War Eternal Book 2: A LitRPG Military Space Adventure, page 1
Yuri Vinokuroff
War Eternal
Book 2
A LitRPG Military Space Adventure
Published by Magic Dome Books
War Eternal
Book # 2
Copyright © Yuri Vinokuroff 2023
Cover Art © Linni 2023
Designer: Vladimir Manyukhin
English translation copyright © Mikhail Yagupov 2023
Editor: Neil P. Woodhead
Published by Magic Dome Books, 2023
ISBN: 978-80-7693-101-5
All Rights Reserved
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is entirely a work of fiction. Any correlation with real people or events is coincidental.
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Table of Contents:
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
About The Author
Prologue
ACTIVATING REMOTE ACCESS POINT CHECK PROTOCOL
ANALYZING CURRENT DATA…
ERROR… ERROR… ERROR…
SAVED DATA NOT FOUND…
PROTOCOL CHANGE
ACTIVATING ADDITIONAL PROBLEM-RELATED DATA COLLECTION PROTOCOL…
STATUS… ACTIVATION SUCCESSFUL…
CONNECTING TO REMOTE ACCESS POINT…
ERROR… ERROR… ERROR…
REMOTE ACCESS POINT NOT FOUND…
SEARCHING FOR SOLUTION… EMERGENCY PROTOCOL LOADING…
LOADING…...................................................................
ERROR… UNABLE TO RETRIEVE DATA…
ERROR… SYSTEM X554TS02… CONNECTION LOST…
ERROR… SYSTEM X554TS02… CONNECTION LOST…
ERROR… SYSTEM X554TS02… CONNECTION LOST…
SEARCHING FOR SOLUTION… SEARCHING FOR SOLUTION… SEARCHING FOR SOLUTION…
REBOOTING…
* * *
Universe-13 Info Station. System X554TS02
BATTLE STATIONS!!!
ALL UNITS, TAKE YOUR POSITIONS ACCORDING TO BATTLE SCHEDULE!!!
THE POUNDING HEARTBEAT of Captain RS213.A3.535674 (“Parasol”) echoed in his ears as he sprinted towards the control center. The station shook violently, a cacophony of torpedoes launching and external hits reverberating through its metallic core. The flickering lights danced with the erratic artificial gravity, as the station’s generator was pushed to its absolute limits.
Parasol was caught off-guard by the sheer suddenness of the attack. He was roused from sleep by the blaring siren and felt the jarring impacts even before the Defense Protocol kicked into action.
His confidence in his subordinates was unshakeable. Each knew their role and their duties — and at that moment, all of them would be rushing to their battle stations. This was the first combat alert during their tenure at the Information Station, which had lasted a year. No mercenaries or pirates were foolish enough to attack the station, and the nearest military conflict was light years away. Actually, serving here was considered more of a punishment or a character-building exercise for the troops. For Parasol, it was unquestionably the former. Instead of fighting alongside his comrades or enjoying a tropical vacation, he had been marooned on this chunk of metal for over a year. Yet the Army had a contract, committing to a stationing a space assault unit here. At present, he was the highest-ranking Army representative.
Parasol crashed into the solid doors of the control center. In his year of service, no one had ever exited these doors, yet communication with those inside was always available, day or night. The Angels never slept. The Angels always served the System. Whatever they were, whatever they looked like. There was nothing to rely on in that respect other than mere speculations.
“Captain Parasol has arrived!”
A screen flickered to life, displaying the familiar blurred silhouette.
“Welcome, Captain! Unidentified ships have appeared in the system. They’re not responding to our signals and are behaving aggressively. They advanced into target range and immediately opened fire. We are currently locked in combat against superior enemy forces. One hundred and seventy-seven small ships, presumably assault bots, are heading our way. Estimated time until contact, twelve minutes.”
“Unidentified?” Parasol raised an eyebrow, taken aback. Hearing such a word from the servants of the System was, at the very least, unusual.
“None of our databases contain these models. It’s impossible to identify either the type or the affiliation of the ships. These ships are not in use by any known race. The largest unidentified object exceeds the size of the largest known ship by a factor of more than twenty.”
