Rear Echelon

By Darryl S Ellrott

IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A STANDARD RESCUE MISSION

Private Travis Buckley and his friends from Bandit Company were strictly rear echelon types – a support platoon for the Alpha Elite Commandos of the Stellar Armada. When an orbital disaster destroys their ship, Travis and fellow survivors Ernie “Struts” McCaskey and Private Numbnuts go from being “in the rear with the gear” to the forefront of an improbable rescue mission that could plunge the entire Confederation into intergalactic war with the mysterious Machai Legion.
Dr. Arnac has been kidnapped by terrorists in black rumored to be a Machai death squad, only the Machai vanished into the depths of interstellar space centuries ago. Arnac is carrying a secret in his head that can’t be allowed to fall into enemy hands. Alpha Elite’s orders are clear: reacquire Dr. Arnac, or make sure he doesn’t leave Askura alive.
The survivors of the crash landing must mount a desperate rescue and fight their way across trackless jungles filled with ancient civilizations, exotic beauties, and deadly predators. If they can survive becoming bullet bait, they must lay siege to the lost city and halt the diabolical Machai plan to conquer Earth. The enemy didn’t count on one thing: Travis and the Bandits are determined not to fail!

Fans of James Cameron, Harry Harrison, and John Ringo will enjoy this classic tale of military SF adventure.

About the Authors

Darryl S. Ellrott spent nearly twenty years teaching English and coaching wrestling before becoming an author, culminating in his 2009 induction into the Georgia Chapter of the National Wrestling Hall of Fame. He has also published The New Southern Grappler newsletter and 30 Secrets to Recruiting Middle School Wrestlers.
Rear Echelon is his first foray into fiction.

Brent Mitchell Wood was a sergeant in the U.S. Marine Corps from 1984-1991, and served in Operation Desert Storm in Kuwait. When not plotting his next novella or devouring the latest in military SF, Brent can be found laboring in his shop as one of the top furniture makers in the southeast.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Big Rock Publishing
• Release date: Aug 17, 2011
• ISBN: 9781612880389

Darryl S Ellrott

Darryl S. Ellrott spent nearly twenty years teaching English and coaching wrestling before becoming an author, culminating in his 2009 induction into the Georgia Chapter of the National Wrestling Hall of Fame. He has also published The New Southern Grappler newsletter and 30 Secrets to Recruiting Middle School Wrestlers.

Book preview

Rear Echelon

by

Darryl S. Ellrott and Brent Mitchell Wood

Copyright 2011 by Darryl S. Ellrott and Brent Mitchell Wood

Published by Big Rock Publishing

Smashwords Edition

Big Rock Publishing and the company logo are trademarks.

Big Rock Publishing, LLC

P.O. Box 4315

Alpharetta, Georgia 30023

ISBN-13: 978-1-61288-038-9

ISBN-10: 1-61288-038-X

To Dilmus,

For hauling me up that mountain one more time.

Table of Contents

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

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

About the Authors

About Big Rock Publishing

Chapter 1

When the SAS Halsey came out of hyperspace over Askura and found herself staring down the barrels of an automated orbital defense platform, everyone knew it meant big trouble. In the thirty seconds it took for the shield generators to come online, the automated platform put six missiles into her underbelly. The ship was doomed, but the men below didn’t know it yet.

Travis Buckley and his teammates from Bandit Company were busy combat loading the assault shuttle when the missiles blew out the bottom of the massive troop carrier. Bandit Company had been assigned mission support for the Alpha Elite Squadron sent to rescue a kidnapped scientist from a stronghold located God-knew-where in the trackless jungles below. Travis, his friend Ernie Struts McCaskey, and Private Numbnuts were busy making sure Alpha Elite had what every mission required: beans, bullets, and band-aids.

In fact, it was Private Numbnuts who almost didn’t make it aboard when disaster struck. He was bucking four medical supply cases onboard with a hand truck at the time and getting chewed on by Sergeant Hardesty, who was supervising the load-in.

