Duty, Honor or Death The Corps Sticks

By Ronald Wintrick

Lan Carter hated these windowless Troop Transports more than he hated anything else in life. It was true that he hated war in general, with every gram of his being, but yet he hated these windowless Troop Transports even more. A soldier couldn't see what he was being dropped into, was the whole issue! The Brass didn't want the Infantry Soldier to see what he, or she, was being dropped into, of course, because it only gave them time to become terrified. Terror was nonproductive.
That was fine for the fresh green newjacks, but he would have liked to be able to see in advance what he was being dumped into, so as to be able to formulate some kind of plan of action.
This was old business for Lan Carter, nor had he been unduly worried the first time the Space Corps had dropped him into hostile alien territory. This was like a slow Sunday afternoon back home on Calafga, a newly Reunified Prison Planet Colony World, and the place of his birth and youth.
Any Prison Colony World could petition for Reunification when they proved to the Federation that they had gained and could maintain a free, Democratic and, nearly, crime free society. It had taken Calafga seven hundred and fifty six years, Standards, to gain that stability, and now, Reunified, she was becoming nearly as modern and civilized as some of her oldest brethren.
It had been a rocky road for Calafga, with near constant warfare and barbarian warlords the main form of government for most of that time. Communications with the Federation, when communications technology was finally reinvented, brought hope and purpose and the mobilization of the people.
The Army of Liberation, as they had called themselves in their early years, and of whom Lan Carter had become a member, had slowly marched across the planet, annihilating all who stood before them in their grand purpose of Democracy and Reunification. It was the bloodiest and worst time in all of Calafga's bloody years of existence, but it had ended in Reunification and the restoration of civilization for the beleaguered world.
So warfare was all Lan Carter knew. Calafga had no need of him once the last of the resistance was crushed. It often happened that way, that those who had been so necessary so recently were now a liability and a danger to the new, evolved society. Service in the Space Corps, who certainly did need men and women with Lan's particular qualities, was his ticket off Calafga.
A man of Carter's characteristics would have only found troubles in the new society. Under Calafga's new laws, trouble meant a one way ride to a new Prison Planet, one that had not yet been Reunified! That was the last thing Carter wanted, after having fought so hard already on Calafga.
So Carter signed for a ten year hitch in the Space Corps Infantry Division. Ten was the minimum. He was just beginning his fifth year.
The war here on Barcene would be no more than a minor skirmish. The indigenous race which called this place home were a space-faring race, or had been before the Navy Division of the Space Corps had annihilated their small armada, but their technology was thousands of years behind man's. The fight would be very one-sided!
One-sided did not mean there would be few or no casualties. It did not mean that at all. The planet would be pacified one alien at a time, until there were no aliens, and then it would become another home for mankind. The Corps did not destroy perfectly viable planets. There would be a lot of casualties! There always were. Always.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ronald Wintrick
• Release date: Jan 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005617202

Book preview

Chapter 1

Senator? Questioned the pretty, maple skinned Officer in the dress uniform of the Secret Service Branch of the Federated Space Corps, as she leaned in through the open hatchway of the Senator's Study.

The Study itself was a study in opulent décor. Rich, dark paneling adorned the walls. Handcrafted leather furnishings. Gold and brass fittings, trim, all polished to shining brilliance. Even the desk at which the Senator sat was an exquisite piece of modern carpentry, constructed by a master artificer (and all the more extraordinary in these days of computerized manufacture). Merely the trappings of the Office, however. In fact, the Senator was slightly embarrassed by the wealth of the setting, such extravagance being new to him. He was a man who normally lived quite modestly.

The Study was part of the accommodations of the heavily armed and armored Secret Service Yacht Benefactor, which was detailed for his personal use. Newly elected Senator Markis Baldwin was a rich man in his own right, but Benefactor and her use represented wealth well beyond his normal means. Seeing Baldwin look up, the woman took another step forward to stand directly inside the hatchway.

