Marine

by Joshua Dalzelle

  His team was all lined up, sitting in chairs that were too big for them and restrained. They looked like they'd been worked over pretty good from the bruising and cuts he saw on their faces, but they were otherwise unharmed.

  "Holy shit! LT!? What happened to you? It looks like half your head has been burned off."

  "We need to move!" Jacob said, pulling his combat knife and cutting through the plastic restraints holding Murph to the chair. He then handed the Murph the knife and pointed to the others. "Free them. Mettler, Scarponi is in the hall and needs medical attention. We're taking him with us. I'm going back down to collect Zadra, and then we need to get out of here. Fast!"

  "After that first explosion, I figured Webb sent a ship to hit the place with an orbital strike," MG said. "What the hell was that?"

  "Later," Jacob said. "Hurry!"

  Jacob raced back down the hall, stopping to check that Scarponi was still out of commission, and ran down the stairs to get to the factory floor. He came around the corner of a machine just in time to see Hollick trying to pull Zadra up onto her feet. The Veran looked to be resisting, but she was obviously still in no shape to put up much of a fight.

  "Hollick! Drop her!" Jacob shouted, sighting down his rifle at the ex-spook.

  "Lieutenant Brown!" Hollick smiled. "So, you survived your own idiocy. Impressive." Before Jacob could say anything else, Hollick looped an arm under Zadra and pulled her around in front of him, using her as a shield and pressing the muzzle of his pistol into her head. "Careful, Lieutenant, you wouldn't want to explain to Captain Webb how you made it all this way and then shot through your mission objective to get to me."

  "Great, another standoff," Jacob muttered. He was running on fumes at this point, the constant running, shooting, surviving, and adrenaline dumps having sapped away his energy to the point that he felt like a wet noodle. There was almost a sense of detachment as his neural implant worked to block the pain signals from the worst of his injuries, like he was watching everything happen to someone else instead of him.

  "I just want out of here, Brown," Hollick said. "I'll take her to keep everyone honest. We'll all go home, lick our wounds, and then you guys can take another crack at getting her."

  "That's not—" the sound of running feet cut Jacob off. Hollick looked to his right and yanked his pistol away from Zadra's head, firing wildly at something Jacob couldn't see from his vantage point. Since nobody was returning fire, he had to assume it was his own people. They must have taken a different route across the factory floor when they came down.

  He still couldn't get a clean shot at any of Hollick's vital areas with Zadra in the way, but the idiot was holding his pistol far out and away from his body. Jacob lined up his shot, remembered that the rifle hit a little high, and squeezed off a quick burst. The brilliant blue bolts hit Hollick mid-forearm, severing his hand and sending it, and his pistol, spinning away. Astonishingly, that only seemed to piss him off. He gave Jacob a hate filled glare before shoving Zadra away and sprinting the opposite direction.

  Jacob went to give chase but his legs felt like rubber. He was spent. By the time he made it to Zadra, his team was walking into view, Mettler dragging a bandaged up Scarponi, and the others checking the area for any weapons they could use to defend themselves.

  "Take a load off, LT, and I'll check you over," Mettler said. "That head injury looks pretty bad."

  "It's not great," Jacob agreed, sinking to the floor and resting his back up against a crate. "I'll just be right here if you guys need me."

  "Murph's going to find a workable com so we can call in the cavalry," Mettler told him. "Just hang on and we'll get you patched up. You did good, LT."

  Jacob's vision blurred and tunneled as he tried to watch his team go about their tasks. Fight it though he tried, he slipped into unconsciousness moments later.

  Chapter 28

  "You back among the living, kid?"

  Jacob's mind was still a little fuzzy, and he figured he must still be unconscious and dreaming. There was almost no pain throughout his body, and it felt like he was lying in a plush, comfortable bed. When he cracked his eye open, he was assaulted by a bright, white light and a moan escaped his lips.

  "Shit, sorry. Is that better?"