An image appeared on the screen. A massive cubic object was in the midst of a group of much smaller ships. The object was comprised of numerous smaller cubes of varying sizes, making it look like a Rubik’s cube. There was a multitude of ships, platforms, and modules of unknown design attached to it. Astonishingly, all these elements stayed intact together. Amidst this assembly, a plethora of battle stations, both energy and kinetic types, were prominently visible, seemingly placed in a chaotic order. Their sheer number was staggering. And this colossal cosmic entity was shooting laser beams, plasma streams, missiles, and torpedoes towards us.
Seven smaller cubes were floating near this gargantuan structure. A closer look revealed that they had detached from the main cube and were now operating as independent vessels. Their surfaces were laden with numerous unfamiliar structures and weaponry — a considerable array of weapons was present, all in all. Circling this monolithic structure in a chaotic swarm were about a hundred and fifty ships. They were similar in size to Human Commonwealth craft, but their design was completely different. A swarm of smaller craft was heading toward the station. They were quite unlike space trooper drop-ships, resembling haphazardly-carved blocks, each distinct in color. They were propelled by thrusters and moved at different speeds. Some lagged behind, likely due to engine malfunctions. Much to the captain’s astonishment, two of the craft collided, and a third failed to decelerate in time, crashing into them as a result. The result was a large explosion. What in the world was happening?
It was evident that the approaching craft lacked anything in the way of proper shields or sturdy armor. A single hit — two at the most — sufficed to destroy or incapacitate them. Several even met their end due to friendly fire from the main cube. But their sheer numbers were a force to be reckoned with, and the first of them had already reached the station.
A series of explosions resonated, shaking the floor beneath. Communications went offline. Several of the craft crashed into the station’s exterior, exploding on impact and creating massive breaches. The ones that followed seemed uninterested in a strategic landing. They either clung to the station in a haphazard fashion with the aid of various ropes, or just entered through the gaping holes left by their forerunners without giving it a second thought.
Reacting swiftly, the captain commanded his two accompanying officers to follow him. They sprinted toward the closest entry point, which was storage room #17, now exposed by a kamikaze impact. Two squads of space troopers took defensive positions outside in the corridor, their weapons trained on the storage room doors. Behind those doors, the tumultuous sounds of crashes and detonations could be heard.
“Is the door locked?” Captain Parasol asked the corporal in charge of this defense sector.
“Affirmative, sir!”
The left side of the door glowed red, and a few seconds later, a heated tongue of blue flame appeared, quickly moving around the door’s perimeter. Parasol tried to communicate with the other units, but to no avail. Nothing but a strange noise came through the radio.
“Once they breach the door, fire at will, no matter what comes through!” Parasol ordered. He glanced at the tense faces around him and added, “It’s just us here, right?”
The cut-out section of the door creaked, fell inwards, and crashed loudly. From the smoke and flames, a large figure in bi
“Freshhhh meeeeat,” the green-faced intruder enunciated clearly, pointing his weapon at the defenders.
“Fire!” Parasol yelled, firing the first shot.
A combined volley from twenty barrels tore the lone attacker to shreds. More of his comrades surged from the compartment instantly, with a thunderous roar. Machine guns rattled, rifles roared, and lasers flashed. The shots hit their targets, burning through green flesh and piercing crude iron armor. However, even though some of the attackers fell to the ground, the rest kept running, brandishing their long-barreled flamethrowers.
“Take them down!” Panic surged within Parasol, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in over twenty years. The attackers seemed endless and unstoppable. They charged forward with manic persistence, roaring in excitement, oblivious to the numerous hits they took and the loss of their many comrades. Parasol’s eyes widened involuntarily as a dozen flamethrower barrels aimed at his unit.
“Who the hell are you motherfu…” The last word got drowned out by the roar of weapons as a turbulent wall of flames engulfed the troops. Only one thought crossed Parasol’s mind before he became a human torch. How was he going to resurrect when the station fell?
Chapter 1
“I’m not gonna worry wrinkles in my brow,
‘cause nothing’s ever gonna be alright nohow,
no matter how I struggle and strive,
I’ll never get out of this world alive…”
THAT WAS THE SONG ALEX hummed to himself as he tinkered with his equipment. Somehow, he’d managed to sneak an experimental “ninja” suit out of the Test Camp, and now he spent all his time fiddling with it. The only distractions were his occasional visits to the armory, which replaced the usual Equipment Ordering and Distribution Point on the warship.
