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  First Command

  Line of Battle No. 1

  W. P. Brothers

  Alena Publishing

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  In Alliance Year 836…

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  An Excerpt from Outpost

  Thank You

  Also by W. P. Brothers

  About the Author

  First Command

  Line of Battle No. 1

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  Published by Alena Publishing, 2017

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  Cover Design by Brutal Disorder Logos

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  Copyright ©2017 by W.P. Brothers

  All Rights Reserved

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the author’s permission. Please do not encourage or participate in illegal file sharing or piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s copyright. No one likes to work at their job without being paid. Please purchase only authorized editions.

  ISBN: 978-0-9977394-0-4

  This book is for anyone who gets lost in dreams of impossible things. To the hours of children playing make-believe with friends and siblings. To the arguments and fights over imaginary worlds, full of fake people, and the larger-than-life heroes whose sacrifices are worthy of stories. Follow those dreams, enjoy that magic, and treasure those stories.

  Acknowledgments

  In the more than three years it has taken me to complete this project, there have been many people who have supported me. I’d like to extend a heartfelt thank-you to the following individuals.

  To Angela, Wesley, Mallory and Oliver for supporting me day in and day out while I worked on this novel, hunched over my keyboard. You bunch lift me up when I’m down, and make life worth living. I am thankful daily to have you in my life.

  To Lee, Josh, and Boo. Your friendship and many geek sessions have inspired and motivated me. I am not sure where I would be without my heterosexual life partners. Friendships like ours are a rare thing these days. You three gents have helped me craft my ideas, hone my skills, and generally kept me focused. I don’t know where I would be without you three.

  To Chris and Ben, whose technical expertise helped me create a more realistic framework for my characters to live and play in.

  To Reggie, Zack, and Merry for your thoughts and suggestions. Your honesty and time were invaluable.

  To all those people in my life that I can’t mention by name — family, colleagues, and acquaintances who have inspired or supported me: you have my thanks.

  In Alliance Year 836…

  The grueling cold war between the Royal Alliance and the Milipa Empire engulfs the known galaxy. The Alliance stands virtually alone against the Milipa, its powerful Royal Navy the last defense against the forces that seek to destroy humanity. A small force of technologically superior ships, the Navy strains to stand guard against the chaos that surrounds it and defend its few remaining allies. Alongside the Navy’s other great capital ships — each one unique, a masterpiece of military engineering — the crew of the RAS Verdun will dare to confront the enemies of humanity. Her men and women fight and die over planets with no name, in skirmishes that don’t officially exist. But far from the Milipa frontier, other terrifying enemies wait for their chance to strike...

  Prologue

  Here we go.

  Lieutenant Kim Morden brought her rifle to rest snugly against her shoulder, racking the bolt. “Do it.”

  The young sergeant in front of her pulled the control box off the door and began to key in the override sequence. The room was dark, her helmet’s night vision visor highlighting his form in light green. His hands worked furiously, yanking and connecting wire after wire, trying to force the airlock open. Morden could feel her team’s tension growing, the moments stretching on, one into the next.

  Morden met Holsey’s gaze, shared a small smile. She was happy her friend was here. They had been so excited to be placed on the same fire team. It wasn’t often you were lucky enough to serve in the same unit as your best friend.

  The door slid open, hissing as the atmospheric pressure of the centuries-old station equalized with that of the corvette. Morden glanced at the tactical display built into her multi-function watch, confirming what the intelligence data had indicated: no heat signatures, nor any signs of electrical power in the immediate area of the docking bay. She willed herself to relax, releasing the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

  Get a grip, Kim.

  She spoke quietly into her ear piece. If something nasty was waiting, she wouldn’t give their position away. “Egstine, you have point. Brevel, cover the rear. Baker, Holsey, check the corners and doorways. Greene, Lefebvre, Xu, stay here and keep the porch light on for us.”

  Morden stepped forward and hurried through the hatch right behind Egstine. The rest of the team followed in the tight formation that exemplified the expertise of the Royal Marines, leaving Greene, Lefebvre, and Xu behind to guard the hatch.

  The atmosphere was heavy and reeked of the stale, musty, un-circulated air for which these older stations were infamous. It was unnaturally cold, and the icy air burned her lungs as she swept the room with her rifle. Her team spread out, checking the corners.

  “Clear.” Hansen’s voice crackled over Morden’s headset.

  With a deep humming, the automatic lights started to flicker on, blotting out her night vision. Morden deactivated her visor, blinking in the sickly yellow of the emergency lighting, the automated response to their presence, driven by the damaged AI core.

  At least something on this Godforsaken station works.

