Gunboat
Page 1
Gunboat
The Royal Marine Space Commandos Book 4
James Evans
Jon Evans
Copyright © 2018 by James Evans & Jon Evans
Cover art by Christian Kallias Infinite Scifi
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Thank you for Reading
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Also by James Evans and Jon Evans
About The Authors James Evans
About The Authors Jon Evans
Prologue
Captain Yegorovich felt the subtle shift in the decking beneath his feet that signalled an engine power change. He pressed the comm button by his vid-mirror. “Borisovich, how long to the target?”
“Fifteen minutes until the colony is within range of our primary weapon systems, Captain,” replied the pilot.
“Asteroid, Lieutenant, not a colony. It is an unlicensed mining operation, held by outlaws. GK Industries frigates do not open fire on legitimate colonies,” Yegorovich admonished the pilot of GKI Jacobo. “We are not savages. We are merely securing GKI’s legitimate interests in this system, for which they have mining rights.”
A flush rose up from the collar of Borisovich’s uniform to the close-cropped hair around his ears.
“Yes, Captain. My apologies.”
Yegorovich nodded and released the comm button as he jutted his jaw towards the mirror, checking for any remaining soap. He grunted, satisfied. This was an important call, and he had spent an hour ensuring that he looked the part. His valet had pressed immaculate creases into his uniform and polished every surface in his ready room.
One last pat down with a warm towel and he was ready to make the most important call of his career, to a man with a reputation for placing a premium on the comportment of his staff.
If this mission went smoothly, Yegorovich would be perfectly placed for promotion to command of one of the company’s new battleships, maybe even a capital ship. Yegorovich was young for such a position, but GKI executives groomed the subordinates who impressed them for high positions, and none were better placed to further his career than the man he was about to call.
He sat at his desk, straightened his shoulders and tapped a button. The viewscreen popped up from the back of his desk, and he opened a connection to the bridge.
“Junior Lieutenant Germanovich, open a wormhole to headquarters and put me through to Chairman Giacomo Khan,” he said in his best commander’s voice.
This is it, he thought, this is your chance to impress Giacomo Khan himself, founder and principal shareholder of Giacomo Khan Industries.
“Yes, Captain. Right away, Captain,” Germanovich replied, initiating a wormhole transmission to establish interstellar communications with the regional company headquarters of GKI. Moments later, the transmission connected and was routed through to the captain’s ready room.
“Good morning, Captain.”
“Good morning, Chairman,” he replied, trying to keep the excitement from his voice.
“Hold for the Chairman, please,” said Ms Afanasievna with a sniff that somehow conveyed utter contempt. The screen changed to show a holding vid.
His personal assistant. Not the chairman. Yegorovich shut his mouth with a snap and waited as a monotonous hold video played on the screen.
His collar felt tight. That idiot, Orlov, had over starched his shirt again. He stuck his finger in and tried to loosen it a little. Was he perspiring? His forehead felt damp, and his throat was dry.
Yegorovich swallowed, eyeing the glass of water, then the waiting video. He swallowed again, then reached for the glass to take a sip, his hand trembling nervously.
“Captain Yegorovich, what is your status?” snapped Giacomo Khan, his words clipped and impatient as he glared from the viewscreen. Well, he was a trillionaire. His time was no doubt valuable.
“We’re almost ready, I mean, uh,” Yegorovich stammered, spilling the water over his hand as he set the glass down, “we are almost in position to attack, Chairman Khan. We are ten minutes from primary weapons range.”
“Good. Any problems?”
“No, sir. These thieves have only minimal defences on their improvised mining station. We will eliminate their pathetic anti-ship cannons and missile defence lasers with one barrage of surgically targeted strikes. After that, they have nothing to prevent our corporate security forces from storming the station, eliminating any armed opposition, and securing their other personnel,” replied Yegorovich, feeling a little more confident now that he was speaking about the military matters that he had already discussed at length with his team.
“Remind me. Who will lead the assault?”
“Captain Katerina Petrovna of the 6th Company, GKI Counter Insurgency Troopers, sir. She will conduct the assault and secure the station for GKI. She is confident that her troopers can complete the assault with a minimal number of CIT casualties and secure the enemy personnel before they can regroup to offer effective resistance. If you are happy to authorise us to proceed with the seizure of these criminally obtained assets, Chairman Khan,” Yegorovich said.
There was no hesitation, no delay for further thought. Giacomo Khan had not created the largest conglomerate in Koschite history by being indecisive. “You have your authorisation, Yegorovich. You are to proceed with the operation and take justice to this band of criminals. Happy hunting, Captain.”