We’d been on the Punisher for a few days already, but I couldn’t manage anything in the way of a proper conversation with Alex. “Never been there. No idea. Not sure.” That was all I’d ever get from him. Or “I plead the Fifth,” whatever that meant. Neither pleas nor threats worked, and my authority meant nothing to him. As of now, we were mere passengers; decisions about our roles and assignments would be made once we joined the 12th Assault Fleet of the Human Commonwealth.
The cadets received their ranks at last. The officer caterpillars transformed into butterflies — or, rather, second lieutenants. Their rank merited separate cabins, but they unanimously chose to stay with us in the drop section. They seemed unsure of their futures and just wanted to be with someone familiar. And that meant yours truly.
Clown seemed torn, but he adamantly refused to respond to the name Reeves. He returned to his own body. It turned out that his clone had awaited him after over five years in Punisher’s cryo-storage. That was how long his Mind had spent “stuck” in the System.
His restored body was imposing. He stood a commanding six feet and six inches tall and weighed around 330 pounds. A mass of fortified muscles on a strengthened skeleton with wild regeneration, a hyperactive nervous system, enhanced circulation, and boosted metabolism made him an ideal killing machine. But there were a couple of nuances. First and foremost, he wasn’t entitled to this body by rank. Only a select few in the army had contracts for such bodies, primarily from the assault groups, which were an “elite” of sorts.
Such groups weren’t found in every Drop Division. The 136th Regiment of the 3rd Army under Colonel Rattlesnake had one. Clown only received this body due to the Army’s “frugality,” which resulted in its preservation for “better times”, and the goodwill of the colonel. Apparently, Rattlesnake declared these “better times” to have arrived. However, if Clown bought it, he could only expect a standard-contract space trooper body. There were reasons for this. Firstly, the space assault brigade was fully staffed, with no vacancies. Secondly, the essential skills required to efficiently control the body itself and its numerous specialized equipment were either insufficient or altogether unavailable. This saddened Clown greatly. So now, my team comprised two superhumans with “neutered” capabilities and functionality. But even that was impressive, to be honest.
Sergeant RB13.A3.130013 (“Elijah”), report to the Captain’s cabin immediately. Countdown until a fine is accrued…
A fine, my foot! Really! I wasn’t in “training” anymore, what was this nonsense?! A dotted green line appeared before my eyes, indicating the way to my destination. I cursed and followed the indicators.
It was the first time that I’d left the drop section. Our space was an absolute autonomy — a “state within a state,” as it were, and provided everything necessary for service and rest. There were mess halls, armories, storage rooms, gyms and simulators. Every thought was given to providing enough opportunities for experiencing physical strain and finding psychological relief for a five-thousand-strong crowd of bored marines. Two guards in full gear were standing at the exit from the section — to protect the ship’s crew from idle troopers, most likely. Having gotten to know my new comrades-in-arms a little better, I realized that they started to spoil for a fight under such conditions before too long. On the one hand, skirmishes within the ranks were a time-honored tradition. On the other hand, getting too rough with your own was considered disgraceful and ran contrary to the Army’s esprit de corps. Besides, if you killed someone, you’d get fined, and there was no fun in it in general. So a bored space trooper was like a ticking time bomb. I’d probably have reinforced the guards with an automatic weapon, just to be on the safe side.
The corridors became narrower as I walked past numerous crew members in black uniforms, all of whom looked at me with a hint of contempt in their eyes. The navy — or the space force, as the case may be — certainly never lacked for snobbery. I blew them all a mental raspberry.
A few elevators and long corridors later I found myself before the door of the captain’s cabin. A security officer in black armor stepped aside, letting me through. The cabin was spacious and bright, but Spartan in terms of furnishings.
“Commander Flak, this is the ‘golden boy’ I told you about,” Colonel Rattlesnake was lounging on a soft sofa, stirring something brown in her glass.
“Colonel, commander” I nodded politely to both. “You were a bit hasty with the boy bit, Colonel.”
“Ha!” Rattlesnake pointed at me with her spoon. “Cheeky, too! Especially when he’s scared.”
Commander Flak was sitting at a large table, also nursing a glass of brown liquid, and smiling at me, his head tilted slightly. He looked about forty, which meant nothing in this world. Slim and taut with a short, ash-colored crew cut.
“And you don’t know what to do with him, do you?” he turned to Rattlesnake.
“Nope,” she replied, tossing something colorful from a dish into her mouth and continued with her mouth full. “You want him, take him! You’re free to retrain him in any way you like. Hell, you can make him an engineer for all I care!”
