The Hope Island Chronicles Boxed Set

by PJ Strebor

  He hired an air-car and went shopping. His second port of call was a bank where he withdrew a sizeable amount of cash. Whether north or south of the frontier, everyone spoke a universal language; cash.

  Research always factored into his planning, and he had days to consult the database, for all the intell he needed on this planet. Like many worlds far from the influence of the empire, Reynolds exhibited a particularly liberal policy with regard to weapons sales. A smile had stretched his lips when he’d read that piece of information. Nathan parked his air car and strode to the exclusive arms trader store. The sign above the door read, Dieter’s Antique Replica Firearms. Get more bang for your buck.

  Perfect.

  The interior of the store was a small, dingy affair and not what he’d expected. Nathan examined the stock and shook his head. Unimpressed didn’t quite cover his feelings. He could feel the proprietor’s eyes following his every move. Finally the store owner made his move.

  “Mornin’ friend, I’m Dieter, how can I be of assistance to you?”

  A short fat man with graying hair and halitosis that made Nathan recoil.

  “I’m looking for a rifle, pistol and some additional specialized items .”

  “Sure thing, friend,” Dieter said, moving rapidly into sales mode. “Hunting rifles are over here.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen them. They’re shit.” Nathan could practically hear the cogs churning in Dieter’s brain. “I want a sniper’s rifle, semiautomatic, with a scope and night vision.”

  Dieter’s smile turned into a grin. “A connoisseur. I do so like a man who knows what he wants. Come with me.”

  Nathan followed him into a back room lined with weaponry. He spied a rocket launcher but considered it to be overkill. From behind a locked cage Dieter presented Nathan with a rifle that, just from its appearance, screamed havoc.

  “Heckler and Koch MR 308. One of the finest sniper rifles of its day. Ancient tech for the discerning marksman combined with modern manufacturing techniques. Feel the weight.”

  Nathan did so and raised it to his shoulder. As light as a pulsar rifle. Nathan could learn to love this weapon of death.

  “Seven point six two caliber cartridge, available with transparent polymer magazines, holding either ten or twenty rounds.”

  “Scopes?”

  Dieter took one scope from a rack.

  “This is the only scope I have because there’s no finer. With this you could shave the wings off a fly at two hundred meters.”

  Nathan carefully examined both rifle and scope before fitting it to the H & K.

  “Pistols?”

  From another drawer the arms salesman produced another lethal-looking weapon.

  “Glock 17L. Nine millimeter cartridge, seventeen round magazine. There is no finer hand gun.”

  It felt good in Nathan’s hand. Natural, as if it belonged there.

  “I need silencers for both weapons.”

  “Not a problem but they’re pricey.”

  In a long narrow room, converted into a firing range, Nathan got the measure of his weapons. He asked basic questions, practiced magazine loading and removal, checked out the rifle’s scope and emptied three magazines from each weapon into the targets.

  Other items, also available in the gun store took his total purchases to a higher figure than he’d expected. He haggled over the price to make it look convincing, but had more than enough money to cover the transaction.

  Two more stops then back to the aircar. After making his drops throughout the encroaching rain forest, he booked into a five star hotel. He had accomplished all of his tasks in just over five hours. Nathan took a shower and dined in the hotel’s restaurant. Then he took a nap.

  ***

  Nathan’s Prep hummed as the enemy formed up around their ground cars. “Planning an assault are you? Isn’t that nice,” Nathan whispered.

  Through the telescopic sight of his H & K sniper’s rifle, he placed the cross hairs on the officer in charge. The marines all wore armor and helmets, but it would make no difference. The high-velocity bullets would pierce light armor like a hot knife through butter. The seven point six two hollow point bullets would do grievous damage to anyone they hit.

  He took a deep breath and expelled it as his finger gently squeezed the trigger. The rifle made a soft popping sound as the round passed through the silencer. The marine’s head spouted blood as the round tore through his helmet. The squad of marines froze for an instant then took cover behind their cars. Nathan sighted on the next one. As another marine dropped to the roadside the rest came alive, raising their pulsar rifles, looking for the source of the silent death that rained down upon them. Nathan took three more down before they found proper cover in a nearby alley.

