Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6

by Chaney, J. N.

  His gladias had been blown into the water, as had most of Bosworth’s Marines. Magnus’s NBTI was rebooting, but he could see lots of Novian armor treading water. On the beach, the ambassador’s six Rhinos had moved across the strand but were still intact. And overhead, Azelon’s ship had been forced out over the bay but remained aloft.

  Then it hit Magnus—the civilians.

  At first, he thought only of Awen’s parents and Jules, all three of whom seemed to be thrashing about in the sea. His gladias would recover them in moments. But then he looked back toward the Forum Republic. Where proud structures stood moments before, fire reigned. Buildings were decimated—blown to shells of their former glory—and energy systems exploded, sending more flames and sparks shooting out of the inferno.

  Then Magnus noticed the avenue that led back to the capital. People laid on the pavement—hundreds of people. Thousands of people. Magnus stumbled, trying to see if any of them had survived. He swore and then swore again, but all he heard was the sound of ringing—ringing so loud he thought he might go mad from it.

  He took a few steps forward, then a few more, until he was running toward the avenue. Bodies were stacked upon bodies, mounded at the boardwalk end of the street like a massive ground mover had plowed the pavement. Magnus felt his gorge rise, and just when he thought he might vomit, he saw a person move. Then another. And then more, until hundreds of people tried to untangle themselves from each other, struggling to regain their feet. People wept, others screamed, and still others walked around aimlessly, shellshocked.

  Magnus felt tremors go through his body as memories of other people in this condition flooded his mind. He’d seen this before on battlefields across the quadrant. Marines and civilians alike, staggering like stupefied versions of their once dignified selves. In the wake of horror, they meandered like the walking dead—forever traumatized by the evils of war. As with the faded streets of his memory, for every living person in this Caprianian avenue, there were many more dead. Their bodies were strewn out along the pavement and against buildings like leaves blown down the road from a cold autumn wind. And now, like the old days, Magnus felt helpless in the face of such destruction.

  An agony without description crawled from somewhere deep in his soul, clawing its way out of his spirit and writhing to find a voice in his head. He roared, screaming at the scene played out so many times in his past—and the one now, assailing him in vivid detail. He shouted and shouted until he tasted blood in his mouth. Then he spat into his helmet and coughed, stumbling toward the urban sea of victims.

  “—do you copy?” said a voice in his head. It was familiar, and—somehow—reassuring. Like the person could be trusted with everything Magnus was witnessing. Like the speaker had been here before. Seen this. Felt this. “Magnus!”

  “I’m here,” Magnus said, barely recognizing the sound of his voice. It was coming from inside his head rather than through his ears. Maybe because his ears weren’t working. But his biotech interface was. “I’m here,” he said again, more forcefully.

  “What’s your status, son?”

  Son. This was Caldwell speaking. “I’m—I’m—” You’re what, Adonis? Magnus swallowed and then fought to order his thoughts.

  “Adonis! Can you hear me?”

  You’re what? Magnus was still trying to answer the question—still trying to separate himself from his memories. From his pain.

  Then he heard his true self. You’re a Gladio Umbra, and you’ve got a mission to complete.

  Magnus blinked. “Yes. I can hear you, sir.”

  “And your team?”

  Magnus turned toward the sea. A few gladias were struggling out of the waves. “I see some. They’re—” He glanced at the roster. Most icons were green, a few yellow, and no red. No red, not dead. “They’re all alive.”

  “Holy milk-sucking bastard children of the mystical saints,” Caldwell replied. “You’re one lucky son of a bitch, Magnus. And Awen’s parents?”

  Magnus scanned the waves. He spotted Abimbola and Zoll helping Balin and Giyel out of the surf. Likewise, Titus was trying to help Jules, but she shoved him away. “Alive,” Magnus said, relieved by his pronouncement. “They’re all good, sir.”

  Caldwell whistled and then inserted his cigar back into his mouth. “Azelon’s bringing the ship back in. I want you loaded up and out of there ASAP.”

  “Copy that, Colonel.”

  “And Adonis?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  Magnus chuckled once. “Me too.”

  “I’m sorry to break up this sentimental moment, sirs,” TO-96 said.

