Star Marine!

by John Bowers

  The man ahead of him disappeared, leaping over an embankment, and Rico was right behind him. He reached the embankment and leaped just as a stream of bullets swept across it; he heard the ricochets behind him as he landed heavily in the bottom of a drainage ditch, rolling to take up his momentum. The man immediately behind him shouted in pain and lurched sideways as bullets swept the embankment again.

  Rico came up with his helmet askew, panting like a hound after a hunt, and plastered himself against the side of the ditch nearest the fire, trying to burrow into the grass. Dozens of helmets lined the inside of the ditch, looking like a turtle convention. A sergeant was running down the ditch, counting heads.

  Rico wanted to look, but was afraid to. He heard an explosion from the runway, felt the blast wave pass over the ditch, and ducked as dirt and broken starcrete rained down.

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  Star Marine!

  The Fighter Queen

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  Asteroid Outpost

  Sirian Summer

  Rebel Guns of Alpha Centauri

  Bounty Hunters at Skinner Flats*

  JOSEPH LEXXUS (for mid-grade readers)

  Joseph Lexxus and the Drug Runners of Altair

  STARPORT SERIES

  Starport

  Guerrilla Girl

  Famine Planet

  Prisoners of Eroak*

  * Not available as of the date of this publication. Title subject to change.

  Star Marine!

  by

  John Bowers

  AKW Books

  Washington

  An AKW Books eBook

  Published by Kalar/Wade Media

  Copyright © 2010 by John Bowers

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  Published in the United States by AKW Books, an imprint of Kalar/Wade Media, LLC, Washington.

  Created in the United States of American

  First Printing: April 2010

  Cover art: Howard Milligan

  Cover design & composition: Howard Milligan

  Star background: Sololos

  Soldier by Jacom Stephens

  Map by John Bowers

  An AKW Books eBook

  Published by Kalar/Wade Media

  Copyright 2010 by John Bowers

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by AKW Books, an imprint of Kalar/Wade Media, LLC, Washington.

  You are granted a non-exclusive license to this work. You may make copies or reformat it for YOUR OWN USE ONLY. You may not resell, trade, nor give this work away.

  Created in the United States of America

  First Publication: April 2010

  Cover art: Howard Milligan

  Cover design & composition: Howard Milligan

  Star background: Sololos

  Soldier by Jacom Stephens

  Map by John Bowers

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters are a product of the imagination of the author and any resemblance to any real person, either living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  The name “AKW Books” and the AKW logo are trademarks belonging to Kalar/Wade Media, LLC

  Dedicated to all the men and women of the U.S. Armed forces, from 1776 to the present. We owe you everything!

  Special dedication to the men of the 84th Infantry Division (Railsplitters) in World War II. My dad, T/5 John H. Bowers, was a Railsplitter. He served in Company A, 309th Combat Engineers at the Siegfried Line, Ardennes, and Rhineland Campaign. You guys never got all the credit you deserved. Thank you.

  Prologue

  Saturday, 21 July, 0227 (Post Colonial Calendar) – Titan, Solar System

  Rico Martinez could almost hear himself sweat.

  The troop transport hit the atmosphere of Titan at well over Mach 10 and though he'd made two-dozen planetoid assaults in training, none had ever been anything like this. The transport bucked and rolled like a snake on a hot stove, and Rico could hear the wind screaming over its armored surfaces even inside the lander.

  Surprisingly, he didn't throw up, though his stomach churned and he swallowed repeatedly, sucking oxygen like a woman in labor. His combat berth inside the lander was barely two feet wide, and though it was padded he was thrown around painfully as the big transport floundered through reentry.

  "Mother Goose, Riding Hood; initial entry complete as of — mark! Approaching Point Romeo in nine zero seconds. No opposition, all systems go."

