Lucky Shot: A Lucky’s Marines Prequel

by Joshua James

Dixon had lead the noobs out of the hanger to the training deck, but the rest of the Marines were still in the hanger. All talk died out.

  “If the AI integration is so amazing,” Lee said, “how was I able to break her nose? I shouldn’t have been able to touch her.”

  Hahn smiled. “Is that what you think, Private? That some shit shoved into that excuse for a brain of yours is going to make you a superhero?”

  He looked at Rania. “How long have you been an auggie, Lance Corporal?”

  “Sir, since my first year as a Marine, sir. Upgraded after my third mission.”

  Goddamned spoiled, thought Lee.

  “And how many missions have you and your AI copilot been on?”

  “Thirty-one,” she said, “not including this one.”

  He turned back to Lee. “Your AI copilot is no different than any other copilot. It might be locked away in a walled-off part of your tiny brain, running your drones and reading your bio signatures, but that doesn’t mean it can read your mind.”

  “Can’t it, though?” he said, pushing his luck further still. “They say it can’t, but c’mon, it’s up there in your neurons.”

  Hahn slit his eyes. “Do I look like a damn blood eye to you? Am I wearing a white lab coat? Does my uniform say ‘information’ on it? I’m not here to answer your questions about the tech in your head.”

  The fact that there were, in fact, clone-class scientists within earshot didn't seem to stop the Sergeant from denigrating them.

  That was a point in Hahn's favor.

  He looked at Rania then back at Lee.

  “You’re an idiot,” he said to Lee. “Do you know why you are an idiot?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Because your sister doesn’t like you,” he said, “and she is one of the finest Marines I have ever known. If you could fly just one sortie as her wingman, you’d know what a disciplined, well-drilled, well-coordinated team looks like. But I guess getting drunk and loud and gambling away your family fortune is more your style. Am I right, Private?”

  Ouch. “Yes, sir,” Lee said. “You’re right about me.” He hesitated. “And you’re right about the difference between training and the real thing.”

  Lee hopped to his feet, flexing his elbow then reaching down and stretching his back. Good as new.

  “Getting your back broken and jumping up five minutes later is a lot better way to learn about biobots than anything in training,” he said. “Kinda like flying wingman on a morning alert sortie.”

  Hahn narrowed his eyes. Lee waited half a beat, then took his shot.

  “You’re short a pilot since you sent Corporal Dixon to flight training in your place,” he said, glancing at the prepped star-fighter and putting his cards on the table. “I get in a little real-world chop and you don’t have to spend any quality time with me this week getting my flight hours in.”

  “Holy shit,” said one of the other pilots.

  “Nice,” said another.

  Rania said nothing.

  “I’m all healed up now,” Lee continued. “Why not? And I’m the best shot in the training room. Ask Corporal Dixon. It’s not even close. I would be the first to go out on a sortie anyway. Might as well be today.”

  He held his breath.

  The Sergeant eyed him up and down without saying a word.

  The silence stretched on.

  It grew uncomfortable. Lee realized he smelled like shit. Sweat was pooling under his eyes and making his nose itch, but he didn’t dare move.

  He was about to make the point that they were nine weeks into training and live sorties started in two weeks anyways.

  He was about to point out that they were already using live-fire drones in near-space and that was probably more than they were going to run into on a lazy morning sortie.

  He was about to open his big mouth one more time and ruin it.

  But to his own surprise, he didn’t.

  “Goddamn cocky,” Hahn said at last.

  He turned to Rania.

  “Ride his ass hard.”

  3

  Lee settled into the alert fighter with only one goal: not to embarrass himself.

  That lasted to the end of the launch tube.

  With a jolt, the star-fighter veered hard downward, angling to run along the outside edge of the Iconic’s hull.

  Lee’s faceplate cracked against the inside of the control column, then his head ended up between his legs as the artificial g’s forced his body into a ball.

  He was dizzy and fought back the urge to vomit. He felt a cool sensation of energy pulse through him, and the wave of nausea and disorientation passed. He felt the strength to lift his head.

  The fighter was barely moving now.

  “What—”

  Lee shook his head.

  “What was that?” he said. He couldn’t hear anything over his comms. Were they dead?

  He looked at the HUD display in his mind’s eye overlaying the controls inside the fighter cockpit.

  The fighter was officially an EE-49A. They were called Evil Emps back when they were in heavy rotation. These days it was hard to find the fat little fighters still in operation. The ones on the ESS Iconic were older than most. Everything on the Iconic was older than most.

  The Marines called them Voodoos, since it took witchcraft to keep them flying.

  The fighter looked almost identical to the training fighter he had spent the better part of month flying in.

  Lee wasn’t a natural pilot — he’d much prefer a weapon in hand pointed in the general direction of something that needed shooting. But the augmented marines were expected to be experts in all manner of combat. The AI copilot was supposed to be a big part of that.

  The AI copilot.

  Lee took a moment to try and calm his breathing. In theory, contacting his AI was easy. That’s what all the techs said. They called it echoing. They had spent weeks in exercises designed to help them keep contact with their AIs under duress.

