The Sentinel: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Hunter's Moon Book 3)

by Walt Robillard

  Today was a big day. Marco was tired. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the spines coming from the skin. It was there, in the unlit room. The Crucible longed to be tapped into. The unused power begging to be let loose. Had so much time passed? He was supposed to be gone before all this happened. Marco was supposed to join his wife.

  He dragged his finger across the ceramaclear pane holding her picture, commanding another to take its place. The image changed. Seladriel and he were in a river up to their waists in muck. She'd flung a handful, covering the side of his face in slime and plant life. She was laughing. Even now, Marco needed the pictures to remember what she looked like.

  Another flip and there she was again, Seladriel in a workshop with another woman and a boy the size of an adult. Grease smudges were everywhere, unable to hide that they were happy in that picture. He'd been happy to take it.

  Marco enjoyed his life, here. Was it time? Seladriel was supposed to take this from him. She was supposed to be the cub that lead the pride. Sitting here among ghosts and lions was making it harder to let go. He'd left so many times. He didn't want to leave this time. Nayoree said she wanted him there for her son. Having family felt good even though he didn’t deserve one.

  “Not now. I'll let you know.”

  Three

  “Get them back here!” Corporal Corvin shouted to the rest of her troopers.

  “I’m on it, Tisha!” Private first class Saikon shouted back, disappearing into the building.

  “We’re in for it now.” Corvin keyed the com in her helmet, dropping a display over her eye. “Guard Dog Three-Two-Alpha this is Guard dog Three-Three.”

  “This is Guard Dog Three-Two Alpha, go.”

  “This is Three-Three, We have one-seven shots remaining on primary security gun. Ammo is red. Care to send a girl a hot drop of goodies to get us through the rest of this party?”

  “Roger on re-supply, already on the way. Checking on brick status now. Three-Two out.”

  Training up all those weeks at Kalizhad for this was garbage. Half of the procedures they learned were getting them ripped to pieces out here. Two more rounds impacted against the overturned grav-truck Corvin was laying beside. The truck had a reinforced bed, preventing them from being shot full of holes. Rounds pinged off the heavy pro-steel plating with a resounding pwang! They were using sluggers, as a lot of the poor Frontier colonies did. Elysium was a shining jewel among the colonies, wealthy enough to provide CR-41s and 45s to every soldier. Blaster rifles. No need to worry about heavy ammo bandoleers, their energy mags were much lighter and capable of being charged repeatedly. Granted, the blasters didn’t have the punch of a heavy slugger, but what did that matter if they could bleed the forces dry of their ammo.

  A phwash sound struck the bed with a heavy thud, leaving a smoking scar along the truck. The noise and ferocity of the strike meant that the mercenaries from their CO’s operation's brief had joined the party. Pity. She was running out of party favors. She pumped the forearm of her CR-45, launching a 20mm grenade in a high arc away from her position. There was a loud pop as the HEDP round struck one of the corner buildings. She was out of any other rounds so the high explosives would have to do. She heard the tumble of rock hit the street, triggering a cacophony of epic profanity to accompany a tidal wave of blaster bolts hitting the truck bed.

  “Guess that’ll hold them for a bit.” Corvin growled to herself. “Hey, Saikon! Where’s my peeps?”

  The Zelezni ran out of the building into a slide against the truck. He was carrying the HI-CAB for his squad. Locking in another drum, he risked a look over the truck bed. “Switch with me, Teesh!”

  The PFC brought the gun around the new side of the truck just as blaster bolts struck where his head had been a moment ago. High cycle blaster bolts screamed away from the heavy alien, pummeling the building down the street from them, shredding several of the mercenaries and indigs throwing rounds to the wrong side of the truck. “I sent them a note telling them we weren’t taking new reservations.”

  Corporal Latisha Corvin cocked her head. “Hey! That was funny. Your Trade-1 is improving.”

  “I appreciated the help you gave me during those exams.”

  “If we make it out of this and you get that fancy culinary degree, you have to invite me to the opening,” Corvin said.

  “I thought you hated Zelezni food.”

