Trapped (Fleet Ops Book 1) by Scott Bartlett & Joshua James

Author:Scott Bartlett & Joshua James [Bartlett, Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mirth Publishing
Published: 2019-12-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 30

Combat Shuttle Little Beetle

UHC Relentless’ nearspace

Husher watched the bulkhead viewscreen opposite him, which showed the Relentless receding as the shuttle that carried him floated away.

Off in the distance, he could see the other destroyers of the fleet. He hadn’t realized they were so close together. From this vantage point, he could make out the silhouette of some of the point defense cannons, the huge railguns ready to swivel and fire in unison if any foe managed to close within their deadly range.

But there was only so much trouble you could keep at bay. Trouble always won out in the end.

He shifted in his seat, craning to see the two guards that were sitting closer to the flight deck. Beyond them, through the open hatch, sat the pilot. She was lightly armed, but the marines were armed to the teeth.

“Seems like a little much,” Husher snarled at the nearest marine, “just for little old me. What exactly do you think I’m going to do?”

The marine next to the one he was addressing shifted a little in his seat, but neither of them responded. He’d been taunting them since the moment he’d been loaded onto the shuttle, and even before that, while they were shoving him into his pressure suit with the cold steel of their muzzles pressed against his head. Daring him to struggle.

The other Husher—the butcher who’d murdered everyone he loved and got a slap on the wrist, plus a new command for his trouble—sat strapped into a crash seat opposite him. He wore a stupid look of concern on his face while he blathered on, trying to explain the enemy he faced, and how overwhelmed they were.

Apparently, they’d already lost one ship. I hope you lose them all.

The man across from him was so weak. It hurt Husher’s ears to listen to his whining, pathetic voice. “I don’t care about your stupid task force,” he said. “Your men. Your ships. You didn’t care about mine. You didn’t care about the men and women you killed when you destroyed the generators that kept my collapsing universe at bay.”

The pathetic Husher took a deep breath. It must have been a nice luxury. For his part, he could barely breathe inside the hot pressure suit the marines had shoved him into, all the while tempting him with their eyes to make one wrong move.

Then they’d bound his hands behind him, purposefully twisting his fingers, probably hoping for a reaction so they could beat him. Cowards.

He couldn’t fathom the moral code these marines lived by. They had no honor. They spoke like they were saints, but they killed their enemies without facing them. They’d shoot them in the back if they had to, and find an excuse for their actions.

Husher fought like a man. He faced his enemy and spat in his eye. He didn't hide behind rules of engagement or some thin excuse for civilization that ignored reality.

His pathetic twin had felt compelled to explain the predicament they found themselves in. Another weakness.

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