Survivors, p.1
Survivors, page 1
part #1 of SSG Vanhorn Series
Survivors
SSG Vanhorn Series Book 1
Toby Neighbors
Survivors: SSG Vanhorn Book 1
Copyright © 2021 by Toby Neighbors
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-952260-23-0
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Copy Editor: Gabrielle Guarracino
Also by Toby Neighbors
Wizard Rising
Magic Awakening
Hidden Fire
Crying Havoc
Fierce Loyalty
Evil Tide
Wizard Falling
Chaos Descending
Into Chaos
Chaos Reigning
Chaos Raging
Controlling Chaos
Killing Chaos
Elder Wizard
Lorik
Lorik the Protector
Lorik the Defender
We Are The Wolf
Welcome To The Wolfpack
Embracing Oblivion
Joined In Battle
The Abyss Of Savagery
The Vault Of Mysteries
Lords Of Ascension
The Elusive Executioner
Gryphon Warriors
Regulators Revealed
Avondale
Draggah
Balestone
Arcanius
Avondale V
Third Prince
Royal Destiny
The Other Side
The New World
Zompocalypse
Spartan Company
Spartan Valor
Spartan Guile
Dragon Team Seven
Uncommon Loyalty
Total Allegiance
Kestrel Class
Jump Point
Gravity Flux
Modulus Echo
Zero Friction
Planet Fall
Charter
Jack & Roxie
My Lady Sorceress
The Man With No Hands
ARC Angel
Battle ARC
Broken Crucible
Hidden Kingdom
War INC
Carthage Prime
Cronus Team
Skandia Seven
Mercurial
Magnificus Prime
Incursio
Merlin Appears
Runners
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
A Note From The Author
We Are The Wolf Sample
Prologue
Looking back, I can see why we lost. When you’re lying in a medical pod, with more painkillers pumping through your veins than blood, you end up with a pretty clear retroactive perspective.
It wasn’t a tactical defeat, but rather a political one. Maybe every veteran of war says that, though. In the end, the politicians blame the commanders, the grunts on the ground blame the politicians, and, more likely than not, the commanders blame themselves for not standing up to their superiors, even if they knew the plan was faulty right from the start.
I’m not complaining; I’m alive, after all. Still, even now, the fight comes back to me in flashes. I don’t remember much. It’s like my mind doesn’t want to admit that such horror was real. Or maybe it’s the meds—I can’t say for sure, just like I can’t say for sure what happened on our mission. What I do remember is the flight to Luyten C in the Gliese system and the fear that seemed to gnaw at me beneath my armor.
Don’t get me wrong: I wanted to fight. I was a Terrestrial Advance Combat grunt, or what the old Earth-based military called Force Recon. Luyten C wasn’t my first combat drop, either, but the Orrkasi had never attacked anything so close to our home world before. Even after a century of exploration and colonization, the Sol system was still our most inhabited sector of space. If the Orrkasi had managed to establish a base on Luyten C, they would have been able to launch attacks deep in our system. The consequences were dire, and we all knew the stakes: it was kill or be killed. I managed a little of both.
At this point, the only things I know for sure are that I am still alive and that I somehow made it back to the naval hospital on Titan. I deduced where I am when I realized I could see Saturn’s rings through the window when my vision finally cleared. I knew I was alive because of the pain—so much pain that I wish for death, although the med droids won’t let me die.
My injuries are severe enough that I’ve been trapped in a medical pod, with nothing to do but think. If I ever get out of here, which is a really big if , I’ll be permanently maimed. That means I won’t be on a TAC team ever again. My team should have left me on Luyten C. The old samurais had it right: it’s better for a warrior to die in battle than to live with the knowledge of all they’ve lost.
And it seems to me that I’ve lost it all.
Chapter 1
“Next!”
I stepped up to the counter at the logistics station. My orders had come through after what had seemed like a lifetime of rehabilitation. They should just call it torture since, in my opinion, that’s what it is—torture and disappointment. I handed my slate to the sergeant behind the counter. He took the shockproof computer tablet that every Marine carried and scanned it.
“Staff Sergeant Vanhorn,” the bored clerk said without looking up at me. “Let’s see…I’ve got you going out on the Rihla . Gate D, docking bay eight.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking back my slate and stepping aside to let the next Marine have access to the clerk.
