Samuel slotted his magazine and racked the slide on the combat rifle, chambering the first round as he let his breath out slowly. Tango Platoon was only moments away from boarding their assault craft and despite his months of combat duty this would be his first boarding action. It was the same for the majority of the rest of the salvage marines in the Reaper fleet, since only their squad leaders were veterans.
There were a handful of exceptions, like Oliver Putin, who were survivors of other Reaper fleets that had been liquidated. Samuel looked out across the hangar bay of the great Reaper tug ship and saw that dozens of platoons also stood in tight rows as they, too, waited to board their respective assault craft.
Finally, warning klaxons began to sound while yellow and red lights flooded the hangar bay. Mag walked down the line of Squad Taggart, double checking their void gear and giving them last minute pointers on the coming fight.
“Void battles are fought in a full three hundred and sixty degrees,” barked Mag, raising her voice to carry over the engines of the assault crafts as they revved to life. “No doubt the hulk has artificial gravity in some sections, but you need to be prepared to fight in zero gravity. You’ve all had void combat training during basic, but for most of you that’s nearly a year in the past. If Grotto cared more about making an investment in our continued survival they would have issued this boat with a training deck, but seeing as how they didn’t, we aren’t and this briefing is as good as you’re going to get.”
Samuel listen with rapt attention. He’d heard many tales and stories about void battles. Tales of the unfathomable emptiness of space, the fragility of the very ships upon which they rode, and the surreal silence that accompanied even the most brilliant of conflicts.
The marine could feel the additional weight of the void seals that had been screwed into the sockets of his standard issue battle armor. All marine armor came pre-drilled and threaded to support additional void equipment which made Samuel think that it would have indeed been wise to provide them more training for void combat during basic. He’d learned the hard way though, over the last many months of his tour through necrospace, that Grotto Corporation only cared about human life in so much as it affected the Bottom Line.
He understood that it was a grim view of the world, and one that he’d neither explained to Sura, nor even attempted to make her aware of. In many ways, he felt that being in the Reaper fleet had opened his eyes profoundly to the vast and uncaring world of Grotto Corporation more than any of his time in the factories.
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.”