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

by Rob Buckman

“Oh shit!” She muttered. “Hey, you two, get over here and take this man to the aid station.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” He felt the co-pilot taken out of his arms and sagged a little as the burden was removed.

  “You an officer?” Mike grimaced as the pain made itself felt. His hands and face felt like raw meat.

  “Yes, I am a trooper.” He could hear the laughter in her voice, so she wasn’t pissed at him for calling her a dickhead.

  “Sorry Ma’am. Didn’t mean any disrespect.”

  “None took trooper. You couldn’t see who I was.” As she spoke, she took his arm and carefully led him through the trees. A few minutes later, it suddenly got dark to Mike as she took him inside a large tent.

  “Medic!” She yelled. “Get over here and take care of this man.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  After that, things got even blurrier, and a sharp jab in his arm sent him down into a well of pain free darkness. It wasn’t until a long time later that he woke up in the base hospital, not that he could see, as they’d bandaged his eyes, but he could hear. Arguments were going on around him and people kept asking him for his statement. First one group, then another, but without sight, or identification, he didn’t know who was asking. A month later he was back in the barracks to a lot of backslapping and ‘fucking great’ from the rest of the platoon. Even Sergeant Hawser had a few kind words to say to him.

  “Grayson! The next time I give you an order to stop, you fucking well stop or I’ll have your guts for garters!” His nose no more than an inch from Mike’s. “But I’m fucking glad you disobeyed this time, son. Congratulation.” He smiled then, and that was scary. It turned out that the man he’d punched was an officer, and the man wanted his hide. That didn’t sit well with his CO, nor the CO of the two pilots. Threat and counter threats flew across the Commanding Officers office as neither would back down. That all came to a halt when the General walked in.

  “So, if I’m to understand all this from reading the reports,” he said, sitting down beside the Marine CO’s desk without bothering to return the salutes, “that a trainee Royal Marine Trooper risked his life, not once mind you, but twice to save the lives of two Royal Navy pilots, is that correct?” Several officers looked at each other as if seeking a consensus.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And that, half blinded by flame and smoke, he mistakenly punch out an officer who was trying to take him as a prisoner of war while trying to find a fucking aid station!” He bellowed. That rocked most of them back on their heel. It wasn’t often the General raised his voice, or swore. The infantry CO gulped and nodded.

  “Yes, sir. But he should…” The general waved him to silence.

  “Should have, could have, would have. That’s bullshit and you know it. The moment the shuttle crashed, the Ops-plan went into the Dumpster. Your primary mission at that point was to mount a rescue operation. Not stand around with your fucking thumbs up your ass playing ‘who’s got the biggest dick!’.” Even the dimmest bulb in the room could see the General was pissed. “And who was the brilliant military genius who wanted to capture a member of ‘Blue’ force?” He asked in a deceptively mild tone of voice.

  “That would be the honorable Second Leftenant Windermere-Scott Sir.”

  “Oh, he has a title.” The General cock an eyebrow at the infantry CO.

  “Yes, sir.” So did the general, not that he ever used it where military matters were concerned.

  “Didn’t he know a shuttle had crashed?” The General looked around the room, but no one answered his question. “And didn’t it occur to the young man that a burned, smoke blackened man carrying another wounded, smoke blacked man, just might, be the real thing and in need of an aid station?”

  “Apparently not, sir.” Someone muttered.

  “Well, Gentleman. There will be no Court Marshal, and no disciplinary action taken again Trooper Grayson. The only thing to go on his record is his actions to save, not only the men of his immediate platoon, but the rescue of the two pilots. All, I might add, at great personal risk to himself.”

  “Yes, sir.” The Marine CO nodded.

  “I’ll see about putting him for an award as well.” His steely gaze skipped from officer to officer, challenging anyone to disagree, or make a protest. “As to Windermere-Scott. I will have to see what other military duties are available more in line with his demonstrated abilities.” With that, he stood and left, again not bothering to return the belated salutes.

  With all due ceremony, Mike was presented the Conspicuous Gallantry Medal, standing there in his number one dress uniform with a pair of corporals stripes on his arm. It was only later, after he was invited to the Petty officers Mess by Master Chief Langford that he discovered the fate of the ‘kid’. The Admiral called Langford into his office and gave him explicate instructions as to the punishment of the young pilot. It seemed that the Admiral had seen the onboard camera footage from the Mike rescue flight, and read the after action report filed by the Master Chief.

  * * * * * *

  “I want you to take that idiot and put him in a sim and keep him there until he learns to fly.” He added some additional instructions, smiling tightly as he did.

  The next day, the young pilot, now fully recovered from the crash, reported to the flight sim section. The Master Chief introduced himself with the added words that he was the kid’s personal instructor for the duration. The kid found out what that meant after the Master Chief strapped him into the left seat of the zero G simulator.

