Dragon Two-Zero (Fury's Fire Book 1)

by William McCaskey

  Reaver ignored the question as he walked around the table and drew out one of the remaining chairs and sat down on the far side of the room facing the door he had come through. Leaning back in the chair, his elbows on the armrests while crossing his fingers in front of his chest, Reaver took another moment to sweep the room with his eyes before answering. “The LT gave me the WARNO a few minutes before the Old Man came over the horn. Today is the only reset Alpha will get. The Carolina and her primary group are less than a week's sail from us, as long as the Captain kept us within standard patrol bounds; but the hardside mission may have carried them away from us. Check your go-bags, draw what you need from supply, tomorrow we hit the range. With an entire Battle Group coming together, you can count on a full hardside drop. You'll get what I get. You know as well as I do, the platoon is still understrength so be prepped to help lighten the load on the other squads." Reaver paused as he mulled over his next words. “We should have a chance at getting a signal burst out before we reach our destination. Get any messages to family ready to go and cleared through the censors." Reaver looked at each of his Marines; not one of them flinched or refused to meet his gaze.

  Wolf and Alice had finished their toes and returned their feet to the floor; Wolf tapped Bull’s feet to get him to move them, then leaned forward in her seat and matched Reaver's gaze. When she spoke, her voice carried the rough undertones of a former Drill Instructor; hours of abuse to her voice box had left their mark on her. "Alice and I will check-in with med and have them run a diagnostic on the implants. If we're going hardside, there's no telling when we'll be back."

  Reaver nodded in response to Wolf and turned his eyes to Alice. "You and Harlequin will dial everything in on the range tomorrow. The painter worked well on its first field run, so get one for yourself. Harlequin will show you how to lock it down, and you can practice tomorrow." Alice grinned at the prospect of getting her hands on the new attachment for her rifle; she loved to accessorize.

  Reaver looked at Bard, and the tech-wizard grinned back at his squad leader. "Already making a list in my head, Boss. I'm sure I can come up with something heavy for Titan to carry."

  Titan growled. "Fuck you, pipsqueak. I'm not your pack mule. Carry your own damn books."

  Bard laughed. "Why else would they have teamed us together, big guy, if they didn't mean for you to carry the rest of my gear?" The back and forth between the two was a constant source of entertainment for the remaining members of second squad.

  Scarface slipped his hand across the table, gathering up the cards from the earlier game and deftly shuffling the entire deck before boxing them. "Space and I’ll dig up what we can on this rock. We'll want to know what the Renks are after."

  Reaver nodded his response and smacked the table with his open palm. "Good enough. Adjourned. We've got work to do. Let's get it done."

  As Reaver stood from his seat, Space Case called from where he was sitting. “They cancel the festivities tonight?”

  Reaver paused at the door and turned to look over his shoulder. “Nah, I think First Platoon is hoping our time hardside wore the edge off you and Bard. Y’all are still good to go, right?”

  “Oh, Hell yeah. Space has been working with me. I don’t think they’re expecting old Earth Panatukan,” Bard answered.

  “You two are fucking evil. With your books and his incessant need to learn every combat art that ever existed I worry about the safety of whatever planet the two of you retire to,” Alice commented, motioning first to Bard, then waving at Space Case.

  The two Marines shared a grin and Reaver cracked a smile. “I’ll make sure we still have the venue. Don’t go easy on them, but don’t kill anyone.” With that, Reaver activated the door and stepped out of the barracks, raucous cheers following him out of the room.

  Chapter Seven

  It was common for cruisers to operate independently from a larger fleet, their firepower and Marine contingent usually all that was needed to snuff out a frontier planet brushfire; however, they were never far from reinforcements. For larger crises or brush wars that spilled over and threatened the integrity of a planet's corporation or the safety of its citizenry, it was not unheard of for cruiser captains to requisition their task force from the larger fleet, drawing on those frigates and destroyers assigned to them to serve as blockade and fire-support platforms. When entire planets or systems were threatened, the carriers and battleships joined the fray; task forces would be recalled to reinforce the battle group and a frightening array of weapons, warriors, and material could be brought to bear against the adversary.

