Bayonet Dawn (SMC Marauders Book 1)

by Scott Moon

  The sound of her laughing could be disturbing. She’d been through a lot and he didn’t blame her for being pissed off at the universe, but understanding propensity for a violent killing spree might be justified didn’t exactly make him sleep well at night.

  If Kroger hadn’t plucked her from the street, she’d have died a bad death in some back alley a long time ago.

  Arthur waggled the flight stick a few times to distract himself, turning the Hellfire side to side.

  “Slow down, wild man,” Eve said, amused but not impressed. “Now that the ground pounders have fully engaged the enemy, everything we do is weapons-free. I already reviewed our mission. In fact, Major Alexander pretty much writes the missions however I want them written. We are on a search-and-destroy from mega tanks, or whatever,” she said.

  Arthur didn’t reply. He liked freedom. Listening to officers and following orders was still tough. It was strange. Kevin was the one he expected to have problems with authority, but it turned out he had been projecting his own issues onto his younger brother.

  The two Hellfire air-to-ground attack craft slipped into the atmosphere and made their descent. The ships were designed to do this, but not so many times without refitting. Arthur ran and re-ran systems checks on everything from fuel cells to ammunition counts.

  “Any word from Kroger?” Arthur asked.

  Eve was silent for several minutes.

  Arthur reviewed tactical displays and looked for the best place to assist ground units. Kevin was down there somewhere. Rumors in the mess hall suggested all kinds of alien drama and intrigue on the planet’s surface, which made him think of the twins and the Siren who had taken them. He tried not to think of Ace and Amanda often because the idea of finding them seemed abstract.

  Eve spoke, her voice lower than usual and very serious. “None of my contacts can get me information on the Cyclops project. With the awesome amount of ass-kicking they’re doing, it’s clear they’re the unit join. I’m not sure why they took Kroger and not you and me.”

  Another pause.

  Arthur wondered who she was communicating with and why he could eavesdrop on the conversation. Major Alexander had to know Eve was out of his league in every way.

  “What I hear is that Kroger went solo. If he doesn’t get his shit together, he will be AWOL,” she said.

  Arthur swallowed hard. Going AWOL to see your girlfriend in some colony town was one thing. Taking a state-of-the-art secret weapon made you not just absent without leave, but a traitor. “If we don’t find him and figure out what his problem is, they will kill him,” he said.

  “Yep,” she said.

  With the atmosphere penetrated, Arthur and Eve delivered a firing run to assist a Recon team far from the main battle.

  “Perfect,” Eve said as they pulled up in unison.

  Arthur wasn’t sure if she meant the attack run or their location. Luck was with them. No excuses were needed to begin their aerial search for Kroger and his stolen Cyclops.

  “Where do you think we’re going to find him?” Eve asked. “I’m not getting any input regarding his position on the tactical feeds.”

  “Listen, Eve. You know he feels guilty for kicking the shit out of people. The only reason he fought me in that alley was he thought I could fight back. You should know this better than I do. I’ll bet money he is far from the fighting, trying to figure out a way to escape.”

  Eve snorted. “If that’s the way I felt, I’d be kicking some UNA-SMC-SPC-CWF ass and put an end to war. Good thing for my bosses I like it.”

  Author analyzed data feeds and noticed a convoluted conflict between Void Trolls, SMC forces, Sirens, and some of their Nix cronies. He wanted to check it out but didn’t know why. The incident disappeared behind him.

  “Major Alexander just sent me a private message saying they want us back on the ship,” Eve said.

  “So why don’t we go back?” Arthur asked.

  “Don’t be an asshole,” she said. “We need to find Kroger.”

  43

  Fleet Battle

  ADMIRAL Danzig Robedeaux dreaded fighting in space. He was good at it, and it was his job, but that did not change the nightmares sure to follow his decisions. The most insignificant engagement would make widows and orphans. His crew was his family. Putting them in harm’s way felt like the hand of God crushing his spirit.

