Outcast Marines Boxed Set

by James David Victor

  “Don’t make me climb up there, for heaven’s sake…” he tried to make a joke, half-rising an arm to indicate where he had been shot.

  “Hmph.” Jezzy was in no mood for talking, but she knew that she had to move. The station alerts had gone out just a minute ago, calling for everyone to go to the main briefing room. She had stayed up here out of a sort of despairing spite at her own position. A part of her perversely wanted to get into trouble.

  I deserve it, she thought, before unslinging her leg and rolling her shoulder and body over the restraining bar to nearly fall over the edge—

  “Whoa!” Solomon gasped.

  But Jezzy was very good at this kind of stuff. She caught the bar on the way over, swinging herself down to the next handhold and, barely using her feet at all, crab-crawled down the wall faster than many people could jog in a straight line.

  She landed on the balls of her feet beside Solomon, sweating and breathing fast. The exertion still hadn’t done anything to put her mind to rest.

  “You heard the alert?” Cready nodded at the screens that hung over the doors.

  “Don’t tell me you came to collect me, Sol…” Jezzy said as they turned towards the door.

  “Nope. I came to, uh, ask…” Jezzy could feel him looking at her with those owlish eyes that he had when he was worried. She hated it. It made her feel weak, like he was pitying her.

  “Spit it out,” Jezzy said, wanting to get this over with. Three weeks. It had been three weeks since they had started an interstellar incident, and she still hadn’t heard anything from the Yakuza or about her father.

  “That guy who had come to kill me, the Yakuza operative…” Solomon was muttering under their breath as they quick-walked through the gymnasium and out into the still-busy corridors beyond. “You said he had a hold over you. Your father…”

  Jezzy nodded, but her face was a flat, stoic line.

  “I’ve been doing some thinking, and I think that there might be a way we can help. From here,” Solomon whispered.

  “You’re crazy,” Jezzy said. “It’s been three weeks anyway. He’s already dead. The Yakuza don’t hang around.”

  “I don’t think he is,” Solomon countered, a reaction that made Jezzy’s blood boil with anger. She stopped mid-walk, even as the last of the other Outcasts were entering the briefing room ahead of them. She rounded on her commander.

  “You wait three weeks to come up with a plan? Who do you think you are, Solomon Cready? Why do you think that I need your help? Just who are you to tell me about how the Yakuza do things!?”

  Solomon’s eyes flickered nervously to the closing door. They had to get in there if they didn’t want to incur the wrath of the Warden Coates, but…this was important.

  “Look, the Marine Corps elected me to be the specialist commander of our squad, right? That’s because they know that I’ve got the mind for it,” he said. It was bravado and bluster, Jezzy thought, but he was right that the Marine Corps, along with their armies of doctors and scientists were the ones to order and orchestrate every facet of their development here.

  “And I’m telling you that in every strategy or game theory that I can devise, and I’ve been running a lot on your case…” he hissed hurriedly.

  “You have?” Jezzy was surprised that he would spend valuable command training hours devoted to her father.

  “Of course I have. We’re a squad. You saved my life. More than once. And thinking is what I can do…”

  “Debatable…” Jezzy muttered, unable to help herself.

  “Ha. Maybe so. But here: it doesn’t make any sense in any scenario that I have run that the Yakuza wouldn’t tell you that they had iced your father…” he said quickly, already starting to move towards the closed doors.

  But Jezzy didn’t move. She couldn’t move. What her commander and supposed friend had just said was too awful. “Is that it? You reckon that you’ve got an insight into Boss Mihashi just because he hasn’t gloated in my misery yet?”

  “The Yakuza are a performance company.” Solomon shook his head, clearly frustrated with how slow he thought her to be. “I used to work for them too, remember?”

  “And the Triads, and the American Mob, from what I heard…” Jezzy pointed out.

