Bandits Engaged (Battlegroup Z Book 4) by Daniel Gibbs (classic literature list .txt) 📗

had to focus on was searching for enemies, they’d be noticed amid the clutter of background radiation, but in the heat of battle, they would likely escape detection.

“One kilometer. Brace!” the warrant officer piloting the craft shouted.

“You heard him!” Nishimura thundered. “Confirm your harnesses are locked. Look alive, Marines.” He glanced to his left, where Master Gunnery Sergeant O’Conner was strapped in. “Got any words, Master Guns?”

“Only that I hope fortune smiles on us,” O’Conner replied, his slight brogue evident. It matched the flag of the Irish Republic on his left shoulder in the country position.

“Yeah, I said some prayers before getting in this tub.” Nishimura shook his head. “ I think this is the most half-assed op I’ve been on. And that’s saying something because of—”

“Stealing a fuel transport fifty light-years from Earth?” O’Conner chuckled. “Everything’s half-assed these days, Major.”

Nishimura sucked in a breath. “Another nonlethal op.” He let out a growl. “As a Marine, I find that distasteful.”

“You ever wonder what happened to that woman who helped us?”

The question was simple, but it touched on something Nishimura had been pondering of late. He bit his lip. “Yeah, Master Guns. All the time. Her name was Flores, you know.” He shook his head. “Wish we could’ve brought her back with us.”

“She made the call.”

“For us.” Nishimura narrowed his eyes. “For total strangers, because it was the right thing to do. I guess you could say I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching.”

“From a Marine? Wow.” O’Conner chuckled. “She must’ve had an effect.”

“More than anything’s ever affected me in terms of my faith, Master Guns.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the pilot. “Fifteen seconds!”

Steely resolve infected every pore of Nishimura’s body and every other Marine in the pod, he suspected. We live for this. Nishimura was actively annoyed with having to collect prisoners, as criminals who preyed on the defenseless were the lowest of the low to him. A man or woman fighting for what they believed—even if it was the antithesis of his beliefs—deserved a level of respect for having the gumption to pick up a weapon and fight. Thugs and criminals… oughta be lined up and shot.

The pod shook violently as it first slammed into then locked on to the hull of the pirate corvette. A piece of equipment that wasn’t secured correctly went flying around the interior, narrowly missing one of the Marines' armor, before it tumbled to a stop.

“Hard seal! Activating cutting beams.”

The pinnacle of Terran Coalition boarding equipment, twin short-range neutron beams were built into the breaching section. Once triggered, they sliced through any known armor and hull alloy, creating entry points wherever the Marines desired.

Nishimura ticked off eight seconds, more than enough for the weapons to do their job. “Warrant, stand by to open the hatch.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Look alive, Marines!” Nishimura pressed the quick-release button on his harness. It came off with a fluid motion, and he reached over to retrieve his battle rifle. “Okay, listen up. Our orders are to capture prisoners to determine the what, who, and why behind these pirate attacks. If your life or the life of a fellow Marine is in danger at any time, the use of lethal force is authorized. Do you get me?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” came the answer from the other twenty Marines crowded around him.

“Warrant, drop the hatch!”

A moment later, the opening to the front of the pod dropped inward, allowing access.

“Execute, execute, execute,” O’Connor called out as he charged forward.

The first Marine on the pirate vessel, he had his battle rifle at the ready. Everyone else fanned out behind him, their movements as smooth as water.

Nishimura was impressed. The lessons they’d learned on the way to and from Sol had stuck. What’s O’Connor like to say? Time to roll the iron dice. He edged into the passageway beyond. “Execute boarding plan Charlie Echo. Split into three elements,” he ordered as his HUD filled with sensor data from within the ship. “First platoon, with me.”

Over the next few minutes, they pushed farther into the vessel, finding few signs of life beyond blinking flat-panel screens and the hiss of air recyclers. Nishimura stayed a few Marines back from the front, his weapon up and his finger on the trigger guard.

A trio of enemy combatants rounded the curved corridor and immediately opened fire. One had a xaser pistol that fired a purple beam, another was armed with a simple slug-throwing rifle, and the third sported a plasma pistol. They looked every bit the definition of swashbuckling pirates, with dingy jackets, long beards, and generally unkempt appearances.

The pirates were no match at all for power-armored Marines. In a matter of seconds, all three were down, stunned on the deck plates, with no losses taken by the friendlies. Nishimura hadn’t even had time to get a shot in.

“Nice shooting, gents.” He scanned his HUD. “Twenty meters farther down this passageway then one over to the left, and we’re at the bridge.”

“Hoorah!” one of the Marines in the back yelled before the rest took up the cry.

Again and again, small groups of enemies attempted to engage haphazardly, only to be quickly cut down by TCMC firepower. As the Marines closed on a four-way junction, Nishimura held up a fist. “Send out the drone.”

A small drone, barely the size of a bumblebee, went zipping down the corridor. The platoon sergeant controlled it, and the footage it captured was shared across their tactical network.

Well, they’re not completely stupid. Nishimura’s eyes twitched as he watched the feed. Over a dozen hostiles lay in wait, some bearing heavy weapons. Screw trying to take these idiots alive. “Cover, Marines. Switch to lethal, AP rounds.” His voice was quiet, just loud enough to carry into the mic while minimizing the odds of the enemy overhearing.

Green lights lit up next to each platoon member in Nishimura’s HUD as the youngsters complied. The Marines’ training meant they kept a smattering of suppressive fire going as each reloaded. Such things were like muscle memory.

The moment everyone reported lethal AP loaded,