Crisis a military scifi.., p.1
Crisis: A Military Scifi Epic (Blue Sun Armada, Book 2), page 1
Copyright © 2021 by Scott Moon
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Book Order
BLUE SUN ARMADA
Blue Sun Armada
Crisis
A MECH WARRIOR’S TALE
(SHORTYVERSE)
Shorty
Kill Me Now
Ground Pounder
Shorty and the Brits
Fight for Doomsday (A Novel)… coming soon.
CHRONICLES OF KIN ROLAND
Enemy of Man: The Chronicles of Kin Roland: Book 1
Son of Orlan: The Chronicles of Kin Roland: Book 2
Weapons of Earth: The Chronicles of Kin Roland: Book 3
DARKLANDING
Assignment Darklanding Book 1
Ike Shot the Sheriff: Assignment Darklanding: Book 2
Outlaws: Assignment Darklanding Book 3
Runaway: Assignment Darklanding Book 4
An Unglok Murder: Assignment Darklanding Book 05
SAGCON: Assignment Darklanding Book 6
Race to the Finish: Assignment Darklanding Book 7
Boom Town: Assignment Darklanding Book 8
A Warrior's Home: Assignment Darklanding Book 9
Hunter: Assignment Darklanding Book 10
Diver Down: Assignment Darklanding Book 11
Empire: Assignment Darklanding Book 12
FALL OF PROMISEDALE
Death by Werewolf (The Fall of Promisedale Book 1)
GRENDEL UPRISING
Proof of Death: Grendel Uprising: Book 1
Blood Royal: Grendel Uprising: Book 2
Grendel: Grendel Uprising: Book 3
SMC MARAUDERS
Bayonet Dawn: SMC Marauders: Book 1
Burning Sun: SMC Marauders: Book 2
The Forever Siren: SMC Marauders: Book 3
SON OF A DRAGONSLAYER
Dragon Badge (Son of a Dragonslayer Book 1)
Dragon Attack (Son of a Dragonslayer Book 2)
Dragon Land (Son of a Dragonslayer Book 3)
TERRAN STRIKE MARINES
The Dotari Salvation: Terran Strike Marines: Book 1
Rage of Winter: Terran Strike Marines: Book 2
Valdar’s Hammer: Terran Strike Marines: Book 3
The Beast of Eridu: Terran Strike Marines: Book 4
THE LAST REAPER
The Last Reaper
Fear the Reaper
Blade of the Reaper
Wings of the Reaper
Flight of the Reaper
Wrath of the Reaper
Will of the Reaper
Descent of the Reaper
Hunt of the Reaper
Bastion of the Reaper
THEY CAME FOR BLOOD
Invasion Day
Resistance Day
Victory Day
Alien Apocalypse
SHORT STORIES
Boss
Fire Prince
Ice Field
Sgt. Orlan: Hero of Man
The Darklady
ASSASSIN PRIME
The Hand of Empyrean: Assassin Prime 1
Spiderfall: Assassin Prime 2
Crisis
Blue Sun Armada, Book 2
Scott Moon
Book Description
Fleeing from the vengeful King Gerard and his allies, Ron Marlboro takes a desperate gamble. The half-finished, sabotage-plagued armada is unprepared for either fight or flight. With supplies of everything running dangerously low, they stop at an abandoned space station to salvage anything they can find.
The Exactas Meridias mining facility has a secret no one could have guessed. With his best troops locked in a deck to deck battle for survival, Ron and his allies will encounter an alien presence while simultaneously defending against the vengeful assault of the Gildain fleet.
Can he retrieve his people and secure the resources he needs for a journey across the galaxy? Will the Talgar demand a price he can’t pay? Has his feud with King Gerard doomed them all?
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
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
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About the author
1
Duke Ron Marlboro stood on the command deck of the BSA Indomitable with his people around him. Patricia Marlboro-Wilson, who had always been his rock, watched the view screen intently. Gregory, his eldest son, stood at his side, ready to command. Victor and Peps were there as well, watching with unreadable emotions as the fleet moved away from Gildain.
Fortune raced ahead of the ragtag fleet in one of the strike force carriers that could deploy two squadrons of void fighters each—one always on standby to support the other. Soon she would deploy to scout the asteroid belt, an operation only slightly more dangerous than navigating around half finished, poorly crewed ships that couldn’t stay out of each other’s flight vectors without a direct order.
Redundant backups, even for scout missions, had been Fortune’s first suggestion, and a good one. He wished she would talk to him. The young woman hadn’t been the same since escaping Martin Gerard’s gilded prison.