  At flank speed, the flight to meet with the Carolina and her battle group took nearly ten days, and they were not the last to arrive. The duration of the flight trip had not been spent idly by the sailors and Marines upon the Fury’s Fire, and Reaver's squad was no exception. They spent hours on the range; the snipers dialed in their chosen rifles and competed against one another as only masters of their art can. Intel reports were pored over as they were disseminated down to the squad level.

  Lieutenant Davis briefed Reaver alongside the other squad leaders on Aidrian II. A farming world, the gravity and weather patterns comparable to Earth, which made it ideal for serving as a bread basket, but smaller. Nearly seventy-five percent of the planet was ocean, with a large continent located in the equatorial zone and a few island chains and archipelagos off the coasts. The geography and rich resources in the oceans had led to the development of extensive fishing programs and technology, along with the establishment of cities in the coastal areas of the continent, leaving the interior open for farming and livestock. A conglomerate company ran Aidrian II, owned and operated by the populace. The total civilian population was considered low and estimated to be just shy of one hundred million almost evenly divided between the four primary cities; while reports also told of outlying travelers who followed the native herd animals, serving as caretakers and protectors.

  The final bits of information the lieutenant had provided left a bad taste in the mouths of his non-commissioned officers: communications with the militia and civilians hardside had been cut off, and no hard intel on enemy presence and strength would be available until the battle group arrived in-system. Recon Marines would play an intricate part in gathering that intel and filling in the gaps for the rest of the fleet. Armed with these details, the Marines of Force Recon began brushing up on and preparing for a hardside drop into the ocean and then a long swim to the continent.

  A common message was “the more you sweat in training, the less you bleed in combat,”, but injuries still happened. In units as specialized as Recon, expected to do so much more with so much less, training injuries were the norm, not the exception. The advantage held now was that with the stabilization of cloning, injuries that could end a Marine's career in the past were now at most a six-month convalescence. Anything from limbs to healthy organs could be repaired or outright replaced; the only thing cloning couldn't cure was death, and most Corporations within the Alliance refused to sanction the fielding of cloned soldiers, unlike the People’s Socialist Planetary Union, who commonly used cloned troops as fodder for the guns of their enemies.

  Injuries were common; fatalities were not. Two days out from the rally point with the Carolina and her battle group, Reaver found himself standing in the medical bay, shock joining the roiling emotions beneath his stony visage as the last of the surgical staff finished disconnecting the cables and tubes that had moments ago been hard at work attempting to save a life.

  Lieutenant Davis arrived with the Chaplain moments after the final tech had left the room. The Lieutenant didn't say a word, and he didn't need to. The Chaplain made the sign of the Cross over Scarface's body, then leaned down to press his lips against the forehead he had crossed. Rising to his full height, the Chaplain walked slowly from the room, pausing for a moment to speak quietly with Lieutenant Davis, before exiting. Scar's body would be stored in the morgue and carried until they returned to port and could be escorted
to his family; the Navy could bury their dead in space, Marines always went home. Lieutenant Davis leaned against the far wall, listening without intruding.

  Turning to the surviving members of Charlie Team, Reaver took a moment to inspect them before saying anything. Neither Alice nor Space Case had left Scar’s side since the incident, even after the Ship’s Surgeon had pronounced the time of death. The personal hell of unprocessed emotions resided as a firestorm within their eyes. Breaking the silence, he spoke. “Tell me what happened.”

  Alice spoke; her quiet tones carried an icy edge. “We were practicing a drop, and the weather was on the ‘God hates you,’ setting.”

  Reaver knew what she meant. Whole sections of the Fury’s Fire were set aside for training and could be configured in any number of ways imaginable; in preparation for the assault on Aidrian II, one of the drop training areas on the lowest decks had been sealed and then flooded.

  “The Bats were as high as we could get them lifted, give us a full ride through the storm; whoever set the weather simulator did a good job on the reality of it. Maybe too good. Scar wanted the full ride, make sure we were prepped good, so we set the three-hundred-meter mark and climbed into our Bats. The drops were supposed to be simultaneous, but Scar dropped about a half-second before us. He always had to lead from the front. Never wanted us to think he was asking anything of us that he hadn’t already done.” Here, Alice paused, her eyes flicking to and holding on the body laid out on the hospital bed as if, by talking about him, she could pull him back to life.