  ***

  “The Lieutenant’s dead and four others as well,” Marine Sergeant Kratt shouted.

  “Fuck,” Orson screamed. “Sergeant, locate him with your sensors. Look for a pulsar signature within the hotel.”

  “Tried that sir, no signature,” the marine said. “He’s using old-style weaponry. Bullets, he’s killing us with bullets for fuck’s sake.”

  Orson roared his rage then practiced the relaxation methods the Commodore had taught him. As his pulse subsided he redoubled his focus on Telford. Yes, he’s in the hotel, but where?

  Examining the image of the hotel he started at the bottom-most floor and worked his way up.

  “Got you,” Orson said between set teeth. “Sergeant, he’s on the roof. Remember Kratt, I want him alive.”

  “Yes sir, understood.”

  ***

  Sergeant Kratt sighted through his monocular and spotted their quarry on the roof. The sniper would wait for the marines to show themselves before once again raining death upon them. A bullet hit the wall a centimeter from his face. Pulling back he rubbed flakes of render from his eyes. The remainder of his squad were seasoned solders, brave, dependable. And shitting themselves.

  “He’s on the roof,” Kratt told them. “We block off the exits, go in and get him. Listen up. On my order we will run like hell for the hotel. It’s only twenty meters away but we all take different routes, no bunching up. And adopt a zigzag pattern. When we make it to the hotel we’ll be safe. Got it?”

  His men nodded their confirmation. They knew not all of them would make it to the hotel, but they were men of duty. Kratt took them further into the alley. A twenty meter running start might help save some of them. They began limbering up, some running on the spot. Kratt did the same.

  “As soon as you clear the alley, split up and zigzag. Ready. Three, two, one, go.”

  Kratt burst from the alley his heart pounding, waiting for the silent death to cut him down. He heard someone go down, and another grunt. A bullet grazed the armor on his left shoulder. It stung but the shoulder armor deflected the shot so he was good to go. With a final burst of energy he fell against the hotel’s front wall, panting, the adrenaline still pumping through his body. He’d lost one man, who lay face down on the street, in a pool of his own blood. Another had been nicked but remained operational. Out of his squad of ten he had five marines left. He detailed three to cover the exits and took the last one with him to the roof. One of them would get this fucker. A minute later they stepped from the lift and took the stairs up. They paused by the door leading to the roof. Kratt swallowed bile and risked taking a quick peek around the door jam. Nothing. He looked again, passing his eyes over the roof. Nothing. Kratt checked either side of the outside door with his mirror. Nothing. With marine sign language he indicate to the other marine the plan, then counted down silently to zero. Rifles at the ready both marines burst onto the roof and pinned their backs to the wall. The lift area lay in the middle of the roof and provided the only place for their enemy to hide. Kratt moved left the other right. They met on the other side. Nothing. Rifles at the ready they backed away until they could check out the roof of the lift. Nothing.

  Kratt checked wit
h his marines on the ground floor. They’d not seen him.

  “What the fuck’s going on, Sarge?”

  Kratt had no idea.

  ***

  “What the fuck do you mean, he’s not there?” Orson shouted. “Have you checked the exits?”“Aye, sir. He’s not here.”

  As soon as Orson cut the comm it beeped. He keyed it. “What?”

  “Please step onto the bridge, Commander,” Captain Coppins said.

  Orson did so, all the time fighting the urge to scream his frustrations at the world. Coppins looked up from the tactical display.

  “I think we have him,” he said.

  “What?”

  “An aircar lifted from the roof a minute before our men got there. We’re tracking it now.”

  As the minutes ticked by Orson got his rage under control. The Commodore had been right about that. His anger had clouded his judgment, hindering his efficiency.

  “He’s landed, Captain,” the tactical officer said.

