The Royal Marine Space Commandos- RMSC Omnibus

by James Evans

  “They don’t need us. They’re just trying to keep us out from underfoot. You really bought their bullshit, didn’t you? If they needed us, really needed us, we’d be out there training with the militia. But they don’t, this is just more space pirates, desperate outcasts trying to make a name for themselves. I could be a soldier if they really needed them, I’m old enough and I’d be great at it,” Luke said.

  “You couldn’t be a soldier! They have to show up every morning and fight. You can’t even assemble drones for a full day, you can’t pilot them well enough to be a tech specialist, and you don’t have the balls to hold a rifle!” she shouted back, finally losing her rag.

  “I could be a soldier! I could be in the militia! You don’t know what you’re talking about, you’re just a little girl!” he shouted before stomping off in a huff.

  “You sign up, Luke, I’ll sign the transfer papers!” she roared at him. What an idiot, she thought as she walked out. Then she grinned maliciously as an idea struck her.

  Corporal Mark Wilson squinted down the barrel he’d removed from the drone, frowned and slid a cleaning rod down it again. “Hi, Priscilla. What can I do for you?” he asked as he checked the barrel again. Satisfied that it was clean, he clipped it back into its receiver on the drone he was working on.

  “I wondered if I could ask you something.”

  “Yup. Fire away; I could do this in my sleep.”

  “Who’s the toughest, scariest Marine on New Bristol? Is it Captain Atticus? He seems quite stern.”

  Wilson raised his eyebrows. Not the question he had expected. “Well, he’s a bit gruff, but he’s not nearly as grim as you might think.”

  “Colour Sergeant Jenkins then?”

  “Colour Jenkins? Nah. She just shouts a lot, it’s part of the job. Why do you ask?”

  Priscilla blushed as he turned to face her and she gave him a guilty look. “Just trying to settle an argument.”

  “Gambling, Captain Smith? I’m shocked. Shocked, I say. Well, if you’re looking for the toughest commando, it’s not any of the officers or NCOs. You want Marine X.”

  “Who?” asked Priscilla, a frown of confusion on her face. “Does X stand for Xavier or something embarrassing?”

  Wilson smiled. “No, Marine X is the designation given to him at his last court martial. He’s a Penal Marine, and part of his punishment was to lose his name until he’s served his sentence. So he’s Marine X until he’s done his time. We mostly call him Ten.”

  Priscilla was a little taken aback by that. She hadn’t heard of Penal Marines before. A few of the kids were military buffs who knew all sorts of things about the Marines and their weapons, but she hadn’t known much about them until the invasion started. Engineering was her thing. Engineering and drones.

  “What did he do?”

  Wilson shrugged. “Originally? No idea. Something pretty bloody serious, though. You don’t get in that much trouble for failing to clean your boots properly. He must have pissed someone off, but I’ve never heard him discuss it. Ten is all business when we’re deployed and he keeps to himself when we aren’t.” He leant forward, looking around to check they weren’t overheard. “Rumour says it’s all top secret, not part of the public record. I couldn’t even tell you how long he’s been a Penal Marine, but since before I joined up.”

  “If he did something that bad, why isn’t he in prison?”

  Wilson shook his head and put down the drone.

  “Look, Penal Marines are really rare. You have to have done something really serious but not so bad that they want to boot you out of the service or send you to prison forever. You need to be really good at the job and it’s not even an option unless a senior officer recommends it, so someone must have thought he deserved another chance.”

  He paused, looking around again.

  “Why is Ten here? Because he’s really, really good at the job. He runs training courses when he’s not deployed. He’s been doing this job so long, he knows how to do almost everything. I’ve never seen him pick up a weapon and not be able to use it as well as anyone else.”

  “That doesn’t make him scary,” Priscilla pointed out, “that just makes him competent.”

  “The scary bit,” said Wilson, looking her in the eyes and now completely serious, “is that he always does what needs doing. He sees a problem, fixes on a solution then just gets it done.”

