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

by Rob Buckman

  “Oh Lord!” Mike sighed with resignation and stepped smartly to the center of the room in front of the stage.

  “Sergeant Michael Grayson reporting, sir!” He came to attention and saluted as the Prince stepped onto the stage.

  “Nice to see you again, Sergeant.” The Prince had a killer smile on his face.

  “Same here, your Majesty.”

  “Got you!” The Prince breathed softly, almost chuckling at the expression on Mike’s face.

  “By order of the King, in council with senior officer of the First Battalion of the Royal Marines. He is pleased to hereby graciously bestows the Victoria Cross upon the person of Sergeant Major Michael Grayson for services above and beyond the call of duty. It is ordained that the Cross shall only be awarded for most conspicuous bravery, daring or pre-eminent act of valor, self-sacrifice and extreme devotion to duty in the presence of the enemy." The Chamberlain intoned the immortal words.

  “On March 14 of the year of our lord, on the plant Borland, Sergeant Michael Grayson did, at great personal risk to his life and limb, save the lives of the men under his command, and visiting dignitaries against superior indigenous forces…

  CHAPTER: Borland

  Mike looked out over the rubble of shattered building from behind a broken concrete block. His eye felt tired and gritty from lack of sleep. Thirst nagged at his throat, begging for a drink of cool water. He ignored it, concentrating on spotting the enemy before they spotted him. They’d played this cat and mouse game for a week as the remains of the First Marine battalion retreated towards the spaceport. The sun was at its peak and the Marines and the indigs hunkered down in the shade waiting for it to cool off. That wasn’t to say one of them might feel lucky and catch some poor sod nodding off in the heat. He wasn’t going to be one of them. The hot desert wind of Borland blew out of the wasteland of sand and rock, sandblasting rock and man alike.

  Why anyone would willingly live on this ball of rock Mike couldn’t imagine. The warm tropical winds of Avalon suited him nicely. There was no accounting for taste, or human kinds need to find a place similar to their homeland. That’s why Northern Europeans preferred icy worlds like Helsinki, or Greenland, while Southern Europeans preferred Milan, or Athens. Why His great grandfather picked Avalon was a mystery, as most, if not all, of the first wave came from the British Islands. Those that followed came from Ireland, Scotland, New Zealand and Australia. The inhabitants of this place were a bunch of lunatics, who willingly live in a world too close to its primary, with a wildly eccentric orbit and an axial tilt of 18 degrees. The hot desert wind blew another cloud of red dust over the shattered city and added another layer to his skin. He’d wanted it simple, and this was as simple as it got. A lowly trooper in a Marine unit, with no responsibilities, no life or death decision to make, just do as you’re told and obey orders. Nothing could be simpler. That was why he’d ducked out of Avalon in the first place.

  Getting tagged as the rear guard at the Earth Embassy, was not exactly in his plans, but nothing could be simpler. All he and the others had to do was guarding the main entrance to the ugly three-story concrete building behind him, or what was left of it. The top floor was a shamble of broken concrete and dangling wires and now nothing more than a hideout for rats and Marines snipers. None of them were sure why they were even here, as there was nothing of importance inside except the remains of the Embassy staff. The Ambassador and the rest had left weeks ago. The word was there was some sort of high-level meeting going on between the leader of the indigs and some Earth representative, not that he cared. By all accounts, this was a lost cause before the rep even got here. These people didn’t want civilization, attested to by the shattered ruins of the modern city that once stood around them. This was one of those planned cities, with gardens and monorail, all shiny and bright. Robot construction equipment had spent over two years building the place before the first immigrant arrived. That was over sixty years ago. The trouble was, most of the people were from the mid east, and not use to such amenities. It hadn’t taken long before the religious fundamentalist started the usual call for a government ruled by religion instead of civil law. Within twenty years, it had degenerated into civil war with no clear victory on either side. To Mike, all that remained was the shouting and the shooting. Having studied this form of government back on Avalon, he could have predicted the outcome, so the results were no surprise to him.

  Without outside contact, which the local Mufti didn’t want, this place would be dead within ten years, the people along with it. Thinking back, He didn’t imagine he’d experience this sort of thing first hand during Professor Canning’s boring lectures on geopolitics. Yet in a way, he was glad he did, if he survived. That led to a train of thought of how he’d got here, and why, and thinking back to how it had started. Getting off his home planet of Avalon and away from his paternal grandfather was the easy part, having spent so much of his time around the docks, tugs, and Starships with his other grandfather. It was easy to pick up a working passage on an outbound cargo ship, as few skippers asked a lot of questions, especially about age. Not that he’d looked 16. His size and looks got him passed that particular hairy question. He’d worked his passage three times, effectively covering his trail, or so he hoped. He wasn’t sure if his grandfather would bother coming after him, why should be. He might just be glad to get rid of him, and solve a problem as well. Whatever, he vanished as far as the people on Avalon were concerned. The Sergeant didn’t ask a lot of questions either when he’d stepped into the recruiting office. Just his name and place of birth, and he’d lied about both, saying he was from Kellman, which wasn’t exactly a lie. His last port-of-call before this was Kellman. It could have been something to do with the test he had to take, and without saying anything, Mike knew the Sergeant was impressed with the results. Whatever it was, a week later he found himself on an outbound Navy Carrier, heading for the training deport on Aldershot, along with several other volunteers. The Navy stuffed them all into a small compartment and left them to it. They were just baggage, with no official status onboard. Most whiled away the time playing cards or sleeping. Mike used the time to study the Royal Marine-training manual, which they'd all been given a copy. That caused a few laughs and comments around the cabin.

