Man-Eater
Page 1
Man-Eater
Book Three of Murphy’s Lawless
By
Griffin Barber
PUBLISHED BY: Beyond Terra Press
Copyright © 2020 Griffin Barber
All Rights Reserved
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Get the free Four Horsemen prelude story “Shattered Crucible”
and discover other Chris Kennedy Publishing titles at:
https://chriskennedypublishing.com/
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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, then 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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For The Rainmaker: my thanks for all the opportunities you have created for me, not least of which is this very book.
Yours,
Griffin Barber
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Cover Design by J Caleb Design
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Contents
Mission Log
Chapter 1 – Rolling Up
Chapter 2 – In Brief
Chapter 3 – Cover
Chapter 4 – Outmaneuvered
Chapter 5 – Cut Me a Slice
Chapter 6 – Apologies Forthcoming
Chapter 7 – Cry Wolf
Chapter 8 – Mileage May Vary
About Griffin Barber
The Caine Riordan Universe
Excerpt from Book One of the Revelations Cycle:
Excerpt from Book One of the Salvage Title Trilogy:
Excerpt from Devil Calls the Tune:
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MISSION LOG
UPDATE, MISSION DAY 046
MAJOR R.Y. MURPHY, CO, RECORDING
SUMMARY AO DATA, 55 TAURI B 3 (R’Bak)
LOCAL YEAR: 672 SR (Date coding note: SR stands for “Since Rev.” Origin of “SR” uncertain. Could refer to spaceside locals’ first official recording of years (i.e., revolutions around the local star), the political revolts that compelled the SpinDogs to leave R’Bak, or the founding of their first rotational habitat, or rohab.)
LOCAL DATE: Day 048 (of 369) (Time sync note: Local days are only 18 hours. Consequently, the local year of 369 days is actually only 75 percent the duration of one Earth year.)
EARTH DATE: August 30, 2125 AD
PREOP/STRATEGIC SITREP (approximate):
Increasing competition among powers in the primary system (Jrar) may have prompted several nations on the main planet (Kulsis) to move up the timetable on exploitation of R’Bak during the imminent Searing. First mission arrived in this system (secondary star, Shex) 18 months earlier than on any previous Searing. ELINT and SIGINT both indicate that the OpFor is from Kulsis’ second largest power, which has an entente/détente relationship with the greatest/oldest/traditionalist power.
Due to OpFor’s early arrival at R’Bak, SpinDog and RockHounds (two different branches of the spaceside local population) had neither instituted full cessation of travel nor completed re-concealment of stationary assets. Many were compelled to go into hiding wherever they were, including various resource collection teams on the second planet, V’dyr, and one trade mission concluding business on R’Bak.
MISSION DAY UPDATES
000Ship carrying Lost Soldiers (Dornaani hull Olsloov) arrives in system, scans, discovers SpinDogs on far side of local sun (Shex). Observes, decodes comms. Language is quickly identified as a devolved form of Ktor as it was spoken almost 1,400 years ago (approximation only). Despite linguistic roots, Olsloov command staff deems it unlikely that the SpinDogs would become aggressive or that they have had any recent contact with the Ktoran Sphere.
001Contact made by Olsloov command staff. Purpose: acquire consumables.
002No response, but Spin/Rock ships move to avoid further LoS/lascom messages. Pickets of harvesters/raiders notice movement of the previously undetected Spin/Rock craft, begin maneuvering at extremely high gee (often 2–3, sustained) to effect intercept. Terran cadre analyzes the situation; Olsloov selectively jams OpFor broad-comms. Only transmission completed by OpFor was decrypted as “Investigating local anomaly; stand by for details.” Narrow-beam comms blocked by position of companion star (Shex), which occluded receivers located in the primary (Jrar) system.
003Sensor results from Olsloov indicate that OpFor’s hi-gee maneuvers are consistent with a) intercept of SpinDog craft and b) repositioning to clear transmission coordinates to Jrar. Capt. Mara Lee, USAF, is restored from cryogenic suspension to assist in battlefield support and liaison duty with SpinDog matriarchy.
004Contact established with Spin/Rock leadership using Dornaani translation system to update language from classic Ktor and to crack cyphers. Agreement reached. Compromised Spin/Rock craft adjust course to flee toward prearranged coordinates in outer system. Intercept trajectory for OpFor intersects optimal ambush point for Olsloov and her drones/ROVs. Captain Lee receives partial accelerated training in local language via virtuality immersion.
006OpFor pursuit elements ambushed by Olsloov at edge of outer system. Tech superiority of Olsloov and her deployed assets results in complete elimination of enemy hulls without loss or significant damage. In and near R’Bak orbit, Dornaani ROVs (with direct oversight from Captain Lee) assist Spin/Rock assets to eliminate small number of OpFor hulls (mostly interface transports) and sensors. Dornaani standoff drones eliminate two planetside comm arrays with potential to reach Jrar system.
007Olsloov arrives on-station at R’Bak, conducts close survey for further planetside comm facilities with inter-system capability. None located. AARs generated and shared between Olsloov and Spin/Rock cadres.
