Shattered crucible, p.1
Shattered Crucible, page 1
Shattered Crucible
A Four Horsemen Story
By
Chris Kennedy
PUBLISHED BY: Seventh Seal Press
Copyright © 2023 Chris Kennedy
All Rights Reserved
Discover other titles by Chris Kennedy at:
http://chriskennedypublishing.com/
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License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
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I would like to thank Beth, who took the time to critically read this work and make it better. I would also like to thank my mother, without whose steadfast belief in me, I would not be where I am today. Thank you. This book is dedicated to my wife and children, who sacrificed their time with me so I could write it.
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“For the great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand?”
― Revelation 6:17
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Contents
Shattered Crucible
About the Author
Excerpt from “Cartwright’s Cavaliers:”
Shattered Crucible
Dam Neck Naval Base, Virginia Beach, Virginia, USA
“It’s official,” Lieutenant Stan Johnson said, walking into the conference room with a thick stack of papers. “Our platoon got picked to be part of the force going to Kepler-22b.” The commanding officer (CO) of the platoon, Johnson immediately had the full attention of the platoon’s other leaders.
“What’s the mission, sir?” Chief Steve Perkins asked.
“Just a second, I’ve got it right here…” Johnson said, flipping through the sheaf of papers.
“What is all that shit?” the platoon’s executive officer, Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Tom Woods asked. “Did they give you homework?”
“It’s the ‘Standard Contract for the Acquisition and Usage of Mercenary Troops,’” Johnson replied without looking up. “Apparently, this is the abbreviated version; if so, I’d hate to see the full contract.” He continued searching through the bundle.
Lieutenant Woods craned his neck. “That’s the contract the government signed?”
“Yeah. I’m told the original version was several thousand pages long. The captain I got this from said the aliens have some sort of machine that translated it from their language into ours. There are contracts for 100 companies of Earth troops to go off-planet to fight on Kepler-22b and some other planets. I think we’re Number 73.”
“Are those the same aliens I saw on TV?” asked Petty Officer Gerry Barnes, the Second Squad leader. “The ones that looked like owls? The Buma? Those things looked like a bunch of pussies. I’m not sure they could even hold a rifle, much less fire one.”
“No, they just signed up the planet to join their ‘Union’ or whatever the hell they call it, and then they left,” Lieutenant Johnson replied. “A different race hired us to fight for them… Here it is, the list of forces. Number 73… ‘A company of warriors who are trained in operating behind enemy lines. Their mission is to support Numbers 64-72 in their assault on the primary mining and processing facility on the planet’s largest island.’”
“So, if we’re not fighting the Buma, who are we fighting?” Chief Perkins asked.
“Well, we’re not really fighting the race that owns the facility, either. As it turns out, most of the galactic races don’t fight.”
“No shit?” Petty Officer Barnes asked.
“No shit. We’re actually fighting their mercenary forces… some race called the Tortantula that looks like a spider, and then one or two others; our sponsors weren’t entirely sure. The aliens who hired us don’t believe there are more than a company or two on the planet, though, because they didn’t think their enemy could afford more than that.”
“We ought to kick their asses then,” the First Squad leader, Petty Officer Billy Chase, said. “Most damn merc units aren’t worth shit, and I’ve always liked squishing spiders.”
“Yeah, but there have been some good ones,” Lieutenant Woods disagreed. The tall black man had been a history major at Temple before joining the U.S. Navy. “The Swiss Guard has been really good for a long time, and STTEP International has been pretty good recently at saving or toppling governments. They kicked Boko Haram’s asses and got back those Nigerian girls.”
“I think STTEP International is one of the merc groups going to Kepler-22b,” Lieutenant Johnson noted, looking back at the contract. “Here they are, Number 97. ‘One company of soldiers with unconventional warfare skills to capture the mine facility twenty kilometers to the south of the main processing facility.’”
“More to the point, sir,” Chief Perkins interrupted, “what are we supposed to do with this facility once we capture it?”
“Oh, we don’t capture it,” Lieutenant Johnson said. “We’re just supposed to assault it, wipe out the defenders, and then destroy it. Then we get picked up for evac and come home. Pretty simple, and the U.S. government gets millions of credits. That way, we can start buying alien weaponry before the damn Chinese do.”
“It’s probably a better acquisition process than the one we’ve had for the last fifty years,” Lieutenant Woods noted. “Maybe we’ll actually get something that works this time.”
“Can we get back to the task at hand?” the chief asked. “If they want to destroy the facility, why don’t the aliens just nuke it from orbit or something? Wouldn’t that be simpler?”