Yes, what is it? Baldwin asked, glad for the interruption from the computer screen and the reams of data he had been studying since yesterday and whose surface he had barely scratched. He was somehow supposed to thoroughly understand all of it, the whole lot, as the base essentials of his new position, before he arrived at Peshar. Peshar was the Planetary Seat of Government for the entire Federation, and where he would be living for at least the next four years. Peshar was 814 Light Years distant, but it was a journey of only thirty-four days. Thirty-four days and two hundred and seventeen Worm Hole Jumps. And his mind was already overloaded.

We are nearing Bali, Sir. You asked to be informed when we drew near. Colonel Rebecca Collins, his personal aide, bodyguard (the idea had at first amused him) and direct Military Liaison, said professionally. Also, though unsolicited, Rebecca, Colonel Collins, had made it clear that her duties could extend beyond the Office, beyond the professional, if he should so desire. Merely a part of her assigned activities, no more and no less. He had kindly thanked her, but had firmly said 'no'.

Though no prude and no longer married, his wife Belinda had divorced him three years previously, claiming that all he was interested in was his work, he found himself balking at the concept of sex as a perk of his Office.

Baldwin had been unaware of such extra perks inherent in the Office before he had run for it, and he wasn't sure he liked their significance now that he was aware of them, he was the rare honest politician, but that was entirely the jurisdiction of the Federated Space Corps, who were an entity nearly separate from the government itself, because even though they took their orders from the Senate and the President, their internal policies and procedures were not open to political debate. They ran their own house.

Thank you, Colonel. Baldwin said, trying to keep his eyes from straying from her face to her figure, which didn't necessarily help, because she was much more than merely pretty. She was genuinely stunning.

Temporarily failing, his eye traveled along the line of her figure. Her dark blue uniform was skin tight and the military style skirt allowed for a generous showing of her muscular legs, a product of continual exercise, no doubt, Baldwin thought. The blaster on her hip only acted to accentuate her look; she seemed a barbarian princess transported miraculously to modern times.

Her look and pure physical presence were deceiving, however. Though she was a Class A Security Technician, about which Baldwin only understood that it meant she was highly trained and dangerous, she was also intelligent and educated. This was her first posting after completing her educational process, which had been a long and very thorough one; he had been led to understand. She was the whole package.

The best view will be from the Bridge. If you'd like to accompany me forward, I can show you the way. Colonel Collins said. Her hands were locked behind her back at Parade Rest. Her spine was ram-rod straight. Yet she seemed quite comfortable. At ease. Though only classified as an Armed Yacht, Benefactor was of immense proportions. As he had learned after first boarding her, it was easy to get lost within her. It was the first thing he had done.

Suits me. Baldwin said. He shut down his computer and stood up to follow. She did an about-face and stepped out smartly ahead of him down the corridor outside his Study.

The corridor was close and confining, it boasted barely enough room for two wide-shouldered men to pass one another, contrasting the large and luxurious accommodations like his Study and Suite of rooms. Military ships were seldom if ever designed with large corridors, crew quarters, or anything else that was unnecessary. It was simply a waste of good space.

Baldwin found himself having a hard time keeping his eyes from straying below her shoulder level as he followed her. He was sure she was aware the effect she had on him, if the attitude she was putting into her walk was any sure indication. Was it possible he was imagining it? He did not think so.

Baldwin was forty-two Standards, but he could still be affected powerfully by the sight of a lithe, confident, attractive female. He hoped he would never grow too old for that. Yet he felt like a foolish schoolboy, the way she affected him, and all he had to do, if he wanted her, was to say so, but that was what made it so wrong.

As Special Prosecutor for Capital Crimes on Sarvan, his home-world and their point of origin on this voyage, 814 Light Years was a voyage under any conditions, in Baldwin's opinion, he had prosecuted all the worst cases worldwide; the rapes, murders, violent robberies, and lately a whole plethora of crimes reclassified into that category by an overzealous Planetary Congress.

