Pursuit of Valor (The Tarvaax War Book 1)

by Tripp Ellis

  Darrell flopped to the deck, slamming his head into a support post. His nose shattered, spraying blood everywhere. The light lime green paint on the post was now speckled red.

  Zack spun around and assumed the basic warrior stance again, waiting for another attack.

  Darrell staggered to his feet. He looked like a rabid dog—his eyes barely edging out from behind his knitted brow. Blood trickling from his nostrils, down his chin. His eyes already had black circles underneath them. “You're going to regret that, Salvator. Now I'm really going to hurt you.”

  Darrell was about to charge him again when Stone marched in. "What in the hell is going on in my squad bay?”

  The platoon raced to the position of attention in front of their footlockers. Darrell and Zack were left in the middle of the squad bay, standing at attention, waiting for the tirade that was soon to follow.

  Stone's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the two combatants. His angry gaze found the broken PDU on the floor. Then his eyes flicked back to the recruits. He looked a little perplexed by the fact that Darrell had a broken nose and Zack looked unharmed.

  “Whose PDU is that?" Stone asked.

  "The PDU belongs to this recruit," Zack said.

  “How did it wind up on the deck in multiple pieces?"

  "It was dropped, sir."

  “By whom?”

  Zack stammered. He glanced to Vaughn for an instant, then back to Sergeant Stone. Vaughn was seething.

  "This recruit, sir,” Zack said.

  “Is that so?” Stone asked, doubtful.

  “Yes, sir."

  Stone knew better. He turned his gaze to Vaughn. "And what happened to you?"

  Darrell paused for a moment.

  “Answer me, dirt-bag!”

  “This recruit fell, sir.”

  “You fell?” Stone said, incredulous.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, at least you made an improvement. Now you have an excuse for looking like you were beaten with a hammer.”

  Darrell gritted his teeth. "Yes, sir."

  Stone surveyed the blood splatter on the support post and the deck. “I suppose if I asked the rest of the platoon, they will all give me the same story?"

  Vaughn and Zack exchanged a nervous glance, then answered in unison. "Yes, sir."

  Stone wasn’t buying a word of it. "Recruit on recruit abuse is not tolerated in my Marine Corps. Neither is the destruction of government property." Stone said. "Private Salvator, that PDU is coming out of your paycheck."

  “Yes, sir."

  Sergeant Stone turned his attention to Vaughn. "As for you, you weren't worth much to begin with.”

  “Yes, sir."

  “May I remind you, that fighting is a violation of Article 128, and shall be punished as a court-martial shall direct.”

  Zack swallowed hard.

  "As for the rest of you limp-dicks… you have failed to maintain cohesion among the platoon. Drop and give me 50.”

  “Yes, sir," the platoon shouted in unison. They hit the deck and began to push out the reps.

  Stone's eyes blazed at Zack and Darrell. “You two, in my duty hut. Now!”

  30

  Darrell and Zack stood at attention in Sergeant Stone's office. It was a drab compartment with a desk, a few chairs, a coffee maker, and a water-cooler. There was a Marine Corps flag on the wall with the Eagle, Galaxy, and Anchor. There were a few pictures of Stone with other Marines in the field. There was a picture of his wife and two kids on his desk.

  “You boys have put me in a difficult position," Stone said. "As your Commanding Officer, I have convening authority in this matter. If I refer charges to a court-martial, the best you can hope for is a dishonorable discharge, which will haunt you for the rest of your civilian lives. In the worst case, you'll be breaking rocks on Avelok Minor. The surveillance video from the squad bay is not in your favor.”

  The two recruits looked worried.

  "I think you both have the potential to be good Marines. But you're going to have to square your asses away. We train you to fight. We instill aggression. But that aggression must be controllable. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir," they replied in unison.

  “I am not going to refer charges. Instead, I'm going to NJP your asses. You just lost your personal time for the rest of MCRD. Instead, you will engage in IT during what used to be your free time. Understood?’’