Numbnuts, I didn’t know they stacked shit that high! he griped. Numbnuts, who was one man tall and only a half a man wide, was bundling his oversized load aboard with less trouble than it should have taken. Hardesty was in a fouler mood than usual, but when wasn’t he? An Armada Marine lifer, Emil Hardesty was way past mandatory retirement age, and twenty years of brawling and boozing his way across half the galaxy had not made him any more patient with gangly, towheaded farm boys like Private Numbnuts. Rumor had it the lad was more than a few cards short of a full deck.

Travis and Struts, who had been with Numbnuts since boot, knew there was definitely more to their friend than met the eye. So, what’s the skinny on this bug hunt? asked Struts.

Well, rumor has it a Machai death squad snatched this guy Dr. Arnac right off his conference table at U.N. Headquarters, replied Travis.

Machai death squad! I thought they weren’t supposed to exist!

They don’t exist, stated Private Jenna Jones matter-of-factly. The Machai are just a fairy tale, a name for people no one’s seen in over a thousand years. A bunch of terrorists in black pajamas, I say. The perky redhead looked down again at her clipboard.

Aren’t they supposed to be devil worshippers? asked Private Darlene Penny Peabody. The brunette stopped trying to shift the crates into order and peered over her glasses.

I hear Askura’s a tropical paradise, and we’re all going ashore, said Struts. Alpha Elite’s gonna liberate the kidnapped scientist, while the fighting men of Bandit Company – he threw an arm around Travis’s shoulder, – are gonna liberate some native girls from their virginity.

Jenna snorted, while Penny blushed.

Speaking of the devil, here comes Hardesty, quipped Travis. Everyone smiled.

Hardesty spoke to the hulking Marines now trailing him. Driveway, you and Otto help the Bandits get this gear stowed away, pronto.

Aye aye, Top! cried the squad leader of Alpha Elite. Derek Driveway had met Travis when he, Struts, and Numbnuts has first arrived onboard the Halsey, and Travis thought Driveway was decent guy for an Alpha Dog. His teammate Otto Spielman, who frightened people and knew it, was not so popular.

Yeah! Why are you girls sitting around gossiping when there’s work to be done? He and Driveway went forward, while Jenna flipped off Otto behind his back.

Shuttle One’s cargo, one third of the supplies needed for the three-shuttle drop to Askura, was almost complete. The shuttle held enough guns, ammo, food, and medical supplies for about seventy five Marines. Sergeant Hardesty, however, was not the ranking officer aboard the shuttle at the moment. Captain Bainbridge was in the cockpit, making final adjustments to the Officer Level software upgrade for the shuttle’s battle computer. Buckley! the sergeant called.

Sir!

Hardesty tossed Travis a bottle of water. Take this forward to the Captain.

Sir, aye sir!

Travis found the cockpit smaller and more cramped than he had expected. Captain Bainbridge sat tapping intently on his touchpad, which fed wireless instructions to the flight computer. What is it, private? he asked without looking up. His deep voice spoke of comfortable command and relaxed confidence.

Buckley, sir. Sergeant Hardesty thought you might want this. He held out the bottle. At that moment, an earthquake seemed to strike the massive docking bay.

Emil Hardesty knew something was badly wrong when his ears were split by an unseen explosion and he felt the immediate wind of decompression. Hardesty grasped the bulkhead for support and with his right hand hauled Private Numbnuts inside a bare second before the loading doors slammed shut. He knew what was happening, and he knew seconds would count. He raised his voice to a leather-lunged battlefield roar.

Hull breach! he shouted. Everybody forward! Clear this hold! Move, move, move! Hardesty barreled up the catwalk hauling Numbnuts behind him and shoving the shocked members of Bandit company before him. The hard shell cargo cases, which lined both walls three deep, were locked in tight. Even before the impromptu crew had reached the passenger cabin, everyone felt the deck tilt beneath their feet as the ship went into an unpowered roll. Last through the hatch, Hardesty slammed the emergency seal as he bellowed for the others to strap in.