Those who he had convicted he had sent here to Bali, the nearest of the Prison Colony Worlds. He'd sent tens of thousands; he was without mercy when it came time for the criminal to receive the reward he or she had so justly earned. That he was also the person who had decided the accused's innocence or guilt, the Judicial System had done away with juries and trials was beside the point. He had always tried to be impartial, but he had never shirked his duty, either. If he had thought them guilty, he had judged them and they were gone.

Baldwin couldn't say exactly what had prompted him to request that Benefactor make a stop here on its way out-system. He'd never seen a Prison Planet, this was actually his first trip off-world, ever, but that wasn't it. He didn't owe those he had sent here anything. They had earned what they had gotten. He didn't care about them, even though the circumstances into which he had sent them, both women and men, must have been stupendously horrible. No, none of that. It was that he owed his new life to these people. He had made his name a household item by prosecuting and sending them all here. A large enough name that when he ran for the Senate of Worlds, every planet sent a representative to the governing body that was the Federation of Human Worlds; he won Sarvan by a landslide. There was no more powerful position outside the Senate than the Presidency itself. Even the honest man feels the affinity for power such positions bring.

The visit to Bali was, well, his salute to these people, without whom he would not be where he was today. He was not embarrassed to admit it.

Colonel Collins led on while Baldwin considered the depth of his guilt. He had tried to be certain that he never sent an innocent man, or woman, to Bali, but might not it have been possible, that in his desire to make a name for himself as a tough Prosecutor, and thereby to deter criminals before they committed their crimes, as well, that he may have been overzealous a time or two, himself? He thought it entirely possible. More than likely, really. One had to be tough, though!

Well. A sentence to Bali, or any other of the Prison Planet Colony Worlds, was not necessarily a death sentence. Little is actually known about the inner workings of these places, though that was changing now that a great many had Reunified, but it was surmised that fresh internees were probably very much in demand; for labor, breeding purposes, and for the knowledge they brought, though it would likely be very different from world to world, or even from one place to the next on individual worlds. Almost all of the modern fiction writers based their novels and characters on the unknowns of the Prison Colony World settings these days. Baldwin had read a few of them himself.

When they arrived at Level 7, Benefactor was a total of 14 levels, Baldwin immediately recognized the heavy Security Hatchway at the end of the corridor. The Bridge lay behind that hatchway, he'd been there yesterday, after he first boarded, when he had given instructions to pass by Bali. The guard detail outside the sealed hatchway made it hard to miss.

Apparently the Space Corps took few risks, Baldwin thought, though who they thought might infiltrate an armed ship in-flight, then carry out a further assault on her Bridge, Baldwin couldn't rightly imagine. The risk, though negligible, must exist, or be thought to exist, because the two soldiers standing at attention looked deadly serious. The blast rifles in their hands did not detract from the image, either.

There was no joking around or banter as they approached, as he half expected. The thought had never crossed his mind before, but seeing the Space Corps about its business made him realize just how ill trained and unprofessional the Civil Authorities back on Sarvan were. If they had been trained to be as serious about their profession, that of catching criminals and preventing crime, as were the Space Corps about their business, Sarvan might be a nearly crime free world. As a Senator, Baldwin thought that there would be much he could do to rectify the situation, and would be doing, once he reached Peshar and was able to begin having an influence.

The two Troopers never so much as blinked as they approached, no flicker of eyes, no movement of body at all, to indicate an awareness of them as they came to a halt in front of them, but the flash of green light that struck their eyes, retinal scan, left no doubt that whoever was behind the armored hatchway had observed their approach.

With no other sign of acknowledgment, the Bridge Access Hatchway dilated open, just like the pupil of the human eye. Baldwin had no idea how the technology worked, only that it had something to do with the molecular redistribution of atoms, in other words, it could not be forced open when sealed, because there really was nothing there but a solid wall when it was not open. Collins led Baldwin inside and the hatchway sealed noiselessly behind them.

