Trident Fury (The Kurgan War Book 3)

by Richard Turner

  Wendy and Tarina glanced at one another, exchanging a worried look.

  “You will follow me,” ordered the sergeant. He led the new group of captives toward a tunnel dug into the side of a rocky hill. As soon as they stepped inside, the temperature seemed to drop twenty degrees. For several minutes, the Chosen warrior steered them through a maze of tunnels until they came out into a large cavern. There were several Chosen soldiers standing there holding whips in their hands. They stared at the newcomers.

  The sergeant raised his hand and yelled, “Halt.”

  The cold, uncaring expression on the faces of the men with the whips frightened Tarina. They looked like they were used to dishing out pain with little or no remorse for their actions.

  “I can only echo what the commandant has told you,” said the sergeant. “You cannot escape. Even if you could, you would be dead in a day or two on the surface of the planet. Work hard and you will be treated fairly. Work poorly and my men will make your life a living hell.” As if to reinforce his words, an emaciated man in rags was dragged from a side tunnel and thrown on the ground at the sergeant’s feet. He stepped back and made room for two of his men to work. They uncoiled their whips and before the poor wretch could plead for his life, they began to take turns flogging him to death.

  Tarina cringed each time the whip made a sharp cracking sound as it cut through the air. Beside her, Wendy struggled not to cry.

  In a matter of minutes, it was done. The man was dead and blood covered the ground where his body lay. “Let that be a lesson to all of you,” said the sergeant. He turned and snapped his fingers. A man with long, greasy hair and a thick red beard dressed in what was left of his Marine Corps uniform walked over to the warrior. The sergeant announced, “This man will be your group supervisor. You will answer to him and he in turn answers to me. Your lives are now in his hands.”

  The man nodded to the sergeant and walked over until he was only a couple of meters from the prisoners. “Listen up, my name is Travis. I don’t care what your rank is. From here on out you will call me Master Travis. If you fail to do so, all I have to do is point at you and you will receive twenty lashes for insolence. If I bother to talk to you, you will not look me in the eye, as that is another sign of insolence that I will not tolerate. Now, follow me and I will show you where you will sleep and eat.”

  In silence, the prisoners made their way past several caverns dug out of the rock. Inside each were hundreds of bunk beds along with dozens of wooden tables and chairs. There wasn’t a soul to be seen in any of the living areas.

  “This will be your new home for as long as you live,” said Travis, pointing to a cave filled with empty beds. “Remember this, your dwelling is called Black-Three. If you get lost or you are detained, say my name as well as Black-Three and you will be brought right back here for punishment.”

  Wonderful, thought Tarina. There was no way in even her worst nightmare could she have thought up a spot as sad and unforgiving as this.

  “As the work details will be returning from the mines in the next few minutes,” said Travis. “I want all of you to take a seat at the tables in the middle of the room and sit there until the remainder of Black-Three returns. Supper will be served at precisely eighteen hundred hours. The lights are turned off at twenty hundred and reveille is at five in the morning. Work begins an hour later.”

  Tarina pointed at a nearby table. She and Wendy took a seat. The mood among the prisoners was despondent. Barely anyone uttered a word. Most just sat there staring at the walls.

  “This place is a living hell,” whispered Wendy.

  “We just got here. Wait until we’ve been in the mines working under the lash for twelve hours a day. We’ve got to figure a way out of here while we still have our strength.”

  “You heard that Kurgan, we wouldn’t last more than a couple of days on the run in the heat.”

  Tarina shook her head. “I don’t care, two days on the run is better than waiting down here to die. Besides, we might get lucky and steal a transport shuttle. I’m willing to give it a try if you are.”

  Wendy smiled. “I’m with you. However, we’ll never get past all the guards at the entrance to the mine. So I suggest we look for another way out when we are taken down into the mine to dig for perlinium tomorrow morning.”

  Tarina squeezed her friend’s hand. It was done, No matter what happened they were going to try and make a run for freedom.

