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

by Rob Buckman

  While their whispered conversation was going on, Mike carefully scanned the perimeter, spotting at least two hot spots. There was nothing to indicate they were human, but his eyes detected a slight pulsation in the images. It could indicate a living person or animal. The ‘laydar’ range finder showed it was one hundred and eighty feet to the first target, and two fifty to the second. The twin Gatling laser cannons above his head gave him an idea and throwing caution to the wind he came to his knees. He turned and sprinted back to the rear ramp, but didn’t receive any return fire. The Marines were on their way, and this wasn’t the time to play around. Dropping into the command seat he looked for and found the control to the chin turret, switching the control HUD he swiveled the ugly snouts in the direction of the heat spots.

  “Chief?”

  “Chief here.”

  “How far away are you?”

  “About a hundred yards now, why?”

  “You coming in from the rear?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m about to put down some covering fire as I have two bogies about a hundred and fifty yard from here.”

  “You know how to work the turret, son?”

  “Yes, sir, I think so.”

  “Then let her rip. I’ll get these Marine monkeys aboard while you do it.”

  “I copy that. Here goes.” Now he had multiple contacts, and it was obvious that the locals knew the Marines were on their way.

  Tracking the guns from left to right, he checked and set the range before touching the firing stud on the control column. Intense blue, white fire erupted from under the chin as he raked the area of the heat signatures, seeing several of them blossom for a moment. An exploding human being can do that. Stamping feet told him the Marines were aboard and he switched back to the main controls HUD as he spooled up the AG generator and brought the shield up.

  “Rear hatch closed and locked. All indicators in the green, pilot.”

  “Copy. Check that everyone is strapped in and prepare for lift.”

  “Copy that.” The Chief went down the row of seat, checking that each Marine had his shock webbing locked down tight.

  “Thank you for tucking me in mother.” One Marine chuckled, his face gray from lack of sleep and food.

  “You’ll thank me later, this kid isn’t light on the controls.”

  “New kid, huh?”

  “Greener than grass, Corporal. We could be in for a bumpy ride.” With that, he quickly moved up to the command desk and took his seat as the shuttle lifted.

  “Nice to have you back, Chief. Everyone secure?”

  “As snug as a bug in a rug, as they say.”

  “Good, because this could be rough.”

  “Oh, how so.” He asked, looking around at the empty sky.

  “I have multiple contacts inbound.”

  “Oh shit!” Lifting off the deck, Mike took the shuttlecraft off at a ground hugging level.

  “Bring the shields up to full military power, and a little more if you’ve got it.”

  “Bringing them up now.” The Chief eyed the scope, seeing three bright blips heading towards them at high speed.

  Mike checked his compass and headed towards the dawn terminator as fast as the power plant could push them. They passed over open scrubland, then sand dunes before reaching the open sea.

  “Give me 10% on the inertial compensators, and tell the Marines to hold on tight.” With his enhanced virtual display, he had a far better vision than the Chief, and headed the shuttle towards a group of large rocks sticking up out of the dark swirling waters. The attack craft’s next move was obvious to him, and he was ready for it. The question was, did they have the time.

  “Christ! Missiles launched!”

  “I see them, Chief.”

  “Shit! Shit! Shit! There’s no way we can outrun them!”

  “How many?”

  “How many what?”

  “Missiles?”

  “Um... three... no six!”

  “Bit of an overkill for one shuttle.”

  “Does it fucking matter!”

  “It depends on how many missiles those birds carry.” Mike watched the scope and the oncoming rocks at the same time, judging time, and distance.

  “Come on! Come on! Move you fucking bitch!” He breathed.

  “Ten seconds to impact... five seconds!”