The Bridge also was startlingly in contrast to the close corridors leading up to it. Large and spacious. Luxurious accommodations at the many computerized consoles, most of which were empty. Those which were not vacant were occupied by the clean-cut men and women of the Space Corps Service, in their tailored blue uniforms that fit like second skins but allowed total range of free motion, made of some type of super elastic polymers. Though the uniforms covered everything but the women’s' legs, it left almost nothing to the imagination. The walls, ceiling and floor were the most stunning aspect of the Bridge, however. Baldwin appeared to be standing on nothing, absolutely nothing. The floor, walls and ceiling carried the actual present image of the environment around them, the environment outside the walls of the ship. Of space. He was standing on the star-studded blackness of empty space. Despite his familiarity with the system from yesterday, it was still more than a bit disconcerting.

I hope you're not subject to vertigo? The Captain said. At least Baldwin guessed that he was the Captain, judging by the epaulettes on his shoulders. This was his first meeting with the Captain, who had been off duty and asleep yesterday when Baldwin had boarded. The ship had been in the Second's hands at the time. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to salute the Captain or shake his hand, but the man didn't seem to be expecting either, so he didn't worry about it.

I hadn't any previous difficulties with it. Baldwin said.

That can change here. The Captain said with a smile that was white teeth set off by the darkness of his face. Not the darkest man Baldwin had ever seen, but one of them, in a race that was now nearly totally homogenized into that of one color and of mostly one physical appearance, of a light brown or maple that was a derivative of a mix of all of the previous main races of mankind. People of extremes, either dark or light, were far and in between. Race issues were a thing of the long gone past.

I can see how that could be possible. Baldwin said. To his visual senses, there was no reason for him not to float off into space, or for the Bridge to maintain its atmospheric integrity.

We approach Bali. The Captain now said, glancing around. Ahead of Benefactor, judging forward to be the direction the crew was facing, a tiny brown world had appeared and was gradually enlarging, indicating a rapid velocity. Very rapid!

What was your interest here? The Captain asked as he glanced back. Should we plan for an extended visit?

I have that authority? Baldwin asked dubiously, a little surprised. He had known that Benefactor had been put at his disposal, but hadn't been sure to what extent that had meant. The Captain proceeded to explain;

Benefactor and her crew are completely at your disposal, Senator. You want to vaporize Bali, you just say the word, I have to obey, but I wouldn't recommend such a course, not unless you can count on the rest of the Senate backing such an action. I have seen crazier things, though.

That wasn't exactly what I had in mind. Baldwin admitted. I only wanted to view it, and only for a moment or two, actually. I kind of thought I owed it to all the people I sent here.

The Captain seemed to take this statement at face value and no more and waved a hand toward the rapidly approaching world;

Well there she is. It's a pretty place. Seems a waste to have filled her with a bunch of convicts. If it was up to me I wouldn't have been so lenient!

There's many who feel the opposite. Baldwin said. That we're already much too harsh.

What do you feel, Senator? The Captain asked.

I sent them there. Here. A lot of them anyway. Baldwin said, now with a smile on his face. They earned it.

My sentiments exactly. The Captain said. Except just a bit too lenient. The Captain's smile now mirrored Baldwin's own, and he felt a strong kinship with the man.

They stood in silence for a while, watching mutely as Benefactor made her approach. As they neared, Baldwin saw numerous unnatural reflections, flashes of light surrounding Bali that were reflecting the System's Starlight, a bright yellow dwarf, in what were obviously orbital locations.

The number of reflections grew as they neared until it was obvious the world was entirely surrounded by the unnatural objects, which Baldwin guessed correctly to be some sort of satellite relay system. It was hard to estimate how many there were. The satellites themselves must be rotating or moving within their own stationary orbits, because the reflections would flash, then disappear, flash, then disappear, and there were hundreds, maybe thousands, of them all around the world. A twinkling kaleidoscope of lights.

What are all those for? Baldwin asked curiously. He could not imagine why a Prison Colony World would need such a comprehensive communications satellite system, but that was what it appeared to be. Didn't make sense.

Satellite Defensive System. The Captain said. We can't just have our prisoners walking off anytime they want, you know.

Walking off?

There were rescues in the early days. People who had friends. Recruitment, too.

