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

by James David Victor

  The surface of the moon began to drift as the landing craft went into a spin. The pilot reached out against the G-force, visibly straining to reach a switch that Jack thought was the emergency landing stabilizer. His finger touched the small switch and he snapped it over. The small panel behind it lit up green.

  “Grav break, now. Slam it, for krav sake.”

  A second major lightning strike blew out the view screen.

  The only sound the pilot made for the next fifteen seconds was heavy breathing as he worked frantically to do his best to slow and stabilize the landing craft. It seemed to be an impossible task as Jack saw the surface race ever closer. The landing craft slammed into the moon belly first.

  The straps holding Jack in his alcove stretched under his weight. The suit’s power was diverted to the vertical stabilization support field. Jack’s display dimmed as power was diverted from all other systems. The strap at Jack’s left shoulder reached its breaking point, the frayed, threaded composite snapping.

  Jack slammed sideways as the strap failed. The landing craft was down. 6th squad was deployed to Kratos.

  10

  Jack released himself from the remaining straps and stepped out of the alcove. He looked along the line of Marines opposite. The enhancement data showed him the names and status of his squad-mates. Directly opposite was Osho. Her heart rate was high, but she was alive and ready for action. She nodded at Jack as he placed a hand on her shoulder. Next to her stood Terry. He was also fit. He shoved Jack’s hand away as he held it out in an offer of support.

  “I can stand on my own two feet, Forge,” Terry spat.

  “Where’s the commander?” Torent unclipped himself and stepped out of his alcove. “Terry, find the commander. Make sure he’s okay. Forge, check the cockpit. Osho, you’re with me. Let’s check these Marines.”

  Jack picked his way along the narrow gangway to the cockpit. Harts was unstrapping himself from his co-pilot seat. “Bill,” Jack called out, “you need to assist the pilot and isolate the craft from flight operations.”

  “It’s no good. Krav it. The pilot is no good.” Harts was babbling to himself.

  “There’s nothing wrong with the pilot,” Jack said harshly. He’d watched Harts and the pilot at work and from what Jack knew, the pilot was the only man on board who had saved them from a catastrophic crash landing, while Harts had been a hindrance at best and a culpable liability at worse.

  Unclipping himself and twisting out of the seat, Harts came tumbling forward toward Jack. He barreled into Jack and then reached up to his helmet, tugging at it.

  “What the krav,” Jack said. “Don’t take that off, Bill.” Jack grabbed Harts’s hands and pulled them away from his helmet. “We don’t know if the hull is still sealed. Any breach and the air in here is death. You’ll be dead in a second.”

  “Dead. Dead.” Harts pushed Jack away.

  Jack shoved Harts toward another Marine. “Make sure he keeps that helmet on,” Jack said. He looked toward the cockpit and stepped forward.

  The enhanced data overlay on Jack’s view showed that the pilot was dead, impaled on a thin composite pipe that had burst upward from the conduit channel below the cockpit. The black conduit had stabbed up through the pilot’s seat, through his central body mass and out the neck just to the right of his head. Blood oozed out and evaporated in the thin, low-pressure atmosphere.

  “Report, Marine.” Finch stepped up behind Jack.

  Reaching out to secure the craft and isolate flight functions, Jack reported the grim news. “The pilot is dead, Commander. Ship secured. There is a hull breach somewhere. A few secondary systems have taken a beating. I don’t think we are in any immediate danger.”

  “Can you drop the access ramp from there?”

  “Sir, yes, sir.” Jack turned to Finch. The data showed that Finch was unhurt, but his heart rate was high. Jack guessed the commander had not crash-landed recently, if ever, at least not outside of a simulation.

  Jack dropped the ramp, letting out the remaining fresh air and letting in the dull brown light of the gas giant high in the sky overhead.

  “All right. Listen up, Marines. Form up outside. Double time.” Finch tugged at the thin conduit protruding from the pilot’s neck, then turned to Jack and asked, “Is that a problem?”

  Jack studied the conduit and then the instrument panel. It was a secondary plating data transfer conduit. “It is not affecting any flight system. The ship should be able to fly,” Jack said.

