The Bad Company™ Boxed Set (Books 1-4)

by Martelle, Craig

  * * *

  Terry and Char hunched behind the Tisker. The alien stood tall and proud. With eyes on each side of its stalk-head, it didn’t need to turn around to look at them. Terry found it slightly disconcerting.

  “He doesn’t care if he dies,” Terry said matter-of-factly.

  “Not in the least, but he’s come this far, so it’d be a shame to lose him now,” Char replied.

  Joseph, where are you? Terry asked. It was a few moments before he received a reply.

  Toward the top of the hill, on the back side, Joseph answered.

  How far from the valley? More artillery rounds impacted through the area. Terry tried to make sense of the targeting, but it seemed like a random barrage.

  It ended and the quiet returned.

  “I wonder how Kurtz and the boys are doing,” Terry said, standing up and helping Char to her feet. The eyes of the Tisker watched them closely.

  “What made you think of them?” Char wondered.

  “Kurtz always had a different view of the world, and I like him.”

  “I like him too, and the others. They worked hard to keep up, not an easy task. I hope their transition to becoming Were is going well. We did what we could to school them on their new abilities,” Char replied.

  “We left them behind to establish the FDG, build an official special force for the Federation. I would have loved to do that.” Terry stroked his chin and started walking across the valley on his way toward the rest of the company.

  “You don’t get to do everything. Remember the thousands of talks we’ve had about control?” Char asked, although it wasn’t a question. She was making her point, again, like driving bamboo shoots under his fingernails. “You are doing exactly what your Empress asked you to do. The FDG is a side gig, important, of course, but General Reynolds will make sure it stays on track. We work for Nathan Lowell now. You want to control that, but I’m looking at Tissikinnon Four right now, wondering how much you have under control here?”

  Terry clenched his jaw tightly as the anger rose within. Of course Char was right. She’d been right the entire time they’d been married. Terry held a fist over his head, the signal to stop moving.

  He turned toward Char, his expression softening as he looked into her eyes. “Why do you put up with me?”

  “What? And give up all this?” She waved her arms expansively.

  Darkness weighed on them like a heavy blanket. At the edge of what Terry could see were Timmons and Sue, pulling a blue, stalk-headed alien with a rope. A large German Shepherd stood in front of them, wondering why the entourage had stopped. His lip quivered, and he showed one fang as he looked at the Tisker.

  “I love you more today than yesterday, but not as much as I’ll love you tomorrow.” Terry leaned forward and kissed her, slowly and passionately.

  “For fuck’s sake!” Timmons said, exasperated. “You’d think the blue fucks weren’t shooting at us or that we could see where we’re going or that we knew what the fuck we were doing here.”

  Terry pulled back, smiling. “Jealous?”

  “You got me, TH. You know that the top of my list of things to do in the middle of a shitstorm is suck your face.”

  Terry and Char chuckled as they faced Timmons and Sue. Sue couldn’t look at them as she bit her lip to keep from laughing.

  Terry locked eyes with the Tisker. “You’re right, Timmons. This fellow here is going to help us find the Crenellian headquarters as well as the Tisker leadership, and we’re going to set things straight, because you’re all right. This is a total shit show, and I have had enough. We haven’t lost anyone and I want to keep it that way.”

  Hungry, Dokken said. Terry patted his pockets and held his hand up. Char pulled a piece of jerky and handed it over. Timmons rolled his eyes, earning a hard slap in the shoulder from his mate.

  Dokken chewed happily as he followed the trail the others had left behind.

  Chapter Eight

  Kimber crouched as she ran, reducing her silhouette, just in case the enemy was watching. From one fighting position to the next, she checked on her people. They were operating at a fifty percent stand-to, which meant one person watched while the second slept.

  Dawn cast long shadows across the terrain laid out in front of the ridge they’d occupied the night before. Most of the platoon was positioned on that side. Less than a squad were dug in on the back side of the ridge. No one was on the top.

  Tops of hills made for juicy artillery targets.