008Data sharing and first meetings between Olsloov and Spin/Rock leadership. Mutual support and joint operation agreements reached. Captain Lee is debriefed by Olsloov cadre and resumes accelerated language training via virtuality technology.
009Transfer of volatiles and other consumables to Olsloov commences. Captain Lee completes accelerated language training.
010Data packets for tech sharing and replication of 20th century Earth weapons and systems relayed to and declared operational by Spin/Rock automated production facilities. Examples of each system are provided from legacy examples carried aboard Olsloov. Legacy examples include helicopters, weapons, ammunition, simple electronics. Captain Lee commences training of first class of SpinDog rotary wing pilots.
013Major RY Murphy restored from cryogenic suspension. Debrief commences.
014Major Murphy debrief ends. Light company of Lost Soldiers detached for R’Bak ops is revived.
015R’Bak ops contingent (Lost Soldiers) commences accelerated language training aboard Olsloov. Olsloov and seeded (permanent) microsat net detect upswing in movement by advanced vehicles on surface of R’Bak.
016First planetside training sorties of SpinDog RWP pilots led by Captain Lee. Planetside movement increase is confirmed as OpFor activity. Spin/Rock intel assessment is that they are gathering resources to secure optimum construction site for transmitter capable of reaching Jrar system.
017Guildmother/Matriarch of leading Spin/Rock Family reported to Olsloov as MIA planetside on R’Bak while conducting undisclosed SAR ops in north polar extents. Capt. Lee is cleared for, and tasked to, effect recovery of Guildmother/Matriarch, attached personnel, and others requiring rescue.
018Capt. Lee’s recovery mission achieves objective while sustaining moderate casualties, but Guildmother/Matriarch had been mortally wounded prior to her arrival in AO.
019Olsloov cadre, Lost Soldier CO Murphy, and SpinDog leadership agrees to conops of joint contact and recruitment mission to R’Bak. Objective: gather sufficient indigenous forces and commandeer cached Kulsis equipment to disrupt and prevent OpFor construction of dirtside inter-system comm array. Spaceside requirements articulated; assets identified. Preps begin. Construction of improvised meteoritic assault capsules commences, with limited assistance from Dornaani and contemporary Terrans. Mission leadership selected and briefed. Training commences.
021Lost Soldier R’Bak detachment completes language training, skills assessment, physical readiness conditioning, and is officially stood up as an active unit. Designation pending.
022Olsloov completes replenishment activities, prepares for departure. Training for joint mission to R’Bak concludes. Objectives and targets updated. Final briefing.
023Olsloov departs.
024Mission dropship commences op with tug boost toward R’Bak along retrograde orbital track.
028Orbital insertion successful. Joint mission under command of Lt. Harold Tapper confirmed as maneuvering to establish contacts with Sarmatchani nomads.
036SpinDog transport shuttles conduct high angle insertion to R’Bak north polar regions, followed by subsonic overland NOE flight to convey task force under Cpt. Hubert Moorefield to border of Hamain desert region in northern hemisphere. Cpt. Moorefield establishes and assumes command of Camp Stark FOB, proximal to anticipated rendezvous point with Lt. H. Tapper.
045Lt. H. Tapper coordinates and conducts successful Sarmatchani strike against elements of J’Stull satrapy. Mission-critical Kulsian vehicle cache, along with relevant operational supplies, taken and being convoyed to elements from Camp Stark.
046Seized vehicles and supplies are transferred to Cpt. Moorefield, CO Camp Stark, at rendezvous point. J’Stull pursuit/attack repulsed after suffering heavy losses. Abandoned and reclaimable equipment includes APCs, light ACVs, and company-level personal gear, including Kulsian small arms. Note: otherwise unbreakable draught creatures (whinaalani) allow themselves to be ridden by our personnel. Casualties: 11 WIA, 1 WIA/ND (“non-deployable”), 4 KIA.
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Chapter 1 – Rolling Up
OUTSIDE CLARTHU: MISSION DAY 052
Chalmers was going too fast to do more than brace himself against the wheel as the herd of alien whinnies appeared in front of the speeding buggy as if by magic.
A cop he’d once known said that was what all the responsible parties said in car accidents: “The other car just appeared in front of me!” when they might have seen that shit coming if they hadn’t been going too fast for the conditions.
He supposed the chest-high, six-meter-long, weighing-better-than-a-ton lizard-like creatures did not deserve the moniker “alien,” at least not here, not on their home turf.
They certainly resented the buggy’s sudden intrusion into their midst; a couple of the herd sounded a loud resonating threat-whistle while the others ran for it, scrambling up the side of the draw.
Chalmers tried for a clear spot in the herd, the big tires of the buggy spitting grit and gravel in their wake. He couldn’t help but grin madly under the goggles. This was the most fun he’d had in almost two hundred years, for God’s sake!
Then one of the whinnies feinted toward the nearest wheel, mouth open. The red-orange interior of the throat and finger-length opalescent teeth were all the encouragement he needed.
“Fast fuckers,” Chalmers muttered, shifting gears and hammering the accelerator. He spent the next moment counter-steering against the shuddering skid he felt through the seat and wheel, then aimed for an opening in the rocks ahead.