  Just then, two things happened. One, the first rays of the sun poked their way up over the horizon, and second, Mike pulled a hard right turn. The hull plating wasn’t the only thing to groan as he pulled the 180 around the rocks. At only 10%, everyone aboard felt the pull of inertia, but anything higher and he would never have been able to do it. The heat seeking missiles screamed towards the horizon and the sun, unable to distinguish the difference. Coming around the rocks, Mike brought the shuttle to a wobbly standstill ten feet above the swirling waves. He quickly switched to guns, targeting the lead aircraft. Between the sun and the abrupt turn, he caught the oncoming pilots by surprise, blinded for a moment on one hand, and loosing the target on the other. The first pilot never had a chance to correct his error as he ran into a firestorm of incoming laser fired. His ship disintegrated around him and he fell, screaming, towards the dark hungry sea below. As the first aircraft blossomed into flame, the second pilot jerked his ship up, away from the explosion and the resulting debris. He should have concentrated on evasive maneuvering instead as Mike targeted his ship. The Chief breathed a sigh of relief as the second ship exploded, and looked over at this kid sitting in the command seat in awe.

  “Kid, if I ever question your competence again, you have my permission to kick my ass.” He wiped sweat from his forehead, his head dropping back onto the headrest.

  “We aren’t out of the woods yet. Now comes the hard part.”

  “The hard part.”

  “110% on the AG, inertial compensators and shields, Chief.”

  “Oh shit! Here we go again.” The Chief muttered as if prier.

  Mike held her down on reverse thrust as she strained to lift. It was like putting the brakes on, and he held her as long as he could before release. The shuttle shot upward in a screaming climb. Even so, everyone felt as if an elephant was sitting on his chest, and more than one passed out. It was a totally unexpected move, and took the second wave of fighter aircraft completely by surprise. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t climb fast enough to get a missile lock on the departing shuttle. The sky went from blue to indigo, then to black as they passed out of atmosphere, but Mike kept the pressure on. There was no telling if the craft behind them were trans-atmospheric or not, so the more speed and distance he piled on before they exited air the better.

  “Blue team to shuttle, do you copy?”

  “Shuttle 05, we copy.”

  “Quite a show you put on down there.”

  “Thanks.”

  “We are your escort from here to the Cruiser.”

  “Thanks, blue team.”

  “Welcome. By the way, who is this?”

  “Um, stand in pilot, Mike Grayson.”

  “Stand in?”

  “Yeah,” the Chief cut in, “he’s a new recruit and a tug pilot, if you can believe that.” He chuckled, despite the pain in his chest.

  “Well, Tug. Good flight. See you in the wardroom.”

  The name stuck, and even if he was destined for the Marines, the pilots of the Carrier wined and dined him royally, and as he’d wasn’t inducted yet, they had no problem allowing him into the officers ward room. His introduction to the Marines was another matter, as his reputation preceded him, some of it good, but a lot of it bad. Many of the Marines recruits resented his status and went out of their way to show their displeasure. The first was a hard faced trooper in the barracks after they returned from kitting-out and before he’d even got unpacked.

  “Well, what do we have here? Whose bitch are you tinker bell?” A gruff voice behind him asked. He’d felt the man come up, as he bent over his bunk sorting his new equipment, and for
a split second thought to ignore it. Then the man grabbed his butt.

  “Nice ass pussy boy.” The man laughed.

  “Glad you think so asshole, not that you’ll ever get to play with it.” He stood up and turned around, taking a step forward so he was almost chest to chest with the slightly taller man.

  “Tough little bitch boy, ain’t you.” He said. Looking down. He hadn’t expected him to turn around and confront him.

  “Yes!” He said, pushing his chest out a little. This made the bigger man step back, as if pushed, and he was. Mike followed, keeping chest to chest with him. “Were you born an asshole, or have you been practicing?” He pushed again, making the man stumble back.

  “Hay!” This wasn’t going the way he expected.

  “I asked you a question shithead, or was it too complicated for your feeble mind to grasp?” He pushed again. He’d expected the fresh face kid to back down, but he wasn’t, and being pushed like that wasn’t something that happened to him, he pushed usually. He was at least a head taller, and out weighted the kid by at least fifty pound yet he was being pushed back like a doll.

