Spectre
Also by C.W. Lemoine
Alex Shepherd
Absolute Vengeance
I Am The Sheepdog
N.O. Justice
Spectre Series
Spectre Rising
Avoid. Negotiate. Kill.
Archangel Fallen
Executive Reaction
Brick By Brick
Stand Against Evil
The Helios Conspiracy
Fini Flight
Spectre: Origins
The Spectre Series Box Set (Books 1-4)
Watch for more at C.W. Lemoine’s site.
SPECTRE: ORIGINS
The SPECTRE RISING PREQUEL SERIES
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C.W. LEMOINE
Copyright 2013 C.W. Lemoine
License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 C.W. LEMOINE
All rights reserved.
Table of Contents
Author’s Note
“Hero’s Unwelcome”
“New Friends”
“First Impressions”
“The Truth is in the Details”
“Hawg Highway”
“Over the Edge”
An Excerpt from Spectre Rising
Author’s Note
SPECTRE: ORIGINS is a collection of short stories from the lives of the main characters of my new book SPECTRE RISING. It is intended to be a prequel series that gives a look into the history and past of some of the main characters.
Although some of the stories are based on real events, the narrative is entirely fiction. The squadrons and people in this eBook are invented. Actual operational squadrons and places were used only to enhance the realism and credibility of the story.
The views in this book are entirely my own, and do not represent those of the United States Air Force Reserve or United States Navy Reserve.
I’ve also included a sample of my book SPECTRE RISING. I hope after reading these short stories, you’ll join me in the adventures of Cal “Spectre” Martin and his friends. Thanks for reading.
Marcus Anderson
Hero’s Unwelcome
30KM West of Sarajevo
1 February 1996
He had been deployed as part of a peacekeeping force. At least, that’s what the media had been told. But Gunnery Sergeant Marcus Anderson knew that the only peacekeeping he did was from behind his scope. And as he lay quietly in the brush on the snow-covered hilltop, covered by his arctic camouflage ghillie suit, Marcus secretly hoped that they would cancel the mission and send him home. He had seen enough war for one lifetime.
Marcus had enlisted in the Marine Corps during the height of the Reagan military buildup. He had worked his way through the ranks, first as a basic infantryman, then achieving a slot in the coveted Marine Scout Sniper School shortly after pinning on the rank of Lance Corporal. He had always been proficient with firearms, having been taught at a young age by his father, a long time veteran of the Miami Police Department. Shooting was just a natural thing for Marcus.
This was his third combat deployment, and Marcus was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. He had spent months waiting for the green light in Iraq during Desert Shield, and eventually chased down Iraqi Republican Guard commanders and mobile SCUD launchers in the deserts of Iraq during Desert storm. He had hunted and killed Somali warlords in Mogadishu in 1993, an operation he considered to be successful despite what the media had portrayed after nineteen brave Army Rangers and Delta Operators had been killed after a Blackhawk was shot down. And now he found himself back in the action again, hunting down Serbian commanders guilty of heinous war crimes.
He lay prone, concealed by thick brush and the woods on the top of the small hill. His spotter, Corporal Matt Bynes lay next to him. It was their fifth mission in Bosnia over the last three months, and Marcus had been assured by his Captain that things were starting to wind down and that they would be headed back to the states soon. Marcus wasn’t sure he believed it, but he certainly wasn’t going to argue if that were true. His wife was still waiting for him back home. At least, he hoped she was. He hadn’t received a letter from her in a couple of weeks, and she never seemed to be around or able to talk when he called.
“I’ve got the mark,” Bynes said as he peered through his binoculars. Bynes was over a decade younger than Marcus who was pushing his late thirties. They had been paired for this deployment - the crusty old Gunny taking the young Corporal under his wing. Marcus’ only goal was to get them both home alive. Anything beyond that was a bonus.
“Crossing the road?” Marcus said as he picked up the man through the scope of his M40A1 rifle chambered in 7.62 x 51 NATO. The man was a Serbian Colonel that had been responsible for shelling a small village outside of Sarajevo. He was wearing a Serbian military winter uniform, escorted by a small contingent of soldiers. They had been watching the target area for the last two days, having received intel that he had set up his base of operations amongst a small village to discourage NATO allied bombings.