  Lee had sucked at it.

  “What is happening?” he echoed into his mind at his AI.

  He heard a faint buzz. He tried again.

  “What is happening?”

  Another buzz. Well shit.

  He reached out with his hand and took the control stick.

  He yanked hard aft. The ship responded, but only for a moment, then jerked backward.

  He looked over the controls again, feeling his breathing settle. There was something here he was missing.

  As his blood pressure settled, his AI was in his ear.

  “—docking beams are engaged,” it echoed in a mechanical voice. “Would you like me to request disengagement?”

  Shit. Of course. The trainers were tethered to the ship, so there was no reason to use docking beams to keep them close. They were only getting so far.

  But the alert fighters were another thing.

  He sighed. He couldn’t hear anything on comm, but he imagined the other marines laughing at him.

  “Clear docking.”

  “Docking cleared.”

  He felt the fighter begin to drift away from the hull of the Iconic.

  He pulled back on the stick and the fighter begin to power away.

  Now this was more like it.

  It might be old, but compared to the trainers, the Voodoo was a dream to fly. Agile and quick.

  He slammed the throttle forward, knowing he had been left far behind by the other fighters.

  He felt a rush as he quickly passed the outer limits of where the trainers could go.

  “You are exceeding near-ship speeds.”

  No shit, he thought. But those limits were to protect the battle cruiser from fighters flying nearby. He was taking off directly away from the Iconic. He pushed the throttle even further over.

  “Incoming comm request,” his AI echoed. He saw the light flashing on his HUD.

  He didn’t need to look to know that it was Razor.

  He called up a position map in his mind. The four oth
er alert fighters were in a small cluster about 40 neb-klicks ahead of him. He could make up that distance in minute or so.

  Let’s talk when I get there, sis.

  It was, of course, a major breach to ignore a communication from a senior officer. He was sure none of the other goody-goody noobs would have ever dreamed of it.

  But he’d spent most of five years in ground combat ignoring ranking officers. He might have picked up a few bad habits from serving in a conscripted prisoner unit. Then again, ignoring superiors had saved his life more than once.

  The request did raise a question, though.

  “AI, why am I not hearing general comm traffic?”

  “You have not requested a comm channel.”

  Lee was annoyed.

  “I’ve never had to request a channel before.”

  “It was not available before,” came the cool reply. “You were only allowed the training comm.”

  He had begun a slow barrel roll and could see the Iconic now over his shoulder, hanging in space. It was rapidly shrinking. But he could still see the handful of trainers down below the beast of a ship, like little minnows hiding under a rock.

  He smiled and nosed over the fighter, determined to put more distance between him and them.

  “So what are my channel options now?”

  “All comm, all ship, alert squad, direct—”

  “OK, enough,” he cut it off.

  The damn thing was annoying. And even though it was supposed to be a neutral voice, he could swear he hear the hint of exasperation. Maybe he was making that last part up.

  “Look, just get me on comm with the other—”

  Suddenly, red lights started to flash in his mind. His HUD lit up with a proximity alert. A second light flashed. Then a third. The flight stick began to vibrate in his hand.

  The space around the cockpit lit up, and his eyes burned from the explosion of light. He shielded his eyes with his arm. He felt the visor automatically dim.

  A second later, and another light flashed for a moment past his head.

  Was someone shooting at him? Were those energy pulses?

  And then he smashed his head into front of his faceplate and into the control column.

  Again.

  He felt the fighter violently bounce and he was thrown against the restraints. The cockpit had some gravity support in it. He’d prefer to just be in zero-g if he was going to be thrown around like a doll.

  The buffeting continued. He tasted blood.

  “What was that?” he echoed to his AI.

  There was a moment where the AI was again a soft buzz, but it resolved quickly. He was getting better.

  “—fighters on intercept course.”

  “Wait, what?”

  There was a pop on his helmet comm.

  “Get on the all comm, you piece of shit.”

  It was Razor.

  And she was pissed.

  “Hello to you, too, Lance Corporal,” he said sarcastically. There was no response.

  He wasn’t sure how she could direct comm him without his permission, but he also wasn’t surprised she could. Rank had its privileges.

  “I had some trouble initially with the docking beams,” he said. “I think it’s just my AI is screwy.”

  Still silence.

  “Is she still there?” he echoed his AI.

  “Communication was one-way.”

  “That sounds like my sister.”

  The AI didn’t respond. Add no sense of humor to the list.

  “So what the hell was that?” he asked, but he could see the answer. The HUD position map showed him the heat signatures of the alert fighters. One of them had buzzed his fighter at high speed.

  Strangely, the whole formation had doubled back and were now heading for the Iconic at crash speeds.

  And they had their drones out.

  Lee had never seen his own drones out, let alone a huge cloud of them like this. This was one of the things that made augmented marines, well, augmented. The drones weren’t really his thing. That was almost all AI-driven. But they were formidable nonetheless.

  They hung like a swarm around the alert fighter formation. The formation split up. One fighter kept diving forward while the other three peeled off, creating space from each other while keeping their hulls pointed in the direction of the Iconic.