Recruitment? Baldwin said.

Organized crime. The Captain explained.

I never thought of that. Baldwin admitted.

They did. Colonel Collins said, speaking up for the first time in the conversation.

There's none of that anymore. The Captain said. The Defensive System is quite effective. Take my word for that.

I'll bet. Baldwin said, seeing all of those twinkling lights.

Captain! Shouted a blue-uniformed crewman from a Console only meters distant from where they were standing, instantly grabbing their attention. The man's hands were flying over his keyboard frantically and he looked extremely agitated. Frightened, almost, Baldwin thought.

What is it? The Captain bellowed rushing to the crewman's side, looking over his shoulder at the data the man was manipulating. He looked deadly serious; there was no amusement on his face now. Baldwin couldn't imagine what it meant.

Sir, our Identification Beacon is malfunctioning! It's not broadcasting! The crewman said frantically. Somehow, for some reason, beads of sweat had sprung out upon his forehead and lent a heavy counter-point to his agitation. Whatever the problem, Baldwin thought, it was obviously very serious. The Captain's reaction, however, was much more extreme than what Baldwin had anticipated! He screamed;

Abort course! Then he spun and lunged for his own elevated Captain's Console/Command Station in the middle of the Bridge, but he was too late!

Baldwin watched horrified as the Satellite Defensive System did its job. Did so effectively, unemotionally, and with destructive thoroughness. Ocher bursts of needle-thin laser pulses speared out, striking Benefactor. Hundreds of them. Like a rain of fire!

The violent energies released upon Benefactor shook her unmercifully under their onslaught. Even her heavy armor was no match for the point-blank range fire of the deadly Defensive Satellites; the armor was peeled from her hull like the lid of a tin can under a massive can opener. The deck under Baldwin's feet leaped at the onslaught, throwing him into the air, then came rushing back up and he smashed headfirst into the Console of the crewman who had warned of the Identification Beacons failure in the first place. He struck hard.

White lightning flashed behind Baldwin's eyes as he struck, while red blood erupted from his temple, where the Console had split him like a soft grape. In the fog of onrushing black unconsciousness, he heard the thunder and rumblings that heralded the death of the ship. Deadly debris rained through the Bridge but somehow missed Baldwin's unconscious form, but of that he was unaware. He was completely unconscious.

Strange as such things went, the hammering explosions of the Satellite Defensive Systems' energy had jarred operational whatever faulty mechanism had caused the Identification Beacon to malfunction in the first place, and now it began sending out its signal to the simple computer minds of the Satellite Defensive System surrounding Bali, and the satellites attack, which should have continued until Benefactor were completely destroyed, suddenly ceased.

Baldwin was unaware. He was gripped within welcome unconsciousness. The now nearly lifeless ship slipped slowly into the upper atmosphere and began sinking toward the world below.

The Captain and most of the crew were dead. A nearby explosion had shattered the nearly indestructible nano-composite framework of the ship, raining five atom thick shards of the material, sharper edged than a shaving razor, throughout the Bridge, with horrendous result; shredding skin, muscle and bone like hamburger in a blender.

Crowded under the same Console on which, first, the crewmen had cried out his warning, and then on which Baldwin had struck his head, Colonel Collins looked out at the death and destruction with cool, evaluating eye.

It was clear to her that the attack had for some reason ended, but she had no idea that it would not soon resume, and she and the Senator were as safe as she could think to make them, partially sheltered by the nano-composite bulk of the crewman's Console itself, which had deflected the rain of debris, thus saving their lives.

The failure of the Bridge lighting system only a moment later left her with even fewer options. She was not completely without options, but needed to review what they were. Time was of the essence. The sound of hissing atmosphere somewhere not far off was not welcome. The Bridge's atmospheric integrity was no longer sacrosanct. There were probably huge sections of the hull torn away, if the rain of debris which had washed through the Bridge were any sure indication.

Long accustomed to spaceflight, Rebecca felt the pull and influence of the planet below as Benefactor slipped inexorably into her gravitational field, falling towards the surface a hundred and fifty kilometers below.

