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

by James David Victor

  “A destroyer?” Orlov exploded. “Admiral, maybe I can find a few cruisers. That should be enough to deploy a few boots to the ground.”

  “No, Victor, a destroyer. The ground team will need supplies and support. A few cruisers just won’t cut it.”

  “Maybe we should deploy the Sceptre to the region...”

  Jackman was cut off mid-sentence as Orlov exploded again.

  “A carrier? Not a chance, Tel. I can’t leave Eros open for you to go exploring...”

  “You think I picked this moon randomly? It’s the perfect spot to give us the advantage we’ve been looking for.”

  Admiral Henson quieted them both with a slight wave of his hand.

  “Send a destroyer.”

  Orlov and Jackman looked at each other and nodded.

  “I’ll send the Scorpio,” Orlov said.

  “Didn’t the Scorpio take a beating at grid three-five-eight just recently?” Jackman tapped the holostage and zoomed in on the Scorpio. The destroyer was in orbit around Eras, Eros’s cold sister world, along with a flotilla of frigates, corvettes, and a swarm of maintenance drones.

  “The Scorpio is operational,” Orlov assured Henson.

  Henson nodded. He studied the holoimage of the Scorpio. “Who’s captain of the Scorpio?”

  “Captain Alistair Pretorius,” Orlov said without having to check. He’d been in communication with the captain over the last few days regarding the status of the repairs.

  Admiral Henson nodded. “Impress upon the captain the dangers involved. He is to support Jackman’s operation, but if his ship is at risk due to Chitin activity, he is to run. You hear me, Victor? No heroics. We can’t lose another destroyer.”

  “Maybe send a corvette or two to support Pretorius if he needs to withdraw his team from the moon.”

  Admiral Henson tipped his head from one side to the other as he weighed the options. “No,” he said finally. “The Scorpio will be enough, but be sure to tell Pretorius it’s only a scouting mission, a simple mission. Remind him that the team he sends to the surface will be at risk so it shouldn’t contain any critical personnel.”

  Henson stepped away from the holostage. Jackman and Orlov had work to do.

  1

  Jack Forge lay awake on his bunk. It was cold in the bunkhouse, despite the close quarters the squad were expected to survive in. Jack’s bunk was the third up in a stack of four, with the fourth barely thirty centimeters above his face.

  Jack could hear every movement of his squad-mate in the bunk above, a young man who had been drafted into the military. Jack had only known him for a month but was already familiar with the smallest tick and habit of the man. He had quickly earned his nickname of Gas and Jack got to live with it.

  Underneath Jack was Bubble. He’d earned his name by the bubble of snot that ballooned out of the man’s nose whenever he cried, and he cried a lot. He cried at the sting of the commander’s tazer. He cried as he gasped for breath during the many physical training exercises on the Marine deck. He cried at the sound of the rapid fire of the Fleet Marine pulse rifle. Mostly, he cried for home.

  Across the small gap from Jack was Terry’s bunk. No one had given Terry a nickname for fear of antagonizing the brute. He was older than the rest of the squad by several years. A life in prison had left him skinny and pale, but his natural aggression and hatred of everyone made him dangerous. He had already served a four-day sentence in the Scorpio’s brig for punching a crewman.

  Pulling the covers over his head, Jack tried to block out the sobbing from below, the gas from above, and the cold and nasty stare from Terry in the bunk stack opposite. It didn’t do any good.

  Jack looked to his locker, a small cabinet at the head of his bunk with a combination padlock for security. This small box was Jack’s only private space. Everywhere else aboard the Scorpio Jack shared with the rest of his squad, or the rest of Cobra Company, or the Scorpio battalion, or the rest of the ship’s company. From meal time to shower time, all space was shared. But here at the end of his bunk was his forty-centimeter cube of privacy.

  This was where Jack was allowed to store personal items, but as almost all items were contraband aboard ship, and as most Marines had nowhere to go to acquire any personal items, these personal lockers remained empty. Jack had one item, the mechanical parts of his family watch. Its silver casing had been sacrificed in his first, and only, battle with the Chitins.