  Priscilla frowned, her scepticism visible.

  “Trust me,” said Wilson emphatically, “that’s enough to make him the scariest Marine here. Probably the scariest man alive. And whatever you do…” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper and scanning the room again.

  “What?” whispered Priscilla, her curiosity almost palpable.

  “Don’t play him at cards. You don’t want any part of that.”

  Priscilla gulped. “Why? Does he get angry when he loses?”

  “Angry? Oh no, he just cheats a lot and he’s really good at it. You’ll lose your proverbial shirt.”

  She found him in Fort Widley’s new armoury, unpacking weapons fresh from the manufactories and inspecting them for flaws. He didn’t stop what he was doing until she coughed loudly.

  He stared at her for a moment before finally sighing and asking. “Is there something you need? And if the answer is ‘a rifle’ or anything else that goes bang, you might as well not ask.”

  “No, not that. I was wondering if you could help me with a problem I’m having with one of the boys, Mr Ten.”

  Marine X frowned a little and nodded thoughtfully. “It’s just Ten, no Mister, and the answer is, probably. What do you need, a good chat up line? I mean, presumably you’ve done sex education at your age so I don’t have to explain that stuff? Just remember he’s as scared as you are and don’t let him talk you into anything you don’t want to do.” He turned back to his crate of weapons.

  She almost ran from the room at that point, but she steeled herself and coughed again.

  “Still here? You know, I’m probably not the best person to ask about this sort of stuff. I’m a lot older than I look, and quite out of touch. Try Sergeant Milton,” he offered.

  “No, I mean, that’s not the sort of problem I’m having.”

  “Ah. Well, that’s awkward. Perhaps you should explain what sort of problem it is before I give you any more completely unwanted advice that will make us both uncomfortable, eh?”

  “Yeah, not that your advice wasn’t good,” she said quickly. “I’ll remember boys are scared of me for a while, I’m sure.”

  Ten waved at a crate and Priscilla sat down. “I’m in charge of producing drones for Corporal Wilson and it’s going well. The problem I’m having is that there’s a group of boys who are supposed to be helping and they spend all their time playing games. I tried to get their team leader to take it seriously, but he just said it’s not a real war and he didn’t have to do what I said,” Priscilla explained, the words tumbling from her with barely a pause for breath.

  “Right, gotcha. You need to enforce some military discipline then? I’m not sure why you came to me. You do know I’m a Penal Marine, right? I’m literally the last person anyone asks for advice on discipline,” Ten said.

  “No, Luke says he could be a soldier but he isn’t one so he doesn’t have to take orders. I don’t want military discipline, I want to terrify him into doing the right thing.”

  Ten cocked his head then shrugged. “Fair enough. That I can help you with.” He walked across the room and unlocked one of the cages, withdrawing a short black baton. He presented it to her, handle first. “Stun baton. Just press your thumb on the button and prod him in the gut with that, about here,” he said, tapping just below his solar plexus. “He’ll drop like a, well, like an arsehole who’s just been electrocuted. One or two of those, and they’ll all fall into line. I’d do his favourite henchman as well, if I were you, for good measure. Don’t let the second bully in charge take over.”

  Priscilla frowned at the weapon for a moment before
carefully placing it back on the workbench.

  “No? I’m still not giving you a rifle. I don’t like bullies, but even I probably can’t get away with that.”

  “I had another idea. Something less direct than, er, a stun baton,” said Priscilla with her most devious grin.

  “Oh, do tell,” said Marine X, now genuinely interested.

  Ten strode through the kitchen area into the break room, clipboard in hand, his green beret worn neatly atop his head. Priscilla followed behind and stood slightly to one side.

  Luke and the boys barely spared him a glance, playing it cool despite the sudden appearance of an adult in their kingdom.

  “Are these the lads you recommended to me, Miss Smith?”

  “Yes. Luke was very keen indeed and I’m happy to relinquish him from my team if you need him,” Priscilla answered. At this point a couple of heads turned.