  “Yes, sir.”

  Incentive Training was a disciplinary action for minor infractions. It consisted of a drill instructor cycling a recruit through a range of exercises like sit-ups, push-ups, scissor kicks, etc. It was a continuous barrage of calisthenics with no rest in between exercises. It could go on for as long as a drill instructor deemed necessary—which was always too long.

  “And if I have any more problems with you two, rest assured, you will learn the meaning of suffering."

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Zack said.

  “Vaughn, go see a corpsman. Get that face fixed.”

  “Aye-aye, sir.”

  “Get out of my duty hut!” Stone screamed.

  “Aye-aye, sir,” the recruits shouted in unison. They hustled out of the duty office.

  In the hallway, Darrell muttered to Zack, “Payback’s going to be a bitch, you little punk.”

  31

  “Listen up, you little dick-worms. You have a chance to redeem yourselves. Tomorrow you will begin Basic Warrior Training. It will be the practical application of everything you've learned so far. We will teach you land and space navigation. You will learn basic squad tactics and the fundamentals of modern warfare. And there is no better way to learn than trial by fire. Tomorrow you will go up against Foxtrot Platoon. In the morning, you will be briefed on your mission objectives. It will be up to you to implement a solution to achieve those objectives. You will be firing simulated rounds. Your battle armor will be linked to the central computer, which will assess battle damage. You will have to manage casualties and KIAs, and adjust your resources accordingly. Griffin will be your platoon leader. You will follow his commands until he is relieved of duty, or killed in action. Is this understood?”

  “Yes, sir." The squad bay reverberated with the booming voices of the recruits.

  In the morning, Echo Platoon stood in formation in front of the barracks. They were in full battle armor, with an additional 60 pounds of gear on their backs.

  The armor was state-of-the-art TXL-50—War-Tek™ Ultralight Tactical Armor. It was made of a bullet resistant composite material with adjustable camouflage patterns. It provided protection for the chest, shoulders, forearms, groin, thighs, knees, and shins. The entire rig weighed 2.7 pounds. The CP-120 helmet provided enhanced impact resistance. A multiyear study had concluded that the composite materials, and active cushioning, reduced traumatic brain injuries by up to 27%.

  The composite materials could withstand the force of a 7.62 mm round at point blank range, or a 160 kV plasma projectile. Though, a plasma projectile would cause secondary burns on exposed skin.

  Stone informed the recruits of their mission objective. Then he marched up and down the formation, and his steely eyes surveyed the recruits. “Alright, dirtbags. This is your opportunity. Do not embarrass me. Move out!”

  The platoon began the long march to the combat simulation field.

  32

  Zack's squad was pinned down. Simulated training bolts rifled through the air. Sounds of battle, explosions, and screaming wounded were pumped into the area. It was as close to the actual chaos of battle that you could get.

  Zack crouched down behind a low wall that was mangled and mutilated. There were gaping holes in the concrete, and piles of rubble and ruin lay strewn about. Training bolts impacted the other side of the wall.

  The training bolts hurt like hell, simulating the pain of an actual plasma bolt. They would also paralyze the affected area for up to 45 minutes. A hit to the thoracic cavity could completely immobilize a person. It may have been a trainin
g exercise, but there were real consequences. Real pain.

  The recruits were in the middle of the ruins of an urban sprawl. There wasn’t a structure that had been left untouched by the devastation of previous live fire training exercises. Foxtrot Platoon was several blocks ahead on the upper floor of a four-story structure. A steady stream of training bolts rained down on Zack's squad from the structure.

  Stone's voice crackled over the comm line. “Echo One-One, Alpha, this is Overlord. Do you copy?" Zack's earpiece kept him in constant communication with command, and the rest of the squad. His tactical goggles gave him situational awareness of the battlefield, and the platoon. All of the recruits were networked, and troop movements were updated in real time. Targets were identified and labeled as either hostile or friendly in the heads-up-display.

  “Overlord, this is One-One, Alpha. Go ahead,” Griffin said.

