Descent into the Void: Frontier Saga, #1

By Steve P. Vincent

Enjoy this explosive science fiction series by USA Today Bestselling author Steve P. Vincent…

 

Sergeant Talon Stiler thought he'd been through hell. Then he got sent to Baker V.

 

Stiler thought he was out - discharged from the Terran Union Marines with all four limbs and a gold watch - until a devastating attack by the hated alien Dioscuri drags him right back in again. In a flash, a war fought on the frontier of human-controlled space comes close to home, pushing humanity to the brink.

 

Now responsible for the development of the Union's most secretive weapon system, Stiler and his ragtag crew of Marines have one chance to turn the tide of the war. Their mission: rescue a stranded scientist who might have discovered the key to winning the war from an occupied planet deep behind enemy lines.

 

And that's the easy bit…

 

If you like James S.A. Corey's The Expanse series, or novels by Frank Herbert, Kevin J. Anderson or Iian Banks, you'll be right at home in The Frontier Saga.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steve P. Vincent
• Release date: Nov 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215328224

Book preview

1

Rivet City, Murchison III

Murchison System

Gritting his teeth, Sergeant Talon Stiler hunkered down as low in the trench as his suit of power armor would allow. He keyed his comms. Get your heads down or your asses shot off, Marines!

The confirmations from Stiler’s squad were quickly drowned out by the drumbeat of explosions, like comets hitting the planet every half-second. Each impact of the naval-calibre railgun slugs, fired by the cruisers in orbit, made the ground rumble like Stiler was standing next to the bass speaker at the universe’s loudest rock concert.

Along the length of the trench, the other Marines were also hunched under cover, as they had been for days. A group of political zealots known as the United Liberation Front had taken control of the Rivet City and its defensive guns, and every effort by Stiler and the Marines to enter the city had been beaten back. Even the attempts to take down the guns using strikes from Vampire fighter-bombers had failed.

Frustrated, the Navy commander in charge of the liberation of the city had issued an ultimatum.  

Surrender or die.

But there’d been no surrender.

The naval barrage ceased and Stiler peered up over the lip of the trench. His eyes widened in shock. Motherfucker…

The bombardment had devastated the skyline of the city, toppling some skyscrapers and shattering those left standing. At ground level, Stiler knew it would be worse, with parks, roads, self-driving cars, and people atomized by the otherworldly firepower. Stiler had seen the effects of orbital bombardment before – the Terran Union’s standard doctrine for cracking tough nuts – but only ever on aliens like the hated Dioscuri.

Stiler! The voice of Corporal Gracie Liebowitz broke him out of his daze. You going to stand around while Preston’s squad beats us to the objective?

Stiler turned on the spot to face her. She had taken a few hits to her suit in the most recent engagement with the rebels. Her torso armor had a deep black scar running across it, while several large dents had been punched into her helmet. But, as always, she was ready for combat, a trusted second-in-command who’d been with him on a dozen missions over the last few years.

She raised the face-shield on her armor, her stern and gaunt features brightened by the smirk she flashed him. Don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental about the fate of a few pirates…

Lead them out, Gracie. Stiler’s smirk was hidden by his own visor. And tell the others that if we get to the target before Preston’s crew, the drinks are on me.

Don’t make a promise your credits can’t cover… Liebowitz laid the sarcasm on thick, then she switched to squad-wide comms. Let’s move, Marines!

Stiler’s watched as she and the rest of his squad – or what was left of it after a month of tough combat against the rebels – used the fusion jets on their power armor to clear the trenches, moving so fast that he wondered if his credits were in danger.

Damn. He had other uses in mind for that money.

Triggering his own jets, he ascended above the trench line, and winced as hypersonic railgun slugs the size of soccer balls whizzed by. Fired by the remaining defensive turrets, the rounds were only visible on Stiler’s heads-up display thanks to the red ‘tracer’ applied by the artificial intelligence network that connected the Marines. He’d rather not have the tracers, because if he was going to be atomized he’d rather not know about it, but the Marines didn’t give him that choice.

Looks like some turrets survived! Stiler barked as he descended to the no-man's-land between the trench and the battered cityscape. Keep it tight!

Typical Navy assholes! The voice of Private Amanda Pillar came over the comms. "Flatten everything but the pop guns!"

Stiler didn’t respond, focused instead on legging it towards the line of defenders dug into their own trench line on the outskirts of the city. Several of the rebel fighters were visible from here, and, still running at full speed, he leveled his carbine and fired a long burst of automatic fire. One, then two, then three of the rebels dropped, the rest firing their own small arms at the advancing Marines.

