Destroyer: A Military Space Opera (The Bad Company Book 5) Read online

  Destroyer

  The Bad Company™ Book Five

  Craig Martelle

  Michael Anderle

  Destroyer (this book) is a work of fiction.

  All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  Copyright © 2019 by Craig Martelle & Michael Anderle

  Cover by Andrew Dobell, creativeedgestudios.co.uk

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

  A Michael Anderle Production

  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  LMBPN Publishing

  PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

  Las Vegas, NV 89109

  First US edition, April 2019

  The Kurtherian Gambit (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are copyright © 2015-2019 by Michael T. Anderle and LMBPN Publishing.

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  We can’t write without those who support us

  On the home front, we thank you for being there for us

  We wouldn’t be able to do this for a living if it weren’t for our readers

  We thank you for reading our books

  Destroyer Team

  Thanks to our Beta Readers

  Micky Cocker, Dr. Jim Caplan, Kelly O’Donnell, and John Ashmore

  Thanks to the JIT Readers

  John Ashmore

  Jeff Eaton

  James Caplan

  Micky Cocker

  Diane L. Smith

  Kelly O'Donnell

  Daniel Weigert

  Dorothy Lloyd

  Peter Manis

  Jeff Goode

  Misty Roa

  Paul Westman

  Thomas Ogden

  If I’ve missed anyone, please let me know!

  Editor

  Lynne Stiegler

  Contents

  Characters & Timeline

  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

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Author Notes - Craig Martelle

  Author Notes - Michael Anderle

  Books by Craig Martelle

  Books By Michael Anderle

  Characters & Timeline

  World’s Worst Day Ever (WWDE)

  WWDE + 20 years, Terry Henry returns from self-imposed exile. The Terry Henry Walton Chronicles detail his adventures from that time to WWDE+150

  WWDE + 150 years – Michael returns to Earth. BA returns to Earth. TH & Char go to space

  Key Players

  Terry Henry Walton (was forty-five on the WWDE)—called TH by his friends. Enhanced with nanocytes by Bethany Anne herself (Queen of High Tortuga after Federation is formed and Empire is dissolved), wears the rank of colonel, led the Force de Guerre (FDG), a military unit that he established on WWDE+20 years, and now leads the Bad Company’s Direct Action Branch.

  Charumati (was sixty-five on the WWDE)—A werewolf, married to Terry, carries the rank of major but is his equal partner

  Kimber (born WWDE+15 years, adopted approximately WWDE+25 years by TH & Char, enhanced on WWDE+65 years)—Major

  Her husband Auburn Weathers (enhanced on WWDE+82 years)—provides logistics support

  Kaeden (born WWDE+16 years, adopted approximately WWDE+24 years by TH & Char, enhanced on WWDE+65 years) – a major

  His wife Marcie Spires (born on WWDE+22 years, naturally enhanced)—Colonel

  Cory (born WWDE+25 years, naturally enhanced, gifted with the power to heal)

  Her husband Ramses—Major, died on Benitus Seven, WWDE+153 years

  Kailin, Auburn & Kimber’s son (born on WWDE+78 years)

  Vampires

  Joseph (born three hundred years before the WWDE)

  Petricia (born WWDE+30 years)

  Pricolici (Werewolves that walk upright)

  Nathan Lowell (President of the Bad Company and Bethany Anne’s Chief of Intelligence)

  Ecaterina (Nathan’s spouse)

  Christina (Nathan & Ecaterina’s daughter)

  Werewolves

  Sue & Timmons (long-term members of Char’s pack)

  Shonna & Merrit (long-term members of Char’s pack)

  Ted (with Felicity, an enhanced human)

  Weretigers born before the WWDE:

  Aaron & Yanmei

  Humans (enhanced)

  Micky San Marino, Captain of the War Axe

  Commander Suresha, War Axe Department Head – Engines

  Commander MacEachthighearna (Mac), War Axe Department Head—Environmental

  Commander Blagun Lagunov, War Axe Department—Structure

  Commander Oscar Wirth, War Axe Department Head—Stores

  Lieutenant Clodagh Shortall, War Axe engine technician

  Sergeant Fitzroy, a martial arts expert and platoon sergeant

  Kelly, Capples, Fleeter, Praeter, & Duncan—mech drivers

  Other Key Characters

  Dokken (a sentient German Shepherd)

  Floyd (a sentient and sweet wombat who gives gifts of poop cubes when she loves you)

  The Good King Wenceslaus (an orange tabby who thinks he’s a weretiger, all fifteen pounds of him)

  K'Thrall—a Yollin, used to be systems analyst on the War Axe, a warrior with the Bad Company

