Jack Forge, Fleet Marine Boxed Set (Books 1 - 9)

by James David Victor

  Soon, Jack heard a group coming near. They were running and someone in the group was counting and keeping pace. They came around the corner, the whole group of Torent’s cronies. And there in the middle was Torent. He looked down at Jack and smiled as he jogged by.

  Jack seethed, but he admired the thief’s smarts. He’d got the entire squad to work together, sending some ahead to catch him and using the rest as pace-setters.

  “Keep him here,” Torent said as he jogged by.

  “How long for?” the skinny recruit asked.

  “Until Hacker gets here,” Torent said with a wink.

  “But we’ll get tazed,” the recruit complained.

  Torent just shrugged and jogged on. “It don’t hurt too bad,” he said.

  Jack wriggled again and struggled to get free. “Just let me sit up, for krav sake,” Jack said calmly.

  “You run and I’ll hurt you,” the ugly one said.

  But Jack didn’t have a chance to reply. Hacker came jogging around the corner. The three recruits sitting in the dirt looked up at the big sergeant. The tazer fizzed and blasted out a wide beam that slammed into the three of them. Jack felt the blast hit every cell in his body at once. He tasted the energy flowing over the saliva in his mouth. His arms and legs jerked about as if they had been set free from Jack’s body and given life of their own. He felt the pain of them slamming into the ground as they flapped around. And then as the energy gathered in the base of Jack’s skull, he felt consciousness slip away.

  8

  The noise of the bunkhouse filtered into Jack’s consciousness. He woke on his bunk, the taste of the tazer still on his tongue. Then the events of the day came back to him. He’d been cheated and beaten by Torent again. Jack’s hand went to his pocket. He touched his watch. The feel of it against his fingers calmed him. Then the sound of Torent laughing with his inner circle of recruits spoiled Jack’s momentary calm and his heart filled with anger once again.

  Jack lifted himself up on his elbow.

  “Don’t strain yourself, Jack.” Bill was sitting up on his bunk. “It takes a while to get over your first tazing.”

  “Did Hacker get you too?” Jack said.

  “I didn’t make it half the way. Missed my first target at the rifle range and got tazed.”

  “Sorry, Bill,” Jack said, lying back on his bunk. “Should have waited around for you and helped out.”

  “Don’t know how you could help, unless you killed Hacker.”

  “Don’t let him hear you say that.” Jack settled into his rough blanket. “Threatening a sergeant is a flogging offence.”

  “There are a few people around here I would like to see flogged.”

  Jack looked over at Bill, who was staring at Torent. It was a hard thing to wish on someone. Flogging was painful and brutal.

  Then the doors at the end of the bunkhouse burst open and Sergeant Hacker walked in. Torent jumped to his feet and shouted at the recruits.

  “Sergeant on deck. Stand by your bunks.”

  Jack struggled to climb out of his bunk. Hacker walked over and pressed Jack back. There was a gentleness behind the big sergeant’s rough hand. Hacker stepped away and turned to Torent. With a brisk wave, he indicated all recruits to bunk down.

  Torent shouted, “Lights out. In your bunks, recruits.”

  The bunkhouse was briefly a buzz of activity as the recruits jumped onto their beds. Torent was the last one standing. Sergeant Hacker walked over to Torent and grabbed him roughly by the collar. Jack watched as Hacker pressed his hard face close to Torent’s. Hacker pressed Torent toward his bunk, pushed him back toward it, and held him there. The sergeant let out a low, guttural growl before letting go and walking out of the bunkhouse. And as the doors swung shut, the lights went out. Jack slipped easily back into sleep.

  Jack woke to shouts from Crippin. The light from the sun low on the horizon felt like early morning back home but here on this small moon with its strange orbital and rotational cycle the low sun could mean anything. Jack suspected they had only been given a few hours of sleep. His body ached with the trauma of a hundred hours of running and crawling he’d done since his arrival on the training moon. His mood was dark with resentment at the military for taking his education away and dropping him on this desolate rock with this horrible bunch of people.

