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

by William McCaskey

  "The Renks were using transport ships for suicide runs. They sent them plowing toward the fleet, packed full of civilians from here and probably a dozen other planets. Packed in with the civs were warheads, and the transports became flying wasp grenades. Captain Jarrus ordered Task Force Fury to fire on the ships; Task Force Eagle followed suit. Captain of the Heaven's Hammer refused to fire on civilians and ordered his task force to stow their guns; he dove from the line, and two of his destroyers followed him. Hammer and her sister ships were the first to be lost; they went down with all hands, minus those Marines and pilots they had launched. Task Force Eagle took a beating, and Fury managed to get out of the initial barrage without a scratch. Admiral Kurosawa got a wild hair up his ass and ordered the fleet on the offensive. Cruisers hung back to maintain overwatch on their landing zones, good for us ‘cause at least the Fury prepped Mjolnir for remote firing. So, while the capitals and pickets were unleashing on the Renk fleet, a flight of Eagles slipped under the belly of the fleet and took shots at a couple capitals with their torpedoes. Whatever they were using worked. Scuttlebutt says they sank a transport and burned a command ship. Then they went racing balls to the wall back to the fleet; crazy sons of bitches made it in and out without losing a fighter. Most are saying they had launched from Heaven's Hammer, so they had to ask for somewhere else to land. They ended up getting called to the Edinburgh and met Admiral Yakosawa personally. Last I heard the W-five who led the flight is receiving the Order of the Flying Cross."

  Harlequin cut in. “How do you like that shit? Warrants pull crazy pilot shit that could have burned them; it works, and they get awards. Meanwhile, Jarheads take out an entire artillery battery, destroy an enemy command post clearing the way for the engineers to come in and repurpose it, and not to mention take an officer prisoner. What do we get? Four days on our asses and another mission."

  Alice looked at the other sniper and scoffed. “Probably ‘cause that officer we brought back ended up being nothing more than a lieutenant; that's why they're punishing us."

  Everyone laughed at Alice's comment, and Reaver let it go; soldiers weren't happy unless they were bitching, and Marines were no different. “Alright, the best estimate we have puts the lieutenant and the unit holding him in the northeast sector of the city. Army and Marines in the AO have been taking small arms and indirect fire, and that's where they found the RTO's head the first day. Bull will be leading Bravo team with Alice and Space. Titan, you're in Alpha with myself and Harlequin. We're going slick. Vests, weapons, water, bars, and ammo. They bring the bikes down on any of the supply runs?"

  Titan responded. “Yeah, they're inspected, fueled and set to go. We got them stored in a soft-side, ‘bout a five-minute walk from here."

  Reaver nodded as he used a stylus to write in notes on the map around the operation area. “Good. Everybody get strapped and look over the table while I get changed. We step for the bikes as soon as Alice gets back from the Doc. Alice, if a Doc gives you any shit, find a new one and send the dumb one to the PL, let the Lieutenant deal with the stupid. Wipe everything before we leave."

  Reaver moved away from the table and toward the cot where his gearbox rested; the gear he had been wearing and carrying when they had been picked up was laid out neatly next to the box. The eerie openness of the tent with three of his Marines not in attendance made his hair stand on end; he knew that Wolf would be back, but Bard and Scarface’s cots lay empty and would continue that way until replacements could be sent up to fill the holes in Dragon Two.

  The locks flicked open as his fingers brushed across them, the biometric scanners recognizing his fingerprints immediately. Inside, fresh combat uniforms sat beside boots, along with a spare shave kit and utility uniforms for wear around the base area. Pulling out a set of the combat uniforms and dropping them on the bed, Reaver bent down and undid the straps of his boots. Kicking them off, he then stripped off the utilities he was wearing; skivvies followed trousers, leaving him naked as the day he was born. Trousers, boots, and then shirt, the same pattern of dressing he had been using since Basic Training. You could fight bare-chested; try fighting without a good pair of boots on your feet, and your life sucks. This time, before tightening his right boot, Reaver slid a survival knife into the sheath built into the design of the boot.