“Borisovich, what’s our time to intercept the target?” Yegorovich asked as he lowered himself into his command chair and began drumming his fingers on the arm. He crossed his legs, straightened his jacket, cracked his neck and then uncrossed his legs.
“Four minutes, Captain,” Junior Lieutenant Borisovich confirmed. “Optimum launch window for the boarding pods opens in three minutes and fifteen seconds.”
“Captain Petrovna, what is your status?”
“Boarding team ready to launch,” Captain Petrovna replied. “Weapons are locked and loaded, all systems fully operational.”
“Excellent. Standby for launch.” He turned to his XO. “Germanovich, do you have a firing solution?”
“Yes, Captain. Targets locked in, the first window opens in two minutes. Optimal engagement results are expected at two minutes, thirty seconds,” said Germanovich.
“Very well, engage targets at the optimal range. I would like one clean volley, if possible. Identify failed strikes and re-engage immediately if any first strikes miss their mark. Launch boarding pods once the window opens,” Yegorovich ordered. The rel
evant personnel confirmed his orders as he gave them.
He leaned back and steepled his fingers under his chin, waiting impatiently, eager for the plan to proceed.
“Volley fired. Nine point eight seconds to impact. Six. Three. Impact. Assessing damage,” Germanovich stated in flat, calm tones. “Impact data returned. All targets successfully struck and no longer operational. One hundred per cent success rate, Captain.”
“Excellent work,” Yegorovich said.
Presently, a rumble could be felt through the deck plating and Borisovich reported, “Boarding pods away, Captain.”
“Good hunting, Captain Petrovna.”
“Thank you, Captain Yegorovich. Impact in fifteen minutes. Switching to stealth mode,” replied the mercenary commander.
And that was it. Now all they could do was wait and monitor the surrounding regions for trouble. There was some manoeuvring for Borisovich to do, of course, to keep them in the best position to defend themselves and fire on the mining facility, should they need to, but that was it. Unless another ship arrived, it was now up to the GKI infantry to secure the station.
“Captain, the pod will land in four minutes. We have three safe impact zones. Which is your preference?” asked Specialist Popov, looking up from his data slate as he guided the pod to its target.
Petrovna looked at the slate as he presented it to her.
“What is this?” she asked, pointing at a fourth area.
Popov was taken aback. The captain was pointing at a part of the colony that wasn’t a valid target for a boarding pod to create a hull breach. Surely she knew this? Captain Petrovna wasn’t keen on waiting, though, so he answered as quickly as possible.
“Captain, it is a bio-dome, a recreational area filled with plants and trees to provide a pleasant environment for the miners to relax in. It has no strategic importance, and if it is opened to vacuum the flora will be destroyed.”
“It is surplus to company requirements,” said Petrovna calmly, “and gives immediate access to internal doors and multiple areas and levels. It is only windows and some thin supports, so we can breach it, yes? A perfect landing site.”
“Yes, Captain, but it will depressurise, and we won’t be able to seal the breach behind us. We’ll crash right through the window panels and be left in hard vacuum,” he protested, for all the good it would do.
“Are you questioning my decision, Specialist?” she asked.
He gulped and shook his head. “No, Captain.”
“Then set the course. But there is no need to be dramatic; after all, who likes a bumpy landing?” she said with a cruel laugh.
The destruction would be wanton, but Popov knew the captain didn’t care about such things as leisure and mental health facilities for the miners. The company’s needs were all that mattered.
He issued the final course to the pod, firing the thrusters to align it with the target then the retro-engines to slow the pod so that it would be well below the normal impact speed by the time it struck the beautiful domed garden. Then he reached above him and pulled down the helmet of his power armour.
Popov took the opportunity to shudder in disgust at the demands placed on him by his employers. If he could, he would have transferred away from Captain Petrovna’s command, but she wouldn’t take that well and she had a reputation for spiteful reprisals. No, if he wanted to be surrounded by people who didn’t terrify him, he had to find some way to get promoted to a senior role elsewhere in GKI. He wished he had joined the army instead.
Petrovna broadcast to all pods. The sycophants around her signalled their amusement and gave her the thumbs up. It was the same joke every time, but she always got an enthusiastic laugh. Popov grinned broadly through his faceplate and gave her two thumbs up as well, and she laughed, punching his shoulder. At least he wore power armour. Out of the suits, her idea of a playful punch was unpleasantly sadistic.
