to never piss you off, Boss. Thought you were gonna drop me for letting the rookie make a mistake like that."
Reaver let his shoulders shake with a silent chuckle, his voice as low as Bull's. “If I shot you, who would I shark at cards?" Reaver and Bull had been comrades long enough that his words wouldn't sting the large Marine, they would just galvanize him into trying to win his money back sooner.
Harlequin had moved over to join his teammates, after double-checking the barrel and action of his rail-rifle to ensure the precision weapon hadn't taken damage from his earlier tumble. Bull motioned for Quinn to take a position at Reaver's left side and facing away from the Staff Sergeant, while Bull mirrored the position on Reaver's slower side. Bull would have security taken care of so he could focus on orienting the team on their objective. Reaver flicked his eyes from left to right, the motion causing a tactical map to overlay within his night-shades. A display appeared in the lower right corner of his shades, giving him the distance and direction to his team's objective. A double-blink while looking at the numbers had them synced in with the displays in Bull and Harlequin's visors.
Reaver triggered the mic button on his rifle and let his words carry over the communications net, quieter than speaking, loud enough to be heard by ear. "Alright kid, we're on the ground. Mission from here?" This was purely for Harlequin’s benefit. Bull would have already pulled up the map and seen the distance and direction sync up when he had sent it; Reaver wanted to get the rookie locked in and squared away on how to track his HUD.
Quinn triggered his mic, then paused, as if gathering his thoughts. Bull's voice cut through, using the command override. “Push to talk, kid. Not push to think." The reprimand in Bull's voice was gentle, but his message was clear: get in the game. The comms-net went quiet.
Reaver's earbud crackled back to life and Harlequin's voice came through, a bit shaky but the cherry's confidence was growing. “Take out a PSPU weapons factory. Weapons from the factory have been sold on the black market and supplied to pirate tribes throughout this sector. Dragon Two-Bravo will plant explosives on the north side of the city, keyed to the detonator pad carried by Bull. Dragon Two-Alpha," Quinn paused for a moment, and Reaver felt the embarrassment the kid had to be going through for referring to the team he was on in the third person; he had done it himself when he was still cherry. "We'll make our way to objective Nest and dig in to observe. Final firing order will come from Dragon Two-Zero."
Reaver smiled to himself; the kid had potential. "Not bad, Marine. Almost verbatim from the briefing. Now, distance and direction to Nest?" Here was the test: had Quinn noticed the sync?
"Nine klicks at three hundred and nineteen degrees," Quinn's voice answered.
Reaver nodded, though he was sure neither Quinn nor Bull could see it. “Fury’s Fire has to maintain orbit with the planet to stay dark, so shot won't be available for another thirty-two hours. Light comes up in eight. Let's be tucked in at Nest in six. Quinn, you're on point. I'll take pace. Bull, trail. We'll prep the ghillie suits once we're near the hiding spot."
The three teammates rose to their feet, almost as one, and moved to the positions that Reaver had laid out. Reaver watched as Harlequin checked his bearings, turning in place until his body lined up with the compass built into the uniform's system. As Harlequin took his first steps walking point for a Recon combat mission, Reaver hoped for the kid's sake that this would turn out to be just a simple walk in the woods.
Chapter Two
The rain let loose soon after Harlequin led them away from the first rally point; in the near four hours since, it hadn't gained any strength but neither had it lessened. The canopy overhead served to keep a fair amount of the rain from the forest floor, but it couldn't stop everything. And regardless of Reaver's system doing its best to keep him dry, his uniform still clung to him as though he’d just climbed out of a pool after being tossed in fully clothed.
Bull, on point after having replaced Harlequin for the second time about an hour ago, held up his fist to signal a halt. Reaver ducked low and slid into cover behind the rain-slicked trunk of what appeared to be an oak tree. Bard would have been able to rattle off the plants and animals native to this part of the planet; information like that wasn't mission critical this time, so Reaver hadn't done any digging into it. Reaver checked his pace count, verifying the count in his head with the distance covered shown in his visor, knowing that Bull would be doing the same ahead of him and Harlequin would be covering their rear. Just under eight kilometers traveled, with full gear, and Quinn was holding his own. Good, the hard part was coming up. Reaver's earbud crackled to life, and Bull's voice came through. “Boss, forest thins about seventy meters or so ahead of us, cliff face looks like it's exactly where the scans said it would be." Reaver smiled; it was still a point of pride that he could hit a distance by pace count to within ten meters. The instructors on the Island had beat it into their trainees' heads that tech fails at the worst time; know the old-fashioned way, and a tech fail wouldn't mean you fail.
&n
bsp; "We get to the edge and check the danger area. Renks like to keep their populace near the factory city, doesn't mean someone ain't out wandering." Releasing the talk switch, Reaver waited for the double-clicks from Bull and Harlequin. Once he had two sets, he caught Bull's attention when the sergeant turned to look back at him and gave him the signal to 'move-out.' Normally, Reaver would have rotated the point position and had Harlequin take the lead, but coming to a danger area, he wanted Bull's eyes on it first.
Bull's estimate had been right; as they neared the forest's edge Reaver noticed the canopy thinning out significantly. He could also hear the gurgling rush of water over stones. Bull called another halt near the edge of the forest, and Reaver waited within a stand of trees for Bull to check the area. Only after Bull sent a simple. “Clear," over the radio did Reaver work his way forward to where Bull crouched behind a cluster of trees.
As Reaver neared his position, Bull pointed across the stream, running high and fast from the rain, to the cliff face thrusting above the water. "Point we want is just under eight hundred meters, so that should be close to about five hundred?" Bull commented over the comms-net.
Reaver nodded before responding. “Something like that. You and Quinn get the slings rigged, I'll glove up and carry the cables. Keep your heads down on this side of the stream, no cover at the base." Reaver led Bull away from the stream and back toward where Harlequin had set himself up on rear security.
Dragon Two-Zero (Fury's Fire Book 1) Page 1