The back-and-forth chatter of automatic weaponry paled compared to the earth-shattering ordnance the cruisers had unleashed, but for the defenders it was no less deadly. As Stiler covered the ground, navigating the destroyed vehicles and corpses that littered the space, scores of rebels were cut down. The battle quickly became a rout, the Marines finally able to get to terms with their enemy now most of the heavy guns had been silenced.

Of the hundreds of Marines swarming across the battlefield, Stiler saw only a few drop, the power armor providing them with ample protection from the rebels’ inadequate firepower. In return, the Marines cut down the defenders in bunches. Although the rebel railgun turrets could ace any Marine they hit, there were so few left in commission that the battle was a foregone conclusion.

Through it all, Stiler had to admit it was nice beating on some patsies for once; it was better than being over-matched and slaughtered by the Dioscuri.

I’m in the trench! Liebowitz spoke over the comms as Stiler saw her disappear down into the earthworks – the enemy’s last line of defense. There are a lot of bodies…

When Stiler arrived a few moments later, he was taken aback by the bloodshed and the squalor. As well as the dozens of corpses, the trench was filled with mud, human filth, and moldy rations. It was like something from the history books back on Earth, a desperate army fighting in squalid conditions for the elites who claimed to care about them but were miles from the front lines.

The ULF.

The aim of the entire campaign was to kill the leaders of the rebellion, hiding away in the planet’s main Union Hold. The hardened complex usually housed the governor, the garrison, and the planetary administration staff, but had been taken over by the rebels. Yet while the orbital bombardment would have flattened the Hold’s buildings, the ULF leaders would be hiding deep in the subterranean levels beneath it.

All the while, those they’d brainwashed into fighting got slaughtered on the front line.

Stiler swept his carbine left and right, looking for survivors. At first, he noticed nothing amiss amongst the dead rebels, then a wracking cough drew his eyes to what he’d assumed to be another corpse. He immediately aimed his weapon… at a teenager, bloody, dirty, and hopeless, a haunted look on his face.

You sorry bastard… Stiler lowered his carbine and walked closer. As he approached, he keyed the external speakers on his power armor. Keep your hands still.

The teenager didn’t move, except to track Stiler with his eyes.

I’ve got some mopping up to do here, so keep the squad moving, Liebowitz, Stiler ordered over the comms, then sighed and opened the face-shield on his power armor. What’s your name?

The kid hesitated, clearly unsure why the Marine wasn’t cutting him down like the rest of his buddies. Gabe Jackson.

Stiler nodded, reached into a leg compartment on his power armor, then tossed the kid two pouches. That nutrigel will keep you fed for a day or so.

Jackson didn’t move, even as the packets landed in the mud in front of him. He just fixed Stiler with a searching look. Why are you helping me?

Stiler considered the question, his gaze locked onto the boy: a wounded kid who’d been dragooned into a fight that wouldn’t benefit him by a bunch of cowards hiding a mile from the front. Then he looked to the devastated city, now being overrun and further shot up by Marines angry at being bogged down for the last few weeks, a pointless fight when the Marines – and the Union – should be focused on the real enemy.

Because I’ve had my fill of shooting street kids playing soldier, and there’s going to be plenty more dying to go around before we beat the Dioscuri.

Wait… Jackson coughed, as Stiler was about to leave. If you want to save more lives, my old man works inside the Union Hold…

And?

And he can get you into the bunker where the leaders are hiding. Jackson’s voice was heavy with insinuation of what that would mean for the leadership of the ULF. None of us wanted this…

Stiler nodded, surprised at the boon a little kindness had won him. How do I get in touch with your dad?

2

"W hat did you say?"

By the time Stiler had caught up with his squad in the middle of the city, the Marines had been fighting block-by-block against a poorly equipped but well-entrenched force. In that time, he’d followed Jackson’s instructions for getting in touch with his father, at last patching through to the man on comms and slowly talking him around. True to his son’s word, the elder Jackson had been grateful enough to learn of his son’s survival that he offered a way into the heavily fortified Union Hold.

But Jackson Senior had more to spill than just a way to reach the ULF leadership.

They know the battle is over, the man said, his voice unwavering. They fought and lost, so now they want to punish the Union forces who’ve crushed their dreams.

But what they’re planning—

Will kill everyone in the city, including their own men, Jackson said. "To them, their own fighters failed, and so they don’t deserve to live either. That’s why I’m giving you the way into the bunker, because if you reach it and take them out, you might save everyone."