  Crippin shouted out the days orders. The training squad was going on a day long run. Jack felt his mood lighten at the thought. He would enjoy a day’s run, to get away from the confines of the training grounds and bunkhouse, to escape these people surrounding him by running free over the moons rough surface.

  Sergeant Hacker tossed a ration bar onto Jack’s bunk with a grin. Crippin stepped over to Jack, hands behind her back.

  “Not you recruit Forge,” Crippin said. “We know you can run. Can you clean?”

  Hacker threw a small scrubbing brush onto Jack’s bunk.

  “The entire bunkhouse is filthy, hayseed. Scrub it clean before we all catch a disease. Anyone gets ill you will answer for the crime of incapacitating an entire training squad. That is treason in a time of war. Do you get me?”

  “Sir, yes, Sir.” Jack spat out the reply.

  “Squad leader,” Crippin shouted. “Name a recruit to assist Forge,”

  Jack looked over to Torent. Who did the thief hate the most? The thought flashed across Jack’s mind that Torent might choose himself and spend the day lazing around while Jack scrubbed the bunkhouse himself.

  “Sir, recruit Harts, sir.”

  Crippin looked to Harts standing next to his bunk. “Recruit Harts can’t run at all. Maybe it would be better to let you spend the day scrubbing than half the day being tazed for falling behind.”

  Hacker threw a second scrubbing brush onto Harts’ bunk.

  “Every square centimeter scrubbed and cleaned before we get back. Is that clear, hayseeds?”

  Jack and Harts shouted their reply. Crippin turned before they had finished shouting and strode out of the bunkhouse calling out as she went, “Every one else, form up outside immediately. Last one there gets tazed.”

  The cleaning fluids and buckets were brought into the bunkhouse by Hacker moments after the last recruit ran out through the double doors. He turned on his heal and went back out, presumably to administer a mild tazing to whoever had been last in formation. The sharp yelp of pain from outside confirmed that sergeant Hacker had delivered the first tazing of the day.

  Picking up his scrubbing brush Harts looked over to Jack. “At least we won’t get tazed today.” He grinned.

  “Don’t bet on it,” Jack said looking at the rough, worn down brush. “If this dump isn’t spotless, we’ll get a tazing.” Jack looked around the bunkhouse. It had seemed small but now it looked massive. “Let’s get started at the far end,” Jack said.

  Jack and Harts knelt on the floor and scrubbed. Jack’s arms burned as he pressed the brush back and forth. He noticed Harts was barely scrubbing, just moving the brush over the floor.

  “You think they could get a drone to do this,” Harts said.

  “Sure they could,” Jack agreed, “but this is probably building character, or responsibility, something like that. Or maybe they haven’t got a drone available for cleaning. I wouldn’t be surprised if all functioning drones have been repurposed for combat operations.”

  “So we get to be their slaves is it?”

  Jack shushed Harts. “That’s seditious talk, recruit. They probably listen to everything. Watch what you say.”

  Nodding agreement Harts scrubbed a small circle on the floor.

  “Get cracking, Bill,” Jack said. “We get this done before the rest get back and we can have a break.”

  Harts scrubbed harder and faster for a few moments. “What do you think of Torent?”

  Jack scrubbed the floor harder. “He’s a thief alright. I’ll keep an eye on him from now on.”

  “He doesn’t like you,” Harts said.

  Looking over to Harts Jack saw his cleaning
team mate snicker.

  “You don’t say.” It was pretty clear to all that Jack and Torent were not friendly with each other.

  “I know. But he was saying...” Harts trailed off.

  “Saying what?” Jack stopped scrubbing. He didn’t really care what anyone said about him.

  “Said he was going to make things tough for you,” Harts scrubbed harder. “Said he was going to make sure you don’t beat him.” Harts looked sideways toward Jack. “He said you were a failure, a stupid school kid who thinks he’s better than everyone.”

  Jack felt the rage build inside him. “He said that?” Jack asked.

  Harts scrubbed. “He was talking to his buddies, the ugly one and the fat one, all those guys.”

  Jack scrubbed. If only he had been out on the run he would show Torent. He could out run Torent any day. He could out shoot Torent. He could out think Torent. Jack took a bite from his ration bar and felt the energy boost. He scrubbed the floor hard.

