Press Gang!

Savoie

Prologue

I want this done by the numbers people. No unnecessary violence. Sergeant Killian Connacher slowly panned his platoon, finally focusing on a marine smirking in the rear of the assault boat: That means you Olivetti. If I find one recruit with his nuts kicked in, I’ll leave you dirtside to deal with his family, Killian said without force. You hear me Marine?

Aye, aye, Sergeant, barked Lance Corporal Olivetti as he came to attention, smirk suddenly gone.

The rest of the platoon smiled inwardly, Olivetti had a reputation for using his boots unnecessarily. Not one of the Marines claimed to be an angel; however, Olivetti just seemed to enjoy going the extra mile.

The sulking Lance Corporal thought about objecting to his platoon sergeant’s warning. He studied the gleaming devices and ribbons on Killian’s chest: The Marine Space Combat Badge, the Marine Close Combat Badge, and the Navy Special Operations Badge, not to mention the Marine Medal of Valor with clasp, denoting a second awarding, and the Navy Distinguished Service Medal with diamond comet.

A thin layer of nervous perspiration formed on Olivetti’s brow, which he wiped away with the back of his hand. He decided that discretion would be the better part of valor, and kept the complaint to himself.

Nobody messed with Sergeant Killian Connacher. Just because he disapproved of physical violence to enforce his authority, did not mean he was an easy mark. His aversion to unnecessary violence, and his quiet manner, was in stark contrast to his savage abilities during close quarter combat.

Standby for zero g in one minute, the assault boat’s coxswain announced over the intercom in a tinny voice. A soft red glow replaced the harsh white lighting in the boat’s interior, indicating the impending transition from artificial ship’s gravity to freefall. Only ships larger than a sloop-of-war had the capacity for generating artificial gravity using the Podkletov device.

Killian appraised his section’s embarkation drill with a critical eye and harnessed himself into his combat couch. This was not an assault landing on a hostile world or a combat boarding of an enemy ship. It was a recruiting mission. Marine battle armor and heavy weapons were unnecessary. Truncheons, blackjacks, and fists would be the weapons of choice and necessity on this mission.

A recruiting mission...recruiting mission indeed, Killian shook his head trying to clear the images of his own recruitment into the Royal Terran Marines. Here I am commanding a recruiting mission... a bloody press gang! The memories of his own forced recruitment came flooding back to him in a raging torrent.

Chapter 1

Come on boys, hurry, HURRY, hissed Killian as he shoved his friends through the sliding doors. If they could get to the subway, they might get away from the men pursuing them. Crap, it is like herding cats! He thought. Years of strenuous physical labor on his family’s and neighborhood farms, and spare time spent on the rugby field had made him lean and fit. Killian knew he could easily outrun his pursuers but his university classmates were stumbling drunk and definitely not at their physical best.

I’m knackered...get yourself away lad, wheezed Killian’s best friend Colin, who was bent over double, laboring over each breath. Save yourself!

I’ll not leave you behind Colin, said Killian offering his hand. How would I ask your sister Merriam to wed without a good word from you?

Aaach...the wee lass can think of nothing else, smiled the young man despite the seriousness of the situation. He took Killian’s offered hand and used it as an advantage to stand up straight. We had better hurry if we want to catch up with the boys, said Colin pointing down the stairs with his chin."

Killian glanced back up the dark city block and could see that the gang of uniformed men were gaining ground and would soon be upon them. Who the bloody hell are these people? They don’t look like Constabs, thought Killian. The local police force, The Constabulary, were notoriously fat and out of shape. These men on the other hand were muscled, fit, and were gaining ground at an impressive pace. The Constabs would have given up the chase within a city block.

Killian could hear the high-speed subway train and feel the subtle change in air pressure as it decelerated on its approach to the platform. His mates were already there bent over double, laboring for each breath and gasping for air. Colin, get yourself and the boys onto the train! I’ll catch up with you later and we’ll have a sip and a laugh, said Killian, shoving his childhood friend down the last few steps.

Colin decided not to argue. Once that one gets an idea in his head there’s no dissuading him! He’s going to hold that whole gang off if it kills him, just so he can save our bloody skins, thought Killian’s young friend.

The pursuing men arrived at the top of the stairs just as the subway train was coming to a stop at the platform. Killian could hear Colin and his mates calling for him over the sound of high-pressure air releasing from the braking system, as they rushed for the opening doors of the train.

I only have to hold them off for a few moments before the doors close and the train is on its way, thought Killian. He decided that charging back up the stairs with his head down like an enraged bull would catch his pursuers by surprise, and slow them down just enough for his mates to make their escape.

As the doors on the subway train closed, all sounds of the struggle on the steps ceased. Colin watched in horror and admiration as Killian rushed up the stairs headlong into his pursuers, almost as if he was carrying the ball downfield in a rugby match.