  “Exactly my point. I know what I’m talking about. All of those groups only exist as long as they can get the job done and people are scared of them. If no one knows that they have performed a statement murder, then the whole thing is pointless,” Solomon said. “The Yakuza’s only hold over you is fear. And they need to reinforce that fear either by showing you what they have done or threatening to do more. And they haven’t done either yet…”

  Jezzy felt confused. The man had a point. The Boss wouldn’t waste any opportunity for gain, and that meant that they probably would have sent her father’s ear in the post or something by now. A miserable thought.

  But they hadn’t. Did that mean that the Boss didn’t know that she had killed the operative and go-between out here a few hundred thousand miles away?

  It was a dark sort of hope that Solomon was offering her, but it was hope, nonetheless.

  It was just a shame that the warden didn’t share Jezzy and Solomon’s small modicum of optimism.

  “YOU TWO SCHLUBS!” the voice of the small man roared at them from the open door. “Attention when spoken too! What are you doing out here, conniving and conspiring? Are you disobeying my commands?”

  “No, sir…” both Solomon and Wen murmured.

  “THEN GET IN THERE WITH THE OTHERS!” the warden screamed.

  3

  Old Skills, New Tricks

  “Right! Listen up, schlubs!” Warden Coates barked from the front of the room. The briefing room was a small, semi-circular room with a podium at the far end under the plate glass that looked out onto the strange Ganymede surface of whites, grays, and pinks.

  Start with an insult, what a way to make friends… Solomon thought irritably where he stood at the back next to Jezzy, with all the other squads of Outcast Marines standing on the descending terraces to the floor.

  Warden Coates may have been a small man, but he was no small presence in the room. He seemed able to fill the very air with vitriol. That was usual for him, but today, there was something else as well.

  Is his uniform extra shiny today? Solomon wondered. There was a tense nervousness that emanated from him.

  It’s the war, a primitive part of Solomon informed him. That was what was happening. This was what it felt like to be at the start of a war…

  “You’ve all heard the news. You all know what is happening on Mars. The separatists have attacked Confederate resources, and the powers that be can’t have that,” the warden stated severely. “What the Martians have done is an affront to the Confederacy’s good nature and our patience. So, you will be tasked with joining the 2nd Rapid Response Marine Fleet in their efforts to pacify Mars.”

  There. Solomon blinked, slightly surprised at how simple it sounded. Pacify Mars. It made it sound as though they were just going to go down there and hand out cupcakes.

  “Randulph, Bizei, Lo-Pao, walk to the aisles, please.” The warden surprised them all by singling out three of the Outcasts. What is this? Solomon watched the three men look around worriedly, then walk to the aisles where they stood to attention. It was never good to be singled out by the warden.

  “I believe you three are originally Martian?” the warden stated.

  Oh no… Solomon’s heart fell.

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Yes, Warden-sir…”

  The three men slowly affirmed that they had, indeed, been born and raised on the Red Planet.

  “Your services are no longer required for this mission. You will remain in training here on Ganymede,” the warden stated firmly.

  “But…” said one of them, Bizei, Solomon thought.

  “Any further questioning of my orders will lead me to assume that you have a reason to want to go to Mars,” the warden stated quite simp
ly. His implication was clear: they couldn’t be trusted. They were Martians.

  “Uh…no, sir…” One by one, the three men shook their heads in confusion.

  “I have endeavored to instill in all of my Outcasts a sense of loyalty and duty. To the Corps, to each other, and most of all, to me. I hope that I have done a good job in that, but unfortunately the higher-ups, in their infinite wisdom, have ruled that no full Martian citizen will be allowed to fight alongside a Confederate for the duration of this conflict. You three are dismissed. Back to your regular scheduled lessons.”

  Bizei, Lo-Pao, and Ranulph looked at each other in confusion, just as the eyes of all the other Outcasts watched them with renewed suspicion. Was it true? Solomon could almost see the poison take hold in the glances of his comrades. Were all Martians the enemy now?

