by Scott Moon
Contents
Special Offer
BAYONET DAWN
Copyright
Dedication
1 - Contact
2 - Siren
3 - Brother
4 - Gangs and Librarians
5 - Red Fleet
6 - Crime Lord
7 - Brothers Fight
8 - Recruiting Station
9 - Boot Camp Joii
10 - Through These Portals
11 - Monster Tattoo
12 - Vision
13 - NCO Club
14 - Wrath
15 - Fifteen Minutes
16 - The Courageous Roger
17 - The Pact
18 - Training with Frenchie
19 - Zulu Infantry Company
20 - Captives
21 - Storage Bay 27
22 - Return to Brookhaven
23 - Mother's List
24 - Eigon
25 - Dragon Wings
26 - Arthur
27 - Siren and Nix
28 - Legacy
29 - Side Mission
30 - Cyclops
31 - Cronin The Nix
32 - Siren Pursuit
33 - Face to Face
34 - Killer Trees
35 - Amanda's Pursuit
36 - Commander Melaine Ford
37 - Starfleet Pilot Corps
38 - Cyclops First Strike
39 - Void Troll Centurions
40 - Hold the Line
41 - Boss
42 - Kroger
43 - Fleet Battle
44 - Kevin
45 - Power Triangle
46 - A Complicated Surrender
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BAYONET DAWN
Scott Moon
Copyright © 2017 Scott Moon
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
DEDICATION
This book, as always, is dedicated to my family and all those who have taken the considerable risk of believing in me. It is most especially dedicated to the growing team of advanced readers from every corner of the world.
Thank you!
1
Contact
SERGEANT Priest grunted as his boots hit the ground. He kept his eyes up and weapons ready. Mission parameters scrolled down one side of the heads-up-display in his helmet. This wasn’t his first rodeo, or his tenth, or his one hundredth.
Brookhaven was an older colony, one of the first to be terraformed by more than point 01 percent. Politically, the planet and its corporations were stable and boring, until someone stockpiled weapons and space-capable transport ships.
The SMC 343rd Marauders, Zulu Recon Company, arrived by an ultra-high-altitude, low opening jump (UHALO) in the blackness of local night, then secured a landing zone for a light infantry battalion — not that regular Marauders would be needed for this mission.
“Grab and go, boys and girls,” Captain Piper said as he stowed his parachute and moved to the front of the formation. “Unexpected-intelligence-update number one states the hostiles have a small contingent of Void Trolls acting as perimeter security, so watch out for the big dummies.”
The captain tapped the side of his helmet, which was the lighter version preferred by Recon Marines. Basically, it kept boys and girls from bumping heads and provided a place for neural inserts to process information. He looked back and smiled. For an officer, he seemed to love being in the field.
Starship Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant Priest saluted, never sure how to act around the boisterous officer.
A kinetic round, unseen and unheard until it struck, vaporized Captain Piper from the neck up. Priest flew backward from the shockwave. His back struck a fallen tree. Wind rushed from his lungs. Stars danced with his helmet visor threat assessment icons.
“Contact! Sniper artillery!” Corporal Avon grunted, then fell as a second round took him in the chest, leaving a hole big enough to throw a football through.
“Go dark,” Priest said over the mission comlink, trying not to reveal his struggle to breathe. “They expect us to climb to higher ground, so let’s haul ass down that river valley and regroup on these coordinates.” He consulted the Mil-Sat GPS dedicated to the operation and moved, wondering how many of his friends had been killed. His lieutenant was not the type to hang back in a situation like this.
Her silence in the wake of Captain Piper’s death suffocated a large swath of reality. To Priest, the moment of enemy contact felt like the void of space, but with the weight of an unseen mountain crushing down on his unit.
“Damn,” Lance Corporal Henrietta McCraw, the newest and lowest ranking member of Zulu Recon Company said as she ran. “I liked Piper. That dude was cool for an officer.”
“Squad leaders, let me know when your fire-teams are en route to rally point 001. Do it on the move. That wasn’t a Dissident Union artillery sniper.”
“Crap,” McCraw said.
“Void Trolls,” a heavily accented French voice said. “Captain Piper always fucking hated Void Trolls. God rest his soul.”
Priest listened to Frenchie, who wasn’t French or even Earthborn, but liked to play up his nickname. The man’s physique was a question mark — head too big, short cropped blond hair so thick it could belong to a lion, massive shoulders and torso, and delicate hands to make a piano player jealous. Growing up in various gravity wells and pressurized environments had influenced his epigenetics to the near edge of randomness.
“What are we going to do when we get to the rally point?” Frenchie asked on a line-of-sight proximity link.
Priest conferred with Lieutenant Uriah Jameson of 2nd Platoon on a secure link, confirmed each platoon would continue independently rather than try a larger recombination of Zulu Recon Company, and adjust as the situation changed. Geography and hostile forces split ZRC, which could operate independently to rescue and recover Doctor Marc Robedeaux.