  The sound of dozens of feet shuffling across the rocky floor brought the conversation to an abrupt end. Both women looked at the entrance to the cavern and were shocked to see the other occupants of Black-Three staggering toward them. Their bodies were skin and bones. What little clothing they wore was torn and dirty. They looked right through the newcomers. It was as if they didn’t exist.

  Tarina stood and let out a gasp when she thought she recognized someone. “Angela, is that you?”

  The woman turned her head and looked over with eyes that had seen too much death and horror.

  Tarina looked deep into the woman dark blue eyes. She had no doubt in her heart that she knew the person in front of her. “Angela, it’s me, Tarina. Don’t you recognize me?”

  “Tarina, my God, it really is you. Am I dreaming?” asked Angela.

  Tarina put a hand on Angela’s dirt-covered skin. “I’m sorry, you’re not dreaming. I’m here with you.”

  “Here, sit down,” said Wendy, making room for Angela on the bench.

  Everyone sat. Tarina made the introductions before asking, “When were you captured?”

  “My ship was boarded after a battle over Hyperion-Six. We did not have many Marines on board to help repel the attack. They fought hard but were quickly overwhelmed. The Kurgans took most of the crew alive. Unfortunately, they also got the ship’s cargo of ammunition for themselves.”

  “How long have you been here?” Wendy asked.

  “What is the date?”

  “April tenth.”

  A glassy look came over Angela’s eyes. “I’d lost complete track of time. I’ve been here for almost five months now.”

  Tarina saw the miserable look in her comrade’s face, reached over, and placed a hand on Angela’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m the lucky one. Of the forty-eight men and women taken prisoner, there are only four of us left alive. Some died of exhaustion, others from disease, while many more were killed by the guards. They see us as subhuman and not worthy of pity. Keep your head down and whatever you do, don’t let Travis take a liking to you.”

  “Why?” asked Tarina.

  “Because he likes to rape women right in front of everyone else. When he’s had his way, he gives the poor soul over to the guards who take turns with her until they grow bored and kill her.”

  “God, no,” Wendy uttered.

  Behind them, a cart rolled into view. It had three large steel pots on it.

  Angela saw the cart and stood. “Hurry, or all you’ll get is broth.” Tarina and Wendy followed her to the wagon. The lids were lifted off the pots and a foul odor wafted out.

  “That smells awful,” said Tarina, waving a hand in front of her nose.

  “You’ll get used to it. We only get two meals a day. Breakfast and supper, and it’s always the same thing. Force yourself to eat it or you’ll soon begin to fade, and you’ll be unable to work. Always keep thinking to yourself that if you don’t work, you’ll die.”

  They took their bowls of foul-smelling food back to their table. Tarina spotted a few people who had come with her still sitting down. “Get some food into you,” she said to the people.

  “I’m not hungry,” replied a dejected-looking man.

  Angela shook her head. “Forget him and anyone else who won’t look after themselves. If you try to help them, all you do is draw attention to yourself. I know this sounds horrid, but you have to care about yourself and only yourself from now on. If you don’t, you won’t last a week here.”

  Tarina saw Wendy eyeing the gr
ay soup in her bowl. “Close your eyes and pretend you’re back home on Earth in a fancy restaurant in Paris having a scrumptious meal.”

  Already Angela was halfway through her meal. She looked up and said, “Eat it fast. I’ve seen people killed for their food.”

  Tarina dipped her spoon in the soup, scooped some up, and placed it in her mouth. She almost gagged on the repulsive-tasting broth. She closed her eyes and willed herself to eat the meal no matter how inedible it may taste. If she were going to make a run for it, she knew she had to consume whatever was put in front of her.

