Salvage Marines (Necrospace Book 1) (7 page)

It was as if by being a Reaper he was able to look down on the rest of the world from a high enough vantage point to see the totality of the organism otherwise known as Grotto. A multi-galactic corporation that spanned through countless systems, ruled over the lives of billions, but most importantly, was only one of a multitude of such companies. Perhaps Grotto was the largest, but it was certainly not the only predator stalking the fields of the endless trade wars.

The Reaper fleets were accorded equipment that was either well-used, refurbished, decommissioned, or cheaply acquired from Grotto subsidiaries. The marines themselves were recruited from the lowest class citizens in the corporate civilization and offered pay far beyond what they could hope for in the civilian workforce. Their primary mission was to roam the galaxy and pick up the scraps left in the wake of corporate progress.

This is the job, he told himself as he returned his attention to Mag, who was discussing the vagaries of zero gravity firefights.

“Though your weapons all have recoil dampeners, firing them in zero gravity is going to push you around just as hard as if you’d kicked off a wall,” said Mag, “So be sparing with your shots and stay aware of who is around you.” The ground guide crewman gave the all clear signal with his lightstick, “Okay, then, salvage marines, let’s saddle up and get this done!”

Samuel loaded in next to last, with Ben bringing up the rear. The heavy machine gunner was unable to bring his standard issue weapon on a mission such as this due to the possibility of causing critical internal damage to the hulk during combat. Though the entire hulk would eventually be scrapped, it would be counterproductive for an errant armor piercing round to strike a fuel line or gas pocket deep within the hulk. Secondary explosions, as they were informed by Mag, were the second leading cause of death for boarding parties entering combat on unknown vessels. The first leading cause of death was being gunned down during the blistering first few seconds of combat when the assault team made shipside.

As a counter measure, Ben, in addition to the other heavy gunners in the salvage marine boarding force, had been required to trade out his machine gun for a breaching shield and assault shotgun. The shield, when held at a ninety-degree angle out from the chest, would cover Ben from mid-shin to the top of his head. The shield was strong enough to repel most small arms fire, so as long as the enemy wasn’t packing anything bigger than a combat rifle Ben had a reasonable expectation of pushing through any possible hail of fire. There was a small bulletproof viewing slot at eye level, which, while not nearly as strong as the metal of the shield, could certainly still deflect all but the most accurate and direct impacts. Just above chest level was a gun port through which Ben would be able to point his shotgun, which would rest on a small gun mount in the port that allowed him to re-cock the shotgun simply by pushing forward and letting the shield rack the slide.

Standard tactical boarding procedure was for the shield bearer to exit the assault craft as soon as the blast doors opened, then as the marine pushed forward, he or she would rapid fire the twenty-round shotgun magazine. Once the shield bearer had drawn enemy fire and begun to engage, the rest of the squad would fall in to support until resistance was quelled and a beachhead established.

“You ready for this, brother?” asked Ben as he sat down next to Samuel and began to strap in while he rested the giant shield against the nearby wall.

“I should be asking you, Ben, this is going to be intense,” Samuel responded as he double-checked his straps, and then gripped the handle of the boarding knife affixed to his forearm. “Since when do they issue us extra close quarters weapons?”

“Yeah, boys, this is gonna get nasty,” added Oliver, who sat opposite of Samuel, “These boarding knives aren’t part of standard issue kit because typically we don’t end up getting close enough to use bladed weapons. Well, except for maybe Prybar over here.”

The seven or so members of Tango Platoon who heard Oliver’s joke laughed, even if their voices were tinged with nervousness. Mag sat in grim silence, but nodded just the same. The nickname ‘Prybar’ had stuck with Samuel ever since the sweep and clear on M5597. Samuel laughed with his comrades, as he figured that it was pretty good as far as nicknames went, and after all, he had earned it.

