Dragon Two-Zero (Fury's Fire Book 1)

by William McCaskey

  Harlequin matched Reaver's stony gaze and grinned, even the seriousness of the situation unable to dim the ever-present gleam from the green eyes of the junior Recon Marine. “So, if you miss, I'm getting hammered, and you're going broke. Got it." Harlequin locked his gloves to the bare metal of the cabin interior before swinging his helmet out from under his arm and slapping it down over his head. Deftly, his fingers found the locks and latched them shut. Retrieving his gloves and working them onto his hands, Harlequin took a series of deep breaths to cycle on the oxygen generators within his helmet. The okay gesture thrown to Reaver told the squad leader what he needed to know.

  With Harlequin squared away, Reaver settled his helmet and gloves into place, locking them and then double-checking each seal, including those at his boots. Finding everything secure, Reaver stood and stepped over to double-check Harlequin's suit, who repeated the checks for Reaver's. A second ‘okay’ from Harlequin and the return gesture from Reaver told each Marine that they were both ready. The crackle of the radio coming to life in Reaver’s right ear and Bull's voice following it turned Reaver's attention to the third member of the Recon team.

  "Suited, strapped, and ready to go. Let's do something crazy." The additional strength afforded by the Skeleton would allow Bull to drag in any injured personnel from the damaged aircraft while the pilots and crew focused on the other Hawk.

  Reaver shifted his jaw, causing it to pop, the motion activating the mic at his throat and allowing him to transmit across the internal communications net of the Hawk. “Angel, Feathers are ready to fly."

  The voice of the lead pilot came back almost instantaneously. “Copy, Feathers ready. ETA to recovery site: 3 Mikes. We may not be hauling the other bird back; fuel may be an issue. We'll try to get a sit-rep on our sister ship before we send you guys over."

  "Roger," Reaver clicked off the internal channel after hearing two double-clicks come through the radio. Harlequin and Bull had heard the pilot's message, and now there was nothing to do but wait for their turn to get in on the action.

  Distance was tricky in space. With no atmosphere to distort vision, and the magnification provided by the manufacturing techniques that went into the canopy screen, distance between objects was easy to misjudge. So, when Angel came to a complete hover, Reaver blinked and reminded himself of the distance rule. Though the Marines and crew could see the other Hawk out of the windows on the left side without any trouble, when the door opened, the crippled ship would be much farther away. He also recognized the apparent stillness of the Hawk he was on was also an illusion; the pilots were maintaining a constant position by activating hover jets, omnidirectional cones of highly compressed air maintaining the Hawk's position in space. The pilot's voice came through the cabin; for ease he had bypassed the internal communications switch and activated the microphones and speakers for the personnel in the Hawk; it would make communication easier in the midst of the rescue operations and the deadening silence of space. "We're as locked in place as we're going to get. No answer from Raider Two-One. Distance is eight hundred meters."

  Reaver did some quick planning in his head; with no answer from the damaged aircraft they couldn't count on any help from the other crew. That meant any number of dangers waiting for him and Harlequin. The call to go was, at last check, his to make. He knew no one would question his call regardless of what it was, but every Marine expected their brothers to come for them and he wouldn't break that promise now. "Roger. Feathers will fly."

  Reaver motioned to the two crewmembers; the larger one stood next to the controls for the clamshell door, while the other placed herself between two pairs of cables behind where Reaver and Harlequin stood in front of the door. One cable for each Marine to tether them to the Hawk, the other two for them to carry and attach to the damaged ship. Behind Reaver and Harlequin, Bull centered himself in what would be the door opening and locked his boots to the floor of the cabin. Everyone within the cabin had suits sealed and ready for the outrush of the vacuum.

  The crewmember with the cables attached the sets to Reaver and Harlequin, giving each Marine a slap on the helmet once they were secure. Harlequin moved in front of Reaver and squatted down, taking a firm grip on the handholds inside the lower door. Reaver stepped behind Harlequin; reaching up, he slipped his hands into the handholds in the upper door and felt the maglocks there take hold of his gloves and secure him even tighter. The crewmember at the door controls twisted his feet to ensure the maglocks were secure before speaking loud enough to fill the cabin. “Feathers are hanging. Left side cabin doors cleared to open."