  “Put it on my display,” Orson ordered and returned to the briefing room. There he was, a red blip walking away from the air-car, fifteen clicks from the spaceport, surrounded by rainforest. They’d have to go in after him.

  Orson heard the hatch slide open. Captain Reinhardt joined him.

  “That fucker is really irritating me,” Reinhardt said. “I’d like to help you get him.”

  Orson thought the intelligence officer might be of use. Since the marines had suffered fifty percent casualties he could use all the foolish volunteers he could get.

  “Nine years ago we tried to capture him on his home planet,” Orson said. “A rainforest world, just like this. He killed the raiding party including one of our best men. He was scarcely seventeen.”

  “With your, ah, skills and my proclivity for violence, we may be able to even the odds,” Reinhardt said.

  “We take him alive,” he told the Captain.

  “Of course.”

  Orson harbored a strong suspicion that Reinhardt was lying.

  CHAPTER 49

  10th October, 326 ASC.

  Position: Planet Reynolds. Northern Quarantine Zone.

  For two days the Pruessens had been tracking Nathan through the undergrowth. Every time he set an ambush for them, Saxon had read his move. Each time they deployed their teams to surround his position, forcing him to withdraw. To run. “I really need to kill this square head fucker.”

  Because their helmet’s visors tinted over to compensate for the intense sunlight, Nathan couldn’t make out individual faces. However he could sense Saxon and Reinhardt from the rest. The Athenian spook was proving to be a real pain. Maybe I can kill him, just a little bit.

  As he fled from the danger signals he considered his options. Each one ended with his death, but he had to do something. It would be only a matter of time before they’d corner him. “There’s always another plan, another solution,” he whispered.

  ***

  The armor clung to Orson’s sweat soaked body like a heated straitjacket. With a start of recognition he found his quarry. Under his helmet his smile stretched his face. The stress of being hunted relentlessly for two days had an effect on him. Telford finally made the mistake Orson had been waiting for.

  “Sergeant Kratt,” Orson shouted, “he’s three hundred meters ahead of you.” Orson’s grin widened. “His back is to a sheer cliff, so he can’t run. Spread out and get him.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Kratt took his four marines plus nine well-armed crewmen in the direction indicated. Cornered and outnumbered Telford’s luck had finally run out. He may hold the high ground but in this dense jungle he couldn’t cause the same havoc as he’d done in the city. Orson considered the odds of thirteen to one were too much even for this sneaky bastard.

  Beside him Reinhardt cradled his rifle across his chest.

  Orson continued to track Telford. Odd, he’s not moving. Finally giving up? No, something’s not right here.

  “Fuck,” Orson said.

  “What?” Reinhardt asked, tensing.

  “I’ve lost him.” Try as he might he couldn’t read him. “He’s blocking me.”

  “Saxon, watch out, he’s heading directly for your position,” Coppins yelled over his comm.

  Orson brought his rifle to his shoulder and looked for any movement. Lucky for him that E 811’s sensors had spotted Telford.

  He saw movement, foliage being swept aside. He raked the area with an automatic burst from his pulsar rifle. Reinhardt did the same, at kill setting. Orson rounded on him. “Drop the weapon or I’ll kill you.” As soon as Reinhardt complied Orson switched his rifle to kill setting and aimed at Reinhardt’s head.

  The first bullet struck Saxon in the abdomen, spinning him around. He raised his weapon and switched to stun. That one second delay was enough for his opponent. Running full tilt toward him Telford held his sidearm in one hand, his arm fully extended. Telford’s second bullet hit him in the chest. And the third. Reinhardt had just recovered his weapon when he was hit in the left side of his stomach. Then another bullet tore through his leg. Both men fell to the ground. Telford ran past them and disappeared into the forest.

  Orson felt the cold hand of death descend, as the darkness took him.

  ***

  Nathan was tempted to stop and examine Saxon’s face. However, he didn’t need his Prep, to know that soldiers were closing on his position. He sprinted toward his next ambush position.

