Derelict: Marines (Derelict Saga Book 1)

by Paul E. Cooley

  Kalimura’s port fireteam reached the edge of the engine. Since the dome was both zero-g and without pressure, there were no tell-tale sounds of movement to alert the marines. The visors in their helmets had been crippled, removing infrared as well as motion tracking, to force them to use their wits, instincts, and training rather than relying on the tech. Fighting in space was more complex than doing so on the red deserts of Mars, a gravity-enabled station, or even a moon. You had to plan your movements before you made them, think ahead, and somehow manage to keep yourself from getting shot. As far as Taulbee was concerned, it was the most mentally and physically stressful exercise humankind had ever known. It was also the greatest rush.

  When you led a squad, though, it wasn’t just about your life. It was about completing the mission and keeping your marines alive. The latter was often the more difficult of the two. It was why so many NCOs and COs failed the Zero-G Combat Leadership Program and ended up either sidelined to a desk job or retrained to manage maintenance crews. Kalimura might be able to pass the program. She had the makings of a great leader, but didn’t plan well enough or adjust to the ever-changing conditions of a real fight.

  The port fireteam called in to Kalimura, asking for instructions. Her visor was locked to her team, meaning she couldn’t see Gunny’s squads or hear their chatter. For all intents and purposes, she was as blind as her z-g team. Kalimura told the squad to take the other side of the port engine. Taulbee sneered, knowing exactly what would come next.

  Lance Corporal Carbonaro and Private Niro, Kalimura’s port fireteam, stepped around the side of the wrecked and mutilated port engine, Carbonaro facing forward with Niro glancing upward. Just as they’ve been taught, Taulbee noted with approval. But it wouldn’t matter how careful they were—their squad leader was leading them into certain death.

  Gunny’s fireteam moving through the fuselage wreckage suddenly appeared. After checking for enemies on either side, the two marines, Private Murdock and PFC Copenhaver, crawled until they were a good meter or two away from the metal and steel. The pair of marines turned to port, deactivated their magnetics, and floated toward the port engine like wraiths.

  Kalimura’s starboard fireteam reached the engine using their magnetic gloves. They paused as they waited for their squad leader’s commands. Kalimura took a moment as she considered what to do next. Taulbee had to fight the urge to talk to her over the comm line, tell her she was about to get her team killed. This was going to be hard for her to handle. Hell, it was difficult for any leader to accept they’d essentially killed their squad. But that was the job. It was time she realized that.

  “Star team, recon wreckage aft. Use an optical to check for hostiles,” Kalimura said through the comm.

  “Acknowledged,” Lance Corporal Wendt replied.

  Taulbee watched as LCpls Wendt and Elliott mag-crawled up the four-meter-high cylinder to just below its top. Elliott reached into his pouch for an optical nano-probe that would broadcast images of the other side of the engine.

  “Gunny. Kill all probes,” Taulbee said on the private channel.

  “Aye, sir.”

  Elliott raised an open palm and a 1x2mm metal rectangle took flight. It raised itself above the engine and drifted to the other side. The two marines paused as they waited for the telemetry. After a moment, Elliott cursed into the radio.

  Kalimura’s voice immediately interrupted his rant. “Elliott. Shut up and tell me what the problem is.”

  “The probe. I’m not getting any pictures or readouts.”

  “Stand by,” she said. Taulbee could almost hear the thoughts spinning in her head. Since this was a training exercise, and everyone knew it, she’d no doubt figure out the parameters had changed. She’d know who to blame too, but that didn’t change the situation. The only question was whether she could come up with a plan. “Starboard team. Retreat from engine. I repeat, retreat from engine and prepare for an ambush from the other side.”

  “Acknowledged,” Wendt and Elliott replied.

  Taulbee nodded to himself. It was the right move. It still wouldn’t save the starboard team, and he’d no doubt Gunny’s original plan would work regardless of what she did. She simply didn’t have the experience to think in all three dimensions. Yet.

  Elliott and Wendt mag-crawled quickly to the starboard engine’s edge. Flechette rifles held in their hands, they waited. Taulbee’s stat readouts showed the two men’s heartbeats and respiration were slightly elevated, but still within expected parameters. The two marines were lance corporals, after all, one rank below non-commissioned officers, and both had combat experience. They probably knew what was about to happen to them, but were conditioned well enough to follow orders. Well, at least during a training exercise.