  “If you think I’m going to put up with the likes of you harassing me from now on, you have another think coming!” Mike pushed with his chest again, sending the man stumbling back to slam into the wall. By now, everyone on the barracks froze, and stood in opened mouth amazement watching. There was always one asshole in every barracked in the military since the world began, usually the local bully who enjoyed picking on someone smaller or less strong than they were. In this case, the intimidation backfired, and it was the bullies turn on the receiving end. He didn’t like it.

  “You want to harass me, then you take the consequences dickhead!”

  “Hay... I never meant any harm! Just having a little fun is all.” He spluttered in an attempt to extract himself.

  “Right you did. You get in my way again, or let me catch you dumping on anyone else, and you and I will meet behind the barracks one night.” The man gulped. There was no way he could have known the kid was a heavy worlder. Trying to beat on him would be like pounding on a brick wall.

  “Honest, no harm meant!” He spluttered as the kid pushed against him. It felt as if someone was squeezing his chest.

  “Like hell you didn’t, you pox ridden asshole! You wanted to see who you could bully, just like you did back home in that pox infested rat hole of a planet you came from.” The man went pale.

  “I didn’t...”

  “Unless you want more grief than you can handle, stay as far away from me as you can from now on.” With that, Mike turned and walked back to his bunk. He didn’t see the training NCO standing just outside the door to the barracks watching the byplay inside and smiled.

  “Everything ok?” The senior instructor asked, coming up to stand beside him. The Staff Sergeant nodded.

  “Everything’s cool. They are just getting the pecking order sorted out.”

  “The usual.”

  “Yeah. That kid, Tug. He’s one cool customer.”

  “Got that from the Chief on board the Cruiser. Said he was a whiz behind the stick of that shuttle.”

  “Thiers’s a bunch of Marines that would agree.”

  “Well, put him through the mill along with the rest of them, and let’s see how he shapes up.”

  “Right. You know ‘Air’ will want him when he graduates.”

  “Not bloody likely. If he’s as good as they say I want him in a platoon as soon as possible. We need good men on the ground as well as in the air.” The Staff Sergeant chuckled.

  “That’s your fight, Reggie, I’ll stay out of that one.”

  “The old man will see it my way, mark my words.” He answered with a grin. “We need good people on the ground as well as in the air.”

  “You think he’ll look at him as possible officer material?”

  “Could be.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Buck him up to Lance Corporal as soon as you can, Gary.”

  “Copy that, staff.”

  “Let’s see how he handles that.”

  “Should be fun to watch, no matter what happens.” Gradually the recruits got themselves sorted out, and all too soon, the Staff Sergeant called for lights out.

  “Get a good night sleep girls. You are going to need it in the morning.” His laugh had a nasty edge to it.

  Mike lay there in the dark, listening to the sounds around him. He heard one guy praying, while another read a book by the light of a small penlight. Another was already snoring his head off, and later he heard another sobbing softly to himself. He wondered about that, feeling none of the homesickness he suspected some others were feeling. He missed Gramps, and he always would, but his anger and sadness stayed at the back of his mind. Gramps was there, his comforting words echoing in his mind. Even so, he still couldn’t shake off the feeling that his death wasn’t his fault. He knew it was, being too reckless and cocksure of himself. He bullies Gramps into going along with his hair brain scheme to rescue the stricken liner, but the cost was too high. It made no difference that their efforts ended with the rescue of over four hundred passengers and crew from certain death. Gramps had died, and he was to blame. That brought him full circle to the present. Had he done it again in the shuttle rescuing the lost Marines? Or when he faced down the bully? There were no easy answers. It was his way. As if making a decision, he nodded to himself in the darkness. Stronger and faster he may be, assuming command of a situation at the drop of a hat would have to stop. Here he was nothing but a lowly Marine recruit, and that’s the way he intended to stay. From now on, he’d just do what he was told and not try to out- perform everyone else. It wasn’t something he was used to but it had to be done, otherwise he’d stand out too much and make other feel inferior. It would be even worse if someone finds out he was from Avalon and added all the bullshit about genetic supermen. That wouldn’t make him many friends, and probably a lot of enemies. Even so, within a week, Mike found himself with one stripe on his arm, he didn’t want, as an acting, unpaid training Lance Corporal. The only thing that meant to him was longer hours, more responsibility, and more shit when he screwed up. The rigors of training passed in a blur, running from wet, cold and tired, too hot, thirsty, and tired with little in between. Mike took to it like a duck to water, but he had to keep reminding himself to downplay his abilities.