  Despite the thick condensation and weak lighting, Morden could make out the black body armor of her companions against the light gray of the surrounding walls.

  She tapped her radio mike. “Recon Team Echo to Ajax. Station breached. Proceeding to check point Alpha One.”

  “Echo, Ajax, acknowledged.” The destroyer’s response was barely audible. Obviously, whatever was making it hard to get clear scans was also fouling up communications. “Proceed with caution. We still have no readings out here.”

  Morden glanced to her left. “Hansen, get an additional repeater up.”

  He dropped to his knees, pulling the radio pack off his back. Hansen was built like a marine — broad shoulders, massive arms, and a square jaw. He had a handsome face, or Morden had always thought so, although she could never get herself to tell him. His technical prowess ma
de him more than a little arrogant, but she liked that hard-charging attitude.

  Then again, dating between fire team members was frowned upon by command, and Morden wasn’t as willing to break the rules as Holsey and Brevel. Morden saw Emma and Glen share one of their discreet looks. It had been the talk of the ship when they had announced their engagement. She had expected the captain to come down on them, but to her surprise, he hadn’t. Morden wouldn’t risk jeopardizing her career, even though it meant putting her attraction for Hansen aside.

  Morden took one last glance at the tactical readout, looking for any obvious signs of foul play. She couldn’t see any. The distress beacon that had called the Ajax here was routine. These older AI cores often suffered breakdowns. The communications and sensor problems were odd, but not unheard of. The five-person crew was likely stuck somewhere below deck trying to fix the 800-year-old AI computer.

  The routine nature of the operation didn’t make it easier. This was Morden’s first time leading a shore party, and she’d be damned if she’d let the captain down. She had always been a perfectionist, and anything except perfection was failure. That drive had propelled her to be first in her class at the Naval Academy.

  That was then, this was now.

  The captain had given this command to her. Anything but complete success was unacceptable. Morden took another deep breath, ignoring the tingle running up her spine, the animal instinct that allows ordinary people to respond savagely to danger. She refused to let those feelings control her. She wanted to lead with intelligence and skill.

  A real leader has no place for fear.

  Hansen stood up, finished with the repeater. Morden nodded to Brevel, who was waiting by the entrance to the lower levels. He popped the lock, and the team moved silently down into the station’s habitation decks.

  Morden growled, entering yet another empty hallway.

  Hansen spoke from just out of sight, his voice low. “All the doors are welded shut.”

  Holsey leaned into her. “Something’s fucking wrong here, Kimmy. These tin hulks are used for storage—”

  Morden waved her hand, glancing at the time on her watch.

  This was taking too long.

  They had been snaking through the bowls of the station for just under an hour, funneled through the empty corridors like mice trapped in a maze. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

  She shook it off. “Hansen, are communications still down?”

  He nodded his head. Morden tightened her grip on her rifle.

  Fucking technology.

  She wouldn’t let this happen. If she were to go by the book, she would have to pull out in the next five minutes to reestablish contact. She would have to admit failure. Unless…

  Morden thought back to the station’s schematics. The AI core was only a few decks down, and they could access the station’s transmitter from there. They wouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes overdue, and that would be better than slinking back to the Ajax in failure.

  This corridor should lead to the recreation room. From there, it would be an easy matter to blow the emergency hatch and drop directly into the AI core.

  Morden keyed her mike. “Squad, move down by twos.”

  The narrow passage was claustrophobic, the six door frames that lined its sides the only available cover. Baker and Holsey were in the lead, sweeping each door with their rifles.

  The light was improving, her team’s pace increasing. Morden started breathing hard, her nerves tightening with each step. The only sound besides their footfalls came from the circular automated door at the end of the hall. It was opening and closing slowly, knocking rhythmically against its frame.

  Morden’s heart leapt as Baker and Holsey jumped through the damaged door. They were close to the station’s core, close to their objective. She could taste it.

  The rest of the strike team followed Baker and Holsey through, then skidded to a halt just outside what looked like the recreation room.

  Morden waved to catch her squad’s attention. “Bachmen, Valmar, Glover, cover our six. Everyone else, clear the room.”

  The three men turned, taking positions to cover the door.

  Morden crossed the threshold into the recreation room. Circular with a high ceiling, it was the largest space they’d encountered so far. Unlike the rest of the station, it seemed to have partial power, bright light flooding from a service window on the left.

  Good. The crew must be alive.

  Against the wall next to her was a ladder that led up to a long catwalk suspended above the length of the room. At the end of the catwalk was a door that looked like it might lead to environmental access or gravity control.

