Jack Forge, Fleet Marine Boxed Set
Books 1 - 9
James David Victor
Fairfield Publishing
Copyright © 2019 Fairfield Publishing
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Except for review quotes, this book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the written consent of the author.
This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.
Contents
Recruit
Forged in Space
Forged to Lead
Forged in Darkness
Forged in Battle
Forged Under Siege
Forged to Hunt
Forging a Trap
Forged by War
Thank You
Bonus Content: Story Previews
Recruit
A Jack Forge, Fleet Marine Story
Prologue
The Destroyer Gemini slowed as it approached the massive asteroid. Support fighters raced away from the Gemini and took up flanking positions. Alone and this deep in space, there was always a threat of Chitins. The destroyer activated the deflection laser and began nudging the asteroid off its collision course with the populated planet, Eros.
The first flash came from the shadows on the surface of the asteroid as the Chitin craft fired a plasma spear. The second came from the furthest fighter as the plasma spear vaporized it. Two more flashes from the Chitin weapon quickly destroyed two more fighters.
Within a nanosecond of the first flash, the Gemini’s artificial intelligence targeted the point on the asteroid where the Chitin weapon blasts had originated and launched a salvo of combat drones. At the same time, the forward battery of guns each fired a thousand rounds of high density metallic shot in a wide array over the target area.
The Chitin craft lifted off the surface, spreading its tentacles while charging its primary weapon, avoiding the mass of shot from the Gemini that slammed into the surface of the asteroid, vaporizing the ice and tearing through the rock.
The combat drones identified the Chitin craft as it lifted off the asteroid and automatically targeted the central body within the mass of black, writhing tentacles. The drones accelerated toward the Chitin craft, the magnetic field around the antimatter payload timed to deactivate once in effective range. The Chitin craft fired its arcing plasma flares. Dozens of seething orange strands reached across the space around the craft and sliced through the drones, transforming them into small, short-lived stars that lit up the battle space.
Having reached full power, the high energy laser on the Gemini activated. The beam slammed into the Chitin craft, piercing the tentacles that wrapped forward across the central body in a protective shield. The laser moved slowly and cut across the tentacles, slicing through one and sending it spiraling off into space. The orange liquid interior spilled out from the severed tentacle as it tumbled through the void.
A focused plasma arc erupted from the Chitin central body and slammed into the forward section of the Gemini. The composite hull cracked and fractured, biomech flesh and fluid spewing out and boiling away into space. A second plasma spear sliced clean through the five-hundred-meter-long craft, erupting out of the aft engine assembly.
Automated distress calls from the Gemini died before the ship’s complete log could be transmitted, but as the destroyer burned in the empty interplanetary void, the military command on Eros was receiving the most significant points: the Chitins had struck again and destroyed another major military vessel in a battle that had lasted a fraction under seven seconds.
1
Jack Forge sat in the lecture theater watching the hands on his small silver pocket watch tick across its shimmering pearl face. The latest grades would be revealed in a few moments. The room was silent as the students counted down the seconds.
Attendance at his brother’s funeral had been authorized, so he had been free to leave his studies and attend. Jack knew missing time would still count against his grade, but he was on top of his studies and his grades were excellent. He could afford to drop a few points and still maintain his two-plus student rating.
The recruiting sergeant stood at the front of the theater next to Professor Bowen. One of these men wanted the students to maintain their two-plus, the other did not. His classmates watched the seconds tick down on the large display. Jack watched on his small heirloom. It was all he had left of his family.
The second hand reached the top of its final round. Jack heard the ripples of distress and gasps of horror as the students whose grades had dropped realized they were now the property of the military.
Jack looked up to the display. He picked out his name. He saw it there pulsing on the screen in red, a pattern that could only mean one thing. He scanned across to his grade. Two. Only two. The plus was missing for the first time in his three semesters. Three other names pulsed. Jack knew them all. He’d studied with them, socialized with them, laughed with them. He would most likely never see them again.
The sergeant barked out transfer orders to the first name on the list. Jack watched as the second hand ticked along. He was only seventeen seconds into his new life when his name was called out by the recruiting sergeant.
“Jack Forge. Fleet Marine training.”
Jack looked up from his watch. He looked at Professor Bowen. The old man was slumped in a chair, his eyes averted as his class was further reduced in number.
The doors to the lecture theater opened and military police entered. Jack had seen this before. Students had complained and argued, fought and resisted their removal from university to the ranks of the military or some war production facility. The arguments were familiar to Jack. He heard the most common of them now from across the lecture theatre.
The students being drafted into service promised to pull their grades back up. They argued that it was only a small drop. They argued that they were too smart to be sent to the military. The arguments and complaints descended into shouts and screams as the former students were dragged away. Friends shouted their good-byes. Lovers kissed and cried. As a guard came toward Jack, he tucked away his watch and stood. With a nod to his escort, he walked down the steps at the side of the lecture theater toward the open door.
