Die like the rest, p.1
Die Like the Rest, page 1
DIE LIKE
THE REST
GHOST SQUADRON
3
ERIC THOMSON
Die Like the Rest
Copyright 2021 Eric Thomson
First edition November 2021
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published in Canada
By Sanddiver Books Inc.
ISBN: 978-1-989314-44-9
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
— One —
— Two —
— Three —
— Four —
— Five —
— Six —
— Seven —
— Eight —
— Nine —
— Ten —
— Eleven —
— Twelve —
— Thirteen —
— Fourteen —
— Fifteen —
— Sixteen —
— Seventeen —
— Eighteen —
— Nineteen —
— Twenty —
— Twenty-One —
— Twenty-Two —
— Twenty-Three —
— Twenty-Four —
— Twenty-Five —
— Twenty-Six —
— Twenty-Seven —
— Twenty-Eight —
— Twenty-Nine —
— Thirty —
— Thirty-One —
— Thirty-Two —
— Thirty-Three —
— Thirty-Four —
— Thirty-Five —
— Thirty-Six —
— Thirty-Seven —
— Thirty-Eight —
— Thirty-Nine —
— Forty —
— Forty-One —
— Forty-Two —
— Forty-Three —
About the Author
Also by Eric Thomson
Sign up for Eric Thomson's Mailing List
— One —
Some nights make everyone miserable. Many are even worse. In Major Curtis Delgado’s opinion, this one belonged to the second category, but only because a third option didn’t exist. For a moment, he considered inventing a new term that might adequately describe a night so dark, so damp, with the air so thick thanks to monsoon-like rain but found his imagination didn’t quite stretch that far.
In short, it was the perfect night for a raid, the sort with weather his instructors in basic training, on the Pathfinder course, and the command sergeant course considered optimum in helping catch an enemy by surprise. Of course, if the opposition was blind, deaf, and miserable, the raiders couldn’t be in a much different state. Both moved through the dense rain forest, low-lying swamps, and over rocky outcrops under a thick carpet of black clouds at oh-dark-thirty, their sensors rendered myopic by the raging downpours, gales of wind, and the chameleon armor worn by both friend and foe. Helmet visors struggled to give searching eyes a coherent picture in such conditions, and no one saw more than a few meters in any direction, less among the ancient trees.
Delgado, officer commanding Ghost Squadron’s Erinye Company, and his winger, Sergeant Carl Kuzek, found the designated observation post on the heights surrounding a shallow, broad valley bisected by a narrow, albeit lazy, mud-bottomed river. As he crawled between boulders covered by moss that likely predated the arrival of the first humans, Delgado wondered why he was bothering. Even from this perch, he couldn’t begin to spot the hundreds of troopers below. He might as well have stayed at the rendezvous position with his reserve troop and company first sergeant. The three troop leaders conducting the raid on a string of enemy hides would either succeed or not, and there was nothing he could do to change the outcome. Once they’d vanished into the forest an hour earlier, they were essentially on their own.
At best, if the plan to infiltrate the enemy positions, set explosive charges, and extract without being spotted succeeded, he’d see and hear those charges going off at the right time, which was in just under two hours. If they failed, he’d spot defensive gunfire much earlier. It depended on how good their opponents were by now and how well they’d learned the lessons inflicted by Ghost Squadron over the previous weeks.
Like many Special Forces officers, Delgado came up through the ranks and went from command sergeant leading a troop to captain in charge of a four-troop company. It meant he was older than most captains in a line regiment but vastly more experienced. Yet, the one thing he would never get used to was waiting while his troop leaders carried out their missions. He wished he could hand back his commission at times like these, put up the six stripes and crossed swords of a command sergeant again, and jump back into the middle of things. But Delgado’s commanding officer, Colonel Zack Decker, another old mustang who started his career as a private, had plans for him, despite the fact he’d often confessed to feeling the same way. And Admiral Talyn, whose division within Naval Intelligence made liberal use of the 1st Special Forces Regiment to carry out black ops, nurtured plans for both.
At least, he reminded himself, the light combat armor they wore kept out the damp chill and the rain. And the smell of rotting vegetation, animal droppings, and mold. He could only imagine how his professional ancestors managed before technology made challenging environments more bearable.
Delgado composed himself, eyes on the valley, knowing that Kuzek was watching his back, and waited to see if his plan would succeed. If those were ordinary foes, he’d not even wonder, except about the unknown unknowns that derailed even the best schemes, but they represented something new.
As he settled into a quasi-meditative state, Delgado experienced the eerie sensation of sinking into an isolation tank, his senses dulled by the white noise of rain drumming on tree leaves and his helmet and the impenetrable darkness. The first click over the company frequency startled him, and he checked the time on his visor’s heads-up display. It meant the first of the three troops had set its charges and exfiltrated from the enemy hide.
Five minutes or so later, Delgado picked up another click, signifying two out of three were on the way home, and he allowed himself to hope for a clean sweep. Alas, it was not to be. No sooner did the thought occur to him that the treetops to his right, almost at the valley’s eastern end, were briefly outlined by gunfire.
