Outcast Marines Boxed Set

by James David Victor

  Solomon saw the hazy, washy lights of the stars start to wobble and diffuse as their photons failed to reach his retina. His eyes registered odd, strange colors that his brain had no name for.

  And then his stomach lurched, and he felt his body cover itself with a fine film of sweat. His teeth ached, and his head started to pound with a pressure headache, moments before vertigo and nausea took him. This was what happened when humans endured jumps. Even though there was no technical or physical reason for it, there was still a primal knowledge that this was something that no human body, designed for terrestrial gravity and Earth-regular spacetime, should experience.

  And just like always, as soon as the sensation started to get too intense, it suddenly stopped, and Solomon was sitting in his harness, blinking and taking deep breaths to calm his ragged heartbeat.

  “We’re here,” he heard Ochrie say, and Solomon and the others were already rising from their seats to take a look at precisely where ‘here’ was.

  “Oh, frack!” Ratko gasped, moments before she hit the thrusters and threw the ship into a spin, just as the ship’s tactical computers blurted out alarms.

  Warning! Enemy Vessel Targeting Protocol Detected!

  Warning! Target Lock Detected!

  15

  Ech

  Solomon was thrown from his standing position as the ship rolled. He didn’t see, but in front of them, the cables from the automated jump-ship stretched taut, and two of them ripped from the nose as Ratko maneuvered.

  In the space ahead of them, the jump-ship suddenly jerked as it was pulled by the scout, before it finally released the last few magnet locks—

  And an instant later exploded in a ball of blue and white energy as the enemy vessel’s missiles found it.

  “Who’s attacking us?” Solomon shouted, pushing himself up from the opposite end of the craft.

  Out of the portholes, the stars were pinwheeling and rolling as Ratko threw evasive move after evasive move. She’s trying to throw off the targeting locks, Solomon knew.

  “Keep Ochrie safe!” Solomon clicked into command mode as he stumbled and climbed toward the bridge, Jezzy right behind him.

  “How?” he heard Kol say in alarm. Which was a fair comment, as the ex-Marine must have known that there wasn’t much he could do if a missile or a Ru’at laser beam found them.

  “I don’t know! Just do it!” Solomon shouted over his shoulder as he entered the bridge, seeing the tactical map overlays above the viewing screen and the vectors of too many ships to make him feel comfortable.

  Half of them were stationary orange triangles, indicating Unknown Vessel, which Solomon knew was bad, as that was how the Ru’at ships came up on their scanners.

  But the others were the ones that made the lieutenant slam to a halt. They were CMC identifiers, each and every one, and they were all on attack vectors, either with the stationary unknown ships…

  Or their own scout.

  “Hausman,” Solomon hissed at once.

  The CMC ships arrayed against them were what Solomon would have called a forward strike force—certainly not a full battle group, which traditionally had a range of Confederate Marine fighter craft, as well as at least one battleship that would act as the operational command and a number of logistical ships such as Marine transporters, jump-ships, scouts or shuttles. It was also—thankfully—not a full fleet either, which would have had one of the super-massive dreadnaughts at its heart.

  Instead, what Solomon and the others were looking at was between eight and ten CMC fighter craft—narrow wedges with four overlapping wing shapes and heavy fuselages, indicating that they could operate in the vacuum of space as well as in atmosphere.

  The only problem was that the eight craft were still far too many for one lighter and smaller Marine scout.

  “Evasive maneuvers!” Ratko called as she pulled on the flight stick once again and kicked her propulsion pedals. In response, a line of smaller positional rockets along the edge of the tubular scout fired, sending it into a tumbling corkscrew that, were First Lieutenant Cready’s boots not magnetized, would have sent him crashing into the ceiling.

  The viewing screen showed whirling stars as well as appearing and disappearing ships, giving the impression that it was the outside space that was cycling and not them. But every few moments, Solomon would see the appearing shape of their target.

  The experimental command hub was similar to a platform rather than a station in that it had no large, transparent domes of habitats, and instead looked like a disk around a central collection of spires and antennae, reaching both up and down. The external ring swam around the inner at a steady pace, indicating that it could generate its own gravity as well as hold its position.