“It would, but as I understand it, any weapons used against a planet have to be fired from no more than ten miles up, like what they did to Iran. I’m told there was a war a long-ass time ago where mercs wiped out a number of planets with orbital bombardments, and it scared all the civilians so badly they made it illegal. The creepie crawlie negotiating the contract said anyone who attacks a planet from higher than ten miles up will forfeit their contracts and be instantly terminated by all forces present, both friend and foe.”
“Wow, they take that shit pretty seriously,” Petty Officer Barnes said with a low whistle.
“No kidding,” Lieutenant Johnson agreed. He placed a map on the table and pointed to a large island in the middle of an ocean. “We don’t have to worry about it, though, because we’ll be down on the surface, killing aliens and breaking things. We are going to be dropped off in the ocean to the east of this big island, right here. Most of Keppler-22b is covered in water, with a number of large islands and quite a few small ones. We’ll swim in, climb over this chain of hills—”
“Hills? Those are some big-ass ‘hills,’ sir,” Chief Perkins broke in. “Those look like full-size mountains.”
“Okay, we cross the mountains and this table-top plateau, which gives us a look down into the valley where the processing facility is. We then infiltrate the area near the plant and disrupt the enemy’s defenses when the main army units attack from the west.”
“They’re coming from the west?” Lieutenant Woods asked, looking at the map. “Where are they going to land? It doesn’t look like there’s much cover there.”
“The main force is going to land here, twenty miles to the west,” Lieutenant Johnson continued, pointing to a red circle on the map. “The Army is sending four companies of mechanized infantry, supported by three companies of armor, a company of artillery and an air defense company. Once they form up, they will assault the facility.”
“Why the hell did they pick that god-awful spot to land?” Lieutenant Woods asked. “They’re sitting ducks there.”
“I’m not sure. I think the race that hired us picked it. They said the defenders’ weapons have a ten-mile range; basically, what they’d need to shoot down anything that came to bomb them. If they form up outside of that range, the ground forces should be okay.”
“And they’re supposed to believe it?” Chief Perkins asked with one eyebrow raised. “All things considered, I’d rather climb the damn mountains than trust a fucking alien.”
“Yeah, me too,” Lieutenant Johnson replied.
* * *
Transport Ship IrBilixTi, Final Transit to Kepler-22b
Lieutenant Johnson watched the faces of his command team as they read the brief on their final mission tasking. They looked grim… but hell, he’d looked worse when the company commander had given it to him to read thirty minutes previously. And it wasn’t due to the weightlessness they’d been forced to endure on the trip. Nearly all of them had thrown up at some point; most of them had thrown up more than once.
“So… why did everything change, sir?” Chief Perkins asked in a strangled tone. Johnson could see it was taking all of his self-control to ask it in a semi-respectful tone. “And who the hell do we have to blame for this clusterfuck?” Anger won out in the end.
“I’m not sure,” Lieutenant Johnson replied with a half-smile. “If it helps, I asked the same questions. The order modification came from the command staff on the TreMliSar just before we went into transit, so those are ou r final orders. It wouldn’t surprise me if the French whined and asked for a swap. I asked Lieutenant Commander Parker about it, but he didn’t know, so if the French did it, they went over his head too. He was just told to implement the change.”
Lieutenant Johnson looked at his copy to remind himself of the details. “As you can see, our platoon swapped places with the French platoon. We will have the northernmost route to the facility—”
“With less cover and more mountains,” Chief Perkins interjected.
“With less cover and more mountains,” Lieutenant Johnson agreed. “The French will be to the south of us, and then the other SEAL platoon to the south of them, and then the Marine Commando platoon from the Indian Navy. The other group of SEALs and the French will transit the heart of the plateau; we will skirt the edge of it where it abuts the cliffs. Intelligence photos show that the center of the plateau is heavily wooded with some sort of red-leafed vegetation; the cover around the edges of the plateau is much more sparse.”
“Fuckers,” Chief Perkins added under his breath.
“We will sneak around the edge of the plateau until we get to where it overlooks the facility. There are four large buildings on the plateau a little further to the south; if we have time, we’ll try to see what’s inside them if we can and make sure there isn’t anything that could be used against the forces in the valley below. Once the attack on the facility starts, we will terminate any aliens we see, either on the plateau or down in the valley. Once the facility is destroyed, our dropship will return to pick us up half a click north of the buildings on the plateau. Any questions?”
* * *
Dropship IrBilixTi 25, Drop Zone, Kepler-22b
“Go, go go!” Chief Perkins yelled as the blue light next to the opening illuminated.
The 13 junior troopers vanished into the dark air beyond the door, followed by the chief and Lieutenant Woods. Lieutenant Johnson was the last out the door, falling six feet to the ocean. The air seemed thicker than on Earth, and the dropship had vanished into the gloom by the time he popped back up to the surface. Johnson oriented himself while Chief Perkins gathered the platoon. One of the planet’s two moons was up, and Johnson could just make out the outline of the island’s mountains through the gloom to the west. He sighed as his stomach started to settle after weeks of zero- and low-gravity. Their first few transitions had been brutal, and even a little disconcerting to the battle-hardened troops.
