Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6

by Chaney, J. N.

  “So who was the brass monkey who okay’d this?” Cheeks asked.

  “Wasn’t a general,” Magnus replied. “It was Dorman.” Magnus registered their collective hesitation as shock.

  “Mystics… what a splickhead,” Mouth replied.

  “You know… he could be listening right now, don’t you?” Flow asked.

  “You think I care what that son of a bitch hears me say? Right now, I hope he’s listening. Cause with what I did to his wife last night, he’s gonna need—”

  “Shut up, Mouth,” Flow said. Magnus looked over to see Flow elbow Mouth in the helmet.

  “Forget his wife,” added Cheeks. “Now, his daughter…”

  “Bring it back, bitches,” Magnus said. “They’re almost to the end of the road.” Magnus watched as the Luma approached the designated meeting point—a bamboo bridge over a wide mountain stream. The water cascaded down several sets of short falls before splitting a beach and disappearing into the ocean.

  Until the Caledonian Wars—as the back-and-forth conflict was being termed—Magnus would have given his left nut to vacation here. The quadrant’s elite used these islands as their playground, and it was easy to see why. The grass huts, ultra-modern luxury estates, aqua green waters, and lush volcano-draped forests were the backdrop for any number of holo movies. All he needed was a girlfriend. And, given how cute the native women were, he’d bet a month’s credits he could find a date before the end of the conflict if he wanted to.

  But between the ’kudas, the heat, and the damned squirts that plagued every Marine on the planet—save the desk jockeys—Magnus had had enough sand, sun, and surf to last him a lifetime.

  “I still can’t believe Dorman let the Luma talk him into this,” Flow said between sips of water from his Mark IV armor’s hydration straw.

  “The major’s just trying to wrap this thing up,” Magnus said.

  “No qualms with me, sergeant,” Cheeks replied. “A version of life that doesn’t include having sand up your ass every damn day? Bring it.”

  “I can solve that.” Mouth laid a hand on Cheeks’ armored butt. “Just stop sleeping naked at night and we won’t be tempted to keep pouring sand down your crack.”

  “You just like the view,” Cheeks replied.

  Magnus ignored the comment. “But the big thing is that Capriana is tiring of war.”

  “Because they’ve fought so hard and so long,” Mouth said as if speaking to a toddler who’d just fallen down.

  Magnus chuckled. “The Senate and the Corps want an endgame timeline, so they’re trying everything they can.”

  “But this?” Flow asked with the flat of his hand pointing toward the unfolding scene below them. “Dorman really wants to trust a Luma emissary with the fate of our mission?”

  “It’s not the mission I’m worried about.” Magnus replied. “The village is secure and we’ve gained the foothold on the island that the brass wanted.”

  “And I think I still have that foot up my ass that you lent me,” Cheeks said. “You want it back yet?”

  “Keep it,” Magnus replied. “I have another.”

  “Copy that, sergeant.”

  “If you’re not worried about the mission,” Flow said, aiming along the barrel of his MC90, “then what are you worried about?”

  Magnus pointed downrange. “Those four right there. I’m pretty sure this wasn’t in the sales pitch they got when they signed up.”

  The Luma emissary and the four Marines were on the bridge. While the mystic looked tranquil, the Marines looked wired. Magnus felt bad for the noobs who’d been roped into this. It was like leading lambs to the slaughter. But the Luma had insisted that he be given four unarmed representatives of the Galactic Republic’s fighting force in order to show that their desire to talk peacefully was legitimate.

  “If Dorman wanted to talk so badly, why didn’t he go out there himself?” Mouth asked.

  “Listening…” Flow said, reminding Mouth with a with a tap on the side of his helmet that the brass was most likely monitoring the TACNET channels. Mouth grunted, rolled his head side to side, and re-centered down his weapon’s site.

  “So…” Flow said, turning toward Magnus. “This Luma prick… is he supposed to be a ’kuda whisperer or something?”

  “That’s what I’ve heard. Believes the Akuda tribal leaders are willing to negotiate.”