  “You are about to experience the recreation of a flight I took a while back.” He smiled at the perplexed look the kid gave him. “It’s just a simple rescue mission to pick up some stranded Marines.” He smiled again, and took the second seat and tapped the start button. Even knowing what to expect, the second time was almost as scary as the first, but he didn’t let the kid see that. By the time they did the zero/zero landing, the kid was screaming his lungs out, and there was a definite smell of shit in the air.

  “That was just the first part of the flight. If you liked that, you are going to love the second part.” He laughed. For him, the second part wasn’t so bad this time around, as he knew how it turned out. As the outside lights came on, the Master Chief looked over at the sobbing kid, feeling little sympathy.

  “How did you like the sim?”

  “Oh god!” The kid muttered, wiping his face with a trembling hand. “That’s impossible… no one can do that…” He looked at the Master Chief’s face, seeing him shake his head.

  “Oh no, it’s possible. I was there. In that fucking ship when the pilot did it.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes way. And you are going to repeat that flight, and keep on repeating it until you learn to fly like he did.”

  “That… that’s not impossible… no one can do that.”

  “Oh yes he did. And it might interest you to know, that the man who saved your sorry ass is the same man who rescued those lost Marines.”

  “What… No… That’s impossible…” he stuttered again. “Why isn’t he…?”

  “Sitting in the pilot’s seat? You should know the answer to that you little twit. Because he’s not earth born, that’s why.” He shot back, his voice hard.

  “But… but you said I’d have to keep doing this…”

  “That’s right, until you learn how to fly.” Mike looked at the Master Chief, shaking his head.

  * * * * * *

  “That poor fucker is going to be in there a long time, unless he quits.”

  “Can’t do that, not until the Admiral says so. It’s his punishment, and who knows, he might just learn how to fly.” He laughed, and then shook his head. “Wish the hell I could get you transferred to ‘Air’, I’d have you training these kids.”

  In the end, he graduated and they posted him to a line battalion, and then to number three platoon as number two man of a heavy weapons team. That meant he got to carry all the extra power cells, barrels and cleaning kit, as well
as his own blast rifle and power cells. After three deployments and some injuries, they promoted him to Sergeant and put him in charge of a heavy weapons fire team. He didn’t want it, but he didn’t have a choice. He did have the satisfaction of seeing some other poor sod carry the power calls for a change. Six year nine months and twenty odd days later found him back to being a Corporal on some rat hole of a planet named Borland with another bunch of people trying to shoot his ass off.

  CHAPTER SEVEN: Borland

  “Tug!”

  “What’s up, Sarg?” He asked as the platoon sergeant came crawling up behind him.

  “I’m putting you in charge for a while.”

  “Oh, that's just fucking wonderful. Just what I need to round out my day nicely Sarg, but how come.” Not liking the sound of that.

  “Quit jerking my chain Mike, I’m not in the mood. All I know is that all senior noncoms and above got called to some tactical meeting by the old man.” He said, sliding into position beside Mike, scanning the ocher colored desert with sand gritty red eyes.

  “What’s up?”

  “Don’t know, but it might have something to do with the shit we’re in.”

  “Ain’t that a kick.”

  “Oh, it’s not our assess the old man is worried about, it’s that big wig from earth.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Not sure, just someone brought in to settle this dispute what I hear.”

  “Guess it didn’t work out, hay!”

  “No shit! Anyway, I’m switching command frequency to you.”

  “Ten-four.” That meant Mike was acting Sergeant and had the command and control while the Sergeant and officers were away. With a slight touch on his shoulder, the Sergeant moved away.

  “I shouldn’t be more than half an hour.”

  “See you when you get back, and try not to get your ass shot off.”

  “I love you too, asshole.”

  “Hey! That’s Sergeant Asshole, now.” Sergeant Cooper laughed as he crawled away.

  The moment he took command, Mike checked the location of his men, reading out their positions from his HUD. Everything looked good, so he didn’t make any changes. The wind stirred up a small dust devil that played with some odd scraps of paper for a while as it wandered down the dusty street. The sun and heat felt like a physical thing pressing down on them with no relief. Even the blue sky looked washed out and dead, not that anyone was dumb enough to look up. To outward appearances, everything was quite with no movement anywhere, but it was an illusion. Around them lay hundred of indigo tribesman just waiting for someone to make a stupid move. The men around him knew better than that, as those that didn’t had already paid the price. The minutes ticked by and he checked on each man, but kept the chatter to a minimum. Everyone knew of the change in command, as their HUD’s would show him as the platoon leader now. A few tossed joking reference to his promotion, and he took it in good humor.

