Decker's War Omnibus 1

by Eric Thomson

  The freighter finally touched the ground, thick legs absorbing its weight and its thrusters fell silent. Even at a distance, the two officers could hear the ticking of heated metal and tarmac contracting as it cooled. For several minutes, nothing happened, then a section of the lower hull broke open and descended to form a ramp.

  “Do I hear singing?” Hera Talyn asked.

  Colonel Faran frowned in concentration as he listened.

  “Yes, that’s what it is alright. It sounds just like a French marching song that was old even before the first FTL ships left Earth. Rather appropriate under the circumstances, I’d say.”

  A column of troops appeared at the head of the ramp, marching slowly to the rhythm of the song, arms swinging, weapons slung across the chest, and helmet visors raised.

  “Definitely not any kind of uniform I’ve ever seen. Nor the weapons either. Is that Decker out in front?”

  Talyn nodded.

  “Can’t see who else it would be.”

  They watched with fascination as the former slave soldiers paraded by in orderly ranks, still singing the ancient marching song until a command barked out in an alien tongue brought them to a crashing halt. Another order and the column turned into three ranks facing the two officers. To Colonel Faran’s eyes, it looked exactly like a regular Marine parade, other than the unfamiliar commands, and he said so to Talyn.

  “I’m not surprised. If he’s had a hand in their training, he’s giving the Corps two hundred professional quality troops; that’s if they all decide to accept enlistment.”

  “If they do, we might just raise a sixth battalion for the Marine Light Infantry Regiment, which would be apt since a fair number of them are, for all intents and purposes, foreigners even if they are human.”

  “You’ll have to do it without Decker, even though I have no doubt staying with his soldiers would be his first choice.”

  The big man at the front of the formation marched towards the officers with precise movements. As he got close, his eyes met Talyn’s. She saw from his reaction that he wasn’t exactly pleased to see her. He’d likely be even less delighted once she told him the news.

  Decker stopped three paces in front of them and saluted crisply. Colonel Faran, as the senior officer, returned the gesture.

  “Warrant Officer Zachary T. Decker, Commonwealth Marine Corps Reserve, reporting with one hundred and ninety-eight escaped slave soldiers.”

  “Welcome home, Mister Decker,” Faran smiled warmly and stretched out his hand.

  “Good to be back, sir.” They shook vigorously. “Would the colonel care to inspect the troops?”

  Sensing that it was important to the returnees, he replied, “I’d be delighted,” and stepped off beside Zack, the two of them trailed by Talyn.

  “They look like hardened veterans,” the colonel commented after they’d walked through the formation. “Those who choose to enlist in the Corps will be welcome additions, and we’ll make sure they get the right rank for their experience and ability.”

  “Good to hear it, sir. They’re dependable soldiers, as capable as any in the Corps or the Colonials, and you’ll find them loyal too. What happens now?”

  “Now, Mister Decker,” Talyn said, “you’ll hand your outfit over to your second-in-command who’ll be getting his orders from Colonel Faran. They’ll be processed by the local garrison before shipping out on naval transports.”

  “Don’t worry,” the Marine officer said, “the Corps will take good care of them.”

  “And me?” Though he’d expected the order, Zack sounded surprisingly mulish, even to his own ears.

  “You and I are going to climb into that skimmer over there and go somewhere we can have a long, quiet talk.” Talyn pointed at the sleek vehicle.

  “I suppose I have no choice?”

  “None whatsoever. You’re back on active duty, Marine, and you’ve been detailed to my unit.”

  Decker stopped and faced Faran.

  “Sir, I place my troops under your care. Since it doesn’t look like Commander Talyn will allow me to speak with them one last time, let ‘em know I’m proud of them. And just so you understand, the Nelvans in the ranks will likely suffer some culture shock, so I suggest you keep them together as a unit until they adapt, though I think most of them will jump at the chance to enlist. Soldiering is all they’ve known.”

