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

by Rob Buckman

  “Alright, you lot!” The Staff Sergeant bellowed. “Pay attention, as I am not in the habit of repeating myself.” He glowered at the men standing at attention before him, but then again, he always glowered at the trainees.

  “On my mark, synchronize your HUD to my time chop.” He waited a few second and yelled. “Mark!”

  Everyone stared at the time display at the corner of their helmet HUD display, and blinked twice when he yelled ‘mark. Now the platoon was synchronized with the platoon leading. His should be synched with the CO’s and any other officer on the ‘battlefield’. Next to order open order march, and went down the line checking weapons and equipment, tightening a strap here, or pulling a piece of equipment straight on another. What difference it made once we were in action was a question no one wanted to answer. It was just the Royal Marine way. At last he took his position in front of the troops, looking from side to side at the ranks.

  “This little exercise to for this unit to make a drop by assault shuttle into a hot LZ. The opposing Red force is equipped similar to us. Our job ladies, is to secure the LZ for additional troops and heavy equipment to land.”

  That meant it was going to get hot. Low wattage training rifles still hurt, as did the sim grenades, not to mention the mortar rounds and other assorted shit coming down on our heads. No one was supposed to get killed, but it had happened a few times. The Royal Marines believed in making sim combat as real as it could. Almost like the real thing except for the dying part. Full combat armor will stop a lot of things, most which will kill you if you weren’t wearing it. Even so, accident happened. A blast or shrapnel could catch you under the chin where you were least protected, or in the armpit. There was also the chance you might fall into deep water, or get caught in a swamp with no way out. Mike joined the others in the truck, and they rattled and bumped their way out to the airport and boarded the shuttle. Mike took a wishful look up at the flight deck as the marched pass, wishing he was up there instead, seeing what looked like a sandy haired teenage kid sitting in the left seat, and Mike hoped the hell he knew what he was doing. Inter-unit training was normal SOP on Aldershot, and this time they caught a Fleet Air Arm unit, complete with a brand spanking new pilot trainee to boot. The shuttle was a battered old craft, strictly a short-range vehicle, rather than the long-range ‘space to ground’ units they’d been in before. Mike wasn’t the only one who’d noted the pilot, and he saw Sergeant Hawser shake his head slightly. Mike took his seat on the left hand bench up against the avionic bulkhead eyeing the ladder up to the flight deck as he sat down. For a moment he thought about what it would be like to climb up and take control of the shuttle himself, knowing he could do a better job than the kid sitting up there now.

  He sighed, wishing he’d been more specific on his application about what branch he wanted to serve in. Then he remembered that piloting anything was the last thing on his mind when he’d signed up. Racking his rifle, he pulled the shock frame down, settling down inside his armor to take a nap. He felt rather than saw Sergeant Hawser walk down the narrow aisle between the trooper, checking each to make sure he was strapped in securely before walking back and taking his seat near the ramp. In the background, he could hear the communications going on between the Sergeant and the pilot, telling him that everyone was locked in and they were ready for takeoff. The moment to shuttle powered up, Mike knew they were in trouble.

  The inertial compensator was set too low to start with, and the kid hadn’t powered up the AG unit high enough. To compensate, he overpowered the main lift engines, causing them to lift, and then bounce as he tried to overcorrect. Mike sighed and snuggled deeper into his armor, shaking his head slightly. They make a wobble take off and headed up to thirty thousand feet, but to Mike the craft didn’t feel right. The turbulence going through the cloud layer shouldn’t have been that rough, and more than one man threw up. Most were quick enough to get the barf bag out, except one poor sucker. The rest of the platoon made his life even more miserable, and the poor sod would have to clean out the shuttle, not only this shuttle but any others that had the misfortune of having someone upchuck inside, alongside his unfortunate companions. It only took four hours to reach the battle zone, and Mike came awake as he heard the engine note change as they started their descent.

  The small port between the men gave them a limited view outside, and Mike and his teammate took turns looking out. The temperate zone with a pine tree forest gave way to an open area with a small lake and scrubland as they flashed over, and Mike instinctively knew the kid had overshot the LZ. That meant he’d have to make a second pass, and put Red Force on notice they were here. That would give them precious seconds to get into position and rain shit down onto the platoon as they exited the shuttle. Mike signed, so what else was new. In one way, this was probably closer to the real thing than expected to catch the ‘enemy’ unprepared. Sim triple ‘A’ came up at them as the kid made the second pass, with ground to air missiles exploding with a loud bangs and a lot of smoke going off next to them. More scary than lethal, but it shook up the kid in the cockpit even more. He was coming in way too fast, even for an assault shuttle and again, he overshot the red smoke marker. In desperation, he pulled the shuttle around, but he was way too low. His Starboard wing tip hit the blasted off stump of a pine tree, ripping it open and spewing liquid as the shuttle nosed down and plowed into the ground, his hydraulics shot to hell. They bounced and crashed their way across the clearing, shedding side panels and missile racks as they went. With a final bone jarring crash, they were down, the hull listing at a forty-five degree angle and down at the nose. Amid, shouts and groans, the troopers tried to lift the crash bars to no avail. These were locked down on the flight deck as a precaution during the drop, and no amount pulling on the manual release broke it loose. One look told Mike that the main frame of the shuttle was twisted, jamming the manual release.