  While the drama unfolded for Kalimura’s team, Gunny had instructed his starboard fireteam to lay an ambush. LCpl Dickerson, rifle pointed vertically to cover an attack from above, floated prone on his back. Private Lyke, on the other hand, remained a meter away from the engine’s edge with his rifle pointed at waist level. If Kalimura’s team attempted an over the top ingress, Dickerson would cut them down. From the edge? Lyke would have anyone trying to get around the engine dead to rights. It was exactly the kind of trap Taulbee would have set himself.

  Taulbee shut off his mic and chuckled. Gunny’s port squad was simply waiting. The starboard squad had nearly reached Kalimura’s. He activated his mic. “Gunny. Order your squads to use flechettes only. No hand to hand.”

  “Aye, sir,” Cartwright replied. The Gunnery Sergeant didn’t question orders unless there was a damned good reason. During a training session, there was never a good reason.

  Cartwright’s port fireteam ceased movement a mere five meters away from their quarry. Kalimura’s port fireteam approached the corner. The video feed from Cartwright’s teams played over the left side of Taulbee’s HUD while the right was filled with two feeds from Kalimura’s. The feeds from the port side were undeniably different. Wendt faced the engine’s edge while Elliott covered the top of the engine. What they hadn’t done was check behind them first. They should know better, Taulbee thought. Unless they’re also trying to show her how badly she fucked up.

  “Gunny,” PFC Copenhaver’s sultry voice said through the comm, “permission to engage.”

  “Engage,” Cartwright said.

  As Taulbee watched, the flechette rifles fired paralysis loads. Rocket propelled slugs burst apart once they exited the barrels without a sound or a flash of light. Neither Copenhaver nor her partner, Murdock, so much as twitched when their rifles fired. The rain of electrified shards hit Wendt and Elliott. The force of the flechettes rocketing into the two marines knocked them both past the starboard engine and into the dome’s out of bounds area. They floated like twitching, water-starved fish in their suits.

  “Wendt! Status!” Kalimura yelled over the comms. There was no response. “Star team! Head to port! Team port is down. I repeat, Team port is down!”

  “Acknowledged,” the two marines replied.

  Carbonaro and Niro turned away from the starboard engine as instructed, but by the time they repositioned themselves using their mag gloves, they faced Murdock’s and Copenhaver’s rifles. Cartwright’s team fired, their projectiles silently smashing into the last of Kalimura’s squad. Electricity danced over their suits as they floated away into the out of bounds area.

  “Fuck!” Kalimura yelled over the radio.

  Taulbee activated the general channel. “Simulation ended. Gunny Cartwright’s team has taken the field.” He cleared his throat. “Corporal Kalimura. Please descend and help your squad back to the airlock. I’m afraid they’ve been paralyzed.”

  After a pause, she replied “Aye, sir” and drifted down from her perch on the dome. Taulbee watched as she gracefully stopped her descent a mere meter from the floor and floated to the port-side out of bounds area. He nodded to himself. She’ll learn. She’ll learn.

  “Lieutenant,” Cartwright said, “permission t
o move my squad to the airlock.”

  “Permission granted, Gunny.”

  “Aye, sir.” Cartwright disengaged his single boot, somersaulted so he faced the floor, and activated his thrusters. He flew in a straight line at a rapid pace. Just two meters before he face-planted on the floor, he spun in the other direction, and hit the thrusters again. His feet grazed the metal floor, but he remained floating.

  “Show off,” Taulbee said to no one. He deactivated his boots and drifted downward. The wreckage in the dome’s center was of a T-87, a common gunship used during the Martian Satellite Battle. Taulbee knew every inch of that model ship—he’d served on one during the fight. They were difficult to stop, but once they were, crews could hide in their wreckage for days. Although the SFMC was slowly retiring the ancient behemoths, Taulbee had no doubt marines would encounter them again and again. Especially once the retired models hit the black market. Pirates loved them. So did ex-marine mercenary crews.