  He was always the first up in the morning and out for a half-hour run before the revelry sounded. By the time the other dragged themselves out of bed, he was showered, dressed and out front before the staff started yelling at them. That didn’t go down well with the training staff either, as most times he was out of bed before they were. Their job was to break these recruits down and turn them into Marines, but no amount of screaming insults or push up seemed to effect this strange new recruit. He could strip down and reassemble any weapon faster than they could, even blindfolded or in complete darkness. He could outshoot the sniper instructors, and vanish so completely during field training, no one could find him. The general conclusion was that he’d done this all before, yet nothing in his background gave any indication of that. Mike toned it down when he saw the instructor looking at him funny, and on many occasions deliberately screwed up so they have a reason to scream at him. Slowly the weeks dragged by, the days seemingly getting longer and harder. They never seemed to have enough time to do anything, from eating to sleeping, to shaving. Luckily, he didn’t need to shave, and that give him more time to do some other incomprehensible thing or screw up. The one thing that surprised him was the inefficiency. On Avalon when recruits were issued their basic weapons, usually a blast rifle and a sidearm, they took it with them from them on, on duty, off duty, and were legally permitted to carry it anywhere they went. Even the homes were equipped with lockers just inside the front door to store all their military equipment. Most off duty personnel just carried their gear in their transport and just wore their sidearm. That meant all active and reserve military personnel were ready
at all times. Mike could imagine the cluster fuck when the government or military called an alert. Maybe they thought they couldn’t be attacked here. He shrugged and matched the men to the assault course, so he wouldn’t stand out.

  Once passed basic, he reverted back to Trooper as they passed onto the next section of training, advanced infantry tactics, and fitted with neural implants. This entailed a trip to the Medical Center for a slightly painful procedure where the neural net was forced sprayed through their scalp onto the skull bone and a two chips inserted, one behind each ear. Now they could use all of the Marine Corps equipment, including the battle rifle, each keyed to their personal signature. It also meant that the enemy, and anyone else couldn’t use their own rifle or sidearm against them. By that time, they had lost a third of the original inductees due to normal attrition, the remainder sent home as unfit for military duty. It wasn’t a discharge per se, just a thank you for coming to play the game and a free ride back to where they came from. Unlike most earth settled planets, Aldershot was one big military base and home to all of Earths military establishments. Aldershot had three major landmasses and several large Islands that could almost be classed as continents. The main induction center was located in the ‘temperate zone’ of the planet, with basic training area for each of the four major services, army, naval, air force, and Marines. Within each of those operational areas, additional section had area for individual units like the ‘Guards’ units, paratroopers, SAS, Royal Engineers and infantry units. The three major Island were given over to simulated combat zones on a rotating basis to permit the local vegetation to grow back after the pounding, but they also trained in areas from the arctic to the Antarctic and everything in between. This way troops could be trained in any number of environments, from scorching desert, steamy, wet jungles, swamps, tundra, to arctic ice. Over the next year, Mike and the rest of his platoon practiced both air and ground assaults, as well as space drops in shuttle and one man drop pods. That was as scary as hell the first few times, being strapped into a titanium cylinder, and shot out of a launch tube with no way to see out, or control what was happening to you. They lost a couple of men on a drop, one due to a malfunctioning re-entry engine, the other to a poorly pack chute.