Last Stand Boxed Set

by James David Victor

  “Hold here,” Jack said. He moved forward along the corridor to an intersection, a crossroads at the forward end of the Scorpio.

  The movement was on two sides. From the left came a noisy group, and from their loud chatter and heavy footsteps, Jack guessed there were five of them. To the right was one person. Jack followed the movement on his wrist mounted-holostage. The single body was moving quietly in short, darting movements. Sam. The actions confirmed it, a confident yet cautious advance toward the enemy.

  The group on the left came close to the junction. Jack called Lane and his two-man fireteam forward. He instructed them to take up position across the corridor and present their pulse rifles.

  Jack drew his pulse pistol and took aim at the end of the corridor.

  As the group came stomping around the corner, Jack gave the order to fire.

  The Marines at his side gave fire, and four of the group fell instantly. The fifth turned and fled, running back the way he had come.

  Lane was on his feet, ready to give chase, but Jack stopped him.

  A fraction of a second later, the end of the corridor was lit up with a hail of pulse rounds, racing from right to left. Sam Torent came into view, moving forward, pulse rifle at his shoulder. He ceased fire and slung his rifle over his shoulder. He turned to Jack.

  “They are all down,” Sam said. He stepped up and shook Jack firmly by the hand. “Good to see you! I see you brought some company.”

  “This is third squad,” Jack said.

  “Right. Well, now it’s the entire Scorpio battalion,” Sam said.

  Just then, Jack was alerted to a message being sent on a broad range, directed at the Scorpio. He showed it on his wrist-mounted holostage.

  It was from Group Captain Bob Stuart.

  “The Scepter is destroyed. I have command of the fleet. The Aquarius and Canis are holding the line. The Scorpio needs to join the fight immediately. The entire fleet must stand as one or the Skalidions will destroy us all. Come now, Scorpio. Stuart out.”

  Jack canceled the message.

  “The Scepter,” Sam breathed. “Gone…”

  A ripple of chatter spread through the new Marines behind Jack as they heard the news. Jack stood in front of them.

  “But how can we win without the Scepter?” a Marine asked.

  Jack could see from the Marines’ slumped shoulders that the news had hit him hard.

  “Listen up, Marines. The Scorpio has fallen into enemy hands. We need to retake this ship. The only fight we can win is this one. The only way we can win is by acting with accuracy and discipline. Put any other concerns from your mind. We must retake the Scorpio, then we will think of the next battle. Now move forward.”

  Jack turned back to Sam, who was showing a surveillance feed on his personal holostage. A group of armed men on the command deck were in position at several of the control consoles. Beretta was in the command chair. Pretorius was standing in front of Beretta, a gun pointed at his head.

  The image abruptly vanished.

  “They cut the surveillance feed,” Sam said. He swung up his rifle and made ready to move.

  “They know we are coming,” Jack said. He turned and gave a final hand signal to Lane to ready his squad.

  “They probably don’t know it’s you,” Sam said.

  “No, Beretta doesn’t know it’s me. If he did, he would really worry. We need to take the ship, and fast. With me, Sam. Let’s move.”

  Jack moved off along the corridor, following his men, advancing on the command deck and advancing on Beretta. Jack was going to retake the ship. Dying wasn’t as option. Survival of the entire human population of the Scorpio System was in his hands.

  Last Stand

  Jack Forge, Lost Marine, Book 9

  1

  The background hum of the Scorpio’s power systems reverberated around the corridor, making Jack feel like he was walking through the belly of a giant synthetic beast. This noise was usually drowned out by the sounds of the crew going about their duties on the massive warship, but at this moment, the ship was virtually empty. Only a handful of gun crews were at their stations, and Jack’s small Fleet Marine squad moved through the corridors. The destroyer’s power systems could be heard, thrumming so deeply it was almost tangible.

  Jack advanced, fast and silent. His tactical suit’s anechoic field eliminated any noise or rattle from his Marine kit, but even though he knew he was moving silently, he still advanced with caution. Danger could be hiding around any corner.