  The warden waited for the three disregarded Outcasts to leave the room before resuming. “One and all, please stand and salute for the Colonel Asquew.” He stepped aside and neatly into a regimental salute, as the glass of the wall behind him started to darken and was replaced by the flickering holographic display of the older Marine Commander Asquew of the Rapid Response Fleet.

  Asquew was a strong woman, older by far than the warden, Solomon judged, but she also had that same buttoned-down preciseness that the warden and all of the senior Marines had. He wondered if anyone would ever look at him and think the same thing. Probably not. The Lord Marine Commander appeared to be busy, walking back and forth and consulting with objects or people not pictured in the holo display. Solomon saw a blonde woman with short hair and piercing blue eyes, wearing a slightly lighter version of the full power suit that the fully-commissioned Marines wore.

  “Outcasts, at ease,” she said, almost casually, as she had the luxury to disregard formalities. “Thank you, Warden Coates.” She nodded in his direction, before turning to address the Outcasts.

  “Adjunct-Marines. Many of you have been on away missions of some kind or another, but what follows next will be your trial by fire. This is an actual, live-combat situation, which has many subtleties that I will be expecting you all to be aware of,” she stated, half-turning to have a muted conversation with someone out of the holo picture, before turning back.

  “The Martian populous at large is generally hostile to the Confederacy, and to the Marine Corps in particular. They are deemed to be hostile non-combatants in this instance. However, we must also distinguish between colonists and separatists, although the lines blur when we consider that any Martian could also be a separatist, and any Martian colonist could also be a member of the group known as the ‘First Martians’ or the ‘Chosen of Mars’.”

  She’s telling us not to shoot everyone we see, but be prepared to, Solomon thought. It left a sour taste in his mouth, as he thought, Who are we to judge?

  “I expect extreme precautionary measures to be taken by each and every one of you to differentiate between the two,” the colonel said, although Solomon noted that she hadn’t said just what precautionary measure they could take. Ask them if they have a First Martian flag on them?

  “You will be deployed on various missions throughout the Martian habitat. Some of you will be in supporting roles to the Marine Corps, while others will be acting alone. You will form a party of a first-wave tactical strike team, aimed at neutralizing the Martians’ abilities to further coordinate attacks,” Asquew said severely, then took a long breath as if she were considering just what she was about to ask of them…

  “The Warden Coates here has assured me that you are as ready as a fully-capable fighting force, although I would have rather given you a further six months basic training before sending you into live action in the field…”

  Some of us have already done that, Commander. Solomon thought about Titan, and the Erisian Asteroid Field.

  “I want you all to know that I am immensely proud of what the warden has achieved in you, and I look forward to reading your progress reports over the coming days and weeks. If you equip yourselves admirably, and you remember the Marine Corps Code at all times, and you do your best, then I know that victory will be in all of our grasp, and I can see no impediment to awarding full Marine status to all of you.”

  That was her carrot, Solomon thought. The piece of information that was supposed to make them hungry for action and the glory that would come once they were full Marines.

  Did it mean that they would leave Ganymede and the Outcasts? Would they be dispatched into various regiments of the Rapid Response Fleet? Solomon wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.

  It could just signal the end of seeing the warden’s face every morning, and that was something that Solomon could certainly get behind!

  But there is also always the stick, as well, Solomon thought. And in this case, it would be being among the first expeditionary forces to wage a war on an alien planet and trying not to get blown up, shot, or lynched by the locals in the process.

  Fun, fun, fun, Solomon thought sarcastically. He would have been more impressed if the colonel had offered them all free holidays to Bermuda.

  “Each squad is to form up and receive your orders,” Asquew stated, giving the multitude one final nod. “The Code, Outcasts…”

  ‘Through blood and fire, I will still stand strong.

  “I will stand at the borders and the crossroads, I will stand strong.

  “Even with the eternal night before me, I will be the flame!”

