The Young Soldier Series: Books 1-3: A YA Military Sci-Fi Boxset Read online

  The Young Soldier Series | Vol. 1-3

  MK Clark

  Bad Bomber Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  THE YOUNG SOLDIER SERIES

  Copyright © 2013 by MK Clark

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  Cover Art: GetCovers

  Published by Bad Bomber Publishing

  Merritt Island, FL 32953

  Previous publications:

  SPACE JUMPERS: 978-0-9981405-1-3

  PURSUING DREAMS: 978-0-9981405-5-1

  TRAITORS & BETRAYAL: 978-0-9981405-7-5

  Author's Note

  For starters, thank you for reading! This series is very dear to my heart.

  When reading this series, the most important thing for you to remember is that this is a work of fiction. You will find that the military structure represented in this book does not quite match present day organizations. This was intentional. Changes were made to better fit this world and its unique quirks.

  In addition, although much research was done in the making of this book, I am not a scientist, physics professor, or astro-anything. Leaps have been made and substances have been created out of thin air. Some things are explained in the book and some are not. I believe the beauty of science is that all things will be possible one day. Even if it's not in the way we imagined them.

  Thank you again and enjoy the story!

  Table of Contents

  Space Jumpers | Book 1

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 3.5

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 8.5

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 11.5

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Pursuing Dreams | Book 2

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 4.5

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 9.5

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Part Two

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 17.5

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 22.5

  Traitors & Betrayal | Book 3

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 1.5

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 4.5

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 8.5

  Chapter 9

  Part 2

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 12.5

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 15.5

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 19.5

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Space Jumpers | Book 1

  Prologue

  Nov. 16, 653 Third Age

  "Here you are, love, table five."

  Impossibly, the little girl accepted the three overflowing steins, balancing them precariously as she backed out into the tavern. The swell of conversation invaded the busy kitchen for a brief moment before disappearing with the bouncing brown curls behind the kitchen door.

  The child slid the steins onto the table, carefully placing each one at the fingertips of its rightful owner.

  "...nothing but a terrorist."

  Her fingers paused momentarily before deftly removing the tokens that had been slapped down.

  "We were better off back in the old days with the Council."

  The child busied herself wiping down a neighboring booth, interest piqued.

  "Before all this friendly crap with the Zarweans."

  One of the men turned his head toward the floor to express his feelings and then stopped when he saw the girl. He nodded at her and chugged the spittle down with a swig from his mug.

  "But wasn't the Council bad?" the girl asked. She looked at them with growing confusion, wringing a dirty cloth in her small hands.

  The men shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of her round, pleading eyes. "Wasn't the war bad?"

  "Sure, it was." The man waved her off. "Run along now."

  She bit her lip. "I don't understand."

  The men glanced at each other and then searched for her mother, who wasn't to be found. "Listen, little lady." One man leaned forward.

  His companion stopped him with a hand. "She'll kill us." He turned to the girl and said again, "Run along."

  Stomach churning with disappointment, she shuffled away.

  "They're right, you know."

  Her eyes lifted to see a different man. He was staring into the bottom of his mug. She could smell his breath as he spoke. Her nose wrinkled, and she edged away.

  "The man who overthrew the Council stopped one war and started another. Then, he just left. He left Earth to fend for itself."

  "You're wrong," she whispered.

  "Am I?" He pushed himself to his feet and swayed dangerously. "O'Hara is a menace." He shouted, "A selfish bastard who does what he wants and doesn't care about anyone or anything."

  The girl backed away from him, eyes wide.

  "Enough!" A woman appeared suddenly and stood protectively behind her daughter. Her voice quieted the room. "I won't have any more of this. O'Hara was human; he made mistakes, but he did great things. Say what you want about that man, but not in my tavern."

  "Do you know him, then?" one of the men from table five chimed in.

  "Was he your lover?"

  A little hand reached up and grasped hers through the jeers. "My husband did," she said above the noise. "Knew him when he was younger, better than most. He had a hard life, O'Hara did. He did the best he could with it."

  "Did he now?" the drunkard asked, a little cross-eyed but still standing.

  "Yes."

  Chapter 1

  July 5, 625 T.A.

  Don stood in the middle of the bustling spaceport, duffel in one hand and ident card in the other. Soon he would be on the shuttle that would whisk him away to the Space Forces Pre-Command program. His father had escorted him as far as the security checkpoint and then left. Other duties required the general's attention now.

  Don stuffed the ident card into his pocket. One swipe of the card at any data terminal would give him access to his account, including his shuttle information. Not that he needed it. He knew where he was going.