  Alice took a deep breath before resuming. “Along with the winds and lightning, Scar had asked for anti-aircraft fire simulators inside the storm. You know the deal; goes off next to you and you get a shock to know you’re hit, then you continue training. We dropped nose first, got our speed up to get below the ack-ack as fast as possible. Plan was to sweep the wings forward and pick up a glide a few meters above the water, glide slows the airspeed and you’re under sensor sweeps, usual drill. Ack-ack started and the set-up just seemed off. An entire continent would have to be covered with guns to throw up this amount of fire, and we had to spread out more than usual to give ourselves space to move. I know the skins of the Bat are good for protecting from thermal damage on entry into atmo and aren’t much good against shells or high caliber, but who knew rain could be so loud. Nearly drowned out the radio.

  “I saw Scar’s Bat get hit twice. Might have been a lightning strike or round simulator, I don’t know. What I do know is after that his radio went to shit and he started spinning. After almost colliding with me, it appeared as if he had recovered control. No spin, no wobbling, but the radios were still shit. When he didn’t give the level off call, we figured it was the radios and activated the wings. You know that float sensation you get, just as the wings snap forward, they start to drag through the air?”

  Alice glanced at Reaver and waited for him to nod before she continued speaking. “It was during that point that the radio cleared, and I heard him. His wings never swept out, he never slowed, only thing that started working was his radio. ‘Fuck’ was the last thing he got out before his Bat smacked the water. Damn thing disintegrated around him. I didn’t see him come out of the wreckage, Space and I were in our glides by then, and we had to ride it out before we could ditch. I’ve heard of burn-ins on land when the gravity brakes fail, but never thought I’d see it on a training drop, or into water.” Alice shook her head.

  Reaver knew she was seeing it all again, replayed in her mind’s eye, and he knew she’d continue to see it many more times after today. He let her compose her thoughts. Meanwhile, Space Case used his screen, delivered by Bard, to type out his report. He made eye contact and handed Reaver the screen. A quick glance showed little variation from Alice’s report. Reaver paused and eyed Space. “What about your neck?”

  Space Case lifted his head to show the bruising encircling his throat, his voice coming out in a rasp. “No lasting damage. Doc says I’ll be good to go by the time we drop.” Reaver returned the screen, and Space sent the report to Reaver’s and the LT’s in-boxes.

  Successfully turning off the waking nightmare for now, Alice signaled her ability to continue to her squad leader and spoke again, her voice even frostier. “We were finally able to ditch the Bats, and someone shut off the storm, but even with the swim screws, the rescue team was there before us and had him on a board to be lifted out. Assholes wouldn’t let us see him or give us a down and dirty on his condition. We made sure the medic had a good hook to the board, and the straps were tight. Once they hoisted Scar and the medic out, we went for our recovery hooks; never had thought those things were slow until today. Then we headed here.” Alice took another deep breath, and Reaver nodded.

  Reaver didn’t need to say anything in response. He had reviewed the vid-captures prior to heading for the Med-bay elevators, and her recounting and Space’s write-up of the incident matched the images captured, including his Marines elbowing the rescue team out of the way. Reaver reminded himself to have a talk with the rescue trainers. Marines needed to know how their brothers and sisters were after a situation, regardless of the outcome.

  Reaver remained where he was, his eyes never leaving Scar's face, tracing the lines cut there by wasp rounds. They had added bite to Scar's sarcasm, now the scars were faded and relaxed against the stillness of his facial structure. Alice and Space Case both moved to stand next to Scar, their eyes as firmly fixed on the body of their team leader. Reaver could see the tightening at the corner of their eyes that belied the calm expressions they were wearing. He knew inside they were wrestling to keep emotions in check and chain demons that would never be completely quieted.

  Space Case spoke while staring at the body, his damaged throat preventing his voice from carrying any emotion. “Something doesn’t feel right, Boss. There shouldn’t have been a malfunction with his Bat; they were green from maintenance.”