  “I don’t think he’s any good,” Harts said. “No one really likes him. He’s not as good as you.”

  Jack looked over at Harts. Harts gave an embarrassed smile and then turned back to his work.

  “Don’t tell him I said anything,” Harts said meekly. “I’m ashamed to say I’m afraid of him. But you’re not, are you Jack?”

  Jack scrubbed the floor. Torent was a rough guy from a different world. Jack had spent his life either running or in math class, both for fun. Torent had spent his life house breaking and picking pockets. Torent was rough and hard. He was afraid of Torent, but not so afraid to be intimidated by him. Jack had been alone in the world for long enough that he had learned to stand up for himself.

  “No, I’m not afraid of him.” Jack scrubbed hard. “Let’s get this bunk house cleaned then take a long break.”

  9

  Jack turned over in his bunk as his sleep was shattered by another wakeup call and a rough introduction to another training day. Crippin shouted for the recruits to form up outside. Hacker tossed out ration bars. Jack tore off the wrapper and bit into the dark, sticky bar.

  “Good work cleaning, recruit,” Crippin shouted as Jack ran by.

  “Sir, thank you sir,” he replied through a mouthful of the ration bar.

  “You want to take the duty again next time?”

  “Sir, no thank you, sir.” Jack ran out of the double doors and out onto the ground outside.

  Sergeant Hacker was standing on a large square of material that had been laid on the ground, weighted down in the corners heavy cones. The sergeant grinned at the recruits as they formed up in their neat rows.

  Crippin was last out of the bunk house. She walked along the front of the assembled squad.

  “A Marine must be able to get close to the enemy and destroy it, grab it by the nose and kick it in the ass. You hayseeds are not Marines yet, not by a long shot, but today we will get you a little bit closer.”

  Hacker dropped what looked like a few brown bags on to the floor at his feet. Jack looked closely. Two sets of two bags. They had laces at the open end. They were padded. Jack realized they were not bags, they were gloves. Large, padded gloves.

  “What the sergeant put on the floor are two sets of fighting mitts. You will come up in pairs and pull on those mitts. You then have two minutes to bash the blood, sweat and snot out of each other. The winners are those who don’t stop until the two minutes are up.”

  Crippin walked along the line of recruits and picked the first two. They were standing next to each other and Jack recognized them as two of Torent’s crew, a skinny guy and an ugly guy.

  The two pulled on their mitts and squared off against each other. Crippin shouted for them to begin.

  The two danced about the square, moving in circles, occasionally moving in and throwing a wide swing. After about a minute of dancing, Crippin shouted out.

  “Stop! Sergeant, if you please.”

  Hacker pointed his tazer at the pair. They fell instantly into a quivering heap. Hacker pulled them off the square and began pulling the mitts off their hands.

  “Next,” Crippin said. She pointed at a young dark-skinned girl and a fat guy who had spent most of his time on the training moon in tears.

  The young girl was fast and she ran in throwing a barrage of punches at the head of the fat recruit. The crying recruit held his hands up to protect his head. The girl delivered a storm of short jabs to the flabby belly.

  “Don’t just take it,” Crippin shouted. “Fight, hayseed.”

  The crying recruit swung a wild fist and caught the dancing girl on the side of the head. She went sprawling over with the force. The crying recruit walked forward, a bubble of snot ballooned up on his nose as he breathed.

  The fast girl was on her feet and flew back in to rain blows on the snot and tear soaked head of her opponent. She took another heavy blow on the right of her head and replied with a half dozen jabs to her opponent’s face. She took a heavy blow on the left from another wild swing. Her reply was a left and a right swing followed by a right jab and a left uppercut.

  The fat recruit staggered backwards, his left swinging around in a badly aimed wild swing that caught his opponent on the head just above her right ear. Both hit the floor then began climbing to their feet.

  The girl rushed in but was dizzy from the heavy blows. The fat recruit stepped toward her, fists raised on front of his tear stained cheeks.

  “Time.” Crippin shouted. “Mitts off, recruits.” Crippin stood in between the two and took each by the wrist. “And the winner is,” Crippin said and then lifted a hand from both recruits.