  “Just stay sharp you lot. You know how the indigs like to make your life interesting about this time.”

  Just then, it got interesting, as the ground seemed to kick him in the chest. One second all was peaceful and quiet, the next all hell broke loose. Through the mind numbing roar of the explosion, Mike saw target blossom in his scope through the sand and dust. The targets showed up as red, pink and yellow, depending on their threat potential. Some had two or three diamond shaped brackets around them, showing multiple targeting by other troopers, a quick scan showed two unmarked targets, and he immediately locked onto the first. He didn’t wait, but started shooting as desert cammo tribesmen erupted out of cover. Clearly, they expected the explosion to disorient the men on guard, and paid the price. Around the perimeter, he heard the sound of blaster rifles discharging, and the spitting of the grenade launcher as it tossed out golf-ball size rounds. The blooper put down a curtain of exploding bomblets that bounced and spewed steel shards in all directions. This effectively ended the charge as men dropped screaming to the ground. The trooper quickly dispatched any in range, while the remainder crawled back to the relative safety of the ruins, or were hauled back by comrades. He didn’t have time to look around as see what damage the bomb has done until the charge ended. Slowly the dust settled and he had a chance to check his HUD. He breathed again as he counted his man. They’d been lucky, and no one was hit.

  “Oh my god!” He heard someone whisper.

  “What?”

  “Behind you.” Mike took a quick look over his shoulder and swore. All that remained of the Embassy was a huge pile of rubble and a massive dust cloud lifting into the brassy sky.

  “Oh shit!”

  “You can say that again.” He muttered, blinking dusty tears away. If anyone survived in there it was a miracle. That meant fate had placed him in charge again.

  “Williams, you are on me. The rest of you stay sharp. This isn’t over yet.” He crawled backwards until he was clear, then ran in a half stoop towards what was left of the building. One quick look told him he wouldn’t find many alive in there, but he had to try.

  “Shit! What do we do now, Tug?”

  “Look for survivors, that’s what.”

  “You have to be kidding, in there?” Williams asked, looking at the ruins.

  “Yes, in there.”

  “If you say so.” Mike could see the look of distaste on his dusty face.

  “Just watch my back, I’ll look.” He snapped and climbed over a mound of rubble.

  As he did, more blaster fired erupted around the parameter as another wave of tribesman attacked. It was hard to know where to look, as nothing was familiar. It didn’t take him long to realize that no one could have survived the collapse of the building. The bomb or whatever must have been under the Embassy to cause this much damage, but how they’d got it there was anyone's guess. Mike backed out, shaking his head at William’s look.

  “What about the bomb shelter.”

  “That was under the building.”

  “I know, but there’s a second entrance to it from the other side. Shouldn’t we at least check?” Mike nodded.

  “Follow me, and keep your head down.” Williams nodded, as he knew better than to stick his head up around here.

  Climbing carefully over the rubble, they made their way around to the side, finding it relatively clear. They only had to move a few chucks of concrete before they could descend the stairwell. The steel door at the end of a short passageway took both their efforts to pull it open. None of the emergency lights worked, and Williams was completely blind. Mike, on the other hand could see just as well in the dark as he could in the daylight, and leaving Williams on guard by the door, he probed deeper into the shelter.

  “Anyone here!” He yelled. For a moment, there was nothing, then a muffled voice answered.

  “Here!”

  “Keep talking, I’ll find you.” Whoever it was kept talking, but it took almost an hour to reach him. Mike used his strength to good advantage as by sheer muscle he shoved blocks of concrete out of the way to make a passage.

  “How many of you are there?”

  “I’m the only one alive in here.”

  “Hold on, I’ll have you out soon.”

  “Thanks, whoever you are.”

  “Acting Sergeant Mike Grayson.”

  “Nice to meet you Mike Grayson.

  “Who’s this?”

  Um... I’m the Earth representative they sent out here.”

  “Well, so much for that idea.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “This circle jerk was screwed before you even arrived, anyone could have told you that.”

  “We had to try.”

  “We?”

  “Yes, the Earth government, and the Crown.”

  “Could have told you it was a waste of time, but no one asked us poor bloody Marines.” He laughed.

  “Next time I will be sure to ask.” The voice laughed back. In the end, he found the person under a desk, and it was the only thing that saved him, and the only
thing holding up a large and unsteady slab of concrete.

  “We need to get you out of there as quick as possible. That lot above you doesn’t look too stable.

  “I couldn’t agree more, but my legs are trapped.”

  “Shit! They broken?”

  “No, don’t think so. Just trapped, I can wiggle my toes without pain, so I guess I’m in one piece.”

  “Thank god for that, our medic is almost out of supplies.”

  “Um, do you happen to have a light with you?”

  “A light? You want to smoke a stim in here?”