Breacher: A Prequel to Timberwolf

  BREACHER

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, places, incidents, and dialogue are the product of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real, or if real, are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, either living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Tom Julian

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  For more information, to inquire about rights to this or other works, or to purchase copies for special educational, business, or sales promotional uses please write to: timberwolf4545@yahoo.com

  SECOND EDITION

  TOC

  Bullshit Call

  Technicals

  News of the day

  Breacher, Breacher, Breacher

  Bessie

  Enceladus

  Tough Gravity

  The Grateful Day

  It’s all men that make up the world

  Breacher

  By Tom Julian

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to Anchor House, which provides shelter and a second chance for runaway, homeless, abused, and at-risk youth. May the work you do to help the kids be known all across the galaxy! Donate at www.anchorhouseride.org.

  Acknowledgments

  To my parents, Tom and Catherine, who both turn 75 this summer! Thank you for my imagination and my sense of humor. This one is for you! To Maggie May, the Bernese foot warmer. Special thanks to Keri the Super Editor and Fiona for the badass covers!

  Bullshit Call

  Fort Chancellor, Costa Rica, Earth

  Captain Gray stared at the ceiling. The clock read 2:15 A.M. and he couldn’t sleep. He went through the day’s events in his head again and what the Combat Drop Committee had told him. His posting to the frontier was being denied. They needed rabid dogs out there to fight the Phaelon and they wanted officers with combat-drop experience. Gray felt the scar on his temple. I have no combat-drop experience because I can’t rate for a drop. He winced when he thought about what Colonel Karp had suggested. “Go see the civilian transition officer.”

  “Hell no. I am not doing that.” He rose from his bed, flicking on the lamp on his end table. He saw himself in the full-length mirror - squat, muscled, nimble. His jaw angular and his head cleanly shaved. They’d done a great job of putting him back together. Despite his injuries, he didn’t feel any pain and he’d seen his fair share of action. He’d rained artillery halfway up Olympus Mons and turned back rebels crawling through the ducts at Station Ceres. He could run drills faster than men half his age. He’d take your head off hand-to-hand, but he still wasn’t rated to drop. He couldn’t get on to a drop-lifter and crash through an atmosphere. He could fight all he wanted on the surface, if he could find a nice, safe way down that wouldn’t blow all the piping in his head.

  “I am not seeing the goddamned civilian transition officer.” He winced from the thought, chewing the inside of his mouth. Gray had been in charge of the cadet training program at Fort Chancellor for the last two years. According to all measures, he’d done a fantastic job. The men he was turning out were off-the-charts aggressive, finely tuned raptors; but he was ambitious and his career was in a rut. Without a drop rating – no combat experience on the frontier. Without combat experience on the frontier – no clear path to he upper ranks. Still, he couldn’t imagine a day when he didn’t put on a uniform.

  His smart-device buzzed. He smirked; it was either a bullshit call or something extremely serious. Since he was up, he hoped it wasn’t bullshit.

  “Gray here.”

  “It’s Cadet Velez.” Sergeant Blake, the martial arts instructor hissed. “This one won’t stop challenging the instructors. He’s doing push-ups now.” Bullshit call.

  “I was sound asleep.” Gray lied. “Can’t you deal with your own assholes?”

  Gray could hear Blake exhale long. “I want him out of here tonight, sir.”

  “Which one is Velez?” Gray pretended. He knew damn well who he was.

  “He’s the one… sir you were there. Him and I had a dust-up.”

  “Oh yes, I recall now. Timberwolf Velez. You hit him and he hit you back. Funny how that happens. I had to pull him off your sorry ass.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Yes sir what?” Gray hissed at Blake.

  “You had to pull him off my sorry ass, sir.”