2
The passenger deck on the transport vehicle was dark and dirty, the air filled with the stench of putrid bodily excretions. A Marine sergeant was pushing the recruits toward the seats that ran along either side of the deck, a small tazer in his hand. The cover on Jack’s chair was covered in dark smears. He sat uncomfortably on the sticky surface. The floor in front of his chair was covered with a caked-on splatter of vomit.
A sudden eruption of gas and steam from a vent above the seat opposite Jack brought gasps and shouts of surprise from the packed passenger deck, and somewhere in the stinking dark, Jack heard a burst of uncontrolled sobbing.
Jack looked at the faces of the young men and women sitting in the seats along the deck. Most were nervous but they all looked like the usual military conscripts, a mix of the poor and stupid, unable for one reason or another to dodge the draft. As he looked along the line, he saw one face glaring back, the hard face and cold eyes of an angry and aggressive recruit.
Jack averted his eyes from the hard stare opposite. The wailing and crying from further down the deck had grown to a wild yelling. It was the same excuses he’d heard in the lecture theater time and again: they shouldn’t be here, it was a mistake, they didn’t belong, they wouldn’t be any good as a soldier. The deck lit up in a flash, accompanied by the fizzing of a tazer. The crying stopped, replaced by the creaking and groaning of the ol
d transport.
The gloom became darker as the massive doors to the passenger deck began to close, filling the air with a rushing hiss of pneumatic pressure. A claxon alarm sounded and then a loud, distorted announcement that was almost impossible to understand. The countdown was clearly understood. Soon Jack would be blasted out into space to one of the off-world training bases.
The acceleration hit like a hammer. Jack was pressed into his seat as the craft raced toward space. A wailing alarm pierced the ear and drowned out the noise of the rattling old ship. A red light flashed across the terrified faces. Shouts of panic and fear came from the new recruits. Jack felt it would be just his luck to get killed on his first flight on a military craft. No need to send these kids to the war, he thought. The military could save a load of time and effort and just incinerate them all in the atmosphere of Eros.
A door at the end of the deck slid open with a hiss and the scraping of metal on metal. A Marine entered the passenger deck, opened an instrument panel on the wall above the row of seats, and began tapping keys and flicking switches. The alarm and flashing light stopped. The deck was still filled with ear-shattering noise from the engine and the wailing recruits. Jack looked across to the Marine who was shouting into a communication panel. He could just make out what was said; why was the transport still suffering from the same fault? Jack couldn’t hear the reply, but he guessed it was not acceptable by the way the Marine slammed the control panel shut.
The Marine turned to look along the passenger deck. Jack saw that the Marine was a woman, a tall, broad-shouldered woman. Her hair was blonde and short, her face set with a grim expression. Gravity fell away and the Marine began to float. She grabbed hold of a rail running along the roof.
“Listen up, hayseeds. Training starts now. I am Lieutenant Crippin. You may call me whatever you like behind my back. Cripple. Crapple. Pin head. Bitch. But to my face, you call me sir. Do you get me?”
Crippin shouted in the face of a young woman, no older than eighteen. The woman shuddered. Her lip wobbled. Crippin shouted again into the girl’s face.
“Do you get me?”
The young woman nodded.
“Give the proper response, hayseed,” Crippin yelled. “Sir, yes, sir.”
The girl spoke quietly. Crippin shouted again, “Sir, yes, sir.” Crippin went to the next recruit, a young man so malnourished he retained his boyish features. Crippin yelled into his gaunt face. “Do you get me, hayseed?”
The recruit shouted, “Sir, yes, sir.”
Crippin straightened up and looked along the deck. “Listen up and you might live. Listen well and you’ll live longer than you deserve. Sergeant Hacker is distributing ration bars. This is today’s ration. Eat it now.”
The sergeant walked along the line of recruits, holding a sack in one hand. He reached in and pulled out a small, silver-colored block. The sergeant began throwing the small blocks into the laps of the recruits.
Jack watched the recruits tearing through the silver cover to the dark sticky mess within.
“Some of you have volunteered. Some of you have been drafted. You are all military now. You are all the same to me. You are all hayseeds.”
Sergeant Hacker threw a ration bar to Jack. He reached out for it, but a boot flicked up from the recruit opposite and kicked it up to the roof. The block bounced off the grubby ceiling and flew down, toward the recruit who had kicked it up. Jack reached out, but the block was just beyond reach. He looked across the person opposite, who reached out and grabbed it.
Jack smiled and held a hand out. “Throw it over,” he said.
“I can read people real good. Better than I can words. I recon you’re a kravin' student. But you dropped a grade and got thrown in here with us. You ain’t so smart as you thought you was.”
Jack held out his hand. “Come on. Give me my rations.”
The recruit sitting to Jack’s left nudged him in the arm. “You won’t get that back from him. He’s a thief. I’m Bill Harts.” Harts held out his hand for Jack.
“Jack Forge,” Jack introduced himself and shook Harts’ hand.