  Reaver reached back into his gearbox. Held in a pouch on the right side were the dragon scales armor plates that could be slid into pockets integrated into the material of the combat shirt. Scales would work in direct conjunction with the dragon silk of the combat shirt and serve as protection against heavier caliber weapons. The additional weight they brought was minimal, but to Recon and units like them every pound mattered; so, scales were often neglected in exchange for more ammunition or water. His Marines were heading into a firefight outnumbered; Reaver was going to make the scales mandatory.

  Finally, he shrugged a brand-new combat vest over his shoulders, and his arms slid through the waiting holes. Reaver needed to roll out the residual stiffness in his shoulders before snapping the two graphsteel clamps to secure the vest closed; both were situated on the center line of the chest with the first in the approximate middle of the pectoral muscles while the second rested just about halfway between the bottom of the sternum and the belly button. The vest was attached to the Bat-belt which closed in the front with a sliding magnetic clasp. Reaver checked the climbing seat straps extending from the back of the belt and passing forward between the legs for tears. His thigh holster hung heavy on his right side, and he checked his sidearm before returning it to its waiting sheath and strapped the holster securely to his thigh. Opening the spare gear bag on his left side, Reaver ran a quick inventory of the contents within before resealing it and strapping it to his left thigh.

  With one last pat down of his gear to double-check everything was where it should be, Reaver gave a tug to the K-bar hanging at his shoulder. He quickly opened pouches, ensuring that the armorer had replaced his used magazines in each. Reaver snapped the clamps from his rifle to the matching pair hanging from his vest, an easy way to keep the rifle at the low ready while freeing the wearer's hands for use; leaving the clasp closest to the firing shoulder attached during combat lowered the risk of losing the weapon in the event of a catastrophic incident. With his Recon Assault Weapon secured across his chest Reaver snagged the back edge of his helmet from his rack and slapped the lid of his gearbox shut, the locks engaging automatically. The remainder of the members of Dragon Two were awaiting Alice’s return near the inner door.

  The inner door of the tent’s ‘airlock’ rustled as the closures opened, and Reaver looked up expecting Alice, but his concern grew as Lieutenant Davis walked into the tent.

  “Attention on deck,” Reaver called as he stood quickly and assumed the position of attention, the immediate silence in the tent telling him the rest of his squad had done the same.

  “At ease,” Lieutenant Davis responded before turning toward Reaver. "A very angry young nurse came knocking on my door about thirty minutes after you left, Staff Sergeant. I told the young, impressionable Ensign that pounding on a fellow officer's door at an ungodly hour because she misplaced her patient is quite rude and that I had no knowledge of your current whereabouts. So, we aren't having this conversation. Understood?" Davis looked at his friend, the smirk turning up the left corner of his mouth softening the harshness of the dressing down.

  Reaver nodded solemnly, doing a better job than his Lieutenant of keeping a smile from his face as he responded. “Aye, Sir."

  "Good," Davis said as he handed a manila folder to Reaver. As Reaver tore the top half of the envelope open and began handing the small tags from within to the members of his squad, Davis continued. “Ident tags will get you from here to the outpost inside Craxus. We've cleared the area between here and there, but I'd still consider it Marx country. Once you depart the outpost, you're in the bush and on your own. Higher has been decreasing the frequency of patrols through the operating area. Less chance of a b
lue on blue incident, and, they hope, make the enemy more complacent. Forty-eight hours to get in, rescue the Army, and get the hell out. We'll crack the beers when you get back." Davis returned the salute that Reaver snapped in response to the Officer's orders and then turned to make his way out of the tent, holding the flap open for Alice as she stepped back inside.

  Reaver handed Alice her ident tag. “Any issues?”

  Alice shook her head as she took her tag. “None. Two Docs checked it, no issues.”