  Finch nodded. “Get that dead pilot out of the cockpit, Marine. I don’t want to be fussing over that corpse if we need to get out of here quickly.”

  The squad was sitting around on the ground outside the landing craft. Finch was on one knee, a holomap spread out in air in front of him and Torent at his side studying the map.

  “Is that cockpit clear, Marine?” Finch said as Jack came down the ramp.

  “Sir, yes, sir.”

  “Okay, listen up, Marines. We are going to scout this moon and get back aboard the Scorpio pronto. Squad leader, set perimeter guards at two hundred meters from this point. Forge, you can assist the co-pilot and scout the moon with the landing craft.” Finch cancelled the map display and stood up. “Co-pilot, you have the pilot’s chair. Go. Now.”

  Harts wandered toward Jack and the landing craft ramp. Jack stayed standing where he was and prevented Harts from walking inside the craft.

  “Commander. If we use the landing craft to scout the moon, we will alert any Chits to our presence. We should scout on foot and stay hidden.”

  “It’ll be much quicker, Jacky,” Torent said, stepping up next to Finch.

  Finch advanced toward Jack, finger pointed at his chest. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, Marine. Now get that landing craft airborne and scout the area.”

  “If we were sent to conduct an aerial scout mission, we would have been equipped with drones.”

  “Are you hoping to stay out of trouble? Are you hoping to cower in some corner, or maybe on a nearby hill? That’s your style, isn’t it, Marine? I won’t run this mission and deal with your cowardice. You will get a hold of yourself and function like a Marine. But if you want to find yourself strapped to a flogging post on the Marine deck, you keep on disobeying me. Is that understood?”

  “Sir,” Jack went on. “The landing craft is not a suitable vehicle for an aerial reconnaissance. We can’t be sure we’ve properly cleared the area.”

  “I will decide when the area is clear, Marine. Now get in that cockpit and survey the area.” Finch rubbed away some of the moon’s pink sandy soil from his suit.

  Jack received a message. He accessed the message on his helmets comms. It was Torent.

  “Get that crate in the air, you dumb ass. I don’t want to watch you get flogged, again.”

  Bill Harts pushed Jack up the ramp. “Get up there, Forge. I’ll show you how to get this thing off the ground.”

  Jack couldn’t believe the stupidity all around him. Checking the area using the landing craft was a surefire way of alerting any Chits to their presence. The Chit home world was on the far side of the system currently, but there was no reason to believe they wouldn’t have an observation post on this moon themselves. If it was such a good location for a surveillance base, then surely the Chits would know that too. And they had been in this system far longer than humans, they had a huge advantage. Scouting from the air was dangerous and stupid.

  And as for Harts suggesting he would school Jack on flying the landing craft after that horrible display of co-piloting, he was stupid and deluded. Jack was caught between idiots all determined to put him in deadly peril.

  “Let’s get this thing off the ground,” Jack said and walked toward the cockpit. At least he would get to fly a spacecraft. That was something, even if it might be the death of him.

  The landing craft lurched into the air. Harts sat in the pilot’s chair and instructed Jack. It was possible to fly this craft from the co-pilot’s chair, but Jack had to list
en to the ramblings of an incompetent pilot. Jack did his best.

  The landing craft was a basic supply vessel design, customized for troop transport. It was small enough to fit inside a destroyer but large enough to cram a company of Fleet Marines inside. It was, however, totally inappropriate for surveillance operation. It was big and slow. The scanning systems were suitable for landing and docking, but nowhere near the level required for identifying hidden Chit soldiers.

  It was relatively easy for Jack to fly. If only Harts would help. But Harts was arrogant and overconfident, even given his recent poor performance. How had Harts gotten into the flight deck? He was nowhere near as capable as Jack.

  “Not as easy as it looks, is it?” Harts said as the raft was rocked by a sudden atmospheric disturbance. Jack navigated through the turbulence, keeping the craft steady.