  The suit’s sensor array detected a faint sound far away along the empty corridor. Jack raised an arm, and the squad behind him came to an immediate halt. The Marines took cover where they could find it in the corridor—a hatchway here, a console recess there. They covered all sectors, forward and rear, their pulse rifles raised and held lightly at their shoulders, targeting sensors and clear eyes scanning for danger.

  Sam came up alongside Jack and took a knee. The pair looked along the corridor toward the distant source of the noise.

  What started as a faint single tap became louder, though it remained indistinct. Jack released a micro-drone and sent it in the direction of the noise. While the drone went to relay fresh information, Jack and Sam held their breath and listened.

  The drone fed data to Jack, and he sent the information to the squad. Men were running along the corridor ahead.

  “They are heading this way,” Sam said, his voice message received silently inside Jack’s tactical suit.

  “And they are moving fast,” Jack said. He recalled the drone and activated the holoimage on his wrist-mounted holostage. He fed the data into his holostage and displayed the group moving toward them. Only a few dozen meters away, the corridor was filled with armed pirates, members of Beretta’s criminal gang, and they were closing in on Jack’s position.

  “They’re heading right for us,” Sam said, raising his pulse rifle, ready for action. “They must have sensors back online.”

  Jack nodded as he tapped into the Scorpio’s surveillance network.

  “What works for them will work just as well for us,” Jack said. He accessed a surveillance node right next to the armed group and displayed all the data on his holostage. The internal sensor net recorded the number and types of weapons the group was carrying—a collection of Fleet Marine small arms, presumably stolen. There was also some basic medical data based on their respiration. Jack was not surprised to see they were all breathing heavily, partly fatigue and partly poor general stamina.

  And amongst the data came the signal from a Fleet ident chip.

  The ident chip code flashed over the image of one of the thugs. A Marine’s ident code.

  “Heaton,” Jack said, “that insubordinate scroat.”

  Sam looked at Jack. “Who’s Heaton?”

  “He was a Marine, for a while. He’s nobody now, just another pirate. Get ready. Here they come.”

  Jack’s squad fell into formation across the width of the corridor, with the front rank kneeling and the second rank standing behind. The hallway bristled with pulse rifles, all aimed by resolute hands.

  Jack eased his breathing. Contact with the enemy was always a dangerous situation, even if the enemy was unfit and untrained. He looked at the range finder on his holostage and signaled to his squad that the pirates were close.

  The thugs came rushing around the junction at the side of the corridor in a fury, pulse pistols firing, battle-cries rising. They charged forward is a disorganized rabble, the rearmost urging on those in front.

  And they charged headlong into a hail of pulse rifle fire from Jack’s squad.

  The two ranks of Marines gave fire in controlled bursts, picking their targets carefully—the nearest first to ensure accuracy.

  Jack took careful aim and dropped another one of Beretta’s gang. As the front of the rabble fell to the pulse rifle fire, their charge lost its momentum. In a moment, the pirates at the rear began to fall back, turning and scurrying away. Most fell to the Marines�
�� fire as they fled, but not all. Several made it to safety and took cover around the corner of the adjoining corridor.

  Jack stood and advanced, pulse rifle aimed. He fired a round that slammed into the corner junction, and the composite blasted away in sparkling fragments. He fired again after another step and then again, making sure the thugs kept in cover. Every round from his rifle fizzed and drove into the corner, every impact sending vapor and dust spurting into the air. The dust and vapor were tugged along the corridor by the circulation of the Scorpio’s environmental systems, curling the small clouds of vaporized composite into miniature tornados.

  A rifle appeared around the corner as a thug fired blind. The aim was bad, and the pulse rounds slammed into the ceiling, showering Jack with sparks.

  Jack’s next shot smashed the rifle from the hands of the hidden attacker. He heard a yelp of pain as it clattered on the deck plates. He continued to advance, firing as he stepped forward.

  “They are getting away,” Sam said. He stepped up alongside Jack, then moved a step ahead.

