DEAD FORCE
BOOK ONE
SANDMAN
BOOK TWO
LOCKDOWN
BOOK THREE
FIREFIGHT
SD TANNER
Dedicated to Mousey, as usual.
This time with special thanks to my writing mentor David (DJ) James, who’s a lot more helpful than Mousey.
Table of Contents
sandman
CHAPTER ONE: Dwarves Amongst Men
CHAPTER TWO: Sweet Recall
CHAPTER THREE: Do Robots Bleed?
CHAPTER FOUR: Flea Bites
CHAPTER FIVE: Duality of Life
CHAPTER SIX: Lost in Space
CHAPTER SEVEN: Flying High
CHAPTER EIGHT: Enter the Dragon
CHAPTER NINE: Not Quite Human
CHAPTER TEN: Flea Bombs
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Wake-up call
CHAPTER TWELVE: Enemy Within
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Truth be Told
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Chatty Jessie
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Body of Evidence
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Long Lost Love
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Hide and Eat
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Damned Truth
CHAPTER NINETEEN: Bubble Burst
CHAPTER TWENTY: Death Defying
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Pay Day
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Dead Drop
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Lost and Found
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Little Deaths
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Brainpower
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: Fool Me Once
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: Monkey Business
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Half a Mind
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: Killer Instinct
CHAPTER THIRTY: Boom, Boom, Baby
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: Dead to Me
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: Impossible Dreamers
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: Being Human
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: Life After Death
Lockdown
CHAPTER TWO: Double the Fun
CHAPTER THREE: Meltdown
CHAPTER FOUR: Dead Intent
CHAPTER FIVE: Boo Hoo, Baby
CHAPTER SIX: For Whom the Dinner Bell Tolls
CHAPTER SEVEN: The Enemy Within
CHAPTER EIGHT: Free Ride
CHAPTER NINE: Armed and Dangerous
CHAPTER TEN: Little of This and That
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Truth Be Known
CHAPTER TWELVE: Ship of Fools
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Slaves to War
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Mostly Human
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Stealing Life
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Mindful Prison
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Last Woman Standing
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Price of Freedom
CHAPTER NINETEEN: Hearing Voices
CHAPTER TWENTY: She Crazy!
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Forever Human
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: If Walls Could Talk
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Five-fingered Lift Off
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Monster Munch
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Sleeping Knights
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: Dead Men Talk
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: Dead Force
firefight
CHAPTER ONE: Tunnel Rats
CHAPTER TWO: Fly Me to the Goon
CHAPTER THREE: Silent Running
CHAPTER FOUR: Winning Argument
CHAPTER FIVE: Mech Tech
CHAPTER SIX: Ship’s Ahoy!
CHAPTER SEVEN: First to Fight, Last to Die
CHAPTER EIGHT: Send in the Clones
CHAPTER NINE: DEFCON 5
CHAPTER TEN: Dogs at War
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Year Zero
CHAPTER TWELVE: Prisoners of War
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Bending space
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Killer Logic
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Flying Blind
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Buying Real Estate
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Santa’s Elves
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Killer Clones
CHAPTER NINETEEN: Single-minded
CHAPTER TWENTY: Friendly Fire
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Game Over
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Ass in the Grass
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Bucking Up
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Kicking Ass
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Dead Force Down
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: One-fingered Salute
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: Dead Again
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Born Again
EPILOGUE
Author’s Note
AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION
For other books by SD Tanner, please check out Hunter Wars Series, Navigator Series, Bombardier series, WarriorSR series and our standalone Sci-Fi thriller, Time to Die.
sandman
DEAD FORCE
BOOK 1
SD TANNER
CHAPTER ONE: Dwarves Amongst Men
Awareness leaked into Tag’s mind the way water wore down a rock until it was smooth. Like a puppet, he tipped upright, his eyes blinking open. The image of a perfectly round–cheeked doll fluttered through his addled brain. She was clutched in the slender arms of a young girl with dark curly hair; hers was the face he couldn’t quite catch. The image of the little girl came with a powerful emotion, one that filled him with warmth and a deep resolve to always be there for her.
Hands that had been relaxed now clenched, until every joint popped. The sharp cracks echoed along the capsule he was lying in. Feeling as if he’d been dead and not sleeping, awareness moved from his brain to his body.
“Activation sequence complete.”
With her syrup-coated tone, the woman sounded cold and warm at the same time. Above his face, a screen dripping with condensation slowly peeled away, revealing banks of pods above him. Noise penetrated his ears and he struggled to separate the sounds. One was a consistent hum, the other sounded angry.
“What the hell?” A male voice complained.
His spine crackled like breaking plastic as he slowly sat upright. Turning his head to the right, hunting for the owner of the whining voice, there was another man in a pod next to his.
“Who are you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Coughing, and feeling something move deep inside his chest, his voice sounded more like a groan. “Who are you?”
