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

by Rob Buckman

  “Yes, Sir, no problem. It won't make much difference if she breaks a few plants on her way out.”

  “Agreed. By then it will be time to go for broke.”

  Mike scribbled out a message instruction Goldman what to do, and to lift the ship every hour on the hour and scan for his signal. Tearing the page out of Conner's notebook he handed it to the crewman before sending him on his way with another rating. After that, he ordered the Marines to strip down to bare essentials and dump the rest. They did, with a look of relief on their faces. They made good time after that, but it was still three hours before they reached the vicinity of the crash site.

  “Spotted the life pod, Sir.” The point man whispered in his earphone, transmitting on the squad push frequency so everyone received the same information. Mike stopped, and held up his hand and signaled the Marines to go ahead.

  “Send out your bumble bee and scout the area.” He let them do their job first and sweep the area with their tiny scout drones before moving up. They didn't need him around to tell them what to do so, he sank down next to a tree and waited, swatting biting insects. A few moments later, Blake came over and knelt down beside him.

  “At least the place isn't swarming with troops, Sir.”

  “Thank god for small mercies.” Mike wiped sweat out of his eyes. His once clean uniform was covered with mud and his body hurt in places he forgot he had places. It felt good in a way, like being back in the jungles of his home world, he just wished he was in better shape.

  “Rice here, Sir. We found the life pod but no sign of the survivors.”

  “Sitrep.”

  “The LZ is clear for you to come up.”

  “On my way.” That didn't sound good.

  Standing, he motioned for the rest of them to head out and within five minutes, they were at the landing zone. From what he could see the pilot made a similar landing to Conner Blake and tucked the pod in under cover without damaging the canopy. He'd also picked a spot on a rise where an opening in the trees gave a view over the country side.

  “We've got blood on the ground and there signs of a fire fight, but no bodies.”

  “Shit! This gets worse the deeper we get in.” He muttered.

  “The pod seems to be in good repair from what I can see, Sir.” Conner Blake reported, as he climbed out of the hatchway.

  “Can she still fly?”

  “Yes, Sir, but not far. She's low on fuel.” He answered, looking puzzled.

  “Sergeant Rice.” He called softly. “Pick your best two men and have them search for tracks or some indication of what happened to the survivors.”

  “Aye-aye, Sir.” Out of caution and training they spoke in soft voices, and after a whispered conversation with two of his men they vanished into the underbrush.

  “Conner, see if you get someone to round up some hot food out of our supplies and what's onboard if anything.”

  “Aye-aye, Sir. One gourmet meal coming right up.”

  Mike took his helmet off and wiped the sweat off his face and brow and leaned back against the giant tree. On this high point he could see over a wide expanse of jungle. To him this was beautiful, reminding him of home. All across the wide expanse, he could see smoke like streamer of moist air rising through the canopy, like so many campfires. This was nothing more than pools of water evaporating back into the atmosphere, adding to the humidity and gathering cloudbanks. He knew from experience this would all came back down again soon, either as rain, or heavy dew later tonight. On tropical worlds like this, a temperature inversion happened late at night, usually about two or 3 am as the air-cooled. Once that happened you'd swear it was raining by the amount of water coming down. It soaked anything left out and sometimes filled any open container. Conner was almost as good as his word, as half an hour later he came out of the life pod with containers of hot food and coffee, bringing Mike's over to him after telling Rice dinner was ready. In ones and twos, the men peeled off to eat, then return to their posts as night closed in. Mike didn't touch his meal until he was sure all the party had eaten. Conner and Blake watched, nodding to each other in answer to some unspoken question. Making sure his troops eat first before eating himself spoke of experience a naval Ensign wasn't supposed to have.

  “Now where do you suppose a snotty nosed, green as grass naval Ensign would get the experience of a veteran Marine?” Rice whispered.

  “I'll go you one better.” Conner answered.

  “Oh?”

  “How come our snotty nosed, green as grass naval Ensign not only has the experience of a combat Marine, but an active wet ware chip in his head?” The coffee cup halfway to Rice's mouth froze.

  “I'll be dipped in sheep shit!”

  “By the smell, I thought you had,” Conner chuckled. “Aren't they supposed to deactivate and remove the wet ware before a Marine is discharged, Corporal Rice?”

  “With all due respect to your now exalted position Chief Petty Officer and Chief-of-the-Boat Conner Blake, but up yours, and to answer your question, yes they are.”

  “Makes you wonder just what the hell is going on, doesn't it.”

  As they were very near the equator of this moon, it almost seemed as someone switched off the light. One moment it was daylight, the next dark. Not for long, even as the last glimmer of sunlight vanished in the West, a pearly light spread over the landscape as the gas giant rose over the Eastern horizon. It reduced everything to black and white, with very little shade of gray, except under the canopy. Here it was almost pitch black, and without the inferred vision enhancement in their helmets, they couldn't have progressed ten yards from the clearing.