  “Hold position,” Jack said and stepped back in front of Sam, taking point at the head of the squad. He neared the corner and pulled a concussion grenade from a clip on his hip. He tossed the grenade at the junction. It rebounded off the far wall and landed out of sight around the corner.

  The blast threw dust and debris with it, the fallen pulse rifle Jack had shot out of the thug’s hand flipping end over end in the blast.

  Jack quickly checked his holostage and saw that the group was in full retreat. Jack waved for his squad to follow as he ran into the billowing cloud left by the grenade blast.

  Heaton’s ident chip was still in the adjoining corridor, left behind by the pirates that were running away as fast as they could. Their first contact with an organized group of Marines had sent them fleeing for their lives in disarray, concerned only with their own pitiful hides.

  Jack moved fast and turned the corner. He raised the rifle to his shoulder and took aim at the fleeing Heaton. A single round struck the man in the upper thigh and sent him sprawling. The rest of the thugs continued to run, leaving the fallen Heaton alone in the corridor.

  Heaton clutched his leg in pain and struggled to get away, continuing to crawl along millimeter by painful millimeter as Jack and his squad marched up.

  Jack stepped alongside Heaton and kicked his rifle out of reach. Jack waved to Squad Leader Lane, instructing him to take his squad ahead to chase down the rest of the retreating thugs.

  The Marines ran by as Jack stood over Heaton.

  “Consider this your dishonorable discharge, Heaton,” Jack said. He slung his pulse rifle over his shoulder and pulled the pistol off his hip holster. He aimed at Heaton’s head.

  “No, no, please,” Heaton said, holding his hand up to ward off the pulse round.

  Jack fired. The pulse round slammed into Heaton’s head. Heaton collapsed to the deck and was still.

  “Jack,” Sam said in shock. “You killed him.”

  “Nah,” Jack said. He slapped the pistol back to its holster, the suit took it from him and held it there, ready for the next time Jack needed it. “It was just a low-yield pulse. We’ll hand him over to Fleet Intelligence. They can decide on a suitable punishment for him.”

  Sam kneeled next to Heaton, accessing the unconscious Marine’s tactical suit and its mobility systems. Sam used his command override and initiated a mobility lock, preventing the suit from any movement and fixing Heaton in place.

  “When he wakes up, he’ll be fixed to the spot,” Sam said. “We can collect him when we’re done here.”

  Jack stood over the Marine, until recently a squad leader, and a bad one. “He will have a killer headache when he comes around,” Jack said.

  “Not as bad as the one he’ll get from intel when they hang the kravin’ scroat,” Sam said.

  Jack nodded dismissively. The sound of pulse rifle fire from along the corridor indicated that Squad Leader Lane was meeting some resistance. A quick glance at his wrist-mounted holostage showed Jack that the thugs had taken a defensive position.

  “Come on, Sam. The closer we get to the command deck, the more resistance we are going to meet from Beretta’s men. We don’t have any time to waste. We need to retake the Scorpio.”

  Beretta sat in the command chair on the Scorpio’s command deck and watched the holoimage on the armrest. His gangsters were falling in the corridor as the Marines pressed forward. They were falling too quickly. Beretta slammed his fist on the armrest in frustration. His soldiers were giving up too easily. They had no discipline. Even the Marine that had joined his gang only hours before now lay motionless in the corridor, dead as far as Beretta could tell, shot by the officer that led the squad trying to retake the Scorpio.

  Beretta zoomed in the holoimage, focusing on the one Marine standing at the back of the squad directing the pulse rifle fire at his men. He recognized this Marine from the way he was standing, by his arrogant and superior stance, and the way he held his pulse rifle lightly in his hand, as if it was all so easy for him.

  It was clearly Jack Forge.

  “Bring it on, Jackie boy.” Beretta punched his palm repeatedly, willing the young Marine to come forward and bring the fight to him.

