by PP Corcoran
Sinclair’s Scorpions
Book Five of The Omega War
By
PP Corcoran
PUBLISHED BY: Seventh Seal Press
Copyright © 2018 PP Corcoran
All Rights Reserved
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License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
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Cover Design by Brenda Mihalko
Original Art by Ricky Ryan
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Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
About PP Corcoran
Connect with PP Corcoran Online
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Excerpt from Book One of In Revolution Born:
Excerpt from Book One of the Earth Song Cycle:
Excerpt from Book One of the Kin Wars Saga:
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Chapter One
Gut Feeling
The epitome of relaxation, Alastair Sinclair stood facing the picture window that ran the length of an entire wall of his second story office. Hands clasped behind his back, feet spread shoulder width apart and weight evenly balanced on the balls of his feet as if at the position of parade rest, Alastair breathed in the view beyond the thick glass on this late evening.
A wide sandy beach ran for miles in either direction, and the islands of Gigha, Islay, and Jura crowned the horizon. On a day like today, with a whisper of wind and a clear blue sky, it was easy for Alastair to imagine why his great-grandfather, Duncan Sinclair, selected the old airfield of Machrihanish on the tip of the Mull of Kintyre as a base for his Scorpions.
One of only three survivors from Campbell’s Foxes to return to Earth following the time known as the legendary Alpha Contracts, Duncan Sinclair chose Machrihanish, with its magnificent views over the cold Atlantic waves, as the base from which to establish and run his own mercenary company: Sinclair’s Scorpions.
Prior to first contact, and the sudden thrusting of humanity into the galactic community, the British government short-listed the run-down airfield as a site for the country’s first spaceport. Galactic technology, however, dispelled that dream. Instead, the airfield fell into disuse and disrepair.
On his return to Earth, though, Duncan Sinclair had seen the isolated spot was ideal for his needs. With no industry and, therefore, little job prospects, the meager population had all but abandoned the area in search of greener pastures. Sinclair, along with David Buchanan and Mary Stuart, his last remaining comrades from Campbell’s Foxes, purchased the airfield and converted its buildings and hangars into barracks, stores, training facilities, and administration blocks.
In the ensuing years, the fledgling mercenary company’s profits were reinvested in the purchase of surrounding land, and, by the time of Alastair’s father’s birth, the Scorpions owned virtually the entire peninsula, which they put to good use. The Scorpions’ honed skillset made them a desirable commodity among the Galactic Union’s movers and shakers. For the Scorpions specialized in an area that even the relaxed laws of the Galactic Union viewed as on the edge.
To misquote an old Earth rock song, the Scorpions were experts at doing ‘dirty deeds’ but not so cheap.
Need to know your opponent’s industry secrets?
The Scorpions could infiltrate any facility and find out.
Has a nefarious group kidnapped an employee or gotten their hands on secret equipment?
The Scorpions could recover the execs and the equipment for you.
Does your corporation lack coherent security policies?
The Scorpions could assess and train.
Their business model was simple, a company demanded services and the Scorpions provided it, no matter if it was entirely legal.
For administrative purposes, the Scorpions numbered two companies totaling 240 officers and other ranks.
In reality, most of the Scorpions’ missions called for smaller, self-sustaining, platoon-sized units. Thus, the Scorpions’ order of battle evolved into Gamma and Zulu Companies, each with four platoons.
Three platoons in each company were fully mission-capable platoons—the war fighters—while the fourth platoon consisted of support personnel and was responsible for maintaining the standard Mark 8 CASPers. The fourth platoon also provided technical specialists, including cyber warfare, small ship pilots, armorers, and intelligence analysts. The same platoon furnished off-book services: nefarious jobs that never reached a computer terminal.
The tax authorities might have raised a red flag if they bothered to examine the Scorpions’ returns. Why did the Scorpions pay their janitorial staff so much? Carefully placed cash payments in the right hands ensured such an examination never happened.
Alastair watched the gradual sunset while two men sat patiently in front of his desk. “Apologies for dragging you in, gentlemen. I appreciate it’s been a long couple of months for you on Galax.” Alastair turned from the window, regained his seat, and addressed Captain Tim Buchanan and First Sergeant Croll. “But, I want your initial take on the mission before I get into the minutiae, which is, no doubt, in your post deployment reports.”
A semi-suppressed sigh escaped Buchanan, the officer commanding 1st Platoon, Gamma Company, but it was barely audible over the seat shuffling of Croll, the Scorpions’ newcomer. The mission to Galax was Croll’s first deployment, but from the weekly updates Buchanan gave Alastair, the first sergeant had performed admirably.