  The bunkhouse whistle sounded, calling the Marines to attention. Jack pushed thoughts of his only personal possession away; his only link to the past. He jumped off his bunk onto the cold deck and filed out to the small muster point outside the bunk stacks.

  Commander Finch stood waiting impatiently for the squad to form up. The dozen Marines who had until just recently been raw recruits were still learning the basics of life in the Marines. Finch’s shouting and his tazer were working hard to educate them. For the most part, they had learned quickly.

  Sam Torent stood next to Finch, the squad leader badge shining on his chest. He looked at Jack with a half-smile. Sam had been determined to keep the squad leader rank and now it seemed he had. Finch was there to inform the squad of the other appointments they had been waiting to hear about.

  Finch glared at the shuffling mess of 6th squad as his finger toyed with the tazer trigger.

  “In line, Sixth Squad,” Finch said quietly, but his annoyance was clear for all to hear.

  “Fall in,” Torent shouted. He stepped forward and pushed the squad into a neat line.

  “Look what I’ve got to work with,” Finch said to himself. “What a mess.” He shook his head as he looked along the line. “All right. Listen up. Major Cruz has appointed Torent as your squad leader, he is deemed the best choice until one of you can prove Major Cruz wrong.”

  Finch paced in front of the squad, hands behind his back and nose in the air. “The Scorpio is short of a few hands in a few areas, so you Marines have the privilege of helping Captain Pretorius by taking on some work across the ship. Bubble, you sniveling rat. Get your limp ass to the laundry and report to Master Harper.”

  Bubble looked around nervously.

  “Are you waiting for a written invitation, Marine? Get moving now, on the double,” Finch shouted as he stepped closer to Bubble. Then Finch began laughing. “Double bubble.” Finch laughed as Bubble stepped out of line. “On the double, Bubble. Get your sorry ass down to the laundry. You’ve got a good name for a laundry rat, haven’t you, Bubble?”

  Bubble walked to the exit and Finch walked alongside him, shouting into the man’s ear. Jack had to turn away in pity as he saw the big man heave with a fresh wave of sobbing. Then came a pitiful wail as Finch jabbed the tazer into Bubble’s fleshy buttocks. “Get down to that laundry and get scrubbing, you hopeless excuse for a Marine.”

  Finch turned and faced the remaining eleven members of 6th squad. He was chuckling cruelly to himself but then wiped away the smirk and returned to his usual stony demeanor.

  “Major Cruz needs a runner for his office up on the officer’s deck.”

  Jack looked up expectantly. He was the fastest in the squad and he knew it. He would like to find and race anyone in the entire Scorpio battalion who could give him a run for his money. Jack would be a good choice, and he had studied. The major could well need someone with some higher level of education. Jack let his hopes rise in him. He sensed that Finch disliked him. A good opportunity to get rid of him. Then Jack realized he was only inviting disappointment by even hoping.

  “Lois James,” Finch said. “Report to Major Cruz.”

  Lois was a cheerful and attractive young woman. She’d fought alongside her company in the Battle of Training Moon, as their first battle had been dubbed. She’d told Jack afterward that fear had kept her in the line and firing her weapon. She had admitted she had been too afraid to run for fear of being hit in the back. She gave a bright smile to the squad as she walked quickly out of the muster area.

  “Transport department
is looking for a trainee.”

  Jack was looking forward, eyes front, but he noticed Finch look his way. Jack had studied engineering at university before being drafted into the military. He’d repaired a drone under fire during the Battle of Training Moon. He was the obvious choice. Jack could see Finch looking at him, waiting for a hint of recognition or expectation from Jack. Jack had already allowed himself to get his hopes up once.

  Trainee in the transport division sounded like work, but it would be more engaging than exercising and bunking cheek by jowl with his Marine squad-mates every minute of every day. Even if it was the lowest position there, replacing mag coils and depolarizing plasma containment cells in engineering would be much more enjoyable. He might even move onto flight operations. Jack knew better than to get his hopes up.