  “But you’re going to, aren’t you, Brass Balls,” Caldwell said.

  “That’s an affirmative, sir. Sensors show several ships converging on your location, Magnus.”

  “What kind of ships?” Magnus asked.

  “They appear to have departed from the fleets in orbit.”

  Magnus swore under his breath. “Paragon.”

  “I’m terribly sorry, sir.”

  “So am I, ’Six.” As if taking on Bosworth and his Marines wasn’t enough, now Granther Company had to tangle with Paragon troopers. “Things on this op just keep getting better and better.”

  “Do I detect sarcasm, sir?” TO-96 asked.

  “What gave it away?”

  “Well, given the statistical probability of how many unforeseen events have negatively affected—”

  “’Six?” Magnus said.

  The bot paused. “Bad timing to answer what was most likely a rhetorical question?”

  “Nailed it.”

  “Spire out,” Caldwell said. His and TO-96’s faces disappeared.

  Magnus looked up as Azelon’s shuttle neared the beach. It was a Novian designed XTS Transport Shuttle, featuring two down-swept wings and a V-tail. The hull looked like it had been raked by blaster fire, and two newly opened holes sent sparks into the waves. But unless Azelon informed Magnus that the shuttle couldn’t fly, he had no reason to think it wouldn’t get them back to the Spire.

  “Magnus?” Azelon said.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Please know that, like your Republic vessels, this shuttle’s shields cannot be operational while the ship is aground and will, therefore, be vulnerable to enemy fire while we take on passengers. I recommend you make haste.”

  “We’ll make lots of haste, Azie.”

  Magnus ran toward the shore to help gather his gladias when blaster fire slammed into his back. Proximity alerts flashed in his cockpit, and Magnus spun around. There, atop one of the Rhino’s behind an M109 turret, was Bosworth. Magnus’s bioteknia eyes zoomed in, and he could see the gun’s recoil shaking the ambassador’s snarling face as the blaster emission lit his bloodshot eyes like they belonged to a rabid animal. Magnus lifted his GU90M to fire on him, but Bosworth raked the weapon until Magnus’s arm went limp.

  More blaster fire slapped against Magnus’s flanks. He glanced to his left to find several Marines had regained their feet and their blasters. “As soon as that ramp comes down, I want everyone loaded,” Magnus said.

  “Rohoar will ensure it,” Rohoar said.

  Bosworth continued to fire and then was joined by a second Rhino’s M109 turret. Rounds penetrated the BATRIG’s left thigh. Magnus willed the mech toward Bosworth, but it limped far more slowly than he expected. The mech’s RTD10 came even with the second Rhino and Magnus fired. The man behind the weapon exploded, and the M109 went silent.

  Bosworth’s weapon continued to chew into Magnus’s armor. By the time Magnus was within striking distance, his RTD10 had given out—broken in half, and spilling sparks into the sand. But the fight wasn’t over. Magnus roared as he swung his oversized right arm into the M109’s barrels. The turret spun sideways— Bosworth jerked with it. He yelped. “You have nothing left to shoot with, you stubborn idiot.”

  “Who said anything about needing to shoot?” Magnus activated Eject on his HUD. The cockpit’s emer
gency release doors flew aside, and a small charge launched him forward. He landed like a cat on the M109 turret and then withdrew his Novian combat blade.

  “Even if you get off this beach, Moldark’s ships will blow you from the sky,” Bosworth said, spittle flying from his mouth.

  “I’m not so sure about that.” Then Magnus grabbed Bosworth’s wrist with the tracking bracelet and chopped straight through the forearm. He pulled Bosworth’s hand away as the man shrieked.

  “What have you done?” Bosworth said, clutching the stump to his chest.

  “Just taking out an insurance policy,” Magnus said. “Moldark and I have a deal.”

  “You’ll never stop us,” Bosworth spat. “What Moldark and Blackman and I are doing is so much bigger than all of you! Fools.”

  “Aw, splick,” Titus said over VNET. “We’ve got more company.”

  “What?” Magnus turned around as four additional Rhinos hovered down the street from the north. That was eight more fire teams and four more M109s. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Magnus leapt from the APC, pulled his NOV1 from his back, and raced toward the evac shuttle.