  Rico could hear the pilot in his helmet headset. Captain Mendez had thought it would ease their minds to let them listen in on the cockpit frequency. Rico closed his eyes and swallowed yet again, fighting to keep his adrenaline down. Maybe it was going to be okay; the transport pilot sounded completely relaxed and unconcerned — almost a computer-generated voice.

  Or maybe he was on drugs.

  "Roger, Riding Hood. Break. Woodcutter, your status?"

  The voice that answered was a little more excited, if not exactly hysterical.

  "Mother Goose, I have Point Lima in sight. Ladar is clear. No opposition."

  Rico opened his eyes, breathing through his mouth. A few feet away in the opposite berth, Chavez was puking on the deck, hanging his head over the side and spilling it into the narrow aisle. Rico could hear other Star Marines retching as well, and the acrid fumes from vomit was starting to burn his eyes. Thank God for the oxygen masks.

  "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the Fruit of thy womb, Jesus."

  His eyes seemed to swell and his lips felt cracked, as if he had a high fever. He prayed more for the familiarity than anything else. This was so absolutely terrifying he couldn't believe it. Why in God's name hadn't someone talked him out of joining the Star Marines?

  They lay face down, nearly two hundred of them, stacked four high along each bulkhead. The lander was one of fourteen aboard the transport, and when they reached Point Romeo — the release point — they would be ejected into the terraformed atmosphere of Titan. At that moment there would be no going back; the transport, designated Riding Hood, would streak for orbit and get away.

  "Goddamn!" Rico whispered in sudden realization. "No wonder those fuckers sound so relaxed! They don't have to go all the way down!"

  His heart hammered anew at the thought.

  "Point Romeo in four zero seconds. Still looking good, no opposition."

  "This is Woodcutter. Point Lima looks quiet. Coming around again for another pass. No opposition yet."

  Woodcutter was the fighter escort, sixteen combat fighters from UFF

  Menachim Begin. According to the briefings, their job was to escort the landers all the way down, just in case enemy fighters showed up. Once the landers were ejected, if there was no airborne opposition, they would strafe Point Lima, the landing zone. Rico stared at the bulkhead in front of his face, eyes unfocused, waiting. It was all theory, he knew. Had never been tried before. This would be the very first planetoid assault of the war by the Star Marines. If it worked, they would take back Titan from the Sirians. If it failed, the brass would rethink the strategy and try something else next time.

  But Rico would never know. He'd be dead.

  His headset crackled with a new, more familiar voice.

  "Delta Company!" Captain Mendez snapped, his voice as sharp and clear as a parade ground drill sergeant's. "Final check! All weapons on safe, oxygen mask in place, oxygen flow normal, collision harness in place, no talking. No questions. I
f you want out, you shoulda thought of it yesterday."

  Rico clamped his teeth together and swallowed again, mentally checking off each item the captain had mentioned. He was all set. Except he wasn't sure he'd survive the landing. His heart would surely stop from pure terror before he reached the ground.

  The transport's flight had smoothed out considerably, though it still rose and fell heavily as it descended to fifty thousand feet. The wind noise was still audible through the thin hull of the landing craft. Now his body began to vibrate and a new sound reached him. He recognized it as the lander's jets, warming up preparatory to release. He glanced over at Chavez, who'd replaced his oxygen mask, yellow drops of vomit still sticking to his chin. Chavez made eye contact, but his expression was blank, as if he didn't recognize him.

  "Mother Goose, Riding Hood commencing release glide. All ducklings powered up. Point Romeo in one five seconds."

  Yet one more new sound faintly reached Rico's ears, the shrill whine of air over sharp metal surfaces. The transport had opened its cargo doors, seven along each side of the ship. Rico's lander was now exposed to the atmosphere of Titan, and the next event would be release as the lander was fired clear of the mother ship. For at least fifteen more seconds there was still the possibility they might have to abort the landing. He wouldn't mind that at all.

