We Dare

by Chris Kennedy

  But then we were among them. My pistol was empty, and I left it embedded in the throat of a woman with beautiful blue eyes.

  “Sorry about that,” I muttered. Unfortunately, I always had one of those old-fashioned attitudes that demanded respect for those of the opposite sex. Fortunately, when they are trying to kill me, I can work through my issues fairly quickly.

  The next one was a young man, barely old enough to shave. It was depressing but had to be done. Then Four was thrown through the air.

  She impacted the ground and was back on her feet in an instant. I saw where she was looking, and it wasn’t pretty. The man was huge, with grotesque bulges for musculature. He had to be some sort of experiment by the JC’s to offset the Agents. It would stand to reason that if they had such a thing, it would be deployed for this.

  “Two!”

  He looked in our direction and saw the Behemoth. I couldn’t think of a better descriptor.

  The Behemoth charged toward Four, and I moved in her direction on an intercept course. There was nothing graceful about my charge through the few remaining JC’s. I kicked or punched with the force of a pile driver. Two was also on an intercept.

  “Come on, Big Boy!” Four yelled and moved forward to meet him.

  Then the whole back of the Behemoth’s head exploded as Five fired the Barrett from the rooftop.

  The giant still made three steps forward before toppling.

  A bullet whizzed past my ear and my attention returned to the fight at hand.

  “They probably brought ten of those,” I muttered as I plowed back into the rest of the JC’s.

  “They brought two,” Five said over the comm as the Barret boomed again.

  Why didn’t I think of sniping from the roof? I guess maybe I did, if you looked at it the right way.

  I chuckled as my open hand contacted the side of a JC’s head, spinning it all the way around with a crack.

  Four paused beside me.

  “Sometimes I worry about myself,” she said shaking her head at my apparent amusement.

  “I’m not the one running around out here naked,” I said.

  “Yes you are,” she argued.

  I shrugged. “I guess I am.”

  She laughed and moved off to our right, toward the next group of soldiers. They had sent close to five hundred men and women to take the facility, along with two Behemoths. They would have rolled right over the thirty-two men and women guarding the place, if not for the six of me.

  The four of me on the ground were wounded.

  I had taken one to the leg and side as well as several stabs on my arms.

  Two had been shot once in the arm and stabbed in the side.

  Three had been firing from the entrance to the building, but he had still managed to take a bullet in the shoulder.

  Four had been shot, stabbed, and hit by the Behemoth, which left a massive welt on her left side.

  Five was on the roof with the Barrett, and Six was protecting Doc Bern and Regina.

  All of the JC’s were dead.

  * * *

  “They’ll have a Plan B, Doc.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If the attack fails, they’ll have a contingency plan,” Two said.

  “We do too,” Bern said. “We’ll move to the northern lab. No one knows about it.”

  “Then we have to hurry,” I said.

  “How did they find us?” Bern asked.

  The sound of the gun was deafening in the closed space, and my pistol was in my hand without conscious thought. Five bullets and a Kukri knife slammed into the OAS traitor who shot Bern.

  “Shit!” I cursed.

  Regina had caught the Doc, who lay in her lap with blood spreading across his chest.

  “They’ve killed me, Gina,” he gasped, looking up at her.

  “Not yet, they haven’t!”

  I grabbed Bern and dragged him to the Imprinter.

  “What are you doing?” Regina screamed.

  “Not me,” I said and pointed at her. “You are going to upload him into the database.”

  “I can’t do that!” She shook her head. “He’ll go insane!”

  “Or, he’ll die,” Four said.

  I pushed him into the Imprinter. “Do it now, Regina.”

  She ran to the console and initiated the machine. “It will take ten minutes. Can he last that long?”

  “We’ll just have to see,” I said and began digging in her purse. “You have any pads?”

  “Pads?”

  “Gonna tape him up so he doesn’t bleed out in the next ten minutes.”

  “I got it, One,” Five said. “You guys patch yourselves up.”

  He pointed at Four, “And you put some damn clothes on. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

  She nodded and headed to the locker room.

  I nodded to him and turned to the other OAS men. “Prep a truck to move to the north lab, like the doc said. Then you are to report back to your headquarters and tell them what happened here.

  “Won’t you need us for defense?” Sergeant Malcolm asked.

  “We’ll be defense until we get there and make contact.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Two was trying to patch one of the wounds on his own back.

  “Let me help you with that,” I said, grabbing the pad and duct tape. “Three, go help Four get patched up. She had several I know she can’t reach.”

  He grinned.

  “Pervert.”

  “I happen to know you’ve…”

  “Piss off,” I said.

  I had almost gotten Two taped up when Regina’s hand landed on my shoulder. “It’s done. He’s gone.”

  I placed my hands on her shoulders. “It had to be done, Girl. It’s his only chance to survive.”

  “I know, but I hate to think I condemned him to insanity.”

