Invasion (Blue Star Marines Book 3) Read online

  “Who said I want to be? I don’t like being in charge of you two scroats as it is. Imagine if I had another thousand like you to deal with. I’d airlock every last one of you.”

  “You’d make a great leader, boss,” Perov said.

  “You think?” Bellini walked around behind Perov and grabbed his greasy hair. “When I can’t even get a little scroat like you to shut the krav up.” Bellini threw Perov’s head forward.

  “He’s just saying, is all, Cap,” Ramil said. “Just saying you’d be good.”

  “You saying I should challenge Kitzov, genius?” Bellini said, turning on Ramil. “You want me to tell him you said that?” Bellini marched over to the communications console and shoved the operator aside. “I’ll tell him now. One of my flight deck crew, a particularly punchy weapons controller, is telling me I should try and take over leadership of the Faction.”

  “No, Cap, I’m not saying that,” Ramil said. “Just a hypothetical is all.”

  “Hypothetical? That’s a big word for a tiny mind. You eat a book today, you knuckle-dragger?” Bellini said. “Try an adult word on me again, Ramil, and I’ll make you eat a book for sure. But if you are suddenly some sort of intellectual, try and comprehend this: we attack the next Union heavy on sight. We attack with all weapons and make sure the thing is a burning wreck before they have a chance to send a distress call. Get me?”

  “Yes, Cap. I get you,” Ramil said.

  “What about you?” Bellini pointed at Perov. “You got some philosophizing you want to do, you little rat?”

  “No, boss.” Perov looked dead ahead, remaining perfectly still.

  “Good,” Bellini said. He walked over to the heavy bag and delivered a series of punches and followed up with a kick.

  Bellini walked over to the holo-stage and sat against the edge. He studied the knuckles on his right hand. They were badly scarred, and fresh cuts lay over the scar tissue. Lying in wait out here for so long was driving him crazy. If he didn’t get to fight something soon, he’d be setting up a bareknuckle match between his crew. Any pent-up tension and festering grievance could all be let out. He let himself imagine who his opponent would be.

  The biggest man on board was one of the engineers down in the drive room. A big guy, but he knew his way around the drive room and Bellini couldn’t risk killing him. Then there was the rat, Perov. A half-decent pilot, and a clever little thief. He had come up with a plan to raid a Union settlement in the belt right between Union patrols. It had been a good plan and a great score. Bellini didn’t want to kill a natural and cunning thief, plus he was too small, so it was too easy.

  He looked over at Ramil, who was studying his weapons console. Bellini knew he was just avoiding his captain’s stare. He was clever enough to not want to anger the boss twice in one go. But he was big and a great fighter. It would be a good fight and Bellini knew he would have his work cut out for him to take down the weapons operator. The more Bellini stared at Ramil, the more he thought that Ramil had challenged his authority several times—always under the guise of support. Maybe Ramil was that clever, maybe he was as strong as Bellini. Maybe he was the one true threat to Bellini’s command.

  Once this deployment was over, there would be a ship-wide bareknuckle tournament, and Bellini would challenge Ramil. It would be a good fight—one the crew would talk about for years. And at the end of that fight, only one of them would be standing. The other would be airlocked.

  “Ramil,” Bellini said, calmly and quietly. “When all this is over, once we get back to the belt, you want to show these amateurs how Faction men fight? You and me, knucks in the Fall’s cargo deck.”

  Ramil looked up. Calm, quiet, relaxed. “Yes, boss. Six rounds of knucks with you, Cap, a true champion. It would be an honor.”

  Bellini walked over slowly and held out a hand for Ramil to shake. “It’s a deal.” Bellini smiled.

  Ramil took the captain’s hand. “You’ve got it, Captain.” And Ramil knew he had just entered into a contract that would either see him Captain of the Fall in a few weeks’ time or dead.

  Bellini walked over to the holo-stage and leaned against it, looking at the image of the Fall alone in space. Ramil looked down at Perov. Perov stared up at Ramil, knowing that he might be captain soon, but more likely he would have his head caved in by the captain.