  Locking an image of his daughter into his mind temporarily blocked Saxon. Having an image of Ellen in his mind while killing a man would haunt him.

  “Let’s see how clever they are without Saxon,” he whispered. He still had the boat’s sensor net to deal with, but with Saxon out of the picture that wouldn’t be an issue. Slowing his pace he came to a stop. He took only two modest sips from his half-filled canteen. From his pack he removed the sensor suppressor harness. Once donned, he moved on and awaited the enemy.

  ***

  “I’ve lost him, Captain,” the tactical officer said.

  “How?”

  “Dunno, sir.”

  “Dunno, doesn’t cut it sailor,” Coppins said, “where the hell has he gone.”

  “Captain, he’s not carrying a pulsar, so I can’t track its energy signature,” the TO said.

  He rubbed his chin for a moment. “The only way he could completely disappear from my sensor

  net would be if he’s wearing a sensor suppressor harness. If he is then I can’t track him.”

  “Comm coming in, Captain,” his exec said.

  “Let’s have it.” He waited a few seconds.

  “I say again, am returning to the boat with casualties aboard, please have medical personnel standing by.”

  Coppins nodded to his exec who contacted the sickbay. He keyed his external mike. “Who am I talking to?”

  “Sergeant Kratt, Captain.”

  “Who’s down?”

  “Captain Reinhardt is wounded but should be okay. I don’t think Commander Saxon is going to make it.”

  “Bring it on home, Kratt, we’ll be standing by.”

  “Aye, skipper.”

  Coppins shook his head. “Who the hell are we tracking? The grim reaper?”

  ***

  As the enemy soldier approached his position, Nathan fired one shot into the man’s chest. He moved position, waited for an enemy soldier to show himself then blew to top of his head off. Seven to go.

  He moved again as enemy rifle fire cut through the surrounding jungle. They’re still using stun setting. Isn’t that nice of them. He returned fire, catching one of the enemy in the shoulder. Nathan slapped another magazine into his rifle. Ammo was running low so he backed into the scrub and made his way to one of the way-stations he’d prepared two days ago. He had set up six caches of food, water and ammunition and had exhausted three of them so far.

  At a good distance from the pursuing enemy he s
topped for lunch.

  CHAPTER 50

  Date: 13th October, 326 ASC.

  Position: Planet Reynolds. Northern Quarantine Zone.

  Captain Coppins paced the briefing room’s deck. Four days of tracking the reaper had gotten ten men killed and four in the hospital. Still no result. His external comm. beeped.

  “Captain.”

  “Sir, it’s Sergeant Kratt.”

  “Go ahead Kratt.” This can’t be good news.

  “I’ve lost two more of my men, skipper” Kratt said. “I’m down to three warm bodies.”

  He wants to call off this insanity. So do I, but I’d face a court martial if I did.

  “I’ll send you some replacements.”

  “Respectfully, Captain, it won’t make any difference.” Coppins had never heard that tone of defeatism from the seasoned marine. He was as tough as they came. “We track him, he waits for us, sets an ambush and men die.”

  Coppins felt sorry for Kratt but could do nothing about it.

  “We all have our duty to perform, Kratt. Carry on.”

  ***

  Kratt signed off. “Fuck.”

  “What’d he say, Sarge?” The corporal’s tone contained a pleading element that Kratt could completely understand.

  “The skipper said carry on.”

  “Until there’s none of us left?”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Head east,” Kratt said.

  “But his tracks are heading west.” The marine smiled. “Oh.”

  Their raised heads and smiling faces told Kratt that they approved of his decision. The boat couldn’t track their quarry, so they’d be none the wiser. Enough of his men had died. He and his three men would not sacrifice themselves on a hopeless mission.

  “Let’s go.”

  ***

  Nathan sighted through his scope at the four Pruessens. Too far away for a shot but close enough to read the signs. They’d picked up his tracks; he’d made sure they would. Now they were heading in the opposite direction.