Stiler thought for a moment. Crouched behind cover in a ruined double story building, he had to decide now. If what Jackson said was true, the enemy leaders would already be in the final stages of sending a massive reactor into meltdown – the ultimate sacrifice. If they don’t win, nobody does.

He glanced at Liebowitz next to him, ready to execute any orders he might issue. Aside from her, he had the rest of the squad, currently in defensive positions in case any rebel shooters tried to re-take the ground. If the last hour of the battle was anything to go by, Stiler doubted they would be busy.

Find your son, get out of the city. I’ll do what I can. Stiler killed the link, then switched his comms to wide-band. This is Stiler to all units. Withdraw. We’re walking into a trap!

The response was instant – but not from the men on the ground.

Sergeant Stiler, this is Commander Osaka. The Naval officer, speaking from orbit, sounded irritated, her voice snappish. Last I checked you had orders to execute.

Yes ma’am, but we’ve come across some new intelligence, Stiler responded calmly. There’s a threat to the entire city and everyone in it – the ULF leadership is going to blow the reactor under the city.

What’s your source? Osaka asked, unimpressed. It had better be good, Sergeant, because we’re on the verge of a victory we’ve been trying to win for three weeks.

Stiler paused; he knew what came out of his mouth was unlikely to convince her. The father of an enemy fighter informed me…

And I don’t suppose that father might be a true believer, feeding us bullshit that sends us running away from a city we’ve only just taken?

"Commander, if he’s right, everyone in Rivet City – Marines, rebels, everyone – in fourteen minutes is going to be annihilated. I—"

Enough. Osaka’s voice was as cold as ice. Do your job or you’ll be replaced by someone who will.

The line went dead.

Stiler closed his eyes, pictured the ULF fighters – poor, dumb kids like Jackson and the countless others who’d been slaughtered already – and the Marines, his comrades, who should be fighting the Dioscuri, not other humans. Then there were the civilians, the helpless ordinary people caught between the two forces. He took a second to compose himself, exhaling slowly through his teeth with frustration.

Then he opened his eyes and looked at Liebowitz. We’ve got fourteen minutes to stop this.

Liebowitz shook her head, the skepticism clear on her face. It still makes little sense to me. The ULF hold out for weeks, now they’re just going to blow themselves – and us – to smithereens?

"No, not themselves. The leadership is safe in the bunker beneath the Union Hold."

Got it. Reactor blows. We die. Their fighters die. All the civilians die. But they survive, like cockroaches. She shrugged and lowered her face shield. Then we’ve got thirteen minutes to get to them…

Stiler grinned. He was still furious he hadn’t convinced Osaka of the danger, but was glad he had someone like Liebowitz by his side. Let’s go.

Liebowitz barked orders at the rest of the squad as Stiler lowered his face shield, then the lot of them took to the sky on their fusion jets. Jackson’s father had given Stiler the location of the secret entrance to the Union Hold bunker – they were only a short hop from it, five minutes max – but they were still in the middle of a war zone, and jumping from rooftop to rooftop was the best way to avoid combat.

A few times, Stiler was forced to peel off Marines from his squad to engage hostiles, but by the time they reached the objective he still had nine left with him from his original squad of twenty. From the outside, their destination was unremarkable: a warehouse in one of the city’s many industrial zones. Once they were inside, however, it was clear the entire structure was a blind, empty except for a bunker door.

They built this entire building to cover up a single doorway… Liebowitz scoffed as she tried the handle. Locked.

Not for long. Stiler gripped his carbine, and he looked around until he spotted one of his squad. Pillar, I need that door open.

Pillar handed her carbine off to one of the other Marines and approached. She retracted her face shield, her flaming red hair visible inside her helmet. I’m on it.

Stiler took a few steps back as she worked and winced as a bright flash of light flared near the door. The face-shield on his power armor adjusted to account for the sudden flare, protecting his vision, but the hinges on the door had no such protection against the small but incredibly powerful thermal cutter. In seconds, the thick, secure door gave way, and Stiler rushed through.

As fast as Pillar had been, the clock was still ticking down to the destruction of the city.

He found himself suddenly in the dark, standing in a dank escape tunnel that led from the Union Hold’s secure bunker, and triggered the exterior floodlight on his power armor before descending quickly into the depths.

Emerging into a large, cavernous room, Stiler felt the first shots pitter-patter off his power armor. He’d expected resistance – rebel shooters sheltered behind columns and overturned furniture – but the defender’s fire was wholly useless again his protection. As he and the other Marines moved further into the room, however, a grenade bounced on the ground in front of him…

Thermite! Stiler called out a warning as he aimed his carbine at the woman who’d thrown the grenade and took her out. Down!