  Technicals

  Gray squinted in the misty air as he made his way across the track and on to the football field. Floodlights only half-on bathed the place in a dull, gray light. Cadet Timberwolf Velez shuffled around the track as Blake’s ever present sidekick Sergeant Noga kept pace with him. Noga yelled at him in his deep baritone. “Keep moving, keep moving, keep mooooooving. You gotta go faster!” With that, Timberwolf did go faster and Noga hustled to keep up.

  Blake stood in the end zone. Gray exhaled and took in the scene. “My, my, my… if this doesn’t make him quit then I don’t know what will.” Gray’s watch read 3:23 A.M.

  “He didn’t pass technicals this evening.” Blake advised. “Rifle maintenance – fail. Uniform – fail.”

  Gray nodded. “Failing technicals” was almost code in basic training. Of course, cadets really did fail technicals, but more often that’s what instructors used to weed out bad apples. Timberwolf wasn’t so much a bad apple, as someone the instructors couldn’t break. Blake and Timberwolf had a dust-up a few weeks ago and Blake struck him. Gray couldn’t even remember what it was about. It had been within Blake’s right to do so, all part of the pecking order. Instead of getting intimidated and getting in line though, Timberwolf hit Blake back and then proceeded to wipe the floor with the martial arts instructor. Gray had found it hilarious.

  “Can’t have a man failing his ‘technicals.’ How are his core value ratings?”

  Blake shook his head negatively. Core value ratings were more code. “Respect for Authority – fail, Obedience – fail, Initiative – he’s solid.”

  Gray felt like needling Blake a bit. “And his hand-to-hand?”

  “Off the charts, sir.” Blake said without any tone.

  Timberwolf and Noga turned the bend past the opposite end zone. “I’m going to take a lap.” Gray removed his jacket and was down to a white t-shirt. Before Blake could protest, Gray took to the track and Sergeant Noga peeled off, panting heavily. Gray upped the pace and Timberwolf kept up without effort. Timberwolf was fresh from a colony world known as Golgotha. He was tall, leanly muscled with olive skin and dark hair shaved in to a crew-cut that made him look younger than his eighteen years. “How many laps, snakeshit?” Gray asked the man.

  Timberwolf kept chugging, poured it on a little more. “Lots sir.”

  “Lots huh? Looks like too much for Noga.” In the end zone, the Sergeant was bent over, fighting for his wind. “You grew up on Golgotha? Where there’s not much air and the women are ugly.”

  “True on both counts, sir.” They trotted on. Gray upped the pace more and when they passed Noga and Blake, Timberwolf took it up another notch.

  “Why’d you leave?”

  “Wanted to do this.” The young man responded without inflection. Gray knew that was a lie, but didn’t press him. There were lots of reasons, good and bad, to leave a backwater like Golgotha.

  “This shit is fun, huh?” Gray asked. Blake watched as they passed, staring chemical lasers at Gray.

  “Yes sir.” Timberwolf said with a hint of relish.

  “Hey Timber.” Gray said. Timberwolf looked at him sideways as Gray used
the short version of his name. “Don’t be formal with me. Call me Cap.”

  Timberwolf increased the pace even more. “Yes, Cap.”

  “I know what you’re doing here. Don’t think I don’t.” Gray saw what he thought was a slight smile curling on the edge of Timberwolf’s mouth. “You’re screwing with these guys. They think they’re running you, but you’re running them. That how you operate, son?”

  Timberwolf didn’t react, but his silence told Gray what he needed to know. Just then Blake appeared beside them. “Captain Gray, please let me take this.” The instructor pleaded, looking for a way to maintain control of the situation.

  Gray huffed, already having decided that whatever happened with Cadet Velez, today was Blake’s last day as an instructor. He peeled off, trotting back to the end zone. “Need a breather?” Gray snickered at Noga, who was still barely standing.

  The laps continued until soft pale light appeared over the horizon. Every couple, Blake and Noga would trade off running with Timberwolf. Gray didn’t take any more laps, content to allow the two Sergeants to exhaust themselves. Through it all, Timberwolf kept pace; in fact he led pace against the two instructors.