  In groups of four, five, six or more, the various squads formed up and marched to the front of the briefing room to receive special, closed-circuit orders from the warden and the colonel herself. Solomon presumed that this included details of what was to be expected of them, where they were going, and who would be their acting chain of command.

  In the press and push of the other Outcasts, Solomon found the rest of his Gold Squad, where they stood in a huddle at the back.

  “Well, this is all going to be a great steaming pile of…” Solomon started his own, miniature address as he looked at his crew. As uncertain as he was about this mission—about what they were going to do on Mars, and to whom—he knew that he had to give his people at least a little bit of hope, of something to make them think about each other first.

  “Because we’re all we’ve got.” Solomon nodded, meaning to sound loyal, but apparently not quite managing it.

  “Well, that is the most depressing pep talk that I’ve heard, Commander!” sniggered Kol. Now Technical Specialist Kol, Solomon knew. He was the youngest and smallest of their group, but he had a way with machines that had seen him given the technical specialism just as Solomon had been given command, and Wen had been given combat, and Karamov had been given medical, and Malady—

  Well, Specialist Malady was a walking tank, so Solomon knew that the Marine Corps had really given him a specialism because he could withstand mortar rounds.

  Next to Kol was Karamov, slightly taller and slightly older, with darker hair. He was a little more sensible than Kol, Solomon remembered. He could finally tell them apart, after almost a year of working with them. Then came Combat Specialist Jezebel Wen, still with her shadowed eyes looking angry and haunted from their earlier conversation about her father.

  Which is something else I have to get done, Solomon inwardly groaned. Pacify Mars. Save Jezzy’s dad. Try not to get killed. He had a very busy to-do list, apparently.

  “Gold Squad! Step up to the podium,” the colonel’s voice called out, and Solomon nodded at each of his crew in turn.

  “We got this,” he mouthed the words to them. “Whatever it is, I know you lot can do it.”

  Whether we’ll want to or not is another matter… Solomon thought as he slapped on his most officious smile and quick-marched to the podium with the rest of his Gold Squad behind.

  “Specialist Commander Cready, a pleasure to see you again,” Asquew stated with a nod, which made Solomon feel a little off-guard. He had known that it had been Asquew and her fellow colonel that had championed his cause when
it had come to whether he should be given a command specialism at all, but other than that, he had never particularly thought of her as a friend.

  “The exploits of Gold Squad have traveled far and wide in some circles,” Asquew stated, looking down and shuffling what appeared to be papers or data-screens from wherever she was stationed. Gold Squad stood in a line in front of her, with the warden standing to one side. If the colonel had been worried about anyone else overhearing each squad’s orders, she did not appear to make any great effort at secrecy, and Solomon rather thought that no other squad in the room cared what was happening up here when it wasn’t to them.

  “Saving the Ambassador of Earth in the Hellas Chasma, finding the remains of the Kepler deep-field ship in the Erisian Asteroid Field, and just recently, combating the Martian subversives on Titan,” the colonel summarized whatever reports she was reading.

  Only they weren’t Martian subversives, were they? Solomon shared a worried glance with Jezzy on the other side of him. They had been certain that the ones who had attacked them hadn’t been Martians, because it had been the Martian delegation themselves who had come under fire, and it had been the Imprimatur of Mars who had willingly tried to save the convicts on Titan, despite the danger she had been put in.

  Of course, she then called a Martian saucer to try and take all her people off of Titan, which didn’t go down too well. He wondered if they might not even be in this mess if the imprimatur hadn’t been so hot-headed. As it was, she and Father Ultor were now languishing in some Confederate lockdown facility, and Mars was howling for their release.

  Solomon nodded that this was all correct.

  “Then you already have a good degree of experience in these, ah, more delicate matters. Which is why I have selected the Outcasts’ Gold Squad, under Specialist Commander Cready, to have a very special role in the coming offensive.”