Popov was pretty sure Petrovna’s psych report would confirm psychopathic tendencies, if it weren’t for the fact that her last shrink had died in a horrible accident shortly after suffering a failure in her backup hardware. For a Progenitor to suffer the final death was almost unheard of, and Popov did not believe in coincidences.
He checked his straps one more time, then tried to relax into his seat, insofar as that was possible while he was surrounded by this bunch of quasi-criminals and borderline psychopaths. He hadn’t known, before joining up, that the GKI mercenaries were every bit as, well, mercenary as the Libertarian-aligned news shows always portrayed them to be. The vid shows told stories of corrupt corporate mercenaries being pursued by honest cops, but they had always seemed like exaggerated melodramas.
Now, from the inside, the shows disturbingly accurate. Tame, even.
The countdown began, and Petrovna’s main team whooped and hollered over the wide band. He slapped a volume limit on them via his HUD. He didn’t need to hear it, but he knew he had to listen to every comment they broadcast in the next hour and that Petrovna wouldn’t discipline anyone for anything they said, or did. Not unless they shot a friendly or damaged company property.
The pod struck the network of carbon-nanofibre filigree with far less force than in a normal boarding pod procedure. The diamond-glass glazing, whose panels made the dome sparkle like a bejewelled egg, shattered as the supports gave way.
Popov watched through the hardened cameras embedded in the nose as the seemingly delicate shell first crumpled, and then tore, when the boarding pod punched through it. The atmosphere rushed out, and Popov’s worst nightmare was fulfilled.
First one body, then another, then a third, was pulled from the dome by the escaping gas, dragged into space to die in a horrible fashion. They had been hiding in there, he was sure of it, safe in the least valuable, and most welcoming, part of the facility. When the station was attacked, the garden dome had probably seemed like a safe place to send their most vulnerable residents. How wrong they were.
Popov could see the last of them, a woman, struggling to hold on to a tree branch with one hand and a small figure with the other. He could see her screaming in agony and terror, then the last breath left her body and her strength failed. Her child was ripped from her grasp and the woman lost her purchase on the tree. Both bodies tumbled past the boarding pod, sucked out into the frozen void beyond.
Popov closed his eyes and wondered if he could ever forgive himself for the crimes he had committed today. He felt a little piece of his mind snap, and his eyes misted with tears that he couldn’t wipe away unless he, too, wanted to feel the icy touch of space on his skin.
Blinking furiously to clear the tears from his eyes, he followed Captain Petrovna through the door of the pod and into the ruined garden. The mercenaries were waiting at the first door, which he hacked and forced to open, venting more atmosphere from the facility.
Each door from the destroyed bio-dome fell before his hacking skills, and he followed his captain and two of her best soldiers into the station, resealing the door and repressurising the chamber.
Any of these criminals? thought Popov bitterly. We’re the criminals here.
This time, Captain Yegorovich waited until an image appeared on the screen in his office before he spoke, which turned out to be wise as the secretary did not pick up. Instead, the view was of a large office with a commensurately enormous leather topped wooden desk.
Behind the desk, a high-backed office chair faced a panoramic view over the city of Bratsk, with its beachfront villas, bars and restaurants, and the sparkling blue bay of water which lapped against the white sandy beaches.
Yegorovich hoped to be invited to a company event in the luxurious city one day, but he couldn’t afford it on his salary. Br
atsk was the vacation destination of choice for many Koschites, regardless of their political leanings.
The view from GKI’s regional headquarters was spectacular, thanks to the vigorous efforts of GKI’s in-house terraforming gurus. Bratsk Bay had once been a provincial backwater full of river silt and bounded by shingle beaches, but the terraforming team had transformed it, changing every aspect of the bay.
The work had been extensive. The terraforming team had obliterated the native ecosystem, swapping the flora and fauna for non-native species. They had dredged the bay, scraped away the shingle, and constructed sweeping beaches of pristine artificial sand. A kilometre upstream, an artificial lake had been constructed, partly to host water sports but mostly to filter contaminants from the water, such as silt and native fish, before it flowed into the bay.
Downstream of the lake, the river was a beautiful, sparkling ribbon of unnaturally clear water. Even the river bed had been dredged, the original muck being replaced with thousands of tons of picture-perfect pebbles and semi-precious gemstones. The plant life in the river and along its banks and been razed or plucked out and exchanged for more visually appealing species.
Yegorovich had heard that each regional headquarters had a penthouse office space reserved for the use of the chairman and his staff, but he had never seen one. Bratsk might have been only a minor regional office, but it must surely have the most spectacular vista offered by any of them.