He knew he was too close to escape the blast, just as he knew that, unlike small arms fire, the deadly thermite grenades could cut through power armor. In the split-second before it detonated, he dived for the deck, his head furthest away from the grenade in the hope any injuries would be to his lower body. As he hit the ground, the crump sound of the explosion was more muted than he’d expected.

And the fact he felt no pain at all meant something was wrong.

He sat up and saw Liebowitz face down on the ground, right where the grenade had landed.

Marines, neutralize those shooters! Now! Stiler barked into the comms, then shuffled over to his fallen friend and inspected the damage to her power armor. Talk to me, Gracie!

The armor had a gaping hole in the midriff, but was already working to keep her alive. Healgel was spewing onto the wound and rapidly solidifying to stop the blood loss. At the same time, life support systems would be pumping a cocktail of painkillers and adrenaline into her. Even so, with each passing second Stiler’s worry grew that the grenade had killed his most loyal ally and his best friend, a woman he’d served with for half his career.

Then, finally, she coughed.

"You could have jumped on the grenade, asshole. Her tirade ended in more coughing, then the face-shield on her armor retracted. That hurt."

Stiler’s body flooded with relief. If she was well enough to insult him, she’d likely through. You might finally win a medal, Gracie…

Asshole. She laughed, then winced. Sorry, boss, but I think I’m out for the final push, so get your ass moving.

We’ll get it done. Stiler climbed to his feet – the clock was still ticking, around five minutes remained. He keyed his comms. Pillar, stay back here with Gracie. The rest of you, on me!

He burst into a run, the others falling in behind him. Having already put down the few dozen rebel shooters, they met no further resistance the deeper they descended into the bunker. They quickly reached another large room, this one filled with well-dressed people sitting around on sofas, a jarring sight compared to the rebels Stiler and his squad had put down to get here.

I assume you guys are the leaders of the ULF? Stiler raised his carbine. "This is what you call a united front? Hiding down here while your people get slaughtered?"

Everyone plays their role, said a middle-aged man in a business suit. He seemed to speak on behalf of the others, showing no fear despite the squad of Marines in his sanctuary. You’re too late, you know?

I’ve got four minutes to convince you otherwise… Stiler aimed at him. One of you dies every fifteen seconds until the reactor is disarmed…

Wait! A nearby woman cried out. Unlike most of the high-ups in the room, she wore a uniform, the name-tag on its breast reading simply Chant. If I tell you how to disarm the reactor, you’ll keep us all alive?

My mission is to eradicate you all, but whoever gives me the means to stop the meltdown gets the chance to run and hide before the rest of the Marines get here… He stared hard at the woman. So, how about it?

3

San Angeles, Earth

Terran System

Stiler whistled a tune as his Corvus ground car pulled into his apartment tower’s parking compactor. He was so close to home, he could feel Miko’s embrace. After the self-driving vehicle was safely stowed, he’d take an elevator up to his apartment on the 409 th floor and surprise her. Saving Rivet City had earned him an early discharge, and he couldn’t wait to enjoy his new freedom with his wife.

He would never take that freedom for granted after the events on Murchison. Although he’d saved the Marines, the civilians, and the surviving ULF fighters – thousands of lives all up – he knew it could have easily been a catastrophe. True to his word, he’d let the woman who’d helped him avert the disaster – Chant – run for her life, so maybe he could even count her among the saved too.

As well as his release from the service, Stiler’s decisive action had also earned him a substantial bonus, much of which he’d spent at the bar buying his squad drinks, one last goodbye. The rest, he’d used to purchase a special gift for a special person.

You have arrived at your destination, the onboard virtual assistant chirped. Please exit the vehicle safely, after first checking your surroundings for other vehicles and vagrants.

Stiler climbed out of the car and then watched the compactor do its thing. It whirred to life and lifted the vehicle high into the parking complex, where it would be deposited alongside hundreds of other Corvuses identical to his, although Stiler would bet his own had far less mileage, given how infrequently he found himself on Earth.

As he walked to the front of the building, the sights and smells of downtown San Angeles hit him full in the face – the stink of the homeless citizens lining the streets, the suffocating humidity that stuck to his skin, the long shadow cast by apartment mega towers that blocked out the sun, and the crush of his fellow citizens pushing past each other on the sidewalk – a combination Stiler found overwhelming.

Almost as overpowering were the giant neon billboards that dominated every inch of space on the side of buildings. They advertised products that promised wealth, beauty, fashion