Exterior explosions rocked the shuttle. Crew members were tossed from floor to ceiling like balls in a lottery drawing. Jenna and Struts had been able to make it to their seats; others were not so lucky. They watched helplessly as one man flew head over heels into the bulkhead. As Captain Bainbridge tried to pilot the shuttle away from the disintegrating ship, Hardesty was able to get everyone to their seats.

In the cockpit, Captain Bainbridge worked furiously get the shuttle under control. Sit down, Buckley. We’ve got to put some distance between ourselves and the Halsey before it’s too late. Travis dropped into the co-pilot’s seat and hastily affixed the shoulder straps. What happened, sir? Travis’s voice was not so calm.

I don’t know. The docking bay disintegrated around us. The ship must have been hit. Can you see anything aft? Travis peered out the side window, straining for a glimpse behind him.

The Halsey was on fire in space. Though he could not hear the explosions through the vacuum, he could see the momentary flares and glows as combustion ate up the atmosphere inside the ship. The massive battleship listed badly, and Travis could see gaping holes in its underside.

Sir, the whole bottom of the ship’s been blown out! What hit us?

Bainbridge’s steely face was grim. Don’t know yet son, but she’s liable to go critical at any moment. If we don’t get away fast, we’ll go up with her.

What the hell is that? cried Travis as he pointed straight through the forward windshield. The black-on-black shape was hard to see against the background of the stars, but he could just make out the gun turrets which protruded from all sides. As the shuttle rocketed closer, Travis could see the rotation of missile platforms as they locked on.

Recognition dawned in the captain’s eyes. Orbital defense platform. It must have fired on us as we came out of hyperspace. Now it’s detected our thrusters. Hang on!

Travis could only look on as the robotic platform fired at them. Bainbridge tried to sling the shuttle’s tail around and clear of the oncoming rocket. He punched the intercom. Brace for impact! It was the Halsey herself who saved them. A white-hot plasma conduit ejected from the dying battleship intercepted the missile as it closed in for the kill. The rocket tracked onto the debris and detonated. Travis was thrown against the straps as the impact sent the shuttle into a wild tumble.

By the time Bainbridge got the ship righted again, virtually every readout board in the cockpit was flashing red. The captain flipped on the intercom again. Hardesty, how are we back there?

One wounded, no dead! came the familiar voice. We’ve got integrity in the forward crew compartments and probably the cargo hold, but I’m reading all reds and a partial vacuum in the starboard engine compartments astern! We’ve got no power right now!

You keep ‘em together back there, sergeant. We’re going in.

Aye, sir!

Bainbridge looked over at Travis as the blue and white of Askura slowly filled the windshield. We got lucky. The explosion blew out our starboard engine, but we’ve still got some power to port. We’re still too close to the Halsey. When she goes, we go. Down is our only option. I’ve got one chance to hit our window and dead-stick the landing, or we bounce off the atmosphere and never make planet fall.

What do I do? asked Travis.

Pray.

Pray? Pray for what?

Pray that the wings extend. This thing is about to become a falling brick. Without wings, first we’ll tumble, then we’ll burn up. Here goes nothing. He flipped the switch. Travis breathed an explosive sigh as the light turned green. The retractable delta wings slowly slid into position.

Bainbridge went to work on his de-orbit burn. Generous application of the forward control jets slowed the craft, which was hurtling along at close to 18,000 miles per hour, enough to drop it out of orbit. As they began to fall, Travis could actually see the pronounced curve of the planetary horizon begin to flatten out. Bainbridge pulled back on the stick slightly, assuming a forty degree up angle with the shuttle’s nose. If the angle was too steep, the ship would heat up and disintegrate. If it was too shallow, the wings would create lift. They would skip off the atmosphere and go careening back into orbit.

So far, so good, but we’re not out of the woods yet, Bainbridge told the crew over the intercom. "This next part will be rough. I’ve got to perform a series of banking S-turns as we re-enter the atmosphere to dissipate our speed more. We’re going to generate a lot of heat, and the g-forces will be high. I don’t