Savage World

I Sharks-2

“Humanity is on the brink of extinction. We've got food riots and kids sleeping in the trash collection chutes because we don't have the room for them. At any moment, a dozen things could f**k us sideways and with all that, you're going to add acting like assholes to the list? I don't give a flying f**k about what started this! It ends now.”

Derick glared at them, silencing both men before his gaze shifted to the crowd. The onlookers fell silent, found their boots interesting to look at, stunned at their normally quiet Gunny going full hulk on them.

“In one hour, we've got to get our asses out there and maintain some kind of order during food distribution in the middle of a f*****g famine. There will be enough people pissed at us, blaming us for enforcing the rules and here you two are, fighting like kids instead of watching each other's back!”

That sunk in. Whatever grievance had led to the fight melted in the face of that stark reality. They were Sharks and Sharks watched each other's back. Especially now.

“Sorry Gunny.”

Ozzy's use of the nickname meant the message was received loud and clear and by the man's expression, it was one received with a side of shame.

“Pardon,” Linus stepped forward and extended a hand towards Ozzy who met it with a fist bump instead.

“Peace, Kraut.” Ozzy smirked, and Dupree smacked him on the back in approval at the gesture.

“f**k you, American,” Linus returned, but he was smiling.

“What's this, a f*****g wedding?”

“Major ON DECK!” Someone belted out belatedly. Derick reacted immediately, recognising that voice anywhere.

* * *

Tom stepped into the billets his Sharks affectionately called the Cave, on the tail of a fight. He couldn't blame them. Not really. Their present situation and the close quarters didn't do much to help tempers. Being jammed into makeshift bunks in the cargo hold made them look and feel like penned sheep. Back in the day, soldiers serving on the Rutherford would have proper quarters but since the Exodus every space short of hazardous voids had become living quarters.

Now the Rutherford was one more lifeboat in a patchwork fleet comprised of military, cargo and cruise liners under the banner of what was being called the Earth Alliance.

Once in competition with each other, the various military organisations of Sol were forced to amalgamate to protect the remains of the human race. While the transition was easy enough with the flight corps becoming the Space Corps, the consolidation of Earth's infantry forces was far more complicated.

The American forces joined ranks with the remnants of other units, such as the British SAS, the Chinese Marines, French Colonial Troops, Israeli Givatis and other nationalities. Now consolidated, the reorganized force became the Security Heavy Artillery & Recon Corps. Its acronym, SHARC, gave rise to the nickname that quickly went viral.

Sharks.

Tom was given command of Tiger Platoon, composed of forty warm bodies, with ten to a squad and he had to admit it fit well. He liked the term Sharks better and it was a hell of a lot better than Marines, which he knew would rankle the non-American troops, himself included.

“At ease,” Tom ordered with a dismissive wave of his hand when he saw everyone stepping to at his arrival. His head was split open now, thanks to the enthusiastic announcer but he kept his cool. Morale was already in the shitter without Tom tearing about like some drunken bastard.

He saw the dissipating hostility between Linus and Ozzy and guessed the earlier friction was forgotten once Derick reminded them Sharks watched each other's back. The big bloke knew how to handle short tempers. Christ knows they'd been friends long enough for Derick to handle his.

The kid was good value and their friendship went all the way back to a bar in Miramar when he was still a non-com. Tom was supremely grateful to learn Derick survived the exodus from Earth and wasted no time asking for the gunnery sergeant to be assigned to his new platoon.

Serving together was one of the few positives coming out of human civilization going to s**t. Besides, Derick Rickman was the only Yank he'd ever met he didn't feel the urge to throttle.

“Good morning ladies,” he greeted them with a nod and then met Derick's hazel eyes. “What's all this then?”

“Just a few assholes letting off steam,” Derick saw no reason to go into details. Besides, chances were Tom already knew what's what. “It's handled.”

Ozzy shot the Gunny a look of surprise but held back the confession on the tip of his tongue. If Gunny thought it was best to keep his mouth shut, then Ozzy wasn't going to argue with him. Besides, he had no desire to get his a*s chewed out by the Major, who could yell even louder than Gunny. Meeting Linus's gaze, the two men agreed in silent solidarity for their benefit.

With Tom's arrival and the situation now under control, Derick's attention turned to his best friend and commanding officer. Tom was doing his best to hide it, but Derick saw the signs of yet another drink-til-he-passed-out respite.

He wouldn't say anything in front of the others. In private, maybe. Tom's trip down the bottle seemed to be getting worse. He was clearly nursing a hangover, judging by the bloodshot eyes, clammy skin, and the slight reek of stale liquor. Six months ago, Derick wouldn't have given a s**t about how much Tom drank because he was right there next to the man, getting plastered.

Back then, Tom was a casual drinker who knew how to put the bottle away. Something changed after the Ruthie left Sol but for the moment, Derick was more concerned about the quality of the booze Tom managed to find. Derick swore if he found out who was making the rotgut Tom was poisoning himself with, he'd flush the son of a b***h out of an airlock himself.