“Oh, one more thing, Priest. I had a visitor in the confusion. Sending her back to you now,” Jameson said. “Sorry about Piper. I know he was a friend of your family.”
“Thanks,” Priest said, then addressed Frenchie on the proximity link. “The mission is still a hostage rescue. One scientist. That is all. If it turns into a full-scale war, most of our support units will be re-tasked. We will recover our target and exfiltrate.”
“Roger that,” Frenchie said.
Priest opened a link to the platoon. “Listen up. We have ten minutes to address casualties and fatalities. Once we break contact with enemy forces in the area, we will continue toward the objective. Squad leaders acknowledge. Enemy forces comprise Dissident Union medium infantry and supplemental Void Trolls.”
Units checked in by the numbers. Most sounded out of breath but calm and professional.
“How many of the trolls is what I’m wanting to know,” Henrietta McCraw said.
Priest didn’t respond. She hadn’t really asked a question. “Five minutes, and we are
moving out.” He recovered Captain Piper’s dog tags and remains. The burn bag was smaller than normal with no head to incinerate. After a slight hesitation, he recovered Corporal Avon as well — annoyed with himself for remembering the man owed him twenty dollars from their last poker game.
An icon flashed inside of Priest’s visor until he activated the link with a retinal double-tap. Instead of a comlink, he received an abbreviated text. LtLcy:InBnd:Rcv.
“Listen up, people. Lieutenant Lacy is en route to rendezvous. Let’s give her a big 1st Platoon welcome,” Priest said, annoyed that Lacy was back. Life was easier without an officer. Piper hadn’t counted. Captains were like popular uncles in the Marauders, not affecting day-to-day operations in the field.
Unless they got their heads blown off.
He took charge of his squad and allowed the lieutenant to adjust fields of fire on the move. She was good. That wasn’t his problem with Lacy. He just didn’t like her; never had.
As far as he knew, the feeling was mutual. Neither of them explored the reason. The platoon functioned better with a slight undercurrent of non-political, non-sexual tension. She kept him on his toes without having to say a word.
Lance Corporal McCraw spotted the lieutenant first, announcing to Priest on a line-of-sight, mostly private proximity link. “There she is… Miss Fancy Face.”
Priest focused on his boss as a helmet that gave orders because her angelic countenance did not inspire martial bravado unless it was to impress her, which he knew he couldn’t. First Lieutenant Natalia Lacy was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, even though he didn’t like blondes.
“Hello, lover,” Frenchie said.
“Stow that talk, Corporal. Not even on a private link,” Priest said. The rally point was in sight. He directed his squad with hand movements, scanning the area with all visual spectrums and listening for danger.
“Not as private as that,” Lieutenant Lacy said. Her tone revealed nothing and everything. “I spotted a Void Troll division advancing toward this grid. Their vanguard is moving damn fast and making a lot of noise. I imagine they are moving to support their sniper teams.”
Priest waited for an order he knew he wouldn’t like.
“The mission is still the mission. We are in the worst position to bring back the doctor. So we will harass the enemy.”
“I hate you,” Frenchie said.
“You love glory and service to the UNA Starship Marine Corps,” Lacy said.
“Not really,” Frenchie mumbled.
A text message popped up in Priest’s visor. LtLcy:InCmd:Shut-him-up.
“Frenchie, stow it,” Priest said. “This is about to get hot and I need you in the game.”
The corporal didn’t respond, which would earn him punishment detail when the mission was over. Priest had served with the Non-Earther long enough to understand the man was just pissed off enough to be one hell of a fighter and still a team player.
“Bravo Squad, take point and report,” Lacy said.
Priest signaled his squad to halt and set up security. “Get ready, Alpha. We are going to be the hammer in this equation.”
“Against a division of Void Trolls?” McCraw asked. “I’m with Frenchie on this one. Fancy Face is going to get us killed.”
“Gunny,” Lacy said from somewhere near enough to monitor line-of-sight communications without being visible. “Get control of your team.”
“You heard the boss,” Priest said. “There won’t be an entire division, just their equivalent of us. Expect a pair of DU advisors and remember what happened last time we underestimated them.”
No one responded. He checked each member of his squad, then his flanks. Charlie Squad was on the high ground to the right about one hundred meters and covering another hundred meters with their interlocking fields of fire in the nearly mountainous terrain. Delta Squad was on lower ground to the left — nothing like as neat as a tabletop exercise. He saw them with infrared and only because their squad leader, Sergeant Abimbola, signaled him.
The first Void Troll came quicker than expected. He had no sooner sipped from his water tube and tapped a stimulant patch on his neck when the monster appeared at the head of an animal trail opening to a stream two hundred meters forward and down.
“You ever seen a Void Troll in the flesh?” Frenchie asked, all traces of his mock accent vanished.