  "Mother Goose, Riding Hood is at Point Romeo — mark! Beginning duckling release … "

  Rico heard a loud pop, followed by the roar of jet engines. Two ducklings were away, one from each side at the stern of the transport. Five seconds later two more were fired, then two more. Only eight remained, and Rico's would be one of the last pair to launch.

  "Jesus Christ! Mother Goose, Woodcutter! We've got Sirians all over the goddamned sky! I don't know where the fuck they came from, but we're engaging! Recommend you abort the drop! Repeat, recommend abort!"

  Rico's heart stood still, and he imagined that every Star Marine still on board the transport must be filling his pants. Oh God! Oh, God!

  "Mother Goose, Riding Hood! I've already released six ducklings! Request orders!"

  "Riding Hood, Mother Goose. Stand by!"

  Stand by? What the fuck do you mean, stand by? We're fatally exposed here! Come on, abort the fucking mission already! Get us out of here!

  "HailMaryfullofgracetheLordiswiththeeblessedartthouamongstwomen!"

  Rico's whole body shuddered with terror, and he gripped his laser rifle helplessly. He wasn't aware that he was babbling, or that a hundred others were doing the same, until Captain Mendez came over the headset.

  "Delta! Shut the fuck up, Delta! This isn't helping our situation any! Do not, repeat do not give in to panic! Now shut up!"

  Rico bit his lip, sweat running into his eyes, and tasted blood. He didn't know where it came from.

  "Woodcutter, Mother Goose. Report!"

  Woodcutter's voice came back thin and high-pitched; in the background Rico heard the hammer of autocannon.

  "I've got about thirty bogies, Mother Goose. I've lost two fighters, but we nailed some of them. They've broken off but they haven't left. We're in pursuit!"

  "Riding Hood, Mother Goose. Proceed with release. Repeat, release remaining ducklings."

  "Mother Goose, I'm past Point Romeo," the transport pilot said, his voice tight with fear. "Reversing course will take about four minutes … "

  "Negat!" Mother Goose snapped. "Do not return to Point Romeo. Release your ducklings now!"

  "Oh God! Oh, Jesus Christ! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!" Chavez was praying and swearing at the same time. Rico didn't blame him.

  " … pray for us now and in the hour of our death!" Rico finished, wondering if they would be one and the same.

  Pop!

  Two more landers were released, and five seconds later, two more. Rico tried to cross himself, but there wasn't room. To do so he had to lift his body off his stomach, but his helmet bumped the top of the berth. The best he could manage was a brief crossing of his forehead as far down as his throat.

  Pop!

  Oh, Jesus! Oh, God! Please, don't let them …

  Whooosh!

  Rico's feet slammed into the end of his berth as the lander launched horizontally, like an arrow from a bow, leaping out into space from the side of the transport at close to a hundred knots. Forward momentum was interrupted by a sudden sickening plunge as the lander dived toward the moon below. How high were they? Fifty thousand? How long did it take a lander to fall fifty thousand feet? He closed his eyes, teeth clenched, and gripped the handholds with white knuckles, panting until he almost hyperventilated. This was worse than a kick in the balls; this was the single most terrifying moment of his life. Death couldn't be worse than this, he thought — then wished he hadn't made that connection. If the lander's jets didn't take hold soon, he would find out all about death.

  The lander rolled onto its side, and Rico almost yelled as his body slid to the left. Then the lander bounced across a ripple of air pockets and he realized they were flying, under powered control, and though they were still descending at a fairly rapid rate, they were no longer falling.

  "Thank you, Jesus! Thank you, Mary! Oh, thank you, God!"

  Rico felt his courage return slowly as his panic dissipated. This was more natural; he'd done this before. From here on down he knew pretty much what to expect. When they hit the ground, if the enemy was there, he'd find out about combat. But at least he would no longer be trapped in a flying coffin. He'd at least have a chance to die fighting.

  A heavy sense of relief washed over him, leaving him almost numb. Blessed numbness, so far superior to the pulse-pounding, knife-edged sensations of terror.