  “And you think they are?”

  Magnus jerked his head back. “Hells no. They’re in this to win it, just like we are.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Alright, that’s enough chatter,” Magnus said in the tone that made everyone go comms silent. “Focus on the op, scan your sectors, and let’s give those boys some covering fire if this splick goes sideways.”

  Flow, Mouth, and Cheeks replied with green icons that chirped in Magnus’s HUD. The next voice heard over TACNET was Second Lieutenant Wainwright.

  “All fireteams, report in,” Wainwright said. When all the units had confirmed their positions around the village, indicated with Ready icons on the topo map in Magnus’s HUD, the platoon commander continued. “We’re five minutes out still, but I want eyes tracking everything that moves. You see something, tag it. If it even smells like ’kuda, call it out. And if the time comes,” Wainwright said, stressing the conditional word, “and I give the order, I want everything that’s not a Marine to eat sand. I don’t want our boys having anything but a nice leisurely walk back to the village.”

  The second lieutenant was ever the professional, but he also lived up to the Corps’ mantra of “leave no Marine behind,” which was why the platoon loved him so much. He was one of the rare COs that the enlisted Marines liked… maybe even revered given how often he fought alongside them. And Magnus had a feeling Wainwright would leave the Luma to his mystical powers until the commander was absolutely certain that the four privates were safe.

  “Own the field,” Wainwright said before closing the channel. Each fire team lead replied with a simple text in the sidebar: “OTF.”

  “Movement, east side,” Flow called out. “One hundred twenty meters, between the uprights. Tagging it now.”

  Magnus relayed the intel to the platoon commander via his helmet’s neural interface. Wainwright replied in the chat with an “acknowledged” prompt and instructed Magnus to keep tracking.

  “I count three ’kuda,” Flow added as he tagged them in everyone’s HUD. Sure enough, three of the mutant humanoid fish emerged from around a bend just beyond the wooden gate that marked the entrance to the vacation village. Their shimmering scales and iridescent eyes were easy markers to pick out. They padded along the sandy path using their overdeveloped hind legs, fins flapping as they moved. And while they appeared to comply with the “no weapons” clause of the absurd meeting, Magnus knew their razor-sharp teeth and lethal claws were an even match for an armored Marine wielding a combat knife.

  “Steady, boys,” Magnus said. This was the first time he could remember where any Marine had gone so long without firing on one of the fish. “Steady.”

  “You really think they want to talk this through?” Cheeks asked with an amazed tone.

  “Would you?” Magnus replied.

  “Hell no!” Then Cheeks cleared his throat, apparently checking himself. “I mean, no, sergeant. I wouldn’t. I’d want to go in weapons-hot and take out every last one of these bastards, then cook their fillets over a bed of coals on the beach.”

  “My sentiments exactly,” Magnus replied.

  The three hostiles continued to make their way toward the bridge. Magnus looked back at the Luma emissary. The robed man continued to offer his hands out, palms up. Mystics, this guy has a death wish, Magnus thought. According to what little he knew of the Order of the Luma, emissaries spent years—often their whole lives—learning about one species or another. And when the time came for the Republic to enter peace talks, the Luma were there to make sure the Senate didn’t walk all over them. But from what Magnus had heard, the dialogues
were always one-sided, and it was the Republic who got the barrel end of the blaster.

  Magnus had never met a Luma before, but given their reputation, he had no desire to. And if this fin sucker was going to do anything but make sure the four Marines with him made it back to the village alive, he’d be damned if he didn’t shoot the emissary himself.

  “Fifty meters to POC,” Flow said, referring to the plan’s primary point of contact.

  “Hold,” Magnus said, reminding his unit not to fire prematurely… because mystics know they want to. Hell, Magus wanted to more than anyone. But he hadn’t been promoted to sergeant just because of his last name, even though he was sure that had been a contributing factor. The same went for his baby brother, Argus. But there was no way either of them could escape their grandfather’s legend. Best just to try and honor it instead.