  “Bill Harts,” Finch called out. “Report to transport on the double.”

  Jack made every effort not to show Finch his disappointment. Certainly Finch knew Jack had experience that would make him more than suitable for a posting to transport. Perhaps Finch knew that there was animosity between Harts and Jack. Maybe Finch was doing everything he could to irritate and upset Jack. The commander was not likable and he clearly didn’t think much of Jack. It was difficult not to take it all personally.

  Jack caught Torent’s eye and the slight shrug from the squad leader. It said so much—it said sorry you didn’t get the good posting, sorry Finch is being a dick, and sorry but I can’t help you. There was a time when Sam would have delighted in Jack’s misery, but things had changed after the Battle of Training Moon. Saving a man’s life tended to do that.

  “One more and then I’ll let squad leader Torent take you out for exercise.”

  Jack looked at Torent, who gave another apologetic shrug.

  “Forge!” Finch barked. “Report to maintenance.” Finch sneered at Jack and looked pleased to give out such a menial position, then he turned on his heel and walked out of the squad muster area.

  “Maintenance?” Jack said out loud as soon as Finch was away. He looked to Torent to complain.

  But Torent was preoccupied. Terry was squaring up to him and getting ready for a fight. Terry spat on the ground and took another step forward.

  “Squad leader?” Terry spat again. “How are you going to make me do anything?” Terry bunched his fits and advanced on Torent. The squad leader was moving lightly on the balls of his feet, his fists clenched, ready to settle this disagreement over seniority right there and then.

  Jack wasn’t worried about Torent’s ability to stand up and fight, but he was worried about Terry’s obvious psychopathic nature.

  Jack felt rage boil inside. Terry was a thug, a mindless idiot who only wanted to create violent disorder. Then there was Finch, some idiot commander who only wanted to increase his authority by making others feel inadequate. Both were bullies. Jack had had enough of bullies. And he was damned if he was going to work in maintenance, sweeping corridors and painting bulkheads for the rest of his life.

  The frustration burst and Jack stepped in between Torent and Terry. He faced up to Terry. The ugly psychopath curled his lip and narrowed his eyes.

  Jack heard the words come like a flood. “Who’s going to follow you? You couldn’t lead water over a waterfall, you kravin’ piece of...”

  The sudden blow from Terry’s clenched fist made Jack’s ears ring, which mingled with the shouts of excitement from the squad. Jack raised his fists to swing at Terry, but another blow landed hard, followed by another.

  Jack fell. The ground was cold and hard. Jack felt the boots kicking his guts. He heard Torent shouting to the squad to restrain Terry. The blows stopped raining in.

  “I’ll tear your head off, Forge,” Terry was shouting.

  Torent’s face came into Jack’s field of vision, which was swirling and spinning. Torent was laughing.

  “What the krav got into you, Jacky.” Torent pulled Jack to his feet. “I can handle Terry. You’re supposed to be the smart one.” Torent held Jack’s cheeks and looked into his eyes.

  “Kravin’ Finch.”

  “Yeah, what a scroat.” Torent moved a finger back and fore across Jack’s view for Jack to follow with his eyes. “You okay? Can you stand?” Torent let go.

  Jack felt the room spin, but he kept his feet, just. “Maintenance. What a pan of crap.”

  “Yeah, terrible. Just don’t go and punch Finch or you’ll get a lot worse than a beating from Terry. Can you walk?”

  Jack nodded and staggered toward the door. “Well done on getting squad leader, Sam.”

  “Thanks, Jack. Now get off my deck.”

  Jack stumbled out into the corridor, the sound of Sam Torent calling 6th squad to order echoing out of the squad muster area behind him.

  2

  Picking his way along the maze of corridors toward the maintenance department, Jack noticed how neglected some parts of the Scorpio were. The ship was functioning, but some areas were ignored with its military manpower being stretched. In one corridor, Jack noticed a small leak in one of the bundles of pipes that ran along the top of one wall. The dark, sticky liquid that leaked out in one lazy drop splashed into a large puddle on the floor, and the smell of stagnant water filled the corridor. The pipe had clearly been leaking for a long time.