  The strip of lights above the door began flashing red. Earlier, for the drop operation, this would have been the signal the drop zone was approaching and for the crew to cycle the doors open in preparation for the Marines or Soldiers on board to stand in the door. A green light would be their signal to go out the door and into the hell storm awaiting them on the ground. Red and green to protect the night vision of unaided eyes, as well as the optics of the devices carried by crewmembers and exiting troops.

  For the rescue operation, the signal indicated the pilots had heard the crew's announcement and were ready to begin; a green light would be the signal to cycle the doors open with the two Marines hanging from them. The red lights flickered so quickly they became almost solid before shifting abruptly to hunter green. With the change, the crewmember slapped his open palm against the door cycle switch and leaned back against the coming vent.

  A soft hiss of the broken seal signaled the first escape of atmosphere from the cabin. The full vent manifested as a loud popping noise when the two halves of the door swung open.

  Reaver’s body was pushed violently against the opening door by the escaping false gravity. A prayer was already forming on his lips as Reaver was pulled out the door and before he caught on the maglocks. Reaver glanced across the span of the doorway to where Harlequin hung from what had been the lower door; the maglocks held for everyone and Reaver let out the breath he had been holding. It sounded loud in his ears, and he took a second to marvel at the absolute silence. The positioning from the door and the view toward the damaged Hawk reminded Reaver of a line from a book he had read as a child, and he muttered quietly. “The enemy’s gate is down.”

  When Harlequin's helmeted gaze turned to look at him, Reaver unlocked one hand and pointed past his feet where the floundering Hawk hung in space beyond. A nod and a rictus grin from the other Marine were all the confirmation Reaver needed. Keeping his voice calm, Reaver spoke into his helmet. “Feathers set to fly." He twisted his hands to ensure the maglocks were released from the hold. Now it was only his grip keeping him to the side of the Hawk, Reaver drew his legs up until his toes touched the door near his hands, his body folded in a "V" shape.

  Harlequin matched the movement of his team leader, checking his grip and chuckling out loud. “Get some!" With his exclamation, Harlequin snapped his legs straight out from his body and perfectly perpendicular to the door he held onto. At the same moment, he shoved away from the door with his hands. The jackknife motion of his legs increased the power of his push and sent him hurtling through the void between the two ships.

  Reaver was a split second behind Harlequin in his launch from the Hawk, keeping his arms locked over his head and his body rigid to ensure his flight was as straight as possible. A minor slip in any direction could mean completely missing his target, and there were more lives at stake than just his own. A long blink of his eyes activated the heads-up display on his helmet visor. Four icons dominated the HUD, the two largest being Angel and the Hawk they had come to recover. Two rapidly moving and smaller images represented his and Harlequin's locations relative to the two aircraft in the space between them. Above his right eye, the distance counted down. At a hundred meters the chute-jets in his boots would fire, slowing his speed to allow him to land safely; if they failed to activate on their own, he had a reserve trigger in his gloves. Another quick blink showed the projected trajectory of his and Harl
equin's flights through the void. Reaver cursed under his breath at what he saw. “Bull, prep for a drag. Harlequin's going to slip the Hawk."

  "Let me work, Reaver. Fuck." Harlequin's angry retort cut over the radio before Reaver could finish. "Bull, I'll tell you if I need a haul."

  Bull's voice answered, steady and calm. “It's Reaver's call, Quinn. He says 'Pull,' and I'm hauling your skinny ass back."

  "You haul me in, and I'm shoving your fat ass out. I got this." Harlequin shot back, the stress showing in the short fuses on everyone.

  Reaver cut through, his voice sharp. “Lock it, both of you. Quinn, if you say you got this, then you better prove me wrong. Bull, two hundred meters. Stand by." Reaver watched the distance tick down and at exactly one hundred meters felt the vibrations in his legs as the chute-jets fired. A quick burn designed to slow the descent of an air-dropped object, be it personnel or supplies; in the void of space it worked but at reduced functionality. Reaver bent his knees and readied to take the impact on the balls of his feet and let his body drop to the outer shell of the Hawk to absorb the shock. Even braced, the force of landing still jarred his teeth as he struck feet first and collapsed his body, slapping his hands to the Hawk's skin and twisting to achieve a maglock on the smooth metal surface.