  “Thirty meters,” Flow reported. The lance corporal spoke just above a whisper. Magnus hated how quiet things got over comms just before his unit saw action. It never ceased to amaze him how much his Marines talked before and during a conflict… but that intense window of silence just before things got real? That was the worst. Secretly, he was hoping one of those fish would make a move so the platoon could get this dumbass distraction over with.

  The fish continued to waddle toward the bridge, eyes bulging above their long-snouted slits of teeth. They moved awkwardly, but it was deceptive—at full speed, these demons could overtake any human. Why the damned freaks of nature couldn’t remain content in their oceanic habitat, Magnus had no idea. Little was known about the species and their culture… that was, unless the Luma there was willing to share his notes. Not likely, Magnus thought.

  Somewhere along the line, the fish wanted to be the only native inhabitants of Caledonia, and that didn't sit well with either the island dwellers or the Galactic Republic. The senators, it was said, rather liked this planet. And for more than just the stunning views. Suffice to say, they rarely brought their wives on government trips here. Magnus didn’t exactly blame them in their lust—the Nimprinthian women were a sight to behold—but he did question their fidelity.

  “Ten meters,” Flow said.

  Magnus tracked the three fish to the bridge and then opened a channel to Wainwright. “Lieutenant, do we have ears on the Luma?”

  “Negative,” Wainwright replied. “The emissary insisted they go weaponless, and—according to him—the Akuda can detect TACNET transmissions and consider all non-biological forms of communication a threat.”

  Magnus ground his teeth. “Copy that.” He closed the channel and reported Wainwright’s intel to the rest of the fire team leads. All they could do was watch.

  Suddenly, the center ’kuda started to grow animated, throwing its sinewy forearms in circles.

  “Whoa, whoa,” said Flow. “Wha’da we got here?”

  “Easy,” Magnus said, though he tightened his grip on his MC90. The fish continued to gesture emphatically, snapping its jaws in quick bites. “He doesn’t look happy.” Magnus noted that the two other ’kudas were starting to grow restless too.

  “I don’t like this, Magnus,” Cheeks said, dispensing with protocol and calling the sergeant by his last name.

  “Hey, is anyone else detecting an energy reading?” Mouth asked.

  “Splick,” Magnus said. He switched his view from optical to radio spectrometer. A faint yellow glow emanated around the center ’kuda. “I got it.” He reopened the channel to Wainwright. “Are you seeing an energy spike?”

  Wainwright didn’t reply at first, then said, “Affirmative.”

  Magnus used his eye-tracking command to expand his HUD’s view of the bridge and center on the fish. But the damn Luma emissary was blocking the reading, making it harder to discern.

  “Could be residual,” Flow offered up. “It’s faint enough.”

  “Is that what your gut says?” Magnus added.

  “Nope.”

  “Mine neither.” Magnus placed the center of his targeting reticle on the ’kuda’s head but kept having to sweep over the Luma to get a clean shot. “Dammit. I’m assigning these bastards to you guys. Tagging now. Get ready to take out the two side ’kudas if they do anything stupid.”

  “Copy,” said all three men.

  Back in optical view, the Luma emissary appeared as though he was trying to calm the main ’kuda using slow downward motions with his hands. He also gestured several times to the four Marines with him. For their part, the Marines remained where they were, arms at their sides. But Magnus knew they had to be pissing in their armor. Still, the ’kuda “spokesfish” grew more agitated.

  “Probably not my place to say, Lieutenant,” Magnus said over comms, “but I don’t like it.”

  “Neither do I, sergeant,” said Wainwright.

  Suddenly, the four Marines started to back away. The three fish snapped at the air with their teeth. The emissary also took a step back—the man lowered his head as some sort of energy field began to glow around his body. “What the hell?” Magnus said.

  “I’m detecting a second energy reading around the Luma,” Mouth added.

  “I don’t like this…” Flow said.

  Suddenly, the ’kuda on the right reached toward the center fish’s back and pulled something. It looked like a long string…

  With a pin at the end.

  “It’s an ambush!” Magnus yelled over comms.