  “Understood, Mister Decker. I’m sure they’ll make superb additions to the Corps. Good luck.” They exchanged salutes and then Faran turned back to the formation, making a beeline for Jase Resson, now in Zack’s place at the front.

  “You want to put your gear in the skimmer, Zack?” Talyn pointed at the rear seats.

  “Whatever you say, sir.” He tossed his carbine in, followed by his pack. When he removed his helmet, he had the pleasure of seeing the intelligence officer’s eyes widen in shock.

  “The mark of the silahdar, commander. All of us have these tattoos and the shaved scalp that goes with them.”

  “Alright,” she shook her head, “one more item on the to-do list. We can’t have a Marine Corps chief warrant officer looking like a gang member. I’m sure the garrison hospital can remove the markings.”

  “Chief Warrant Officer?”

  It was his turn to look incredulous.

  “Not only a chief, Mister Decker, but a chief first class. You’ve just spent how long in command of a company group?” She slipped behind the controls. “I got them to promote you to warrant officer effective the day of the attack on the Amali compound, so you’ve got the minimum time and experience for a jump to chief’s bars. If you’re coming back into the Service to work for me, you might as well do it at a proper rank.”

  “And what if I don’t want to?”

  “You’d do what? Crawl back into a bottle? Ship out with half-pirates like the crew of the Shokoten? At least coming back into the Corps will give you a life and a purpose.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that she’s really dead?”

  Talyn gunned the skimmer’s fans, and it took off at a steep angle, headed towards the military base.

  “I’m sorry, Zack. We found your ship, or what was left of it, a few months ago. She was probably dead within minutes of being shot. There would have been nothing you could have done.”

  A sudden spasm of grief twisted his entrails, and he felt tears gather in the corners of his eyes. Until this moment, somewhere deep inside, he’d held out the insane hope that she might somehow have survived. That hope had just been irredeemably smashed. The rage returned just as suddenly, and he gripped the edge of the control panel until his knuckles turned white.

  “I have private business to take care of, commander,” he replied through clenched teeth, “so I’ll have to decline the offer of a chief’s warrant and a return to active duty.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that, Zack, which is why your recall was made under the involuntary provisions. You can still turn down the promotion and remain a warrant officer second class, though it would be stupid, but you’re back in and have no say in the matter.”

  “Bitch,” he muttered.

  “Maybe I am that,” by the tone of her voice it was evident she not only hadn’t taken offense but seemed amused. “However, if you’ll bear with me, perhaps we can discuss how to take down the Amali clan properly as opposed to a one-man rogue operation.”

  Zack stared at her uncomprehendingly.

  “Did you think,” she continued, “that the Fleet would tolerate anyone conspiring to enslave a citizen of the Commonwealth, let alone a member of the Armed Services? There has to be a reckoning, especially with the Coalition, so they understand that some things just aren’t done.”

  “You sure are full of surprises this morning,” he finally admitted, shaking his head ruefully, his temper once more under control. “Okay, commander. I’ll take the chief’s bars and the pay that goes with it, and I’ll take the job with intelligence, but I will collect the debt I’m owed, either with sanction or without.”<
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  “Since you’ve already started by executing the pirates who took you and killed Avril, it would be foolish of me to try and stop you.”

  “Glad we understand each other, commander.”

  His patented grin had returned, but with a hard edge that made it look almost manic.

  *

  Decker stared at himself in the mirror, feeling an unexpected sense of dislocation. When he’d woken up that morning, he’d been an escaped slave soldier, with the outward markings to prove he was once owned by the Atabek of Danjor. Now, with the tattoos gone and wearing a black Marine uniform, complete with the jump wings, Master Gunner insignia, and ribbons he’d earned over a twenty year career, he was an entirely different person.

  The four shiny silver bars of a chief warrant officer first class on each shoulder strap merely added to the surrealism of the moment. Tossed out on his ear as a command sergeant for decking a captain, he was now back and wearing the most senior warrant rank, drawing the same pay as a major. They’d even given him the collar insignia of the 9th Marines rather than those of the intelligence branch.