  “Good, get strapped.” Reaver pulled his identification badge from beneath his shirt and snapped the Ident tag onto it; the additional tag would broadcast a clearance signal to the guard posts here at the operating base and again at the outpost, negating the need for the squad to slow down and deal with the MPs manning their towers. With his tags tucked back into his shirt, the Staff Sergeant checked to ensure Alice was ready and then motioned for Bull to lead them out of the tent and on to where their bikes had been stored.

  Built by the military development division of Harley Davidson Corporation, the bikes were top of the line in speed and silence. The sales pitch from the long-term vehicle manufacturer stated the bikes were a new model, designed specifically for use by scout and reconnaissance units. The design boasted being able to withstand the ruggedness of any terrain, given that their propulsion system gave the bikes a max ground clearance of approximately five meters, and as low as a half-meter above the ground. The first Recon unit to test the bikes had beaten and abused every iteration that came to them, but at the end of the field tests the Marines were like kids in a candy shop, clamoring for the vehicle to be issued to Recon; the bikes were capable of carrying a pair of fully-loaded combat troops when stripped down, or a single troop when mounting a set of dual linked assault cannons for a fast attack and harassment configuration. The bikes belonging to the Marines of Dragon Two had been redesigned further by Alice for speed, with each Marine having a bike of their own and mounting none of the weapon systems; the machines were hell on wheels and resting in their racks Reaver was reminded of one of Bard’s preferred books, The Two Towers, by J. R. R. Tolkien. Bard would talk about cavalry and consistently reference the Rohirrim as examples for how close the members of Recon were to one another.

  Throwing his leg over his bike and running through the start-up sequence, Reaver smiled to himself as he felt Bard and Scar Face's ghosts mount their own steeds along with the rest of Dragon Two. Six engines flared to life, throaty rumbles that settled into low humming growls. As the bikes lifted from the ground and the Recon squad accelerated out of the tent toward the guard shack overlooking the entry-control point, Reaver swore he heard ghostly hooves beside him. Marines always rode with War and Death.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The distance between the base on the outskirts of Craxus and the outpost situated in the square where Dragon Two had first secured within the city fell away under the rumble of the bike’s engine beneath Reaver. Vibrations from the bike humming through his arms and legs like a low voltage charge matched the engine’s growl as it meshed with those of squad, and the combined sound echoed and followed them. The countryside outside of the city was unbroken and seemingly untouched by the war raging across the planet’s surface. Here they could open their bikes up; the low growl ripped into a full-throated roar as they thundered down the main road leading into Craxus proper. Landscape blurred by in dark shapes that gradually became dull gray and then lightened to colors of greens and blues as the sun crested the nearby mountains to cast light once more upon the war-torn city.

  Crossing into the city had Reaver and the rest of Dragon Two throttling back their cycles, the soft snarl of the engines sounding to Reaver like some caged beast that had tasted the freedom of the hunt but was now leashed and controlled.

  The earbuds in Reaver’s ears crackled and Titan’s voice came through. “Jesus, this place almost looks like my toddler’s block city when she decides to play ‘Monster.’”

  Reaver didn’t respond, but he could see what Titan meant. The building damage was chaotic and senseless, in some places causing him to have to raise his bike higher off the ground, a sensation he found less than enjoyable. Height in the streets made you a target, like Bard. Reaver quashed that thought quickly and focused again on the devastation of the city; there had been no rhyme or reason for what the Renks had done, so what were they after?

  The sun’s heat beat down on the back of Reaver’s neck as it hung overhead, giving the rays clear lines to stab through the valleys of bombed out buildings by the time he led his squad into sight of the first checkpoint that guarded the main highway into the outpost. The howl of the engines echoed from every fallen piece of graphcrete within Craxus, surrounding Reaver and his squad with a rolling cloud of thunder blocked out only by the protection built into their helmets. Reaver saw the sentry guns of the guard post track toward him and his Marines, and without the rumble of the bikes’ engines around him the whine of the servos working to rotate the guns would have been audible. The sentry guns suddenly halted in their tracks, as if they had hit a stop, and lowered to point at the ground; his ident tags had kicked in, broadcasting the proper security codes to the sentries, along with those of the rest of his squad, and they were clear to enter the outpost.

