Forged Under Siege

  Forged Under Siege

  A Jack Forge, Fleet Marine Story

  James David Victor

  Fairfield Publishing

  Copyright © 2018 Fairfield Publishing

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Except for review quotes, this book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the written consent of the author.

  This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Thank You

  Prologue

  Admiral Henson leaned heavily on the holostage. The small points of light on the holoimage represented every ship—military and civilian—merged into a single blurred mass. The entire fleet was in full retreat. Henson rubbed his eyes as the image drifted out of focus.

  “What a mess,” Henson muttered. “What a kravin mess.”

  Rear Admiral Tel Jackson and Rear Admiral Victor Orlov stood in silence. There was nothing they could do now but watch the retreat. All plans had been made for the defense of the two home worlds. The orbital defenses on the asteroids in orbit round Eras were ready to defend the planet. The two moons around Eros were even better equipped. The Chitins would never break through the final defensive perimeter.

  A red blip appeared on the holostage. It was a distress call from a civilian ship. Jackson and Orlov searched for information. Henson knew what was coming.

  “It’s a civilian ship. It’s lost its primary drive,” Orlov reported. “The captain of the ship is asking for military assistance.”

  Henson bowed his head.

  “The Leo is the closest destroyer,” Jackson said. He zoomed in on the destroyer, showing its proximity to the distressed civilian ship. “The Leo could attempt an evacuation. Shall I contact the captain, sir?”

  Henson looked up and zoomed the holostage view out to its maximum. The group of fleeing human vessels was being pursued by thousands of Chitin warships. The Chitins were spread out in an arc to the rear of the retreating human fleet. The Chitin armada was closing in. The fleet would reach the safety of the planetary defenses in a little under an hour. The Chitins would not catch them for a little over an hour. It was going to be a close call. The slightest delay would mean destruction, or even worse, capture. There was no time for a rescue.

  “Admiral, shall I contact the Leo?”

  “No.” Admiral Henson’s voice was strong and stable.

  “Receiving a message from a frigate, Admiral.” Victor Orlov zoomed the holoimage in onto the frigate.

  The designation code was displayed next to the frigate on a small holographic label. Frigate M-4 showed it was the fourth frigate from the carrier group of the recently destroyed carrier Monarch. Frigate M-4 had suffered minor damage in the Battle of Grid Eight-Eight-Thirteen, but they were fully operational.

  “Frigate M-4 is requesting permission to fall out of formation and offer assistance to the civilian ship.”

  “Permission denied.” Admiral Henson tapped the holostage and returned to the widest view showing all the retreating ships. The small point of light, blinking red, showing the location of the civilian ship was falling behind and now appeared alone. The gap between it and the retreating fleet increased slowly. The gap between it and the pursuing Chitins decreased.

  “It is a fleet supply vessel, Admiral,” Tel Jackson reported. “They are carrying replacement antimatter coils. It has a crew of fifteen.”

  “Send a message to the supply vessel,” Henson said. “Message begins. Make all efforts to return to home space. Take all necessary precautions to prevent military equipment falling into enemy hands. Good luck. Message ends.”

  Jackson sent the message.

  The three watched the holostage. The red point of light representing the supply ship was adrift and about to be consumed within the mass of lights representing the Chitin armada.

  The three held their breath.

  As the Chitin craft surrounded the supply vessel, a small ball of white light appeared over the image. It grew briefly and then died away. The holostage image updated and identified the wreckage of several Chitin Hydras and the annihilation of one civilian transport vessel.

  “Antimatter detonation recorded at the supply ship’s location, Admiral,” Orlov said.

  Tel Jackson looked at his colleague and nodded. “They must have collapsed a coil before they were captured.”

  “Their last supply drop was to frigate M-4, Admiral,” Orlov said as he reviewed the lost ship’s log. “They delivered replacement coils. Frigate M-4 lost a coil in the Battle of Grid Eight-Eight-Thirteen. It probably wouldn’t be on its way home now if it wasn’t for that supply ship, sir.”

  “Update the fleet registry,” Henson said. “Make a note in the records that the supply ship saved frigate M-4 from capture by the Chitins. Award each member of the supply ship’s crew a combat action stripe. Mark it on their records that they acted selflessly and heroically during the retreat.”

  1

  Jack Forge sat in his personal quarters reading the updates on the retreat. The fleet was pushing every ship to its design limits to get to the protection of the planetary defense cannons. The huge ground-based energy weapons would hold the Chitins at bay. A single blast from one of the defense cannons would annihilate a Chitin Leviathan, leaving nothing bigger than a particle of sand behind, a smoldering dust cloud that was once a Chitin warship. The cannons were capable of firing three massive energy blasts a minute with an effective range of one hundred thousand kilometers. It was an effective defense.

  The asteroids around Eras each housed a single defense cannon and provided global coverage. Both moons around Eros housed two of the defense cannons, mounted on massive facilities at the poles. The defenses gave an all-round line of sight and could fire on any Chitin craft coming from any direction.