  “Doc may be made of sterner stuff than that,” I said. “At least he’s not in there alone.”

  “He will be until I can get the database back up and running in Philly.”

  “Then we had best get a move on. Get it packed up, and we’ll plant the charges.”

  “Charges?”

  “We can’t leave all this tech behind,” I said and pointed at the Imprinters.

  She shook her head. “You’re right, Mister Kade.”

  “It’s Mathew,” I said. “Now go get me and the Doc all packed up while the rest of myselves get ready to move out. We’ll be going north with every damn thing in that Armory.”

  I could tell she was close to the edge, but she had guts. She took a deep breath and straightened her slumped shoulders. Then she nodded to me and returned to the computers.

  “Let’s go load some guns in the truck,” I said to Two.

  “Damn straight.”

  * * *

  “You know, I almost terminated this copy of myself when you put me into that Agent body. Hard to believe it’s been close to a year.”

  Bern moved his Knight toward my Bishop.

  “Kind of glad you didn’t, Doc.”

  “Surprisingly, I’m rather glad you talked me out of it,” he said.

  “You’d miss all of this,” I said, motioning toward the surrounding greenery in the virtual garden.

  “The periodic updates from the version of myself outside help to keep me straight.”

  “They’ve been good for me, too,” I said. “I still have all of the memories from them and those from myself. As a matter of fact, there should be a new upload soon from that last copy the other you downloaded. He said he was going to try something new. Didn’t elaborate much past that. Have you had an update recently?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Oh well.” I shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out together.”

  I glanced to my right to see another form walking toward us through the garden.

  “That’s odd,” I said, pointing at the new inhabitant.

  He looked up to see me and I recognized those eyes. They w
ere mine.

  “That’s not the way one of these normally goes,” I said.

  “Indeed,” Doc agreed.

  “Hello Mathew,” the newcomer said with a precise voice unlike any I would use. “My name is Stephen. These roses are absolutely delightful.”

  He looked over his shoulder, and I could see dozens of additional people coming. They all looked different, but they all had my eyes.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, “I forgot to mention it. I’m not alone.”

  Things get complicated in this Fallen World.

  * * * * *

  Christopher Woods Bio

  Christopher Woods, writer of fiction, teller of tales, and professional liar, was born in 1970 and spent decades reading books of many genres. One of his favorites is Military Science Fiction. In 2014, he published his first book in the successful Soulguard series. Since then, he has published four more in that series and has two other novels, plus several short stories, published by Chris Kennedy Publishing. He is currently working on The Fallen World series with Chris Kennedy, another book in the Four Horseman Universe’s “Legend” series, and a sixth Soulguard novel. He is in the process of transitioning to full time author and looking forward to spending his time doing what he loves, telling stories.

  * * * * *

  Follow Christopher Online

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  # # # # #

  Taming the Beast by Kevin Steverson

  A Salvage Title Universe Short Story

  Planet Salvage, Salvage System

  Gunnery Sergeant Ron Harper looked down at the ends of his legs. He would have preferred to look down at his feet, but they were no longer there. Having lost them in the ground actions on planet Barlat when his mech was literally sliced in two by a laser designed to knock fighters from the sky, it had been a long hard road to recovery.

  Sure, the emergency nanites used by the combat medic had helped the surgeon with her job. She had closed off the arteries and veins, saved what muscle she could, and ensured enough skin was left to cover the stumps, but they couldn’t prevent the damage to the nerves or stop the pain. Every time he put his prosthetics on, it was pure agony. Most days he could take it, but there were some he could not.

  Salvage System was still in the early stages of colonization and didn’t have any prosthetics on the main planet, but he did have the best in prosthetics. They were made by a specialist in the Tretra System and were the best credit could buy. They had tried many different sockets, but they all still aggravated the nerve endings below his knees.

  Maybe it was time to retire. I’ll just stay here on Salvage, watch the Net and hang out in the local bar, Our Bar & Grill, every night, he thought. Mayla would come home every few weeks for a long weekend. It could be worse. He could have been one of the many that didn’t survive.

  Gunny looked around his home. It was a nice house with just the right touch of a woman. Not too much, though. After all, Mayla was in the Fleet and didn’t feel the need to cover every wall with frilly things. Except for the bed. Like most women, Captain Mayla Opawn had enough colorful pillows to cover the bed…twice. Gunny didn’t make a big deal out of it. He had been around long enough to know that you had to pick your battles in a relationship. Your better half’s choice of pillows wasn’t one of them.

  The house was in town and close to everything. While growing at a staggering pace, Bank Town was still small enough one could walk everywhere. Well, if your legs didn’t make you want to scream in pain every time you stepped, you could. Except, he couldn’t scream. He was the Gunny. Every soldier in the specialty unit, The Bolts, knew him. The marines on the ships of Salvage Fleet, flying between the planets and the system gate, knew him. Most ship crew members knew of him. Though he had retired from the Tretrayon Defense Force, he had retained his rank when he joined Tomeral and Associates and the Salvage Fleet. He was The Gunny. Larger than life and indestructible.