  “Do we stand and fight, or try something else?” Commander Melanie Ford asked.

  The bridge crew stared at him. His armored guards watched from behind their visors, emotions unreadable. Sometimes he wondered if there were people behind the stoic facades.

  “Lieutenant Mud, work up navigational options. We will engage the Dissident Union Fleet, as per our orders, but we will do it in a way that will allow for victory.”

  The words reassured much of his crew, and worried others that he would turn tail. No one said it, but he knew what they were thinking. Some probably wanted to run and others probably considered it disloyal to the UNA and a sign of cowardice even to consider the option.

  Tactical icons updated their positions. At least a third of the DU Fleet were support vehicles or civilian craft. He wasn’t sure why or how they had come, but their intent was clear. This amalgamation of firepower was an act of desperation.

  He considered his options. Time passed. Time slowed. The weight of his decision pressed down hard on the back of his neck like a physical thing trying to subdue him.

  “Commander Ford, please direct our warships to form a wall as per standard engagement procedure. Array the carriers behind the wall and toward the flanks. Direct them to deploy fighter squadrons and bombers.”

  “Aye aye, Admiral,” Commander Ford said.

  “Thank you, XO.”

  He stalled, reading updates and listening to audio feeds from various ship officers. He possessed the credentials and technology to listen in on any level of the fleet’s communications to see that his orders were being carried out. Lieutenant Mud and Ensign Alonso checked and double-checked navigational options. Pre-battle operations for Red Fleet Carrier Group One ran as smoothly as could be expected.

  That would change.

  Captain Roberts did excellent work. The man was politically savvy. He seemed content to walk the line between the admiral and his XO. Commanding a ship without interfering with the admiral was a delicate balancing act.

  “Roberts, tell me what you’re seeing and give me your opinion,” Danzig said.

  “The Dissident Union Fleet is a rebel force. More of a mob than you would expect to fight in this kind of engagement. In my opinion, their ships are too close together and not arrayed for effective attack or a retreat,” Roberts said.

  Danzig nodded as he listened, evaluating the new captain’s tactical acuity. Like many things he did, this exchange was a matter of projecting his command presence — also known as stalling for time as he worked on larger problems in his head.

  “I think therein lies the danger,” Roberts said. “The DU Fleet will be unpredictable.”

  As if to emphasize his words, the vanguard of the DU Fleet fired missiles.

  “Admiral Fanestock to UNA carrier group. Move aside or be destroyed,” a voice said through the communications officer’s station. “The next volley will target your flagship.”

  “What the hell are they doing?” Ford asked. “None of them are in a position to launch a sustainable attack.”

  Danzig’s battle plan came together all at once, as it always did in a hot fight. “Send a new directive to the RGC1. All units engage. Execute strike plan Alpha 2727-Bulldog.”

  “I hate that one,” Ford said. “In training scenarios, it’s always a bloodbath.”

  “DU commanders are expecting us to go slow roll on this one and follow procedures. They’re trying to seize the initiative and give us a bloody nose, thinking we’ll be intimidated by their numbers. We can run and stretch this out, or we can kick back and destroy their confidence.”

  He looked around at his cr
ew and tried not to think about the chaos that was about to hit his ship and all the ships of RGC1. “Do you understand? Execute the order.”

  He watched the tactical display as the wall of non-carrier warships moved forward and launched missiles on converging vector lines. Even as near as the fleet or the moment of impact was, it would still be forty-five minutes until impact. The smaller carriers in his group launched their ships and prepared to dominate the flanks. The heavy hitters in his group reinforced the middle of the battle sphere, with the combat edge bulging toward the conflict.

  He watched and recalculated and listened to his staff officers. Captain Roberts rotated key members of the bridge through rest and recuperation cycles. The battle hadn’t started, but thus far, he was not dissatisfied with Roberts. The man appeared physically afraid — the way he breathed and the sweat on his brow gave him away — but he went through his checklist to take care of his crew.

  The real test would come when walls started exploding.

