Sarge: F.I.S.T.S., #1

SARGE

F.I.S.T.S

BOOK 1

BEY DECKARD

Bey Deckard

CONTENTS

Copyright

License Notes

Themes and Content Warnings

Author’s Note

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Books by Bey Deckard

About the Author

Copyright © 2014

Bey Deckard

Published by Bey Deckard

Edited by Starr Waddell – QuiethouseEditing.com

Cover design & illustrations by Bey Deckard

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold 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 enjoyment only, then please return to your favourite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

October 22, 2014

(rev 23.6.28)

THEMES AND CONTENT WARNINGS

Sci-fi, military, BDSM, rough sex, D/s, grumpy/sunshine, bureaucracy, violence

AUTHOR’S NOTE

For JLT

ONE

MURPHY

Down on my knees in mud made from equal parts dirt and blood, I survey the damage done to Sarge. His left eye’s completely gone; it’s just a big, wet red hole where the charge went in. Thankfully, it’s cauterized some, so the bleeding is minimal. There’s nothing I can really do about it; he’ll have to get it replaced at the chop ‘n’ change at HQ, and that’s a half-hour hike that might as well be on the other side of the planet as long as the sun’s still up.

I pop open a compartment in my hip and take out a pin-sticker of hubba bubba. I jab it into his neck and sit back to check if any of this goddamned blood is my own while I let the painkiller work its magic. HeBA, or Hexa-Benactryl Almeanotroxene, is a synthetic compound that’s part homegrown and part alien; the fact that the shit is bright fucking pink gets me thinking that the squinters and grinders that make it were actively hoping for the nickname.

It doesn’t take long. The hubba’s pretty potent. Up until this point, he’s been staring off to the side, his face tense, not saying a word. The wound’s gotta hurt like hell, but this is Sarge. He’s a legend. Hell, even I’d be tempted to cry a little if some asshole blew a hole in my head. When he finally turns to me, his right eye looks blankly somewhere over my shoulder, and there’s no expression on his face.

Marine? he says, like he doesn’t know who I am. He’s still not looking directly at me, and it dawns on me right then that maybe he can’t see.

Y’sir, I reply. My voice is in the basement end of the register, all gravel and boom. Half of what I say ends up sounding like a grunt, but that’s fine with me. I don’t say much.

I think I’m blind, he says, blinking slowly. It seems like his marbles are all in place though; he doesn’t have that lost look that most men got in his situation. I nod, and then feel like an idiot.

Y’sir, I say again. I reach for his face. Uh, hang on. Sorry. To his credit, he doesn’t look alarmed when I start stuffing the empty socket with gauze before taping the whole thing over with a few strips of med tape. When I’m done sealing the damage, I thumb up the lid from the other eye. The pupil’s not reacting to the light from my helmet, so I figure there’s something wrong between his eye and his brain.

I get a bright idea and dig around in the med-kit some more. I find the relays and press one to his right temple before sticking one to my own. They both come on, powered by the subtle electric charge that runs through a human body. I watch the little LEDs go through their patterns as they calibrate, but I have no fucking clue if this is going to work. These relays are made for bridging the neural gap caused by injury in one individual—you know, so that a guy with a spinal injury can still hoof it to HQ on his own. I don’t know if lending a little of my brain’s processing power to his eye is going to result in anything good. Maybe I’ll just end up short-circuiting my own damn head, but it’s worth a try.

I’d give my fucking life for this man.

After a few seconds, Sarge blinks, looking startled. His pupil contracts when he turns and focuses on me. I don’t feel any worse for wear, so I figure the relays are doing their job. They’re good for about two metres and change, so he and I are going to have to stick close, but that really doesn’t bother me.

Murphy? he