He’s no “King” Martin Gerard, not to me. Not ever again. If Ron returned to the planet, it would be under different circumstances. He wasn’t sure he could bear to see his home torn apart by civil war. Leave with dignity and start fresh—that was the correct choice.
But can we? There is no guarantee we survive a year. With less than half the fleet required for an expedition, and what we have is half finished, poorly staffed, and weakly supplied… This is a fool’s errand.
Ron wasn’t accustomed to the command deck of a ship. There were so many people required to operate the aging destroyer—especially while remaining at perpetual battle stations. He needed to factor in some downtime. A nice, chaotic ground operation would be so much easier—some accelerator gunfire here, swinging his power-sword there...
Captain Roth and his executive officer XO Commander David Kane strapped themselves to their workstations—reinforced chairs covered with sensors, tactical screens, and controls not unlike the inside of a mech. A host of officers—navigation, weapons, science, and others—were hooked into similar workstations.
The captain was tall, lean, and sported a close-cropped beard with streaks of gray. His dark blue uniform fit perfectly—functional but formal in a way only fleet officers could manage. The executive officer stood even taller, with the same martial bearing Ron admired. Ebony-skinned, fifteen years younger than his boss, the man exuded vitality and professionalism.
Ron imagined the exterior armor of a Mechanized Electro-Nuclear Combat Hulk peeled down to its guts—and saw something like an officer’s fleet chair. Primary fleet officers didn’t really sit in the chairs; they wore them. They could stand and move around under certain circumstances, then click into the deck when needed.
The apparatus would also protect them if the BSA Indomitable got blown to hell.
Grim thought, Ron.
Men and women, young and old, from every region of Gildain comprised the crew. The diversity of volunteers reassured him. More than just his family and close allies had joined the Blue Sun adventure. Somewhere out there were the Ancient People of Earth, the APEs as historians called them.
He hadn’t been the only one who’d played at finding the ancients during hours of childhood make-believe.
All activities came to a stop as Gildain faded away. Numbers representing distances changed rapidly on all four edges of the main view screen. The fleet navigation officer, Lieutenant Sarah Vorton, reported to Captain Roth in a low voice as the others worked at their tasks.
The BSA Indomitable, his flagship, was not the largest vessel in the fleet, but it was the only one with a military service record, having briefly engaged the Zezner in one of the rare void battles that occurred almost fifty years ago. Ron remembered reading about the incident and watching dozens of news videos in his relative youth. She was a fine ship, and he was honored to have her.
Ron looked to his own screen, counting fleet assets. Just like fighting in a mech battle, looking at the details calmed him when times were the most dangerous. Few, if any, people on the command deck were watching h
Checking on the fleet formation wasn’t that much different from taking a head count during a ground operation, surely.
Can a ground pounder run a fleet?
There was his flagship, three battleships, eleven cruisers, thirty-one corvettes with barely enough armor to be considered warships, forty troop transport and support vessels that housed civilians, some military, and the many resources that would be needed for this voyage. They had no weapons to speak of and their armor was made for withstanding radiation, space dust (deadly when moving through it at a fraction of light speed), and the hopefully rare asteroid. But their armor could do little against enemy weapons. Civilian ships would need to be protected when things got rough.
Each house had their own task force of ships, some with several—like Danestar, who had the Danestar, the Steadfast, and a collection of smaller merchant class vessels. Other houses only had one, like House Redwine with its BSA Redwine.
There were the two agricultural behemoths—the Garden Box and the Sunrise—and the single foundry ship he’d managed to steal, formerly the Royal Gildain Fleet (RGF) Honorable. Everyone called it the BSA Anchor. With four horizontal sections radiating from the bow, and a kilometer-long main hull, it resembled an anchor drifting into a sea of stars.
And it was slow enough to drag the rest of the fleet down.
Ron had attempted to seize the other functional foundries but abandoned them when he learned their crews were less compliant than those of the Anchor, and neither vessel had fuel or other critical supplies to survive long away from Gildain.
Instead, he had the Raw Prosperity, a giant mining freighter that could be converted into a second foundry… hopefully. That would give him two when he needed three.
His thoughts shifted toward their destination. The orders had already been issued and could not be altered without undermining the crew’s confidence in him. They were en route to the asteroid belt, far away from their home, to seek raw materials. With luck, there would be some remnants of the Exactas Meridias, or maybe even lost ships that could be salvaged. Patricia called him a dreamer, and she was right.
“Duke,” Captain Roth said softly.
Ron faced the man, giving him the respect a captain deserved on his own ship. “Yes, Captain.”
“Gerard and Spirit are pursuing. Atana is hanging back but also joining the chase. Bronc has placed their fleet, if you dare to call it that, in orbit around Gildain,” Captain Roth said.