  When he opened them again the room was much dimmer, but no less confusing. The last thing he remembered was slumping over on a factory floor on Theta Suden, but now it looked like he was in a hospital room of some sort.

  "Med bay on the UES Kentucky." Captain Webb seemed to read his mind. "Murphy got hold of a com unit on the surface and called in your status. We were already in orbit so we sent a team to retrieve you. It was a race to get there before the locals did, but we were able to extract you without much trouble."

  "My men?"

  "Safe, sound, and bored." Webb smiled. "You've been sedated for a few days while the doc tended to your injuries. The broken ribs were no big deal, but that plasma bolt that grazed your melon did some real damage. Even with all the slick nano-tech we have now, you're still going to have a hell of a scar."

  "Zadra?" Jacob's mind was starting to chug up to full speed and the memory of all that happened on that godforsaken moon was coming back.

  "She's in a VIP suite two decks down. You did damn good securing her, Lieutenant…damn good."

  "Sir, she sold us out." Jacob tried to sit up. "When we—"

  "I know, I know." Webb pushed him back down. "Welcome to the intelligence world…where you can't trust anybody, not even yourself. Murphy and Mettler filled me in on most of the gory details about how she'd been manipulating things since Niceen-3."

  "They wanted you," Jacob said, his eyes narrowing. "Hollick didn't give a damn about her intel network, they were trying to get you specifically there."

  "Yes," Webb said simply. "The reason for that is classified about a million levels above your paygrade, but I can let you have a peek. You're aware that the new classes of starships being built by humans are far more advanced than our first efforts, right?"

  "Sure."

  "Well, they're also quite a bit more advanced than most spacefaring species in this quadrant can build," Webb said. "We've publicly said we reverse engineered the ships from the first alien attack on Earth, but that's only part of the truth. We've had some…help…along the way. Margaret Jansen has managed to figure that out and who the key players involved were. She thinks that if she captures one of us, we'll be able to lead her to the source."

  "Since you're telling me this, I'm assuming that's not the case," Jacob said. "Either that or you're going to kill me."

  "She's mistaken in her belief that we'd be able to gain her access," Webb said. "I think she assumes that it's just a… You know what? Never mind. It doesn't matter either way because all of the principle players involved have agreed that none of us will be taken alive to be questioned and we've ensured that with certain steps." Jacob decided he'd rather not know any more. He'd carried so many secrets since finding out about his parentage as a teenager that he didn't need another on top of it.

  "What happens now, sir?"

  "We're about a week away from Terranovus, where I'll either be commended for successfully retrieving the asset or relieved of command because one of my covert recon teams blew up two buildings on one world, shot up an apartment building on another, and during all that, found time to steal an unlicensed warship from a starport because they scuttled their own irreplaceable vessel," Webb said. "Oh, you meant what happens to you?"

  "Yes, sir," Jacob said, deciding not to refute the captain's laundry list of fuck-ups he'd been central to on this mission.

  "In your own way, you successfully wrapped up your mission and satisfied the terms of our deal," Webb said. "I'll cash in a few favors and you'll be an ensign in the Navy and put back on the career track of serving aboard capital ships, if that's what you still want, of course."

  There it was. After that nightmare of a mission Webb was going to honor his deal and Jacob would get what he wanted. So w
hy was he hesitating?

  "This job…it's…important, isn't it, sir?" Jacob was struggling to put his thoughts into words.

  "Sure." Webb shrugged. "You remember what you're taught at the Academy: all jobs in the UEAS are important. From the lowly cook to the—"

  "You know what I mean, sir," Jacob interrupted. "This mission…we were right in the middle of something huge, something that would have a large impact on Earth as a whole."

  "I know what you mean," Webb said. "While I'm tempted to take advantage of your post-op enthusiasm, let me temper it with a dose of reality. Most missions aren't like this one. For the most part, my Scout Fleet teams do a lot of boring recon of systems and planets at the behest of Fleet. It's probable you'd go the rest of your career without getting shot in the head again or having to outwit another ex-spy that faked his own death and is working with our enemies.