  “And the rest?”

  “Oh yes, where Luke goes, they follow. They’re a team of drone racers you see, the closest of friends. Like the Pals Battalions of World War I. A group of young men, all friends and colleagues, signing up to go to war together. It’s all very exciting,” Priscilla said eagerly.

  “Nothing exciting about war, young lady. War is horrible, dirty, violent, painful and above all, terrifying. These lads are brave to volunteer, especially for frontline duty at their age,” Ten said gravely.

  Luke turned his head at that, looking half puzzled and half angry.

  Much like a warthog, Priscilla thought. She smiled sweetly at him, in complete contrast to her current feelings toward him. He didn’t seem to take it well.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked.

  “Your request to join the militia and serve as a frontline soldier,” Ten said.

  “Get lost. I’m not joining the militia,” Luke snorted. He went back to the game he’d been playing, unpausing it as he picked up the controller and advancing the character on the view screen towards the enemy. In the middle of an actual war, here was this snotty little shit playing war games on a vid screen.

  Ten nodded slowly. He could see now why Priscilla didn’t like this little prick. Two minutes in and Ten already wanted to slap him.

  “You can turn that off now, lads,” said Ten quietly. “You’re in the militia now. The time for playing is over, you’ll have a real gun to shoot now, though if you shoot it as badly as that, you’ll probably spend your time digging latrines.”

  One of the more precious followers of Luke laughed. “We don’t need latrines now, you idiot, we have plenty of toilets.”

  Ten’s eyes narrowed, and his stance underwent a subtle change. The atmosphere shifted a little, and Priscilla glanced around to see that the other teams had followed them into the room and were standing quietly at the back, watching everything.

  “New recruits still dig latrines, lad. Never know when you might need to know how to dig a latrine, and I’m betting you’ve never dug so much as a flowerbed in your life. First time for everything. Then you fill it in and dig another one for practice. Or you can learn to shoot properly, unlike your pals playing that game, and maybe get trusted with a rifle. Either way, the time for games is over.” Ten paused to glance around the group. “Turn it off and lets be having you,” he said.

  “I’m not joining your stupid militia,” sneered Luke. “They’re not joining it either, so why don’t you just fuck off like a good little soldier and do something useful.”

  Quick as a flash, Ten had a Deathless hand cannon in his palm and three high-calibre rounds shattered the vid screen. The noise was tremendous and Priscilla flinched at his side. She hadn’t known he would do that, but maybe this was what Corporal Wilson had meant. One of the boys literally screamed and Priscilla fought back the urge to snigger.

  “I am not a soldier, you miserable little shit,” Ten roared in his best impersonation of a sergeant major, a role he’d never held himself, “I am a Royal Marine Space Commando! We are not soldiers. We are Marines, and you will remember that, if I have to beat it into your thick skull with your right arm while there’s still blood dripping from it after I rip it from its socket, which I will in short order if you do not stand to attention right now!” He ended his tirade almost screaming, and the boys jumped to their feet, looking utterly bewildered by the gunfire and his shouting.

  That’s better, thought Ten, finally a decent reaction.

  He pointed to the wall. “Line up over there. Tallest to shortest. Hop to it! Faster, faster, faster! Backs straight, eyes front.” The boys stumbled about, make a complete bodge job of it, as he’d expected. Eventually, they got themselves in height order, a task they seemed to find extremely confusing and difficult.

  Ten rounded on the first lad. “What’s your name? What? I can’t hear you!” he roared in the face off the little shit that had been giving Priscilla grief. He was quite enjoying this.

  “L-L-Luke, sir,” the boy stammered.

  “Don’t you call me, sir! I work for a living! You think you can be a soldier in the militia, do you?”

  “No, sir. I mean, no.”

  “No? No?” he roared up close to the boy. “What do you mean, no? I have it here on this paperwork that you insisted to your duly appointed captain that you were militia material and that they’d be lucky to have you. Are you saying the captain lied? Well, boy, are you?”

