A cough from Reaver had Harlequin looking at his squad leader, who had already set his container down and flipped the lid open. The menu had stated the beef was from an Earth-like planet. No way in hell the General Mess of the Fury would be able to afford actual beef from Earth, but Earth-like planets did well for themselves and if it was good enough to garner a contract for supplying foodstuffs then maybe it’d be close to the real thing. A second cough from Reaver and his hand held out expectantly had Harlequin handing over the data-card from his rifle. Reaver hadn’t specifically called him out on it, but Harlequin wasn’t stupid. Reaver wanted to know what he had seen.
Taking the card, Reaver slid it into a port set into the front edge of his desk and checked the screen, probably ensuring it was locked down in its dock. Reaver tapped a series of keys on the pad built into the desk, and a three-dimensional projection of the data-card’s contents appeared fifteen centimeters above the surface of the desk. The first image showed the final picture Harlequin had captured, a figure in a dark uniform diving away from signs of the impact of his last round fired. Reaver swiped his hand through the image, sliding to the next image stored on the card. The figure stood in the center of the courtyard of the Governor's complex, his stature and motioning arm showing he was someone of rank. Reaver magnified the image, drawing in closer on the figure's face.
What looked like extensive scarring crisscrossed the pale hairless skin of the man's skull, continuing down to mar the majority of his face and disappearing down beneath the high-necked uniform he wore, while his eyes were a mismatched blue and brown.
Harlequin exclaimed. “There! That's what caught my eye. Make the brown eye blue and unfuck his face, and that guy's a spitting image for Lieutenant Davis. Isn’t he?" From where he was sitting, Harlequin saw the corner of his squad leader's right eye tighten and the muscles at his jaw clench, he continued in a quieter voice. “Boss, you know this guy?"
Reaver was silent for a long stretch, barely containing the rage suddenly consuming him. Reality had no explanation for what stared back at him from the depths of the captured image. His head turned, and he caught the look Harlequin was giving him.
“He’s a spitting image of the lieutenant because that is the LT's younger brother, Nikolai.” Straining against the well of boiling anger, Reaver continued. "I witnessed the aftermath of that trap. I saw what that bomb did to those Marines. Only way we could identify anyone was through their tags. His were found, just like the rest, amongst the remains of the team that got hit; whatever was in that bomb ate through their skin and bone. It ignored equipment and only went after what was living. Left behind pools of goop inside and surrounding the boots. Collected the tags, sent a set to his folks, hung the other on the wall, and the Dragon received his ruby tear-drop." Reaver paused, his eye flicking back to the figure of Nikolai wearing the uniform of the enemy. “This, this tells me those Marines died so he could defect. Marines who defended him died so he could betray them further."
"We gonna tell the LT?” Harlequin asked.
"Corporal, you’re not going to say a goddamned thing to anyone. You're going to forget you saw this, and you're going to forget what I just told you," Reaver snapped at the corporal. "This gets out, they'll toss the LT in the brig and forget the key out an airlock. We're rotating out, and we're taking Bard and Scarface home." Harlequin inclined his head, and Reaver could tell he was shaken; keeping something like this under wraps was tough. "Good catch on slipping this out, Quinn. I'll talk to the LT; he's got a right to know. But Recon takes care of its own, and I'll be damned if I let Mikhail burn for some dumb shit his brother pulled."
Harlequin rose from the bunk, the container holding his half-eaten burger resting in his hand. “Your call, Boss.”
Reaver nodded; he could understand the corporal's confusion. He had to tell Bull. He and Nikolai had been friends, and he had been in a worse place than Space Case over Bard. Learning that Nikolai was alive and had betrayed them was going to set Bull off, but it would give a set of eyes to watch Harlequin, When Dragon Two rotated back onto a combat cruise, there was for damn sure going to be a hunt.
The cruiser replacing the Fury’s Fire on the line was the Poseidon, fresh from the docks and ready for her first trial by fire. The replacement’s scheduled deployment begun while Dragon Two had been working their way through the ruined streets of Craxus. Within twelve hours of the Recon squads return, the Fury’s Fire had completed the recovery of all her ground personnel and aircraft; the largest factor in the speed of recovery being that none of her Falcons had launched, so haulers from the Carriers weren’t needed to bring them through atmo and return them to their launch bays.
Around the same time as recovery operations finished, Reaver answered another knock on his quarter’s door to find his platoon leader, fresh off the transport, standing outside his door. The conversation between the two was brief as the Lieutenant congratulated Reaver and his team on a successful rescue operation. He also informed his Staff Sergeant that the result of the action and the direct intervention of the Army lieutenant's father, a Colonel who fortunately happened to be good friends with the medical facility commander, was the only reason Reaver wasn't being tossed in the brig for going AWOL in a declared combat zone. As for the Recon Intelligence Major, well, the LT was of the same opinion and she'd get her reports when she got them, but he would appreciate it if Reaver refrained from pissing on the major's shoes in the future as it made his life extremely noisy. Through the entire conversation Reaver kept his mouth shut except to respond with 'yes, sir,' 'no, sir,' and 'I'll certainly try, sir.'