  To make matters worse, smoke began to fill the inside, and a quick look out the narrow band of window showing over the top of the dirt showed flames outside. Mike did the only thing, and with a grunt and a surge of strength, he bent the crash restrain out and up. They bent with a groan of tortured metal and he was free. Holding on to the overhead rail, he quickly made his way down to the rear and grabbed the hatch release. This let go and the rear ramp thudded to the soggy ground. He next grabbed the master release, almost tearing it out of the bulkhead, but the crash restraints released. Troopers surged to their feet, and between him and Sergeant Hawser they got the men out of the shuttle. Hawsers kept yelling, go, go, go and slapped each man on the back as he passed.

  “Shit! We are too short.” He snapped, looking back down the dim, smoke filled interior. Not even the emergency light has come on, and it was difficult to see anything.

  “I see them Sarg! Follow me.” They found two men slumped over, unconscious, head lolling and arms dangling, still in their shock frames, one on each side.

  “Shit!” These fuckers are jammed.” Jerking on one of the frames. It didn’t budge. He coughed as the smoke thickened, tears streaming down his face from the acid smelling smoke.

  Mike gently pushed him to one side, and gripping the frame in both hands simply tore it off the bulkhead. He lifted the first man and hung him over Hawser’s should and pointed him back down the cabin. Mike turned and jerked on the second frame, bending it out of the way this time, prepared to catch the man. It worked as the trooper slid out and into his arms. He hoisted him over his shoulder and started back down the cabin, negotiating fallen equipment, blast rifles and assorted backpacks, seeing a dim light through the thickening smoke. Reaching the ramp didn’t get him to safely, as he stumbled out, all he could see were flames.

  “Run for it! That sucker’s going to blow.” Someone yelled, and through streaming tears, he saw people on the other side, guessing the flames were burning fuel.

  Squatting down, Mike cleared his lungs in the relatively fresh air, gathering his strength. Something exploded off to his right, and surging to
his feet, he took off at a run, leaping as he reached the flames. Burning fuel on his boots wouldn’t be a good idea. He made it through, signing in relief as hands took the injured trooper off his shoulder.

  “Thank fuck for that,” Hawser coughed, “we got all the men out.” He wheezed.

  “What about the pilot and co-pilot?”

  “What about them?” Hawser asked.

  “Did they make it out?”

  “How the hell should I know?” He shot back.

  “Oh fuck!” Mike whirled and took off running straight back towards the shuttle.

  “GRAYSON! What the fuck do you think you are doing! They’re toast if they are still in there!” Mike ignored him, leaping back through the smoke and flames, landing and rolling on the other side. That got him a nasty bruise on his shoulder as he hit the bottom of the shuttle ramp.

  “Shit!” He muttered before taking a deep breath and plunging into the shuttle.

  No way was he going to be able to see inside so he didn’t bother trying, just kept his eyes shut and fumbled his way along the overhead rail. He found the end bulkhead by running into it, whacking his knuckles on the ladder. At least he’d found it, and started climbing. Of course, the asshole on the flight deck and closed and locked the hatch, so Mike had to punch his way through. It took three punches before the lock let go, and he threw it back and scrambled onto the flight deck. As he suspected, both the pilots were unconscious, the pilot looking the worse. Slapping the harness release, he gently pulled the kid out of his seat and lowered him through the hatch. It was only seven feet to the floor, and the average man could reach up and touch the floor of the flight deck. Even so, Mike carefully lowered him. Letting his arms slide through his hands. He let go of one hand and knelt down, lowering the kid even further as smoke rose up around him. There wasn’t much he could do after that, but simply let go and climb back down. Once there, he hoisted the kid over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and took off through the smoke. If anything, the flames were worse, and without any fire-fighting equipment, there was nothing anyone could do to slow it down or stop it from spreading. This time Mike had to pound his way through the flames, feeling heat licking up his legs as he did. Once through he kept running, doing the fifty-foot dash into the small lake. The flames went out with a hiss, and he breathed a sigh of relief as his feet cooled. Willing hands relieved him of his burden, whereupon he flopped down in the water, but only for a moment.