  Marcie sat in the open and watched the lightening horizon. When Kim made it to her, she stopped and sat down.

  “Do you feel anything?” Kim asked.

  “No one besides us,” Marcie replied, turning tired eyes toward her sister-in-law. “The others are coming up the hill now, and I think they have a Tisker with them.”

  Marcie had been born with nanocytes that were activated and modified following a number of significant emotional events during her time with the FDG. She’d gained the ability to see into the Etheric, something the Were or the vampires could do, but not the other nano-enhanced humans.

  “I wonder how Gene would fit in here.” Marcie hung her head toward her knees and closed her eyes. Kim couldn’t tell if she was sad or just tired.

  “I miss Gene, and the kids, and Earth,” Kim said as she stood. She rested her hand gently on Marcie’s head. “I don't think it will be long before Kae can power his suit up and join us.”

  Marcie lifted her head, slightly refreshed after pulling power from the Etheric. “I think shortly, yes.” Marcie stood, nodded to Kimber, and set out to meet Terry and the group climbing the ridgeline.

  Aboard the War Axe

  “Acceleration holding steady. Speed increasing according to projections. Drive systems nominal,” Clifton reported from his position at helm. He’d just returned to the watch, taking helm control back from Smedley.

  He looked at the captain. Micky San Marino had been there when he left just a few hours earlier and he was still there. Clifton expected that the captain hadn’t rested. He hesitated to say anything.

  “Systems. Are weapons programmed and ready?” Micky asked K’Thrall.

  “Not yet. The programming is extremely complex and will change as we get closer to the planet. I’m coordinating with helm control. The movements must be pre-programmed to coordinate so we don’t fly into our own fire,” the Yollin explained.

  “Smedley? Project our timeline and trajectory on the main screen.”

  The Tissikinnon system appeared on the screen showing a line from where they were arcing toward the fourth planet. Time hacks showed how long it would take to the next waypoint. The captain climbed down from his chair and walked to the front of the bridge.

  “Zoom in on time hack fourteen,” Micky requested. “Now show me the fighter station. That’s the buoy right there?”

  Micky pointed.

  “Yes,” Smedley replied. “The buoy will be at that location, but I cannot guarantee the fighters will be there when we arrive. I assume that they will not be there.”

  “The plan is set for the fighters that will be somewhere in this envelope of space.” K’Thrall used a small laser pointer to paint a dot on the front screen and then he drew a misshapen oval. “We base that on how far they traveled from their buoy during our last engagement.”

  The laser pointer disappeared and Smedley replaced the rough line with a digital cloud that showed a three-dimensional distance from the buoy.

  “That’s a pretty big margin of error,” Mickey said softly as he walked back and forth, looking at the map from one angle and then another. “Show me the fire plan.”

  The screen zoomed in quickly. The War Axe figured prominently and a slow-motion sequence of events played out. The ship started firing at the eleven second point with a countdown. Each second took fifteen seconds to churn through as labels popped up to show each aspect of the engagement.

  The ship’s defensive weaponry sent out slivers of light in the direction
of the buoy, maintaining a maximum sustained volume of fire for the first five seconds. After that, intermittent fire filled gaps in the cloud of projectiles.

  “We’re varying the railgun speeds to force the fighters away from the engagement envelope. Our plan isn’t designed to kill the fighters, only to keep them from firing on us,” K’Thrall explained.

  “If TH does his job, then the fighters will stand down when we come back for pickup.”

  “We’ll collect as much data as possible, just in case we need to make another resupply run before Colonel Walton can end the war.”

  Micky closed his eyes and groaned. “What kind of unrealistic expectations does he have to work under? The man has been given one week to end a war that’s been going on for who knows how long. He takes fifty people to the planet surface and expects to take care of it. Auburn sounded surprised that they needed more ammunition, food, and water.”

  No one had an answer. “It’s what he signed up for,” the captain said, as if repeating someone else’s argument. “It’s what Nathan thought the Bad Company was capable of doing.”

  “Can they?” Clifton asked.