  His flight was straight to Pre-Command; there would be no pit stops and no extra passengers. Don smirked when he saw the waiting area. It was deserted. The Council wouldn't be making any money on this flight. At least he could take some grim satisfaction in that.

  When he reached the gate, Don tossed his bag down by a chair and tugged at the too-tight collar of his green uniform. He already missed the loose jumpsuits of his previous life. Despite scheming for months, he still lacked a viable plan for getting out of the Pre-Command program.

  Don sighed and snatched the brown beret from his head as it slid down his forehead. He was being given the chance of a lifetime; he knew that, but he just didn't care. It would take two years to get through Pre-Command and three more to graduate from Commander's School, if he had high enough scores. After that, he would spend more than a few years studying under a real commander, and then a promotion. Not to his own command, of course. Not unless he was really lucky.

  Only, Don didn't want his own command. He wanted to become a Space Jumper. He'd wanted to apply since his father first told him about the program, before the first class of Jumpers had even been picked. His father hadn't understood. He hadn't even tried.

  Don closed his eyes in frustration. Why did his father have to control everything? They'd had the same argument so many times in the months leading up to this day. So many times, that, at the end, it had felt like a well-rehearsed play.

  "It isn't your choice," had been the general's standard reply. "I know what's best for you."

  Don slouched farther into his chair. "Sure you do," he muttered bitterly. It was the retort he had never dared utter at the time.

  Since his wife’s death in a Zarwean attack, the general had raised Don the only way he knew how: with military precision. Don couldn't remember a time when it hadn't been that way, when his life wasn't planned out like a battle strategy, when he had a mother.

  Anger built up in him, as much at himself as at his father. Why couldn't he be a normal sixteen-year-old? Anyone else he knew would jump at the chance to go to Command
er's School, one of the most prestigious military schools in the system. Of course, they would probably love to have a general as a father, too. Humanity was fixated with space, the war, and the military. His father embodied all of those, placing the O'Haras smack-dab in the middle of it all.

  Don had to be the smartest, the strongest, and the toughest. He always had to have the right answer, the right response. Everything always had to come easily for him. Not too much to ask for, was it?

  He made a face at himself. In his heart, he knew the general only wanted the best for him, but his father just didn't understand. Don couldn't make himself want the same things. He wanted to be in the middle of the fight, to make the Zarwean’s pay for every lost memory, for every moment he’d never had with his mother, and for every fight he’d endured with his father. They’d made his life this way and he wanted revenge. That wasn’t something he could get from the command deck.

  "S'cuse me!"

  Don turned in his seat.

  "S'cuse me, but I was wondering, could you help me?" The voice belonged to a scrawny kid struggling with a bag almost half his size. He heaved the over-sized duffle to where Don sat and blew white-blond hair out of his face. "I'm looking for gate twenty-six..."

  "It's down that way." Don hooked his thumb over his shoulder and then watched the boy struggle some more with his bag. "Here, let me help. My name's Don. Grab my duffle, will you?" He stood, pulled his beret on once more, and grabbed the bag's straps to sling over his shoulder. He nearly staggered with the weight. What had this kid packed?

  "Oh... Thanks." The kid blew out his flushed cheeks and grinned. "I'm Jeffery. Jeffery Thompson."

  Don nodded and started to walk down the hall.

  Jeffery trailed behind. "So, um... Are you going to Basic Training, too?"

  Don sighed. Basic Training. Of course. He should have guessed. The kid looked about sixteen, the age of mandatory military defense training. "Nope," he answered, "Pre-Command." He heard a low whistle from the other boy. "It's not that big a deal. I don't even want to go," he said.

  "Really? Why not?" Jeffery looked up at him; he seemed confused by Don's answer.

  "Because I'd rather go to Basic Training. I want to be a Space Jumper, but my da..." Don shook his head. He couldn't believe he was explaining himself to a perfect stranger.

  "That's weird," said Jeffery. "I hate the prospect of fighting. I'd never want to be a Space Jumper. After Basic, my mom says she's gonna sign me up for future service so I can get into a better school. I mean, I get where she's coming from. My school is pretty much in the armpit of space. I'd just rather not have to throw myself at the angry hordes of Zarweans to get a good education."

  Don shook his head again. This kid could talk. He could see the gate ahead now. He started to point it out when Jeffery's words penetrated. He stopped abruptly, causing Jeffery to run into him.

  "You okay?"

  "Yeah," Don affirmed, distracted by a plan starting to form in his head. It was an incredibly stupid plan, but it was a plan. It was also, just barely, possible that it could work. He stopped and turned to the younger boy. "If there was a chance that you could get out of Basic Training, would you take it?"

  "Heck, yeah!"

  "Even if it was totally absurd?"