  The silent contract was signed and agreed. The witnesses across the flight deck all knew. And Ramil was, for now, the safest man on board. Bellini wasn’t going to murder him in his sleep, it just wasn’t his style. No one on the crew would move against him, because it would rob the captain of his fight and his chance to solidify his command. No one would piss off Ramil because he might be the newest captain. In an instant, Ramil was elevated to a new status of challenger. He was the safest man on the ship, safer even than Captain Bellini himself.

  A chirp from the sensors drew Perov’s attention away from Ramil and back to his console. A signal had entered the sensor range.

  “Signal, dead ahead. We’re right in its path. Getting some clarity now. Putting in on the holo-stage.”

  Bellini walked over to his command chair. He climbed up and dropped into the seat. The hazy image of a ship appeared. Its outline became clearer as more sensor data was gathered. The dimensions came through, and it was clearly a Union heavy.

  Bellini opened a ship communication.

  “This is Bellini. Union heavy, dead ahead. All systems power up and get ready for action. We go in quick and hard and take this heavy down. Bellini out.”

  Bellini looked down at Ramil.

  “Ramil, looks like we’ll get our knucks sooner than either of us thought. Make sure you take that heavy down quick and then we can get out of here.”

  Ramil nodded once. He was ready.

  “There are more,” Perov said. He turned and looked up at the captain with a grin. “Lots more. A convoy.”

  The image appeared on the holo-stage: a block of Union heavies flying in tight formation.

  “Oh yes,” Bellini said, rubbing his bloody knuckles. “Target one of the lead ships. All weapons. Let them come into kill range.” Bellini turned to Ramil. “Make sure you have the next target mapped into the system. I want to take as many of these down as quickly as possible. I can’t wait to tell Kitzov the numbers on this one. He might even give me two ships.”

  “Lead ship is in range, Cap,” Ramil said, excitement rising in his voice.

  “Ready to maneuver, all drive power to flight,” Perov said.

  Bellini relaxed back into his command chair and gave the order to open fire.

  5

  Featherstone leaned forward in his command chair as the Faction raider lit up on the holo-stage. The Resolute was currently in position high above the convoy, slightly to starboard. The raider was in front of the convoy and just below. She had already opened fire with her hail cannon.

  “Attention, Resolute. Faction raider has broken cover and is attacking the convoy. The Resolute will move to intercept. The raider is using outlawed weaponry. Defensive systems, configure to deflect kinetic hail shot. Power to all weapons. Let’s take her down fast.”

  The Resolute powered up the drive field and headed directly for the raider. A heavy at the front of the convoy erupted in a ball of plasma fire. The explosion ripped back along the huge freighter and connected with the cargo of Black Ice, the resulting explosion engulfing the freighters on either side.

  “The convoy is breaking up,” Knole said. He relayed the convoy data to the holo-stage. The eruption from the Black Ice threatened to set off a chain reaction through the convoy and all ships were taking their preplanned evasive maneuvers.

  The Resolute dived down, punching through the fire. She burst out the other side, closing in on the raider.

  “Raider is targeting a second heavy,” Knole reported. “Should I send a warning transmission, sir?”

  “She hasn’t seen us,” Featherstone said, stepping down from the command chair. He walked toward main holo-stage.
“Let’s keep it that way.”

  The image of the raider was at the far side of the holo-stage. She was turning to chase a heavy that was drifting away to the starboard flank. The Resolute was bearing down on the exposed starboard flank of the ship.

  Featherstone looked at all the data on the raider. She was well armed and moved cleanly on her drive. There was no fluctuation usually associated with a raider, their drives all old and poorly maintained, certainly not up to Union standard.

  Looking at the data from the raider, Featherstone could see this was something new.

  “Entering weapons range. I’ll have her in the spitz guns sights in a moment, sir,” Cronin said.

  Featherstone adjusted his collar. He really wanted a closer look. The raider fired again, a huge gout of kinetic hail blasting from her forward battery into the next heavy. As curious as Featherstone was, he couldn’t let this raider destroy the convoy so he could gather information.