  It was virtually impossible to tolerate Harts. The man was devious, a cheat, and a liar. Jack suspected he had a cruel or even psychopathic streak. He would set people up for a fall, not for any personal gain but just to watch them tumble. Jack could not forget how Harts had set him and Sam Torent against each other. Harts had cleverly manipulated them just for the pleasure of watching two Marines come to blows. It could have ended badly for either Jack or Torent. And if Harts didn’t watch his mouth now, it would end badly for him. Jack was not going to tolerate this idiot.

  “It would be a lot easier to fly this thing if you helped out,” Jack said.

  “I am helping you, old buddy,” Harts said. “I’m instructing you. You might get good.”

  Jack felt a rush of irritation at the word buddy. It grew to anger at the suggestion that Harts could instruct him. It peaked at full blown fury as he heard Harts say he might get good. Jack was a better pilot, a better engineer, and a better Marine than Bill Harts. Even though Jack had never wanted to join the Marines, he knew he was better than Harts. A sudden pang of humility slowed Jack. He bit his lip and accepted his situation; stuck on a moon with Bill kravin’ Harts trying to instruct him.

  Jack had always stayed away from the kids who wanted to join the military. Jack had only ever wanted to build machines and fix machines. Machines were easy to understand. Someone like Harts was impossible to grasp. The guy just didn’t function and Jack was damned if he knew how to fix him. But in the short time he’d been training with the Fleet Marines, Jack thought he knew how to shut Harts up. One more word, Jack thought, just one more word and...

  “Don’t let the nose dip, rookie.”

  “Don’t speak to me, Bill.” Jack twisted in his seat, one hand on the controls. “You are the worst kind of nasty scroat. You wouldn’t know if the nose on this craft was dipped, raised, or jammed up your ass. Now shut the krav up and let me fly this circuit.”

  “You don’t know this ship, Jack. I’ve been learning it for days…”

  “You wouldn’t know the primary coil from the lift plate.” Jack turned his attention back to the view screen.

  The moon was a strange world. The pink surface was cute at first glance, but it soon became a violent assault on the eyes. The moon had the appearance of a pink forest. The surface grew upward in twisting, branching towers that ended with fine cobweb-like structures.

  The moon interacted with the gas giant Penthos and created a dense golden aurora that shimmered across the brown sky. Jack ignored the strangely beautiful view and focused on keeping the landing craft level and steady. It was too easy to let the view take over Jack’s focus. He would love to push the landing craft to speed and follow the lines of the aurora, joy riding high above the surface of Kratos. But this was not entertainment, this was business. This was Marine business, and Jack had a responsibility to his team.

  “The scanners on this boat are set on too wide a beam,” Jack said. “Refocus them for me, Harts.”

  “Scanner focus is fine,” Harts said.

  “It’s that panel there,” Jack said, pointing to the relevant touch screen. “Access scanner control and reset for a narrow beam. As narrow as it will go.”

  “You do it,” Harts said.

  “Can you take over the flight controls?” Jack was nervous about letting Harts have control. How had Harts even been selected for flight operations? If anyone should have been sent to the laundry aboard the Scorpio, it was Harts.

  “I can fly this ship,” Harts said haughtily. “If you can’t handle the scanning, maybe you shouldn’t be flying.”

  Jack didn’t know how long he could hold off hitting Harts. “Take control in three, two...” Jack left the controls. He was going to adjust the scan focus in as short a time as possible. It was true he would have to fly more lines to cover the area, but it did mean he could fly the landing craft. It was exciting and interesting; it was almost worth putting up with Bill Harts.

  “Scanners refocused. We’re getting much better data already.” Jack looked out at the strange world below. He would never have been here, flying over this surface, if he had not been drafted. He would never be glad to have been dropped from his university course, but this was something special. And he was working on machines he could only study in simulations back in university on Eros. Jack had never wanted to be a Marine, but was starting to feel like he didn’t have any other options.

  Harts hit a bad patch of turbulence that thrust the landing craft a hundred meters down to the surface in a second. He struggled with the controls and overcompensated. The craft lurched upward, the nose raised so much the craft was sitting almost vertically.