  Jack was heading for the moon of Brecon, the outermost moon of the planet Eros. It would be the closest to home Jack had been in almost two years.

  The small family watch that sat on Jack’s desk was contained within its black composite shell. Jack checked the current time in his home town in the northern prairies of Eros. He set his old watch to home time and then dropped it into his jacket pocket.

  A message from Major Griff came over Jack’s small desktop holostage.

  “How are your preparations, Commander?” Griff asked.

  Jack thought the major’s face was creased with a hundred more wrinkles than when Jack had last seen him only a few hours ago. Two companies of the battalion were to deploy to Brecon with all equipment. It was a big job.

  “Cobra Company is all set. I ordered them to take a thirty-minute break in the mess. I hear they have cooked up some real meat today.”

  “So I hear,” Griff said. “And what about you?”

  “Ready, sir. I am just packing away my personal effects.”

  “Not planning on retirement, are you, Jack?”

  “No, sir.” Jack looked around his small quarters. He had only just become accustomed to it, and now he was preparing to leave, possibly for the last time. “I’m just not sure if we’ll get back to the Scorpio any time soon. It looks like we will be deployed to the field for some time.”

  “Yeah.” Griff nodded. “We have to
protect those cannons.” Griff nodded and was momentarily distracted by a folder in his hand. He dropped the folder and looked at Jack. “Assemble Cobra Company, Jack,” Griff said. “We deploy in fifteen minutes.”

  Jack stood on the Marine hangar deck. Cobra and Boa Companies were aboard their landing craft. Commander Laidlaw stood with Jack, looking out of the hangar door porthole. Somewhere away in the darkness was the Chitin armada.

  “Kind of creepy to know they’re out there, isn’t it, Jack.” Laidlaw moved his face closer to the small porthole.

  “They have always been out there, Stu,” Jack replied.

  “Yeah, but they have never been this close to the home planets before.” Laidlaw stepped away.

  Jack checked the time on his small watch. The final boarding order would come any moment now. He looked at the newly appointed commander, Stuart Laidlaw. Boa Company was his responsibility. Jack had suggested him for the position and felt a degree of responsibility not just for his own company but for Laidlaw’s too.

  The orders came for final boarding of the Marine landing craft in the form of a brief message from Major Griff.

  Laidlaw viewed Griff’s message on the holodisplay panel on the sleeve of his meat suit. “Guess it’s time to go,” he said.

  Jack held out his hand. Laidlaw took it and the two shook. They had both risen through the ranks quickly and now they were both commanding fully-manned companies of fleet Marines.

  “Good luck, Stu,” Jack said.

  Laidlaw nodded. He was looking pale. Jack stepped close and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “You’re a good Marine and a good leader. You are going to be fine. You can do this. Copy?”

  Stuart nodded.

  “You wouldn’t have been given the company if you couldn’t manage it.” Jack gave Laidlaw a hearty pat on the shoulder. “Be sure. Be decisive. Be a Marine.”

  “Copy that,” Laidlaw said and turned toward the boarding ramp of his company’s landing craft.

  Jack walked up the ramp and into the passenger hold of his landing craft. Cobra Company had been brought up to full strength with the addition of squads poached from Adder Company. Several mixed squads had been assembled from the Marines who had escaped the destruction of the Monarch and the Taurus at the Battle of Grid Eight-Eight-Thirteen. The survivors of half a dozen companies now served to swell the ranks of Cobra to its full complement of twelve squads, with twelve Marines each.

  Jack tapped the ramp control panel. The pneumatic systems hissed and squeaked as the ramp closed. It took a moment for his eyes to become accustomed to the dim lights of the landing craft’s passenger hold. Jack did not want to be seen stumbling in the dark, feeling his way forward, giving the company any thoughts that their commander was not fully in control. He stood and waited until his eyes adjusted.

  A message from the cockpit came over Jack’s communicator. The pilot had been given instructions to begin final egress procedure.

  Jack acknowledged the message and stepped along the passenger hold. The landing craft was barely holding together. Unless the pilot treated her very carefully, it might be her last trip. The panels above the Marines’ seats were missing in several places. Hold lights blinked and flickered in some places. They were absent in others. There were still enough lights operating to give Jack a gloomy view of his company.

  The central aisle of the landing craft was stacked with crates of equipment and supplies. There was enough food and ammunition to keep the company going for several weeks. And then along the sides of the craft, strapped in their seats, were the one hundred and forty-four men and women of Cobra Company. All were fully suited up and armed for battle. The pulse pistols were strapped to the meat suits at various locations, the hip being the most popular but many Marines preferred to strap their secondary weapon under their arm or across the chest.

