Aurora Falling (Aurora Fleet Book 1)

by Finn Gray

  To Rory’s chagrin, Marson also won his fight, putting on a skilled boxing display that left his opponent’s face a crimson mask until at long last, Clancy called a merciful end to the proceedings. Marson paused to sneer at his fallen opponent. Though still a recruit, he was well on his way to becoming one of the so-called swinging dicks that gave Marines a bad reputation in some quarters.

  At long last it was Rory’s term. He was paired with Hayes, a solid if unremarkable recruit. As the two squared off, out of the corner of his eye Rory saw Marson looking on with interest. Doubtless, Marson wanted the chance to fight Rory as much as Rory wanted to fight him.

  I’m not going to give you any advantage if I can help it, Rory thought.

  He had seen Hayes fight before and knew his capabilities. Hayes was strong and slow. What was more, he always dropped his right hand before throwing the right cross that he favored. Perhaps Rory could end this business without putting too many of his own skills on display.

  When Trent called for them to begin, Rory didn’t move. He bent his legs slightly, and lowered his hands just a little, trying to entice Hayes in. It worked. Head down, Hayes came forward, feinted once with the left, and then dropped his right hand to throw the cross.

  It was what Rory had been waiting for. The moment Hayes’ right-hand lowered, Rory struck him on the jaw with a vicious left hook. Hayes collapsed, and Rory moved in for the finish but heard Trent call an end to the fight.

  “He’s done,” she said Rory, then turned to the recruits. “Precision. Hit a man hard enough in the correct spot and he’ll go down. It also doesn’t waste your energy.” She turned and gave Rory the same little nod she had given Jemma. It was the highest praise she had ever given him.

  As Rory left the mat, he passed Marson who spoke softly to him.

  “You won’t catch me like that, Waring,” he hissed.

  “We’ll see.” Rory moved to stand next to Jemma, who smiled and winked at him.

  The day wore on until there were only four fighters left: Rory, Cassidy, Jemma, and Marson. Cassidy had barely made it through her last fight, a brutal affair with a recruit named Itoi, who had tried a reckless head kick at the wrong time and had ended up planted on his back, unable to recover before Cassidy pounced and pummeled him into unconsciousness.

  Rory held his breath as Trent drew the next two names. He wasn’t eager to face either of his friends, but what he really didn’t want to happen was for one of them to beat Marson. This might be his only chance to put hands on his most hated fellow recruit without being sent to the brick. His heart sank when Trent read the next names. Waring and Vaz. Disappointed but determined, he strode out onto the mat to face Cassidy.

  Rory had managed to come through all of his fights so far relatively unscathed and without having to reveal too many of the tricks in his arsenal. By and large, his fellow recruits were a solid bunch—hard-working, fit, and determined. However, very few had fully applied themselves during training for hand to hand combat. Several times he had heard one of them say aloud, “Why are we worried about punching people? We’ve got rifles for a reason.” For that reason, only a few of them had a well-rounded skill set when it came to individual combat. Each one Rory had faced had at least one gaping hole in his or her style, holes which Rory gladly exploited.

  He locked eyes with Cassidy as the two of them assumed their fighting stances. Cassidy was as tough as any recruit, but it was plain to see she was exhausted. She tried to hide it, but her knees trembled slightly, and her breathing came in ragged huffs. She was spent.

  When the fight began, Cassidy circled just out of Rory’s reach. She preferred a style of fighting that included a lot of grappling and submission holds, but hauling your opponent to the mat required a great deal of energy—energy she no longer had. For that reason, she was forced to adopt a fighting style with which she was uncomfortable. Rory felt sorry for her, at least he did until she slipped a jab through his defenses and split his lip. After that, he bit down on his mouth guard and went to work. A flurry of body blows dropped her to her knees, and a blow to the temple finished her. Cassidy tried to get back up and go after Rory, but Clancy held her back. It wasn’t until the Sergeant barked a sharp order that she ceased struggling and wobbled off the mat to rejoin the other recruits. Rory wanted to apologize but knew that would earn him no points from her. When Cassidy got over her anger she would recognize that he won fair and square.

