He Who Dares: Book One (The Gray Chronicals 1)

by Rob Buckman

  “Thank you, Sir.” He stopped, as if trying to choose his words. His face screwed up and he wiped his hand over it, looking as if he was trying to decide something.

  “Spit it out Chief!” Mike said tiredly, rubbing his face to get some life back into it.

  “If I might suggest, Sir. That would be the stupidest thing you could do!” He snapped, angry at himself for breaking his own rules about helping officers.

  “Chief!” Mike looked up, shocked at his tone of voice.

  “Look. This mission was screwed up from the get go. You know it and I know it,” he growled, un-perturbed by Mike’s sharp rebuke, “they put the two worst people I can think of in charge, and that’s not saying much for the rest of us.” Mike looked at him in surprise.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Mike swallowed hard, knowing he was going to hate the answer.

  “Have you taken a good look at who they picked out of the so called volunteers for this mission?” he growled, seeing the blank look on Mike’s face.

  Conner angrily kicked an inoffensive rock across the cavern, hearing it clatter away in the darkness. Mike could see that something was eating him, and it wasn’t just the way the mission was going.

  “Well, no, not really, it wasn’t my…” Again, Conner had pointed up something else he should have done and hadn’t.

  “Then I’ll tell you,” Conner cut him off, “I’m a busted Petty Officer, and most of the others are screw-ups in more ways than one.” He wasn’t painting a very pretty picture, yet Mike couldn’t believe it was as bad as he said. Unless the bean counters figured that into their calculations as well.

  “The Marines are all deadbeats and gold bricks, and that doesn’t say much for the rest of the crew.” He added. Conner Blake turned his head and spat on the ground in disgust, looking at if he had something nasty in his mouth.

  “I still don’t follow.” Mike had a horrible feeling he did.

  “Look. You put in a report that you failed to load a few frigging supplies ain’t going to make a fucking bit of difference one way of the other, except to get a black mark on your S-206 file.”

  “But…” he started to say, but Conner cut him off again with a quick chop of his hand, as if wanting to get it out before he changed his mind. He hunched his shoulders, as if about to charge, or take a swing at something.

  “This mission was doomed from the start, and I suspect the Admiralty knew it, that’s why the dead beat crew.”

  “I don’t follow,” Mike said, knowing it sounded lame.

  “Because they wouldn’t be missed if we got our assess blown out of space.” He let out a bitter sounding laugh. “Hell, we’d be fucking heroes and get a fancy Navy funeral along with a nice shiny tin medal.”

  “But… but…” Mike stuttered, unable to frame a thought at the moment.

  “No buts, Sir.”

  “That’s doesn’t make sense!”

  “So why then do we have the oldest, most worn out piece of crap for a ship they could find?”

  “We do?”

  “That’s nothing but a bucket of bolts held together with spit, rust and bailing wire!” He waved a ham like hand back down the tunnel for emphasis.

  “Is it?” Mike asked in surprise.

  “Too right!” Conner gave a nasty chuckle with little humor in it, “I checked, Sir. That ship was on its way to the breaker yard before they assigned it to this mission.”

  “Good god!” Mike mentally floundered about, trying to find a footing in a sea of doubt, “but what about me?” He said at last.

  “You, Sir?”

  “Yes, me, damn it?” Conner looked uncomfortable. “Spit it out Blake, you’ve come this far!” Mike snarled, surging to his feet, hot anger burning the fatigue fog out of his system.

  “Meaning no disrespect, Sir, but you’re as expendable as the rest of us.” He needed to learn the truth sometimes, now was as good a time as any.

  “How do you figure that?” Mike asked, balling his fists.

  “I did a little checking with records, Sir. You’re from the colony Worlds in the Signas Prime cluster.”

  “Yes, I’m from Epsilon Three, Kellman, what of it!” He was still prickly when someone mentioned about him being a colonial, even if he wasn’t originally from Kellman, but Avalon.

  “Don’t get your dander up, Sir. I’m not one to make judgment when it comes to something like that. I’m from Trinity myself.” He gave Mike a lopsided grin.

  “Heard that was a rough place, civil war raging back and forth all over the place,” Mike said, nodding to himself.

  “Yeah, you could say that. More like uncontrolled anarchy.” He gave Mike a tight grin. “Like they say about the Irish, …’they don’t know what they want, but are willing to fight like hell to get it’…

  “So? You have a point to make, Chief?” Mike could feel his temper rising, and fought to control it.

  “I know how Earth born people, especially the officers, look on colonials.” He leaned back against the rock wall and slid to the ground, taking a less threatening posture. Conner could see how sensitive Mike was about his colonial status, and with a sigh, he took some of the coffee himself.

  “I can imagine what your fellow officer think of you, and have some idea of how you are treated.” Mike clenched his jaw, carefully swallowing a few times.

  “Let’s just say, it isn’t pleasant.”

  “That’s my point, Sir. You’re just an Ensign and a colonial to boot.” He gulped half a mug of hot coffee, nodding in satisfaction at the amount of Brandy he’d added, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before continuing.

