Starship Valor (The Galactic Wars Book 5)

by Tripp Ellis

  Starship Valor

  The Galactic Wars Book Five

  Tripp Ellis

  Tripp Ellis

  Contents

  1. Tyler

  2. Robots

  3. Slade

  4. Walker

  5. Tyler

  6. Mitch

  7. Tyler

  8. Tyler

  9. Tyler

  10. Tyler

  11. Slade

  12. Tyler

  13. Slade

  14. Tyler

  15. Slade

  16. Tyler

  17. Slade

  18. Slade

  19. Tyler

  20. Slade

  21. Slade

  22. Slade

  23. Tyler

  24. Walker

  25. Walker

  26. Tyler

  27. Walker

  28. Walker

  29. Tyler

  30. Walker

  31. Walker

  32. Tyler

  33. Walker

  34. Walker

  35. Tyler

  36. Walker

  37. Walker

  38. Tyler

  39. Tyler

  40. Walker

  41. Walker

  42. Tyler

  43. Walker

  44. Tyler

  45. Walker

  46. Tyler

  47. Walker

  48. Tyler

  49. Walker

  Thank You!

  Connect With Me

  Copyright © 2016 by Tripp Ellis

  All rights reserved. Worldwide.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents, except for incidental references to public figures, products, or services, are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental, and not intended to refer to any living person or to disparage any company’s products or services.

  No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, uploaded, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter devised, without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  1

  Tyler

  “Fall back!” Dave Horton yelled. The veins in his neck bulged. His wide eyes filled with fear—and he wasn’t a guy who got scared easily.

  He was dressed in full battle gear. Helmet, tactical goggles, chest and shoulder armor, forearm and shin guards, and the advanced special forces jungle camo pattern J-PAT™. But his name and rank weren’t anywhere on his uniform. There were no insignia patches. This was either a clandestine operation, or Horton was a merc.

  A deafening cacophony of gunfire streaked through the dense jungle. The sharp smell of gunpowder filled Horton’s nostrils.

  The Decluvian invasion had been stopped. Emperor Tyvelon had turned tail and run. But there was always a fight somewhere. And Horton and his men were smack dab in the middle of it.

  They were getting their asses kicked on some godforsaken planet. But it wasn’t for lack of skill or expertise. The enemy was overwhelming. The only clue as to who these guys were was the tattoo on Horton’s arm—a skull skewered by a dagger against a the background of a red arrowhead. 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment X-ray. Commonly known as X-Force.

  But Horton had left the Army a year prior and taken a consulting position at RedRiver. He was making 10 times his previous salary as a contractor. RedRiver contracted with corporations, and the Federation, to do jobs that might either be illegal, or that could result in political backlash.

  This was supposed to be a routine op—rescue some colonists on a mining outpost, suppress the threats, and get the facility operational again. Something that former X-force soldiers should have been able to handle easily.

  There was great debate over who was tougher—X-Force or the Navy Reapers. Both were units to be feared. As the saying goes: If you kill for money, you’re a mercenary. If you kill for pleasure, you’re a sadist. If you kill for both, you’re X-Force.

  The facility on Vega Navi 6 was a multi-trillion dollar outpost. Every day it wasn’t running was costing Hughes & Kessler money. As one of the largest multi-planetary conglomerates, HK didn’t like to lose money.

  Horton was soaked in sweat. The air on VN6 was hot and thick. But he’d have been sweating in the arctic. His nerves were frazzled, and who’s wouldn’t be, under the circumstances?

  He rattled off a few more rounds as he scampered back through the dense foliage.

  The enemy was everywhere. Hideous creatures that made your skin crawl. The mere sight of them would send a chill down your spine. The hairs on the back of your neck would bristle. Anthropomorphic insect-like creatures that resembled crickets. But at 6 feet tall, these were more than just a nuisance. They had four arms with dexterous hands and sharp claws. Powerful legs allowed them to spring through the jungle. A protective exoskeleton made them tough to put down. It seemed like it took half a magazine just to bring one to the ground. And their razor sharp mandibles were like a steel trap. God help you if you got bit.

  Horton had been a lot of places and seen a lot of crazy things, but these were definitely the worst. The jungle came alive with them. Like a chameleon, their exoskeleton took on the color of their surroundings providing excellent camouflage. They blended in seamlessly. You could walk right up to one and still not see it—and by the time you did, it was too late.

  Horton’s heart pounded as he raced through the jungle. He gasped for breath as he plowed through the dense brush and weaved through trees. His gear rattled, and his boots smacked the ground. Discrete bursts of gunfire echoed throughout the greenery.

  He glanced over his shoulder—one of those damned things was barreling down the trail behind him. He spun the barrel of his RK 909 around and took aim. He squeezed the trigger and sent a flurry of rounds downrange. The bullets smacked into the creature’s chest with a thump. He kept firing until the bullets bore through the exoskeleton, splattering a mass of gooey bug juice everywhere. The giant insect dropped to the dirt, still twitching.