“Affirm, 564 yards, winds out of the east, two miles per hour,” Bynes responded as he confirmed Marcus’ calculations for windage, drop, and density. At that range, the smallest error would be the difference between a kill shot and exposing their position with nothing to show for it.
Marcus clicked in the settings in his scope as he zeroed his sights on the man’s head. That was the life of a sniper - hours, even days, of sitting and waiting followed by intense, split second, life and death decision-making. His adrenaline was pumping, but he remained unphased. He now only had to focus on his breathing and trigger pull as the man stood talking to one of his Lieutenants.
“Target confirmed, cleared to engage,” Bynes whispered.
Marcus took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. His warm breath condensed in the cold, dry winter air. With a smooth trigger pull, Marcus sent the round downrange. The bullet hit the Colonel in the temple mid-sentence, instantly dropping him to the ground as brain matter splattered the officer next to him. The men were sent in a frenzy as they scattered to seek cover and blindly returned fire.
Marcus and his spotter maintained their cover, careful not to make any movements or sounds to give away their position. At that range, there was no way the panicking officers would be able to locate their position from the single gunshot. All Marcus and his spotter needed to do now was wait for the dust to settle as stray, unaimed rounds ripped at tree limbs beneath them and sent snow flying. A few minutes later, the gunfire stopped as the men dragged the Colonel’s body out of the street and a patrol started up the hillside to their right.
Marcus froze as he heard a tree limb crack to his left. It hadn’t been a round striking the trees, but someone stepping on an old branch in the snow. He and Bynes had scouted the area pretty well before settling on their current OP, but random foot patrols were not uncommon either. Marcus snaked his hand down to his Beretta 92FS sidearm.
“Get ready to move, kid,” Marcus whispered as the footsteps grew near. Bynes readied his handgun as well, trying to remain perfectly still. They would lay in wait, hoping the soldiers would walk past them.
As the footsteps drew nearer, Marcus could finally see who had been making the noise. They were two men, each appearing to be in their mid-twenties, carrying AK-47s slung from their necks. Marcus clenched the butt of his Beretta as the men approached. They didn’t appear to have noticed Marcus and his spotter, but they were on track to stumble over them.
The two men were within twenty feet of Marcus and Bynes. Marcus hated the idea of shooting them in broad daylight without silenced weapons. Their position would immediately be given away to the other patrol. Suddenly, the men stopped. The lead man motioned for them to turn toward the village below them. Marcus breathed a sigh of relief as they changed course.
They walked a few feet and stopped. Marcus watched as the younger looking guard pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, offered one to his comrade, and they both lit up.
With their backs to him, Marcus unsheathed his boot knife. He didn’t have time to wait. Their ride, a Marine UH-1 Huey, would be at the rendezvous point in two hours. They had a lot of ground to cover while avoiding enemy contact.
Following Marcus’ lead, Bynes pulled out his knife and followed, approaching the soldier to the right. In unison, they both grabbed their respective guards, shoving their knives into the men’s necks while covering their victims’ mouths with their free hands. Once they were sure the men were dead, they dragged them off into the brush. It was time to move.
Making slow and deliberate movements, the two made their way over the hill toward the “military crest” of the mountain next to them. Staying three quarters of the way up the mountain allowed them to avoid enemy movements while maintaining a good tactical advantage and concealment. An hour and a half later, they were in position, hiding in the wooded area that opened to a clearing as they waited on their ride home.
“So how does it feel?” Bynes whispered.
“How does what feel?” Marcus asked impatiently. “It’s fucking cold.” A native of South Florida, Marcus hated cold weather. He was looking forward to the day he could retire on his houseboat in the Florida Keys and throw away all of his winter clothes in favor of flip flops and shorts.
“No, I mean how does it feel to be done?” Bynes pressed.
“We’re not done until we’re home, now shut the fuck up,” Marcus grunted.
*****
It was just after 8PM when Marcus finally made it to his truck in the deployment parking area. As Marcus made the final turn onto the base housing road in his 1994 Ford Bronco, he breathed a sigh of relief. After three days of going from base to base in Europe on his way back to Quantico, he was finally home.