  Just like the automated jump-ship, it was a gun-metal black and sleek. Solomon caught sight of bulkhead ports and vents, all of which seemed made to a much higher standard than the usual Marine Corps equipment.

  But it was under attack, Solomon realized, as he saw sudden bursts of flames flash and evaporate around its outer ring.

  “We can’t let Hausman destroy it!” Ochrie shouted from the rear of the bridge, where she had also accompanied Solomon and Jezzy.

  But the ECH was only suffering a modicum of the force’s attention. Most of their missile and vacuum-rifle fire was saved for the groups of stationary, sleek black craft of all different shapes and sizes that clustered near the ECH.

  It has to be the Test Fleet, Solomon realized. He saw some parts of ships that he recognized from the more standard Rapid Response Fleet, and some that he had no clue what they were for.

  Over there, he saw the larger brick-like shapes with their four positional thruster arms similar to a standard CMC bomber, and elsewhere he saw smaller four-winged craft that could be the experimental version of a new type of fighter craft. They were smaller than the regular fighter craft, but with a sharper, meaner nose and a fatter wedge of thrusters at the back.

  Then came the more quixotic craft—ships with two sets of outer rings and a long inner body that looked a little like someone had jammed two jump-ships together. Or a couple that appeared to be haphazard collections of spheres attached by thin access tubes, and no apparent propulsion system at all.

  Flash! Even as the sight of the mysterious fleet swam before his eyes, Solomon saw one of the sleek experimental fighters suddenly erupt in a gout of flame and plasma as one of the CMC fighters fired a payload of Hellfire missiles at it, which sent it turning end over end into the stationary experimental fighter beside it.

  “It’s like shooting fish. Why aren’t they responding?” Jezzy breathed.

  “Because they haven’t been activated, dammit!” Ochrie said. “The Test Fleet is comprised of craft, and hardly any personnel at all. There aren’t pilots to fly them!”

  Warning! Target Lock Detected!

  Ratko growled in frustration. On the tactical screens above them, Solomon could see the small, fast blip of a Hellfire missile closing in on their position.

  “Plasma vent!” Solomon called out, remembering just what he had done aboard a transporter earlier to avoid a very similar position.

  Ratko didn’t say anything but nodded grimly, understanding immediately what the lieutenant meant. “Opening propellant injectors 1 through 3,” she said as there was a judder from the scout.

  Outside their ship, the CMC attack craft would have seen three sudden and small plumes of purple, blue, red, and yellow gases spume out of the back of the scout. The propellant ignited as soon as it got near the burn of the thrusters, expanding and creating a shifting cloak of burning plasma for a brief moment.

  But a brief moment was all they needed.

  Hellfire missiles rely primarily on thermal scanning, Solomon knew. They locked onto the large heat signatures of a craft’s thrusters and engine block and followed it to detonation.

  But now the missile had a new, and much nearer heat signature that burned hotter than the thruster flame for the briefest of moments before evap
oration.

  Flash! It self-detonated as soon as it entered the plasma field, and the scout was zooming forward, saved.

  “Genius,” Ratko complimented him.

  “Not quite…” Solomon saw the ship’s warning flicker onto the overhead screen.

  Warning! Propellant Mixture -35%!

  “We can’t do that too many times,” Solomon said. Well, we can’t do that too many times if we also want to be able to ignite the thrusters and positional rockets.

  “Frack,” Ratko said.

  But Solomon had an idea. “Ochrie—Chief, I mean—are the ships automated? Remote-controlled, like the experimental jump-ship?” The one that had just been blown from the sky, he thought.

  “Of course!” Chief Ochrie said, nodding at Willoughby to open a broadcast channel. “Input Order: Voice Activation Commander-in-Chief Ochrie!” she called desperately.

  If they were waiting for a response from the vessel, they got none, but they all knew they didn’t have time to knock and wait politely.

  “Activate Fleet!” Ochrie said.