  Luke looked to his left for support, but none of the other boys caught his eye, they stood there shaking and staring determinedly straight ahead, trying not to wince at the shouting or draw attention to themselves.

  “No, I just… I was exaggerating. I don’t want to be in the militia,” Luke managed to squeak out.

  “You don’t? Well, I am most perplexed by this turn of events,” said Ten, lowering his voice back to a more normal level. “I was told you and all your mates had decided that making and piloting drones was beneath you and that you would far rather serve in the militia to defend your fine colony. I’m therefore extremely surprised to hear you say that you don’t want to be a soldier after all!” said Ten, shaking his head and assuming an exaggerated look of befuddlement.

  “What about you, lad?” he said to the next boy in the row, the cheeky one who thought latrine digging was beneath him. “Surely a big strong lad like you would rather be out there, taking the fight to the enemy, face to face, than just flying little cameras about?” he said, gripping the kid by his bicep and squeezing it as if he were a big man.

  The kid shook with terror and Priscilla saw his trousers darken as he wet himself. Ten didn’t seem to notice.

  “No? Not a rifleman, then? You’d rather be making and piloting drones, would you?” The boy nodded emphatically. “Fair enough.”

  Ten walked down the line. “How about you, militia rifleman, or drone pilot?” he asked.

  “Drone pilot,” was the only verbal response he extracted from the rest of Luke’s crew. Most of them just nodded or shook their head to indicate their preferred option. Finally, he returned to Luke.

  “Well, Luke. It seems you may have exaggerated your team’s fervour for becoming militiamen. You sure you don’t want to be a soldier? You could handle yourself, couldn’t you? You’re the biggest here, right? Go on, son. You just have to get up close and personal, get right up to that Deathless bastard that wants to shoot your mum and dad, then stick one of these in his guts,” he said quietly, producing a glowing Deathless combat knife as if from nowhere and waving it in front of Luke’s panicked face. The lad shied away and shook his head fractionally. Ten disappeared the knife.

  “Alright then. What we seem to have here, is a failure on your part to communicate with your appointed officer, Captain Priscilla Smith, who has been appointed by your government to lead this team. It seems none of you want to join the militia proper, after all. Am I right?”

  The line of boys nodded pathetically, and he went on.

  “My paperwork here says you’re all sixteen or above. That means, under Commonwealth law, you can put in a decen
t day’s work or volunteering. Captain Smith’s figures tell me you’ll need to do double shifts until the invasion force arrives to get your share of the work done. Doesn’t sound too much for a group of lads who’ve been slacking off, getting plenty of rest and who haven’t had to go to school or anything, right? Any of you got a problem with a good day’s work?” he asked.

  It seemed none of them did after all.

  “That’s settled then. You’ll fulfil your quota, and you won’t have to join the militia or dig me a bunch of latrines. I’ll come back each day and see how you’re doing, and I won’t ever find you shirking off or turning up late, will I?” he asked to another round of semi-audible confirmation.

  Ten looked around the group, nodding grimly in the sudden silence. Then he seemed to notice the audience at the back of the room, which had grown to include a host of adults and most of the drone pilots.

  “Back to work,” he said loudly, clapping his hands, and the spell was broken. The audience disappeared and Luke’s team followed, heading quickly for the workrooms.

  Ten turned to Priscilla and shook her hand.

  “I expect you’ll be caught up soon enough.” She nodded, quiet and pale. “Wilson picked well with you, you’ll be fine. But if you have any trouble, you give me a shout.”

  Then he sauntered from the room, chasing the last of the stragglers back to their work stations and ignoring the Mrs Robinson’s glares.

  12

  “Can you say that again, Captain?” said Idol into his HUD comms, furiously waving his hand at the militia troops nearest him to shut up so he could hear properly.

  “We have reports that the enemy has been sighted west of you. Can you confirm?” Captain Atticus repeated.