“I’ve met a few with directed fire.” Priest knew his words sounded distracted. The creature looked as though it were made of slick gray stone that reflected patches of the night forest around it. The sight of the giant stepping into the stream was like watching a psychedelic music video of silence. Water reflected the starlit sky onto its legs. An exploding crescendo of movement had to follow.
TENSION stretched between the advancing aliens and Priest’s unit.
“McCraw, you have the best angle. Laser identify that Void Troll as VT01,” Priest said.
“Done,” she replied.
Five seconds later, his visor reported locations for VT02 and VT03. He scanned visually until he picked them up. There was a lot of theory about how the Void Trolls fought and how they would work with the DU forces. All of it was speculation and science fiction in Priest’s opinion.
Void Trolls were aliens. Scientists could confirm they were carbon-based life forms and their home world was a lot like Earth. They were a mystery. The Grand Nations of Colombia, Peru, and Chile had tangled with the creatures fifty years ago, which led to the CPC collapsing and finally become genuine members of the UNA.
Alerts swarmed his visor: VT04, VT05, VT06, VT07, and so on.
“1st Platoon to Zulu Recon Company, we have been enveloped by an expanding VT force. No sign of DU advisors or support units,” Lacy broadcast.
Lieutenant Uriah Jameson, acting company commander with Piper gone, responded after a short pause. “How do monsters that size sneak up on a Recon platoon?”
Lacy didn’t respond.
Jameson repeated the question.
“We are about to get busy,” Lacy said. “Suggest you check your six for similar incursions. Command may consider aborting the mission.”
Despite his lukewarm feelings for Lieutenant Natalia Lacy, Priest shifted in his position of concealment from the pure awkwardness of the communication. His boss had just told her boss’s boss the entire operation was fubar’d.
“Stop marking targets,” Priest said. “There are too many.” He turned toward where Lacy must be in the night forest. “Permission to engage?”
“Roger that. Engage by squads. Cut and peel by squads and fire teams to the extraction point. This is a rout. Let’s live to fight another day, people.”
The words sent chills up Priest’s spine.
“McCraw and Frenchie, strike the first blow,” Priest said, keeping his voice steady despite his pounding heart and exploding visor warnings. The Void Troll division had made good time since Lacy saw them during her drop and the Dissident Union advisory pairs — translation: super-commandos — were no longer in their famous two-man teams, but full combat units with heavy weapons and supporting artillery.
Henrietta McCraw and Francis “Frenchie” Waldon fired controlled bursts to draw forward the first two enemies. Priest and the rest of Alpha, Charlie, and Delta squads opened fire as two giants rushed forward. He wasn’t sure what happened to Bravo, but they were nowhere he could detect with or without sensors.
Water, gravel, and mud sprayed into the air from the driving feet of the Void Trolls. Both of the micro-bullet riddled creatures bent their heads forward. Moonlight cut shadows behind them, alternately revealing trees and other aggressors.
“McCraw, can you determine their armor level?” Priest asked, hoping there was none.
“One moment,” McCraw said, reloading. “Not sure. Have to check the video later. Falling back with Frenchie.”
“Roger,” Priest said. “Kims and Nate.”
“Already there,” Kims said, adjusting his position to lay down a withering stream o
f heavy machine gun fire on CT01 and CT02.
Lacy called in airstrikes; 2nd Platoon moved to support, followed by 3rd Platoon. Priest moved 1st Platoon back by the numbers, leaving his lieutenant free to concentrate on getting help. He wasn’t listening for political overtones but thought Jameson was displeased with everything Lacy did.
A scream cut across all communications bands.
Priest looked toward the last place he saw Lacy.
“Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck,” McCraw panted.
Priest jerked his head to the right just in time to see Corporal Henrietta McCraw charging from cover, abandoning all military discipline and her squad as she made for the Void Troll that was slamming Lacy against a tree.
“Frenchie, take 1st Platoon to link up with 2nd and 3rd!” Priest ran, shooting over McCraw’s head, then angling to one side as the terrain no longer allowed the dubious tactic.
He was fast, not as explosive as McCraw, who had track scholarships to go to officer candidates’ school but told everyone to go to hell, reasons unknown. He realized with a small part of his tactical awareness she was allowing him to catch up and complement her advance. Her cursing and breathing over the general band never stopped. She had forgotten to override her emergency comlink, just as Lacy had when snatched from the promontory she’d been using to signal an orbital bombardment.
Other than the grunting, cursing, screaming, and breaking ranks, McCraw was keeping her shit together.
“I’m on your right, McCraw,” Priest said.
“There is no fucking way she’s alive!” McCraw yelled, hurting Priest’s ears inside his helmet.
“Then leave her and do your job,” Jameson said with the authority of the Acting Company Commander.
He’s probably right, Priest thought with a sick lump in his heart. Jumping onto a boulder, he blasted supersonic flechettes into CT27 at point blank range. One amber eye exploded as he streamed in death and destruction, ducking the rock-like arm that swiped at him.
“I have her,” McCraw said. “Can’t pick her up.”