  The squad erupted in cheers as the two recruits shook hands and embraced, blood and snot dripping from their faces.

  Crippin sent one pair after another while Jack waited his turn to fight. He had never been in a fist fight before and he knew he was going to be as afraid as the fat crying recruit had been. He hoped he didn’t run from the fight like some did only to be tazed.

  The recruits who had already fought cheered the hardest for each new pair. Jack began to look through the recruits to see who he would prefer to fight. His eyes landed on Torent who was staring straight at him. Staring and grinning. There was no doubt in Jack’s mind who Torent wanted to fight. Jack looked forward to the current pair and saw a wild swing connect and knock the recipient unconscious.

  “Sergeant Hacker, if you please,” Crippin said and Hacker dragged the unconscious recruit off the square as Crippin raised the hand of the winner.

  The next pair were two of the biggest, heaviest brutes in the squad. They squared off against each other and waited for the signal to begin. Crippin shouted for them to start and they stepped up, both opening with a heavy swinging right. Both punches connected and landed heavily on the head. Both recruits took the blow and in almost perfect synchronization brought their left around in a wide arc. The blows landed and the pair continued with a swinging right. The blows landed. The next swing came a little more slowly but Jack could see one was coming in faster than the other. One recruit was creeping ahead in the blow for blow battle. Again a right swing. Again a left. And with every swing the one recruit crept ahead until he was ahead by a swing, delivering his right while the slower opponent was throwing his left.

  Crippin shouted time and the two stopped, the slower fell to one knee, the quicker opponent saving him from falling to the floor with a steadying hand.

  Crippin waited while the standing recruit helped his opponent off the ground. They stood, bloody, bruised and slightly wobbly, either side of Crippin. She raised both hands to cheers from the training squad.

  “Torent. Forge. You’re next.”

  Jack walked out in front of the squad. They were cheering and wild with excitement for every new round as they nursed their cuts. The square of cloth was slightly padded and had a strong non-skid surface. It was splattered with blood, snot, sweat, and tears but Jack could hold his footing easily. He bent down to take a pair of the fighting mitts. Torent reached down
and took the pair before Jack could take them.

  “Mine,” Torent said and nudged Jack with his shoulder.

  Jack took the remaining pair. He hated that Torent had snatched the mitts from him. It wasn’t that there was any difference between the pair, it was just that Torent wanted to beat Jack at everything, and Jack hated that Torent was winning.

  Pulling on the mitts Jack felt the sweat from the previous recruits. The interior was damp and warm. The mitts felt strange. He slammed them together to get a feel for their weight.

  Looking over at Torent, Jack could see the squad leader was ready and eager to have his two minutes with him. Jack guessed a thuggish thief like Torent had probably had a fist fight every week of his nasty little life. Jack was scared of being hit but he was more scared of losing to Torent. He couldn’t let the thief beat him down.

  Crippin gave to signal and Torent rushed at Jack. Jack staggered backwards in surprise. He heard the disapproval from the squad as Jack avoided the swings from Torent. Jack staggered back off the square onto the rough ground.

  “Stop,” Crippin shouted. “Get back on the square, Forge. Go again. Two minutes.”

  Torent was facing the squad his hands raised in the air to cheers of approval. He was claiming victory without even landing a blow. Jack stepped in to the center of the square. He needed to stand his ground.

  Torent turned from his fans and rushed Jack again. Jack was ready this time and stuck out his fist, a straight arm pointing at the on rushing Torent. Torent swatted the arm out of the way and landed a blow on Jack’s face.

  Jack shuddered under the blow. He twisted away from the next to come flying in. Torent was laughing. Jack caught a glimpse of Torent’s smirking face as he twisted away from another punch.

  Jack realized that Torent was enjoying himself. He probably enjoyed beating people. Jack hated that Torent was enjoying this. Jack hated that he was being made to look ridiculous in front of the squad. Jack hated the fact that he had been dragged from his university studies to stand against a thug like Torent on this distant and desolate moon. Jack stood up, determined to land a blow, the heaviest he could muster right on Torent’s ugly, smirking face.