Private First Class Fletcher of the United Allies 47th Marines stood leaning against the frame of the hatch to the Navigation deck, his mind wandering as he contemplated his year-long rotation. He had been stationed in this exact spot for the last 253 days, having spent the first six months in a hibernation tank. Fletcher's hand found the silver ring in the pocket of his pressure suit and he began deftly turning it end over end. As he did so, his thoughts shifted to his family back home and the distant possibility of ever seeing them again. He couldn't help but feel a sense of despair that had been creeping up on him more and more frequently lately, as the monotony of life aboard the ship began to wear on him.
Fletcher’s thoughts were interrupted by his watch partner, Private Haney. Haney expressed his discontent with the pressure suit and his eagerness to take it off. Fletcher half-listened as he watched a group of passing scientists go by.
"Have you heard about those labs where they're trying to grow the food fungus? Apparently, the air in there smells like actual shit," Fletcher remarked absentmindedly.
"As I said, it couldn't be worse than this," Haney replied, shrugging his shoulders.
Fletcher's eyes glazed over as he lost himself in his thoughts once again. However, he was abruptly jolted back to reality as klaxon alarms began blaring throughout the ship, signaling an incoming attack. The deafening sound was soon followed by the earth-shattering impact of artillery slamming into the hull of the frigate. The ship groaned and listed under the force of the barrage, but somehow managed to hold together. Through the din, Fletcher could barely make out the sound of their Commander, Lieutenant Sledge, on the ship's loudhailer.
"Man the defense cannons, we're under attack!"
As the chaos erupted around him, Fletcher found himself scrambling to follow the Commanders orders to get to the turret bays. But before he could get far, a bulkhead exploded beside Haney, throwing Fletcher against the hatch and onto the deck. Dazed and disoriented, he watched in horror as a pirate emerged from the breach, pointing a trench gun directly at him.
Frozen with fear, Fletcher was unable to move or think. Suddenly, the Navigation hatch burst open and someone tackled the pirate to the ground. To his immense relief, Fletcher realized it was Commander Sledge.
The two combatants rolled across the deck, grappling at each other's throats and arms. Amidst the chaos, Fletcher heard the Commander's booming voice.
"Damnit, Private, SHOOT HIM!"
With a sudden burst of adrenaline, Fletcher scrambled to find his rifle amidst the metal debris. Finally, he located the barrel of the invader's shotgun and raised it to fire. But just as he pulled the trigger the trench gun jammed, leaving Fletcher staring down at the battered firearm in disbelief.
The pirate turns, after breaking free from the Commander, and advances on Fletcher, bloodied knife in hand. Gunshots rang out a moment later, and the pirate slumped to the floor, revealing Commander Sledge holding his sidearm.
"Focus up, Marine. This isn't the last we will see of these Marauders," the Commander said somberly.
Over the next few days, the Colony Cruiser limped through space as Fletcher resumed his post, his thoughts consumed by the recent attack. He couldn't shake the feeling of dread that hung over the ship. The hasty welding repairs of the bulkhead behind him served as a constant reminder of the danger they were in. The reserves were pulled from their long sleep following the losses in the attack, and because most of the lab equipment had been destroyed, everyone was on half rations while they did their best to repair what they could. The mood aboard the frigate was somber, to say the least.
Fletcher absentmindedly reached into his pocket and began flipping his silver ring over in his fingers, but he no longer thought of home.
Hell yea Ceeg, Keep it up man. I would look into making a book for marauders later down the road. it would be sick to see a pirates point of view too!