The platoon’s CO bobbed up and down gently in the long, easy swells, and it hit home that he was definitely not on Earth—no matter how he adjusted his buoyancy compensator, he found that he was still too buoyant; he floated without trying. Damn, it was worse than the Dead Sea back home, and it would be almost impossible to swim to the island underwater. The water also smelled like shit and felt slimy to the touch. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be anyone on this side of the mountains watching; with the climb ahead, they would have to swim in on the surface of the water to save their strength. At least the seas were calm, and they weren’t getting beaten around.
Not only was the water too buoyant, it was also warmer than he would have liked; he would have to watch the men for signs of overheating. At least they’d been aware of that—planetary scans had given them an accurate indication of the ocean’s temperature. Too bad it hadn’t been able to foretell its salinity… or whatever it was in the water that made him float so damned badly.
“We’re ready, sir,” Chief Perkins reported, using the SEAL’s bone conduction radio, or ‘bone phone.’
“How about we go for a swim?” Lieutenant Johnson asked in a cheery tone, despite his misgivings. “Move ‘em out, Chief!”
The platoon stroked toward the island in a ‘V’ formation. Petty Officer Mills led the way, a small infrared light attached to his back so the rest of the troops could stay in formation.
* * *
XenSha Observation Post 17, Skradchar Island, Kepler-22b
“The enemy is extraordinarily brave,” the Sub 2 watcher noted, the filaments on his tentacles waving slowly as they gathered data. “No one uses such antiquated drop ships anymore.”
“Indeed,” the Sub 3 watcher agreed. “It is also extremely dangerous to use such a bright light in the ocean. It is almost as if they don’t know it will draw forth a greemert.” The creature’s tentacles shivered in confusion as it attempted to make sense of the data it was receiving.
“They must have scanned the planet before they landed,” the Sub 2 said. “Surely, they would have wanted to know what creatures would be in the water with them.”
“One would assume so,” replied the Sub 3. “It is, however, almost as if they didn’t know…”
“Truth,” replied the Sub 2. “I will alert the command staff and let them know the enemy approaches.” The Sub 2 spent the next thirty units communing with its superiors; its eyes closed.
The Sub 2’s eyes opened again, and it said, “They are either the bravest forces we have ever faced… or the dumbest. The command staff says this race is called ‘Humans,’ but I have never heard of them.”
The two tracked the moving light in the water as it continued in their direction. They could see a second light further to the right and knew from the other observation posts that a total of four groups were approaching the island. The light went out, then came back on in another position. It went out twice more but came back on both times.
“I was wrong,” the Sub 2 said, having processed enough data to come to a conclusion. “These humans are not brave.”
“No?” the Sub 3 asked. “They would have to be incredibly brave to continue to display that light and not worry about additional greemert attacks… unless their culture places no value on the individual’s life. I have heard some races do not.”
“No,” the Sub 2 replied. “I don’t think they know they are attracting the greemerts. In fact, I think this may be the worst and least prepared of any mercenary force we have ever faced.”
“Should I activate the defenses?” the Sub 3 asked. “They are now within range.”
“No,” the Sub 2 replied. “The commander doesn’t believe they are a large enough threat to waste resources on.”
“But it’s only a few hypervelocity missiles,” the Sub 3 replied in exasperation. “We throw away at least that many several times every cycle when they reach the end of their shelf lives.”
“Truth. It is a testament to how greatly the humans are outclassed that the commander won’t even let us use missiles on them that have outlived their expiration dates.” The Sub 2 paused and then added, “The commander has instituted a wager on whether the humans will actually have to be dealt with, or if they will accidentally kill themselves off with their own incompetence first.” The Sub 2’s tentacles flexed in amusement. “There are those among his advisors who believe the humans are so stupid they can be stopped without a shot being fired.”
“What are the odds being given?” the Sub 3 asked.
“Three to one.”
“That we’ll have to use our defenses?”
“No, three to one that they will kill themselves off without us having to use anything more than the indigenous forces.”
“But the indigenous forces are worthless!”
“Truth.”
Another light went out in the approaching forces… and a new light came on.
“I’ll take ten credits on the indigenous forces,” the Sub 3 said.
* * *
Task Force North, The Beach, Kepler-22b
About fucking time, Lieutenant Johnson thought as his flippers touched the rocky bottom of the shore. The approach had been nothing short of horrific. They had lost the point man on four separate occasions before he figured out it had to be the infrared light that was drawing the monsters to them. It was part of their basic kit… but apparently it was deadly here.