“Lots of times these kind of ship-to-ship assaults can throw some close quarters fights at you. A ship doesn’t seem all that complicated until you’re engaging hostiles, maybe in zero gravity, on an unfamiliar boat with lots of hidden corners, narrow hallways, and who knows what else in there,” said Oliver as he slid the nine inch blade from the sheath on his forearm. “Some space pirates don’t even bother with guns on board ship, just body armor and these beauties.”

“Putin, that’s enough,” ordered Marsters as he went down the line of his squad checking their harnesses and helping Harold slot his breaching shield into its fixed position on the flat edge of the man’s seat, “You’re scaring the rest of the children. Everybody just keep your eyes open, stay tight on Takeda and Marr. We’ll get through this.”

Wynn Marsters walked back to his own seat and strapped in as Squad Ulanti filed in and took their seats near the back of the assault craft. The plan was for Tango Platoon to use the heavily armored prow of the assault craft to punch through the hull of the Praxis Mundi ship, somewhere near the foredecks. Squad Taggart and Squad Marsters would be in first to fight for the breach and establish a beachhead, then Squad Ulanti would pick up their momentum and make the first real penetration into the hulk. Squad Taggart and Squad Marsters would take a few precious moments to assess casualties, triage wounded, and re-arm before falling in behind Squad Ulanti. They would move as a platoon to sweep and clear the Praxis Mundi vessel of hostiles. Once control of the ship was taken they would establish and secure any entrances to the greater body of the hulk.

Dozens of other platoons would be engaging in similar boarding actions throughout the space hulk, some focusing on taking the larger and more intact vessels that comprised the hulk while others would target and eliminate the various artillery and heavy guns that would be defending the hulk.

Samuel was sure, as were many of the other marines, that several of the ships that appeared grafted onto the space hulk were actually temporarily docked. If this was indeed a functional pirate hulk, as the marines suspected, and not a scrap ship that had been picked up by the hulk’s gravitational pull, then they were looking at encountering heavy resistance. Only time would tell, and according to the mission clock displayed above the airlock the time was swift approaching.

Samuel’s stomach lurched as the assault craft kicked on its engines and plunged into the void. The marine closed his eyes and thought about the hazard pay and the life that he’d dreamed it would buy for him and his family. He knew it was still just a dream, acknowledging that it was simple escapism. He knew that within less than three minutes, according to the mission clock, he would be leaping into battle with pirates in the depths of necrospace.

As if to calm his mind, as well as the others, the voice of Mag rang out on his com-bead, “This is the job.”

“
This is the job
,” responded the voices of fifteen salvage marines as they hurtled through the void towards the hostile scrap metal monstrosity.

Within seconds of hitting void, their assault craft was under fire. While the hulk was bristling with heavy guns that were easily visible, dozens of smaller weapon systems abruptly came to life across the expanse of the hulk. The pirates had been prepared for a troop assault, be it from corporate military forces or simply rival pirate clans.

From concealed positions flak-launchers and plasma-lances opened up on the flights of assault craft. The void of space between the Reaper tug and the hulk was soon bursting with thousands of tracer rounds, flak detonations, and spears of concentrated plasma as the hulk showed its teeth and defended itself. The Reaper tug carried only minimal defensive weapons, none of which would have any effect, especially at long range, against the heavy gun emplacements of the hulk. It was up to the two escort frigates to dart in and attack the guns before speeding back out again. Their armor and energy shields were insufficient to protect them from any direct hits so speed was paramount.

The naval crews that operated the combat frigates of the Reaper fleet were predominantly veterans from other military forces within the Grotto organization. Soldiers who had chosen Reaper duty over retirement or mustering out with disabilities, so the tactics employed by the light combat ships were effective and expertly executed.

While the assault craft were too small and moving too quickly to be effectively tracked and fired upon by the larger guns, the plasma-lances became particularly deadly as the craft closed distance with their landing targets.