  Azelon set the ramp down on the strand just above the waterline, blasting sand in every direction. The rest of the gladia fired on the surviving Marines as Abimbola helped Giyel up the ramp. Jules and Balin would be next, but the ship was taking heavy fire as more Marines recovered from the LO9D blast.

  As if things couldn’t get any worse, the Paragon ships arrived. They touched down to the north and south of Magnus’s location, off-loading what looked to be black-clad Marines—in Recon armor.

  “Son of a bitch,” Magnus yelled.

  “Sir,” Azelon said. “I regret to inform you that I am taking too much fire and must get clear of this beach immediately or risk losing the ship.”

  “Just hold on a mysticsdamned second!”

  “I have to pull away now. I’m—sorry.”

  “Azie, no,” Magnus roared. But the ship pitched forward and accelerated away from the onslaught of enemy fire. Magnus thought he heard Awen scream her mother’s name, but it was hard to hear over the sound of the thrusters and blaster fire.

  “Awen,” Magnus shouted. “We need a wall!”

  “But my mother’s on—”

  “Awen, please!”

  Awen ducked as blaster fire whizzed over her head. Apparently, the Marines found the gladias far better targets than the retreating shuttle, especially now that the vessel could raise its shield again. That fact seemed to startle Awen into producing a translucent glowing wall on three sides. Wish, Telwin, and Finderminth stepped to her side and, presumably, aided her. Figuring out what or how the mystics did what they did was above Magnus’s pay grade. So he stuck to what he knew: reassessing the enemy while designating fields of fire to the rest of the company. But things did not look promising.

  With Bosworth’s original six platoons finding their way out of the surf, combined with the additional four platoons, Magnus’s unit was outnumbered almost twenty to one. This wasn’t going to be a fight. It was going to be a bloodbath.

  And then there were the Paragon ships.

  27

  Awen’s shield wouldn’t hold for long, even with the other mystics’ help. Not with the onslaught Bosworth’s Marines were giving it. Plus, the shield gave the enemy a clear target as their blaster rounds dashed across the plane. Magnus gave the Unity wall another twenty seconds tops. The gladias’ only other option was to retreat into the sea, and none of them were equipped for ocean warfare—not with this armor configuration. If they backed into the water, they’d be sitting ducks.

  There was only one option: violence of force.

  Blaster fire erupted from behind Bosworth’s Marines. At first, Magnus couldn’t tell what was going on. There seemed to be some sort of commotion among Bosworth’s men toward the northern flank. A miscommunication, perhaps, resulting in a friendly fire incident. But with both units so close together, that seemed unlikely. But something felt familiar about the style of assault.

  As another few moments passed, the blaster fire from the north ebbed as Bosworth’s Marines faltered. Heads turned left and right and orders seemed to go out over TACNET. Even the M109s on the Rhinos went silent as Bosworth’s men tried to sort out whatever mishap was distracting them from annihilating Magnus and his teams.

  Without warning, a squad of Recon Marines crested a dune with blaster rounds that shredded the Marine’s left flank, dropping troopers along the beach like Paglothian dominos. Bodies hit the sand as Bosworth’s Marines tried to fire on the new troopers closing behind them, but they were too slow. The aggressors were, after all, Recon Marines—lethal in their efficiency and brutal in their tactics—albeit loyal to the Paragon now. Weren’t they? Magnus wondered. Because there was one glaring fact: these new Recon Marines weren’t firing on the gladias.

  “What is happening, buckethead?” Abimbola asked over VNET.

  “Not sure. But I’m not waiting around to find out,” Magnus said. Then he raised his NOV1 and kept firing on Bosworth’s forces. “Keep the pressure on Bosworth’s Marines!”

  As more Marines fell under both gladia and Recon trooper fire, the black armored fighters grew more plentiful—they were starting to break through Bosworth’s northern lines. Magnus could hear the distinct MAR30 whine as the weapons chewed through Repub armor. It wouldn’t be long before they fired on Awen’s shield and made quick work of it.