  Jeffery thought a minute, then shrugged. "Sure. I mean, what have I got to lose?"

  Don grinned and clapped him on the back. "When does your flight leave?"

  "In an hour?"

  "Good. Mine leaves in two. Follow me." He turned and started in the other direction, not waiting to see if the other boy would follow.

  "Um... Where're we going?"

  Don didn't answer the boy till they reached the washroom.

  "Listen," he said. "You told me you'd take a chance if you got it, right?"

  "Well, yeah, but..."

  "I have a plan," Don interrupted. "You don't want to go to Basic Training; I don't want to go to Commander's School. Now, I can't get you out of the military altogether, but I can make it so you don't have to fight and can still get the education your mother wants."

  A look of understanding grew on Jeffery's face. "You want us to switch places?"

  "All we have to do is trade ident cards. It's not like they do facial screening or anything. The security crew did all those screenings when we arrived. Anyway, the ruse doesn't have to last. I expect they'll figure it out eventually. Still, it'd be difficult to switch us once we're halfway across the galaxy. It's a fifty-fifty, but they may just let us be, at that point."

  "You really think we can pull this off, huh?"

  Don shrugged. "Either we can, or we can't, but it's worth a try to me."

  Jeffery hesitated for a moment and then nodded.

  Don checked the time. "We've got about forty-five minutes before your flight leaves. If we're going to pull this off, you need my uniform. I can change into my regular clothes."

  Jeffery looked at him incredulously. He was at least four inches shorter than Don.

  "Come on. You can roll the pant legs under, and the shirt will look fine." Don grabbed the other boy's arm and shoved him into a stall.

  Once he had changed into his old jumpsuit, and Jeffery looked halfway decent, Don settled the beret on Jeffery's head. "You'll have to keep that on at all times. I'm fairly certain someone would notice if I suddenly became blond."

  Jeffery indicated his understanding, and Don hurried the boy back to his gate, coaching him the whole way. "From now on, you're Don. If someone says that name, you answer. If you mess up, our cover is blown. Once you get to Pre-Command, well, it'll be harder. They'll probably catch on pretty quick, but I'll be doing the same thing on my end. Once they figure it out, it's okay. You can tell them the truth. Like I said before, it'll be hard to switch us after the fact. Earth and the Pre-Command station are pretty far away from each other."

  They reached the gate, and Don grinned. "Thanks, man. You've no idea what this means to me. Now, is there anything I need to know?"

  Jeffery shook his head; he was obviously still dazed by it all. He hadn't come off to Don as the brightest kid on the block. Hopefully, this would work in Don's favor. He might not realize who Don was till much later.

  "Okay, then I'll go now. I don't want to miss the flight. Here's my ident card. Good luck. Oh, and if someone tells you my father wants to talk to you, refuse. He'll expect that. Remember, your name is Don O'Hara." Don tugged Jeffery's ident card from the boy's outstretched hand, clapped the other boy on the shoulder, and started to jog down the hall. He ventured a peek back. Jeffery stood speechless at the gate, as if he'd just realized who he had switched lives with. Don felt the beginnings of guilt, but he pushed it away. He couldn't hesitate now.

  Don got to his new gate fifteen minutes before the departure. His duffel bag seemed incredibly light after carrying Jeffery's. He was slightly worried the other boy wouldn't be able to pull it off but figured he could get into Basic Training before Jeffery blew it. Then they would either let the boy stay at Commander's or send him back. Regardless, Don doubted the general had enough clout to get him back up there to the school after causing so much trouble.

  He stayed in the back of the crowd of boys; he wanted to keep a low profile as long as he could. At ten minutes till departure, they began boarding. He grinned as he got in line. The line of jostling boys moved so fast that the attendants barely had time to check that Jeffery's name was on their manifest before he disappeared inside the shuttle.

  Don found himself seated three-fourths of the way down the shuttle. One of the attendants came down the line, ushering a boy before her. The attendant motioned for him to sit next to Don and then hurried past. In the moment that followed, the two boys sized each other up.

  "Don! Hey, Don!" Don tore his eyes from the boy as he heard his name; it sounded out like an alarm bell to everyone around him. He had to silence it. Pale-skinned, red-haired Tony Wess leaned over the back of a seat three rows in front of Don and grinned at him. "What are you doing here?"

  Tony was one of Don's only friends from the Agamemnon. They had been accomplices in mischief, never enough to get into any real trouble, just enough to let loose.

  Don shook his head once, and Tony's mouth clamped shut. He spun around, dropping into his seat without another word. Don was sure that he'd have to answer questions later, but Tony was sharp. He wouldn't do anything until the coast was clear, and now Don knew he had at least one friend on this shuttle.