  “I hope so. If they can’t, it won’t be because we didn’t resupply them. K’Thrall! If a fighter comes anywhere near us, I want it blown to hell,” the captain snarled. “And we’ll come back as often as we need to. I want those ships to run when they see us coming. And, Oscar, I want those ballistic cannisters ready to go. I don’t care what you have to do, you get that second canister ready for delivery. We’re going to give them four more mechs and a power supply.”

  A nondescript ridge on Tissikinnon Four

  Terry and Joseph stood close to each other, both eyeing the captured Tisker. “Do you think the translation chip will help when you read its mind?” Terry asked.

  “How would I know?” Joseph replied, unsure of how to access the alien’s mind and hesitant to try.

  “How would I know what you don’t know?” Terry responded.

  “I don’t know that,” Joseph answered.

  Char palm-slapped her forehead. “What am I watching?”

  Terry pointed to himself and tried to look innocent. “Don’t you know?”

  “I swear, TH, you are a real piece of work,” Joseph said softly, shaking his head and holding out his hand. The two friends shook.

  “Nothing like a little combat, some life and death situations to strengthen the humor muscle, toughen the funny bone, sharpen the razor wit.” Terry gave the thumbs up to their blue captive. “Be cool, buddy.”

  TH walked away to check on the rest of the unit. Char and Dokken joined him.

  Timmons, Sue, Shonna, Merrit, Christina, and Petricia stood in a loose circle around the Tisker. All eyes were on Joseph. He held out both hands, fingers splayed, one eye closed.

  “What are you doing?” Petricia asked her husband.

  “I thought everyone was expecting a show. I’m just trying to deliver to my adoring fans,” Joseph replied.

  “Terry is rubbing off on you.” Petricia put her hands on her hips, and Joseph understood the cue.

  “Fine.” The gifted vampire blocked the others, so their thoughts wouldn’t intrude as he reached out, looking for the alien’s mind. He found it, and as he expected, the thoughts were strange.

  Smells and vibrations, monochromatic images, a language of tones in a range outside what humans could hear. Joseph heard the rhythmic thumping within the alien’s mind, but it didn’t mean anything to him. He knew the beat was language, but he didn’t understand.

  The bottom of the shell acted like a bass drum. Through that membrane, they sensed vibrations and made sounds of their own.

  The low frequency traveled more easily through the ground, where they spent most of their lives. Joseph could see it all. Tiskers by the millions, living in vast caverns deep underground.

  Tunnels to the surface. Tunnels parallel. Tunnels everywhere. And the natives. Joseph could see the vibrations, but he couldn’t hear the words. He concentrated harder until he felt hands holding him, keeping him from falling.

  A dark cavern with an endless fall, but something held him back from the edge.

  “They are the Pod, the people of Poddern, this planet,” Joseph gasped.

  From far away he thought he heard familiar voices telling him to stop, but he couldn’t. The conversation had only just begun.

  * * *

  Kaeden held his breath and thumbed the power to “On.”

  The suit came to life and started running through its self-diagnostics. “We are back, boys and girls. Coming to you live from Budokan!” Kae said using the suit’s external speakers to project his joy. The suit completed the diagnostics and then buttoned up, encasing its precious human cargo in a symbiotic relationship between man and machine.

  Which prompted Kaeden to play Rage Against the Machine as the four mechs spread out, moving slowly as the systems charged under the early morning sun.

  At twenty-five percent charge, they started to run, jogging easily across the valley and up the hill.

  Killing in the Name blared as the mechs maintained an inverted V formation.

  On our way, Dad, Kae reported using the comm chip in his head.

  You guys are hard to miss, Terry replied proudly. Take stations on both ends of the ridge as well as both sides. Get your drones in the air and build me a tactical picture of our position.

  * * *

  Hidden in a remote corner of the Pan Galaxy, Nathan Lowell sat in his private office looking at the video communication screen. The President of the Bad Company frowned.