  44

  Kevin

  KEVIN cried as someone carried him toward a medical tent. He watched the sky through his shattered helmet visor as pain and exhaustion overwhelmed him.

  “Pick up his feet, Chaf,” Foster said. “His ass is dragging on the ground.”

  “I should be at the shoulders,” Chaf said.

  “Whatever, fine! Whatever! You’ve said that thirty times. Come on, he’s messed up!”

  Kevin listened but didn’t care. He’d seen the twins. They were alive.

  In his mind, the Siren hero fought the Nix battle lord.

  I should have acted sooner, moved faster. When he thought about his place in the scene, he cursed. Why had he hesitated? Why had he watched them fight?

  Because they were glorious.

  “Did you get Ace and Amanda? Where are they?” he asked.

  Foster and Chaf stopped arguing.

  Kevin felt the ground rush up as they put him down and switched places.

  “Edwards, go look where we found him. See if anyone found anything,” Foster said.

  Edwards raced away without complaining or arguing.

  The world bounced and jumbled as Kevin’s friends carried him into a medical bunker, a hastily constructed field hospital rough around the edges. Combat doctors and nurses lifted him onto a stretcher and raced through a maze of other wounded men and women.

  “What happened to him?”

  “He fired his main gun without going prone,” Foster said.

  “And he got hit in the face with an axe,” Chaf added.

  Cursing from the medical staff ended with someone saying, “What the hell are you people doing out there?”

  Kevin hadn’t remembered the axe, not until Chaf mentioned it. The Nix had been so fast and powerful. Pulling the trigger and getting chopped replayed as though it had just happened.

  Every muscle in his body contracted as he grunted wordless challenges to the universe that was trying to kill him.

  Drugs went into his veins. Cool darkness pulled him down.

  DREAMS came less often than nightmares and he wasn’t sure which type of journey he was taking now. Drugs weren’t such a bad thing, he decided. Doctors were his friend. He was in a good place.

  The rational part of his mind understood he might die in surgery. He’d never been in surgery, never been sedated. It felt like a kind of death without consequence. Welcome or unwelcome, oblivion frightened and confused him.

  He reached out, lunging at invisible handholds in a world of slippery nothingness and found only the blackness of a night darker than the void space.

  Nothing mattered to Private Kevin Connelly. Reality had been suspended. Time was infinite.

  He heard voices.

  Amanda spoke in their mother’s stern tone.

  “I see you and I hear you,” she said. “I always have, but that does not mean you can have me.”

  “You must explain how you resist me,” the voice without a body said. “How do you endure the headaches?”

  Kevin wasn’t sure where his sister and brother were but imagined them in the foothills of Brookhaven. Where else would they be and why would they be with anyone other than the Nix called Cronin?

  That was why he made the sacrifice, right? Because the giant killer could protect them, but only if he paid the price.

  Memories of the alien warriors sparked fear — two of Sergeant Davis’s Nix bastards using edged weapons and too many arms. He needed to fight, so he did even though he was blind and something bound his body to the planet.

  “Hold him down! Fuck, these SMC grunts are hard to put back together!”

  “Kevin?” Amanda asked. “Why are you crying?”

  “I can see you, but I can’t help you!”

  She smiled, and he saw her clearly from an impossible distance. “You saved us, brother. Cronin is taking us away from Eigon, who wants us to find the Nix rebels for her. It’s complicated, brother Kevin. The Nix have decided to attack all things Earthborn now, but their masters demand they wait until Siris and the Dream-rider are stronger.”

  Kevin tried to ask questions, but a doctor shoved a tube down his mouth. Pain exploded until he could see spots. Every muscle in his body cramped tight as a vise, shooting pain everywhere.

  Why did Amanda want the Nix to attack? “What did he do to you, Amanda? Where is Ace? When I find that Nix bastard, he’s going to pay.”

  “You do not understand, brother. The Nix will fail. They are not ready.”