  “Take her down, Doc,” Featherstone said. He turned to Knole. “Gather all the data you can. If you can hack her database, do it. If we can find out where she’s been, we might find the point of origin.”

  “The Faction shipyards?” Sergeant Dorik asked as he stepped up to the holo-stage.

  “Exactly,” Featherstone said. “We’ve heard rumors of new Faction ships. This is the first one any Union craft has encountered as far as I am aware.”

  “Opening fire,” Doc said. “Strafing her with spitz guns now.”

  The raider took the fire from the spitz guns, hull composite erupting away into vapor in seconds. Tiny, super-heated pinpricks all across her starboard side glowed white hot, cooling fast.

  The raider turned and moved away from its target.

  “She’s seen us now, sir,” Knole said. “She’s making a run for it.”

  “She’s not getting away.” Featherstone leaned on the holo-stage. “If she shows you her drive, put a mass beam on it. That should slow her down.”

  “A combat drone should take her out of the fight if we can target her drive,” Dorik said.

  “Agreed, but this ship might be a key to unlocking the Faction fleet’s power. Load a combat drone. If she looks like she is going to get away, you have my permission to obliterate her.”

  “She’s throwing some crazy moves here, sir,” Hemel said from the pilot’s seat. “She is not making it easy for me to keep her in range.”

  “Stay with her, Jim,” Featherstone said. “Doc, how is that mass beam coming along?”

  “Powered up and ready to activate, sir,” Cronin said. “I just need to get a bit closer.”

  “I’m doing my best,” Hemel said, his hands moving across the flight console in front of him as he fought to maintain contact with the raider.

  “Data coming through here, sir,” Knole said. “She is the Faction raider, the Fall. I’ve got some flight data coming in. She’s been in space for months. She has attacked a few heavies. Her captain is Bellini. He’s got an active Union warrant on him. Dead or alive.”

  “Log it all, Yan,” Featherstone said. “Something tells me this pirate won’t be taken alive, but if we can knock out their power, we might have a chance to bring him in and watch him swing.”

  “Mass beam firing, sir,” Cronin called out. “We’ve got her. Drive systems are down. Her field is collapsing.”

  The mass beam fired again as the Resolute raced past the Fall, now adrift. External lights flickered along her outer hull.

  “Low-energy strike from the mass beam, sir,” Cronin reported. “We caught her just above her reactor. Looks like we’ve buckled the casing. Her reactor has lost symmetry. She’s dead in the void.”

  “Sergeant Dorik, you will lead the boarding party,” Featherstone said. “Great shooting, Doc,” he added.

  Dorik marched off the command deck. “Doc, you are with me. Grab a med-kit and a rifle. Let’s go.”

  The flight deck of the Fall was dark with lights blinking on and off almost hypnotically. One flight deck operator was dead, a conduit at his console having erupted following the hit from the mass beam.

  “Get that reactor back online,” Bellini was shouting. “Get the troopers ready. I am going to board that cruiser and kill the captain.”

  “It’s not a cruiser,” Perov pointed out. “She’s a frigate. It’s the Blue Star Marines.”

  “Blue Stars?” Bellini asked. He stopped dead in his tracks. “What are Blue Stars doing guarding a convoy of heavies, unless…”

  Perov interrupted. “They are after you, boss. We’ve got Union Marines in the void. They are traversing. They will be on our outer hull in moments.”

  Bellini walked across to his command chair and picked up the pulse rifle he kept there. “Everyone, arm yourselves.”

  “Don’t leave, boss,” Ramil said. “If you leave the flight deck, there’ll be no one to activate the self-destruct. They’ll take us alive.”

  Bellini huffed. “They are not getting my ship. And they better not take any of you alive. Get ready to fight them off.”

  “But these are Blue Stars, not just regular Marines,” Perov said. “How can we hope to fight them off?”

  “We’re with you,” Ramil said, grabbing his pulse pistol and joining Bellini. The rest of the flight deck crew lined up behind him.

  “Me too, boss,” Perov said, standing and drawing his pistol.

  “Drive room, this is Bellini. Get my ship up and running.” Bellini took position at the entrance to the flight deck—a long, straight corridor that was easy to defend, and difficult to attack. Bellini took position on one side of the entrance and got ready to fight for his ship.

