Hell's Own Read online

  They’d pull through this.

  She wouldn’t allow it to be any other way.

  “Understood, Sergeant.”

  “Work with Ready, sooner we get out of here, the better. I need numbers, how many of the civies have decent suits with them, injuries, and get me the information on the other marines here.”

  “Not all marines, one’s navy. Shuttle pilot. Don’t know what he’s doing down here.”

  “Same as the rest of us, enjoying the downtime before the shit hit the fan.” She took a long look around the bar. “When this is dealt with, we’ll help Jones with the repairs. Otherwise, we could be waiting for months before we can use the place again.”

  “Sergeant?”

  “Have to get our priorities straight, can’t have the best bar on Pluto closed for too long. Where will we go to relax if it’s closed for repairs?” She flashed a smile at the corporal. “Let’s get this done.”

  “Damn, have you been preparing for the apocalypse back here? You’ve got enough supplies to support a small outpost.” Walker whistled through his teeth.

  Stone didn’t disagree. He stepped past the marine, taking in items lining the shelves. The only thing they were missing were weapons. Sure, a few sidearms with the power packs stored to the left on the metal shelves. Metal, not plastiwear. Cost more due to the weight transporting them here, but less likely to crack under use. He ran his fingers over the edge of the nearest shelf. Small bumps, rough spots, not transported, but from here. Metal over heavy duty plastiwear? Interesting concept. Cheaper than he’d initially thought, but still out of the price range for most people. Had the mineral been mined here, or elsewhere?

  He didn’t have time to investigate, but noted the information, filing it away for a better time.

  “Walker, grab the sidearms and power packs. Jones, take two for your group. But don’t hand them out to anyone unless you know their skills and you trust them. You don’t need to lose people because the wrong person has a gun.” Friendly fire. Experienced troops could make a mistake, civies who didn’t know their ass from their elbow were a hell of a lot more likely to make a mistake.

  “On it.”

  Stone stuffed his pockets with food tubes, water pockets, and grabbed a pack of pain relief sticks for good measure.

  “Hey, those aren’t legal.” Walker asked. “How did you get them?”

  “This entire bar isn’t legal, what did you expect?” Jones laughed, “geeze, you’d think people would think that one through. Of course, I’m going to carry the basics back here. All it takes is one small power out, or a dome crack, mining accident, and we’re stuck out here. It’s why I keep these shelves stocked, and why I had the bolt hold built.”

  “You’re expecting marines to think. They only follow orders.” Stone didn’t look away from the shelves. “Wouldn’t be safe to permit them a chance to make decisions for themselves.”

  “Hey.” Walker took a step toward him. “Don’t talk like that about the marines. We’re trained for this.”

  “Yes, you are, but he’s right, you’re trained to follow orders. Nothing to be ashamed of. They aren’t going to let a private do his own thinking. Too damn dangerous for everyone around you.” Jones laughed as he pulled two of the tanks away from the wall. “These are going to be heavy to carry, but we can’t leave without them. Not if we want to make it through the tunnels. You’ll want one for your people, Walker.”

  “Yeah, sure, whatever.” The words clipped and cold. Muttered words faded as the marine put distance between them.

  Ah, the pride of young marines, if there was one thing guaranteed to hasten the death of a man in combat, it was pride. Sooner or later, it caught up with them. There were old soldiers and bold soldiers, but no old bold soldiers. Wasn’t that the saying from old Earth? Before the collapse and what had passed for world war III?

  The rumble caught him off guard. Ground shook. Items tumbled from the shelves as the three men tried to brace themselves. He flattened one hand against the wall as he dropped to his knees. The bottom shelf. Empty. He forced his body into the empty space. “Cover. Find cover. Now.”

  “Knew I shouldn’t have come down here,” Navy grumbled as he glanced around the bar. “Should have joined the others in the mess. Now I’m stuck down here with a bunch of Marines and civilians.” He caught Cora’s gaze and shrugged.