  “Why aren't you advancing on the target?"

  “We’re taking heavy fire, sir."

  “What were you expecting? Complementary cocktails?"

  “No, sir.”

  “Advance your platoon, and secure the objective.”

  “Yes, sir." Griffin's face tensed with frustration. He scanned the platoon, trying to decide on a course of action.

  The bodies of 2nd Squad lay in the street ahead, immobilized from training bolts. A frontal assault on the structure had led to a less than desirable outcome.

  “Vaughn, take 3rd Squad up the middle,” Griffin said. “Milby, take 4th Squad east. I’ll take 1st Squad west, and we’ll flank them. Move out on my order.”

  “Why do we have to go up the middle?" Vaughn asked. “Because you’re the diversion. And I need my best men on it. I need you to keep them occupied and draw their fire.”

  Vaughan's ego was a way to get him to do anything. He didn't like the idea of going up the middle, but he wasn't going to argue with being called the best.

  “What about us?” Zack asked.

  “Stay here and cover 3rd Squad. I don't need you guys screwing this up."

  Zack's face tensed. He didn't like being relegated to the B-team. Clearly Griffin didn't think much of his squad, made up of Clark, Norton, and Sims.

  “Move out!” Griffin shouted.

  Vaughn and his squad leapt over the wall and dashed across the street. Training bolts impacted at their feet, zipping all around them.

  Zack and his squad sprayed a steady stream of suppressive fire. Even the pacifist, Sims, unleashed a torrent of training bolts. From time to time, Zack would catch a slight grin on Sims’s face. He clearly enjoyed firing the M7.

  Vaughn made it to the other side of the street and took cover. He threw his back against what was left of a building, and edged his way to the corner. Training bolts nipped at the brick as he tried to peer around.

  Garner took a training bolt to the chest. He was lucky this was a training exercise. If that had been a real plasma bolt, his thoracic cavity would have exploded spewing crimson sludge in all directions. His body flopped to the asphalt in the middle of the street. He could no longer participate in the exercise, even once the paralysis wore off.

  It was going to be a long hard road up the middle.

  "I'm moving," Vaughn shouted into his comm link. He sprinted around the corner and ran to the next batch of cover. He could hear the zip of training bolts all around him as they rifled through the air. He took cover behind another dilapidated wall. He swung his barrel around the edge and fired as Rick Reed charged up to meet him.

  Fitzpatrick brought up the rear. But he only made it a few steps before a projectile hit him in the face. It wasn't going to cause any permanent damage, but it had to hurt like hell. His body collapsed to the ground.

  “Son-of-a-bitch," Vaughn muttered to himself.

  “Man, we’re going to end up just like second squad,” Reed said.

  “No. We’re not. I'm completing this objective, come hell or high water.” Vaughn edged around the rubble, only to have a flurry of gunfire blast inches away from him. He ducked his head back behind the concrete.

  Zack and his squad kept blasting down the corridor, taking turns popping their weapons over the wall, firing, then ducking down.

  “Moving," Vaughn shouted. He launched from behind the rubble, blasting his weapon at the structure. He made it three steps before a training bolt hit his torso. His muscular frame slammed into the dirt.

  Rick Reed decided to stay put. He backed down an alleyway, looking for a better way to approach the enemy. A training bolt caught him in the chest, dropping him to the ground. An enemy sniper had threaded the needle, making a precision shot through a hole in the wall. Reed never saw it coming.

  “What do we do now?" Isaac asked, watching the chaos unfold.

  33

  Zack was silent a long moment. He closed his eyes trying to think—trying to visualize. He tuned out the chaos around him for a moment.

  “It’s a diversion.”

  “What's a diversion?" Sims asked.

  There was a glint in Zack's eyes. An epiphany. “The target objective isn’t in that building.”

  The rest of the squad gave him a skeptical look.