  “If you got killed or captured, so what?” The unspoken thought was that no one on Earth would make much of a fuss if he died. If it was one of their own, someone Earth born, someone powerful enough to ask embarrassing questions.

  “You have a point there,” he admitted at last.

  “I suspect the only reason you managed to get into the academy was because of the political situation, and a few connections, right?” Reluctantly Mike nodded.

  “God! But that’s old blooded.” Mike shivered, thinking of the calculated callousness of the decision to send him.

  “I hate to be the one to burst your happy little bubble, Skipper, but that’s how I see it. This little joy ride wasn’t a ‘reward for services rendered’ as they say.”

  “It still leaves the burning question of why send us if they expected us to fail.”

  “Expected, or wanted us to?” Conner raised a bushy eyebrow.

  “Good grief Chief, you are suspicious. Why on earth would they want us to fail?” Now his sea of doubt turned into an ocean, a very deep one. Conner was seeing things about this mission, he’d never considered.

  “That I can’t answer Sir, not yet at least,” Conner mused thoughtfully, “give me a little time and I might find out.”

  “So what do we do now?” His temper evaporated as the horrifying reality of the situation sunk in.

  “That’s for you to decide, Sir.” Mike’s bark of a laugh brought Conner Blake’s head up.

  “Chief, I was pissing my pants up there,” Mike pointed upward with his thumb, “all I wanted to do was cut and run for home as fast as I could.” Mike shook his head in exasperation.

  “So did I, Sir,” Conner reluctantly admitted, looking down and the rock floor to hide his embarrassment. “I was praying you’d give me the order to turn and run, but you didn’t.”

  “You? I don’t believe it.” Mike turned and gently thumped his fist against the cold stone wall, feeling as if he wanted to smash something.

  He began to shake as the realization of what he done sank in. He’d had his chance to run and missed it, getting them into a worse mess than before. After the stealth mine exploded, he should have turned the ship around and headed back through the jump gate and the transport ship. They would now be home safe, drinking a cold beer, or getting chewed out. Instead, they were in so deep they had to go on, anything else was
out of the question. While it was happening, he didn’t really have time to be scared, just react to the situation, and do his best. Now he did. So what else was new, he’d been in deeper shit than this before. A shiver ran up his spine, and his legs shook so bad he had to sit down again. He was way out of his depth here, and only now realizing the situation he’d got them all into. Before, he’d had some idea of what, and how to do it, but this.

  “I can’t do it Chief, I’m scared!” He muttered at last, leaving out what he was scared of.

  “So are we all, Sir.”

  “God! What a stupid mess,” he snarled, angry with himself. Why the hell did this keep happening to him? It was as if he was jinxed or something. After the last time, he swore to himself he say out of situations like this where he had to make life of death decisions. So much for that plan.

  “Yes, Sir, I agree.”

  “So what am I supposed to do?” he growled to hide the plea in his voice, but Conner remained silent. “Chief?”

  “I can’t help you, Sir. It has to be your decision.”

  “Har!” He barked. “And how the fuck am I supposed to do that? The crew barely tolerates me. You think they’re going to do what the hell I tell them?” He knew one way to do it, but an officer, especially junior officers wasn’t supposed to beat the crap out of his crew to make them do what he ordered.

  Banging heads together wouldn’t work in this situation. He jerked to his feet and stormed back and forth for a moment before stopping in front of Conner Blake. He’d probably have a mutiny on his hands if he ordered them to carry on, and yet, that's exactly what he had to do. The only thing left was to fall back on his training and experience.

  “They will, Sir, or they’ll answer to me.” Conner said softly. Mike turned his head sharply and looked at Conner.

  “Why, Chief?” He asked. Conner Blake shrugged and gave him a lopsided grin. He looked like a church gargoyle when he did that.

  “Let’s just say that I’d like to see their faces when we come back with the survivors,” he chuckled.

  “Bullshit! It's more than that, Chief. You don’t like, and don’t give a crap about officers and it’s no good pretending you do. So why the helping hand?” Now it was Conner’s turn to look uncertain.

  “Let’s just say, that I’d like to see a kid from a colony world make it for a change, and leave it at that,” he said at last.

  “You’re putting a lot of faith in me, Chief.” Mike suspected there was more to it, a lot more, but didn’t press the point, letting Conner’s statement stand.

  “Not really, Sir. I’ve seen your file from the academy and based on that, and the way you handled yourself up there I know you can do it.”

  “Jesus Christ! Not you as well…” he stopped, not wanting to go there. “On the strength of that, you think I can pull this supposed rescue mission off?” Mike laughed.

  “Oh, I know you can do it, Sir, you just don’t know you can.” Mike snorted and shook his head. “There’s one thing you didn’t do up there.”

  “And what’s that? Mike growled. “Shit, my pants?”

  “No, you didn’t lose your head and panic like Leftenant Kelso would have.”

  “You’re a better man than I, Gunga Din.” Mike shook his head again, almost to the point of telling Conner more. Then he bit his tongue and said nothing.