Colin staggered as the train lurched forward. Killian and his attackers tumbled down the stairs in a chaos of arms, legs, and bodies, onto the platform. Colin could now clearly see the badges and markings on the uniforms. Although overheated from the exertion of the chase, he could feel an icy chill racing down his spine. It’s the Royal Terran Marines! It’s a bloody press gang!

As the subway train pulled away from the platform, Colin could see a swarm of men with truncheons and blackjacks beating a still defiant Killian. More than a few Marines lay unconscious on the subway platform, blood flowing from their mouths and noses attesting to Killian’s fierce defense.

Tears welled up in Colin’s eyes as the subway train sped away from the violence on the platform. He watched in grief and sorrow as Killian fell under a rain of blows and kicks, and knew that he would probably never see his childhood friend again.

As the darkness closed in on Killian’s awareness, he could hear a voice in the background: Hurry up and give him a shot; I don’t want him regaining consciousness while we are in the assault boat on the way up to the Rubicon!

How apropos that such a green planet would become an Irish home world, thought Major Vantig, as he looked away from the verdant green planet visible from his stateroom’s port window. As the commanding officer of the ship’s Marine company, he rated a rare port window in which he could now see the reflection of his company sergeant major standing at attention.

At ease Sergeant Major, barked Vantig returning a crisp salute. How did the recruiting drive go planet side today? He asked smiling, noting the stitches above the sergeant major’s right eye.

Very well indeed sir, between our recruiting team and the swabbies effort we have picked up forty three new recruits. My god I am getting to be as correct as the officers are. We hardly recruited anyone, we did however pick up a few kidnap victims though, thought the CSM.

Company Sergeant Major Dan Davis knew that Major Vantig at some point in his career in the Marines would have taken part in a few press gangs. The task of acquiring new men for the Royal Terran Space Navy and the Royal Terran Marines was a messy job that required raw physical force. It took the toughest Marines and sailors to enforce a royal recruiting warrant.

Not all new additions to the Navy and Marines were press-ganged. Many applied at recruiting stations throughout the Royal Terran Empire. Recruiting stations did a brisk business on poor planets where life was difficult and short. Men would sign up for a lifetime of military service just for the chance to have regular meals and hopes of a better life on another world.

Recruiting stations were ineffective on worlds that were more prosperous and education was available. The quality of life on most empire worlds was very high and men did not easily give up the peaceful life and the opportunity to die sleeping in their beds at a ripe old age of natural causes.

Tell me about your eye Sergeant Major, asked the company commander with a wry grin.

Well sir, recruiting on an Irish home world can be pretty physical at the best of times. However, this one kid managed to lay out three of our biggest Marines! The detachment and I had a nightmare of a time taking him down before we knocked him out cold. Hell, we had the Navy corpsman sedate him before the assault boat ride back from dirt side just in case he regained consciousness, chuckled Davis as he absent mindedly rubbed his stitches.

Let’s keep an eye on him then Sergeant Major, nodded Vantig seriously. Don’t let the swabbies get their hooks into him if you think he is Marine material.

Aye, aye, sir, answered Sergeant Major Davis coming sharply to attention. "If you are ready sir... the new recruits are formed up on the assault deck up for your aahh...welcome speech." Davis’ face did not reveal the humor he felt over his slight play on words.

Major Vantig nodded towards the door. Carry on CSM. I will be along shortly. Try not to bruise them up too much before I get there, said the company commander as he returned the sergeant major’s crisp salute.

Killian slowly opened his eyes and tried to clear the cobwebs from his brain. He raised himself up from the deck onto one arm. He touched his face gingerly, feeling the crust of dried blood formed around his nose and mouth. His head pounded like someone was beating on it with a mallet. He discovered the source of his headache as he rubbed the goose egg on the left side of his head. His whole body ached and felt crushed, not unlike the sensation experienced when piled up on by twelve large men during a rugby scrum.

Well if you’re done having your bloody beauty sleep princess, you can haul you ass up and get into formation! A muscled man in fatigues prodded him with a truncheon and at the same time indicating the three rows of men forming up. When I give you an order to move, I mean move now, at the double!

Ignoring the pain Killian got to his feet a bit unsteadily, and quickly took his place in the rows of men. He could see that they were mostly young men like himself. Some appeared to be battered and beaten. Others looked none the worse. All of them appeared scared.

The men in fatigues herded the last of the scared men into order just as a large man in an immaculate blue uniform approached the formation. He was tall and powerfully built. His chest covered in row after row of ribbons, medals, badges, and devices. Four gold stripes topped with the Royal Nova burst adorned the cuff of his sleeves. Under his right arm, he carried what appeared to be a black cane. Killian knew from seeing the uniformed Constabs around home, that this man was some kind of sergeant.

