Recruit by Jonathan Brazee (best historical fiction books of all time .txt) đź“–
- Author: Jonathan Brazee
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Ryck kept charging as the pirate swung ponderously around to see who was attacking him. Ryck couldn’t see the man behind the dark helmet visor, but he kept pumping out rounds in hopes that one would find a crease or weak spot in the man’s armor.
The pirate brought up his weapon, aiming from the hip, the 20-centimeter barrel looking huge as it pointed at him. For a moment, Ryck thought he’d be able to reach him before he fired, physically tackling the man. Just a step away, the weapon went off, a flash of light blinding Ryck as something struck him hard along his right side. He wasn’t even aware of being thrown back, of his right arm and two fingers of his left hand being turned to hamburger. He wasn’t aware of when his EVA, acting on the breach, closed the torn sleeve and gauntlet, slicing away the mangled flesh that used to be his right arm and left fingertips. The EVA didn’t care if it was in a vacuum or on a pressurized ship. If the suit was breached, it acted to seal the breach and keep integrity.
A sense of lassitude crept over him as drugs were injected into his body, drugs meant to calm him and slow down his respirations. In space, this made sense, lowering a Marine’s oxygen intake until someone could rescue him.
He looked up to see the black-armored creature approach him. The huge dragon stood over him, ready to breathe fire again. He settled back to watch the show, but something wouldn’t let him relax.
NO!
He fought the pull into the cottony dreamland. That was not a dragon. That was a pirate, a man just waiting until his weapon cycled before he would end Ryck’s life. Ryck had to do something. He tried to push back, to get away, but he barely moved a few centimeters before the pirate stepped forward, foot on Ryck’s leg, holding him in place.
The pirate held up his weapon, looking at something, probably a gauge that would indicate when the thing was charged. Ryck reached out to grab his M-99, but there was nothing with which to reach. It was only then that he realized his right arm was gone. Surprisingly, that didn’t bother him. He knew it should, but he just brushed it off. Those had to be some pretty good drugs.
Ryck was at a loss. Would T-Rex come charging in, M-77 a’blazing to save the day? Or would the fire from the pirate snuff out Ryck’s life?
Fire. T-Rex. What was the connection?
Then it hit him. As the pirate stared at his weapon’s display, waiting, Ryck reached with his left hand to his hip magazine. He flipped it open and reached inside. Something was off with his touch, how his hand was working, but he wasn’t sure just what. When he felt something give, though, he knew he had it.
Pulling out his toad, he thumbed the fuse just as the pirate nodded and started to lower his weapon. Ryck casually flipped the toad up into the air. Even drugged, though, he realized he’d thrown it up behind the pirate, where it would fall behind the man, not to where it would hit him. He had lost. But the pirate was not going to shoot Ryck from point-blank range. He took a step back. Ryck was looking up as the toad started its descent. It passed just behind the pirate’s head and out of sight. Ryck knew the entire sequence was only three seconds from when he had thumbed the toad, but with the drugs, time was extended. Everything was in slow motion.
The pirate finished his step back and raised his bunker buster. Ryck watched dispassionately for the fire to erupt from the weapon, and when he saw a flare of light, his muggy brain thought it was from the pirate’s bunker buster, that Ryck had lost. But the light was from behind the pirate’s back, up around the shoulder level. The pirate hesitated and tried to turn, one hand reaching up and in back of him. The next flash was when the toad ate through the armor plate. For an instant, Ryck thought he saw the pirate’s face through the man’s armor visor, lit from within as a small, intensely hot star burned through his body.
Then Ryck went to sleep.
Alexander
Camp Kolesnikov
Chapter 21
Ryck opened his eyes. His stomach was growling, crying out for food. He had to get some breakfast to quiet it down. He tried to stretch, but his hands would not move. Confused, he turned his head to his left. His hand stretched out from him, but imprisoned in some sort of restraint. Thoughts of pirates, of fighting, of death suddenly flashed through his head. He had to get out of there!
“Easy there, cowboy,” a familiar voice called out as Ryck struggled to get up.
It wasn’t until the person who spoke moved forward that he realized who it was. T-Rex, put a hand on Ryck’s chest, calming him.
“What . . . ?” Ryck stammered as it all came back to him—the mission, the fight, him being hit.
He quickly looked over to his right arm, or at least to where his right arm should have been. Instead of an arm, the stubby chamber of the regen seeder was attached to his shoulder. A steady green light was the only sign that it was doing its job.
He looked back to his left arm. Most of the arm was intact, but the hand itself was covered by a small regen chamber. To his surprise, he wasn’t horrified. He knew he was drugged—the chance for a successful regen was significantly increased when the immunosuppressants were employed. Still, he felt he should be more shocked instead of just mildly curious.
“You OK, there?” T-Rex asked.
“I . . . I guess so. Where are we? We on the Adelaide?”
“Not hardly! We’re back on the Dirtball. Home sweet home. You’ve been out of it for two weeks, and they just let you wake up now,” T-Rex said, nodding toward the foot of the hospital bed where a nurse stood, watching Ryck closely.
Ryck tried to organize his thoughts. Of course, he would have been put into an induced coma. They’d been well-informed on what would happen if they had to go through regen. A coma during the initial stages of regen helped the process catch better and helped ensure a more complete outcome.
“A couple of the guys came to see you wake up, but you took your own sweet time with it. They went to the geedunk[20] and the head while you were napping,” he told them.
“So, what happened?”
“With you?” T-Rex asked. “You took on that pirate, zeroed him, but he kind of got you, too. Doc Silvestrie came in, got you stabilized, and you were zip-locked back to the Adelaide even before the ship was secured.”
“What about Wan? Is he OK?”
Some of the spark left T-Rex’s eyes as he said, “Wan Man didn’t make it. Doc got him out before you, and he was put into stasis. He made it back here to the Dirtball, but he just couldn’t hang on.”
Ryck looked up at T-Rex uncomprehendingly. People just didn’t die if they made it to stasis. “Stasis” wasn’t really an actual suspension of the body, but it came pretty close. Fluids were pumped into the circulatory system, and the body was cooled, taking it down to a bare minimum of metabolic activity. If a wounded person made it that far, then he could almost always be saved once he reached a full-service medical facility. The Dirtball, as home to both a Navy fleet and a Marine division, had one of the best.
“The Wan Man fought, but the docs, they just couldn’t save him,” T-Rex said.
Ryck needed to change the subject until he was able to digest that, so he asked about the mission itself. T-Rex gave the nurse a pointed stare. The nurse checked Ryck’s vitals, then took the hint and left. Technically, the nurse was Navy, but he almost assuredly did not have a clearance for tactical operations.
“We took back the ship,” T-Rex started once the nurse was out of the room. “Two Marines KIA, Wan and Staff Sergeant Piers over in Second Platoon. Another 12 WIA, three others like you going through regen.”
“The passengers?”
“Three-hundred-and-twelve passengers and crew out of three-seventy-five rescued. Most OK. The dead, well . . .” he began, stopping to look around to see if there was anyone within earshot before continuing. “Sergeant Marc’s squad from Second, they might have taken out five or six passengers, from what I’ve heard. The pirates had them dressed in that shitty armor, and they got zeroed when Marc took that compartment. The pirates, they got dressed like the tourists, trying to blend in. There’s an investigation going on, and Marc’s ass is on the line.”
“They tried to blend in, to get away? That doesn’t sound like SOG.”
“No, it doesn’t. And that’s not all. Some of their combat armor, it was Alliance gear, new stuff. The scuttlebutt is that they weren’t SOG at all, even if that’s what’s on the news feeds.”
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