  The walls were plastered with photos of centuries-dead people, the family and friends of every person who had served on this station. Wiring was exposed everywhere. Clearly the crew had worked on fixing the problem before the AI went off line.

  Holsey shouldered her rifle, wrinkling her nose. “Am I smelling eggs?”

  Brevel nodded. “If they left the kitchen robots on, shit happened fast.”

  Holsey caught her eyes. “Kimmy, I’ve got a bad feeling.”

  Morden brushed her off. “Not everyone likes food as much as you, Em.”

  She ran her gaze around the rest of the room. Emma was right — two large tables resting next to the service windows still held half-eaten plates of food.

  In the room’s center, the station’s inhabitants had set up four jet-black holochairs, their silver trim glinting against the clean white light. No wonder these idiots hadn’t fixed the station — they were clearly more concerned with relaxing in a virtual play world than doing their job.

  Morden walked towards the control station opposite the dining area. Its screens were on, though they showed only static. The console’s cool white color made it stand out from the rest of the dingy station, clearly a modern addition to the old facility.

  She stopped, catching sight of the hatchway to the station’s bowels. “Baker, get that hatch open. The rest of you, spread out, cover Baker. We don’t want anything ugly interrupting her.”

  Morden backed up, taking a knee by on one of the holochairs. She aimed at the door Baker was wiring. Hansen and Holsey took up positions on her left, while Brevel, Ditirk took her right. Egstine was standing behind them near the dining area, his eyes fixed on the catwalk.

  “Egstine, get in position.”

  He tensed, raising his rifle to his shoulder. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but never did. Several bursts from some hidden weapon tore into his torso from above, splitting him in two as their explosive rounds detonated inside him.

  He collapsed, dead.

  Those aren’t Milipa weapons.

  The room lit up as barbs hit all around the strike team, splintering metal walls and floors. The intense light from the weapons fire was blinding.

  Morden spun, firing controlled bursts up at the unseen enemy. She heard several other rifles opening fire nearby.

  Who the fuck is firing at us?

  “Ajax, Echo. We’re under attack.” Morden tried to keep her voice calm as she spoke into the hand mike clipped to her shoulder. If there was even a chance someone could still hear them—

  The holochair next to her came apart, sending debris clanging against the deck. Morden screamed as hot shrapnel hit her, cutting through her armor and tearing into her right arm.

  Baker turned and ran towards her, firing wildly, her Enfield breaking large chunks out of the wall and catwalk as her rapid shots went wild. She skidded to a halt and hung in mid-air before flying forwards, a deep bloody hole in her back.

  Brevel and Holsey had gotten to their feet, laying down accurate suppressing fire at the shapes moving above, the shadows falling back as the catwalk shook under the impact of gunfire.

  Morden had seen one massive body fall, cut down by their volley, but she couldn’t see it from where she was. Her mind raced through the possible identity of their attackers, drew a blank. She
strained to see the body, but her gaze landed instead on Baker.

  She struggled to her knee, pain searing through her shoulder. She had nothing to stop the bleeding. She reached up with her good arm, pressed her hand against the wound. Her vision blurred as she squeezed the wound as hard as she could, sending bolts of agony through her body. She used her injured arm to draw her Colt M7A1 pistol.

  She shimmied towards Baker, blood escaping her fingers, pooling in her gauntlet. If Baker was alive, Morden wouldn’t leave her.

  The hatchway door blew off its hinges, and Hansen and Ditirk jumped out of the way of the falling metal. She raised her pistol, emptying her magazine into the opening, biting her lip against the pain.

  Morden’s jaw dropped, her heart hammering against her breast bone.

  The Frontin.

  The smell of rotting flesh and rancid blood turned her stomach, forced bile into her throat. Her skin erupted in goose bumps, cold sweat trickling under her armor. The Frontin’s clawed arms and ten legs pulled its hideous, stinking body into the room. Her heart hammered against her armor. She had seen them only in training videos, knew of the horrors they brought to bear against their enemies. The drone was easily seven feet tall, eight blood-red eyes set in an arachnid’s head. Its black, pock-marked armor was covered in grotesque markings of disfigured human forms, written in what looked eerily like blood. It locked eyes with her and opened its mouth, revealing a row of rotting teeth and razor sharp pincers.

  We are so screwed.

  Morden slapped a new magazine into place, letting the blood run freely from her wound, ignoring the pain. The pistol kicked in her hand as she fired it repeatedly. The .45-caliber bullets split the creature’s head, a wave of green blood covering the wall as its body fell.

  Hansen tossed a grenade after it. An explosion tore from the corridor beyond, heat and debris washing over the room.