Killian looked closely at the sergeant. Although his uniform was different from what he remembered, he realized that this was the man that had captured him. He had given the large man a New Dublin kiss, which was in fact, a head butt to the face, a favorite fighting tactic on the Irish home world. He smiled inwardly, noticing the stitches over the sergeant’s right eye and recalled the instructions his father had given him as a child: Don’t talk when you should be listening. If you must start the dance, always put the head in first. Never ever kick a man when he is down unless he is likely to get up again. Killian avoided fighting when possible but lived by his father’s sagely words of advice when he could not.

The sergeant surveyed the group of men in ragged formation to his front with barely concealed contempt. I am Company Sergeant Major Davis of the Royal Terran Marines you will refer to me as Sergeant Major! Is this understood? The ramrod straight sergeant major asked the quaking formation of recruits in a booming command baritone.

A couple of weak and almost inaudible responses escaped from the downtrodden group. The sergeant major approached the group and calmly asked the first young man in the front rank, What’s your name boy?

Aaa...Ayden Mitchell, answered the quaking young man weakly.

Well hello Ayden Mitchell, I’m extremely pleased to make your acquaintance, replied the sergeant major in a syrupy voice as he struck the young man in the stomach with the butt end of his drill cane.

The recruit fell heavily to his knees gasping and retching, all color draining from his face.

He moved down the ranks looking the clearly terrified recruits in the eye. He approached a mousy looking recruit, who promptly fainted, cracking his skull on the deck. The sergeant major stepped over the prone body without a backward glance.

He stopped in front of Killian and slowly looked him up and down asked, And what is your name lad?

Killian Connacher, Sergeant Major, replied the recruit in a loud steady voice, all the while looking straight to his front.

Did you hear that, boys? asked the sergeant major sounding shocked. He answered me and referred to me by my proper rank! Now listen closely! The company sergeant major whirled around, and took a sharp pace backwards in order to address all the recruits clearly. From now on when any Marine or swabbie speaks to you, regardless of rank... you will stand to attention and respond appropriately, finishing that response with their proper rank. If they are officers you will call them sir! The sergeant major looked up and down the formation. Understood?

Yes Sergeant Major, bellowed the recruits, while trying to stand to a semblance of attention as best they could.

Now the company commander, Major Vantig will be addressing you wretched mob shortly. Listen closely to what he has to say as it may save your lives and spare you a whole lot of grief and pain! Davis paused for effect. And while you’re at attention lads, don’t move a bloody muscle or you will quickly feel the business end of a baton or drill cane. Got it?

Yes Sergeant Major! The recruits replied, this time almost in unison.

Davis stood them at ease and scanned the sulking new recruits. Shit! I must be getting soft in my old age. I actually feel sorry for them, especially the lads who end up with the swabbies. It’s a hell of a way to spend their best years! A lifetime aboard ship, with little chance of ever reaching dirtside could make for a miserable existence. At least in the Marines you have the opportunity to breath fresh air, feel land under your feet, and interact with different people...Well, sometimes not such a pleasant interaction, thought the sergeant major.

From the corner of his eye, Davis could see the company commander entering the Marine flight deck. He brought himself to attention, a granite military statue.

Recruits! ATTENTION, ordered the sergeant major. His commanding presence leaving no doubts in anyone’s mind, what was required at that moment. He turned about and saluted smartly. Sir, forty three recruits on deck, two being treated by corpsmen, ready for your...welcome, sir!

Very good CSM, stand the formation at ease, replied Major Vantig, watching as the sergeant major placed the recruits at rest. Welcome aboard HMSS Rubicon, a twelve deck eight masted Nova Class Royal Terran Navy ship of the line. I am Major Vantig, commander of the Rubicon’s Royal Terran Marine company. The major paused just long enough to survey the wretched recruits. Today you will begin your indoctrination into the Royal Terran Navy of which the Marines are an integral component. Most of you are involuntarily recruits, pressed into service, a few of you are volunteers, and some of you have been sentenced to military service by the judicial system. Regardless of your method of recruitment, you have all been legally obtained for an indefinite period of service, by order of the Royal Space Admiralty under a warrant issued by his Royal Majesty William VII, King of the Terran Empire. Major Vartig scanned the formation for reactions, noting that several of the men were openly weeping as the reality of their situation sunk in.

I will now read to you the three articles of the Enlisted Men’s Code of Naval Discipline. It is very simple and straight forward. Major’s tone became ominous. I suggest you listen carefully.

Article 1...A Warrant Officer or Non Commissioned Officer, may, at their discretion, strike an enlisted man of lesser rank as a matter of routine discipline in order to correct deficiencies in dress, deportment, training, and duty. Vantig could see that most of the recruits had already experienced this article.