It was Valentine’s Day, three days before he had originally been scheduled to return. His Captain had given him a three-day pass in honor of his upcoming retirement and distinguished service. He was hoping to show up and surprise his wife, spending the weekend getting reacquainted after a long time apart.
Marcus had married Rhonda Myers just a year before his assignment to Quantico. She had been a hairdresser at a local salon near Yuma MCAS. They met at a bar outside of Yuma, Arizona and were married six months later. They had no children, but on his flight home from war-torn Bosnia, he had been thinking about kids. He had always told her he was too old, but now that he was leaving the Corps and settling down, he was starting to reconsider. Besides, she was still in her early twenties. She wasn’t too old, regardless of how he felt about himself.
Marcus noticed an extra car on the street as he pulled into his duplex driveway next to Rhonda’s Chevy Cavalier. He guessed it must’ve been his neighbors. He figured he’d have to have a talk with them about parking on his side of the lot, but for now, he was just looking forward to seeing Rhonda. He laughed at the “Clinton/Gore ‘96” sticker on the back windshield. It was ironic to Marcus that a person on a military base was supporting the same two politicians that had been doing their best to gut the military.
“Democrats,” he chuckled to himself as he shook his head.
He started to pull out his keys but then decided to try the door. Despite his warnings that it was unsafe, Rhonda always left the door unlocked, even when she was alone. He twisted the doorknob and pushed. The deadbolt was locked. Maybe she finally listened, he thought. Marcus fished out his house keys and unlocked the door. He tossed his sea bag near the front door and looked around. The house was quiet.
“Rhonda?” Marcus called out. There was no response. Marcus looked in the kitchen. There were empty takeout boxes in the trash, but the kitchen was relatively clean. Maybe she had changed while he had been gone.
Marcus turned toward the stairs. He slowly made his way up as the wooden stairs creaked on every step. He could hear noises coming from their bedroom. It sounded like she was up watching TV.
“Guess who’s-” Marcus stopped in his tracks as he opened the door. The TV was off, but there was his wife, on all fours, being mounted by another man like a dog in heat. They were both naked except for the man- he was wearing Marcus’ boonie hat.
“Oh my God!” Rhonda screamed as she jumped up and covered herself with a stray pillow. Her lover just stood there naked, frozen by fear as he contemplated his fight or flight instinct.
Marcus took a step forward, his fists clenched, “YN1 Herrington.” He recognized the offender. He was an admin clerk with the Navy. Herrington had helped process his travel claim on his last TDY before he left for Bosnia, and now he was violating his wife in his house and in his bed. Herrington’s car had been the one parked out front.
Suddenly the man leapt forward, choosing fight over flight. His right arm swung wildly at Marcus as Marcus stepped back and ducked, sending the man stumbling away naked under his own momentum.
“You’ve got the nerve to try to fight me after you’ve been fucking my wife?” Marcus growled. “And wearing my goddamned hat?”
“She told me what a piece of shit you are!” Herrington yelled as he gathered himself and prepared to reattack.
Marcus gave Rhonda a look of betrayal. He had been gone for three months, serving his country the best way he knew how, and providing for her while she sat at home and lived a relatively comfortable life. Her repayment was to fuck this guy? An admin weenie?
“I suggest you put your fucking clothes back on and go home before you get hurt,” Marcus said to Herrington as he waited for any explanation at all from Rhonda.
“Fuck you!” Herrington said as he charged Marcus. Again, he swung wildly as he neared Marcus. Marcus took another step back and redirected Herrington’s momentum into the dresser. Pictures and a jewelry box went crashing to the floor.
“Marcus, Jacob, please!” Rhonda pleaded.
“This asshole doesn’t deserve you!” Herrington yelled as he gathered himself up a third time.
Marcus finally lost his patience as the man picked himself back up. As the man steadied himself, Marcus jabbed his throat, careful not to crush his windpipe, but enough to make him gasp for air. As he doubled over, Marcus threw an elbow to the man’s jaw, dislocating it instantly. He grabbed the man by the back of the neck and sent him head first into the dresser. Blood gushed from the man’s broken nose as he writhed in pain.