  "You do seem to have a knack for this work. You also seem to share your father's unbridled passion for destroying large tracts of property to minimally advance your mission goals, but a knack nonetheless. This work is important, but I won't lie to you and say it's always this…exciting."

  "Would I get to stay with Obsidian?" Jacob asked.

  "Yes, but I can't leave you in overall command of the team as a second lieutenant," Webb said. "This was an oddball situation, but before Obsidian is deployed again, I'll have to move over one of our more experienced team commanders to take Mosler's spot."

  "Understood," Jacob said, secretly relieved. And in that sense of relief he had his answer. Somewhere between being pissed off about getting forced into NAVSOC and running a counterintelligence operation on an alien world, the idea of spending the rest of his career trying to climb the political ladder of starship command no longer appealed to him like it once did.

  "If it's all the same to you, sir, I think I'll stay where I am."

  "Very well, Marine." Webb stood up. "Somehow, I thought that might be your answer."

  "Can I still have that political favor you were going to burn and save it for later?"

  "Don't push it."

  Webb's return to Taurus Station was not that of a conquering hero. In his absence, Admiral Remey had done a lot of damage, likely because she saw an opportunity to edge Webb out and take command of NAVSOC herself. On Earth, she was little more than a glorified errand runner despite the star on her collar. But on Terranovus, she could rule over an entire section that came with its own fleet, fat budget, and a secret base. When Webb had fled aboard the Kentucky to salvage the Zadra operation, Remey had quickly gone to work using her contacts in Central Command get her reports to the right people and paint a picture that Captain Webb was a dangerous loose cannon who was only barely in control of his own people.

  The result was that by the time Webb's Jumper landed on the pad, his secret installation was awash in brass and their staff, all waiting for his return. He'd been given a bit or pre-warning from one of his more loyal aides who had managed to get a message to the Kentucky in a clever roundabout way, so when he landed at his base, he was ready for the firing squad Remey had doubtless organized in his honor.

  "Captain Webb, your presence is requested in base ops immediately, sir."

  "Understood. Please have Commander Waterman called down there to meet me."

  "Sorry, sir, but Lieutenant Commander Waterman has been reassigned. He's no longer on Taurus Station."

  Now Webb was pissed. They must have found out that Waterman had warned him about Remey's witch hunt and had the officer shipped off where he couldn't cause any more trouble. When he marched into base ops, he was directed to one of the main conference rooms. He couldn't help but notice all the extra security in place around the building, most of them Navy military police and not ones he recognized. He was escorted into the room and offered a seat while Remey and a vice admiral he'd never seen before walked in with their staff in tow.

  "Captain Webb, welcome back," Remey said. "This is Vice Admiral Wynne, he's here at my request to discuss some of the…irregularities…I've discovered during your recent disappearance."

  "I did not disappear, Admiral," Webb said. "As I clearly stated to you when you arrived, I had active operations in the field that I needed to support."

  "And that's where you were?" Wynne asked, not bothering to offer a greeting or proper introduction. "On an active operation?"

  "Yes, sir. One that was successfully concluded, I might add."

  "What was the mission?" Wynne asked.

  "I don't know if you have the clearance to know that, sir," Webb said. "This was a mission for NIS at the request of Director Welford." Wynne's expression was blank, but Webb could see the red creeping up his neck and the flushing of his cheeks. He probably could have handled that better.

  The cat and mouse game went back and forth for the better part of an hour. The longer it went, the worse it got for Remey. She'd had to admit more than once in front of her boss that she'd far exceeded her authority as an observer by assuming authority over the base without knowing where Webb had gone or why. Wynne had insisted that a unique, composite force like Scout Fleet made more sense as an NIS managed program until Webb had shown that most of the work they did was directly for Fleet Ops, not NIS.