Article 2...A Commissioned Officer in a command position may award up to one hundred lashes with the cat-o-nine tails and/or a reduction in rank to any enlisted man for conduct unbecoming, which includes: Drunkenness, minor disobedience, fighting, improper care and control of equipment, absence without leave less than 20 days, petty theft, lying, and possession of contraband. Major Vantig paused before carrying on to the third and final article.

Article 3... The Captain of a ship or naval facility may award the death penalty to any enlisted man found guilty of the following offences: Disobeying the lawful command of a Commissioned Officer, cowardice when in action, murder, rape, striking a Non Commissioned Officer / Warrant Officer / Commissioned Officer, major theft, absence without leave over 20 days, drug trafficking, dereliction of duty, and mutinous behavior. The major looked up from his clipboard.

This is not the civilian judicial system. There are no review or appeal processes. All sentences are final, and are carried out within twenty four hours of conviction! Vantig allowed the recruits a moment for the implications of his statement to sink in.

Now then, if you will look over to the starboard side of the deck, Vantig pointed to the right hand side of the deck area. The ship’s chief writer has set up an AAG or Arrival Assistance Group. With their assistance, you will complete the enrollment process, which will include the collection of personal, educational, and work histories, as well as psychological and aptitude testing. The data once fed into the computer will determine your individual duty suitability. Are there any questions? asked Vantig, as he scanned the formation for any takers.

Killian glanced left and right, and seeing that no questions were forthcoming from the other recruits, came sharply to attention, Sir! Will we have the opportunity to contact our families and let them know what has become of us? Sir, asked Killian, he remained at attention.

What’s your name recruit, asked Major Vantig, nodding approvingly towards the CSM. The other recruits are scared shitless but this one has already learned the Sergeant Major’s first lesson on deportment. I bet he is the lad who gave the CSM his stitches, thought the company commander.

Killian Connacher, sir, the recruit replied in a loud steady voice.

Good question Recruit Connacher, replied Vantig. Once duty assignments have been determined, your respective ship’s divisional staff will take you to your quarters where you will be disinfected, checked for medical and dental fitness, and receive from the ship’s purser your personal kit and uniforms. You will then be given a fifteen-minute opportunity to contact your family via ship to shore compvid. Major Vantig searched the faces of the new recruits. Are there any more questions? One last point then before the CSM takes over the formation. You may receive one small package from your family before the ship leaves orbit after replenishing stores. Your respective divisional staff will brief you on the details. Major Vantig nodded to the CSM, his portion of the enrollment process completed.

Sergeant Major Davis crashed to attention. Recruits! ATTENTION. He saluted the major.

Major Vantig returned the crisp salute. Carry on CSM! Vantig marched away without a backward glance.

The company sergeant major waited for the major to exit the deck before turning to the recruits. Before speaking he indicated by pointing his drill cane in the direction of the AAG. When I dismiss you, quietly but with a sense of urgency, you will report to the ship’s chief writer for the induction procedure. Davis paused, Recruits! As detailed...DISSMISSED.

Killian quickly moved towards the AAG, noting that the Marine NCOs were already enforcing article 1 of the Enlisted Men’s Code of Naval Discipline upon those recruits who were not moving with the correct sense of urgency.

Chapter 2

On completion of the induction process, a taciturn writer informed Killian that he, by virtue of his education, test results, and experience, was selected for service as a Royal Terran Marine. He issued the recruit his Naval Service Number, NC246-2557-M0008.

NC246-2557-M0008...NC246-2557-M0008... NC246-2557-M0008, Killian repeated, committing the number to memory.

NC246 was the ship’s registry number, Nova Class 246. 2557 was the recruitment year. M0008 indicated that he was the eighth Marine recruited by the ship that year.

Sign here. The taciturn writer indicated the signature pad connected to the computer. This is your Oath of Allegiance to the Royal Terran Monarch and his Commissioned Officers.

Killian took the proffered stylus, read the document and signed. Talk about signing your bloody life away, thought the newly minted Marine recruit.

The writer also had Killian acknowledge that RT$ 400.00 had been deposited into his pay account as a recruitment bonus. RT$ 400.00, not too bloody shabby, reflected Connacher. It would take four months of hard manual labor on the neighboring farms in order to make that kind of money.

The writer indicated that Killian was finished for the moment, and that he could wait with the other recruits over by the coffee urn. He was free to help himself to the coffee and a snack if he wished.

Killian moved quickly over to the area indicated by the writer. He removed a mug and poured himself a steaming cup of coffee from the stainless steel urn. The coffee smelled rich and exotic, and made his taste buds salivate. He added cream and sugar and took his first tentative sip. At least they make a decent cup of coffee, thought Killian. He sadly remembered the strong over boiled, oily brew his father would make in the morning, once the first early chores were completed. Sometimes his father added a shot of whiskey to the cup on a particularly chilly day.

"That’ll warm the cockles,"