  He heard explosions in the distance, and wondered what it meant. Were the Sirians shooting at them? Were they close enough to the ground to hear bombs falling? Were the fighters now making ground strikes? Was there …

  The lander exploded with a brilliant flash and a ringing in his ears. Rico's body slammed hard against the bulkhead and all the breath was crushed out of him, then everything was spinning crazily in all directions at once. He had no time to feel fear, for suddenly he could see out — and he was falling.

  The lander was above him, turning brokenly in slow motion, flame pouring out a gaping hole in the side, smoke trailing in heavy billows. It spun out of his sight, and now Rico was looking at the ground, black and forbidding, rushing up at him from four miles away. It was his first sight of the planetoid he'd come to assault, and though it was hardly spectacular, the giant ringed planet that came into view as he continued to rotate certainly was.

  Saturn hung there in gorgeous splendor, huge and yellow and perfect, its symmetrical rings shining. Rico had never realized how big it would look from the surface of Titan, and the sight of it took his breath away. Curiously, he was no longer afraid. This couldn't be real. This was surely a dream; it was too fantastic to be anything else. You didn't cross millions of miles of space to launch the first space-borne invasion of the war and then die like this. It just didn't happen.

  As he fell toward the planetoid, Rico gazed serenely at the rings of Saturn, and wished his family could enjoy this view with him. I’ll have to remember how it looks, so I can tell them about it when I get home.

  "The Sirians find authority for many of their practices in the Bible. Certain passages in the scriptures seem to condone slavery, they point out. Male dominance is also justified, for the Bible places the woman under the man's authority. Apparently they missed the references to justice and humanity … "

  —Regina Wells, Your Sirian Enemy

  Book One - The Solar System

  Chapter 1

  Monday, 23 July, 0227 (PCC) – Orbit of Saturn, Solar System

  The planet's brightness was almost blinding. Hanging off to the left in space, its multicolored hues seemed to bathe the rescue ship with liquid color; shifting, changing. The rings stretched in taut elliptical loops around the giant orb, like the gleam of a laser saw after dark. No life could survive on Satu
rn, yet it dominated this region of space where tens of thousands of humans fought a desperate struggle for survival.

  Capt. James Carson wasn't looking at the giant planet at the moment. His attention was glued to the Heads Up Holo (HH) in his cockpit, where his onboard computers tracked the transponder of a damaged fighter ship. He spoke to the computer in muted tones, adjusting course and speed as he approached his target.

  "Input: reduce thrust incrementally," he said quietly. "Ten second retro thrust interval. Match target drift and velocity. Execute."

  "Ack."

  "Rescue team stand by," Carson said into his intercom. "ETA five minutes."

  "Roger, Kept'n," replied a laconical voice in his headset. That was McGarrity, the Australian. Unmilitary as they come, but a good man to have on board.

  The retros began their brief burns, ten seconds apart, knocking down the forward momentum in small increments. It would take five minutes to slow enough to match drift with the wreck ahead, but since they weren't a combat ship there was no need for bone-jarring deceleration.

  The transponder signal was strong now, a brightly blinking yellow light on the HH. Just a few thousand miles ahead, approaching quickly. Carson tensed against the staccato deceleration, letting his shoulder harness take up the shock. In the sickbay, injured patients were strapped into hydrocushions rather than fixed medracks, allowing them to sway instead of lurch when the rockets fired. It was less painful and less lethal at the same time. Everyone else — the uninjured — had to take whatever came.

  In the right hand seat Lt. Ho monitored the threat display. The battle had been in progress for days and still wasn't over. In fact, neither Carson nor Ho had any idea who was winning. All they knew was that Saturn space was infested with Sirians, and their job was to find the Federation fighter crews who'd been hit — before the Sirians did.

  "Attent:" the computer said briskly. "ETA to target signal one minute."