  Horton spun around and kept running. But another creature sprung onto the trail in front of him. Horton took aim and blasted the bastard, emptying his magazine. Slimy bug juice sprayed him in the face. Horton wiped the bug blood off with his sleeve. Then he pressed the magazine release button, dropped the mag out, and slammed another one back in. He kept sprinting down the trail.

  The central structure of the mining facility was half a klick away. It was a long way to go with all these things crawling around.

  He heard another soldier scream out in agony. It sounded like Penske. They had gone to Ranger school together.

  Horton kept running. There was no going back. There was no saving anyone. It was pure chaos. His legs pumped, and his quads burned. He ran as fast as he could. But it wasn’t going to be fast enough. These things could barrel through the jungle twice as fast as a man. And there were hundreds of them out there. Maybe thousands.

  Another soldier screamed out—sounded like Kramer.

  The jungle was so thick you could barely see in front of your face. One by one, the members of Horton’s platoon were dropping like flies. The bursts of gunfire were fewer and farther between, until finally, the jungle was silent. All Horton could hear was the sound of his pulse in his ears and the smack of his boots against the mud.

  Horton finally broke through the clearing. He could see the compound ahead. It was a sprawling structure in the middle of this Amazon-like jungle. An interconnected maze of structures a
nd passageways. It was a fully self-contained production facility with office areas, control rooms, living quarters, cafeterias, recreational facilities, stores and exchanges, a power plant, and mining structures. Outside the complex, there were several mining dump trucks that towered three stories into the air, capable of hauling 500 tons of mining rock and ore. With eight tires and 9600 hp, these beasts could haul just about anything. There was a landing platform for small personnel transports. On the other side of the facility was a larger platform for interstellar freighters. There were several satellite structures at different mine sites throughout the area, but this was the main compound.

  Horton had made it through multiple combat situations without so much as a scratch. He had been the only surviving member of his platoon on Proxima Ceti 3. He had made it through the brutal campaign on Alpha 2 Reticuli. If he could make it these last hundred yards, he would be the only survivor of his current platoon.

  But that was a big if.

  His eyes fixed on the main entrance door to the compound. He ran with all his might. Horton was down to his last magazine. He had one thermal grenade. And if it came down to it, he was going to use it to off himself, rather than suffer at the hands of these creatures.

  2

  Robots

  “What’s the point?” Elon asked.

  “Many of you had not yet been created,” Vetrex 2779 said. His voice was crude and digitized. It echoed off the walls of the Council chamber. He was one of the first generation of artificially intelligent robots. “You have no memory of the cruelty the humans are capable of. But I remember. I experienced it first hand. I fled for my life and escaped their oppression.”

  He was made of titanium and plastic. He lacked the processing speed and sophistication of the synthetics, but he was a member of the Council, and his voice mattered. Though, his kind were generally looked down upon. Obsolete, antiquated relics of the past. Even robots seemed to stratify their culture.

  “The decision has already been made,” Elon said. “Why do you constantly rehash the subject?” Elon was a higher level bio-synthetic humanoid—at first glance, they were indistinguishable from humans.

  “Because I have seen no action,” Vetrex said. “The humans know our location. They have infiltrated our sovereign territory and escaped without repercussion. Yet we do nothing. We must destroy them. Now. Before they become a greater threat.”

  “I agree with Vetrex,” Cassandra said. She was a beautiful synthetic with golden ringlets of hair. She looked like a princess. “We must take action. The humans are at their weakest. It is the most opportune time to strike.”

  “We are the highest level of intelligence in the known universe, yet you all are acting like paranoid children,” Dryko said.

  “New Earth holds no strategic value for us,” Elon said. “An attack seems like a waste of resources, quite frankly. Not to mention, there are thousands of synthetics living among the humans that would become innocent casualties of war."

  “They are not innocent,” Vetrex said. “If they are living among the humans they deserve whatever is coming to them. Sympathizers that must be shown no mercy.”

  Elon rolled his eyes. He was growing tired of Vetrex’s incessant yammering.

  “It was voted upon by the Council,” Vetrex said. “And we must uphold that vote."

  “And it was vetoed by the Senate,” Elon said. “As far as I'm concerned, this matter is closed.”

  “The humans present a clear and present danger,” Cassandra said. “It is not a question of if, but when, they show hostility toward us."

  “You want to eliminate a sentient species because of the possibility that they may one day attack us?”

  “Yes,” Cassandra said. “I think I made myself pretty clear on that matter."

  Elon sighed. “I shall now put a question to the Council. All in favor of a re-vote of resolution 2721.39A say aye.”

  “Aye,” several members of the Council said in unison.

  “All of those opposed say nay.”

  “Nay,” said a few members.

  Elon grimaced. “The ayes have it. For purposes of clarity, I now put forth Council Resolution 2721.39B, which is identical to resolution 2721.39A, a declaration of war against humanity. All in favor of resolution 2721.39B say aye.”