  “Send us the remote access!” Solomon hissed, running to the side of the bridge where a line of spare consoles was sitting, doing nothing but processing data. These, he knew, could be used by the crew of the craft to dedicate certain roles to certain officers—gunnery, tactical operations, science analysis, and so on…

  “Sir?” Jezzy said in a confused voice. The captain’s command chair was still empty.

  “She’s your boat, Jezzy, take the helm!” Solomon said as he heard Ochrie ordering the automated fleet to send their remote access protocols to the scout.

  Flash! Another of the experimental fighters exploded, and one of the heavy bombers was listing to one side, two of its four ‘thruster arms’ horribly broken and melted.

  Access Granted.

  On Solomon’s console, which had no accompanying command chair, flight or firing sticks, were the hologram controls above the black screen as well as a series of overlay tactical images on the viewing screens above.

  ECH TEST FLEET COMMAND PROTOCOL

  Complement:

  Nightjar Fighter Craft Group 1 (5 vessels) ACTIVATED

  Nightjar Fighter Craft Group 2 COMPROMISED (4 vessels) ACTIVATED

  Nightjar Fighter Craft Group 3 COMPROMISED (2 vessels) ACTIVATED

  Vulture Heavy Bomber Group COMPROMISED (2 vessels) ACTIVATED

  Retribution Tactical Fighter Group (2 vessels) ACTIVATED

  Ouroboros Jump-craft (2 vessels) ACTIVATED

  Ragnarök Spheres (2 vessels) ACTIVATED

  “What am I looking at here?” Solomon said, half to himself and half to Ochrie. But he knew he didn’t have time for an answer, either. I’ll have to leave all the ships that I have no idea what they do, like the Ouroboros and the spheres…

  But when it came to the names of the other ships, Solomon thought he had a much better sense of what they might be capable of. Already, several of the attack groups were compromised, which he thought meant that they had already lost ships from their number or had been damaged by Hausman’s attacks. He had to move fast.

  “Jezzy? I’m sending you the controls for Nightjar Group 2 and the Vulture Heavy Bomber Group, you think you got that?”

  “Aye-aye, sir,” Jezzy said from her command chair, even though her tone sounded deeply confused.

  No time to be confused, Solomon thought as under his fingertips, the available ECH craft appeared in small groups like a computer game, with a catch-all list of commands.

  >Full Offense

  >Full Defense

  >Search and Destroy

  >Protect

  “I guess they automate after you set their operational style,” Solomon said, selecting Nightjar Group 1 and 3 and putting them into full offensive mode, while selecting the Retribution Heavy Tactical Fighters and setting them to Search and Destroy.

  Instantly, the ECH craft on the tactical displays started to peel off in their groups, with Solomon in charge of seven Nightjars and two Retributions. He realized that by using his hands, he could direct the different groups en masse, while each craft in their groups would also perform their own maneuvers to attack and evade in combat.

  This is just like playing a computer game, Solomon thought, and although he didn’t have much experience playing them—he’d always had too little time while planning or executing real-world heists and scams—he did remember many happy hours as a young teen playing Battle Stars or Frontier Assault.

  The eight CMC craft of Hausman’s group were all operating in skirmish mode, Solomon saw—a classic full offensive that encouraged each of the CMC fighter pilots to select individual targets at will, so long as they fitted the remit of the mission.

  Which is presumably to destroy as much of the Test Fleet as possible, Solomon thought.

  He moved the largest of the Nightjar groups into a direct attack vector against the largest knot of CMC fighters—five against four, as it happened—while the two ‘spare’ craft, he put on a wider arc around the same group.

  “I’m going to drive them out from the ECH,” Solomon called. “They’ll probably scatter—”

  Which they did. The four CMC fighters—all good pilots, it had to be said—separated into a wider cloud of escaping craft.

  The Nightjars opened fire, and on the viewing screen above, Solomon saw the sparkle of fire from the opening and closing weapons ports.

  Hit! Target Down.

  Hit! Target Compromised.