  Until now.

  It had been six months since the injury. Six long months of rehabilitation and strengthening trying to get back, or at least close, to what he was before that mission. It wasn’t working. Deep down, he knew it just wasn’t going to be. With a sigh, he put his feet on and slowly stood beside his bed. Attempting to ignore the pain, he walked out of the room. Sure, his movements were almost normal, so not many knew of the pain. He knew. He felt it.

  * * *

  Gunny walked into the front offices of the Bolt’s orderly room, and the private behind the front desk jumped to her feet. “Good Morning, Gunny,” she said loudly.

  “Morning,” he said. “Is the captain in?”

  “He is,” answered the nervous private, her tattoo seeming to dance on one side of her face. All the members of the Bolts had the same lightning tattoo, regardless of race. It was an identifying unit patch like no other, although the blue streaks of lightning could be turned off should the situation dictate, such as piloting a mech, pulling security, on patrol, or on a mission when the tattoos would give away their position.

  Gunny went into the office off the back of the room, and its occupant, Captain Nathan Brink, rose to greet him. Technically, the commander of the Bolts outranked the non-commissioned officer, but it was irrelevant. Gunny Harper had been his drill instructor as a trainee, and his respect for the man would remain forever, regulations be damned.

  “Gunny!” Brink said, holding out a hand. “I didn’t know you were coming by today. What can I do for you?”

  “I want to try the Beast,” Gunny said, with a determined look as he shook the outstretched hand.

  Brink sat down. “Are you sure? You know you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

  The Beast was the obstacle course used by the Bolts in training. It was a true monster, and it was as difficult to navigate as any course across the galaxy. For those in initial training, it took weeks of practice to be able to complete it on time before graduation day. For those injured, whether they were members of the Bolts, or marines making up the security platoons in Salvage Fleet, completing the course on time was required before being authorized to go back to duty. It was something he had a hand in putting in place.

  “I have to prove it to me, Captain Brink…to me,” answered Gunny.

  “You look like you’re fine, you walk normally, and you can operate a mech again one day. We’ll let the maintenance platoon modify one, so it doesn’t have any controls operated by feet. You don’t need the course,” Brink said. “You of all people have earned the right to skip it.”

  “I can’t do that, Nate,” Gunny said. It was the first time he had ever called his former trainee by his first name. “You know I can’t.”

  “What does the commodore say about you attempting the Beast?” the captain asked. He was getting angry. Not at Gunny. Never at the Gunny, but at the fact that everyone coming off medical status had to do it. Mad that he had been a part of enforcing the regulations along with Gunny. Mad at the injury that had happened to his own personal hero. Mad at the entire situation.

  “He told me I don’t owe it to anyone, and whenever I’m ready, my marines are waiting for me on Windswept,” answered Gunny.

  “Well, there you have it,” said the Captain. “If Commodore Tomeral says you’re good to go, then you’re good to go.”

  “It’s not that simple, sir,” Gunny said. “I would like to run it this weekend when it’s not in use. I don’t want to get in your troop’s way.”

  “I’ll be here at 0800, the day after tomorrow,” answered the captain, resigned to whatever might come of the attempt.

  * * *

  On the first day of the weekend, at 0800, Gunny stood at the starting line. There was no one around except him and Captain Brink. Gunny hadn’t told Mayla he was attempting the course when they spoke on comms the night before. She was
out toward the gate in the system, where her task force was going through maneuvers with one of the Kashkal task forces. Most of the repairs had been made to her ships, fixing damage incurred from a mission he had not been part of due to his injuries. He didn’t tell her because he knew she would say the same thing everyone else said. “You don’t have to prove anything.”

  Like most days, his legs hurt, but today they were tolerable to an extent. He was glad they didn’t protest the moment he put on his feet. Those days he tended to just stay home.

  He was wearing a t-shirt, his battle dress pants, and combat boots on his artificial feet. Without the boots, an onlooker would see the shiny metal of his prosthetics. Stretching his arms behind his back, then above his head, that same onlooker would have noted the corded muscles of a man in exceptional shape.

  Captain Brink stood near the starting line with a recording slate in his hands. When Gunny stepped across the line, he touched the screen of the slate, and the time started. Gunny breezed through the first two obstacles, crawling under entanglement wire and swinging across a deep mud pit. The third obstacle was the first wall. Gunny grabbed the rope and pulled himself up it.

  He scrambled over the top and lowered himself to hang at arm’s length, he dropped the final five feet. When he hit the ground, a pain shot through both legs so intensely he dropped to his knees. He stayed on his hands and knees trying to overcome it. Slowly, he stood, and on trembling legs attempted to take a step. It was pure agony, and he sucked in his breath through gritted teeth.