  “You’ll never get away with this, pirate,” Captain Pretorius said as he climbed up onto his hands and knees, pressing himself up off the deck. The sharp pain in his side caused him to flinch, but he covered his pain, hiding the weakness. A thug nearby slammed the butt of his pulse rifle into Pretorius’s shoulder, sending him sprawling back to the deck.

  Pretorius stopped himself from crying out, not wanting to give the pirates the satisfaction. He breathed lightly, catching his breath. As he lay on the deck, he risked a deeper breath. A sharp pain shot across his side. Breathing hurt. It felt like a broken rib. It had been a long time since Pretorius had received any injury, but losing his command deck to this pirate rabble was the worst pain he had ever endured.

  “The Fleet Marines won’t let you take the ship,” Pretorius said, again rising. “Give yourselves up now, give me back my ship, and maybe they won’t hang you.”

  Beretta jumped down from the command chair and strode across the deck. He crouched in front of Pretorius, one arm folded across his knees, and leaned forward, his face close to Pretorius’s, which was sternly refusing to crumple up in pain.

  “They will not hang me, Captain, because they will not find me. And the only reason you’re not drifting out in the void is because I need those codes in your head.” Beretta tapped Pretorius’s temple. “And if you give those codes up now, maybe I won’t throw you out of the airlock. I can always find use for a good officer when I make this ship my own.”

  Pretorius laughed a low, grim chuckle. He looked up into Beretta’s cold eyes.

  “You would not know a good officer if he punched you in the face.”

  “And you would not know a good deal from a bad one, old man.” Beretta pressed a thumb into Pretorius’s side, catching the broken rib perfectly.

  Pretorius yelled out and twisted away, but Beretta kept his thumb on the broken bone.

  “I see the pain you’ve been hiding from me,” Beretta said. “I can make it worse—” Beretta pushed harder. “—or I can make it go away.”

  As Beretta removed his thumb, Pretorius collapsed to the deck. Waves of pain ebbed and flowed, subsiding from a sharp peak to a background discomfort.

  Beretta pressed again briefly before shouting into Pretorius’s face. “The codes!”

  Pretorius laughed.

  Beretta stood up and clicked his fingers to summon over a large pirate with cold, dead eyes and scarred fists.

  “Take the captain here and encourage him to give me the codes. But don’t kill him. If his heart stops beating, all command codes automatically revert back to the flagship.”

  The large pirate grabbed Pretorius by the collar and dragged him across the command deck to a door that led to the officers’ lounge. As soon
as the door closed, the dull sound of heavy fists hitting a tight abdomen came through to the command deck along with stifled yelps of pain.

  Beretta climbed up onto the command chair and tapped another hack code into the Scorpio systems. It was not the first time Beretta had taken a fleet ship, but nothing as sophisticated as a destroyer. The command codes were well protected, but he was hoping he could access some secondary system that would give him a back door and some chance of cracking the main codes. He had already cracked the surveillance network and reopened it. It gave him a good view of the position his thugs were in. It was useful, but it wasn’t giving him the back door he was after.

  A different system unlocked and gave him access. It was not exactly what he was looking for, but it was a start. The cooling systems to the hail cannon batteries all around the ship were available to him.

  The gun crews at those locations were still a threat to him if they left their positions and attacked the command deck. Beretta could eliminate that threat now. With a few swift taps of the holographic control panel on the command chair armrest, Beretta initiated an instantaneous cooling system temperature surge across the entire battery network. He looked at the map of the Scorpio on the main holostage. The huge green holographic skeleton of the ship showed him every detail. At the locations of the hail cannon batteries, he saw confirmation that the cooling system peak had been activated. Every firing position had almost instantly been superheated to 500 degrees Celsius, killing the gun crews in mere fractions of a second.

  “And that’s the last we will see of them,” Beretta said, rubbing his hands. “Now all we have to deal with is that pitiful little handful of Marines. Shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  Beretta grinned and turned his attention back to the fight in the corridor. His gang soldiers were holding the Marines at bay. With a few well calculated moves, he could crush them.