  He placed the sky blue beret of the Commonwealth Armed Services on his bald head and, in a moment of whimsy, saluted himself. If only the folks back at the regiment could see him now. He knew some officers who’d have a fit. Then he remembered that he’d likely be back on the books of the 9th as detached on extra-regimental duty, which meant the Corps’ gossip network would go into overdrive soon enough.

  “Ready?” Hera Talyn’s reflection joined his in the silvery sheen of the mirror, nodding with approval at the well-fitted uniform.

  “Looks good on you, Zack.”

  “What now?”

  “We take a shuttle to the orbital station and hop on the sloop Sparrow, which has been diverted to take us to Fleet HQ.”

  “Caledonia, eh? Been a long time since I set foot there. I wonder if they still make that god-awful thick oatmeal stout. It felt like drinking sludge.”

  She gave him an affectionate punch on the shoulder, laughing.

  “Glad to see some things haven’t changed. Grab your duffel and follow me.”

  They stepped out of the transient officers’ quarters and into the thick atmosphere of a humid, equatorial late afternoon. On the far side of the base’s central square, Zack saw Decker’s Demons drawn up in ranks, ready to head for the mess hall and their first Marine Corps supper.

  He felt a stab of sadness at leaving them, but nothing was forever, especially not unit command. At least he could console himself with the idea that the Corps was a small enough place that he’d probably meet a lot of them again at some point. As for Lora Cyone...

  “Did you leave something in your room?” Talyn asked impatiently, standing beside the skimmer.

  “Sorry.” He shook his head and trotted down the stairs. The intelligence officer turned to look at what had attracted Zack’s absent gaze and when she saw the former slaves, she nodded knowingly.

  “It’s never easy to say goodbye.” She smiled sadly at him. “Not that I want to pry, but I’m going to guess you had a lover.”

  Decker snorted.

  “Is that what you think I do all day and night: drink beer and shag any woman who’ll have me?”

  “Hey, I just go by the evidence I find.”

  “If that’s the quality of your intelligence gathering, I can see why you need me.”

  “Screw you, Decker.” Talyn laughed.

  “Sure. We can get on to that as soon as we’re aboard Sparrow.”

  “See! I did get my analysis right.”

  Twenty-Two

  “Mister Amali, sir,” a tentative voice called out from the open doorway.

  The narrow-faced aristocrat seated at a wide intricately carved desk looked up from his pad, irritated by the interruption. Ever since his cousin had been killed by Fleet operatives and the family compound destroyed, the full weight of affairs had fallen on his shoulders, especially those involving the Coalition.

  Restoring the old rights and powers of the Home World leaders over the Commonwealth, and especially over the Fleet, was never going to be as quick and painless as Walker had wanted, but since his spectacular failure, things had become tough indeed. Naval intelligence now knew in which dark corners to look and that made things more perilous.

  “What is it, Lyle?” Harmon Amali asked his aide.

  “We’ve just received a message from our man in Fleet HQ. It seems that Zack Decker came back from the dead some time ago.” The younger man seemed stunned and not a little scared as he delivered the unwanted news.

  Amali blanched.

  “How is that possible?” His voice was a mere whisper. “We had proof that he was sold to trans-Coalsack slavers.”

  “Apparently he managed to escape captivity and brought back almost two hundred others with him.”

  “No.” Amali shook his head convulsively. “It must be a mistake.”

  “Our man’s positive that it’s Decker. He’s back in the Corps as a chief warrant officer as well, assigned to naval intelligence.”

  The aide handed him a pad, and he stared at the screen, speechless, then he nodded.

  “That’s him alright, the man who dared touch our family. I can’t understand how he got away but since he did, that makes him a very, very dangerous man indeed.”

  “He’ll be out for revenge then, sir?”

  “Count on it, Lyle.”

