America's North Shore Journal

Since the odds were long that a bad thing would happen, I was not worried. Well, no more than usual. I snuck a couple of additional air bottles and some combat rats onboard, finding places behind the wall plates that were empty enough to hold them. I also added some computing power, borrowing an officer’s battle comp from a boarding suit. That, I felt safe on, since no one had ever, ever boarded an enemy ship. At least I could play Solitaire while I waited for the stations call to terminate. Until the entire ship shuddered, and twisted. Now, I can definitively state as an Academy cadet and a career Space Marine that ships in space do NOT twist. This one did, and it was immediately followed by the loudest “bang” I … Read entire article »

There are gradients of bad things. Some make you say “Oh, shit!” Some cause you to exclaim “Oh, fuck!” And, then there are those times when the shit is rolling down hill so fast you don’t have time to speak. The sole official duty of a Space Academy cadet was to be the “buoy boy”. That’s what the Petty Officers called it when there were no officers around. Except me, of course. I wasn’t really an officer, just a hunk of meat that was in the way. Each ship of the Terran Navy carries an Omega Beacon. The beacon is launched when the bridge crew or the ship’s onboard computer determines that the ship will not survive whatever is happening. It contains the ship’s log and as much of the final sensor … Read entire article »

Whenever I did something unbelievably stupid, as young men often do, my dad would ask me “Did you take a stupid pill this morning, son?” When I was discharged, after eighteen years in the Terran Marines, to accept an appointment to the Space Academy, I heard his voice. Two years from retirement and I bailed. I was giving up a career to join a bunch of snotty nosed youngsters being tormented by older snotty nosed youngsters, all in the hopes of becoming one of those officers I had always looked down on. Yep. That’s me, all right. I did it for several reasons, mostly involving my future. The regs, beloved by all garrison lawyers, contain a curious provision. A Marine with at least fifteen years of service who is accepted into the Academy carries … Read entire article »

Hey, there, fellas. How about buying a vet a drink? Tell ya what. I’ll trade you a story for that drink. Well, how about one about the Battle of the Grape Arbor? Laugh all ya want, boys. Some of us did make it out. That’s why I’m in this chair, ya know. Thank ya kindly. Let me wet my whistle and I’ll start. Most of us was young like you fellas. Full of piss and vinegar, and sure of ourselves. It was our third, no, fourth landing and we were beating the Bluecoats pretty good. Course the arty and air support made the difference. Pound for pound a Bluecoat is as good as most soldiers and plenty o’ Marines. Yeah, laugh… Youngsters! The whole 34th was movin to the front, troopers in trucks and armor on lowboys. … Read entire article »

Fortitude McBride was the archtypical gunnery sergeant. A Marine’s Marine. If you cut him, he’d bleed green. He’d joined the Space Marines to escape the backwater colonial planet he’d been raised on. His parents were members of a tiny Christian sect that named their sons after virtues. Not even his friends called him Fortitude. Fort, for the few that were his friends. Gunny, for the rest of the universe. He’d been there and done that for thirty years. Too many generals remembered him from their time as a wet behind the ears second lieutenant. That kept him away from the Commandant’s retinue, but just as well. He’d publicly called the current commandant a snot nosed kid some twenty years ago. Then save his ass and a dozen others in a tight spot. In … Read entire article »