  By the end of the second hour, the tables had been turned and Remey was fighting for her professional life as Wynne grilled her on the content of her reports and her baseless insinuations. Webb felt genuinely bad for her. She probably saw an opportunity, miscalculated when she thought she could push a lowly captain aside to get it, and was then committed to riding it all the way into the ground afterward. It was the sort of political bullshit that infected the command structure of any large military organization.

  "One last issue, Captain, and then I'll let you get back to your duties," Wynne said. "We've received some disturbing reports about the actions of one of your Scout Fleet teams…lots of collateral damage and destroyed Fleet equipment in the course of a simple recovery mission. Where is that team now?"

  "Unfortunately, that team suffered heavy casualties during that mission, sir," Webb said, now aware that Wynne had already known all the details of the Zadra mission when he'd asked the first time. "The surviving members are recovering in an NIS facility until they're fit to travel back to Terranovus."

  In truth, the remaining members of Team Obsidian had loaded back aboard their stolen gunboat and had flown to a planet called Fideon Prime, where they were staying at another NIS safe house. At least Webb had been honest about that last part. When he'd learned about the potential political fallout waiting for them back on Terranovus, he had put Sullivan in command of the team and ordered them someplace outside of Naval jurisdiction and told them to lay low until he sorted things out. He didn't want his low-ranking personnel getting caught up in a dragnet meant for him.

  Once he was certain Remey's half-assed attempt to get his job had died out completely, he'd send word and recall the team…maybe. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense to not have 3rd Scout Corps teams based out of Terranovus. Maybe he could work out a deal with Director Welford and have them deployed remotely so they'd be able to more efficiently respond when a tasking came down. His internal musings were interrupted when he realized that Wynne had addressed him.

  "Sir?" he asked.

  "I said you're dismissed, Captain," Wynne said. "We won't need to take up any more of your time for the rest of this."

  "Of course, sir." Webb stood. "Have a safe flight back to Earth, Admirals."

  "Like father, like son," Director Michael Welford said, whistling in appreciation at the damage Jacob Brown had done in the course of rescuing his own men. The images on the large wall monitor in his office were from the Kentucky, taken when the ship had been in low orbit.

  "So it would seem, but don't tell him that," Webb said, swirling the expensive whiskey in his glass. "That kid really hates his old man."

  "The best soldiers usually do," Welford said. "They always seem to fight just a little harder with tha
t chip on their shoulder. We do need to be careful, however. If Burke finds out—"

  "I know, I know." Webb waved him off. "But Jacob volunteered for this in the end. I gave him the option of getting out and standing around on a fleet cruiser playing grab ass while they fly around following a Cridal ship."

  "You're in an odd mood considering the fact we've successfully acquired one of the most extensive intelligence networks in the region," Welford said.

  "How is Zadra?"

  "Loaded up onto a high-speed transport and on her way to the Avarian Empire to start her new life. Everything she gave us checks out. It won't be cheap to use her network as a strategic asset, but it'll be worth it."

  "As to why I'm in a mood, you don't find it just a bit depressing at how many people the One World faction has been able to flip?" Webb asked. "I never saw how deep the poison had gotten, and that lack of sight cost me one of my best people."

  "We've got Scarponi in advanced interrogation," Welford said. "But none of this is why I wanted to talk to you in person."

  "Oh boy, I can't wait for this," Webb said.

  "I've been hearing rumors that Earth is propping up some black programs having to do with genetic manipulation," Welford said.

  "The super-soldier shit again?" Webb groaned. "Every group of volunteers has gone batshit crazy and homicidal whenever we've messed around with their genetic makeup."

  "With all the new nano-tech we've gotten recently, along with the reports from people who've seen Jason Burke in action, someone has decided that it's worth another look," Welford said. "The reason I'm telling you is that I'm worried stories about your new Scout Fleet lieutenant's feats of strength may put him on the wrong person's radar. If you want him to live his life other than as a lab rat, I'd suggest you tell him to keep it reined in."

  "Noted," Webb said. "And you've just reminded me of something I wanted to ask you. If we can make my idea work, it'll make it that much harder for some black program to get their hands on him."