Refract: The Reclaim Series, Book 3.5 Read online

  REFRACT

  By

  J.A. Scorch

  Copyright © 2017

  All rights reserved.

  www.jascorch.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  AFTERWORD

  Chapter One

  Private Anthony Larsen stared at the posting he had just received. The tablet screen on his wrist relayed the information to him and two other privates of his fire team as they stood over his shoulder to soak in the news.

  "Goddammit," Private Kenneth Miles muttered. "Another march out to Venom Point. That's the third time this month."

  Larsen rotated his neck slightly toward Miles. "It's your fault, you know. You keep pissing off the CO."

  "My fault?" the soldier asked, spitting his words. "I'm not the one about to be kicked out of the service, my man." Miles wrapped his forearm around Larsen's throat and pretended to choke him with a headlock. Larsen broke free from the move as he stood and faced his team.

  Private Alma Matos seemed less impressed with their reaction to the news as she let out a huff and crossed her arms.

  Command was sending a clear message: they were the worst fire team of 4th Squad, so the pointless missions went to them. Stationed in the remote region of Mars named Hellas, the three soldiers had been confined to the military base of Skyresh. The compound had long since been forgotten in the grand scheme of the war with alien invaders known only as the Zeal. The aggressors were pushed out of the solar system almost a year prior in 2124 and had yet to show their half-organic, half-machine bodies again.

  Matos uncrossed her arms. "Why did I get lumped with you two morons?"

  Larsen pushed Miles to the ground as they started to wrestle again. He half faced Matos, keeping one eye on the private he'd thrown to the metal floor. "It could be worse, Matos. You could get stationed here for the long haul."

  "Don't even joke about that. It's bad enough being dumped out here for a two-year stint. As if the Zeal would ever want to hit this shit hole."

  The three privates had spent the last year in Hellas without a single day of leave. The process of shipping anyone between the main terraformed areas of Mars and the remote region was considered too expensive for Command to entertain. The only way back to civilization was via a monthly supply ship that was heavily guarded for stowaways.

  Miles jumped to his feet, knocking Larsen away for the moment. "Private," he barked. "How can you possibly question the validity of our purpose here in this fine dust bowl? Why it would be an honor to defend this wasteland from an entire fleet of the Zeal." Miles couldn't hold back the laugh itching to escape his lips. He practically spat out loud as his head flew backward.

  "Shut the hell up, Miles. Some of us actually care about our careers and weren't placed here as punishment."

  The comment caught Miles' attention as he stepped over to Matos and gazed down at her short frame. "Sweetheart, everyone in this dump is here because they either screwed up or Command thinks they’re a big bag of useless."

  Matos held his stare. "Call me sweetheart again; I dare you."

  Larsen stepped into the middle of the two privates who were about to rip each other to pieces. "Whoa, guys. Let's calm down, huh? We're all on the same team here. As far as I see it, we've got one year left here, and then the brass has no choice but to send us somewhere decent."

  A shadow half blocked the light of the open doorway to their shared quarters. Corporal Joshua Saxon strolled into the cramped space. "Jesus, Larsen. Don't lie to the poor girl. We'll be here forever once Command realizes how good you idiots are at defending this worthless land."

  "Corporal Saxon," Larsen said. "Have you seen the latest?"

  "No, Private. I was attending a meeting." Saxon's eyes darted in his head as he attempted to gloss over the known fact that he was somewhere in the base drinking. Alcohol was strictly forbidden, but Skyresh had its own black market that managed to sneak through the monthly supply runs.

  "I'll fill you in, Corporal. We have been given the Venom Point patrol again. Third time this month. We head out at 0600 MT."

  Saxon muttered under his breath, unleashing the barely covered vapors within. He stared Larsen in the eyes for a moment. "Is that all?"

  "Nothing else to report, Corporal."

  "Well then, as you were. I'll be getting some shut eye soon. I'd suggest you all get some chow and hit your racks. It's going to be another long day of pointless marching in space suits."