  He tried to block out the memory of the last time he’d been in a functional T-87, and headed to the airlock. Cartwright’s squads should already be there waiting for Gunny with grins on their faces and adrenaline still coursing through their veins. Kalimura, on the other hand, would be a little late. Her marines would take at least five minutes to regain full motor control. A paralysis flechette was no joke. If Cartwright had set the mock rounds to their highest level, they could fry a suit’s electronics, leaving the wearer deaf, dumb, and without a HUD.

  Maybe we should try that drill next, he thought to himself. Yes. Tomorrow.

  “Dunn to Taulbee, over.”

  The thoughts disappeared from his mind. “Sir, this is Taulbee.”

  “I need to see you and Gunny. Assuming your training session has ended?”

  Taulbee frowned. Captain Dunn almost always observed training personally, and at least via feeds when unable to enter the dome. Instead, he apparently hadn’t seen any of it. “Yes, sir. I’ll gather the troops. Do I have time for a debrief, sir?”

  “Yes, you do. I’ll be in Bay 4 with Nobel and Oakes. We have a mission to prep for.”

  Oh, shit, Taulbee thought. I hope this is a drill. “Understood, sir.”

  “Dunn, out.”

  He hit the floor and quickly floated to the airlock. As expected, Cartwright’s squads were already there, the five marines mag-locked to the floor. Taulbee nodded at the marines, opened the airlock, and stepped in. Cartwright and his four marines joined him. “Gunny,” Taulbee said over a private channel, “as soon as the debriefing is over, we have a meeting with the Captain.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The Gunnery Sergeant hadn’t even looked in his direction, but Taulbee heard the unspoken question in the man’s voice. “We may have a mission to prep for.”

  “Very good, sir,” Cartwright replied. That time, Taulbee could tell the man was grinning.

  *****

  Taulbee stood at the holoboard, an isometric, 3-D image of the T-87 wreckage glowing in the air. Cartwright stood a meter away from him, hands behind his back. Kalimura stood at attention before the room, the eight other marines sitting in their chairs.

  “Corporal, would you like to explain how your squad was eliminated?” Taulbee asked.

  Kalimura seethed with humiliation. Her cheeks blazed with color, highlighting her Asian-Earth heritage. Carbonaro, Wendt, and Elliott exchanged glances. Taulbee knew the three LCpls were less than pleased they had been shot with paralysis rounds. Niro, the only private in Kalimura’s squad, merely looked interested. That was a good sign.

  “Sir. The Corporal did not account for Gunnery Sergeant Cartwright’s tactics, sir.” The words were clipped, anger coloring every syllable.

  “And what tactics were those?”

  Kalimura managed to control her emotions and stared with stony eyes. “Sir. The Gunnery Sergeant brought one of his teams in via the fuselage rather than around the engines. I did not instruct my squad to expect an ingress from that area, sir.”

  Taulbee smiled and then glanced at Cartwright. “Gunny? You have anything to add?”

  Cartwright turned his eyes to the diagram. “Yes, sir. Corporal. What other ingress point could I have used to terminate your squad?”

  Taulbee saw Kalimura wince at the word “terminate.” Yup, she was going to remember this.

  “The air intakes on the engines, Gunnery Sergeant Cartwright.”

  “Good,” Cartwright said. “What else?”

  She blinked at him. “Gunny?”

  Cartwright narrowed his eyes. “Kalimura! What other ingress points could my squad use to kill your people?” The emphasis on the word “kill” practically echoed throughout the briefing room.

  Her eyes drifted from Cartwright’s laser stare to the holo-diagram, and back again. She was looking for a clue. She wouldn’t find one in the Gunnery Sergeant’s stony face. After a moment, the panicked look on her face faded, replaced with one of indifference. “I don’t know, Gunnery Sergeant.”

  “Sir?” Cartwright asked. “May I instruct the Corporal?”

  “You may, Gunny,” Taulbee said.

  Cartwright walked to the diagram, Taulbee stepping aside. With a single finger, Cartwright turned the model until its roof was clearly visible. He looked back at the Corporal. “Do you see?”

  Kalimura ground her teeth. “Yes, Gunnery Sergeant. You could have sent your squad over the top and killed my marines like insects.”

  “Hoo-rah,” Cartwright growled. “So what have you learned, Corporal?”