  Just then, something caught Magnus’s eye—a detail so small, no one would have recognized it. No one except a Marine who served in the 79th Recon Battalion, he thought. There, stenciled on each Mark VII’s shoulder plate, was the yellow icon of a crescent moon and a duradex combat knife. It was the symbol of the Midnight Hunters.

  “Ho-ly splick,” Magnus said, unsure if he should be terrified, relieved, or just shocked at the galaxy’s sense of irony.

  “What is it?” Awen asked. “What do you see?”

  Magnus stopped firing and inclined his head. “See the yellow symbol?”

  “That’s your old mark, isn’t it?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Just then, a senior Paragon trooper accompanied by three guards ran along the surf, apparently unnoticed by Bosworth’s Marines. They weren’t firing, and the commander had maglocked his MAR30 to his back in a sign. Which means he wants to talk, Magnus knew. They double-timed it through the waves until all four troopers were within the relative protection of the Unity shield.

  “Hold your fire on those four,” Magnus ordered as Reimer and Bliss took a few shots on the advancing foursome. The commander was trying to say something over external speakers. Magnus activated the Enhance feature of his audio sensors and heard a voice he had not heard in a very long time.

  “Adonis Olin Magnus,” the Marine yelled. “Is he here?”

  “Who is asking?” Abimbola replied.

  “Whoa.” Wainwright raised his weapon and his empty hand. “Easy there, big fella.”

  “Captain?” Magnus stepped forward. “Captain Wainwright?”

  “None other,” Wainwright replied.

  Magnus grasped the captain’s hand and then pulled him close.

  “Uh, what’s going on here?” Bliss asked. “Why is Magnus hugging the bad guy?”

  “This here’s my old Captain,” Magnus said over comms and externals. “Introductions later. Azie?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but there’s still too much heat, as you say, to bring the ship in.”

  “Not that. Can you establish a link with Captain Wainwright’s comms so we don’t need to use externals?”

  “Please remain still,” Azie said.

  “Don’t move for a sec, Cap,” Magnus said to Wainwright.

  “There, done,” said Azelon. “You have an encrypted squad channel with Captain Wainwright.”

  “Do you read me?” Magnus looked at the captain and pointed to the side of his helmet.

  “Loud and clear, Magnus,” Wainright said over comms. “Nice hacker you g
ot hidden away somewhere.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.” Magnus looked north toward Wainwright’s Marines. “Care to explain what’s going on here?”

  “We’re not with the Paragon, for starters,” Wainwright replied.

  “But our sensors detected—”

  “That we were deployed from the fleets? Well, it turns out that not all the fleets are of one mind.”

  “So you’re—”

  “Here to help kick Moldark’s ass and anyone else who threatens our friends.”

  “La-raah,” Bliss exclaimed.

  “La-raah,” a few others replied.

  “It’s a war cry,” Magnus said to the captain.

  Wainwright raised a fist toward the gladias. “La-raah, damn straight.” Wainwright looked back at Magnus. “But I’m afraid we can’t stay long. And neither should you.”

  “The LO9Ds,” Magnus said.

  “Hard copy. And they’re just getting warmed up. But First Fleet is trying to keep that from happening. Second too, from what I hear. Our Commodore sent us to try and help you, but we just got orders to return ASAP.” Wainwright nodded at the thinning Marine ranks, which almost seemed enough for Granther Company to take now. “We’ve done what we can, but it’s time to go. And I suggest you call your shuttle back too.”

  “Thanks for coming, Captain,” Magnus said, gripping the man’s hand again. “It’s good to see you.”

  “You too, Magnus. And just so you know, we never doubted you. Not for a second.”

  Had M109 fire not been pelting the Unity shield, nor the beach been awash with Marine fire from two different factions, Magnus would probably have gotten choked up. Instead, he swallowed the lump in his throat and let the captain pull him into a one-armed embrace.

  “And thanks for saving my life back on Oorajee, Magnus,” Wainwright added. “I owe you one.”

  “After this, I think we’re even.”

  Wainwright laughed. “You’re making some good points.”

  “Let’s give them some covering fire,” Magnus said to his Granthers.

  “Thanks, Magnus. We’ll see you topside.”