  His main body of Nightjars managed to secure two solid strikes, with only one of the swerving CMC fighters exploding and the other jerking to one side but still operational.

  On the viewing screen, the CMC fighters moved with the speed and skill of sparrows in quick, sudden movements. They deployed chaff behind them in glittering plumes of aluminum, chrome, and gas.

  But Solomon’s command instincts were already paying off. Two of the fleeing CMC fighters encountered his reserve two Nightjars, and as Solomon’s reserve craft opened fire, one of the escaping CMC fighters flew straight into it.

  Hit! Target Down.

  But as Solomon had recognized, the CMC fighters were good. One of the two fighters fired its full complement of Hellfire missiles in response, and Solomon’s reserve Nightjars had already been compromised from the first attack.

  Warning! Multiple Target Locks Nightjar Group 3, Vessels 1 and 2.

  Nightjar Group 3:

  Vessel 1 COMPOMISED. DESTROYED.

  Vessel 2 COMPROMISED. NON-OPERATIONAL.

  As Solomon watched in frustration, curves of flame hit his two reserve craft, one of which promptly exploded into spiraling fragments while the other pinwheeled end over end, its rear thrusters destroyed.

  “But it’s still four against two,” Solomon growled fiercely to himself, setting the remaining Nightjar Group 1 to Search and Destroy on the final two CMC fighters of this attack vector. The Nightjars appeared to be faster than the CMC ships, but perhaps not as maneuverable—or rather, they couldn’t perform the slightly erratic, quick-fire turns that their CMC sister-craft could.

  But they could close on their enemy all the quicker, and they appeared to be able to target with more accuracy. Solomon left the Nightjar group to their task as he turned his attention to the rest of the battle.

  “Jezzy? How are you doing over there?” he called out, his hand already moving to the two heavy tactical craft that he had sent on a wide arc around the ECH.

  Solomon could see that Jezzy’s remote command had been going well, considering the craft she had been given. She had control of Nightjar Group 2, with four vessels in it, and the experimental Vulture bombers with two craft inside, while she fought three CMC fighters.

  “Good, I think,” he heard her reply. On the overhead tactical displays, Solomon could see that Jezzy had sent the two bombers on a charge, with the four Nightjars spiraling around them in Protect mode.

  The three remaining CMC fighters could easily outpace the slower-moving bombers, but t
he four accompanying Nightjars sent a near-constant barrage of fire against them. Added to this were the heavier guns of the bombers. Jezzy hadn’t fired any of the bombers’ largest payloads yet, not against such small craft.

  As Solomon watched, one of the four protecting Nightjars was blown backward by a lucky CMC Hellfire missile, but two of the three CMC fighters were destroyed in circles of light and fire by the charging attack group that Jezzy had created.

  Solomon checked his own battle.

  Mission Accomplished. All Targets Destroyed.

  62% Hit Ratio.

  2 Nightjar Vessels Destroyed.

  2 Nightjar Vessels Rendered Non-operational. Begin Auto-repair?

  Solomon didn’t even know they could do that, but he swiped his hand into the affirmative hologram logo all the same. A tiny circle started to fill up very slowly with green ‘health.’

  “They have on-board drones,” Ochrie explained, watching the overhead tactical displays like a hawk. “If they can’t fix the ship, they’ll communicate to get it transported back to the ECH garages.”

  “Sweet system,” Solomon murmured. He had lost two vessels out of the seven under his command, and a further two had been critically damaged. Against five CMC fighters, that wasn’t the sort of ratio he had been looking for, but considering that this was his first experience as a remote commander, he considered it a success.

  This must be what it’s like for Asquew all the time, Solomon thought. And Hausman.

  There was only one CMC fighter craft left.

  “I got it!” Jezzy said, and her hands started to move through her tactical commands.

  “Belay that order!” Solomon shouted quickly. “Hold back and follow it. Let it think it’s accelerating,” Solomon said.

  Jezzy looked puzzled and annoyed, but Solomon quickly explained his reasoning as he settled his hand on the wide sweep of the Retribution Heavy Fighters.