They made it, but the gap ended up being a yard or so above the lower slope, and the buggy left the ground doing a feather under fifty.
They were airborne before Chalmers realized the animal—the freaking animal—had feinted an attack at the buggy, just like he used to mess with his stepmother’s pissy old cats.
The landing pushed the buggy’s occupants, both Terran and local, hard into their seats. The broad tires slipped before biting into the patchy turf of the uneven slope they bounced along. Chalmers adjusted his steering three times in as many seconds, fighting the inertia and momentum that threatened a roll-over. His efforts and the heavy-duty off-road suspension finally steadied the buggy, the uphill side compressing as the lower smoothly traveled to give them a more-or-less steady platform.
“Bastards know how to make a damn good buggy,” Chalmers mused, taking a hand from the wheel to wipe something green-brown from his goggles.
“What?” Jackson shouted, his brown knuckles lighter where he clutched at the roll bars.
Chalmers would have to talk to Jackson about that. Chicken bars were there so you didn’t lose digits holding onto the roll bars during a roll. It was yet another example of how little training they’d had before going on this mission.
But for now, Chalmers just shook his head, grinning madly behind his scarf as his downshift made the engine throb loudly. He’d been doing that a lot recently—smiling, not downshifting.
The rest of Murphy’s people might grumble about all they’d lost, all that had been taken from them, but Ernest Earl Chalmers III had raised no fools. Chalmers chuckled, considering his brothers, and mentally qualified his statement: shitheads, maybe. Assholes, most definitely, but no fools.
He, more than any of the rest of the men and women stolen from their own times and places, was happy as hell to be anywhere but home. Sure, they might be at the ass-end of nowhere, but the fate he’d been facing at the end of the helicopter ride that had ultimately landed him here had well and truly sucked. Sucked bad enough to have made one Horace Earl Chalmers consider suck-starting a shotgun, truth be told.
“I’m too pretty for prison,” Chalmers said. He glanced in the mirror at the well-equipped, by local standards at least, indig warrior riding in the rear passenger-side seat. Kenla was another example of the varied advantages this place and time had over Fort Leavenworth’s prison: women.
“What?” Jackson repeated.
Chalmers raised his voice over the wind and engine noise. “How we doing for time?”
Jackson checked the pad in the hand he was not using to clutch the sissy bar. “Not bad, Chief!” he shouted. “So long as you don’t wrap us around a tree, we’re golden…” he continued, quietly enough that Chalmers could pretend he hadn’t heard.
He glanced at the shiny display. The miniaturized computer was the only piece of SpinDog tech Chalmers had insisted their allies provide—well, it and a feed from the tiny spy sats crisscrossing overhead in whacky orbits. Seeded in advance of their arrival, the Dornaani satellites were almost entirely plastic—or something like it—and not much larger than a hubcap. Non-reflective and sheathed in some kind of temperature-equalizing material that made them thermally invisible, they sounded like something straight out of Area 51. If the locals did manage to detect them, though, they were reportedly programmed to take a swan dive into the atmosphere: burnt to ash in minutes. Still, Chalmers figured that if the opposing team found one, they’d look for more until the last one committed reentry suicide. And then the Lost Soldiers would be well and truly on their own.
But, hey, as long as they lasted, there was no way Chalmers was going to rely on barely remembered land navigation courses when his continued survival was on the line. Not when such wonders were available. Not on an alien planet with a different diameter and magnetic pole. GPS systems had first made an impression on him back in Desert Storm, and while Chalmers wasn’t sure it operated on the same principles, this device was even more accurate and less bulky than what he had used back then. It was also easier to read—once you got used to the locals’ cursive-meets-creep show writing.
He slewed the buggy around a stand of tree-size
d plants that looked like a clump of insanely large blades of lawn grass pulled from the ground by a giant’s shitty golf swing. Passing close enough to reach out and touch it, he realized the earthy clump at the base of the lawn grass was some kind of weird root-ball of dense-looking fibers.
The passenger directly behind him asked something like, “Fight wanted?”
Chalmers wasn’t sure of the indig’s name, just that he was the leader of the local resistance cell, and as such, was one of two “types.” Either a guy with too much hero and too little common sense for his liking, or just another hopeful warlord in the making. Neither were high on Chalmers’s list of people to hang out with, so Chalmers pretended not to hear the question.
Thoughts of warlords sent Chalmers on a trip down memory lane, remembering the big souk in Mogadishu, where you could buy anything, including some of yesterday’s shipment of food, fresh off the UN relief trucks. These people had yet to prove themselves, so he wasn’t about to go out on a limb for them. Because if he did, Murphy’s Law made it a sure thing the locals would saw it off at the trunk. From the sticks, himself, Chalmers understood one immutable law of insular cultures: outsiders were afforded neither the respect nor care that insiders could rely on. He wasn’t one of them, and there was no telling when they would decide to saw Chalmers’ own shit off at the trunk if he did go out on limb for them.
“Fight wanted?” the indig repeated, loud enough that Chalmers couldn’t ignore him without offending him.