  After sunrise, Noga couldn’t run any more. He waved off Blake who gritted his teeth and continued on his own. Timberwolf began to outpace Blake by yards and soon he pulled in front of him by half the length of a bus. When Blake came around the next time, Gray pulled him off. “We need to call more sergeants to run with Velez?”

  Blake, bent to catch his wind instead of answering. Gray trotted back on the track, but instead of continuing the laps, he led Timberwolf off through a gate near the bleachers. “You’re a scary S-O-B, Timber.”

  They wound through the campus a bit and finally came to a halt in front of the barracks. A water fountain gleamed in the morning light like it had been dropped there by the Angel of the Alchemy. Gray blocked it. “You’ll get out to the frontier. Fight some Phaelon.”

  “Yes Cap.”

  “That what you want though? Maybe you do something different? What do you think?”

  Timberwolf tilted his head. He wasn’t used to people asking him what he thought and for the first time through all of this, he looked unsure of himself. “I think I want some water, Cap.”

  “Drink up.” Gray said. “Something different. It’s what everybody always wants to do. And you never know what it is until it hits you upside the head.” Timberwolf bent over the water fountain, almost falling in to it. “You’re on medical today. Get some rest. I’m putting Noga and Blake on doubles though.”

  Timberwolf forced a smile and turned up from the fountain. “If you’re going to mess with something, you better have the juice to see it through. That’s what I think Cap.”

  Gray clapped him on the back and winked. “Don’t cock-up your technicals again.”

  News of the day

  Gray was there the day Timberwolf shipped out. He shook his hand as he got on the drop-lifter to head to combat training on Mars. That was where the best-of-the-best went after basic and Gray had assured that happened. Training on Mars was beyond exhausting – a little more than half the gravity of earth, but you still had to lug yourself around in old “trainers” – pressurized rigs of fighting armor that weighed over a hundred and fifty pounds. The trainers didn’t have much in the area of servos in them – it was mostly muscle power with some torque by the calves and shoulders so you could run and hold your weapon.

  Timberwolf thrived on Mars and got in to a Rambler unit that trained on Phobos. Ramblers operated in disorienting near-zero G environments like small moons, asteroids or space stations. They needed an intuitive understanding of which way was “up” and Timberwolf had that in spades. He was soon leading his unit and was deployed in combat. Never one for words, he sent Gray occasional messages like New rig too tight. Dropped a Devorin space station out of orbit and Cracked asteroid in half looking for drones. Timberwolf did get out to fight the Phaelon and was part of the Red Forest infantry assault on Phaelon Prime. He sent back messages like. They know we protect our wounded. So they wing us deliberately. Kill us later and Tall red trees like skyscrapers. Told Sergeant was an ambush. I’m Sergeant now.

  Gray churned out three more classes, but he still wanted to get out to the war. He did underwater training to simulate the pressures his skull would experience during a drop. He had surgery to replace his weak jaw with a titanium cast. He kept up his physical training and continued to out-score men half his age in all factors.

  Gray found himself prepping to go in front of the Combat Drop Committee again, eighteen months after his last try. He hoped his physical training, record and tenaciousness would move the committee to consider making an exception in his case for a drop rating. His argument this time around? They desperately needed men like him fighting the Phaelon.

  In polite conversation, the Assault Corps was “bogged down” but the reality was that they were getting their asses handed to them. Phaelon Prime was proving to be almost too hard to take. The Phaelon were no match for the Assault Corps in space and in the air above their world, but they were the masters of the forests and warrens. They learned every weakness of the invading force while they seemed to have almost none.

  Timberwolf’s messages conveyed as much. There had been talk of just nuking Phaelon Prime and moving on, but that defeated the purpose of the war to begin with. The point was to take their world and colonize it – that was the objective of all the wars. It made no sense to nuke it and wait six-thousand years for the radiation to fade.