I slipped my hand-sized slate into the cargo pocket on my thigh, then hefted my loadout bag, thankful for its tiny wheels. I wasn’t sure that I would need all the gear inside the bag, as I wouldn’t be going into a combat zone again. The scar tissue on my left side had ended that possibility. I could finally bend my rebuilt left knee without screaming in pain, but running was impossible. The surgery on my back that had fused most of my spine into a solid chunk of bone, scar tissue, and rigid med-grade plastic left me stiff. The pain was constant, as was the feeling of something foreign in my left eye—laughably impossible, since my left eye had been too damaged to save. The surgical droid had removed it, yet I felt the constant need to rub it and remove the imaginary speck of grit that seemed to be agitating it.
I shuffled off toward the people mover, a moving walkway that would take me through the installation until I found the right gate. It seemed strange to be back on active duty after nearly a year of surgeries, rehab, and recovery time. Worse still, I couldn’t even talk about what had happened, since the operation on Luyten C was classified. The brass didn’t want the public to know how close the Orrkasi had gotten to infiltrating the Sol system. While I’d been just as ignorant as anyone else during my slow recovery, I knew more about that fight now. I’d even received access to the after action report filed by my squad. They claimed I had saved their lives, although I didn’t remember it. Their truth was undeniable: buried somewhere in my kit was a little box with a purple heart and silver star, medals earned in combat against a vicious, enigmatic enemy. Still, all the decoration in the world couldn’t compensate for the hurt I’d endured. I still couldn’t be sure if I was grateful that my team had carried me out of that hellhole or not; I had lived in a state of almost constant suffering every day since.
Upon finally reaching Gate D, I started the long walk down the docking arm toward the ship that would be my home for the foreseeable future. I knew nothing about the S.F. Rihla, only that the word meant ‘journey’ in Arabic. I was familiar with the type of exploratory vessel, as TAC teams were commonly stationed on them. I was unofficially ‘TAC team 13,’ the slang term for non-combat personnel. They hadn’t booted me out of TAC, but I was relegated to a support staff position. I wouldn’t find out what desk they would tie me to yet—that would be explained once I was on board the Rihla . Even without that knowledge, I couldn’t imagine a worse way to finish my enlistment term. I had two years remaining in my standard ten-year TAC term, and it was clear that for the whole time, I would be stuck doing whatever scut work no one else wanted.
From the docking arm, I walked along a long, enclosed boarding ramp, experiencing the short transition to artificial gravity. At the ship, I passed through a wide airlock and entered the main concourse, making my way straight to the deck officer.
“Staff Sergeant Vanhorn,” I said, saluting the deck officer. “Reporting for duty.”
“At ease, Staff Sergeant,” said the second-grade lieutenant, a woman clad in naval uniform identical to the space fatigues I wore, save for their dark blue color. The name stenciled on her chest read ‘HOLLY, J,’ and her smile was genuine. I couldn’t help but notice she was very pretty. “You’ll be working with Lieutenant Bass down in the Marines section of the ship. That’s level B, section eight.”
“Thank you, sir,” I replied.
“Welcome aboard, Staff Sergeant.”
I move
I climbed a flight of stairs from Alpha deck to Bravo, then made my way around to section eight. The offices of the Marines were a suite of rooms that could have been in a business center on any number of worlds—the navy liked to keep their ships sparkling, and I’d heard that a full quarter of the ship’s crew spent their days polishing and cleaning the ship so that it looked brand new. In this area, the walls were made with a transparent polymer that looked like tinted glass and were framed in chrome, matching the metallic shine of the handrails and other fixtures. Glossy white panels comprised the deck, and the ceilings glowed in a spectrum of light.
It was beautiful, but it couldn’t distract me from what was to come. Stepping into the staff office area, my heart sank, and I felt a twinge in the pit of my stomach. The thought of polishing a seat with my ass for the next two years made me feel ill.
A man with gray stubble for hair greeted me as I entered. His face was a mass of wrinkles, and he wore what I suspected was a perpetual frown. The rank on his shoulder showed him to be a master sergeant. I pulled out my slate once again and handed it over. The master sergeant took it and scanned it with a device that was connected to his computer, then huffed before handing it back.
“Lieutenant Bass has requested that you see him before reporting to your duty station,” the master sergeant said. He spoke slowly in a deep voice. “You’ll be berthed in with the rest of the staff NCOs in section two. Ship schematics are being downloaded to your slate, along with a duty rotation. Chow hall is on Delta. You can wait on the lieutenant over there.”
He pointed to a row of chairs that folded down from the wall. With a nod, I moved over, propping my loadout bag against the chair on the end before I eased my way down. My leg hurt, my back was stiff, and the scar tissue up the left side of my body was tight and made movement awkward. I settled onto the chair and stretched out my leg, although I refused the temptation to rub my knee. It was impossible to hide the damage, but I didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention, either.