“Good,” Tom nodded, deciding to leave it if Derick considered the matter closed. Besides, he caught the critical way Derick was looking at him. It didn't require any clairvoyance on Tom's part to know why. The look was all too familiar. Derick was worried about him and as much as Tom might hate admitting it, the kid had cause. A conversation for another day, he decided.

“Right then, listen up!” Tom addressed everyone once they were a bit more relaxed, knowing there would be no repercussions for the earlier fight. “I just got word the Obelisk will be carrying half the rations it was going to. Seems the spoilage and the spread of supplies across the fleet is even worse than we thought.”

An audible groan moved through the group. There would be hungry people on the Ruthie tonight. They would be angry, and the Sharks would be standing between them and what little food they were getting.

Derick cursed inwardly, a slight exchange of eye contact told him the Major was just as angered by this as he.

Glancing at his watch, Derick decided to shift their focus before they got too twisted up by a situation they could not change.

“Alright! We're on deck in…. fifty-two minutes. Alpha squad, you're up! I want equipment check in thirty. Ozzy!” he yelled at the man he'd just reprimanded. “Act like a soldier and go find Jazz…”

“No need Gunny, I'm here,” Jazz announced himself as he stepped into the room. He'd been returning anyway from his run and caught Derick's orders. “You heard Gunny! Get ready!”

With Jazz barking orders at them, the crowd dispersed, scattering in various directions towards their billets. Derick spied the lithe body of Ren Richards following the crowd and spent a fraction of a second watching her crazy hair bounce off her shoulders. Glancing away quickly before he was caught, Derick frowned. He was her superior. He had to get over her. Dragging a hand through his hair, he turned back to Tom.

“Any orders, Major?”

His tone was formal but, in truth, they'd known each other for years and were best friends.

“Yeah,” Tom nodded, taking a step closer to Derick and speaking in a lower tone. “Take Beta squad with you too. I think we both know how nasty this is going to get.”

“That's a f*****g understatement.”

* * *

Derick Rickman never intended to be a soldier.

For as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a photojournalist. His dreams involved traveling Sol, taking pictures of important events and places, immortalising his experiences, frame by frame. An avid photographer in his youth, his collection ranged from modern holo-recorders to old fashioned film cameras and even video recorders. By the time he was ten, Derick mastered the use of all of them. Hell, he even had a vintage Browning he bought at an old junk store.

Daniel Rickman, his father, was career military and so Derick could hone his craft with each new posting on a different moon or planet. It was a hobby his dad encouraged because, Derick suspected, Dad believed his middle son might be just a little too smart and sensitive for the military life.

Derick's older brother, Chris, was the one who would follow in their father's footsteps. Born a year after Dan and Susannah's wedding, the couple decided to wait a few years before having more children. As a result, Derick was born four years later, Luke came three years after, and it was five years before Susannah got the girl she wanted in Lily.

By the time Derick was two, Chris had hung the moon.

Despite Chris indulging in his God-given right as an older brother to torment his younger siblings, he was never excessive or cruel. Charged to be the man of the house in their father's absence, Chris took the responsibility seriously. He looked after the younger children and helped their mother with chores.

For Derick, Chris had been his best friend and his confidante. Even when Chris had friends of his own, he never failed to make room for Derick. If Chris's friends didn't like a kid trailing behind them, then Chris didn't have time for them.

Unsurprisingly, Chris followed their father into the military, joining the Planetary Marines when he was old enough to enlist. Derick found it fitting. Chris was most like their father and it made sense that he would continue the family tradition. Derick was still in grade school, on an advanced track for college prep with an eye on every journalism scholarship he could find, when Chris left for boot camp.

Six years later, a month after Derick's high school graduation, Chris was killed in an Earth First terrorist attack on Ganymede.

While the others mourned Chris, Derick felt as if someone had dropped a nuke on his life, obliterating everything in its path. The enormity of it was more than he could bear and deconstructed everything Derick considered important to him. He gave up plans for college for a year with a half-hearted promise to go back later but never did. Instead, he lingered at home, consoling his father, who aged a decade after hearing the news, while trying to be there for his mother and siblings just like Chris would have done.

Even after Dan decided to take a permanent post on Earth, Derick found it difficult to get his life back on track. Chris's loss was profound, and the void left behind seemed vast and permanent. As Derick approached his twentieth birthday, his cameras and photography equipment lay forgotten as he cut a swatch through the local girls and spent too much time in one bar or another. His goals were gone, and he had no idea what he intended to do with the rest of his life.

His relationship with his father grew steadily tenser. Dan Rickman was always a hard man, one who saw no difference between soldiering and parenting. It was up to their mom and Chris to provide the emotional bedrock of their family. Dan's natural reaction to Derick's spiral was to take a hard-line approach, resulting in numerous screaming matches and even physical fights that ended up with Derick moving out of the house for a time.