  Chapter 7

  Sheridan read over his report one last time before saving it. It was only a first draft of what had happened during his time undercover with the smugglers. As was his routine, he would have Cole read it to make sure that he hadn’t forgotten anything before sending it on to Captain Killam and the operational staff of the Sixth Fleet Headquarters. The after-action review of the incident involving the downed Kurgan craft had not taken long to write. Sheridan knew that the intelligence personnel would be salivating to get their hands on the computer taken from the ship and all the other devices that they had brought along with them. He glanced down at his watch and saw that they would be coming out of their jump in less than an hour. It would be good to be back home with the fleet and his father, the commanding officer of the Sixth Fleet. He stood up, stretched up his tired muscles, and went to give a copy of his report for his friend to review.

  They shared a room with several dozen boxes filled with spare supplies and provisions. It was tight, but at least it was warm and dry. Sheridan stepped inside the cramped quarters. “Master Sergeant, are you awake? I’ve got a copy of my report for you to look over.”

  There was no reply.

  Sheridan had no idea where Cole could have gone. It wasn’t time for supper. He shrugged and tossed the papers down on his cot. He sat down, reached underneath, pulled out a small metal box, and opened it. There should have been a bottle of Scotch inside. Instead, there was a note. Sheridan picked up the paper and read it. There was one sentence: Sir, I think we need to talk.

  The door to the room slid open. Cole walked in and stood in front of Sheridan.

  “Sir, I saw you coming down the hallway and waited a minute. I knew if you didn’t find me here that you’d reach for your bottle. Captain, I turned a blind eye to your drinking when your girlfriend was first declared missing. I also kept my mouth shut when we were operating undercover in the smuggler colony. But I’m not going to be silent anymore. You should have come to me before you decided to deal with your feelings by yourself. Did you honestly think that I wouldn’t notice you’d been drinking to excess?’

  Sheridan sat there confused, ashamed, and angry all at the same time. He did not know what to say to his friend.

  Cole sat down across from Sheridan. “You’re not alone. I’ve been in your shoes. The irritability, the inability to fall asleep, the hypervigilance, they’re all signs of PTSD. Trust me on this one, self-medication is not the answer. I lost my family because I did precisely what you’re doing. Michael, you’re only twenty-four. You’ve got your whole life in front of you. I see potential in you that I’ve never seen in an officer so young as you. Don’t destroy your chance to live a good life.”

  “I can deal with it,” replied Sheridan.

  “Sir, you can’t bullshit a bullshitter. No one can deal with it by themselves. I’m not going to let you self-destruct. I know that you’ve gotten more alcohol hidden in your gear. I want you to stand up and give it all to me.”

  “And If I don’t?”

  “Then you can find yourself a new master sergeant. My job goes beyond the usual duties of dress, discipline, and deportment. I’m here to give you advice, even if you don’t like what I’m saying. Captain, don’t let foolish pride blind you. Let me help you.”

  Sheridan sat there staring over at the man who had become his closest friend. He could not believe that Cole would make him stop drinking.

  Cole’s voice turned serious. “Michael, if you don’t give me all of your booze, and I do mean all of it in the next ten seconds, I’m going to speak with your father and demand a transfer.”

  Panic began to build in Sheridan’s chest. He was conflicted. In his mind, the alcohol was the only thing stopping him from breaking down. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw Tarina’s face or the dead body of his friend, Harry Williams, lying on the ice moon where he had killed him.

  Cole stood and turned to leave.

  “No, wait,” pleaded Sheridan as he jumped to his feet and moved over to his barrack box. He rummaged around for a few seconds before pulling out a couple of bottles. His hands shook as he handed the bottles to Cole.

  Cole’s eyes narrowed. “The flask in your pack as well, sir.”

  Sheridan nodded, dug it out, and gave it over. “How the hell did you know about the flask?”

  “Sir, you’re an amateur compared to me. Remember, I told you once that I used to hide my booze in the bathroom so no one would see me drinking. I was so good at it that people did not even know I was drunk when I was at work.”

  Sheridan felt his legs give out. He collapsed down onto his cot. Tears filled his eyes. He hung his head in shame. “Oh God, Master Sergeant, what have I done?”