  Turning in place to search for Harlequin, Reaver watched as his fellow Recon came arcing up from the underside of the aircraft to touch down with a bent-kneed, two-foot landing on the Hawk's shell. Without missing a beat, Harlequin used the magnets in his boots to walk back the course he had flown, and Reaver realized why. Harlequin had slipped over the top of the Hawk and used an emergency burn of his chute-jets to drastically change his direction of flight, the tethers causing him to arc around the body of the aircraft. Reaver had to give credit where it was due; Harlequin had changed a shitty situation and made it look good. Luck was good; skill was better. Combine the two, and you had the perfect mixture for something extraordinary. If nothing else, snipers knew how to aim and adjust trajectory.

  Harlequin came walking back along the outside of the Hawk as Reaver was attaching the spare cable to the hoist point ahead of the right-side clamshell door. Quinn rushed to attach his cable to the connector further down the body of the aircraft. The wide spread of the cables would allow for an easier drag, if they were able to, while the cable nearest the door would be used to transport crew and passengers from the damaged Hawk.

  Once their cables were firmly connected, both Marines gave sharp jerks to the lines, signaling the crew to tighten the slack between the two aircraft. Reaver shifted his stance so he could keep his gloves and boots in contact with the aircraft's body and began to work his way toward the nose. Nearing the right-side pilot canopy's door, he slowed and pressed his right glove against the door. Sensors were built into the weave and fabric of the vacsuits; sensors used for finding weak points in enemy ships were just as useful in rescue operations. Through the sensors, Reaver could read the diagnostics of the pilots: one was flat-lined, and the other was unconscious and in hibernation, which meant the survival pod had activated and locked over him. Recovery of the pilots was going to be a cake-walk; send the pod back along the cable for transport to the Fury’s Fire and activate the incomplete pod for the other pilot. Reaver buried his emotions and focused on the task at hand. It wasn't going to be the first bag he'd filled, and he knew it wasn't going to be his last. He'd drink for the fallen later. "Harlequin, I've got the pilots. How's the cabin look?" He wasn't going to broadcast the pilots' status across an open net; no point in rattling his ride.

  "Cabin is spiking. I've got five pods total, but the left side crew station is giving me a weird reading. Probably damaged. Bull, send me a Cube, left cable. I'll wait to breach until Reaver's got the pilots hooked on the right cable." To know that much, Reaver knew that Quinn had plugged in just as he had. Quinn’s voice had a tremble to it. The kid was shaken but doing his best to bury it and do his job. Reaver was impressed.

  Reaver opened the pilot's canopy and attached the first survival pod to the rescue cable. Activating the winch on the pod to haul it from the cockpit, Reaver shifted out of the way and then climbed into the vacated space to begin recovering the other pilot. The grisly mess of his chest and locked grip on the flight controls told Reaver what had happened. A hot pick-up of the Marines in the back had left the Warrant just as wounded as his bird. He must have held on through the burn and triggered the Mayday. That the other pilot was in hibernation inside his pod told Reaver that both had been wounded, and this one had made sure his buddy got home. Pausing to pass his fingers over the face of the deceased Warrant in the sign of the Cross, Reaver breathed a quiet benediction for the angels to carry a new guardian to Heaven before gently prying cold fingers from the flight controls and triggering the survival pod to enclose the pilot and protect his body from further damage. As the gel of the capsule swiftly encased the pilot and hardened, Reaver prepared the tether and worked his way out of the cockpit.

  Attaching the tether to the cable and starting the winch that would pull the pod into position, Reaver steadied and connected a second tether from the first pod to the rescue cable. Repeating the process with the second pod, then joining the two via magnets, Reaver attached a guide hook to the first pod. These would be connected to the hooks on the pods and hauled back to Angel. With the pilots secured, Reaver pulled himself, hand over hand, from the front of the damaged Hawk and braced himself on the opposite side of the door from Harlequin.

