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the vehicle where Jackson was beginning to
wake up, still sitting in the driver’s seat with his seat belt
buckled. Bruce released the buckle of his belt and grabbed hold of
his ear, forcing him to follow. He led the man out of the vehicle,
revealing him to the two dozen people stood in front of them.
    “This fuck muppet had the good sense to buckle his
belt to save his own skin, and had no concern whatsoever for the
rest of his crew, or any of us!” shouted Bruce.
    He slammed the man against the side of the recently
recovered vehicle, and punched him in the face, causing him to reel
in pain, blood spurting from his nose.
    “Ordinarily I would suggest some severe punishment
for such blatant disregard for the group’s safety. Sadly, we cannot
spare one life, and that is the lesson that this idiot must learn.
We may not all share the same interests, or be compatible people.
Some of you may loathe others, but we are the lucky few, we can’t
be picky about who we call our friends anymore. Therefore, we’re
going to have to hope Jackson has learnt the errors of his ways,
because nothing we can say will change him,” said Bruce.
    The group looked at each other, some mumbling,
others agreeing. Many of the survivors had hoped to see some
punishment dealt out to the man who had put them in such danger,
they were in part disappointed, but also relieved that it was
over.
    “Jackson, wisen the fuck up, and don’t you dare
touch any alcohol for the rest of the week,” said Bruce.
    The bloodied and dazed man nodded, knowing he had no
other choice. Bruce walked around to the side of the crashed
vehicle to survey the damage, it was largely cosmetic. However, the
mesh screens covering the windows were damaged and partly hanging
off.
    “Jake, organise some guys to get this fixed. Connor,
we have wounded to attend to and vehicles to repair and check for
damage, we hold here for the day, rest up and continue tomorrow!”
shouted Bruce.
     
    CHAPTER
THREE
     
    NORTHERN PACIFIC OCEAN
     
    The Landing Craft Air Cushion (LCAC) bounced gently
as it clipped the low waves of the ocean. The vehicle was an
oddity, a shallow hulled but very wide landing craft that operated
as a hovercraft. She travelled at forty knots and carried Captain
Black’s reconnaissance unit. Though the craft could carry half a
dozen vehicles or even a couple of hundred soldiers there were far
fewer onboard for this operation. Captain Black brought with him a
well-equipped Marine platoon, as well as several specialists from
the US and France that they had stuck with since their experiences
in Afghanistan in the months before. There was also a number of
civilian technical crew led by Dr Garcia.
    Dr Garcia cradled her rugged laptop as she watched
the screen for useful information. The computer had a live feed to
the UAV that buzzed overhead and provided the unit with up-to-date
information on the ship and the immediate area around them. The
display showed several access points near the bow that were used
for loading materials directly into the hull. She turned to the
Marines that were readying equipment and spotted the Captain. She
waved to him, drawing his attention to the computer. He said a few
more words and then wandered over, shouting over the sound of the
loud fans.
    “What?” he asked.
    “Look!” shouted Dr Garcia as she showed him the
access hatches.
    Captain Black nodded in agreement and gave her a
thumbs up gesture. He tapped his ear and then spoke into his throat
mic, giving directions to the crew of the craft. They were now only
half a mile from the bow of the massive ocean liner.
    Overhead a helicopter buzzed past, it was the
research vessel’s own craft and carried an additional four Marines.
Moving swiftly past the hovercraft it approached the liner and
hovered over the bow of the vessel. Ropes appeared and in less than
a minute the Marines had rappelled down to the deck and started
fixing ropes to throw down to the hovercraft below. With the
Marines