  “Ease off. Level her off,” Jack shouted. He reached out toward the flight controls, fighting the G-force that was holding him back. “Let me take control.”

  “Hands off, Jack,” Harts said as he struggled to regain control.

  “Let me take control,” Jack said as the nose dipped forward, pointing the craft directly at the moon below. “We’re too steep. The coil will flip out if you throw it back again.”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  Jack could see that Harts had lost control. The craft began to tumble and then went into a spin. Jack was pinned to the side of his seat. Jack could not reach the primary flight controls. Harts was pinned in his seat. They were both passengers now.

  Jack spotted the ramp controls on his left. If he could deploy the ramp, it might slow their spin enough for him to regain control. The AI refused to let Jack open the ramp. Jack pulled his sidearm off his hip and pointed it at the console. He steadied himself and aimed carefully. If he missed, he would never regain control and the craft and his body would be scattered over half the moon’s surface. If he got his aim just right...

  Jack fired and smashed open the AI central unit. He dug inside and removed the main AI override system node. The AI was now a passenger too. Jack resent his request for the ramp to be deployed.

  The screaming rush of air told Jack that the ramp was opening. The first tiny crack in the hull as the ramp deployed turned the hold of the landing craft into a huge wind instrument. The screeching high-pitched tone pierced Jack’s ears. If he hadn’t been wearing his helmet, it would have exploded his ear drums. Then, as the ramp opened a fraction more, the wind resistance grew suddenly and jerked the craft out of its spin. Jack was slammed back against the other side of his chair.

  A data stream across his helmet told him he was nearing a concussed state. He was rapidly becoming hypoxic due to G-forces acting on his body. He instructed his suit to increase oxygen concentration and suit pressure to force some oxygen into his system. Then he reached out again toward the flight controls. All he needed to do was fire a controlled trust and he could steady the boat.

  Harts was slumped in his chair. The data displayed across Jack’s helmet as he looked at Harts told Jack what he already knew, that co-pilot William Harts was unconscious.

  “At least now you are ballast,” Jack said aloud, wishing Harts could hear. “Best job you’ve done all day.” Jack reached out and hit the thrust.

  The G-force subsided. Jack leveled the craft and put it on the corr
ect surveillance altitude. He accessed the ramp controls, hoping they would still function. He didn’t know if they had been damaged by their unorthodox deployment, or if they had been ripped away completely. The ramp controls responded and informed him that the ramp was closing. A glance over his shoulder and Jack saw the ramp shut and close out the dull light from Penthos, returning the hold to dark.

  Jack sat back in his seat and looked out at the planet. He was thousands of meters off course. He guessed he would be flying the landing craft a bit longer than he’d first thought, and with Harts unconscious, he would have a nice quiet time of it.

  The calm was short-lived. A siren alarm sounded, echoing around the empty hold, as the craft suffered a total loss of power. It returned momentarily and gave the craft a sudden push. The power failed and returned again, pushing the craft across the sky on one lurching movement after another. Jack glanced at the altitude reading. He didn’t need to, he could see the strange forest-like structures of the surface racing up toward him.

  Jack set the craft for a crash landing. Hopefully, some of the emergency landing safety measures were still functioning.

  The pink branching structures disintegrated as the craft crashed into them. They exploded in a cloud of pink sand and dust as the landing craft crashed to the ground and skidded through the tree-like towers, carving a path across the surface of Kratos.

  11

  “Get up. Get up.” Jack unclipped the straps holding Harts in his seat, his undeserved pilot’s seat. Harts looked at Jack with a mixture of fear and accusation.

  “You crashed the ship?” Harts said as he recoiled from Jack.

  “Get up, Bill.” Jack grabbed Harts under the arm and pulled him out of the seat. “I need your help.”

  “Why should I help you?” Harts sat back in his seat and tried activating the landing craft elevation systems.

  “Don’t play with that,” Jack said, grabbing Harts’s hands and pulling them away from the control panel. “The boat’s been damaged. We need to assess the extent of that damage before we can even try and get airborne.”