  “Never to underestimate you, Gunnery Sergeant.”

  A flush of anger filled Cartwright’s cheeks. “What. Did. You. Learn?”

  She started to say something, and then bit back the words, probably thinking better of speaking her mind. “Gunnery Sergeant. I have learned that the enemy can appear from any possible ingress point. That there is no safe place on the battlefield. And that I cannot be so reckless in the future.”

  Cartwright gave a curt nod. “Good, Corporal. That last is why your squad is dead and you failed the mission.” He pointed at Kalimura’s squads. “They have to trust you with their lives. They follow your orders. They are your responsibility, just as you and all the other marines in this team are mine and the Lieutenant’s.” He walked forward until he stood before the shorter Corporal. “Do not ever, ever, forget that.”

  “Understood, Gunnery Sergeant,” she yelled.

  He spun on his heel and headed back to stand next to Taulbee. When he took his place, he folded his hands behind his back again and stood at attention.

  “Thank you, Gunnery Sergeant,” Taulbee said.

  “My pleasure, sir.”

  The Lieutenant gestured to Kalimura. “You may take a seat, Corporal.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said in a raised voice and sat in her chair.

  Taulbee waved his hand across the display and the T-87 disappeared. “I have more drills I want to run tomorrow. I’m not pleased with our progress as a unit. Those of you that know better are getting sloppy, and those of you that don’t are clueless. If we go into a real situation tomorrow, I expect you to be professional marines, and not acting like a rabble of rebels. Is that understood?”

  The enlisted marines all rose from their chairs at once. “SIR, YES, SIR!”

  “Good. Gunny and I have a meeting to attend. I want a status report from each of you regarding the drill. Once you have completed them, Gunny and I will go over each of them and compare your reports to the actual holos. Understood?”

  “SIR, YES, SIR!”

  “Dismiss the marines, Gunnery Sergeant.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cartwright said. He stiffened his posture, took a deep breath, and yelled. “FALL OUT, S&R BLACK!”

  “HOO! HAA! BLACK!” The room shuddered with the words.

  The marines turned and filed out of the briefing room. Taulbee waited until the door closed behind them. He turned to Cartwright. “Joe?”

  The Gunnery Sergeant nodded. “Sir?”

 
; “We need to do better. How do we do that?”

  Cartwright shook his head. “We lost five marines we’d trained for two years as S&R specialists. That’s a lot of experience to replace. I believe in this team, but we need more time. Kalimura is too green to see the edge cases. Needs to learn how to think in more dimensions than two.”

  “Agreed on that,” Taulbee said. “Do you think our experienced lance corporals aren’t helping her? Or do you think she won’t listen to them?”

  The marine rubbed a hand across his stubble and dropped his eyes. “I know they don’t like her. They think she’s arrogant.”

  Taulbee couldn’t help but smile. “Do they now? I’m shocked.” He waved a hand and the T-87 diagram reappeared. He rolled the image exposing the ship’s belly. “I wonder if she’d ever even seen a T-87 before.”

  Cartwright shrugged. “How did she do in the briefing, sir?”

  “I gave her the specs and she had thirty minutes to study them.”

  “Maybe she’s a slow learner, sir.”

  “Hmm.” Taulbee returned the model back to an isometric view. “I’ll send an order to the dome crew to reset the arena. After we meet with the Captain, I want to try a new training scenario.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cartwright said. “By the way, I enjoyed the fact you killed the optical drones and set the rifles to paralyze.”

  Taulbee grinned. “I thought you might.” He gestured to the door. “Let’s go see the Captain. Sounds like we may have a mission coming up.”

  Cartwright growled low in his throat. “About damned time, sir.”

  Chapter Three

  The water spraying from the stall loosened her muscles, but didn’t calm her down. Eyes closed, hands mechanically soaping her body, Corporal Tiffany Kalimura, “Kali” to her friends, of which she had none on the station, had anything but a smile on her face. She slowly turned as the multiple nozzles massaged her back and legs.

  No matter how hard she tried to push it aside, the wreckage of the T-87 kept entering her mind. The LT had fucked her. He’d turned on paralyze for the flechettes. He’d blocked her optical probes. She’d been given the shit end of the stick. And why?