  While Reaver had been busy with the pilots, the Cube had arrived, and Harlequin had pulled the ends of the drag cords from the Cube and maglocked them to the side of the Hawk. With so many pods, they were going to have to use both lines to get everyone back to the rescue bird. The first issue was going to be the damaged pod, and that's why he needed Reaver. One of them would breach the door and get it open as fast as possible while the other would shove the Cube in and get it around the damaged pod. The chances of this plan working were incredibly slim; the times it had failed far outnumbered the times that it succeeded, but they had to try.

  Once Reaver was in position beside the door, Harlequin shifted and handed him the tether to the Cube. Reaver drew the Cube to him and locked it between his body and the side of the Hawk, bracing the right side of his body tightly to the aircraft by using the magnets in his glove and boot. He judged the distance between himself, the edge of the Cube, and the door to the cabin. If any part of the Cube was caught in the vent, it and he could be rocketed from the ship. Not a ride he wanted to take.

  Reaver gave Harlequin a thumbs-up to show he was ready, and Harlequin drew a detonator strip from one of his thigh pouches. Carefully, he laid the det-strip against the seam between the two halves of the door. Pressing his thumb against the far end of the strip and dragging it toward his body while pushing tightly against the strip activated the explosive’s ten-second fuse. With three seconds to go, Harlequin and Reaver turned their faces away from the explosion; one second to go, they locked themselves as tight to the side of the Hawk as they could. The vibrations rippling through the hull were the only sign they had of the explosion going off; the vacuum stole away the flash and boom that accompanied atmospheric detonation. The initial hole created by the explosion was minor but was then violently expanded by the venting cabin atmosphere into a size that would fit the incoming Marines.

  Reaver counted three seconds to give the vent time to clear and allow him easier access with the Cube, before whipping the Cube from between his body and the aircraft and slamming it through the makeshift entrance and into the Hawk’s cabin. Careful not to catch his suit on the jagged edges of the hole Harlequin's explosion had made, Reaver pulled himself into the Hawk's cabin and toward the far crew station.

  As he moved through the cabin, Reaver snagged the strap of the Cube and hauled it behind him, passing by the pods of what could only be the recovered Recon Marines that had been the Hawk's original mission. The only team left on planet after Dragon Two-Zero had been extracted. Harl
equin would start the preparations for them to be transferred to their bird; Reaver's focus was on the damaged pod Harlequin had read in the sensors, and, as he neared, Reaver knew the Cube's life support capabilities wouldn't be needed.

  The pod wasn't damaged. It had malfunctioned and failed to encase the crewmember in its protective shell; the malfunction was caused by the massive amount of trauma inflicted on the crewman’s body. The wound pattern matched what the Marines and soldiers who had faced them were calling a 'wasp round.' An oversized slug most often fired from a shotgun or heavy barreled sniper rifle, the round would shatter into hundreds of razor-sharp flechettes just moments before impacting its target. The pattern matched everything except for size. This spread was much wider than the Marines had seen from the traditional rounds; only a grenade burst could explain the amount of damage. Reaver would be surprised if the other pods in the cabin held no other wounded.

  As gently as possible, Reaver moved the corpse of the crewman into the Cube; the ease with which the body parts moved in zero gravity was not lost on the veteran Marine. Hardside, he would have been noticing the weight, and his hands and lower arms would be slick with blood. In the Vac, blood and flesh froze, leaving his gloved hands hauntingly clean. While some would have placed the pieces atop one another for ease of movement and quickness, Reaver laid the crewman's body out as naturally as he could. Sealing the Cube shut, Reaver guided it back toward the hole in the cabin doors.

  Harlequin was waiting on the outside hull of the Hawk, having winched out the remaining survival pods and readied them for the drag back to the rescue aircraft. Harlequin reached through the entry hole and attached the last drag cable to the end of the Cube. Then, as the Cube emerged, the two guide tethers were hooked on to hold the Cube to the cable behind the survival pods of the two pilots.