  “Better than last time, Nathan, only because we’ve moved to the high ground. They have some artillery, but they use it oddly. The real news is that we’re making progress with a captured Podder. They call this place Poddern, for reference. Joseph continues his probe of the alien’s mind.”

  Terry looked calm and collected. He turned off-screen, left and then right, before giving Nathan his attention.

  “We expect a ballistic canister dropped in about six hours. We’ll be able to reload and refuel. Then we’ll take it to them, assuming our Podder can give us an idea which way to go,” Terry reported.

  “I didn’t think you took any vehicles with you,” Nathan said, confused.

  “Chow, Nathan. We’re going to get some extra chow. We didn’t expect this kind of op tempo,” Terry explained. “Did you get in touch with weasel dick?”

  Nathan rubbed his temples. “I expect you mean the Crenellian president. Yes, we did. I was going to make a personal visit, but the president agreed to pay the full fee now and a comparable amount when the mission is completed.”

  “We’re getting double pay for this?” Terry requested clarification.

  “Better than that. Double-time and a half, TH.” Nathan leaned back. “Now tell me this is going to be worth it.”

  “I’d love to tell you that, Nathan, but it would be a lie. I don’t know at this point. All I know is that we are slowly building a better intelligence picture. As soon as I have better fidelity on the future of this conflict, I’ll let you know.”

  Terry ducked as an explosion shook the video. Terry stood up and gave the finger to someone or something. Railgun fire followed.

  “CEASE FIRE!” Terry bellowed. One railgun barked in the silence. “I said stop firing! Timmons and Aaron, go grab those two before they get away.”

  “Taking more prisoners, TH?” Nathan asked.

  Terry furled his brow and looked down. He took off his helmet and ran one hand through his short hair. “We have these guys so outclassed, I feel bad shooting them. We’ve already killed thousands of them, Nathan, and we don’t have a single casualty, well, not one who hasn’t healed already.”

  “That’s a sobering number.” Nathan grimaced. When he came up with the concept of the Bad Company’s Direct Action Branch, he intended it to end wars and keep the dictators and despots from becoming too powerful.

  The Crenellians had an agreement with the Tiskers,
the Podders, that is, and the natives of Tissikinnon Four broke the contract and killed a large group of civilian workers. Nathan was starting to think that the Podders weren’t in the wrong.

  “Do what you need to do, Colonel Walton. I trust you, implicitly, explicitly, tacitly, and all the lees there are. I know the solution you come to will be the best for all parties. For the win, TH, and double-time and a half. Lowell out.”

  Chapter Nine

  The War Axe

  “We are on our final initial trajectory, at terminal velocity. Engines are idle,” helm reported.

  “Countdown to maneuver, Smedley,” the captain requested. A digital timer appeared in the upper corner of the main screen.

  Two minutes and forty seconds.

  Micky’s fingers danced across the keypad on the arm of his captain’s chair. “Two and a half minutes to enemy contact,” he reported on the ship-wide broadcast. “All hands, man your battle stations. Pre-position damage control parties. Seal sectional bulkheads and prepare for combat. Two minutes twenty seconds on my mark. Mark.”

  “No data on enemy space fighters or other ships in this region,” K’Thrall reported.

  No data, Micky pondered. That means we don’t know. Flying blind because of our speed. We’re in front of our sensors.

  “Engines, standing by for braking maneuver,” Commander Suresha reported over the comm system.

  “Damage control bots and personnel are pre-staged and active,” Commander Lagunov reported.

  “Systems are nominal. Damage control bots and personnel are pre-staged and active,” Commander Mac reported.

  “Ballistic canister is ready for launch. Powered armor is attached to the external surface. I’m not sure how that’s going to work, but it’s the only thing I could come up with. Sorry, Captain,” Commander Wirth said.

  “It’s genius, Oscar. It’ll be fine,” Micky replied.

  “One minute, forty-five seconds,” Smedley shared. The captain’s eyes watched the timer counting down in the upper right corner. At this point, he was hanging on for the ride. If they needed to radically alter course, they were doomed.