  He’d barely finished the sentence when the foremost ’kuda detonated, swallowing the other two in a shockwave that rippled all the way back into the village. Magnus hardly flinched, however, watching as the four Marine privates were vaporized along with the fish. As for the worthless Luma, the emissary in his glowing energy field was flung backward and went flipping down the dirt road.

  The Luma had enough of the dark arts to know when to protect himself, but not enough to protect the four Marines he had slaughtered? “Son of a bitch,” Magnus yelled.

  A dozen ’kuda sprang up from the wide stream, bringing weapons to bear on the Luma who was attempting to retreat toward the village. The emissary took a blaster bolt in the back of the leg, sending him to the dirt in a sprawl. Another bolt drove into his anus, while several more kicked up dirt around his arms. He tried to cover his head, but a final blaster bolt punched through the base of his neck. The Luma’s head twitched once, cocked at an odd angle, and his thrashing stopped.

  Flow, Mouth, and Cheeks were already returning fire when Wainwright yelled over comms. “Contact, north and south sides!”

  New enemy icons popped up on Magnus’s topo, indicating Akuda infantry emerging from the ocean to their south—his right—and the volcano hillside to the north—his left. Normally, Repub scanners picked up most enemies, but the ’kudas were beginning to learn how to outsmart some of the hardware. How, Magnus had no idea, but he guessed it had something to do with the marine physiology.

  “Fire teams four, five, and six,” Wainwright said, “right flank, clear that beach. Fire teams two and three, left flank. I want that jungle purged. Fire team one, clear that stream. Be advised, second and third platoons are en route from the west, ETA five minutes.”

  The stream was Magnus’s. He relayed the order to his boys then joined them in laying down steady blaster fire. He sighted in on a fish taking cover near the smoldering remains of the bridge, ranged at seventy-five meters. The fish was popping in and out of a concrete support’s shadow, taking potshots at Marines on the roof adjacent to Magnus. But the ’kuda had developed a pattern that made predicting his next appearance only too easy. Magnus squeezed one round, sending a blaster bolt into the fish’s head. The creature flipped backward and splashed in the water.

  The next enemy he saw had positioned itself between some large boulders and a cluster of palm trees—an ideal place for an afternoon cocktail or an evening tryst. At the moment, however, it was the sight of a bloodstain as Magnus drilled the ’kuda in the throat and upper chest, pummeling it with a three-round burst from his MC90.

  Magnus’s
third kill came when he spotted a ’kuda making a dash for a small outbuilding closer to the village’s edge. While the enemy was fast on land—dangerously so—a well-trained Marine could pick off a ’kuda as long each shot was well-timed. In this case, since the fish was running at an oblique angle to Magnus, it was only too easy to lead the target. He squeezed. The blaster spat a magenta-colored round that struck the fish in the sternum. It tumbled and buried its head in the sand, legs folding over its back. The rest of his unit had made quick work of the Akuda in the stream, so Magnus confirm-cleared the map of hostile icons.

  “Fire team one, shift left,” Wainwright ordered. “We need overwatch to the north!”

  Magnus tapped Flow on the head and pointed north. “Here we go, boys,” he added. They backed off the thatched roof, slid over the side, and landed on the dirt path that connected several of the private bungalows. In the center of the village rose a five-story hotel. It’s glass exterior, wooden beams, and fabric awnings made it look more like a beach-bound sailing yacht than a luxury resort.

  “Let’s make for the hotel roof,” Magnus said. Fire teams two and three were already on the ground, moving into the jungle. Taking the roof meant Flow could unleash even more destruction from his sniper rifle, while the rest of his fire team called out targets and aided the boots on the sand.

  Magnus hauled ass around the hotel pool, pushed into an interior lobby, and headed toward a stairwell sign. He charged up all five flights, feeling his armor’s servos assist him as he climbed. But the Mark IV needed some serious upgrades in the future—at least if he had anything to say about it—and more powerful servos would be critical if the Corps was going to remain a formidable fighting force in the galaxy.