If only her soldier, Samuel, could see her now, thought Sura as she sprinted from her firing position towards another clump of underbrush in an attempt to gain a better angle of fire, he would most certainly be rushing to her side one step ahead of the bond agents.
Several rounds struck the tree near Sura’s head and she threw herself to the ground.
Sura watched as Dar gunned down the last of the shooters, getting to her feet as he casually slit the throat of the one she had wounded. Shouldering her gun, she went to join her comrades. They had won this battle, but she knew there would be others.
Like her husband had done for so many years for her sake, she had to survive her own journey for his.
6. TASK FORCE VANGAURD
The shift manager looked haggard, and Samuel thought it was likely she felt even more so. It wasn’t just the marines who had been living on a relentlessly aggressive war footing for over a year. The physical and psychological toll was beginning to show everywhere in the fleet. From the techs who maintained the equipment, the support crews that staffed the ships, to the bureaucrats and accountants who stood watch over the Bottom Line, everyone was becoming frayed at the edges, and fatigue was beginning to set in.
Neither Helion nor Grotto seemed able to establish enough regional supremacy to turn the tide of the conflict, and the talk of the tug was that both corporations were raking in so much profit that neither would be willing to back down anytime soon.
What had begun as a competitive and violent land grab between the two giant companies had slowly evolved into a protracted and grinding affair as both sides worked to exploit what ground they held even as they sought to undermine the efforts of their opponent.
Much like corporate expansion into the primordial frontier on the edge of known space, the companies had slowed their growth and exploration in order to more fully exploit what they now possessed. As these skirmish lines hardened into corporate-held territories the role of the military had begun to transform into a posture of border security and asymmetrical warfare. As the weeks continued to pass into months, entire quadrants of Ellisian space became provincial territories of either Helion or Grotto. In those quadrants and upon those borders the endless cold war of corporate relations replaced the furious trade war that still raged on the edges of necrospace. For those bureaucrats, dignitaries, and elites of Helion and Grotto who had not yet achieved enough profitable stake, the violent exploration of Ellisian space was far from finished.
Reaper Command had broken several tugs away from the main battle fleet and had them set anchor in the shadow of a swirling gas giant that moved in a wide and lazy orbit around one of the all-too-common dying stars that dotted the voidscape of Ellisian space. While the battle fleet deployed work crews to construct an orbital station, Reaper Command pushed the small salvage fleet deep into Ellisian space, well beyond the haphazard skirmish lines of the Helion/Grotto conflict.
Samuel sat uncomfortably in his seat, his mind occupied with dark thoughts of his wife out there on the frontier. He felt more trapped in the clutches of Grotto than ever, and his comrades had begun to notice. After the events at Swamp Base the Reapers had returned to the tug and continued following on the heels of the battle fleets.
Over and over the scrap wagon swarms made their plunder and fought off other scavengers as Grotto forces pushed and expanded against the resistance of the machine race and the might of Helion.
The unionist movement was gaining momentum throughout the ranks as Virginia Tillman recruited more and more marines. She made no special speeches or grand gestures, just the grind of one on one communication, and those changed marines then carried the message to others.
Samuel still refused to wear the camera rig, more so now that Reaper Command had begun to crack down on protocol breaches and intelligence information security, but the formerly recalcitrant marine was now an official member of the unofficial military unionist movement.
To Samuel’s surprise most of the rest of Tango Platoon were either part of Tillman’s union or sympathetic to it, and the talk of the tug was that even Boss Lucinda Ulanti was aware of the movement and intentionally allowing it to flourish aboard the tug despite the standing order forbidding such organization and the ever watchful eye of Boss Wynn Marsters.
Samuel and Ben turned their heads, along with most of the rest of the marines in the room, as several members of the upper echelon of Reaper Command entered the room. They were dressed in crisp suits of black and grey, though each of them carried a sidearm and ornamental boarding knife. In all of his years as a Reaper Samuel had never actually seen one of the commanders in the flesh.
The command deck was sandwiched between the bridge and pilot decks, heavily armored and continuously guarded, not that any marine had occasion to be near any of those decks. Samuel was used to receiving his orders from the shift manager and no others, as she was the liaison between the elites and the common soldiers.
When he saw Boss Aiken among the group of four commanders Samuel’s mouth fell open as he watched them take a seat just to the side of the shift manager’s lectern.
“Boss Aiken? Am I hallucinating here?” whispered Jada as she leaned near Samuel’s ear from the chair behind him, “I knew he got promoted, but Command? They won’t even push Wynn up to shift manager.”
“Part of me wishes they would, I’ve been listening to that crone for over six years and I still can’t get used to that permanent frown,” chuckled Ben in his digitized voice while he keyed the volume low, “Or maybe it’s that she never has good news. Maybe we should kiss, that could help.”
“I’m serious Ben, this is weird,” snapped Jada, though she shoved Ben’s shoulder playfully, “You don’t get to be command unless you’re already somebody, or know the right people. Grunts, even as decorated and badass as Boss Marsters, don’t get to be command.”
“You pretty much have to be born into it or be plucked out of your place in life and given a new one,” muttered Virginia from between Jada and Harold, though she kept her voice even-toned, careful not to let her, at times, ugly temper to send her into one of the rants she’d become somewhat known for in the barracks.
Tillman was skirting the edges of legality with her union speeches. Ever since the marines had been overtly re-tasked as frontline soldiers she had become something of a surly individual when her blood was up.
“As you may have surmised, the talk of the tug, as it were, is true in most respects,” said the shift manager as she tapped her lectern with her metal pen to return everyone’s attention to her, “The primary Grotto battle fleet has halted its advance into Ellisian space and is focusing its efforts upon the construction of a combat outpost.
This orbital battle-station will be staffed by cor-sec elements and contractors from the Merchants Militant, and serve as the border checkpoint of Grotto space in this sector. In other words, the full-scale militarized expansion of Grotto territory has come to an end, for the time being. For the specifics of our mission here, allow me to introduce Commander Soren III, of House Indron.”
The marines looked on in stunned silence as the man they knew as Boss Soren Aiken stood and took his place at the lectern.
“There has been much speculation as to the nature of the machine race we have been fighting when not engaging Helion forces. Most of what we now know about the machines is classified, naturally, though our current mission requires that some pertinent details be shared with you. Many of the marines in this room were present during the initial encounter with the machines.
Some of you have been involved in subsequent engagements prior to the tomb-world cordon protocol being enacted. It is assumed by Command that much in the way of rumors, tall tales, and incorrect information has spread throughout not only this vessel, but the battle fleet as a whole.