The cloud of flak detonations damaged and disabled a number of the assault craft, leaving them floating in space and unable to maneuver, making them easy pickings for the plasma-lances. Several of the assault craft suffered direct hits from pinpointed plasma bursts. The impact crumpled the hull armor and allowed the super-heated plasma to turn everything inside the ships to ash before explosive decompression blew it apart.

When the assault flight finally passed through the flak cloud it had suffered nearly a fifteen percent casualty rate. Now though, the ships that made it through the picket line began to slam their prows into the hull of the massive conglomerate to disgorge their troops into the belly of the beast.

Had Samuel been able to witness the void battle taking place it would have been one of the most beautiful and terrible sights of his life. As it was, he knew nothing of the dramatic events playing out around him. His awareness was limited to the grim faces of the fourteen other salvage marines of Tango Platoon as their ship rocketed towards the space hulk.

The lack of sound in the vacuum of space gave no indication of the carnage unfolding around them beyond the occasional ding of flak particles stinging the hull of their assault craft. The mission clock had been reset on launch to show distance to target, so that each marine could mentally prepare themselves for what was about to come.

Samuel tapped his boot on the floor and watched the distance rapidly approach zero, then, as it hit zero the entire ship shook and lurched. The prow of the ship had broken through the hull of the Praxis Mundi vessel and lodged the ship firmly in the skin of the vessel.

Theoretically, there would be a temporary vacuum seal thanks to the bulk of the assault craft jamming itself into the metal of the enemy vessel, though, because of the inevitable rate of decompression, at some point the seal would break.

The strategy for all boarding actions was to have the assault vehicle penetrate the ship deeply enough that the boarding party could seal one or more airlocks behind them as they fought their way into the ship. This would allow two of the three-person crew of the assault craft itself to don void suits and use their welding gear to cut the assault ship free so that it could return to the tug. If the boarding party was victorious, the assault craft would hold its position until relief troops could be ferried over. If the boarding party was defeated, the assault craft would be free so that it could escape, with or without any of the boarding party survivors, depending on the conditions of the engagement and the temperament of the craft’s pilot.

Mere seconds after the craft slammed into the space hulk, pressurized blast doors slid open and the automated seating units began disgorging the marines into the landing zone.

Each seat at the front of the column, starting with Ben and Harold, swiveled to face the exit and sprang forward to launch the marine off the ship before folding in on itself to make room for the next seated marine. In this way the ship was able to rapidly deploy two full squads in a matter of seconds.

Samuel’s breath was labored and he worked to calm himself down as the squads rushed across the shattered landing zone. Before the marine could even begin to gain an appreciation for the area in which they’d landed, the squads were under fire.

Ben’s shield rattled from the impact of hard rounds as they blasted into him from a number of directions. Ben shouted as he fired the breaching shotgun as fast as he could, joined by Harold who was also emptying his firearm with abandon. Samuel saw several hostiles scampering through the stacks of metal containers while they took potshots at the oncoming marines. He raised his rifle to return fire. By the time one went down in a spray of blood, he had already turned his rifle to the next target before the corpse of the first had hit the deck.

Ben and Harold led the charge from behind their shields as they fired and Samuel stayed close behind his friend, moving from side to side and firing from Ben’s flanks as the team pushed through. The combined forty rounds of buckshot from the shield-bearers, with support from the rest of the squad when and where they could get a clean shot, cleared the immediate vicinity as the marines rushed forward to take and hold a series of stacked metal containers.

Samuel, through force of habit long ingrained in him, checked his safety and ammo count. He was surprised to see that without realizing it he’d expended nearly all of his magazine, and it was only then, in the brief calm amid the violent storm, that he was able to take stock of his surroundings.

They were in a large compartment of the ship that appeared to be storing a vast hoard of shipping containers. They all had different corporate logos, makes, and models, proof that these pirates had been active and successful for a long time.

As expected for a pirate crew defending their stash, there was stiff resistance waiting for them. The pirates had to have known that this would be a prime target for the assault craft and had bolstered their numbers in the area.