The face looking back at him couldn’t have been more than thirty-years-old. Hair plastered against his skull, the man’s forehead appeared too large for his face. A deep-seated eye and wide jaw, with a long nose gave him a roughly carved look. His right eye was covered in blackened metal that reached to where his ear should have been. The ropey neck was too wide for his head and the mouth had curled into a sneer.
“Rok.”
“What?”
“My name is Rok. Who the hell are you?”
It was a fair question and an answer came from somewhere inside his barely awake brain. “Tag. Commander Tag.”
“You’re the boss of me?” Rok asked incredulously.
If he was the boss, then it was news to him, and yet it was true. This was his mission. Now all he had to do was work out what it was. His bare feet slid along the smooth base of the pod until his knees hit his chest. Instinctively, placing his hands on either side of the capsule, he noticed his right hand was large with heavy knuckles. The left hand was made of the same blackened metal he’d seen on Rok’s face. It traveled up his arm to his elbow and he suspected it was a prosthetic limb. But it didn’t feel any different to his right hand. Biceps rippled as he levered himself out of the pod and landed his two flat feet onto the floor on the other side. The platform made of a metal
grid cut into the soles of his feet, but he was grateful to feel anything. Movement traveled along the row of pods as more men sat upright. Two, then three, and finally six heads appeared. More complaints reached his ears.
“What the hell…?”
“Where am I?”
“Who cares?”
“Who are you?”
Names were being exchanged and every single one was sharp and abrupt.
“Flak.”
“Ash.”
“Hawk.”
“Judge.”
“Joker.”
Including Rok and himself, they made a squad of seven. He furrowed his brow to form a frown, making his forehead crumple like corrugated iron on an old roof. “Seven dwarfs?”
His question brought a collection of sniggers and crude remarks about what they’d do if they found Snow White. Glancing down at his body the ground was a long way from his head. There was no way he was a dwarf. In fact, by his estimation he was at least six feet tall. Rok was standing next to him staring at the pods above his head. Under the grill beneath his feet more pods lined up like bullets in a magazine. As his eyes came online all he could see were more rows and levels spreading in every direction.
“Where are we?”
“I thought you were the boss,” Rok replied. “Shouldn’t you know?”
Running his fingers across his face there was a smoothness over his right eye. His ear was covered with what felt like a hood. Every man wore the same patch reaching over their right eye and ear. None of them was wearing any clothes, not even boots. Their left hand was covered in what appeared to be a metallic, black glove to the elbow. Neither the face patch, or glove, offered much of a hint as to their purpose or his mission.
The pod he’d been in was just long and wide enough to hold his broad frame. It was still damp and the base plate glistened in the gloomy lights lining the walkway. Stacked above and below them the pods were no more than four feet apart. Like a building at night, some lights glowed a grayish blue while others were dark. Turning slowly, he studied the columns and rows of pods behind him. The chamber had an eerie stillness to it, as if it were early morning and everyone was still sleeping.
Tall columns held up the wide metal grills the pods rested on. There was enough space at the top and bottom of each pod for a man to walk along, but without a handrail they would need to be surefooted. Walking to the edge of the platform he looked down. The chamber was at least half a mile from top to bottom, so falling from the walkway could kill a man. Unsure he wouldn’t tumble, and not caring if he did, he moved to the pod next to his. It was dark so he kept walking until he found one that was lit.
The outline of a woman’s body was backlit by the base she was lying on. Naked and on her back, the woman’s hands were limp by her thighs, and her feet tilted toward the end of the pod. She was young, no more than twenty years old. Although her head had been shaved there was a light shadow from regrowth. Assuming she’d been bald when they put her inside the pod the light brown cap of hair growth meant that she was still alive. At the top of her pod was a panel of lights, which added to the glow inside the chamber. Some were pulsing like a heartbeat, and all were green. Turning to look at his squad of tall dwarfs his elbow connected with something hard.
Peering past him at the woman, Rok said, “She’s pretty.”
“Eyes forward, soldier.”
“Is that what I am?”
“You look like a grunt to me.”
Before Rok could reply, a voice cut through his head from whatever was covering his ear.
“Report to the armory.”
He was about to ask where the armory was when his right eye lit with a green arrow. As he turned his head, the arrow moved and pointed along the walkway next to the pods.
Waving his arm at the line of men, he ordered, “This way.”
CHAPTER TWO: Sweet Recall
The arrow had led them into a room at the end of the chamber. It was an unremarkable room and not one he recognized. Thirty large, dull gray lockers were positioned against the walls. Inside were uniforms and armor. Ten rows of long, rugged benches sat fixed to the floor between the lockers and a wide window overlooking the chamber. Guns were mounted on the back wall of the locker, but he wasn’t sure they knew how to use them. After walking the length of the room, each man had found a locker with their name on it. What worried him were the other twenty-three lockers. Each one had another name printed on it. Reminding him of a black arm band typically used in a funeral, the other names had been crossed out with a thick, dark line.