  Dorik and Cronin landed on the hull of the Fall, the other Marines all landing within a few seconds of each other. Dorik activated his electron blade on the end of his pulse pistol and jammed it into the seal around an airlock. The hatch burst open, knocking a Marine off the ship and into space.

  The Marine activated his suit’s onboard thruster pack and slowed himself before powering back to the ship.

  Dorik dropped in through the outer hatch. He looked around and found the internal hatch controls. There were a number of lines painted on the side of the outer hatch.

  “Looks like a score,” Cronin said as he dropped in next to Dorik.

  “It’s a count of how many people he’s airlocked, I bet,” Dorik said. “Pirate scum.”

  Cronin looked again at the painted lines as the last of the Marines entered the airlock, sealing the hatch behind them. The lines did look like a tally. If Sergeant Dorik was right, every line represented a life lost, blown out into the void.

  With the hatch sealed, Dorik thrust his electron blade into the lock for the inner hatch. It popped open.

  The corridor inside was dark except for the flickering internal lights.

  “Power is intermittent. As long as her reactor is off symmetry, she’ll have no lights and no power.” Dorik stepped into the corridor. “We need to take control of the drive room before she can regain power.” Dorik waved a three-man fire team toward the drive section.

  The corridor was suddenly lit up as pulse rounds came pouring in. Two Marines of the first fire team fell. The second team moved up, their pulse rifles laying down a fierce barrage of return fire. They moved forward, low and fast, as a third fire team moved behind, standing tall and firing into the dark where the Faction troopers were hiding.

  The Faction pulse fire subsided and Dorik heard footsteps running away.

  Cronin ran to the fallen Marines. One had taken a pulse round directly to the faceplate. Although the helmet had taken the blow and the onboard stability field had taken most of the force, dissipating it across the suit, the Marine was still out cold.

  Dorik moved to the second. He was already sitting up, clutching his injured shoulder.

  “How are they, Doc?” Dorik asked.

  “Minor injuries.” Doc gave the sitting Marine a hand up and then connected to the med-pack on the unconscious Marine’s suit. He initiated a stim shot
. The Marine jerked and scurried back along the deck, his rifle in his hand.

  “Hold here,” Dorik said to the two injured soldiers. “First team and fourth team will hold the airlock. Doc, you are with me.”

  Dorik moved along the corridor. The sounds of pulse rifle fire and the flicker of pulse rounds told him that the Blue Stars were meeting sporadic resistance from Faction troopers. Dorik would rather take one fire team of Blue Stars than a whole division of Faction troopers into a fight. The Faction troopers were tough and brave, determined and ruthless, but they were undisciplined, unruly, and their command structure was haphazard at best. The troopers followed the man they liked best rather than the man placed in command based on ability and leadership qualities.

  The troopers would fall back all the way to the drive room, but then they would stand. When their backs were against the wall, the Faction fought to the last man, every time, no exceptions. It was the only thing that Dorik could have any respect for. But on the whole, Dorik knew these to be criminal, terrorist scum, and the Scorpio System would be a better place if they all just died.

  The command deck of the Resolute was silent as the crew watched the feeds from the Marine’s helmet scanners projected onto the holo-stage. The data showed the Marines were approaching the drive room. Once the drive room was taken, the Fall would be under Featherstone’s control. He didn’t need the flight deck to take the ship under tow. But if the power came back on, however briefly, Featherstone guessed the Fall’s captain would destroy the ship rather than let it be taken.

  Featherstone watched the assault keenly. It would be a great prize to take this ship, to dig into its database and find out finally where the Faction were constructing their new raiders. There may even be data on the whereabouts of Kitzov. He looked at the life signs of his sergeant, Dorik. They had been together for a long time; he liked and trusted the hard-edged sergeant. Featherstone hated to think he would lose his sergeant, but the chance of taking control of a Faction raider was worth the risk. Any Blue Star leader would send a dozen Marines of the high standard of Sergeant Dorik to their deaths if it meant gaining an advantage over the Faction.