  “I wouldn’t be there for the food, little brother,” she said with a wink.

  Her radio chimed, bringing up an icon for Private LaCroix. “Tisha, Saikon got our gun back up. We can back these mutts out of the yard.”

  “Talk up guns one and two.” Corvin ordered. “Short bursts. None of that rolling thunder garbage. Back them around the corner and have Paquin take potshots from the third floor. Nail anything that gets brave enough to stick its head past that corner.”

  “Roger out.”

  “Let’s get back in the building.” Latisha said to Saikon.

  They sprinted for the cover of the building her squad was occupying under cover of a CR-4 Particle Projection Caster dosing the streets with spheres of energy that detonated on contact. They ducked into the cover of building debris and broken furniture they'd stacked up, to put a few rounds of their own down range.

  “Two coming in!” came a yell from outside.

  “Bring it,” Tisha called back.

  Harlan and Cooper crawled into the entrance room, ducking behind the counter to drop supplies.

  “Hey, Tisha. I got a bag of E-mags here as well as some grenades and more SLAP patches.” Harlan said.

  “Got any nu-bars?” Corvin asked.

  “Coop's got ’em. He's carrying fresh water too.”

  Corvin knuckled the man's fist in approval, taking the offered nutrition bars.“ My sister. Good job. How's our guys?”

  “Holding up.” Harlin answered. “Figures, all three of our NCOs got mangled trying to keep this intersection to ourselves.”

  “Yeah, see what happens when you get greedy? Coop, get some of that quality refreshment to the squad. Keep your lid low so you don't get it shot off.”

  “On it, Teesh,” said the burly private.

  How that boy came to them from Infantry school looking like a bloated grocery bag was a mystery to the entire squad. At least he was shedding the weight here in the Shu while he demonstrated his innate ability to carry gobs of heavy stuff. This place was like living inside a hair dryer filled with the smell of burning truck tires. If the kid lived through this, he might just get promoted past E-1 so he made more than the standard two-hundred credits a month.

  Harlan laid down against the rubble barricade next to Tisha. “So, how's the promotion going?”

  “I didn't get promoted. All the bosses got a bullet induced DQ. I was just lucky enough to be senior gun bunny on the ranch.”

  “Girl, you make that uniform pop!” Harlan said, complimenting her friend.

  The two women shared a hearty laugh. A blaster bolt striking the side of the building interrupted their revelry, spraying them with dust. Slithering back to the protection of the barrier, they aimed their rifles out, trying to get a bead on the enemy across the street doing the same to them.

  “Croix! How we looking on that PPC?”

  “Got seventeen shots left, Teesh. If they want us to hold this street, we're going to need another brick!”

  “We have another power pack on the move for that gun?” Tisha asked her friend.

  “Sergeant First Class Xorlan said they’re trying to charge one now.”

  “If they're trying, we're dying.” Corvin said, grimly. “Hey, Saikon! Need you to find some ground in the other building. Get that HI-CAB working the other side of the street. Coop, go with him. Pac! Need you to cover them as they cross behind the truck. Croix, dump a round into their side of the building.”

  The squad called back their understanding of her orders. Harlan tapped her on the shoulder. “I'll go with Saikon and Coop across the street, run the team from there. Glad
you beat me to One-Line School by a month. I wouldn't want to be in charge of this goat rope.”

  “Thanks, Daniella. Keep those boys honest. While you’re up there, keep half an eye on Riggs to make sure he doesn't do something stupid with that PPC.”

  “Gotcha, sis.”

  Latisha folded the battle board down from the front of her armor. She cleared the dust from the screen to find that the drones were back up. They had a platoon's worth of enemy mercs running through the buildings across the intersection. She tagged them for display in everyone's HUD with a follow on message they were free to engage any mag-rat that stuck his head past decent cover. The rest of Third Platoon spread out into the adjoining streets, trying to keep the perimeter secure against a rising tide of combatants. Their CO had given strict instructions to hold the line or they would be digging their own graves by nightfall. The downside to CENTCOM's plan in all this was that if the defense of the supply depot failed, they had nowhere to go.