  Clifton—human pilot of the War Axe

  Bundin—a four-legged shell-backed blue stalk-headed alien from Poddern

  Ankh’Po’Turn—a small bald humanoid from Crenellia. Erasmus, one of Plato’s Stepchildren, is his AI

  General Smedley Butler – EI/AI on the War Axe, who they call The General

  Plato – Ted’s AI from R&D

  Dionysus – the AI tasked to assist with running Keeg Station

  Paithoon – A Belzonian, escort for Kaeden & Marcie

  Bon Tap – a teal-skinned, silver-haired Malatian, a warrior in the Bad Company

  Slikira – an Ixtali, four legs, a spider race, called “Slicker,” a warrior in the Bad Company

  Other Bad Company warriors: Tim, “Skates” Mardigan, Chris Bo Runner (Harborian), Jones, Einar, Gefelton, Eldis (wife is Xianna, a green-skinned alien woman), B’Ichi Aharche (Keome)

  Chapter One

  Void Space near Keeg Station, in the
Dren Cluster

  The alien studied the main viewscreen. A space station and a nearby shipyard. A hundred spaceships.

  “We have found the infestation,” the ship’s commander declared.

  “Lord Mantis, they have the ability to establish stable wormholes. They can travel across the galaxy in an eye-blink,” a lanky alien remarked.

  Dark-green skin, with two legs and three arms, a round head on a long neck with a single multi-faceted eye over a heavily fanged mouth, and nasal slits to the side of its cheeks. Membranes beside the eye vibrated as sounds fed the auditory nerve.

  “We must have it,” the commander replied simply. “Engage the shield.”

  The ship hummed for a moment and then disappeared. To those inside, it looked as if the hull were gone and they could look directly into space. From the outside, no one would know the ship was there.

  “Four years we traveled to confirm what we suspected. We’ve been invaded.”

  “Aliens.” The second creature placed two of his hands within a sphere and manipulated the controls of his station. “Thrust pods engaged.”

  “Time to target?” the commander asked.

  “Six days to weapons range, Lord Mantis.”

  The ship’s commander leaned against his station rail and studied the small image on the screen. The details would be clear soon enough. He was charged with purging the infestation. Their slow travel had created an unanticipated issue. Who would have known the aliens could build such a substantial community in so short a time?

  Because they could use the wormholes. The Myriador had the shield, but they didn’t have the drive. With both, the one-eyed green species would be invincible. A new plan was forming in the lord’s mind.

  “What was that bullshit?” Colonel Terry Henry Walton wasn’t pleased. His face contorted and a guttural sound manifested deep within his throat. He jammed his fists against his hips and glared until the warriors looked away. “You fucking know better!”

  “Yes, sir,” Bon Tap shouted, a lone voice in the crowd. His fabulous silver mane flowed as the Malatian looked left, then right, for support. “You jagoffs.”

  He preferred human terms to those from his home planet since they were too mild for the company he kept. The Bad Company.

  Slikira vibrated and made sounds that the translators didn’t interpret as language. Terry studied her, trying to determine if the Ixtali was laughing or those were her natural noises. He hadn’t spent much time with the spider-like race. He decided to let it go.

  “One more time, and don’t make me throw you into position. This isn’t rocket science!” More snickers. Terry knew they were doing well, but he wanted them to do better.

  The warriors moved into a small-unit staggered-line formation. They practiced in their shipsuits in the hangar bay the Bad Company’s conflict resolution branch used while training on board the growing space station complex. This squad was special, made up almost completely of aliens to provide the widest variety of innate skills. An Ixtali, a Malatian, a Yollin, a Harborian, a Podder, and a Keome.

  From operating in space without a suit to working in the raging heat or extreme cold, underwater to working in small ducts, they were ideal when mission conditions were ill-defined. Their skill sets were broad. Most were technicians of one sort or another, besides being some of the most effective warriors Terry Henry Walton had ever trained.

  “Haven’t they done enough?” Cordelia whispered to her father while he talked to himself, critiquing the unit’s movements.

  “They haven’t gotten it exactly right. Not yet, anyway,” the colonel replied.

  “It’s breakfast time,” she clarified in a louder voice.

  “It’s what? Where in the hell did dinner go?” TH looked confused, then waved his hand as if a bee were buzzing about his head. “Last run.”

  “Deploy,” Bundin’s voice boomed from the vocalization device installed beneath his shell.