  “You’re here, and have a choice. Work with us, or take it up with me, or the Gunny. Once we have our... discussion... you’ll still be faced with the same decision.”

  “Nice.” He rolled his eyes.

  “You have a name, or should I make one up?” Cora glanced at him.

  “James Harvard.”

  “Rank?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Fantastic, she was dealing with an officer. “Pilot?”

  “Been known to fly from time to time.” A shrug. “Not that it matters down here.”

  “Sergeant Bloodlaw. Have you made up your mind?”

  “Until I hear from my ship, I’m with you. So, what did you want me to do?” Another shrug.

  She watched him, taking in the expressions, the small signs she’d been taught to watch for. Had to be careful about, especially when dealing with an officer. And she had no doubt. This man, Harvard, was an officer no matter what he might try to convince her of. “Weapons, supplies, and personal check.”

  Harvard grunted but moved away without another word.

  Officer, one fighting his instincts to take over. She smiled, unwilling to waste the energy, preventing it from claiming her lips. The man would either do what they needed, or she’d have to deal with his officer side kicking in. One of the men she’d always keep one eye on, no matter what else he was doing. Her gaze remained on him as he walked through the bar, picking up chairs and tables as he went.

  She felt it before she experienced it, a subtle vibration beneath her feet. Then the roar rolled through the tunnels, rattling chairs, bottles, and bodies alike. Cora darted beneath one of the bigger tables, one the owner had bolted to the floor. She didn’t think if it was strong enough to offer protection. She took the shelter provided. “Cover. Now!” Men and women dived for cover or cowered in huddles. Pieces fell from the ceiling, dust and debris filled the air.

  She peered out from her spot, tensed, her eyes narrowed. She swore and pushed out from the table before she had a chance to think things through. Instinct taking control. Cora hit the woman with her body, bowling her to the floor and covering her, protecting the other woman’s head and upper torso with her own. “Don’t move. I’ve got you.” One of the servers or one of the customers?

  Didn’t matter.

  A civilian in need of protection. This was how she’d been trained to react, and she wasn’t about to question her own actions. Not in the moment at least.

  Cora hissed as something struck her left calf. A man cried out in shock. A woman cried sobbing. But she didn’t move. Not until the room stopped shaking. She waited, taking a deep breath, counting off to ten in slow, steady numbers before she lifted up from the cowering woman. “You hurt?”

  The woman looked up, blinking, stunned, her face pale. “Don’t think I am.” She licked her bottom lip and swallowed. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Yes, I did.” Cora brushed dust and mess from her eyes and checked on the others. A few more injuries. Nothing major at first glance. A few cuts, and a shock of yet another explosion. “It’s my job.” Usually, the line would be enough to end the conversation. Not this time.

  “Thank you.” Tears glittered in the woman’s eyes as she rose, still shaken by the vibrations and debris. “You’re one of the rare ones.”

  “You’re welcome.” She glanced at her leg as the woman moved away. No blood. No sign of a cut. A bruise she could handle, though it might slow her down. “You’ll be fine. Jones will get you out of here.” He’d better, or she’d have more than words to exchange with the bartender. “Make sure you get your hands on a suit. You’ll need it to tr
avel through the tunnels.”

  The woman moved stiffly. No visible signs of injury, but adrenalin, plus being thrown to the floor, was enough to stiffen anyone’s muscles.

  “Everyone alright?” Gunny called out. “Injuries?”

  A dozen voices replied. She didn’t need to, knowing Gunny was only asking about real injuries, not a bruise she could walk off. Cora patted herself down as she scanned the bar, her gaze moving up over the walls to the ceiling. “Well, shit.” A large crack marked the surface, spider-webbing across the once smooth surface. “Gunny, we’re running out of time here.”

  The Gunny met her gaze, his eyes narrowing, brow furrowed. “You heard the Sergeant, get a move on. We leave in five, if not sooner.”

  Yeah, sooner would be better. She didn’t like how the crack spread, slowly now the rumbling had come to a halt, but still on the move. The next explosion would be it for the ceiling if it didn’t collapse before.