Muscles at the side of Alastair’s lips tugged upward, but he suppressed his involuntary grin at the uncomfortable response his comment evoked. Like most military professionals, Buchanan and Croll much preferred soldiering to the paperwork which inevitably followed, particularly as they progressed up the chain of command.
Alastair’s smart desk had noted his return and automatically activated the built-in Tri-V display of a rather long-winded, and frankly boring, Logistics and Supply report from the mercenary company’s S4, the last document Alastair had read. Alastair appreciated the demands placed on the Scorpions’ S4, Captain Cristin Lapole. Running Logistics for any military unit was a major pain in the ass, but juggling the logistics and supply chain for a unit like the Scorpions, who could reasonably number several platoons on diverse missions throughout the known galaxy, was a job that took a certain panache.
A panache that Alastair, despite his best efforts during his time as the unit’s S4,
had never managed. Lapole, on the other hand, reveled in finding order among the chaos, and Alastair had borne witness to many a junior officer, including his sons Charlie and James, coming away from their time under Lapole’s tutelage much the wiser.
With a final glance at the report calling for attention, Alastair swiped a hand through the floating document and deactivated the display, allowing him to turn his full attention to Buchanan and Croll.
“Save the minutiae for the report, Captain, just hit me with the highlights.” Alastair pushed back in his chair until it reclined to a more comfortable angle—elbows rested on the chair’s raised sides and his fingers interlocked—as he silently watched Buchanan marshal his thoughts.
“Sir, our contract with the Galax was to provide a small training cadre consisting of me, First Sergeant Croll, and Corporal Vega for the Galax’s own native security forces. As you know, sir, the Galax have recently discovered a substantial vein of red diamonds on their second moon, which has a thin, barely breathable atmosphere. Inevitably, the find has created significant interest from outside sources, primarily the Wathayat Trading Organization. They’ve been pressuring the Galax to sign agreements which would allow them to mine and distribute the diamonds while giving the Galax a pathetic percentage.”
“The Galax, unsurprisingly, were not enthusiastic about the prospect of allowing outsiders to exploit them and make a huge profit. They rejected the Wathayat offer…and then began to suffer.”
Alistair raised an eyebrow.
“Unexplained equipment failure, the odd missing machine part which caused expensive delays and, on one occasion, an explosion which destroyed an ore processing machine. The blast also killed the operator and the mining company’s Chief Operations Officer who had been escorting the Galax Deputy Minister for Finance around his shiny new investment.”
Alastair couldn’t help the small shudder that ran through him as he imagined the expanding fireball of the processor’s fuel cells igniting, losing containment, and engulfing everything, including people, within a two-hundred-foot radius in a hydrogen-fed fire reaching temperatures of over 5,100 degrees Fahrenheit.
“Yes…The Galax government sought our help after they confirmed the explosion was no accident, and we sent you as advisors to the mining company.”
“Yes, sir, that’s correct,” replied Buchanan, “and on our arrival I reviewed the locals’ security procedures and found them to be...” Buchanan searched for a suitably polite phrase.
“As watertight as a sieve,” interjected Croll helpfully.
Buchanan gave the first sergeant a look that plainly meant shut up, even if you are correct. Alastair suppressed a smile as the image of an old married couple popped into his mind.
“Inadequate,” said Buchanan. “I had Corporal Vega set up a trip line with Thumper motion detectors a few miles out from the mine to cover the most likely approach routes. Sure enough, the second night in, the Thumpers got a hit. From the readings, we estimated a section, plus, heading in on foot. We suited up, bounced out to take a look and, lo and behold, there were half a dozen Besquith doing their best to be quiet...”
“Not easy when you are six feet tall, all snappy teeth and claws, and expecting local security armed with nothing better than outdated laser rifles,” snorted Croll, a wicked grin spreading across his features. This time Alastair joined in. There was nothing better than an over-confident, sloppy enemy.
“As the first sergeant so succinctly put it, the Besquith had no idea we were on the moon. We corrected them.”
“Damn right we did,” gloated Croll. “There’s nothing like a Mark 8 CASPer and its twenty-millimeter cannon at close quarters to ruin your day.”
Alastair did not doubt that. The Mark 8s were smaller but no less powerful than the more generally used Mark 7s, and they were more suited to the type of contracts the Scorpions tended to attract: unobtrusive yet superior protection and firepower.
“And how did your encounter with the Besquith lead to the Galax renegotiating their contract with us? They’ve requested two complete platoons, right?” asked Alastair, noting that Croll suddenly found a spot beyond the colonel’s shoulder demanded his complete attention. Alastair fixed his eyes on Buchanan who held his commanding officer’s eyes unflinchingly.