“What is your assessment?” Ron asked.
“None of them will chase for long,” Captain Roth said. “They have significantly less training time in the void than we do, and their ships aren’t prepped for more than a week’s separation from the planet. If they follow very far, they will need to maintain supply lines using commercial freighters. Any ship captain worth his salt would be embarrassed by the grotesque inefficiency of such a tactic.”
“You know this?”
“I have friends on every ship, in every house. Fleeters are a close-knit group. We talked often before the onset of hostilities,” Captain Roth said. “Some of us hoped for a better scenario.”
“I’m sorry to break up that community.” Ron kept his apologies short but sincere, as was his habit.
Captain Roth remained stoic, except for a lighthearted look in his eyes. “Duke, that was not your doing. My friends in the other fleets will remain friends, outside of battle or other direct conflict, of course. It’s the fleeter’s code.”
“Outstanding,” Ron said. “My preference would be for no ship-to-ship combat. Please see if we can outrun them.”
“They could have caught us, had they desired to engage. The civilian ships, especially the foundry vessel, are slowing us down.”
“Keep me informed, Captain. I’m going to walk the decks,” Ron said.
“Of course, Duke.” Captain Roth returned to his duties.
Duke Uron Marlboro, possibly the biggest fool in the galaxy, left the bridge.
“Listen up, Boots,” Fortune said, double-checking her sensors to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. “We’ve got something. Might be the Meridias.”
Her wingman, BSA Lieutenant Xavier Boots, chuckled. “Why will I not be surprised if you actually found that old space tale?”
“Just stay tight. There are plenty of asteroids about,” she warned.
“Cause we’re in-but-not-in the asteroid belt,” he replied by rote. “Gotcha.”
“I already regret that observation,” she muttered, then easily evaded a slowly tumbling asteroid. Speed was relative, and what looked like a dense cluster of debris from five hundred thousand kilometers away was actually a low-density lane of the asteroid belt. Comforting thought, until she saw one of the rocks up close.
“When one smashes through our shields,” Boots quipped, “we’ll regret a lot of things.”
“Don’t count on your shields at all,” Fortune said. “They’re not made for that.”
“So far it doesn’t seem like these void fighters are made for anything,” he said, then went silent as he followed her around a half dozen smaller rocks a mere thousand meters apart.
Easy.
But it was never the asteroid you saw that caused the problems, was it?
“Check your sensors,” Fortune said.
“I see it,” Boots replied. “By the galactic space lanes, that’s a ragged hulk.”
“We’re going in close. I want video to back up our story.”
“Holding on your right at forty-five degrees below and fifty meters behind,” Boots said.
She checked her HUD and saw he was exactly where he said he was. Now, that is tight. Not many pilots could follow with so little margin for error between void fighters.
Good old reliable Boots. Too bad he couldn’t hold his liquor and had the poker face of a five-year-old on his first day of school. They’d clean up if they could gamble together as well as they flew together.
“Do you think we can salvage this thing?” Fortune asked.
“Not my department.” Sarcasm flowed. “But I don’t think there will be time. Sure, we’re dangerously short of supplies, raw materials… basically everything—but I heard your dad really pissed off the king, so that’s good.”
“Not my king,” Fortune snapped.
“Yeah, forget that guy. Not my king, either.”
They flew in silence, growing close enough to view the dark hulk with real time sensors.
The Exactas Meridias loomed like a steel and ceramic moon with the center cored out. Lacking power, it only appeared to have lights—each variation added by her fighter’s scout features. Invisible laser pulses combined with radar readings sketched a picture she could more easily understand. “Running full scans now.”
“Same,” Boots said.
“Going in.”
“Great idea.” Dry humor dripped from her wingman’s words.
“Plenty of room, and you know it. Look, those are docks on the inside.” She barely heard her own words. Fascination held her like an invisible lover, promising everything while surrendering nothing without a price. “Monty, enhance imagery.”
“You renamed your ship’s data boss?” Boots asked.
“Yeah, it used to be Boots, but I thought that was a stupid name, so I changed it.”
Boots laughed.
Her ship’s data boss—also known as computers, to tech gurus like House Hawk—added color to the display screen and sharpened the contrast of shadows that defined this dead vessel. The view screen didn’t exactly spring to life, but her imagination filled in the details. The Exactas Meridias had been a vibrant place, a city in space and then some. She pictured men and women loading freight onto ships at the docks. Her imaginary workers wore modified ABA suits to protect them from the void. She wasn’t sure, but the design of this loading area implied protection from the void without any visible barriers. That seemed like something out of a novel, or a holographic space drama.