  Cole sat down beside Sheridan and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sir, you haven’t done anything wrong. You’re human and you’ve made a bad call. Hell, we all do. You’re not the first and you won’t be the last person to do what you have done. Trust me when I say that I’m here to help you get through this. Talking about how you feel is better for you than a dozen bottles of alcohol. Today is the first day of a new life for you.”

  Sheridan nodded. He did not raise his head. He had never felt so low in his entire life.

  Cole examined the bottles. He was surprised at the assortment of alcohol his young friend had accumulated. “Sir, where did you get the vodka from?”

  “The ships’ supply petty officer has a stash.”

  Cole stood up and let out a resigned sigh. “Sir, from here on out when you feel the need for a drink, just come see me instead. As for that petty officer, he and I are about to have a one-way conversation that will end badly for him.”

  Sheridan wiped his eyes and stood up. “Thanks, Master Sergeant. I owe you.”

  “Sir, this isn’t about owing anyone anything. This about doing the right thing. Now hand me that report to read, your last one was full of grammatical errors.”

  Sheridan gave a fake look of indignation. “Hey, I’m the one with the degree.”

  “That does not mean you know how to write.”

  Chapter 8

  Michael Sheridan stood outside the door to his father’s private quarters. He made sure that his new uniform was neat and tidy before pressing the buzzer on the wall. A couple of seconds later, the door slid open and his father stood there with a smile on his weathered face. Like his son, Admiral Robert Sheridan was tall and fit, with green eyes and black hair that was now graying around the temples. Right away, his father reached out and hugged his son. The years of estrangement between them had long vanished and a strong bond of respect and admiration had replaced it.

  “It’s good to see you again, Michael,” said the admiral.

  “You too, Father.” He moved into the room and saw that the dinner table was already set for two.

  “Come, let’s sit down and have a bite to eat. We can talk over dinner. Unfortunately, I have a conference call with Admiral Oshiro in just over an hour.”

  “Something up?” asked Sheridan as he took a seat at the table.

  “It’s my usual weekly chat with the admiral . . . at least that’s what I think it is.”

  Sheridan smirked when he saw the usual bottle of wine that accompanied all his father’s dinner meals was missing.

  “Yes, I see you’ve noticed,” said the admiral. “My steward received a message from Sergeant Cole that I was not to serve you any alcohol with your meals anymore. Is ther
e something you want to tell me, Michael?”

  Sheridan felt his cheeks flush. He fought the feelings of guilt and shame in his heart and looked up at his father. “Dad, Master Sergeant Cole is just looking out for me. I hit the bottle pretty hard after Tarina went missing. It’s for my own good that I abstain from any alcohol.”

  Robert Sheridan smiled. “Michael, you’ve got the best damned NCO in the entire Marine Corps. If you won’t have any, neither will I from now until this blasted war is over.”

  “Dad, you don’t have to do that. I’m the one with the problem.”

  “You’re right, I don’t have to, but I want to. Now dig in, your fish is getting cold.”

  Sheridan took a fork full of salmon and savored its taste. After almost two months of eating rations or poorly cooked food, he was happy to enjoy a decent meal with his father. A couple of minutes later, Sheridan set his fork down and asked, “Sir, how is the offensive going in the Titan system?”

  The admiral shook his head. The bitter look on his face told Sheridan that things had not turned out as fleet headquarters had predicted. “I hate to say it, but things there went spectacularly bad for the First and Third Fleets. We lost two carriers and over two dozen other vessels trying to take back Titan Prime. The Kurgans did not come off much better. However, the much hoped for breakthrough in that region has not happened. To make matters worse, an enemy counteroffensive managed to take back two planets and inflict over thirty thousand casualties on the Marine and Army divisions involved in the fight.”

  Sheridan knew that friends he went through the academy with could easily be among the thousands of killed and wounded. It tugged at his emotions. The first thought that flashed through his subconscious was that he could use a drink. Sheridan took a deep breath and cleared his mind. He had vowed never to drink again, and he was not about to give in to temptation.