Samuel could see that while plenty of broken corpses littered the deck, there were still several clusters of hostiles wearing their own patchwork battle armor rushing into the fight.

While many of the defenders were in plainclothes or general deckhand garb, those who did wear some type of battle armor all bore the same half-moon symbol painted or etched somewhere on their outfit. Though Samuel did not recognize the symbol, it did tell him that indeed this was an organized group and not at all the ‘squatters’ described in the briefing.

While Ben and Harold reloaded, Samuel looked around at the rest of the marines, performing a casualty assessment out of habit. While he’d never been awarded a command, he had learned from Mag that constant evaluation was key to a complete victory.

It was then that Samuel noticed Oliver Putin’s corpse some ten meters away, only a handful of steps from the now empty troop bay of the assault craft. In the midst of the firefight he must have taken a stray round to the head. Samuel could see the smoking, ragged hole in the man’s helmet. Oliver wasn’t even the first man out of the craft and he’d still been killed. The randomness of it bore down on Samuel’s mind like the crush of a black hole. It was only the ringing boom of a round striking the metal container he was crouched behind that pulled him back into the moment.

These were hardened space pirates with plenty of experience in repelling boarding actions and their strategists seemed to have predicted this area as one of the targets for the salvage marines. Several shooters had taken up high vantages on the tops of containers several meters away and began pouring suppressing fire down on Squad Taggart.

Ben kept Samuel and Patrick alive with his shield as the marines scampered for cover. A group of defenders rushed the marines in an attempt to flank and route them and it looked for a moment as if the momentum of the boarding party was about to be stopped cold. The defenders fired as they ran, apparently not as concerned with accuracy as much as they were with keeping the marines pinned down while they pushed forward. Somewhere out of the chaos Mag appeared on Samuel’s right side, hurling a frag grenade over the top of the container towards the approaching forces.

Samuel was shocked to see that Mag had broken combat protocols by even having the grenade in her kit, much less deploying it before the squad was able to secure a beachhead with an air seal.

“Boss! That explosion could depressurize the whole compartment!” shouted Samuel, forgetting her rank in the heat of the moment.

“Ben, you move when I move, and don’t stop for anything!” barked Mag, ignoring Samuel and gripping Ben’s shoulder with her robotic arm, “Now!” Mag pushed Ben ahead of her, out of their dubious cover and he did as he was ordered.

Samuel, still bewildered, but determined to follow orders, fell in behind Mag as Patrick and the new guy brought up the rear.

Samuel had never bothered to learn the new guy’s name, especially since he was the second man to replace Aaron Baen on Squad Taggart. The first new guy had been named Michael, though his last name was lost to dim memory. Michael had taken a high velocity crossbow bolt through the neck several months ago.

It had not been a particularly dangerous operation, just a sweep and clear of a small drilling platform. The squad had encountered a clan of squatters who had taken over the drill, managed to get it running again, and were extracting ferrite ore, which they no doubt sold on the black market. The marines came in with enough of a show of force that the squatters gave up without a fight, instead choosing to flee.

Sadly, there had been one squatter, a rather old man, who refused to back down. Before the marines shot him to pieces he managed to send Michael into early retirement. Since then, Samuel just hadn’t taken the time to learn the new guy’s name, as if anyone who wasn’t with him in Basic just didn’t merit a name. Oliver had told him this often happened with soldiers, no name, and no attachments. Staring at the body of the veteran lying cold on the ground, Samuel understood.

Mag’s grenade had sailed out from her position and landed among the defenders as they sprinted toward the marine’s. When the grenade landed among them, the tight formation scattered, abruptly ending their suppressing fire. This gap in the shooting allowed Ben to emerged from behind the container and give the rest of the squad time to form up behind him. Ben rushed forward as he rapid-fired his breaching shotgun to shred several of the pirates as they reacted to the simultaneous threats.

Mag and Samuel fired from Ben’s flanks and were able to drop more of the defenders while Patrick and the new guy fired as needed to keep random lone attackers from sweeping in behind the squad.

