The Terran Coalition Marine Corps unit embarked on the Zvika Greengold wasn’t primarily set up for Visit, Board, Search and Seizure operations. They’d been a last-minute addition to beef up the carrier’s ability to defend the merchant marine vessels in case of enemy boarding actions. Major Kosuke Nishimura sorely wished he had a tier-one special operations team or even a few platoons of Force Recon Marines. But he didn’t, and in true TCMC fashion, they would pull out the mission by any means necessary.
All one has to do is assign a squad of Marines to a problem, and they’ll sort it out. The thing was, you wouldn’t know until it was done how they’d sort it out. Nishimura grinned as he checked the seals on the power armor suit he’d just donned.
“I had an opportunity to take advanced zero-G combat training last year. Idiot me didn’t take it,” Master Gunnery Sergeant Malcolm O’Connor groused. He snorted. “I ended up taking a wimpy electronics tech course instead.” O’Connor had a slight Irish brogue. Since he hailed from Eire, a green, white, and orange flag adorned his sleeve, and an emblem with an abstract design of two dice rested underneath it.
“A year ago, no one expected a war,” Nishimura replied. Satisfied that his armor was fully operational, he began a series of katas. A practitioner of Wadō-ryū karate, he always sought to balance himself before knowingly entering combat.
“I never understood your fascination with martial arts, sir. The objective is to shoot the enemy, not make them fly around like loose paint.”
Nishimura chuckled. “As I have told you every time you’ve brought it up the last year, Master Guns, I enjoy balance in every facet of my life. Karate helps me achieve it.” He executed another series of moves in a different kata. “And if the enemy disarms me, I should have superior fighting abilities compared to them.”
“I’ll stick with good ol’ Marine Fu.”
“And I think we need to stage a pugil stick match with the men after this is over.” Nishimura grinned. “It’ll help morale and teach you the importance of superior martial arts training.”
“Aye, I’d enjoy kicking your rear—respectfully, of course, sir.” O’Connor winked. “Ready to inspect the boarding teams?”
“I am.” Nishimura pulled his helmet down and disengaged the faceplate. “Let’s do this.”
The Marine preparation area was only a few steps away. To his surprise, almost everyone was in their full power armor and appeared to be locked and loaded with battle rifles. Nishimura suppressed a smile as the one hundred sixty Marines he’d selected for the operation came to attention. “As you were.”
“Prepare ranks for inspection,” O’Connor barked. The neat rows expanded, allowing him to stroll between them. “Hawkings! This power armor isn’t properly fitted. Check it now and reengage the leg seals.” A few more paces down the row, he stopped again. “Private, where are your stun grenades?”
“Uh, I couldn’t find them, sir.”
“You couldn’t find them?” O’Connor thundered. He got an inch away from the youngster’s face. “What are you planning to do? Ask the Leaguers to wait while you look? Get your kit squared away, or I’ll PT your ass until your feet bleed!”
And he continued, chewing out anyone who wasn’t in compliance with regulations.
The dressing down was all part of the mental training that went into being a Marine. Nishimura firmly believed that if one had the fortitude to survive TCMC boot camp and allowed what was taught to become second nature, they could overcome any enemy. Of course, individual Marines perished in combat. But the unit, unless massively outnumbered and outgunned, would fight on. And we’ll still win. He waited until the master gunnery sergeant was finished then cleared his throat.
“Gentlemen, we’re about to do something no other Marine or soldier in the Terran Coalition has yet to have the honor of doing. We’re going to put boots on the ground and invade a hostile enemy space station inside our territory. Make no mistake—the Leaguers are going down hard. Now, you’ve all been briefed, and you have your orders. But this, I want you to hear from me. It’s vital we gather intelligence. So place your shots carefully. Preserve electronics and computer systems as much as possible, especially when we finally take their control areas. Stand firm, stand together, and give these communist sons of bitches a warm welcome they’ll never forget!” By the end of the impromptu speech, Nishimura’s volume rose to a shout. “Now move out, Marines!”
With a roar that shook the deck plates, they rushed toward the waiting transport shuttles.
15
While preparations continued throughout the ship, Tehrani had already stood watch on the bridge for the last three hours. She was on her second mug of CDF coffee—the fully caffeinated version. They would rendezvous with the CSV Astute in deep space, beyond the boundary of any solar system. Agent Grant had insisted on it to avoid prying eyes. While his reasoning was sound, the idea that the League of Sol had signals intelligence-gathering equipment hidden among their planets and installations was sobering.
“Skipper,” Wright began, cutting into her thoughts, “the CAG reports Spencer and his League fighter are stationed inside the shuttle bay on the Astute. We’re clear to begin on your orders.”
As a full-bird colonel, Tehrani outranked the stealth raider’s commanding officer and had full operational and tactical command. “All systems go?”
“Everything’s good, ma’am.” Wright grinned. “We even got the scorch marks repainted. Something about a senior chief down on the flight deck making some ratings take care of it in space suits as an initiation to the