  “Grayson, you’re a fucking maniac! Sergeant Hawser yelled. “But I’m proud of you son.” His smoke covered face grinning at him.

  “You think I’m a maniac now, wait till I get the other guy out.” He grinned back.

  “Oh no you don’t, you stay right here until the medic checks you out.”

  “The other kid doesn’t have that much time, Sarg.”

  Saying that, he took off running, covering his face with his arm as he plunged back through the flames. The flamed barrier was deeper this time and he felt the flames licking his hands and exposed skin of his lower face and neck. His armor protected the rest of his body, but even that had its limits. This time he didn’t dive, just kept running up the ramp into the shuttle. If anything, the smoke was thicker, and it was definitely hotter. Even as he reached the ladder and started up, flames sprung up behind him.

  “Oh shit!” He muttered, pulling himself into the flight desk and slammed the hatch shut as the lower deck exploded in a flash over.

  “Now what the fuck…” He pushed the panic back into the dark recesses of his mind, remembering the last time he’d felt it.

  That brought up images of his Grandfather and how he’d died. “Not this fucking time!” He muttered as he slapped the harness release in the co-pilot stomach. As he did, Mike looked around, quickly assessing the situation. Blazing fuel from the port side fuel tank seemed to surround the shuttle, but it looked less on the Starboard side, but not by much. With the shuttle cantered over at a forty-five degree angle, they were about ten feet in the air in a relatively smoke free area. That wouldn’t last long if the Starboard side fuel tank exploded from the heat. Mike checked for a heartbeat, thinking that maybe the co-pilot was dead, but he still had a pulse so there was no way he could abandon him and save himself. He looked at the young face inside the flight helmet, wondering why they used kids to fly these things. Not that he was much older, but definitely a lot wiser. Picking the young man up in his arms, he turned and sat in the seat, swinging his legs back as he did. It was awkward, but by leaning back, he was able to kick the door. Once, twice, three times his booted feet slammed into the co-pilot’s door, but it refused to give.

  “Shit!” Mike swore as he felt heat on the back of his neck. One quick look was enough to tell him the fire was working its way up into the flight deck. He didn’t have much longer before it engulfed them. He went back to kicking the door, feeling it give.

  “Fucking piece of crap. Give you mother fucker!” With a twang, the hinges and door latch gave together, and the door flew out. Mike butt walked across the seat until his legs dangled out the door, and looked down.

  “Crap!” Seeing a sea of flames and swore again. The only place there weren’t any was right where the door landed, some five feet from the shuttle.

  He couldn’t make it from this position, not without a jumping off point. He slammed the heels of his combat boot back into the skin of the shuttle, feeling it give. It wasn’t enough, so he kept back kicking as flames welled up onto the flight deck. At last the skin gave sufficiently he could hook his heels onto the ridge. Now he had his jump point. He didn’t think, simply ducked out of the cabin, and stood up with the co-pilot in his arms. At least he’d got the kid out without damaging his too much. Taking a deep breath, Mike bent his legs and jumped, knowing he’d only have one chance that this. For a moment he thought he’d missed and would land in the burning fuel, but he hadn’t, landing squarely on the door. Sheet momentum forced the door to slide, and with a slight downhill slope they slid through the flame barrier, but not before he felt the flame licking across his face. Even to so was barely sufficient, but he only had to take three steps before he was through. Even then, he didn’t stop running, heading for the tree line. Any semblance to a combat exercise ended when the shuttle crashed, and members of the ‘Red’ force watched in open-mouthed amazement as a smoke blackened creature carrying the equally smoke blackness body pounded towards them.

  “Get your fucking heads down! The fucker is about to explode!” Mike yelled as he ran past.

  Mike didn’t stop until he was deep in the trees, dropping behind the protection of a massive fir tree just seconds before the shuttle blew up. Once it had, he was back on his feet as flaming debris rained down. Mike didn’t care. There were enough troops on the ground to fire a forest fire. His only concern was getting the co-pilot to an aid station. Through watery eye, he saw the outline of someone come towards him.

  “Are you with ‘Blue’ force?” The figure enquired.

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh good. You are a prisoner of war then.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about, asshole! Where the fuck is your aid station?” Mike squeezed his eyes shut again the pain, feeling as if someone has poured sand and acid in them.

  “Don’t take that tone with me, Trooper…” At that point, he stopped talking as Mike shifted the co-pilots weight and punched the stupid assholes lights out. He took off again, dimly seeing other running figures.

  “Where’s your aid station? He yelled, sounding like the RSM on parade. That stopped a few people in their track, and one walked over to him.

  “It's this way.” A female voice answered.

  “You’ll have to lead me dickhead! I can’t see worth a fuck.”