  “Sir, we've found two of the survivors…” Mike's wrist comm announced, “… and one of them is seriously injured.”

  “Can they be moved?”

  “One can, one can't.”

  “Hold what you have, I'm sending three men to help you.”

  “Aye-aye, Sir.”

  “Sergeant Rice.”

  “I'm on it, Sir - three men ready to go.” He announced, picked up the same transmission.

  “Go. You lead.”

  “Aye-aye, Sir.” With that, he and two men vanished into the gloom.

  They waited an agonizing fifteen minutes before a soft challenge issued from the perimeter. It was answered and a moment later Rice returned with his people and the two survivors, carrying one of them. Mike motioned towards the pod, and in a few moments the two men, Conner Blake, himself, and the medical corpsman were inside. The Conner immediately handed the walking man a cup of coffee, while the medic worked on the other one. Sitting in one of the crash seats, Mike restrained his impatience until the man gulped it down.

  “Well, what happened?” He asked at last.

  “And who might you be?” The man asked, giving him a shifty eyed look.

  He was a slight man, with a nondescript appearance, one of those people you never really see. Mousy brown hairs, rimless glasses, wearing a rumpled, dirty business suit covered in mud and debris. He had a narrow, rat like face that put Mike on edge, and his eyes didn't meet your when he spoke to you.

  “This is Captain Gray, to you, mister.” Conner Blake answered in a cold voice. “Who are you?”

  “Oh, I'm sorry, Captain. No offense meant.” There was an edge to the man's voice that Mike didn't like. He brushed it away, putting it down to the situation.

  “None taken.” Mike commented, wondering at Conner reaction to the man.

  “It's just that since they captured the others I've been expecting them to come back for us.” The man answered, but Mike didn't like the look in his eyes.

  “Do we look like, Sirriens to you?” There was a hard note in the Conner's voice that surprised Mike, “and you still haven't told us who you are!”

  “Oh, I'm no one of any importance.” The man gave a lopsided smile, and waved his hand in a motion of dismissal. Mike saw the Conner fingering his sidearm, wondering what was going on.

  “You still haven't told us your name, or w
ho you are.”

  “As I said, no one of any importance. I was just along for the trip home.” The man suddenly looked nervous.

  “Sir. This man is lying through his teeth.” Blake growled. “He's a spy or Naval Intelligence, I'm not sure which.”

  “Now see here…” The shifty eye man looked indignant.

  “Shut the fuck up!” Conner growled. The man shut up.

  “Well? Is what my Chief Petty Officer says true?”

  “No, I don't know what he talking about.”

  “So, tell me your name who you work for, and why you were on this ship?” Mike tried to make his tone as hard as Conner's but doubted it came out that way.

  “My name is Harwood, um… John Harwood...”

  “In a pig's eye…”

  “Hold it Chief! Let the man tell his story.”

  “Aye, Sir.” The Chief answered, cutting him a quick look.

  “Go on, tell me what happened.”

  “I was at the space port trying to get home to Earth on leave and they offered me the last place on the courier ship. I'm an Embassy clerk, nothing more.”

  “All right Mister Harwood; let's accept for the moment that's true. What happened after you landed here?”

  “Well, the pilot sent out one last burst transmission to say that he landing here as he was short of fuel. We put down and waited. Yesterday the Sirriens found us.” He drank a second cup of coffee, yet Mike noticed that the man's eye kept moving around the cabin, glancing at the medic working on his injured friend.

  “I happened to be off, um, well, answering the call of nature, so to speak when they hit us. There was nothing I could do so I waited until they'd left and came back into camp and found him.” He pointed to the injured man. “I decided it was safe to take him away from here and wait for a rescue party.” He looked between Mike and the Conner as he spoke as if to see if they were buying his story. Conner pursed his lips looking sour, but he held his peace. Mike didn't know what to think of the story, then Harwood continued.

  “I found Jenkins, the navigator there,” he said, pointing to the injured man, “they must have thought he was dead or something as they just left him. Then you turned up thank goodness.” He breathed a sigh of relief and looked thankful, but his story still left a lot unexplained. Hardwood looked nervously from Mike to Conner, then back again as if to convey his sincerity.

  “How's the injured man, Sanchez?” Mike asked, looking at the medic. Lance Corporal Sanchez looked over his shoulder at them, first at Mike and Conner, then at Harwood.

  “As well as can be expected, Sir. He has a broken leg, two busted ribs, a blaster burn, and I think some internal injuries, but it's hard to tell for sure.”

  “You have him sedated?”

  “Yes, Sir. He'll be out for several hours, so you'll have to wait to talk to him.”

  “Damn!” Mike muttered, hoping Jenkins could validate Harwood's story.