  If the leak had had a significant detrimental effect on the functioning of the Scorpio, no doubt a maintenance technician would have been dispatched to deal with it. In another time, the leak would have been fixed immediately to preserve the fabric of the ship, but not now. The maintenance department clearly had more pressing matters than one minor leak. It looked unsightly and was a symptom of the general degradation of the military due to the war with the Chitins.

  Jack turned a corridor and realized he was lost. He looked this way and that in the hope of spotting a familiar sight. There were no signs here at this junction, only series of faded colored lines that had once directed foot traffic through the ship to some location or another.

  Jack had only been aboard the Scorpio for a week and he had only been permitted to use certain areas of the ship. The bunk stacks, the mess, and the Marine deck where the entire Scorpio Marine battalion assembled for parade.

  Jack paused in this corridor. It was empty. He could hear no voices or footsteps, only the distant hum of the ship’s power cells and the drip of fluid to the puddle below. The Scorpio was a large ship, one of the original twelve fleet destroyers. They were massive ships second only in size to the fleet’s three enormous, city-sized carriers.

  Jack realized he couldn’t stay lost for long, even on a ship this size. He picked a color from the lines on the floor and followed. Yellow was good, it reminded him of the fields of home, when he had had a home, before everything changed, before the Chitins.

  At the next junction, Jack found himself at a three-way crossroads. The corridor went on, the yellow line moving forward along the corridor. Other lines ran left and right along the corridor that cut across the one he was in. And in one corner of the junction was a stairway that gave access to the deck above and below.

  A crewman came walking along the corridor, seemingly in no rush.

  “I’m looking for maintenance,” Jack said as the crewman approached.

  The crewman rolled his eyes and brushed past Jack.

  “Can you point me toward the maintenance department?” Jack asked.

  The crewman grabbed the handrail of the stairway and started up the stairs. “We have a maintenance department?”

  Jack thought about following the crewman and pestering him for help.

  “Thanks for your help.” Jack called after the crewman sarcastically.

  “Any time,” came the echoing reply.

  Jack stood at the junction and looked at each option. He guessed he could stand there for a bit longer and hope someone willing to help came along. Or Jack could pick a direction and walk. Big as the Scorpio was, it wasn’t endless. Sooner or later, Jack would come across the right department. Down looked
interesting.

  The corridor below was dark. All lights were out. Further along, a light flickered on and off. “Guess I’ll get to see plenty of faulty wiring working maintenance,” Jack said aloud.

  Voices echoed along the corridor. And then Jack heard the sizzling sound of someone cutting the ship’s composite bulkheads. It sounded like a maintenance crew at work, so he walked toward it. In the next corridor, Jack found himself splashing through a large puddle of dirty water. The whole corridor smelled damp and echoed with the sounds of splashing water. The voices grew louder. Jack heard a loud shout of frustration and swearing.

  Jack turned the corner and saw a three-man team working on a system behind the composite bulkhead. All three were looking through a hole cut through the corridor paneling.

  “We can’t just patch it there. Once the system kicks up, the whole conduit will rupture.” One of the three was speaking, his head fully inside the hole. He wore maintenance coveralls with a Master stripe on the sleeve.

  “We haven’t got a replacement on board,” the second, taller man said. The top half of his coveralls was tied by the sleeves around his waist. A grubby vest that had once been white was stretched over his tight gut. He stood behind the master and was looking inside.

  The third was a youth, just recruitment age. He had long hair and a fine wisp of hair on his top lip. He held an electron scalpel, activating and deactivating the fine blade and staring at it.

  “We can install a pneumatic pump at that conduit...” said the man in the grubby vest.

  “The gunners are going to want to aim the damn things as well, Slim,” said the master. “It’s no good. We are going to have to fabricate a new conduit. Strip out that old loader in the secondary aft airlock and...” The master drew his head out of the hole in the wall and saw Jack.

  “Not enough work for the Marines to do any, is it, dough head.” The master looked at Jack.