  Stone slid out from the cramped shelter, coughing as he brushed the fresh dust from his eyes. Had the structure been damaged? “Another one like that and the entire room will collapse.”

  “Best we’re out of here before it happens.” Jones pulled down a backpack and stuffed extra supplies into it. “Grab what you can, then we’re out.”

  Stone followed suit, adding packages to his pockets and back up equipment to a pack he pulled from one of them. It expanded enough to fit most of what he wanted into the flexible confines. Still meant too much would be left behind for his mercenary tastes, but if the ceiling did collapse, there would be time to rebuild and supplies to claim from the ruins. Same could be said for the damage done to the buildings beneath the dome. A scavengers wet dream.

  Or his.

  Walker muttered under his breath and dragged one of the tanks toward the door, a pack slung over his left shoulder, pockets bulging.

  Marines. One step up from mercs and scavengers. Not as if he’d tell Walker how he felt, wrong time and place for a full-on fight. “Times running out.”

  “Yeah, tell us something we don’t know, trader.” Walker snapped. “I’m not stupid.”

  Better to be identified as a trader than anything else. If Walker had any idea what he was, how he earned a living, his chances of heading out with the Marines would vanish. He nodded to the other men and pushed his way out through the debris and dust, one hand slamming against the closed door, slapping it open before he stepped into the main room.

  “Was about to send a Marine to find you,” the Gunny said.

  “The last shock was interesting.”

  “I know.” The older man pointed upward.

  Stone followed the movement and swore in three different languages. Cracked walls and ceiling. It wasn’t a welcome sign. “We don’t have much time, do we?”

  “No, we don’t.” Gunny took the pack from Walker and split up the items between the rest of the team. “Jones, you ready to go?”

  “Halfway through the door.”

  “Wait, let us head out first.” The sergeant spoke up. “If there’s a problem, we’re better equipped to handle it. We all have basic emergency masks, the civies masks aren’t as reliable as ours, and they only have back up part masks, with goggles. They’ll need a clear shot through before the lack of air, and the cold gets to their skin.” She pulled on black gloves, skin tight, to protect her hands. Better than the thin covering offered by the suit. With the possibility of broken walls, the gloves had a better chance of standing up against the potential damage.

  “Yeah, fine. Ladies first.” Jones gestured to the small group of marines and smirked.

  “Wanna watch what you say, might find yourself tripped up along the way,” Lackey muttered, the words not designed to carry too far.

  Jones flipped the Marine the bird.

  Walker carried the tank and ended up in the middle of the group, where any of the Marines could access the precious supply of oxygen. Old fashioned, bulky, but lightweight tanks instead of the more modern small recyclers designed for use in limited oxygen areas. If the roof had collapsed, they’d lose all of the oxygen in the building, or tunnel. The recyclers would have made a decent backup, but useless in a true zero oxygen situation.

  Gunny moved to the front of the group, mask, and gloves in place. “Let’s get this done.”

  5

  Cora settled into place a step behind Gunny, checked on the rest of the team, then nodded once to the older man to indicate they were ready. Her marines knew what to do, and the three she wasn’t as familiar with, kept pace with ease. The navy pilot listened, for now, though having an officer in the mix offered more potential trouble down the line. Still, he was military and knew enough not to fight to take control of a group made up mostly of marines. Men ready and willing to fight no matter what waited for them in the colony.

  The civilians were another matter, but there were enough marines around to cover for any mistakes the civies might make. She knew the majority of the men in the group enough to trust them with her life. Now, with Gunny in charge, she fell back into the second in command position, she often assumed when there was an officer in the mix. Except she trusted Gunny a thousand times more than she would ever trust or respect the straight out of the academy second lieutenants they were often stuck with.

  The door opened with a groan, instead of the near silent hiss which normally accompanied the action. She frowned and checked her sensors, the readings dancing into life across the back of her hand. They had backup oxygen ahead of them, and the supply from the bar which now seeped into the tunnels, would help, but she tapped her mask to indicate the fact they’d need the supplemental oxygen to make it through. She gestured turned and gestured to the tank, then back to the group with Jones, the message passed back without a word.