  Various other sidearms and extra weaponry was affixed to the suits, including grenades and electron blades. In front of every Marine, held in the standard flight position of butt down, muzzle up, was the Fleet Marine pulse rifle. This was the primary weapon of the Fleet Marines. It was a powerful piece of equipment. It had won a hundred battles for the Marines. It was the only reason half of these Marines strapped in their seats here were still alive. It was powerful, dependable, vital, and deadly. With a dedicated, well-trained Marine behind it, the weapon was virtually unstoppable.

  Jack walked along the passenger deck. The Marines offered a quiet word of deference to Jack, a salute here or a quiet ‘sir’ there. The Marines didn’t need to acknowledge him in this situation, but he had earned their respect in a number of dangerous and difficult encounters with their enemy. They wanted Jack to know they would follow him. He acknowledged their offers of respect with a light return salute, a tap of his finger to his brow, to show that he also respected them.

  Finding an empty seat halfway along the passenger hold in the area taken up by 6th squad was a welcome sight. Apart from a brief moment in his quarters, Jack had been on his feet for the best part of a day. Organizing the company for deployment involved more running around than anyone who had never done it would believe. Jack dropped in to the seat.

  Sam Torent, squad leader for the 6th, saluted Jack as he sat.

  “Sir,” Torent said lightly.

  “How is sixth squad doing, Sam?” Jack asked.

  “Osho is still after my job, sir,” Torent said. He pointed across to Osho, who was seemingly asleep. “Bailey is still a bit nervous, but I think he’ll be after your job soon.”

  Bailey was checking the panels on his meat suit sleeve, his right leg bouncing nervously. He saw Jack and Torent looking at him. He stiffened and delivered a sharp salute.

  Jack smiled and returned the salute. “As you were, Bailey,” he said.

  “I’m only just getting to know the replacements,” Torent said, pointing to a number of Marines sitting nearby. “We were lucky to get some veterans from other battalions. Some are green, but I have given them a good run through with some of our best VR scenarios.”

  Jack nodded. He studied the new members of 6th squad. Even though so many of them were new, 6th squad was still Jack’s squad. He knew it was wrong, but he had a sentimental spot for these men and women. They had been his friends. He had so few left.

  “They’ll be okay, sir,” Torent said. “They know what they have to do and they’ll do it.”

  “What about you, Sam?” Jack turned to his old nemesis turned best friend. “You okay?”

  Torent smiled and nodded. He held out his arm, his prosthetic replacement. He flexed it, clenching and unclenching the fingers. “If only the rest of my body was in as good a condition as this arm.”

  An amber light started flashing, throwing light and shadow about the passenger hold in lazy sweeps. It was the takeoff warning light. The pilot messaged Jack.

  “We have orders to leave, sir. Do you want to take a seat in the cockpit?”

  “No, pilot,” Jack said. He grabbed the straps to the seat he was in. “Go ahead and take us out.”

  Jack strapped himself in.

  “Just like old times?” Torent asked.

  “Just like old times,” Jack agreed.

  Looking around at the faces of the men and women he was leading, Jack could see the respect they had for him, a commander who wasn’t afraid to ride in the back with the troops. Jack knew they would follow him. He also knew he would have to order them into battle and that many of the one hundred and forty-four Marines of Cobra Company in the landing craft might not return home.

  Jack knew that the deployment to Brecon was not going to be an armchair posting. Brecon was about to become the front line in the deadly standoff against the Chitins, a war that the humans were losing. With their backs against the wall, Jack knew the fleet Marines would be more determined than ever. He knew Cobra would fight hard. Failure was not an option.

  2

  The shaking started suddenly and violently. The creaking of the landing craft’s hull was piercing
and loud.

  “We’re coming in to land,” the pilot’s stressed voice came over Jack’s communicator. “I’ve lost pitch control. I am compensating with thrusters. Brace for emergency landing.”

  Jack pulled his meat suit helmet on. It hissed as it created the seal. Then he grabbed the shoulder straps on his seat, his hands across his chest. He activated the inertia reduction field on his meat suit, trying to relax and control his breathing. Training told them that a relaxed Marine would withstand a crash landing better than a tense one.

  “Remember your training, Cobra,” Jack said into his helmet communicator on a company channel. Everyone would hear his voice.

  The red emergency landing light flashed around the passenger hold. The Marines adopted the crash position.

  “Killed by our own ship.” Torent leaned in toward Jack. “Chits won’t even need to attack.”

  Jack knew Torent was right but didn’t have time for Torent’s dark humor just then.

  “Adopt the correct emergency landing position, Squad Leader,” Jack said. “How are you going to lead your squad with a broken skull?”

  “I could use a good knock on the head,” Torent said, pressing himself into his seat. “Probably need some sense knocked into me.”

  “I’ll do it for you if you don’t brace,” Jack said.

  The violent shaking of the landing craft jostled the Marines in their seats. The hull rattled and screeched as it exceeded its design limits. Jack looked at the hull opposite him as it flexed rapidly. His eyes shook in their sockets, and the whole passenger hold became a blur.