Within moments, he heard three clicks in a row, the signal that Charlie Troop, whose objective it was, ran into enemy resistance and was withdrawing rather than engage in a firefight with three times their number. Delgado knew the enemy troops in that hide were even now rousing their comrades in the other locations via radio, which meant a change of plans. They would no longer blow their charges simultaneously since the element of surprise was gone.
Delgado flicked on his helmet radio. “Fire in the hole. I repeat, fire in the hole.”
Seconds later, the first set of explosions lit up the valley to his left, then another in the center as Bravo and Delta Troops activated remote detonators. A third came several heartbeats later at some distance from the target, proving Charlie Troop was scattering its charges and using them to cover the withdrawal. But the enemy would not pursue the most highly trained Marines in the known universe through dense forest in total darkness anyhow. They’d learned Ghost Squadron laid hasty ambushes like no one else to cut down pursuers.
The valley fell silent just as quickly as it woke, all illumination gone as if the short, intense violence of a night raid moments earlier never happened.
Just before daybreak, Erinye Company’s Marines, tired but satisfied, climbed aboard the dropships waiting for them at the rendezvous. After a short flight, they landed on Fort Arnhem’s main parade square, climbed out, and formed in three ranks under First Sergeant Hak.
To Delgado’s surprise, Colonel Decker and Lieutenant Colonel Josh Bayliss came through the regimental HQ’s main doors and headed for him. Both were smiling contentedly.
“What say you, Curtis?” Decker asked in a booming voice when he came within earshot.
“That two out of three isn’t bad?” Delgado grinned as he saluted his regimental commander. “They’re getting better with every training cycle.”
“Who’s that?” Bayliss cocked an eyebrow at the younger man. “Your Erinyes or our new comrades from the 1st Battalion, Marine Light Infantry?”
“The latter, sir. I don’t know that we can do much more to improve their capabilities as a Tier Two Special Forces unit. I am looking forward to Isaac Dyas’ after-action report on how the MLI caught him before he laid his charges.”
“Luck, most likely. But I agree. The 1st MLI is pretty much up to the standards set by General Martinson, and more importantly, by us. I’d be glad to have them at my back, covering us while we work black ops with them.” Bayliss glanced at Decker. “Agreed, sir?”
The big man nodded. “Agreed. Well done, Curtis.”
“Yes, well done.” Bayliss studied the Marines standing patiently by the dropships, waiting for orders. “Sort yourself out, eat breakfast in the cafeteria, and once you’ve done your hot wash, you can send them off for the weekend a few hours early. I’ll see you in my office for the after-action report at thirteen hundred.”
“Yes, sir.”
— Two —
The following Monday morning, a smiling Curtis Delgado stuck his head through Lieutenant Colonel Joshua Bayliss’ open office door.
“You summoned me, sir?”
Tall, muscular, with short red hair framing a sharp, pale-skinned face, he didn’t seem old enough to be a Special Forces major, certainly not compared to weathered warhorses like his squadron and regimental commanders.
When he noticed Colonel Decker in one of the chairs around the small conference table, he amended his question. “You summoned me, sirs?”
“We did.” Ghost Squadron’s commanding officer pointed at the chair next to Decker. “Close the door and sit.”
As he complied, Delgado grimaced theatrically.
“Nothing good ever happens when both of you want to speak with me together.”
Decker patted him on the shoulder.
“Then you’ll love the mission we’re about to lay on Erinye Company.”
“I remember the last time you called me into this office for a new tasking. And based on that, my gut tells me I won’t like what I’m about to hear, Colonel.”
“I thought you enjoyed the little jaunt to Earth.”
Delgado let out an amused snort.
“The trip had its moments, but Erinye Company isn’t made for that sort of thing. Fortunately, we carried out a proper job on the way back. It cleansed the palate nicely. Dare I ask what this next one is, or should I put in my notice of resignation?”
Decker tilted his head to one side and gave him a disapproving look.
“Admiral Talyn would be crushed if you walk out on the regiment. She’s become quite fond of the Erinyes and their talent for adjusting to any situation or mission.”
“When you lay it on this thick, I really know I won’t like what’s coming, sir.”
Decker winked at Delgado. “Want to bet?”
“I’ve learned betting with you, or Colonel Bayliss, is a losing proposition, sir. But please, go ahead and tell me about Erinye Company’s fate.”
As if a switch had been thrown, both Decker and Bayliss lost their amused expressions.
“What follows is top secret special access, codename Phalarope. As usual, nothing about this mission is to be discussed beyond the confines of Erinye Company.”
Delgado, now equally serious, nodded. “Understood.”
“Did you ever hear of an installation by the name Tyrell Station?”
The younger officer took on a thoughtful expression, then shook his head.
“No.”
“It’s a Fleet-owned mining operation on an airless planet in the Rim Sector, specifically in the otherwise uninhabited Keros system.”
A frown creased Delgado’s forehead.
“I didn’t know the Fleet operated mines, sir.”