Twelve hours later, as the Fire underwent final prep for her sail homeward, Bull and Lieutenant Davis met at the door to Reaver’s quarters, both having received rather cryptic messages on their personal screens that the Staff Sergeant needed to speak with them. Reaver opened the door on the LT’s third knock and motioned for the two Marines to enter. The display above his desk was active but currently blank. The last thing Reaver wanted was for either of them to react before he had said anything, especially Bull. Bull was going to respond poorly anyway.
Crossing his arms against his chest, Lieutenant Davis leaned back against the bookshelves, facing Reaver’s desk. He didn’t need to say a word; Reaver’s madness always had a method, so he waited.
Seeing that the lieutenant wasn’t going to take the open chair, Bull dropped into it. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, the Marine Sergeant interlaced his fingers in front of himself and waited expectantly on his Staff Sergeant.
Reaver had ensured his door shut securely behind his guests, no need for anyone in the hall to hear this. Reaver cleared his throat and noticed the concerned eye his LT was giving him. Nerves were not something he showed. Coughing once more, Reaver began. “Harlequin caught sight of something, with his scope cam, as we were leaving Craxus. He thought it looked funny, so he slipped it while we were en-route back to the Fire. I’m glad he did, and if I could, I’d put him up for an award for quick thinking.”
Lieutenant Davis interrupted. “Reaver, you mean to tell me that your brand new, wet behind the ears, cherry lance corporal pocketed intel, and not only that you knew about it, but you’re proud of him for it?” The platoon leader’s voice was sarcastic, and Reaver knew he needed to explain fast, or everyone would burn.
“Yes, sir. That’s exactly what I am telling you. Here’s why.” Reaver unlocked the display above his desk, and the image of Nikolai directing enemy troops within the courtyard of the administrative building came into focus.
Bull reacted first, rocketing from his seat to get a better view of the image of his believed deceased best friend. “What the fuck is this, Reaver?”
Meanwhile, the LT looked like he had been sucker punched. His wide eyes held denial warring with the inability to refute what he was seeing. The lieutenant raised his hand toward Bull, stopping him in his tracks before, in a quiet voice, directing his next words toward Reaver. “Do you have proof?”
Reaver shook his head. “Just what you see on the screen. Quinn took a shot at him cause he appeared to be the officer in charge. Cable yank made him miss. And their set-up was almost straight out of Recon’s playbook. Think about it, meds fucking up and mechanicals going sideways. Those types of ops have never been in the Renks’ tool-kit. We see Nikolai hardside, wearing their flag, and the Blades are using our work. All I can go on is this, and I don’t want some Intel pissant jumping to conclusions and coming after you, Boss. That’s why I kept it, and that’s why I told you and Bull.” Reaver took a deep breath. “It was tell you now or after we rotate back to cruise. I figured you’d both be more pissed if I kept this from you.”
Bull’s fists clenched and opened, and the tight set of his jaw was visible to the other two occupants of the room. When he spoke, his words were clipped. “So, what? We’re saying Nikolai’s alive? That he betrayed the Corps?”
The LT’s eyes tightened, and a dangerous glint appeared deep within his pupils. “No. As far as I’m concerned my brother died on Drassick.” Bull looked ready to interrupt, but the LT cut him off. “Stow it, we rotate home, we get right, and when the Fire rotates back to the war, so do we. If they’ve got Aidrian cleared, then I’ll have a talk with the Battalion Commander; see if we can’t go scrounging for some trouble with the Blades. Either way, he dies, again.” The LT emphasized his final words by ending with pointing at Nikolai’s scarred face. Dropping his hand, the LT strode toward the door. As he reached it, he turned to look over his shoulder at Reaver. “Good call, Staff Sergeant; make sure that lance corporal keeps his mouth shut.” With that, the platoon leader activated the door and walked out.
As the door shut behind the lieutenant, Reaver glanced at Bull, whose eyes were still glued to the image above Reaver’s desk. “You gonna be alright?”
It took Bull a while before he answered, his jaw clenching and loosening before he swallowed and looked at his squad leader, who refrained from saying anything about the wetness in the corners of his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll be alright. I want some answers first, though.” Reaver nodded. He understood that. God help Nikolai if they got their hands on him and he was still breathing.
Bull took one final look at the flickering image then passed his hand through it to shut it off. Turning toward the door, he stopped to share a glance with his squad leader. The message in his eyes was clear and brooked no argument from Reaver. When the time came, it would be Bull who put the traitor in the ground. The Lieutenant and Nikolai may have shared a last name and blood, but brothers forged on the battlefield were always something a little more.
The data-card had been removed from the desk and secured deeply within one of Reaver’s two shore-bags. Both bags would be within his possession for the entirety of his transit and shore leave. He had spoken with Harlequin and appraised the young Marine of the delicacy of the situation. Reaver had seen the dawning realization in the sniper’s eyes as he had explained what was expected of him and what was going to happen as soon as their shore rotation was over.