With nothing else to do, and not wanting to walk around naked, every man had dressed in the gear they found inside their locker. The left sleeve on his shirt had a gap showing the blackened metal covering his arm. Their gear only included one armored glove for their right hand so he assumed the left was already protected. The name on his armor confirmed he was called Tag.
The handgun inside the locker was designed to toggle between Short Range and Standard Range. It fired caseless ammunition using an electromagnetic pulse. When used in Short Range mode a bullet would become so heated it melted after twenty feet and dispersed harmlessly. Their main weapon was an automatic carbine, also able to switch between Short Range and Long Range. It, too, fired caseless ammunition from a fifty-round magazine. In addition to manual target and trigger pull, the rifle was linked to the cover over the shooter’s eye, and could be fired using spoken commands. Their tactical vests carried up to ten magazines and more were strapped to their thighs. The only other weapons they had were the short and long knives attached to their utility belts.
Overly bright lights inside the armory made the chamber behind the wide window appear gloomy and foreboding. Barely alive inside the chamber, it was as if the sleepers had been laid to rest in a living mausoleum. The sleepers never stirred or made a sound, but his squad were busy wrecking the peace. Three of his men were fieldstripping their guns and then putting them back together again with practiced ease. The other three men were sitting on the metal benches in the middle of the locker room arguing about who and what they were.
“We’re military,” one declared with far more confidence than he thought the man should have.
Rok asked, “Then where are we, dipshit?”
“It’s a training exercise,” the man replied.
Another, older looking, man asked, “Do you really think those people in the pods agreed to be put under just to train us?”
It was the first intelligent comment he’d heard. Pointing to the man, he asked, “Which dwarf are you?”
“Judge.”
“What do you know?”
Flicking his thumb at the younger of the two men, Judge replied, “I know Ash is an idiot.”
“Is that because he sounds like one, or do you remember him?”
Shaking his head and grinning, Judge replied, “I might not remember much, but I knew he was an idiot before he opened his uneducated mouth.”
He knew exactly what Judge meant about knowing the men. They were his squad. The younger man had a brash confidence that came with being inexperienced. Judge was someone he could trust with his life, but he couldn’t remember why. After waking in the pod he’d explored his thoughts, hoping to learn more about himself. Other than knowing his name he had no clue about anything. For all he knew they were army spoons and belonged in the kitchen, but he suspected they were trigger pullers. They might have no idea who and what they were, but his squad were all over their weapons. Although cooks could use a gun, only a specialist could strip one down in their sleep.
Indicating they should talk, he and Judge moved to one side of the long locker room. Standing next to the glass window overlooking the half-mile of pods, they both had their backs to the squad.
“What are we looking at?” He asked.
“Sleepers.”
Although he knew the answer, he asked the next logical question anyway. “What’s a sleeper?”
“People in stasis.”
“Why are they in stasis?”
Judge was clearly older than the rest of the squad. His frown only added to the lines on his worn looking face. “I want to say they’re going somewhere, but I’m not sure what they’re doing here.”
Judge’s words triggered a memory he didn’t know he had. It was of an oddly shaped ship. The central column was long and cylindrical. Two large hoops encircled each end of the ship, providing it with gravity. The main thrusters were at one end and a viewing deck was at the other. Although he couldn’t be sure, he assumed the lit deck was the Bridge. Attached to the ship by long fixed tubes were four enormous ball shaped domes. They sat outside the hoops like bags attached to a mule. Rows of twinkling lights outlined the hoops, ship and domes. Although the memory could have been from a movie the steady vibration under his feet told him otherwise.
Turning to look back at the squad in the middle of the room, he asked, “Are we on a spaceship?”
“Maybe.”
Looking down at the floor, he asked, “Why is there gravity?”
“To stop zero-g.”
“Why would anyone bother having gravity on a ship full of sleepers?”
Judge didn’t have an answer any more than he did. If there was gravity, then there had to be a reason. A ship this size couldn’t run itself, meaning there was a crew onboard. But, where were they? Why hadn’t anyone met them when they woke? All that greeted him was the impersonal, syrupy voice telling him where to go. It hadn’t been much of a welcome committee. They were men, not machines. Why didn’t he remember going into the pod? Not knowing who he was left him disorientated, adding to the growing unease about their situation. There was something he needed to do, but he couldn’t hold onto the thought long enough for an answer to take shape.
Turning around and facing the crew, Judge asked, “What’s the last thing you remember before waking up?”
It was the same question he was asking himself, and he gave Judge a sidelong look. “I don’t know. Why?”
“I remember dying.”
“How did you die?”
After running a calloused hand across his forehead, Judge tapped the space between his eyes. “Bullet to the head. I can still see the round coming for me.”