  The bikes did what they had been designed to do, but even with their speed and ability to clear rough terrain, they had their drawbacks. Years of experience reminded Reaver that his knees were going to be stiff as soon as he stepped away from the bike, the ever-present vibrations taking a toll on his joints. Swinging his leg clear of the bike was something he looked forward to with equal parts dread and eagerness.

  He led his squad single file into the square and silently thanked the Army engineers for their preciseness. The engineers had managed to clear all the rubble and debris from the square, which made maneuvering the bikes exponentially easier than if the courtyard had been left in the state of disrepair Reaver had last seen. Guiding his Marines to an open area along the southwestern edge of the square, Reaver slid his bike to a halt and cut the engine.

  Dragon Two glided into position beside his bike, and their engines silenced as they stopped. An unnatural stillness hung over the square for a few moments after the constant roar and growl of the bikes. Reaver took some time to stretch his legs after the persistent vibrations of the bike, his right knee popping audibly. He grunted softly; just another reminder that his years of beating on his body were going to catch up to him one day.

  From across the street, the ring of metal striking metal was followed by the hollow thump of a rocket launched from its mortar tube. Seconds later, a series of four explosions sounded in the distance; the Army must have overlapped firing positions to cover the city, Reaver observed. At least if Dragon Two got into trouble, they would be able to call for fire support. It wasn’t Mjolnir, but the Army was usually faster on the gun than the Navy, and who knew if the Fury was still overhead. Reaver ignored that question; she would be, or she wouldn’t be. Borrowing trouble before the mission had even started wouldn’t help them at all.

  Reaver flexed his knees to get them to pop while he bent over his bike to lock it down. It was a well-known and accepted fact that there was only one thief in the military and that everyone else was just trying to get their own shit back. Recon did what they could do to discourage re-appropriation of their gear by scroungers and took extra steps to ensure that only Recon could walk off with Recon gear.

  Reaver lifted the seat of his bike and pressed his palm into the handprint laid in the chassis. The depressed area glowed green around his hand and then flashed red in a quick series of four strobes; the lock sequence complete, Reaver laid the seat back down and stepped away from his bike. Now, as long as the Army held onto this patch of ground and the Renks didn’t get lucky with an artillery strike, his bike would be here when he returned. Once each bike had been locked by an individual member of the squad Reaver led them toward the apartment building he, Bull, and Harlequin had used to ta
ke out the enemy weapon’s nest the first day in the city. Wire aerials ran up the side of the building facing the square, and Reaver followed their path up the front façade of the building; it appeared as though they ended a few inches above the lip of the roof, high enough to clear the building but low enough to escape cursory notice. That had to be where the outpost command staff had made their space to work.

  As the squad made its way toward the building, Reaver heard the pops of knees and the crackle of joints. The pressure in his neck refused to let go, regardless of his attempts at stretching, while his mouth tasted like he’d swallowed a couple of cups of sand and dirt, but at least his knees weren’t as sore as he had expected. There were about five to six hours of true daylight left, and Reaver had no intention of a daytime hunt if he could avoid it. He planned to bunk his squad down and wait for dusk to set out into the city.

  Reaver could still hear the voice of his Senior Recon Instructor growling into the darkness as he and his classmates had lain still as death as a new moon hid overhead. “Humans have always feared the night, the darkness; that’s why man discovered fire. If you piss-poor excuses for Marines actually manage to graduate from my course, you will have learned to suppress that fear and become the danger that hides in the night’s shadows. You will make your enemies fear the night once more. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.”