“And he is Sam Torent.” Harts leaned forward toward Torent. “A thief.” Harts turned to Jack and spoke as if to take Jack into his confidence. “I was waiting when the police delivered him. He took military service instead of prison for repetitive thievery.”
Torent smiled and tucked the ration block into his jacket.
“Listen up, hayseeds. It’s my job to turn all of you into something useful, something that can kill Chitin scum. The Chitins want to kill you, and they are good at it. Those of you who listen are more likely to survive. Then you will be able to spend more of your nasty little life killing Chitin scum. Do you get me?”
Sam shouted out with everyone else. “Sir, yes, sir.”
“You, hayseed,” Crippin shouted into Jack’s face. “Why aren’t you eating?”
Jack looked across to Torent, who glared back.
“Sir, I lost my ration bar, sir.”
“Unacceptable, hayseed. That ration bar is military property. It was your responsibility to see it was used in the correct manner. If the military gives you a pulse rifle and you lose that, how are you going to shred Chitin scum, hayseed? Next time the military gives you a piece of equipment, you look after it like it was your own nut sack. You get me, hayseed?”
“Sir, yes, sir,” Jack shouted. And as Crippin walked on shouting about the limited duration of the training and the limited resources available, Jack looked across to Torent as he bit into his ration bar. The dark, sticky bar stuck to Torent’s teeth and he gave Jack a big, sticky smile.
3
The craft landed heavily. The deck was filled with alarms and eruptions of gasses from vents high on the walls. One recruit further along the line started screaming as a jet of heated gas erupted from a fracture in the inner hull. Crippin raced toward the stricken, wailing recruit, yelling as she went. “Clear the deck, hayseeds. Form them up on the landing pad, Sergeant Hacker.”
Jack fell in line with the others as they marched off the transport onto the landing pad, where they were beaten into a straight line by Sergeant Hacker. The recruits fell silent as a stretcher was brought out of the passenger craft containing the pitiful, whimpering recruit, his skin burned and scalded so badly he was almost unrecognizable.
Jack’s attention was jerked away from the stretcher by a yelp of pain from one of the recruits. Jack looked back and saw Sergeant Hacker walking through the lines, a small tazer in his hand. He jabbed the glowing end into the gut of the next in line. The recruit doubled over with pain. The next recruit backed away as Hacker came close, the tazer held forward, a huge grin on the big sergeant’s face.
“Sergeant Hacker!” Crippin shouted. Hacker came to attention. “Are you tazering those recruits, Sergeant?”
Hacker held up the tazer for Crippin to see.
Crippin picked her way through the assembly to the two recruits lying and writhing on the ground.
“Did Sergeant Hacker tazer you, hayseed?” Crippin asked one of the recruits gently.
The recruit nodded.
“On your feet, hayseed, or Sergeant Hacker will taze you again.” Crippin took position in front of the recruits.
“Listen up,” Crippin shouted. “The training complex is ten kilometers in that direction. Sergeant Hacker will tazer every recruit not running. Demonstrate please, Sergeant Hacker.”
Hacker jabbed the tazer into the ribs of the recruit standing next to him. The recruit yelped, crumpled, and fell.
“And when you get to the complex,” Crippin went on, “I want to see you standing in two neat ranks, not this scruffy arrangement. If not, Sergeant Hacker will tazer you. Demonstrate please.”
Another recruit collapsed under the tazer’s sting.
Crippin climbed into a small two-seat buggy and started the engine. “Run, hayseeds,” she shouted and then sped off.
Ten kilometers wasn’t a challenge for Jack and he set off at a jog.
Others sprinted past, all glancing back over their shoulders, looking out for Sergeant Hacker and his busy little tazer. Gravity on the training moon was high for its size. The moon had formed around a neutron star fragment, creating a gravity field on the small moon just above one-G. The atmosphere was thin but breathable.
After what felt like an eight-kilometer run, Jack saw the training complex at the base of a small hill in the distance. The buildings looked to be around four kilometers away. The extra gravity and the thin air was making the run more difficult than Jack was used to. He glanced back and saw he was leading the field. The recruits were strung out over a distance of about a kilometer. Jack slowed to a jog. The runner coming up next was the recruit who’d taken Jack’s ration bar, Sam Torent. Behind Torent came a small bunch, jogging and puffing, red cheeks and sweating brows.
Torent fixed Jack with a stare as he pushed on. Jack could see Torent was struggling to keep the pace but he was ahead of all the others and closing in on Jack. The look was icy and hard with threat and menace. Jack guessed Torent was angry that a university reject was beating him in the race.
Jack focused on the buildings of the training complex. It was still a long ways away, but Jack knew he had the energy left to make it comfortably, even given the slightly heavier gravity. It was too far out to sprint, but Jack knew how hard he could push himself. He ran hard.
Jack Forge, Fleet Marine Boxed Set (Books 1 - 9) Page 1