  Even with nanno-mending keeping his cells young, reparative surgery, extremely good physically condition and his singular drive, Gray knew it was now or never. He was pushing forty-five. If he didn’t get his rating this time, he would simply age out of consideration. The night before his meeting with the committee, he was fried. He’d studied drop physics and drop-lifter operating procedures up and down and written and recited every argument he could think of. After being up preparing for two days straight, he decided to just let it go.

  He found himself in the gym at 10:30 at night. He knocked eighty-pound dumbbells together over his chest as he lay on a bench. He saw Colonel Karp enter and caught his eyes in the mirror. Karp was still chairing the Combat Drop Committee. Gray felt he had made an ally in him by churning out men like Timberwolf and countless others. Karp beckoned him over.

  “So last time, I suggested you go see the civilian transition officer. Guess no go?”

  “No Colonel, she’s not my type and she’s married.”

  Karp laughed and took a swig out of his water bottle. “I didn’t think you would. I really didn’t want you to. Look…”

  Gray waited for the hammer to fall, for Karp to lay out the realities that there was probably no way he would be cleared for a drop rating. “Colonel, I need to make my case tomorrow.”

  “No. I want you to drop it, Emmanuel.”

  “Why sir?” Gray felt his face flush red, his upper lip curling in.

  “There’s a new division I’m putting together. I need to find hard bastards like Velez. What the hell’s his first name… Timberwolf Velez? Jeez, is that guy a cartoon?”

  “He’s a hard bastard. He’s giving it to the Phaelon right now. He got in to a hand-to-hand situation with one of those lizards and came out on top.” Gray paused. “Sir, I can’t withdraw my request. I have to…”

  Karp cut him off. “My new division will be used to counter those big Tiaski behemoths showing up near Tep Nine-Fifty.”

  Gray was confused, there was no war with the Tiaski and the Phaelon were causing more than enough trouble at the moment. “The Tiaski Colonel?”

  “There are some ‘recommendations’ coming down from The Clergy and the Secretary of Defense’s staff.”

  “Respectfully, why start a war with the Tiaski when we’re… busy with the Phaelon at the moment?”

  “I said this is a recommendation coming from the Sec Def and The Clergy. Mostly from The Clergy.”

/>   The Clergy was looked to for council when it came to military matters, but they had never pushed for a campaign specifically. They guided the faith of the Believer order, the Xenophobic faith that insisted humanity cleanse the universe of all sentient creatures not made in God’s image. They helped to justify wars by throwing around their moral authority. They would release screeds that would align with the political efforts to secure a new world. They put out this gem five years previous - The Phaelon religion states they were made in god’s image. We find their presence on god’s creation, the fifth world around the star KXJ-59, to be unwelcome.

  A war with the Tiaski made no sense to Gray though. Sure they had a theology that was offensive to The Clergy, but their home world, Tep Nine-Fifty, was a swampy mess with a methane heavy atmosphere. It didn’t align. “Why do we want to take Tep Nine-Fifty? That would need a five-hundred year terraform job.”

  “You’re not going to care.” Karp said slowly and quietly. “We need units to sneak up on those Tiaski ships and plant charges. They’ll be able to counter anything we shoot at them.”

  Gray raised an eyebrow. “These units will not be dropping in to atmosphere?”

  “They will not. They’ll be planting nuclear charges too. Like no one else is doing.” Karp smiled. “So, Captain will you withdraw your request now please? I want you to train and lead them.”

  Gray tried to control his excitement, but he smiled broadly. “Ok, ok. That sounds good sir.”

  “We’ve been calling them the Belly Busters. Technically they’ll be the 1st Lightning Breacher Corps. Technically you’ll be Major Gray once I’ve signed some things.” Karp pulled a dumbbell from the rack. “And the first thing you need to do is comb through your files and find me a whole bunch of bastards like Timberwolf Velez.”