On the wall behind the master sergeant was a display that slowly rotated through the names of the Marines on board the Rihla . Following the standard rule of three, there were two rifle platoons and one TAC platoon. I knew that the TAC platoon would consist of two combat squads and one staff squad, the latter of which would oversee the logistics of the combat teams. I assumed I would be part of this squad in some capacity.
I didn’t have to wait long for Lieutenant Bass, who soon stepped out of his office and greeted me.
“Staff Sergeant Vanhorn?”
I rose to my feet as quickly as my mutinous body would allow and came to attention.
“At ease, Staff Sergeant. Why don’t we step into my office?” Bass said.
He was a short man, muscular and obviously fit. I couldn’t deny the pang of envy at how deftly he moved. After I followed him into the little office, he shut the door with the push of a button and waved me toward the single guest chair in the small space.
“It’s not too often that we have heroes on board,” Bass said. The nameplate on the desk showed his first name to be Oliver. He didn’t sit down, instead choosing to lean against the side of his desk. It was too small and cluttered to sit on, but he clearly didn’t want to sit behind it.
“I’m no hero, sir,” I replied.
“Nonsense—you saved your squad on Luyten C. The entire corps was talking about it last year.”
“I thought the op was classified.”
“The mission details were; your actions on the battlefield weren’t.”
I knew the corps had no qualms about making examples of people, even embellishing stories to help meet their recruiting quotas. Still, it didn’t set me at ease to think that people were speculating about what had happened on Luyten C. I had been too dazed to even realize that any of the details had been released.
“We lost an entire fire team,” I said. “Was that in the report? Corporal Dallas, Lance Corporal Green, Private First Class Choi, and Private First Class Honrey. Killed by the Orcs. I don’t even know if we were able to recover their bodies.”
“Every battle has casualties,” Bass replied. “You led that squad through scores of Orrkasi. We don’t have a solid number, but I’ve heard rumors that there were over a hundred.”
“That’s an exaggeration,” I said, with some uncertainty. I knew I had never seen so many of the enemy Orrkasi, or Orcs, than I had on Luyten C. Most people called them Orcs because they so resembled the fantasy creatures from books and movies, both in their looks and in their animalistic ferocity. I hadn’t expected any of the Marines in my squad of thirteen TAC operators to survive that day, including myself. I still wasn’t sure I was thankful that I had.
“You’re being humble,” Bass said. “You and your team showed everyone what TAC is all about. Your actions turned the tide on that battle...and you’ve got the stripes to prove it.”
Without him coming out and saying it, I knew he meant my scars. My missing eye burned, but I refused to touch the black patch that covered the pit where my eye had once been. There was nothing there but puckered flesh, and even after a year, it still made my skin crawl to think about it.
“Well.” Bass broke the momentary silence, standing straight before moving around to his side of the desk and picking up his slate. He made it look easy; for him, it was, in a way it would never be again for me. I did my best not to let my envy turn to bitterness. “I’m glad to have a man with your background on board. Our TAC platoon is untested in combat. They’re well trained and ready, but we haven’t seen the enemy yet. I’m hoping that changes on this cruise.”
In that moment, I realized Bass was a climber. The quickest way to advance in the corps was through combat, and the quickest route to combat was the command of a TAC platoon. Little did he seem to know that facing the Orcs in battle was nothing to wish for. They were savage fighters, ruthless, hard to stop and even harder to understand. I had seen them resist oncoming fire, and I had seen them use stealth and cunning to ambush humans. It wasn’t something I hoped to ever see again, and in my state, I doubted I would—unless, by some horrible turn of events, they managed to turn the tide of the war.
“Yes, sir,” was all I could think to say. I knew better than to try to correct a commissioned officer.
“We’ll need you if it does! Staff Sergeant, you’re to be our master-at-arms on this cruise,” Bass explained with more gusto than I thought possible. “We have a full armory. You’ll have three Marines under you. Everything is ship-shape in there, and we have a simulator and live fire ranges. Those are overseen by Gunny Patel. Your job is to keep everything ready for combat operations, if we get the chance. We’ll have a full platoon meeting at oh-seven hundred hours tomorrow. In the meantime, get the lay of the land and make sure you can find your way around. It’ll get hectic once the ship is underway, and I believe we’re scheduled to leave port at fourteen hundred hours tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” I repeated, thankful for the armrests on the seat. I used them to push myself up, ignoring the spasm of pain in my back as I stood. “Is there anything else?”