The marines sliced into the defender’s position and scattered the enemy. Ben knelt down behind his shield, working swiftly to reload his shotgun with the final magazine as the squad took up fighting positions around him. Mag’s charge had placed them right in the middle of the compartment, and they immediately began to draw sporadic fire from a multitude of directions. Despite their gains the boarding party’s momentum was again threatening to slow, as the squad swiftly became mired in a shootout from all sides.

Samuel realized the grenade Mag had thrown hadn’t gone off, suddenly appreciating the brazen brilliance of the tactic. The grenade hadn’t been primed and was never going to explode, though in the rush of the conflict the pirates had assumed it would blow. Anyone would, and that was the trick.

Across the compartment, the bodies of pirates littered the ground, swimming in a sea of blood, scrap metal, and shell casings. Despite all the gains made by the marines, the pirates were still managing to hold the compartment with bitter resilience. Bullets rang off the metal containers as both forces fought their hardest.

Samuel felt hard rounds bite into his armor and turned to see that a pirate wielding a combat rifle had opened fire on their position from atop a container. The new guy’s body was riddled with bullets as he and Samuel returned fire, killing the pirate.

Samuel looked down at the young man’s broken corpse and felt a sudden guilt in not learning his name. Suddenly, Samuel heard, then saw, Squad Marsters, which had disappeared on the left flank seemingly ages ago, join the fight and make a bold move.

“Fight through!” bellowed Boss Marsters as his squad appeared on the left side of the compartment. While Squad Taggart had held the attention of the bulk of the defenders, Boss Marsters had quietly and quickly moved his troops down the far wall, no doubt fighting their way there, though not through the kind of firefight Mag had taken her people through.

Squad Marsters, led by Harold and his punishing rate of fire, slammed into a small cluster of defenders who had erected a makeshift barricade next to the main airlock. The furious barrage of buckshot kept the pirates at bay until Harold reached the barricade.

As Virginia shot down a pirate who tried to fire down on them from the top of a container, Boss Marsters leapt over the low, makeshift wall and knocked several hostiles to the ground as he fell. Behind him, Jada vaulted in and buried her boarding knife in the neck of a pirate who was attempting to raise his pistol to shoot the Boss. The young marine drove the point of her knife through the back of another pirate who was attempting to rise, then Boss Marsters was on his feet and swinging his own blade.

One of the pirates was wearing body armor and wielding his own wide-bladed knife, which he used to parry the Boss’s blade before catching Jada’s on his armored forearm. The pirate blocked another strike from Jada and managed to push her blade aside before stepping inside her guard and ramming his knife through her chest. The titanium blade punched through her battle armor and as the pirate pulled his blade out there was a brilliant spray of blood.

Harold screamed as he finally reached the fighting and smashed his shield into the pirate, knocking the man over. Harold pinned him down with the shield and Boss Marsters was able to end the pirate’s struggle by sliding his blade under the armpit articulation in the man’s armor and into his heart.

Samuel’s heart skipped a beat when he saw Jada go down and he found himself blinking back tears of rage as he sighted down his rifle and sent three rounds into the chest of a fleeing pirate. Mag shouted for the squad to advance and they pushed forward to join Squad Marsters at the airlock.

If they could take and hold the airlock, then Squad Ulanti would be on the way to support them and make the first real incursion into the depths of the space hulk. The few defenders still alive had dug in the far right corner of the compartment.

Virginia and Mag crept through the mess of containers in the shattered hangar bay to engage the last ditch defenders while the rest of the marines worked on breaching the airlock.

Patrick used his hand welder to burn through the bottom while Boss Wynn used his to come in through the top. Between the two of them they’d cut through the mag-locks in just over a minute.

Samuel knelt at Jada’s side and worked frantically to save her life. She was gasping as she looked pleadingly at Samuel. To the marine it looked as if the young woman had been stabbed through the lung and might have a chance of surviving if he acted quickly enough.