  “Sure. Good location. High vantage point. They clearly have the majority of their forces defending it. But it's not the best location.” Zack pulled out a small black cartography disc from a pouch on his tactical vest and set it on the ground. It displayed a 3D map of the area. He pointed to the four-story structure where the enemy was. “I think there are four people maximum in the structure. They're moving around, firing from different windows, making it look like the entire platoon is there.”

  Zack pointed to a building a few blocks east, then another building a few blocks west. "There's a squad here and here. They’re waiting to ambush anyone who tries to flank the main structure.”

  "How do you know this?" Sims said, skeptically.

  “It's what I would do,” Zack said. “Look at the natural typography of the area. This structure to the north has the best defensive vantage point. It backs up against the river. You can't approach from the east, west, or south without crossing 100 yards of open field. Anyone who tries is going to get caught in the crossfire between these three units here.” He pointed back to the main structure, and the two ambush locations.

  “He's right,” Clark said.

  “So how do we capture the target?” Isaac asked.

  Zack tapped his earbud. “One-One, Alpha, this is One-Five, Alpha. How copy?”

  A few moments later Griffin's perturbed voice crackled back. “Stay off comms, Salvator.”

  “I think you're walking into an ambush."

  “Maintain radio silence.”

  Zack shook his head. He could see their exact position in his HUD. Within moments, he heard a flurry of weapons fire erupt. It didn't take long for the flashing green icons of 1st and 4th squad to turn yellow, indicating casualties. “We're going to head north to the river. My guess is that there is no more than a squad guarding our objective. We’ll infiltrate the building and capture the target.”

  “Ooh-rah!” Isaac cheered.

  “Sims, I need you to stay here and keep firing at that structure. Keep changing position. Make it look like we've got an entire squad here. If they're keeping a body count, they’ll know there's only four of us left. If they think we’re all located just here, they won't bother to look behind them."

  “Won’t they send a squad to take me out?”

  “The price of victory is never cheap," Zack said with a grin.

  “Okay. Fine. I'll make the sacrifice for the team. It's only a simulation.”

  “It's more than just a simulation,” Zack said. "That's Foxtrot Platoon out there. This is our chance to redeem ourselves. Maybe they'll have to field day our head.”

  The squad laughed.

  Zack grabbed a smoke canister from his tactical vest and lobbed it into the street. It popped and sprayed thick white smoke into the air. It filled the street, obscuring their current position.


  Sims angled his rifle over the wall and began showering the corridor with training bolts.

  Zack, Isaac, and Clark sprang to their feet and ran to the east. They made a wide berth, angling north. They advanced with speed and precision, moving silently through the ruined city.

  Zack stopped at 33rd Street and peered around the corner. He could see the main four-story structure in the distance, and the building to the east where the ambush squad was. He zoomed in with his tactical goggles for a better look. All of the units were firing at Sims’s position.

  Zack motioned for the squad to move forward, and they dashed across the street. No one in Foxtrot Platoon seemed to notice them. From there on out, it was smooth sailing to the river.

  They paused at the water’s edge to regroup. Zack caught sight of a dilapidated structure. Its wooden door was barely hanging on the hinges. "Give me a hand with this," he said to Clark.

  They trotted to the door and ripped it out of the door frame, then carried it down to the river. He and Clark set it into the water. It wasn't much, but it floated, and would provide a modicum of cover. The three recruits entered the river and immersed themselves. They clung on to the door and floated down the river, keeping their heads as low in the water as possible.

  The M7 was technically rated at depths up to 50 meters. The only caveat was that the barrel needed to be completely drained of water before the weapon was fired. Otherwise, catastrophic failure might result.

  Zack could hear that Sims was still exchanging fire with Foxtrot Platoon. He wasn't going to last much longer. Surely they had sent out a kill squad for him.

  As Zack and his squad reached the target structure, the recruits let go of the door and it continued drifting down the river. They slipped out of the water and slithered on their bellies up the berm. Within seconds, they were at the north entrance. It was a 40 story building, and Zack's guess was that the target was on the roof. That's where he’d position it.