  A hologram popped into her field of view of Captain Morreau. Most of the time when she encountered officers, they looked tired but their gear was in generally good order. The exception was LT Scrapps, who was their platoon leader. He'd washed out of LASSO, the Lancer orientation program, and was sent back to the line units for a command. He'd dislocated his shoulder, but was cleared to go back to school when the deployment order came down the line.

  Captain Morreau was also an exception, looking just as disheveled as the rest of them. It was odd for the commander to make contact like this. “Corporal Corvin. How're you holding up down there?”

  “We could really use another power brick for this PPC, ma'am. A nice hot bath and a night off wouldn't hurt either.”

  “You can say that again, trooper. I'm calling you directly because Lieutenant Scrappio took a hit to the armor. He's mobile but in a lot of pain. I'm pulling him from the line and giving command of the platoon to Sergeant Xorlan. She's busy at the moment so I'm calling you direct. Corporal, I put out a call for aid and we're prepping asset denial. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes ma'am,” Corvin said, putting a bolt through an enemy helmet.

  “That street is yours until I say otherwise. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes ma'am.” Corvin answered with her mouth just as much as the racking of another grenade in her over-under.

  Moreau continued. “I know you come from a long line of duty to the Athalon and if it wasn't for their gender bias, you'd most likely be a lancer. Despite that, I am proud of what you've done today. I need you to hold out a bit longer, Corporal.”

  “Will do, ma'am.”

  “Morreau out.”

  “One coming in!” shouted a voice outside the building.

  “Bring it!”

  “Hey Teesh. Can't stay, just dropping this Duster and bag of grenades. Got eight HEDP, two API, and a shocker. Sergeant Xorlan put in for a grab bag from Second. I drew the short straw to be the mailman.”

  Corvin gladly accepted the gift. “You're a lifesaver, Quinny. Head down, brother. Can't buy you a beer if your missing your mouth.”

  “Strike hard, Corporal.”

  “Strike true, PFC.” Latisha closed her eyes and ducked down beneath the barrier for a handful of breaths. Spend one, take one. Strike hard, strike true. If they could get the extra brick for the PPC up, they could hold the street as long as the CORAL mercs brought nothing special to the party. Sorkabi was as brutal as they came, but like all warlords in the Shu, he was also cheap. Unless he decided to spend the money he'd stolen from Dagoshu's people, they wouldn't field anything that could overcome a CR-4. “Coop! Get down here and nab this Duster, the fine folks of second platoon just floated to us. Time to let the neighbors know we didn't appreciate the loud music.”

  A sharp inhale woke him out of a sound sleep. It wasn't him catching his breath. It was a roar. Marco hadn't heard one like this in a long time. Nahvo had left the apartment earlier the previous evening. Normally he'd knock on the door to be let in for a piece of bacon or a bowl of milk. Since taking the pride for his own, Nahvo probably wouldn't see him for a while. The two would catch up when Marco did his own stalks for poachers around the preserve.

  The call was primal. It forced its way through the Crucible, waking him from a sound sleep. Marco rubbed the back of his shoulder. It was sore from the cub beating him down. It would take a minute for him to right himself. He placed the glasses over his eyes, letting the lenses give him a clearer picture of the dark dwelling. There was an echo in the Crucible that Marco couldn't reconcile. A fantastic roar he hadn't heard since...

  He looked down at his hand. It was the trembling hand of an old man that had overexerted himself yesterday. He should have taken a bucket of pain killers last night, but it wasn't his way. Lions persist until they fall.

  Marco closed his eyes, feeling the presence at the back of his neck growing warm for the effort. His hand stopped shaking, flooded with the energy of the Crucible. The universe came into sharp focus. Marco was once again the lion, surveying the surrounding area from his mountain. He could see across planets and stars, plans and schemes. There, on the other side of Sadosia was a lioness. There was a connection to the Athalon he couldn't reconcile, but it was there. A brother? A cousin. The lineage was old. He could taste the blood of their enemies dating back to the foundation of the temple.