  “Pardon, Sir?"

  “Nothing, Chief, just something someone wrote a long time ago.”

  “I take it that you are ready to continue, Sir?”

  “Yes, Chief-of-the Boat, Conner Blake, you can take it I am. Shaky knees and all.” That brought a smile to Conner’s face.

  “Your orders, Sir!” Conner said, getting to his feet and coming to attention. Mike thought about it for a moment, considering how to establish his authority. Then again, he already knew how to do that.

  “I want the Marine detachment on parade in ten minutes in full battle gear for an inspection, Chief.” That was something he knew how to handle.

  “Aye-aye, Captain!” Conner snapped, saluting smartly before turning on his heels and heading back to the shuttle.

  Mike let out a sigh and sat for a moment, drinking another cup of 'sweetened' coffee, gathering himself as he watched Conner Blake walk away. As always now, doubt assailed him. Could he do it? Could he take this deadbeat crew, a worn out ship and rescue the survivors? There was no answer, but he knew he was going to try. They were passed the point of no return and he might as well carry on as quit. At least he'd managed to get to the moon, so they were over the first hurdle. Climbing aboard, Conner called down to the Marine deck for the senior NCO. That was Corporal Rice now since Sergeant Eckhart was on the injured list.

  “What's up, Conner?” Rice asked as he walked into the main cabin.

  “That's Chief-of-the-boat to you, Corporal,” he growled, giving Rice a sharp look, “the Captain want your detachment outside in full battle gear for an inspection in five minutes.”

  “You have to be joking! That snotty nosed Ensign wants to pull a fucking inspection at a time like this? Is he crazy?”

  “If the Captain wants you to charge hell in your jock strap and nothing but a bucket of snowballs, that what you will do Corporal Rice, or you'll answer to me, is that clear?” He barked the last part leaning forward slightly, setting Corporal Rice back on his heels. Rice looked at him a moment, then sneered.

  “Oh, I see. You and the pretty boy Ensign are bunk budd…” He stopped. There was a hard look on Conner Blake's face that said he'd better not finish the sentence.

  “Aye-aye, Chief, “he answered, coming to attention. “Inspection outside in full battle gear in five minutes it is.” When Conner Blake was in one of his black Irish moods, it didn't pay to argue with him.

  With that, he turned and ran for the cramped Marine deck, muttering to himself. With a lot of grumbling and swearing the Marines turn out, some practically dragging their equipment with them, dressing on the run. In eight minutes Rice had them in some semblance of order and called the troop to attention.

  “Corporal Rice and Marine detachment reporting as ordered, SIR!” He snapped, coming to attention and saluting as Mike walked up, barely hiding his displeasure.

  Conner Blake had set up several battle lanterns around the cavern, but in the dim light it was impossible for him to tell the look on the Marine's faces. Contempt probably. Instead of relaying his orders thought CPO Blake per naval regulation he gave them directly to Corporal Rice. This way he hoped to establish his authority quicker.

  “Open order march, Corporal, and dress that line.” Mike hoped his voice sounded as firm as it once had.

  “Aye-aye, Sir.” Rice turned. “Squad! Attention - open order march!”

  The four men of the front rank shuffled forward, muttering to themselves. They put their right arm up to touch the shoulder of the man next to them, fist closed, measuring the correct distance between them. Once done, they each dropped their arm and snapped their head forward. The whole thing was sloppy, bordering on insolence.

  “Do it again, Corporal.” For a moment, Corporal Rice eyed him, gritting his teeth.

  “Squad. Close order - march!” Rice ordered after a moment's hesitation, a grim look on his face. He waited a moment. “Squad. Open order - MARCH!” He barked.

  This time it was better, but Mike still wasn't satisfied. He had to establish his authority as soon as possible or he'd never get anything done. Feeling somewhat embarrassed he mustered up the image of a certain Senior Drill Instructor he knew, and the scathing tone he'd used.

  “That was pathetic, Corporal. I thought you were supposed to be Royal Marines,” his voice dripped contempt, “this lot looks like a bunch of arthritic old washer women. Now do it again!”

  Officers don't usually bellow like drill instructors, but this one did, and it set Corporal Rice back on his heels. In all Mike had them do it four more times before he was satisfied, the sully looks turning to snarls. After that, he walked down the line, inspecting each ma
n with his wrist light, Conner Blake behind him, notebook in hand. He wrote up seven out of the eight men for one thing or another and put them on report. After inspecting the last man he turned to resume his place in front, seeing Conner wink at him. He returned it with a slight nod.

  “Petty Officer Blake and Corporal Rice. I want you to go through every bit of equipment and check it and report any deficiencies to me.” Mike wonder if he'd seen a worse turn out troop of Marines in his life. “I want these men and equipped ready for combat in one hour.” To him his voice sounded wrong and half expected the men to laugh. None did.

  “Aye-aye, Sir.” They both responded.

  “Dismissed, and I want to see you in my cabin as soon as possible, Chief.” He said as he turned away.