  The head of the Amali clan, now over his initial fright, began to think furiously. They’d not rebuilt the family island compound, preferring to let it revert to nature. After what had happened there, it was best they kept their distance and even if they had, the raid by the Marine pathfinders had proven for all time that it wasn’t a secure haven from the Fleet.

  He also knew from experience that a determined assassin would almost always get his target if he found it. After using enough of them on his own enemies, he appreciated the swiftness of unexpected death.

  If Decker had the full weight of naval intelligence behind him, then he wouldn’t be safe anywhere on Pacifica. He had to start moving and keep moving until he could figure out a way to have the man killed, which is what he should have ordered in the first place, instead of an elaborate scheme to sell him into alien slavery.

  “Have the yacht prepared and have our man at Fleet HQ notify us the moment Decker leaves Caledonia.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  The aide bowed and left his master to stew over the slavers’ failure to contain Decker. Not for the first time, Amali knew he’d have to do a job himself if he wanted it done properly.

  *

  None of the former silahdar would have recognized Zack Decker as he walked up the gangway to board the tramp freighter Xenophon, a few months after Harmon Amali heard the dreadful news of his survival. A layer of sandy hair covered a tanned scalp above a face artfully transformed into someone else’s, while a short, scruffy beard ran along his square jaw line from ear to ear.

  He wore faded, vaguely military trousers tucked into calf-high boots and a dark leather jacket over a white collarless shirt. An Imperial Armaments 15mm blaster, liberated from the intelligence storeroom to replace the one lost to the pirates, was tucked under his armpit.

  He’d had to make a side trip to the Pathfinder School at Fort Arnhem to buy a replacement dagger, now strapped to his left forearm, hidden by his clothing. The school sergeant-major hadn’t hidden his incredulity and delight at seeing him back in uniform, and a chief warrant officer to boot. If he hadn’t been able to beg off for reasons of security, he’d have been dragged out into the field for an impromptu inspection of the latest class of advanced pathfinder candidates.

  It wasn’t so much because Decker was an inspiration to all who jumped out of perfectly good shuttles from low orbit, but because he was one of the more notorious Corps legends who’d finally done well for himself.

  He caught sight of his reflection in a window and smiled crookedly. Chief warrant officers first class w
ere supposed to look like models for a recruiting poster. Zack’s appearance was more like the precise opposite, which was the point of his disguise after all.

  No one could have identified the middle-aged woman, similarly dressed as a spacer between paying jobs, who followed him through the ship’s airlock. Where Decker’s size made him stand out in any crowd, Hera Talyn could easily blend into the background.

  They handed their identification wafers to the purser standing at the head of the brow. He tapped them against his pad and looked up, matching their faces to the pictures.

  “Welcome aboard. You’ve got cabin twenty-four, one deck up.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the open staircase behind him, then turned his attention to the next in line, ignoring Decker’s nod of thanks.

  *

  “Oh the joys of traveling steerage class,” Talyn sighed as she looked around their cabin a short while later.

  “That’s what happens when you blow your budget on new office furniture. If you’d stayed with the old stuff, we might have had enough to take a liner and live in style.”

  “Screw you, Zack.”

  “What? Again?” He aimed a punch at her upper arm. “Remember that we only have to look like we’re an innocuous pair-bond to outsiders.”

  “Doesn’t seem to be working too well,” she replied. “Did you notice the unassuming little guy in the unfashionable business suit who seems stuck to our butts ever since we got up here?”

  “Yeah. What of it?” He dropped into the lower bunk and stretched out. “Maybe he wants to know how much you charge.”

  “Funny.” She made as if to swat him on the chest. “Remember the time when Amali’s hired guns nailed you on an orbital station?”

  “Sure. It ended with the bastard becoming bug food. But that was a tag team, and they didn’t look like seedy, out of work professors. If you’re thinking hired assassin or Coalition operative, or better yet, Sécurité Spéciale, if they’re not all the same by now, he’d blend in better, no?”

  “The slightly creepy but harmless look is still good camouflage. We just happen to have better bullshit detectors than most people, Zack.”