  45

  Power Triangle

  PRIEST kept a close eye on his squad as Lieutenant Natalia Lacy led ZRC 1st Platoon beyond the heaviest fighting. Most of the unit was in bad shape. Recon was accustomed to being in the field for a long time, but not in the front lines of heavy combat. Reconnaissance and combat controlling was not the same as engaging in extended firefights with Dissident Union medium infantry, mega tanks, and Void Trolls of all shapes and sizes.

  He laughed without humor at thoughts of the Void Trolls. The berserker version were bad enough. Lacy had scars from her near-death experience to prove it. The organized and soldierly type of Void Trolls gave Priest chills. Everything about the Second Brookhaven War was now clear. The DU had drawn them into a planet-wide trap.

  He looked at the sky, expecting a space battle with ships exploding beyond the atmosphere.

  Fifteen major conflicts raged on the planet’s surface. Recon could not be everywhere at once. UNA and CWF units intermingled — chains of command becoming confused as battle lines crossed and re-crossed in the melee. Simple objectives were clear as mud to most of the officers.

  Priest remembered the real objective of the operation.

  The only reason they were here was to find Dr. Marc Robedeaux. No one would tell him why this was important or worth fighting a war, but when he found the man, he would have answers.

  He moved to a better observation point and went prone. With little effort, he could engage his main battle rifle from the back of his heavy armor and sprout “dragon wings.” He missed the days when his team did UHALO drops and ran about the planet in light armor searching for the doctor. Now Recon had to wear real armor and carry more ammunition. The chance of getting in a serious fight was ever present.

  He checked his heat sinks but did not extend them into the surface. It took a long time to detach from the heat sinks and he wanted to be ready to move. His MSRG would have to be enough.

  The rest of his squad moved into position without having to be told.

  McCraw and Frenchie directed Bravo and Charlie squads. Delta, commanded by the new guy, Sergeant Hammer, stayed back with Lacy and her communication specialist.

  “Alpha Squad to 1st Platoon, awaiting orders,” Priest transmitted.

  Moments later, Lacy’s voice came over the radio link. “We have good Intel. Be ready to move inside of the hour. Or at a moment’s notice.”

  “Or never,” Frenchie said in his improving accent.

  “So negative,” McCraw responded. “Ca
n we leave him, Priest?”

  “Neither of you will be able to keep up with me once we get eyes on Robedeaux. I need to have a talk with the doctor.”

  “Oui, compains. I also require the doctor,” said Frenchie with an extended sigh. “Penicillin and antibiotics only work for so long.”

  “Stow it,” Lacy said. “Broadcasting coordinates. Converge to this location by squads. Stay spread out in case the target moves.”

  Priest ran toward his first waypoint the moment the destination appeared on his HUD.

  “We’re off to find the Doctor, the wonderful Doctor of Oz,” McCraw sang.

  “What is that outrageous melody?” Frenchie asked.

  Priest ignored the banter. Moments later, the chatter ceased and Recon went tactical, which was different from stealth mode due to their pace. He could no longer see the other parts of 1st Platoon and trusted other squad leaders to do their jobs. Lacy would be checking on them and relaying intelligence updates, he hoped.

  A lone Cyclops rocketed overhead, followed by two Hellfire gunships.

  “Where are they going?” Corporal Peterson, the leader of Fire Team One, asked.

  “Not part of the mission,” Priest said. He contacted Lacy through his squad leader link, not wanting his people to hear bad when it came. “Alpha to 1st Platoon, update?”

  “We are moving on a confirmed sighting of the doctor. He is with another unidentified human. There are DU commandos also en route and a Nix with two human prisoners moving on a parallel course. It is unknown if the Nix is also moving toward the doctor.”

  “Understood,” Priest said. “Can you provide more on the Nix?”

  “Nothing further,” Lacy said. “There are SMC forces in pursuit, but they won’t catch them. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Roger. Alpha, out.” He concentrated on running and avoiding ambush. He hadn’t gone a hundred yards before Lacy screamed at him.