“It’s a relatively recent development to gain greater control over the extraction and refining of strategic metals and rare earths used in warship and weaponry manufacture. Tyrell is a former Assenari Mining installation that’s been in operation for a long time. However, the only actual change is a naval officer overseeing the chief administrator and the security arrangements. Instead of private guards, a Marine company polices and protects the place. The folks operating the mine and smelter and most of the support staff are from Assenari under contract to the Fleet.”
A look of dismay replaced Delgado’s frown.
“No. Don’t tell me we’re going to Tyrell as overpaid and over-trained rent-a-cops.”
The grin splitting Decker’s square face could have lit up the darkest of nights.
“Tyrell is an interesting operation. Interconnected modules that can be detached from each other and airlifted by a small starship when ore veins play out. Remove the humans, seal the modules, detach them, move to a new location, reassemble, and off they go. The current location has been mined long enough that it’s due for another move within eighteen to twenty-four months.”
“With due respect, sir, you’re not answering my question.”
Decker’s grin widened as Delgado let out a long groan.
“Must I? Really?”
“Why always us?”
“Because you’re good at adapting to anything, Curtis. And right now, you’re the best I have for the job.”
“Give it to a company from the 42nd Marines. I’m sure they’d be glad to leave Caledonia for a bit.”
Bayliss chuckled. “Funny you should mention the 42nd.”
“Here it comes,” Delgado said in a theatrical whisper while rolling his eyes. Then, in a louder voice. “May I know why we’re going to Tyrell as a security detail from the 42nd instead of wearing the winged dagger?”
Decker raised a finger.
“Yes. So, listen closely.”
“I’m all ears.”
“The real reason why the Fleet forced Assenari to sell Tyrell isn’t because our superiors desperately want control over raw material supplies, but that’s a nice add-on. The same applies to other facilities and properties the Fleet bought in recent times. You’ve no doubt read somewhere in the intelligence briefs I circulate that countless ammunition and ordnance depots from the Second Migration War remain undiscovered because the records were lost.”
Delgado nodded. “Sure. Apparently including a number with weapons of mass destruction that were banned on pain of death after the war.”
“A while ago, intelligence came across incomplete data about several of the lost depots, and one of them is located on Keros, in the general vicinity of Tyrell, exact location unknown. Or at least it was when the records were uncovered. Assenari was persuaded to sell, and when we took over, the mining scout droids used to sniff out new ore veins quietly received an addition, a droid programmed to find the depot. Three days ago, it did, and immediately acted on its programming by sending an encrypted message directly to HQ with images of the depot’s contents. Of course, it couldn’t exactly operate without Tyrell’s commanding officer knowing, but part of the programming was placing a top secret special access restriction on the find. However, while he knows about the depot’s existence, no one on Keros is aware of its contents. We, on the other hand, are in the know because the images showed clear markings.”
A faint smile crossed Delgado’s lips. “Is this where I’m supposed to ask what the droid found?”
Decker nodded, smiling. “Yes, it is.”
“So, what’s in that ammo bunker?”
“Our worst nightmare. Biological and chemical warfare payloads. And it’s in a spot near where Tyrell is likely to relocate during its next move.”
“Oh, goodie.” Delgado shook his head. “The sins of the past come to haunt us. I shudder at thinking what evil beings might do with such things. But why is the Admiral sending us there instead of making sure the current garrison keeps an eye on the depot until someone retrieves its contents and renders them harmless?”
“Because we suspect either Tyrell or, more likely, HQ has a leak, Curtis. We never found every last Black Sword traitor. Word came from our friend Miko in Geneva less than a day ago that the Sécurité Spéciale got wind of an exciting development in the Rim Sector. Considering what’s happening these days, Intelligence decided the probability it’s related to the ammo bunker was high enough we couldn’t ignore the threat.”
“Seen. Those bastards will want to retrieve the forbidden ordnance before we make it vanish. The Almighty knows what they may do with that nasty stuff, but it can’t be good.”
Josh Bayliss tapped his index finger against the side of his nose.
“And if worse comes to worst, the resident Marine company won’t be capable of keeping them away until Fleet HQ organizes a retrieval operation, simply because they’ve not been exposed to the realities of our fallen galaxy. They neither know about the depot, nor can they be told, and they don’t have experience dealing with the Sécurité Spéciale and its hired goons. You and the Erinyes, on the other hand...” Ghost Squadron’s commanding officer left the rest of the sentence unspoken.
“When do we leave?”
“You’re at twelve hours’ notice to move from this moment on,” Bayliss said. “The Admiral is organizing transport as we speak. It’ll be whatever is in orbit now or will arrive within the next day. Prepare your Erinyes. You should receive the necessary insignia making you H Company, 3rd Battalion, 42nd Marine Regiment shortly. And yes, their CO knows the 1st SFR will re-badge a company to the 42nd for an unspecified operation of limited duration. That way, if questions land on his desk, he can at least back our story while making it clear H Company is on a classified task. Colonel Decker spoke with him personally just before we called you up.”