With her Marines and crew aboard and her place on the line filled, the Fury’s Fire put Aidrian II in her engine wash and began her sail for Earth. Waiting for her, in the shipyards above Edinburgh, would be passenger cruisers to carry home those whose families resided within the inner stretch of planets. Lieutenant Davis, along with Wolf, Alice, and Titan, would be escorting Scarface's body to his family's home on Mars, while Reaver would be responsible for escorting and serving as the platoon leader's representative for the transport of Bard's body to his family outside Edinburgh. For the first time in nearly three years, the Fury’s Fire was returning to Earth for a full refit; and after a combat cruise three months longer than standard, the Marines of Recon squad Dragon Two were coming off rotation.
Epilogue
Sitting in the back corner of the pub that Bard's father had recommended, Reaver nursed his second beer of the evening, trying to keep the events of the day from drawing him down a road he had no desire to travel. The members of Recon that had arrived for Bard's funeral had nearly outnumbered the members of Corporal Michael Reid's family and friends in attendance. Bard's mother had clung to her husband for support during the walk from the church to the graveyard; Reaver had been astonished to learn that the church was a brick for brick replica of the original that had stood for nearly six hundred years in the same spot. For all its modernization and industrialization, the citizens within and around the city of Edinburgh had maintained the sanctity of the land surrounding the city. The twenty-one-gun salute had jarred both of Bard's parents, startling them with each volley, and while the bugler's playing of 'Taps' did not seem to faze the head of the Reid household, no sooner had the bagpipes begun the first note of 'Amazing Grace' than Bard's father began to weep.
The flag of the Alliance had been folded above Bard's casket, and Reaver’s duty had him set it reverently in Mrs. Reid's lap. She had clutched at it, her chest racking with sobs. As the pipes played on, Reaver had stepped back and saluted the parents of his fallen Marine.
With an ‘about face’ worthy of the parade ground, Reaver had removed the Recon badge from the right breast of his dress uniform and set the pins against the wood of the casket. Performing a tradition whose beginnings were lost to history, with three sharp raps of his fist, the badge was secured to the top right corner of the casket. Space Case had followed Reaver's example, stepping into the place vacated by his squad leader. A salute and then the sharp rap, rap, rap of his fist impacting his badge driving it into place beside Reaver's. The sound of badges being driven into the lid of the casket offset the dirge played by the pipes, but no one said anything. The Scots had their traditions and Recon had theirs; they were all ways of saying 'goodbye.'
A shadow laying over the head of his beer pulled Reaver's attention away from his thoughts, and a voice that struck him as familiar asked. “Mind if I join you, Staff Sergeant?"
Reaver took a moment before he turned his head; a slow blink of his eyes cleared the tears forming in either corner. When he looked up, he recognized the nurse he had nearly run over in the corridor of the Fury’s Fire, the one he had been a complete dick to. "By all means, ma'am," his voice came out calmer and more together than he felt at the moment.
The young nurse, no longer wearing the shipboard scrubs but dressed in a modest black dress with her chocolate brown hair pulled back in a simple bun, set her own beer on the table before pulling out the chair opposite Reaver's. “I didn't expect to see anyone from the Fire in here. It’s pretty much just known by the locals." Her eyes were red, as if she had been crying, and her voice was raw from the same.
Reaver commented on neither, simply shrugging his shoulders before responding. “It was recommended to me by a friend. I needed a quiet place to get my head in order.” After a brief pause, he added. “I'd like to apologize for my behavior aboard the Fire; my mother taught me better."
A small smile cracked the lieutenant's face. “You were quite rude, but I understand why now. The friend who recommended this place, Michael or his father?" Reaver's surprise must have shown on his face, and a small chuckle escaped her lips. “Michael was my cousin. I'd like to thank you for all the help you've been for my aunt and uncle. Losing their youngest can't be easy."
Reaver waved his hand, dismissing her need to thank him. “It was my pleasure, Ma'am. Bard meant a lot to all of us."
The Navy nurse smiled and stretched her right arm across the table. “I think we can dispense with the ma'ams. I'm pretty sure that you've got boots older than my service time. I'm Jennet."
Reaver took her hand in his, the warmth of her hand contrasting with the coolness of his from holding the frosted glass of his beer; it was a contrast he enjoyed. "Kyle."
Jennet smiled, her eyes meeting his. "I know."
Acknowledgments
A heartfelt thank you to my amazing wife, Jessica, who stood by me, supported me, and even kicked my ass a couple times through the entire process of first putting pen to pape
r, to seeing my world come to life. I also want to thank my good friend Laurell for her guidance and words of wisdom, the best being. “Writers write.” Finally, thank you to my family, who supported my dreams and imagination.
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About the Author
William McCaskey is a veteran of the United States Army who traded in the hot and sandy for rural Virginia with his family, dogs, and a very demanding feline overlord. In his free time, he enjoys honing his martial arts skills while imparting a few of them, traveling, and scuba diving. Dragon Two-Zero is his debut novel.
Copyright © 2019 by William McCaskey
Cover Design by Robyne Pomroy
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Dragon Two-Zero (Fury's Fire Book 1) Page 24