  "Yes, Corporal," Larsen said before he faced Matos. "Come on," he said to her. "Let's get some grub while it's still hot. You coming, Miles?"

  "Yeah, yeah. It's not like I have anything better to do."

  The three privates strolled down the narrow halls of Skyresh. The undersized habitat was half buried in the dust of Mars and completely isolated on the planet. There was no venturing outside unless you were sealed up in a space suit. Only one-third of Mars had been terraformed and built up into a respectable municipality. Gaining new real estate was a costly and timely undertaking, so the remote bases on the planet were forced to exist without a breathable atmosphere.

  As Larsen rounded the corner of the splintering hallways that led out of the living quarters of Skyresh, the newly hung SAF banner met his eyes as it had for the last month. He still wasn't used to the change. For three years prior, he had been in the Mars Armed Forces, serving to protect the planet from the Zeal threat. When the aliens' invasion of the solar system was stopped by a joint operation between Earth and Mars, the United Earth Forces proposed the two powers fight under the one banner as the Sol Armed Forces. The transition took its time to come about, but the SAF was now the only military in the entire system.

  "Oh, shit," Miles said as they approached the mess. "1st Squad's already here."

  "Just keep a lid on your big mouth, and we won't have a problem," Matos said.

  "I swear to God, Matos, I won't hesitate to—"

  "Shut the hell up, Miles," Larsen said. "Just pretend we are a functioning fire team. We're a bit exposed right now without the rest of 4th Squad, so don't draw any attention we can't handle."

  The remainder of 4th Squad was out on a training mission, leaving Larsen's fire team behind. Larsen knew it was a deliberate move by the squad leader to piss off Saxon. Why the rest of Saxon's people had to suffer was beyond reason.

  "Look who it is," said one of the grunts from 1st. "If it isn't the SAF's finest fire team. Grabbing yourself some well-deserved chow?"

  Larsen instantly grabbed Miles by the wrist. "Leave it," he whispered. "There's twelve of them and three of us."

  "We can take 'em," Miles said as he eyeballed the group who were chuckling and making more comments.

  "Don't even think about it, 4th Squad. You morons wouldn't last a minute against us."

  Miles proceeded to ignore the remarks and took some grub from the self-service counter with Larsen and Matos. The three sat down and did what they could to eat the cheap slop served up to the personnel on the base. Larsen let some of the reconstituted, gray paste drip from his spoon back to his plate.

  "Why the hell can't we get some real food out here?" Miles asked. "I'd kill everyone in this place for a steak dinner."

  "Eat your meal, dammit," Larsen said. "We don't need anyone here thinking we're above consuming this garbage."

  But it was too late. The mouthy private from 1st
Squad overheard Miles' complaint. It didn't take much for private to notice anything 4th did wrong.

  "So, you think you're better than us? Think you all deserve a five-course meal every day?"

  Miles glanced sideways at the man. He refused to take another bite while Private Dale Jarvis continued to egg him on. He dropped his spoon to his plate, splashing the goop on Matos.

  "Dammit, Miles. Watch it."

  He ignored her complaint and stood, pushing the chair out behind himself, making a loud squeak in the process.

  "Oh, no way, guys. Looks like we got ourselves a little challenge here," Jarvis said. The rest of 1st Squad hollered at Miles, encouraging the pending scuffle Larsen knew was coming. Jarvis moved halfway across the room as Miles sauntered toward the hollering group.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Larsen asked. Miles was acting like a super soldier enhanced by Zeal nanites, but unlike the Special Forces soldiers of Mars and Earth, Miles didn't have their intensified capabilities such as rapid healing and multiplied strength.

  The private gave a quick stare back to the table as if he was requesting backup.

  "Oh, come on," Larsen said. "Not today."

  "What is it?" Matos asked.

  He lowered his brows at her. "On your feet. We need to get over there and back him up."