  The Gunny nodded, a slight smile in place, and she inclined her head in thanks.

  The older man eased into the passageway, scanners running. They didn’t need to pull out anything else to know the area wasn’t safe. The faster they made their way through the old byways, the better it would be for all of them. The tunnel was large enough to allow four men could walk abreast and tall, sufficient to prevent any of them from having to bow or duck under the flickering lights. That was one blessing; they hadn’t lost power and weren’t trying to make their way through the dark. Generators were still running, and the main lines, those she had seen lining the passageways, were intact.

  For now.

  Nothing was said as they picked up the pace, pausing only to check the civilians were keeping up or to clear rubble from their path. They could do this, yes walking wasn’t the best way, but if you made it out to the bar, you weren’t afraid of a little sweat and dust, you knew what you were getting into.

  She did and offered no complaints.

  Her mask kept her supplied with the required oxygen, gloves kept her hands warm, and the rest of her clothing enough to prevent major problems. She hadn’t pulled on the full suit, opting to keep things light. Better to be able to move. It didn’t take long to draw on the suit. Hah, pulling it on was the wrong term. A few instructions keyed in and it would slide out of place from belt and boots, covering her body and sealing itself to the gloves and facepiece within three seconds. All you had to do was smooth it over limbs before hitting the final seal.

  Ten times faster than the civilian suits, and built to withstand bumps, scrapes and possible cuts.

  Sweat beaded and froze against her skin, but the speed with which they moved countered the chill.

  Noise filtered its way forward from Jones’ group, and her jaw clenched. She signaled to Walker, who she knew would pass the instructions back, to be quiet. If the tunnels had been exposed, then the ones behind the attack might have discovered them, and they’d face more than rubble. More than a lack of heat and air. They didn’t need a firefight with Jones’ group still with them.

  The chatter stopped, cut off mid-word.

  Better. She wasn’t going to have to go back and smack one of the civilians. Ex
cept it removed any chance to let off steam. Pressure built, tension tightened her shoulders and upper arms. Her skin itched with the need to fight, do something other than lead a bunch of civilians to safety.

  What the hell was she thinking?

  Fistfight, action, the need to act, to burn off the energy which now. These were things she could understand. It was a part of her, but it didn’t mean she liked it.

  Any more than she liked one of the civilians with them. The same man who’d caught her attention at the bar.

  Mason Stone.

  Smuggler? Merc? Who cared? He had a dangerous air, and trust was the last thing she felt toward him.

  They reached one of the man areas where the tunnel branched off in three directions, and the Gunny signaled for them to stop. “Get Jones up here.”

  Cora didn’t have to pass the order down the line, Walker took care of the issue. It took five minutes before the bartender made his way through the group as silently as a civilian was capable of.

  “What’s up?”

  “Which way for your survival room?”

  “Right, Gunny.”

  “We’re heading left.”

  “Figured.”

  “Then this is where we part ways.” Jones glanced back at the men and women waiting for him. “Thanks, you didn’t have to do this. I mean, get us this far.”

  “And if we didn’t need to get to the base, we’d see you all the way, but duty first.” The older man clapped his free hand, the other holding his sidearm, on Jones’ shoulder. “Stay safe. Keep your comm tunned to channel five, it’s going to be the fastest way for you to get updates.”

  “Got it.”

  Cora checked the passageway each way. Both appeared to be clear, save for debris, though the one to the left had shown more signs of damage than the one Jones would follow. Made sense. The one to the right led away from the source of the explosions, the one to the left led toward it. At least the civilians would be safer, and they wouldn’t get in the way if the shit hit the fan. For a moment she considered sending the two Marines she only knew in passing, with Jones, but shook off the idea. They’d need as many skilled fighters with them as possible. Whoever had attacked the colony would be well armed. You couldn’t sneak up on one, possibly two naval vessels and attack Pluto unless you had numbers or better weapons on your side.