  Jemma and Marson took to the mat next. Rory was torn. On the one hand, he didn’t want Jemma to lose. But if Jemma should win, that would mean she and Rory would have to face one another in the final match. He couldn’t imagine driving a fist into that beautiful face, though he had no doubt she would be happy to turn his into hamburger. But perhaps even more bothersome was the knowledge that should Jemma emerge victorious, Rory would not get face Marson.

  “This is got to be fun for you.” Cassidy sidled up next to him. Her voice was weary but there was no malice in it. “If you want to kick Marson’s ass, first you have to watch your girlfriend get her pretty face pounded in.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “I see the way you look at her. Don’t worry, I’m not jealous. I’ll share you with her.”

  What are you...” Rory snapped his head around to look at Cassidy, and blushed when he saw the laughter in her eyes.

  “It’s too easy, Plowboy. You’re just so gullible.”

  Rory ignored her, instead focusing his attention on the fight that was about to begin. Jenna and Marson circled one another, fists raised, both light on the balls of their feet. Each was a striker, though Jemma preferred a mix of kicks and punches, whereas Marson leaned toward pure boxing.

  The first exchange of punches was tentative, careful jabs designed to feel out one’s opponent and not over commit. Marson landed the first hard blow, a sharp jab that caught Jemma on the cheek. She drove a hook into his rib cage and followed with a leg kick as he danced away. The fight became a chess match, circling, jabbing, with neither fighter wanted to make a critical mistake. Marson’s movement grew progressively slower under the barrage of kicks with which Jemma peppered his lead leg. Finally, Marson wobbled. Jemma sprang forward but inexplicably lowered her hands, making the same mistake Hayes had made against Rory. Marson, though tired didn’t miss the opening. He drove a left cross into Jemma’s temple that sent her tumbling to the ground. Although she was clearly unconscious, Marson straddled her and managed to land a few hard punches to her face before Clancy hauled him off of his unconscious opponent.

  “That’s bullshit,” Cassidy hissed. “Jemma was out of it.” She turned Rory. “You better make him pay for that.” It was a measure of how angry she was that she had not enjoyed seeing Jemma get pummeled.

  Rory merely nodded. He couldn’t believe Marson had gotten the better of Jemma just as she appeared on the verge of finishing the fight. Still, he was grateful for the opportunity to get back at the young man who had made his training a living hell.

  After giving Marson a few minutes to rest, he and Rory paired off for the final match. If Marson’s bout with Jemma had taken its toll, he didn’t let it show. He smiled as he flowed into his fighting stance.

  “I’m going to enjoy this, Farmer Boy,” he said.

  “I always heard you enjoyed farm boys. Now I know for sure.”

  That was the end of the taunting. Trent called for them to begin and the two immediately focused on dispatching the person whom they hated most in the world. Rory knew what to expect. Marson was a hard target to hit, and he picked his spots carefully. He liked to move, use the jab, and look for an opening to do some serious damage. So far, Rory had fought the same way. That would not be the case in this fight.

  Rory danced forward and flicked a jab at Marson’s head. Marson evaded it easily and danced away. Another jab toward the head and another miss. Marson continued to circle, content to counter punch. The next time, Rory feinted high and drove a kick into Marson’s lead leg, the one Jemma had abused d
uring the previous fight. Marson winced. The leg was clearly hurting him.

  Rory continued to press the action, throwing jabs and combinations high and mixing and kicks to the leg. Very few of his punches landed, and he absorbed a few shots in return, but nothing critical. As Marson’s movement slowed, Rory became more aggressive. He threw a hard right that would have taken Marson’s head off it landed. Marson dodged it, as Rory knew he would, and aimed a shot at Rory’s jaw that just missed. Rory countered with a leg kick and then flicked a jab at Marson’s eyes, which Marson blocked with both fists. The punch did not do damage, but Rory had seen all he needed to see. Throughout the day, Rory had been headhunting and Marson was keenly aware of it. The blond youth was now reacting to every strike aimed at his head.