  Three warriors dove to the right and staggered their positions while increasing the distance between themselves. Bon Tap, Slikira, and the Harborian Chris Bo Runner shot to the left, mirroring the actions of Bundin, K’Thrall the Yollin, and B’Ichi Aharche the Keome. Their weapons pointed outboard, covering nearly three-hundred and sixty degrees.

  “Target, nine o’clock,” Terry shouted. The left flank of the formation dropped and aimed their shoulder-fired railguns at a distinct point. The right flank fanned out farther, crouching and drawing figure eights with the ends of their weapons as they sought pretend targets.

  “Target, twelve o’clock!”

  Bon Tap and Bundin swung in their original direction of travel, finding a point at which to aim.

  “Fire!” The left flank bolted forward, and the right flank swung into covering positions. Bundin ambled ahead slowly but surely while Bon Tap raced into the fray, his weapon held and aimed while running. He continued to swing the barrel in conjunction with his eyes, able to fire the instant he acquired a target. Bundin’s tentacle-like arms swung two pistols across a broad engagement sector. The Podder’s four eyes gave him an uncanny ability to fire with deadly accuracy.

  “Incoming!” Terry bellowed through hands cupped around his mouth.

  Bon Tap dropped and slammed into the deck. Terry winced at the sound of the impact. The others hit the deck with equal alacrity, if not quite the same zeal.

  “Hold!” TH clapped. Cory clapped along with him while hurrying to Bon Tap to make sure he was all right. “Finally, you showed those evil Gorn who was boss.”

  “Gorn?” Bundin wondered. “I don’t know this race, but I will research it as soon as we return to quarters.”

  “No need,” Terry explained. “I made it up. That’s more like it. Remember this, and we’ll hit it tomorrow again to reinforce tactical movements. I’m told that it’s breakfast time, so turn out, turn to, turn over, and take the rest of today off. Corporal Bundin, take charge of the squad and carry out the plan for the day.”

  Bundin waved his tentacles to bring the squad to him so he could issue orders for when they were to be back in formation.

  “Seven in the morning tomorrow, right here. Dismissed,” he boomed.

  “You could have done that, Dad,” Cory mumbled. Bon Tap ran off before she could check him over.

  “But then I would usurp the small unit leader’s authority,” he stated matter-of-factly, as if reading from a manual.

  He wrapped an arm protectively over her shoulders.

  “Breakfast?” he asked.

  “Please, no more Moonstokle Pie. That stuff is hideous.”

  TH recoiled in mock horror. “My own flesh and blood, turning on me.”

  “Appropriately so, when you have such lack of respect for your body.” Cory stopped to look up at her father. “Why wasn’t Mom here for this?”

  “She’s been trying to call Kaeden and Marcie but having no luck. Felicity is worried, too.”

  “They’re off doing their own thing with the new Force de Guerre. ‘Bringing peace on a planetary level.’ Isn’t that how they couched it? They’ll be fine. I’m not sure I want to go out and visit them, though. Large-scale land-air battles launched from space? Who would consider that a calling?”

  “Stretching their legs and doing right by the galaxy. I always expect to see them when I turn around. I miss them, too,” Terry admitted.

  “I miss Ramses,” Cory said softly. “But I’m getting on. I don’t need you to worry about me as well. I’ll be right here, doing everything I can to keep others I care about from departing this existence.”

  TH nodded, the lump in his throat preventing him from speaking. He pulled his daughter close for a hug. They stood that way until Terry could say the words, “Sounds like it’s time for an omelet with cheese and bistok.”

  Kimber looked across the mess hall table, glaring with increasing intensity. Sue and Timmons stared back, unswayed by her attempt at intimidation. Joseph and Petricia watched intently.

  Auburn put his hand gently on Kim’s
leg and squeezed.

  “I can do this all day,” Timmons taunted.

  “I got nowhere else to be,” Kimber replied.

  Kailin turned to Christina with an exaggerated eye roll. She snickered and shook her head.

  Kim’s hand shot out to push her red checker into an empty space and was withdrawing when Timmons’ meaty man-paw slammed down on her fingers. She continued pulling, finally yanking them away.

  “Your move,” she declared as if nothing had happened. Timmons hand-lanced forward, only his index finger extended to push his piece. Kimber rolled her withdrawal into a counterswing, catching his coiled fingers under her fist. She felt and heard the crunch as at least one finger broke under her assault. He grunted and removed his hand from the board, slowly and with dignity.

  “Your move,” he said, wincing as the nanocytes jumped into action repairing the bones and flesh.

  Kimber studied the board. Her potential moves consisted of jumps. She would have to grab her checker and jump Timmons’ and then put it into place. If his attack kept her from putting her piece into place, she’d lose the piece and her turn.