  Matos' mouth fell open. "I don't think so. We'll get our asses kicked."

  Larsen stood and moved toward the squad. "We don't have a choice." He continued forward and heard Matos' chair squeak a moment later. She was heading over to join the one-sided fight they had no chance of winning.

  "On your feet, guys," Jarvis ordered as if he was the squad leader. There were several soldiers behind him with higher pay grades, but Jarvis held some form of control over the rest of the team. Larsen had seen the blond-haired ape the day he first stepped foot on Skyresh and knew the kid would be trouble.

  None of that mattered now that Miles had answered their call. For the third time in a few months, Larsen was about to get his ass handed to him by 1st Squad because of Miles' inability to let something go.

  The twelve soldiers were on their feet and forming a circle around the three like they were running a strategic drill they'd practiced a thousand times before. Larsen placed his back to Miles and Matos as they formed a defiant triangle that would soon be crushed by the closing group.

  "1st Squad, stand down," yelled Sergeant Flora Reed. The tall, bulky woman stomped toward the circle and continued barking orders at her squad. "What the hell is the meaning of this? You idiots are all on the same side here."

  "But, Sergeant—"

  "Shut your mouth, Jarvis. I didn't ask for another one of your BS lines. Now get the hell out of here back to your quarters. All of you. 4th Squad, too. No chow for anyone. And seeing as you are all so eager to burn off some energy, PT at 0400 MT. Do I make myself clear?"

  "Yes, Sergeant," every soldier groaned, Miles includes. If anybody piped up with even the slightest utterance of a sound, Reed would add something worse to their collective punishment.

  1st Squad left the area and were quickly followed by Larsen, Miles, and Matos. They strolled silently down the halls until Reed was out of range.

  "Great going, dipshits," Matos said. "Now we have to be up even earlier to run ourselves stupid around this base before heading out on patrol."

  "Wasn't my fault," Miles said. "They started this shit."

  "And you need to stop reacting," Larsen said. "Our own squad doesn't even want us around. If this keeps up, we'll end up stationed here permanently. Do you want that?"

  Miles muttered away to himself as they made it back to their quarters. Jarvis stood in their door, alone, arms crossed. Larsen stepped forward.

  "Out of the way, Jarvis."

  "I don't think so, assholes. We've got unfinished business."

  Miles tried to step forward, but Larsen held him back. "There's no unfinished business. We both got punished for that back there. Nothing else to it."

  "Not the way I see it. You 4th Squad posers have been dying for another ass kicking courtesy of 1st. Tomorrow we are going to give it to you. You three against three of ours. We're going to settle this once and for all."

  Larsen contemplated the idea for a moment. If they could take on three of 1st's goons and win, they might stand a chance of earning a slither of respect back from their own squad leader. Of course, if they lost, they would slide even further down the ladder.

  Larsen almost went to agree, but something about the look on Jarvis' face told him not to play the private's game.

  Miles answered the challenge without another thought. "We'll be there. After PT. Us three against whichever three of yours who want the beating of their lives."

  "Done," Jarvis said. He brushed past Larsen and came within an inch of Miles' steaming face. The two stared each other down as if the fight were about to happen then and there. Neither soldier flinched as Jarvis strolled away.

  "Private Jarvis," Reed called from down the other end of the hallway. "To your quarters, now."

  The soldier complied as he held his stare.

  Once the dust had settled, Miles seemed happy with himself. Matos didn't agree as she slapped him across the chest. "Thanks a lot, idiot. Now we don't have a damn choice."

  Chapte r Two

  Larsen's alarm blared away on the SAF appointed NavComm attached to his arm. The wrist tablet was the official all-in-one device soldiers of the SAF used for communications as well as a host of other tedious functions Command needed the personnel to have at the tip of their fingers.

  He liked to sleep with the NavComm on in case anything untoward went down on the base. It was a habit drilled into him from his CO during Basic.