  “I suggest that we move this outside gentleman and let the man rest.”

  “Aye-aye, Sir.” Conner waited, letting Hardwood go first. They moved outside, and the moment they did Conner went over and talked to Sergeant Rice. Whatever he said, two Marines got up and took up station outside the hatchway to the life pod.

  “Parameter check again, Sir?” The Conner asked loudly as he walked back. It was the note in his voice more than anything that got Mike's attention. They hadn't checked the perimeter, so? That meant he wanted to chat privately. With the built in electronic in his helmet Mike didn't physically need to check. He could tell where everyone was and their status just by looking at his HUD.

  “Right Chief, we don't want someone taking us by surprise.” He nodded to Harwood as he moved away, and followed Conner towards the perimeter. As they did Sergeant Rice wandered over and started chatting with Harwood.

  “OK Conner, spit it out. What's up?” Mike whispered when he felt it safe to talk, taking care to switch his comm unit off as Conner did.

  “This man's story stinks, Sir.”

  “Run it by me slowly, Chief.”

  “Yes, Sir. For one courier ships don't take passengers, even if the ship's empty.”

  “But he's is an Embassy Official.”

  “That's doesn't cut any ice, Sir. I don't care if he's the Ambassador himself. If he's not on the manifest, there's no way he going to get onboard.”

  “Okay, so the pilot stretched the rules on this one.”

  “Oh, I'll buy that Sir, it's the rest of his story I don't.” It was clear something was eating him, as he kept looking back at Harwood.

  “Go on, Chief, what's eating you?”

  “This man has the look of Naval Intelligence or a Sirrien plant to me, and this whole rescue mission is getting smellier by the minute.” Conner rubbed his hands over his battered face. Clearly, something was irritating him, but he said nothing for a few moments, then.

  “Why go out into the bushes to take a leak, Sir, when there's a perfectly good toilet in the life pod?” Conner spat. “And, if you didn't know the water here was drinkable, you want to recycle all the waste you can.”

  “It might have been in use at the time, but yes, that does strike me as a bit strange, what else?”

  “Why hide out? He had no way out, and there was no way he could know there'd be a rescue mission.”

  “Yes, the chances of the Navy mounting a rescue mission were slim to none, but how did he know that?”

  “Unless someone told him before they left that we'd be along. But how could they know that?”

  “You mean he should have surrendered?”

  “Yes, Sir. That's my point, he's a civilian, and the Sirriens would have treated him that way, at the least.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes, he's armed. I spotted it when he came through the hatchway.”

  “Umm, not convincing evidence. So what's with the two Marines in the pod?”

  “I talked with Sanchez, Sir. He didn't want to say anything in front of Hardwood, and he did hear his story.” Conner fingered his side arm. “The injured man had some major injuries caused by blaster fire, hand blaster, but he didn't mention that to you, just in case.”

  “Well, he said they attacked the camp.”

  “Right, but Sanchez swears it was one of ours, not theirs. Sirrien weapons leave a different type of wound and Sanchez should know, he’s treated his share.”

  “Damn! You think he shot the man, and might try to finish him off?”

  “Could be, or he was injured in the original attack, and the Sirriens left him here to catch us.”

  “Again, how the hell would the Sirriens know we were coming!”

  “Good point.”

  “So why keep the navigator alive?”

  “Injured like he is, he couldn't blow Harwood's cover, or he thought he might be able to use him as a bargaining chip somehow. Once we turned up, he was a liability. When Sanchez said he'd be out cold for a while and you couldn't question him, I saw a definite look of relief on Hardwood's face.”

  “He could have killed him before the Marines showed up.” Even before he finished speaking, the CPO was shaking his head.

  “The Marines said he was fast asleep when they found them. Not exactly something a scared man would do in a situation like this.”

  “I don't know Chief, it's all circumstantial. This guy could be just what he said.”

  “I understand that, Sir, but there is something very fishy here, I can smell it.” In the end, Mike had to go with the Chief's experience. He was out of His depth here and he knew it.

  “There's one other thing that make to doubly suspicious this is a set up.”

  “What Chief?” In answer Conner point upwards with his thumb, motioning towards the gas giant overhead.

  “Fuel, Sir.” Mike almost smacked his forehead as it dawned on him what the Chief meant. The escape pod was almost out of fuel, yet it shouldn't be.

  Like all Terran Starship, it was powered by a fusion reactor that ran on hydrogen. I
t was also equipped with a scoop to recharge the fuel tank from any available source. Above them, sat a major source of hydrogen, but the pilot had bypassed it to land here. So why hadn't he recharged? The more he thought about it, the more he could see what the Chief was talking about. Nothing major, just little inconsistencies that didn't add up.

  “Have someone keep an eye on our Mr. Harwood.”

  “Aye-aye, Sir, already taken care of.”