Guardians of the Galactic Sentinel 1: The Deimos Artifact Read Online Free Page B
Author: Phillip Nolte
combat that he was currently experiencing had provided him with both time and opportunity to reflect on a few things.
He was almost finished with his first four-year term in the Federation Navy Marine Corps and, up until the events of last week, had been intending to re-up. Now he was beginning to wonder if he should seriously consider some other options. This business with his recently deceased uncle's affairs had also been nagging at him. What did he know of complicated finances and investments? Not only that, he was feeling more than a little remorseful that he hadn't been more diligent over the last several years in corresponding with the man who had been his legal guardian. He was also feeling a little lost. Marvin Pangbourne had been Zack's sole remaining relative.
The Navy had been able to book him their customary free passage on the huge liner at the last minute, for which he was grateful. He had little in common with any of the other passengers and hadn't felt much like socializing. Instead, he had spent much of the journey on the darkened observation deck gazing out at an ever-shifting tapestry of stars slightly distorted by the sublight drive field of the huge ship, a view he never seemed to get tired of. He had also spent a fair amount of that time looking inward. As he reflected on the last several years, he had to admit that the Marine Corps had been good to him even if the duty was difficult, dangerous and often outright terrifying.
Much of Zack's time in the Corps had been spent in combat against rebellious populations on one colony world or another. Many of the colonists were, by nature, fiercely independent and resented any kind of Federation intrusion into their everyday lives. More than anything, they hated Federation taxes. After his nearly four years in the Marines, the various conflicts actually appeared to be heating up rather than settling down.
The situation on New Slovenia, with someone boldly supplying the rebel forces with Soviet weapons, represented a new and disturbing development. When confronted, the Soviets claimed that a sizable shipment of their weapons had been high-jacked and they didn't know who was responsible, providing them with an effective, if only barely plausible, alibi. If the same thing was happening on some of the other colony planets, things could only get worse. Not to mention more hazardous.
Zack had originally been trained in engineering which, oddly enough, had qualified him for a berth on one of the Marine Corps' armored hovercraft. On the first hovercraft he'd been assigned to, Zack had been given secondary roles as backup engineer and, probably his favorite, backup gunner for the craft's twin pulse-beam gun emplacement.
While he had spent a portion of his time fulfilling each of those roles in the twelve-man crews of several subsequent hovercraft, Zack had also seen plenty of time as a ground pounder. Most of his combat time for the first year or so had been spent wearing a set of light duty semi-powered battle armor, toting a pulse rifle. The individual hovercraft units often operated solo and though the machines were extremely formidable, you couldn't go inside a building with one. That activity required boots on the ground.
Partially through an extraordinarily high rate of attrition and partially by demonstrating a high level of competence, Zack had been awarded a battlefield promotion to the rank of second lieutenant and given command of his own hovercraft just over six months ago. True to form, he had excelled in that role as well. The attack he'd been leading on the village wherein he had ordered the highly effective but controversial missile attack had been his first assignment as a unit commander. Since he had been at least temporarily busted back to corporal after the incident, it could well have been his last. He couldn't help but wonder if his somewhat unconventional promotion to Lieutenant also had something to do with the unreasonable attitude of the
He was almost finished with his first four-year term in the Federation Navy Marine Corps and, up until the events of last week, had been intending to re-up. Now he was beginning to wonder if he should seriously consider some other options. This business with his recently deceased uncle's affairs had also been nagging at him. What did he know of complicated finances and investments? Not only that, he was feeling more than a little remorseful that he hadn't been more diligent over the last several years in corresponding with the man who had been his legal guardian. He was also feeling a little lost. Marvin Pangbourne had been Zack's sole remaining relative.
The Navy had been able to book him their customary free passage on the huge liner at the last minute, for which he was grateful. He had little in common with any of the other passengers and hadn't felt much like socializing. Instead, he had spent much of the journey on the darkened observation deck gazing out at an ever-shifting tapestry of stars slightly distorted by the sublight drive field of the huge ship, a view he never seemed to get tired of. He had also spent a fair amount of that time looking inward. As he reflected on the last several years, he had to admit that the Marine Corps had been good to him even if the duty was difficult, dangerous and often outright terrifying.
Much of Zack's time in the Corps had been spent in combat against rebellious populations on one colony world or another. Many of the colonists were, by nature, fiercely independent and resented any kind of Federation intrusion into their everyday lives. More than anything, they hated Federation taxes. After his nearly four years in the Marines, the various conflicts actually appeared to be heating up rather than settling down.
The situation on New Slovenia, with someone boldly supplying the rebel forces with Soviet weapons, represented a new and disturbing development. When confronted, the Soviets claimed that a sizable shipment of their weapons had been high-jacked and they didn't know who was responsible, providing them with an effective, if only barely plausible, alibi. If the same thing was happening on some of the other colony planets, things could only get worse. Not to mention more hazardous.
Zack had originally been trained in engineering which, oddly enough, had qualified him for a berth on one of the Marine Corps' armored hovercraft. On the first hovercraft he'd been assigned to, Zack had been given secondary roles as backup engineer and, probably his favorite, backup gunner for the craft's twin pulse-beam gun emplacement.
While he had spent a portion of his time fulfilling each of those roles in the twelve-man crews of several subsequent hovercraft, Zack had also seen plenty of time as a ground pounder. Most of his combat time for the first year or so had been spent wearing a set of light duty semi-powered battle armor, toting a pulse rifle. The individual hovercraft units often operated solo and though the machines were extremely formidable, you couldn't go inside a building with one. That activity required boots on the ground.
Partially through an extraordinarily high rate of attrition and partially by demonstrating a high level of competence, Zack had been awarded a battlefield promotion to the rank of second lieutenant and given command of his own hovercraft just over six months ago. True to form, he had excelled in that role as well. The attack he'd been leading on the village wherein he had ordered the highly effective but controversial missile attack had been his first assignment as a unit commander. Since he had been at least temporarily busted back to corporal after the incident, it could well have been his last. He couldn't help but wonder if his somewhat unconventional promotion to Lieutenant also had something to do with the unreasonable attitude of the
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