“I made the command decision to go beyond the exact wording of our contract with the Galax, though I believe staying within the spirit of the agreement. I ordered First Sergeant Croll to return to the mine while I and Corporal Vega backtracked the Besquith’s path to locate their base of operations and ascertain their numbers and probable intentions.”
“I fully support Captain Buchanan’s decision, sir, and would like that to go on the record,” said Croll without moving his eyes or head.
Alastair let his chair come upright, fixed the first sergeant with a steely-eyed stare, and spoke. In the quiet of the room his tone, though low, was crystal clear. “You understand, First Sergeant, that Captain Buchanan’s actions could lead to the Galax claiming we breached our contract. That means a fine. A hefty fine, which, needless to say, would far exceed any payment that might have been due to us.” Alastair shook his head. “Doing work for nothing is not a good business model. Unlike Cartwright’s Cavaliers, I will not see everything I and my family have worked for go up in smoke in the hands of some slick lawyer in a suit.” Alastair pointed a finger as straight as an arrow at Croll. “Are we clear, First Sergeant?”
“Crystal,” replied Croll then remembered to tag, “sir.”
Alastair returned his attention to Buchanan. “Continue.”
“Uh, yes, sir.” Buchanan steadied himself; he really didn’t fancy witnessing another dressing down. “Vega and I traced the Besquith approach route to a point slightly beyond what would be the effective range, if the Galax had actually installed one, of any ground-to-air search radar. There we found a Wathayat ship stationary, in the open, bold as brass. They didn’t even have perimeter security. The crew had been busy little bees ‘cause off to one side there was a stack of weapons crates—a huge stack; more weapons than could possibly be used by the half-dozen Besquith we encountered.”
The skin on Alastair’s forehead creased into a frown as he considered the implications of Buchanan’s discovery. “That type of ship doesn’t have the legs to use a Stargate, so the Besquith must have another larger and more capable ship somewhere in the Galax system.”
Buchanan’s head bobbed in agreement. “That was my conclusion, sir. This was no rag-tag group of Besquith out for a little trouble and maybe some easy money. These guys were well funded and my guess was they’d have continued to up the ante until they forced the Galax to sign up for the crappy deal or, more probably, they took control of the mine by force.”
Alastair took his turn to nod in agreement. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who was funding the Besquith. The Wathayat had a reputation as sore losers and had been known to employ mercenaries to strong-arm less capable races. Well, it looked like they were up to their old tricks, only this time the Scorpions were stuck in the middle.
“I take it the Galax were not impressed when you informed them of your little discovery?” asked Alastair.
Buchanan let out a chuckle. “They were downright pissed. Did you know that a Galax’s head can expand to twice its natural size when they’re angry? An amazing sight.”
“I’m sure it is,” said Alastair. “OK, back to the contract, please.”
Buchanan turned to Croll. “First Sergeant.”
Slipping a hand inside his tan uniform blouse, Croll produced first one, then a second macro-bonded package, each about the size of an adult’s open hand, which he placed on Alastair’s desk top. As if from nowhere, a dull black blade appeared in Croll’s hand. The first sergeant used it to slice through the tough packaging and allow the tightly-packed contents to spill onto the desk. Alastair’s breath caught in his throat, and his eyes went wide as a small fortune in uncut red diamonds glinted in the light of the waning sun.
&n
bsp; “Payment in full for the initial training contract. And a bonus for carrying out actions not specified within the original terms. And a twenty-five percent down payment for two platoons to provide additional security and direct action to neutralize any other identifiable threats to the mine. The Galax apologize for being unable to transfer the required funds by Yack. Apparently, they are in the process of setting up suitable banking arrangements. I assured them raw red diamonds are acceptable.” Buchanan gave Alastair a half-quizzical, half-mocking look while keeping his voice deadpan. “They are acceptable aren’t they, sir?”
Tim Buchanan had known Alastair Sinclair for as long as he could remember. Tim’s forefather had been a founding member of the Scorpions before he sold his shares to the Sinclairs, yet the Buchanans were still integral in molding the Scorpions into what they were today.
Rendering Alastair speechless by anything in the known galaxy was an achievement, and, knowing Alastair for as long and as well as he did, Tim was more than pleased with his accomplishment. The uncut gemstones spread out before them had done the trick. Though, to give Alastair his due, the colonel recovered quickly.
Alastair pushed his seat back and stood, hands once more clasped behind his back. An action Buchanan and Croll immediately mirrored. Alastair continued to gaze at the gemstones for a few seconds before he addressed Croll.
“Perhaps you could excuse us, First Sergeant.”
Croll made it as far as the door when Alastair called out. “On your way out, First Sergeant, stop by accounting and ask them to hang on for a half hour, would you? I need to deposit something in the vault before they go home for the evening.”
“Of course, sir,” replied Croll with a cheerful smile.