  Lieutenant Davis pushed himself off from the wall and interjected. “I’ll get the wheels turning. There’ll be an investigation, has to be after a training incident. We’ll figure this out.” Without waiting for a response, the LT left the room.

  Reaver gave his Marines a reassuring glance before turning to the door. Reaver walked from the relative silence of the med-bay and into the passageway heading toward his quarters.

  Tomorrow he would adjust the teams. Days before entering a warzone was no time to add another cherry to the squad; not that there were many to go around. Something had lit a fire under the Renks’ asses over the last decade. Incursions and planetary disturbances increased every year, demanding the attention of the fleet and her Marines. More bodies for a grinder that would never end. As long as humanity survived, war would be a constant, and Reaver thanked God that there were people like him and his Marines to fight those wars. Civilians would just make a mess of it, like they had in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Now with a new war brewing, he would be leading men and women as they dropped headfirst into hell; but that was a worry for tomorrow. Tonight, he had fallen comrades to drink to, nightmares to ignore, and his own demons to re-chain.

  Chapter Eight

  All he could hear was his breathing, and if he listened carefully, he imagined he could hear the constant flow of blood through his veins. Dropping from the vac to atmo, Reaver always noticed the absolute silence encircling him like a blanket. The soft green glow of his Bat’s heads-up display centered in his view screen and wrapped the nose of the Bat, affording a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view. He knew he could shift its position with a flick of his eyes, but Reaver’s concentration continuously returned to the altimeter. The rapidly ticking down numbers were the best indicator he had of his descent and would be crucial to a safe arrival on the planet’s surface. A golden glow edged the eastern coast of the continent as the sun rose; soon the glow would disappear as he and his team dropped to the ocean off the southern edge of the west coast of Aidrian II’s sole continent. A rising scream, dampened by the confines
of his helmet and the shell of the Bat, announced entry into Aidrian II’s atmosphere. Not long now.

  Rumors had circulated of the drop onto Aidrian being scrapped after Scar’s death; they had been quickly stamped down. If it hadn’t been Renks assaulting an Alliance world, if it had just been another disturbance, then maybe the drop would have been postponed. The investigation raised red flags for Lieutenant Davis, and he had passed them on to Reaver. Intelligence was looking into further occurrences that had taken place on the Fury, none as grievous as Scar, but three mistakes was ‘enemy action.’ Reaver hadn’t told the rest of his squad, they didn’t need that weight hanging over them. Instead, he gave them results as inconclusive and still under investigation. This was war, and you didn’t cancel that because someone died. You suited up, strapped in, and took the dive just like everyone else.

  Recon teams from throughout the Carolina’s Battle Fleet were being seeded across the planet; some were tasked with simple reconnaissance and gathering of data, others to mark known infrastructure to be recaptured or destroyed. For the Recon Marines of the Fury’s Fire, they had the fun missions: identify resistance cells for fleet support, identify targets of opportunity for orbital or immediate strike, and harass and impede enemy supply stores and lines of communication. The Army wouldn't begin their drops until the situation on the ground was clearer; with no communications from the planet and no sign of a Renk fleet, the situation was very curious.

  Reaver's altimeter pinged, alerting him to the nearing pull height. A second ping and he broke radio silence for the first time since leaving the Fury’s Fire. “Pull, pull, pull." As his words snapped across the radio, he twisted his handles ninety degrees, so that the fingers of his closed fists were facing each other, and yanked them sharply toward him, his shoulders rising slightly as his elbows came to rest against his ribs. Meanwhile, seven other pairs of wings flared out and the eight Bats leveled off a hundred feet above the ocean surface. Seven green pips lit up on Reaver's HUD, showing him that his squad was gliding and on the correct flight path. Flexing his fingers around the handles of his flight controls, Reaver set himself in for the long glide the squad had ahead of them. Nearly thirty minutes before they would enter their slowing turns, and if their math was right, they would only have about ten meters to descend to the waves below. While the flight controls weren’t the most precise instruments, they would serve to avoid obstacles while in a glide and get their pilots where they wanted to go.