  “The alert fighters have returned to the Iconic to provide defensive support,” his AI said smoothly. “Lance Corporal Razor flew particularly close while she—”

  “From what?” he echoed, feeling the restraints as he sat up straighter. “Defensive support from what?”

  The AI paused for a moment.

  “The unknown vessel.”

  4

  “Get me on alert comm,” Lee said urgently.

  He flipped the fighter over and mashed hard on the throttle.

  As he swung around, his position map updated and—

  Shit.

  A dreadnaught was bearing down on the Iconic.

  Except it wasn’t a dreadnaught. Something about the shape was wrong. It was too bulbous across the middle and it had multiple sets of conning towers mounted along the top.

  It was also completely dark. Not just running dark. Completely dark, like it was powerless. But the ship was clearly under power and closing fast on the Iconic.

  Where had that come from?

  On cue, his alert comm came to life, and chatter filled his helmet.

  “Are you seeing that, Monkey?”

  “Yeah, some kind of— I don’t know. Energy sphere? Hard to read. I can’t get a solid look,” Monkey paused. “It’s definitely increasing, though, in strength and size.”

  “Hang on, my locust drone is close.”

  “We aren’t hanging on, Waldo. I’m going to shoot it.”

  “Don’t shoot a damn thing.”

  That last voice was Razor. The others he wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t gotten their callsigns.

  “I have locust in position,” said a cool voice.

  “Easy, Killjoy, don’t get too close. The Iconic wants clear sightlines.”

  Lee wanted to ask how the hell it got so close, but he knew better than to interrupt the Frontier Marines at work. Then he reminded himself that he was an augmented Marine now, too.

  Instead, he echoed the question to his AI.

  “Unknown,” it said simply.

  Not very helpful, this AI of his.

  “What do they want?”

  “Communications are in progress.”

  He looked instinctively at the Iconic.

  “Put them on my comm.”

  “You are not authorized for that channel.”

  He was about to mount a pointless argument when his headset crackled to life.

  “Lee, stay at 20 Neb-Ks minimum,” said Razor. “I need an overview of what we have here.”

  “Bullshit,” he said, instinctively.

  If she thought he was just going to sit back and watch the show she was wrong as could be.

  “We need a runner,” she said. “You’re it.”

  An instant later, a locust drone appeared and attached itself to the side of his ship. The tiny marvel was no bigger than his hand, but could deliver a payload capable of destroying the fighter he was sitting in. Once he was a bonafide auggie, he’d control hundreds of these. Or his AI would.

  But this one seemed to have a different payload.

  Lee heard his AI acknowledge the receipt of an info cube.

  “What is this?”

  “We are getting jammed by this … thing. This energy signature isn’t new, though. We’ve been tracking it some time—”

  “We?” Lee interrupted.

  She ignored him. “You have to get beyond the jamming and transmit to royal fleet command.”

  Shit.

  Without prompting, his AI offered up. “I estimate we can clear the jamming in 4 sub-FTL jumps.”

  It paused. “Assuming no change in circumstance.”

  Lee had pulled
back off the throttle, but he was still allowing the fighter to drift into the arena.

  Just a limp dick floating around, he thought.

  “Lee, I know you don’t give a shit about orders. Not from me anyway. But trust me. This is big. This is the reason we are out here." She hesitated. "The Empire needs to know about this. We have been taking losses out here. Something is picking us off. Something like this.”

  Lee halted the drift and held his position.

  “The cube will keep recording, so stick around as long as you can, but when I tell you to haul ass, you haul ass. You got that, Private?”

  Lee didn’t say anything. His sister didn’t wait for him to.

  As he watched, the Iconic began to slide ever so slightly back, like a fighter giving ground to an opponent. He knew she was just tightening the screws, waiting to pounce.

  The alert fighters took up positions nearside of the Iconic, with clearing firing solutions.

  He noted the trainers were nowhere to be found. The rest of the trainees must have already jumped back aboard.

  Then something went red on his HUD.

  “Tango alert!” said one of the alert pilots. Killjoy, was it? “I have a power surge.”

  “I see it too,” said Razor.

  “Should I kill it?”

  “Stay clear,” she said coolly.

  At that moment, Lee’s position map went white as dozens of flashes of light appeared.

  The Iconic’s starboard pulse cannons began to belch energy pulses. Lee had seen the Iconic batteries test fired, but he hadn’t seen all of them fire at once. The ship actually seemed to shudder under the powerful reactive force of her own weapons as automatic maneuvering rockets struggled to hold her position.

  The space between the Iconic and the dark dreadnaught was filled with green-yellow light.

  The Iconic couldn’t miss at this distance, and she didn’t.

  The pulses pounded into the belly and side of the dreadnaught.

  The ship shuddered, pushed slightly off course.

  And that was it.

  No impacts, no explosions.

  The energy pulses seemed to just dissipate as they reached the ship.

  The alert comm was silent for a moment.

  “Tango, tango, tango!” screamed Waldo.

  “Hit it,” said Razor.

  “I—”