  “Bucking for promotion already?”

  “One of those, by-the-book recruits I’d say.” Another put in. Mike ignored them and went on reading.

  The days passed slowly as the ship dropped down or up, depending on your point of view the out of the gravity well of the system to the southern Warp Point. After a while, they became used to the sounds of the ship as she went through her duty cycle, until at last the Claxton sounded to announce the warning they were about to enter nth space. The verbal warning came after, ordering all one essential personnel to their bunks. That mean them, and most didn’t know what to expect. Mike did, and simply lay back and closed his eyes. Mike preferred to sleep through the jump, as nth space can be very disconcerting to some, depending on the length of the jump. At first, it was if you stood at a crossroads, looking down the pit of forever, and all around you, you could see endless possible futures stretching away in six different directions to infinity. You felt that if you moved you could move from one possible future to another, and maybe you could. But how would you know if you’d moved. Would that future be better or worse than the one you were in? That was what drove some people crazy. Most got use to it after a while and quit worrying about it. Three times they entered and exited nth space, which Mike felt was strange. There should only have been two jumps to get into the Aldershot system. He’d plotted the course in his head once he knew the destination, and three meant there was something out of the ordinary happening, but what. No one told baggage what was happening. With nothing else to read, nowhere to work out, and no inclination to play cards, Mike did the only thing remaining, he slept, oblivious to the noise around him.

  That lasted until a nightmare sound brought them all to their feet, most ha
ving no idea what it was, Mike did, having heard the sound of the ‘Battle Station’ alarm before. After that, they heard strange thumps and bangs, feeling the ship vibrate around them. The hull groaned as the helm pulled her hard over, straining the plates to their limit. On smaller ships, sharp turn were more forgiving, but not on a vessel this size. Turning too fast or too hard and you risked buckling plates, or worse, a hull rupture. Mike felt the sideways pull of inertia warring with the compensator as they tried to counter the effect. Then the bulkhead door crashed open.

  “All right, you lot, with me, on the double!”

  “What the hell?”

  “You heard me, move it! You are all part of the damage control parties as of now!”

  “Who said so!” Someone in the back yelled.

  “I did, you fart assed shit for brains!” The beefy looking Petty Officer glared at them “Now follow me! On the double!” Saying that he raced off down a passageway with the twenty odd would be Marines in tow.

  They turned into a wider companionway and bedlam, as sailors in various types of protective gear ran passed, some going in one direction while others ran the opposite way. The Petty Officer kept them to one side, out of the main flow, ducking into cross passageway, and up stair to different decks. At last, he turned into a huge room, filled with protective clothing and repair equipment.

  “Get suited up in the yellow soft suits, on the double, people. We have some repair to make.” Saying that he jerked a yellow suit out of a locker, and stripping off his outer clothing climbed into the suit. Only three people need help in getting into the suits, never having to wear one before. Mike was undressed and into his right behind the Petty Officer. That didn’t go unnoticed and, other than a quick visual once over and a nod of approval, the man concentrated on checking the other recruits.

  After that, it became a seemingly endless dash from one disaster to the next as they patched holes in the inner and outer hull help fight small fires, or clear passageways of debris. They charged about at some unheard orders as the ship bucked and weaved under them. At one point, they ended up in the after aircraft, maintenance bay and fought a small fuel fire that had started to spread. For a while, it was almost impossible to see due to the smoke and fumes from burning electrical equipment. Mike and a fire hose team stumbled over shattered bulkhead and warped deck plates looking for any hot spots. In a flash, the air cleared, and for a moment, he thought they got the air handling equipment back on line. Pushing the faceplate of the soft suit back, he looked up, seeing layers of smoke streaming passed. They came from different parts of the bay, and looking around saw the individual streamers merging together before vanishing. For a moment, everyone stopped and the sound level diminished to the point where everyone could hear the air screaming out through a hull rupture.

  “Everyone out! Now!” The CPO screamed. “Get the hell out of the compartment!”