Benefactor was mangled and ruined. Lives had been lost. All Rebecca could bring herself to think, however, was how utterly and miserably she had failed in her duty.

Chapter 2

Lan Carter hated these windowless Troop Transports more than he hated anything else in life. It was true that he hated war in general, with every gram of his being, but yet he hated these windowless Troop Transports even more. A soldier couldn't see what he was being dropped into, was the whole issue. The Brass didn't want the Infantry Soldier to see what he, or she, was being dropped into, of course, because it only gave them time to become terrified. Terror was nonproductive.

That was fine for the fresh green new-jacks, but he would have liked to be able to see in advance what he was being dumped into, so as to be able to formulate some kind of plan of action. This was old business for Lan Carter, nor had he been unduly worried the first time the Space Corps had dropped him into hostile alien territory. This was like a slow Sunday afternoon back home on Calafga, a newly Reunified Prison Planet Colony World, and the place of his birth and youth.

Any Prison Colony World could petition for Reunification when they proved to the Federation that they had gained and could maintain a free, Democratic and, nearly, crime free society. It had taken Calafga seven hundred and fifty-six years, Standards, to gain that stability, and now, Reunified, she was becoming nearly as modern and civilized as some of her oldest brethren.

It had been a rocky road for Calafga, with near constant warfare and barbarian warlords the main form of government for most of that time. Communication with the Federation, when communications technology was finally reinvented, brought hope and purpose and the mobilization of the people.

The Army of Liberation, as they had called themselves in their early years, and of whom Lan Carter had become a member, had slowly marched across the planet, annihilating all who stood before them in their grand purpose of Democracy and Reunification. It was the bloodiest and worst time in all of Calafga's bloody years of existence, but it had ended in Reunification and the restoration of civilization for the beleaguered world.

So warfare was all Lan Carter knew. Calafga had no need of him once the last of the resistance was crushed. It often happened that way, that those who had been so necessary so recently were now a liability and a danger to the new, evolved society. Service in the Space Corps, who certainly did need men and women with Lan's particular qualities, was his ticket off Calafga.

A man of Carter's characteristics would have only found troubles in the new society. Under Calafga's new laws, trouble meant a one way ride to a new Prison Planet, one that had not yet been Reunified. That was the last thing Carter wanted, after having fought so hard already on Calafga.

So Carter signed for a ten year hitch in the Space Corps Infantry Division. Ten was the minimum. He was just beginning his fifth year.

The war here on Barcene would be no more than a minor skirmish. The indigenous race which called this place home were a space-faring race, or had been before the Navy Division of the Space Corps had annihilated their small armada, but their technology was thousands of years behind man. The fight would be very one-sided.

One-sided did not mean there would be few or no casualties. It did not mean that at all. The planet would be pacified one alien at a time, until there were no aliens, and then it would become another home for mankind. The Corps did not destroy perfectly viable planets. There would be a lot of casualties. There always were. Always.

The concussion of antiaircraft batteries, though they were firing at vessels which weren't specifically aircraft, rocked the Troop Transport as they flew in. We were traveling at many times the speed of sound. The AGP, Anti-Gravity Propulsion, of these small ships were capable of pulling them at extraordinary speeds, near Light Speed given the room to accelerate, but they were not equipped with Worm Whole Jump capacity, so you did not want to get stranded in one a long way from home, if for instance all the Jump capable ships were destroyed. The Speed of Light is abysmally slow when real Galactic distances are considered, much less Universal distances, as from one Galaxy to another, but for the purposes at hand, in use against a race that had just barely gotten off the surface of their own planet, it was more than sufficient.

The Troop Transport was full of fresh green new-jacks, Lan's term for new recruits on their way into their first battles. They would maintain their freshness for many battles, however many of them survived, that is. This particular Troop Transport held forty, but there were various other sized ships. Smaller was better as far as Lan Carter was concerned; it created more confusion for the enemy and kept the losses of each individual Transport to a manageable minimum.

Despite