  The time read 0345 MT, just four hours after he managed to fall asleep. The pending PT and fight were enough to keep him awake most of the night.

  "Miles," Larsen muttered as he remembered who generally caused all 4th Squad's latest problems. Realistically, it was Saxon's complete lack of control making him a useless team leader that allowed soldiers like Miles to continue unchecked.

  "Up and at 'em," Miles said from the top bunk as he swung his head over the edge. The private dropped down and landed with a thud loud enough to wake the entire base up. He stood tall in his PT fatigues, raring to go. Larsen could tell he had slept all night without so much of a wink missed while the rest of his fire team carried the burden.

  "Come on, Larsen. We've got PT and a fight to start our day. Don't be so glum."

  Larsen shook his head as he held back from telling Miles where to shove his bright demeanor. "I'm getting up. Why are you so eager to fight these clowns? There's a good chance they'll kick our asses in front of everyone, you know?"

  Miles screwed up his brow in a moment of contemplation. "The thought never crossed my mind."

  A pillow flew at the side of Miles' head and bounced off the private. "Shut up," Matos yelled. "We've still got a few minutes left before this hellish day starts. Take your damn conversation elsewhere."

  Miles mocked Matos by shaking his palms with false fear as he muttered under his breath. He faced Larsen and held out a hand. "Come on, soldier. Time to get your ass up."

  "Fine," Larsen said, accepting the help. Miles pulled him out from his covers to his feet and slapped his PT gear into his chest.

  "Jesus, you're keen to get your ass beaten to a pulp," Larsen said.

  Miles scoffed. "Not gonna happen. Those 1st Squad losers are all talk. Jarvis will regret setting this up; I can tell you that."

  Larsen half concealed a smirk. "I'm sure he will."

  After a few more minutes of waking up, Larsen got dressed and coaxed a defiant Matos out of her rack the way he always needed to any time they had extra PT or an early patrol. There was a reason she was in 4th Squad. There was a reason they all were.

  Larsen didn't like to think about his own faults dragging him down. The easier option seemed to be finding the failings of everyone around him and shift the blame.


  The three soldiers met up with Corporal Saxon in the training dome on the north side of the base. 1st Squad was already there running extra laps.

  "Where the hell have you three been?" Saxon barked. "1st Squad has apparently been here for half an hour making us look like idiots."

  Matos scoffed. "We're a few minutes early, Corporal."

  Saxon didn't take her comment lying down as he stomped the last step toward her face. "One more peep out of you and I'll ask that this extra session becomes a daily requirement for you all. Got it?"

  Larsen jumped in with a "yes, Corporal" before Matos found an opportunity to vomit her thoughts out. The corporal was still pissed off at them over the extra PT session he had to attend because of his fire team's lack of discipline. Larsen wondered if Saxon ever thought about his own incompetence being the reason why his end of 4th Squad was always finding themselves in trouble.

  "All right. Get out there and start running laps. At least make it look like you pukes want to be here."

  "Yes, Corporal," the three of them said as they started to jog out behind 1st. They kept their distance from the twelve soldiers moving as one. Larsen didn't want Saxon to know about the fight they'd arranged after PT. He worried the corporal would somehow make the situation worse.

  The PT session was as grueling as expected. Sergeant Reed made them run laps broken up with push-ups that only got harder with every circuit completed. Once she tired of that little punishment, she broke out the big guns and made them all do the same task with weights strapped to their chests.

  After an hour and a half of breaking their collective spirits, the session was complete. Saxon came up to his three soldiers on the ground and shook his head. "That was pathetic. You're lucky I wasn't made to do that BS out there; otherwise, there'd be more hell to pay than that. Hit the showers and report for patrol straight after chow. We move out at 0600 MT sharp."

  The three groaned their acknowledgments. Miles tracked the corporal as he stomped away and left the area. "He's gone. Just enough time to fight."