  His breath was coming in deep, excited huffs. The Crucible was churning away the impurities of Marco's old life into molten fire. Connections were forming, spanning the breadth of the stars back to the planet Tythian. Visions flooded his mind of blood and lightning bursting into the sky, tearing apart their enemies in a destructive fury not seen since the foundations of the galaxy. The tiny roar across the planet was the sign he needed. Papa Marco died in his sleep last night. The thing rising from the broken couch was cloaked in the pure fire of the Crucible. Affairs had to be put in order. Things righted so the lion of Athalon could be made whole again.

  “Hera.”

  The holo of the armored head floated at a strange angle over the broken table. “Father Lion.”

  “Call the Rook,” Marco ordered. “Coordinates forthcoming.”

  “Which one?”

  “The Gauntlet.”

  “Sir, we haven't assembled like that since the war,” Hera protested.

  “Do it, now. The Crucible poured the steel.”

  “We are the hammer.”

  “Thank you, Hera.”

  PLANET ELYSIUM – CAPITAL CITY OF SOLVINEAUX

  Marianne Trelaine shooed away the most recent visitor to accost her set-up. “Terrible feline! How many times do I have to shoo you from there!” The irritated woman reached for a squirt bottle. Setting the nozzle to stream jostled the contents, scattering the three hovering cats across the office. “My sincere apologies, monsieur, I am sorry if my little man scratched you.”

  The armored visitor pulled from the shadows of the room, holding a purring creature in his arms. He pulled the hood from his face, giving the cat a straightforward path to headbutt him with all the fury of a loving fur ball. A well-manicured beard gave the tiny purr-motor ample surface to rub its face into, showing the visitor was a welcomed distraction from the cat lady he typically endured. “No worries, mademoiselle, this one and I have an understanding.”

  “Roger, named after my second husband,” She said.

  “What happened to Roger to warrant naming a cat after him?”

  “This one has nine lives. Roger, Stars bless him, only had the one taken by pirates during the Sabers.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” the visitor offered.

  “It’s been some time. These bundles of fur help me with my loss. After four husbands, I think I am done trying to have a relationship with anything on two legs.”

  “Did they all die in the Sabers?”

  “No. The pirates only got the one,” Marianne answered. “The others had more interesting fates, if you can believe it.”

  “Another story for another time?
”

  Marianne shook the bottle again, warning all comers that she was working and this was no time to have their fur pet. “Of course, Monsieur Castillo. Pleasantries aside, our agents on Maldinon came through. According to their findings, Trenton Shipping Corporation has been funneling sizable amounts of credits into a bank here in Solvineaux. The receiving party is a company called Portier Consolidated Freight Management.”

  “Trenton is a front for Triton Security, of course, the covert action group out of the CORAL. Is Portier also a front?” Castillo asked.

  “It is. Trenton is consortium of shell companies working out of the Frontier, using the Elysium banks to store their credits. When we dug deep into who was accessing the records of this company, all traffic was to a non-assigned ICOM location. A little more digging placed the ICOM as broadcasting from the monastery at San Verone.”

  Castillo tussled the fur on Roger's side, happily indulging the furball. Turning his attention back to Marianne, he asked, “And let me guess, were you able to slice the biometrics of that particular ICOM?”

  “Monsieur, that would be extremely difficult as well as highly illegal.”

  “What did you find?” Castillo said with a wink.

  “The records were all accessed with a unique algorithm called a symbionic trigger. Part of the code requires standard bio-signs which matches the monastery records to Revered Sister Naema Otobo.”

  “Send all of this to my cell-com. Sublime work, mademoiselle. I could kiss you!”

  “With all due respect, Chief Inspector, I don’t think you could handle me. Of course, I would be willing to give up all of this to find out.”

  The Vernai monk handed her the cat who hissed in contempt at being traded so easily by his new friend. Castillo disappeared from the workspace of floating screens and darting felines through a network of tunnels meant to disorient any who tried to enter Trelaine’s lair by rote memory alone. A scanner read his bio-pattern before opening a hatch to let him through. Climbing a ladder, he arrived at the Tri-City Offices of Lambert, Lambert, and Dinglehammer, one of the city’s less respected accounting firms.