  This time Rory faked the right and when Marson’s hands went up, he ducked in and drove forward. He caught Marson’s lead leg, lifted him up off the ground and bore him to the mat. In an instant, Rory was a top him, raining down fists and elbows on Marson’s face. Uncomfortable fighting off of his back at the best of times, Marson thrashed to and fro, trying to turn away from the rain of blows that was turning his face into hamburger. He twisted, and Rory let him turn over. As soon as Marson lay face down, Rory slipped an arm beneath his opponent’s chin and sank in a powerful chokehold.

  It took longer than it should to finish the young man. Marson was too stubborn to submit, forcing Rory to hold on until he felt his opponent go limp. He rose, and looked down at his unconscious opponent. Part of him was tempted to kick Marson a few times as payback for what he had done to Jemma, but he resisted. Instead, he turned to accept the cheers of his fellow recruits.

  The rest of the day passed slowly. Rory was granted an afternoon’s liberty as a reward for his victory, though an in-camp liberty wasn’t the most exciting thing in the world. Having nothing else to do, he took a cold shower to soothe his bruised body, then napped for a few hours. The evening meal, though rushed, was the more enjoyable than any he could remember. The food was as disgusting as usual, but the site of Marson’s battered face filled him with satisfaction.

  The evening training went by in a flash. Marson refused to meet his eye, though Rory was certain the young man was trying to come up with a plan for revenge. It seemed everyone had enjoyed Marson’s downfall. Even those other recruits whom Rory had beaten during combat made a point of congratulating him. All in all, it was by far his best day since arriving at Camp Maddux, and he drifted off to sleep that night with a smile on his face.

  He awoke sometime during the night with a powerful feeling that someone was looking at him. He opened his eyes and felt a finger pressed to his lips.

  Jemma lay beside him on the bed, her bruised face lovely in the faint light. “Don’t say anything,” she whispered. “I knew you wanted a chance to beat Marson so I lowered my guard. You owe me.”

  If Rory had wanted to respond he couldn’t have. Her lips pressed against his made sure of that. He felt her hand slide under his shirt, the thrill of her touch, the warmth of her skin against his as they stripped out of their skivvies, felt her weight upon him as she straddled him. Disbelief gave way to animal lust, quiet, hot, and hard. And when it was over, she kissed him softly and left him with a smile on his face. This was, without a doubt, his best day is a recruit.

  Chapter 17

  Battlecruiser Dragonfly

  Thetis

  Sabre moved the thruster control stick and sent her Cobra into a roll, her stomach doing loops as she avoided the simulated weapons fire from Recess’s bird. She pulled up hard and sought to loop around behind him. To her port side, far in the distance, Dragonfly’s massive, gray bulk turned dizzyingly in her peripheral vision. She reached the apex of her climb and dove hard.

  “Not fast enough, Lieutenant.” Recess’s voice rang in her headset. The fledgling was getting cockier by the day.

  Sabre grinned as she watched her target flit away. She adjusted her course and stayed on his tail. Her hand gripped the control stick firmly, the feel of it against her skin as familiar as anything in her life. Despite her reservations about him, Recess was turning out to be a fine pilot. He recognized and adjusted to situations quickly and he had good instincts in the cockpit. So far he was the best of the bunch, if you could call a class of three a bunch.

  “You’d better watch that attitude, Recess,” she said. “It’s a bad quality in a Cobra pilot.”

  “I am going to pretend you did not just say that.” Hunter was monitoring the training session from the bridge. It was his voice now filling Sabre’s ears.

  “I earned the right to act a little cocky,” Sabre said, accelerating her craft and closing in on the fleeing recess.

  “Sure you did,” Hunter said.

  Sabre’s grin turned into a grimace as she closed in on her prey. Recess tried every evasive maneuver in the book. Problem was, Sabre had read every book he had, plus many more. It was only a matter of time before she closed the deal.

  The dogfight continued longer than Sabre had expected it would. Recess was staying alive and had even gotten off a few shots in her direction. For her part, she had held her fire waiting for the perfect moment. Besides, this was good practice for the trainee. Someday he might be fleeing for his life and would need to know the feeling of running from almost certain death.