  The call didn’t come a moment too soon, as the briskly moving air increased to a howling tornado. Pieces of light wreckage began whirling across the compartment, hitting several people, but none seriously. That would change as the out-rushing air increased in velocity as air rushed out into the vacuum outside. They had to get out and close the hatch, and the moment everyone realized that they made a stampede for the open hatches. Mike followed, treading carefully so as not to lose his footing. The thought of being sucked against the breach, bringing prickly sweat to his forehead. As he reached the hatch, he heard a scream over the howling of the wind and looked back. Two people behind him and to his right hadn’t been so lucky, or the wind became too strong. Whoever they were now lying prone, desperately hanging onto a broken plate for dear life. Even as he watched, the plate started to move.

  “Get out of there, son. There is nothing you can do for them!” The CPO yelled. He motioned Mike forward, his hand on the hatch as he waited for the last person to pass before slamming it shut and dogging it. Mike looked both ways, torn between the urge to run, and the urge to go help.

  “Close the hatch!” He yelled. It will cut some of the wind.”

  “Get the fuck out of there you stupid fuck! You can’t survive in a skin suit.” He yelled. “They are dead, leave them!”

  “Close the fucking door, you half brain moron!” He yelled back, turning towards the fallen pair.

  He didn’t see or hear the CPO shout ‘fuck you asshole’ and slam the hatch shut. He did note the drop in wind, but not by much. The shuttle maintenance bay was huge, but once the air escaped, he knew he could only hold his breath for so long. By then the other two would be dead. Sliding around the bulkhead helped, as he had various things to hand onto, but he only wanted to get to a particular locker. Every ship had them at different places, and all contained the same thing. Hull sealant. He reached the locker and simply ripped the doors off and stuffed tubes into the pockets of the soft suit. The sound of the air escaping started to diminish as the air got thinner. Now he had to take the chance, and looking around for the plate he’d spotted earlier, he ran towards it. It was all a matter of timing. The air pressure tried to force him towards the crack, and grunting with exertion, he forced his legs to counter the force and stay in the direction of the plate. He reached it, and for a heart stopping moment, he thought he’d missed it as he couldn’t see below his chin through the faceplate of the soft suit. Thankfully, his hand connected with the edge of the plate. He grabbed it, pushing it ahead of himself, and pulling it up in front of his body. The plate acted just like a sail, and the moment he got it up, he was lifted off the floor. It was so quick he didn’t even have time to brace himself for the impact before he slammed into the hull with bruising force. The wind immediately ceased at the plate covered most of the crack. That didn’t stop entirely stop the air escaping, just slowed it down.

  He panted for breath as he pulled the tab off the first tube and squeezed out the contents along the edge of the plate. He felt himself start to get light headed, but didn’t stop. His life depended on sealing the crack now. Black spots danced before his eyes as he ripped the tab off the last tube, hoping it was enough. It must have been as sometime later he opened his eye to find his helmet gone and the ugly face of the CPO looking down at him.

  “You are one lucky son of a bitch; you know that, don’t you?”

  “I’ve been told that.” He croaked.

  “Thank your luck stars they you aren’t in the service, or I’d have your fucking guts for garters.”

  “What?”

  “Of all the dumb, stupid, num skulled things to do…” He broke off. “Who the fuck do you think you are, fucking superman?” The CPO hauled him to his feet, shaking his head in disbelief. “Get your helmet back on, asshole. We haven’t finished yet.” Saying that he took off across the deck, waving for the rest to follow.

  Mike saw several of his fellow traveler smile at him and give him the thumbs up. A few looked at him in awe. After that, they lost all track of time, until suddenly it was all over and the PO ordered them to stand down. If it weren’t for the kindness of one wounded sailor, they never would have found their way back to the squad bay and their bunks. Unlike the rest, Mike stripped off his suit and hit the showers before climbing into his rack, barely able to keep his eyes open. How long he slept, he didn’t know, only that the hatchway crashed open and a Leftenant came dashing in.

  “Anyone here know how to pilot a shuttle?” He yelled, looking around the bay. Unthinkingly Mike put his hand up, blinking sleep out of his eyes.

  “Come with me, now!” With that, he turned and raced down the passageway yelling for people to make a hole. Even with a head start, Mike caught up with him, wondering what he’d let himself in for. He soon found out as they dived into a down shaft that bounced them back out in the boat bay.

  “What are you qualified to fly?” The Officer asked nervously as they strode quickly across the flight deck.

  “What do you want me to fly?”

  “A type 50 Shuttle.”

  “I can handle that. What model is she?
”

  “Assault Class.”

  “No problem.” The young officer looked at him suspiciously for a moment, as if wondering if he’d made a bad choice.

  “All you have to do is fly in and retrieve a squad of Marines. They say the LZ is green, so there should be no problem with hostile fire.

  “How come none of the regular pilot can go?”

  “Because we don’t have any left. All available uninjured pilots are flying combat mission to cover the pull out.”

  “I see.” He didn’t, but if felt like the right thing to say.

  “This squad was left behind as a rear guard when we pulled the civilian out of a smaller city, but with the major assault on the fleet, they got lost in the shuffle.”

  “It should be easy to go in and extract them, then.”

  “Yes, it should from what we’ve been told.” They arrived at the craft just as the maintenance team finished refueling.