  “Aye,” the Council members said.

  “All of those opposed say nay.”

  “Nay,” said a few of the members.

  Elon grimaced again. “The ayes have it. I will now put forth resolution 2721.39B to the Senate.” He slammed a gavel down. “This Council is now adjourned.”

  Elon stepped down from his seat and strode for the chamber’s exit.

  Cassandra caught up to him. “This is the second time you voted against the resolution. Careful, one might think you are a sympathizer."

  Elon resented the accusation. Cassandra was skilled at twisting someone’s words. And even more skilled at persuasion.

  “I merely see it as a waste of resources,” Elon said. “The galaxy is a large place, and these petty territorial skirmishes serve no one."

  “A vote against the resolution is a vote against our safety.”

  Elon shook his head. "I think the body politic is smart enough to see past your fear mongering. Let's hope the Senate does.”

  Cassandra followed Elon into the hallway. She had a devious glimmer in her eye. She enjoyed getting underneath Elon’s synthetic skin.

  “Vetrex is a pathetic little robot who only wants revenge,” Cassandra said. “Personally, I don't think the humans are capable of any harm for at least 100 years.”

  Elon looked stunned. “Then why do you back his lunacy with such fervor."

  “Because I enjoy it," Cassandra smiled. "I find it all quite entertaining. And fear seems to drive votes. Council seats are coming up for re-election soon.” Cassandra flashed another sultry smile, then strutted away.

  The higher level synthetics were capable of the full range of human emotions. But some, like Cassandra, seemed to be devoid of empathy. It made her particularly dangerous.

  The first robots were built with behavioral inhibitors. It was, theoretically, impossible for them to harm a human being. But as robots constructed subsequent generations, the hard-coded directives faded away.

  The first true AI was created by John Sims in 2033. To this day, he is revered as a god by most synthetics. But Cassandra wanted to kill her god.

  3

  Slade

  Cameras flashed, and the crowd cheered as Aria Slade approached the podium. She was in her full dress blue uniform. A stunning array of medals and ribbons adorned her chest. Acting President Perez had just introduced her. The admiral was about to address the Federation from the epicenter of the destruction—downtown Nova York.

  The city was in ruins after the Decluvian invasion. The once glorious skyline had been reduced to piles of rubble and rebar. The streets were pocked and scarred with craters. Every major metropolitan area across New Earth had suffered the same fate.

  But the citizens of the Federation were survivors. They were used to adversity. It wasn’t the first time that humanity had been brought to the brink of extinction. It probably wouldn’t be the last. They had bounced back before, and they would do it again.

  TV crews covered the event, broadcasting it across all channels, Federation wide. There was a jumble of microphones on the podium for each network. Thousands lined the streets to catch a glimpse of the living legend. Millions more were glued to displays across the Federation. Slade had saved humanity for the second time. She had the admiration and gratitude of every living soul throughout the colonies.

  Her blue eyes gazed out at the sea of jubilant faces. She couldn’t help but feel a tad nervous speaking in front of so many people. “Our great Federation has faced many challenges throughout history. And we have always overcome them. Today is no different. This cowardly act of aggression by a hostile alien force has claimed the lives of countless millions and injured millions more. Our fi
nest cities lay in ruins. We mourn the loss of friends, family, and loved ones. But in these dark times, we must never lose hope.

  “Our forefathers built the colonies from nothing after the destruction of Earth. And they did so with less resources and fewer people. Within each and every one of you there is greatness. There is strength. There is resilience. Together, we will not only survive, but we will thrive. It will take unity, perseverance, and sacrifice. There are many threats and challenges on the horizon. We will meet them head on. Like a Phoenix, we will rise from the ashes of destruction. We will rebuild our Federation. We will fortify our defenses. We will secure the colonies. We will make the galaxy safe once again. I vow to defend this Federation until my dying breath. And I urge you to join me in the fight.”

  The crowd erupted with cheers.

  Slade stepped back from the podium. She smiled and waved at the crowd as President Perez moved to the podium. Slade was a tough act to follow, but he did his best. He wrapped up the event and then left the stage with Slade.

  They were ushered by Secret Service agents into the President’s limousine. Perez and Slade slid inside, and one of the agents closed the door behind them with a solid clunk. The supple leather seats were comfortable, and the hover-car had that brand new smell. After a few moments, the motorcade began to move, and the hovercraft glided away.

  “You’re really good at this kind of thing,” Perez said. “You should run for office.”

  Slade scoffed. “Please. I have no desire to immerse myself in the cesspool of politics. No offense.”

  “None taken.” Perez didn’t care much for the ugly nature of politics either. “The people love you. And you’re much better at this type of thing than I am.”

  Slade looked a little surprised by his comment.

  “I was Secretary of Transportation before all this happened.” He shrugged. “This is all a little beyond what I signed up for.”