  “How am I doing, Sabre?” Recess asked.

  “You were doing fine,” Sabre said. “But I’m bored now. Goodbye.” She locked in and squeezed the trigger. But instead of the high-pitched beeping that accompanied simulated gunfire, her ears suddenly filled with the report of actual weapons fire.

  Shock rendered her a touch slower than she might normally have been and she held the trigger a split-second longer than she had intended. “What the shit?” she cried. Why in the gods’ names was her bird armed and why hadn’t the training system overridden it?

  “What are you doing?” Recess screamed.

  “Are you firing hot rounds?” Hunter shouted.

  “I don’t know.” But Sabre knew. It had to be the saboteur. Heart racing she scanned the darkness for Recess’s fighter. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it nearly intact. Her shot had caught the tip of its vertical stabilizer, but he was otherwise all right.

  “I’m hit! I’m hit!” Recess cried.

  “You’re fine,” Sabre said. “You might have to fly a damaged bird someday, and it’s better to practice under controlled conditions than with an enemy bearing down on you.”

  “You’re sure?” Recess demanded.

  “I was careful with my aim,” she lied. “You can bring your bird in with no problem.” Even as she encouraged the young pilot, she felt a sudden urge to take another shot at him. Blow his bird out of the sky. The waking urges to commit acts of destruction were a new thing, having just cropped up in the past few days. Gods, she was going crazy.

  “I don’t know, Lieutenant.”

  “Are you arguing with a superior officer, Recess?” Hunter’s sharp voice interjected.

  “No, sir.”

  “Good. Now let Sabre guide you in.”

  With Sabre coaching him, Recess landed his bird safely. By the time she brought her own craft in and disembarked, he was being examined by a medic. He was visibly shaken but otherwise seemed to be all right. Hunter and the chief were waiting for her.

  “What in the hells happened?” Hunter asked quietly.

  “That’s what I want to know,” Sabre said hotly. She rounded on the chief. “Who was responsible for taking care of that bird?” She pointed at the craft she had just left. “Because whoever it is, that’s your saboteur.”

  The chief looked around nervously then leaned in and lowered his voice. “You were, sir.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sabre felt the blood drain from her face.

  “It was supposed to be Collins, but you ordered him to let you do it. You said you didn’t trust anyone else. According to him, he watched you in order to make sure you did it right, and then he had you sign of
f on it.”

  “That’s not procedure, Chief” Hunter said.

  “No shit,” Sabre said. “That did not happen. I would remember a breach of protocol like that. What do we know about this Collins?”

  “Collins has been thoroughly vetted.” The chief looked around nervously and then tapped his tablet. “Sir, is this your signature?” He flipped it around for Sabre to see.

  There it was. Serena Sabrakami. Clearly in her handwriting.

  “It looks like it.” Her headache was suddenly back with a vengeance and she pressed a hand to the base of her neck and winced.

  “Let’s check the vids,” Hunter said. “If Collins is lying, that’ll point the finger straight at him.”

  And then Sabre remembered. It was a cloudy memory, as if from a dream long ago. But she remembered. “Don’t bother with the vids. I remember now.” She slowly opened her eyes, not eager to face Hunter’s disappointed stare. “I don’t know how I forgot. I was so afraid there’d been more sabotage that I insisted on prepping the firing mechanism myself. I was worried something might go wrong and the fledgie would pay.” She jerked her head toward Recess, who was sitting with his hands buried in his face. “I wanted to make sure everything was done properly. Obviously that didn’t work out.” She turned to the chief. “I apologize. I should have left it to the professionals.”

  “Damn right you should have, sir. But apology accepted. Everybody’s a little bit off of their game these days.”

  Hunter stared at her for the span of ten heartbeats, then turned to the chief. “I still want you to review the vids. Obviously, Sabre jacked something up, but Collins watched her do it and either he didn’t catch her mistake, or he willfully ignored it.”

  “Aye, sir.” The chief snapped a salute that Hunter and Sabre returned, then turned and hurried away.