M. D. Cooper, Author Facebook ad: “Join the Fight with Rika's Marauders”

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The soldier with the rifle nodded, but his weapon remained trained on the conscripts. Only when the first solider passed him did he lower his weapon and walk off the bus. The door closed, and the operator set the bus in motion once more. It only drove for five minutes before stopping at a large, nondescript building. A group of soldiers stood out front. When the operator opened the doors, another pair of soldiers walked onto the bus. These two didn’t carry rifles—rather, they swung stun batons, slapping them in their hands. One soldier stayed up front, while the other began walking down the aisle. “Get up, you lazy scum. Your glorious future in the Genevian Armed Forces awaits you. First row, out!” the soldier walking the aisle hollered. One of the men in the first row didn’t rise fast enough, and the woman hit him across the shoulders with her baton, causing him to cry out in pain. “I said, Get! Up!” She screamed right in his face, then grabbed his jumpsuit, lifting him bodily from his seat, and tossed him into the aisle. “Now mooove!” The man scrambled to his feet and promptly fell down the stairs. Rika stood, ready to get off the bus the moment the woman passed her row. She noted that the stairs would be slippery from the rain-soaked boots of the guards. “Fucking moron,” the soldier grunted. “Not that it matters; you scum will make a proper contribution to the commonwealth soon enough.” Given the other man’s reference to ‘meat for the grinder’, and this soldier’s choice of words, Rika’s level of concern about what lay in her future intensified. Once out of the bus, she joined the other conscripts in a long double-row. The rain had lessened, but it was still enough of a drizzle to make them miserable. She saw the first man who had fallen down the stairs standing at the head of the line next to hers. His nose was broken, and blood poured down his face; no one made a move to help him as he sniffled and wiped the blood from around his mouth. As the bus emptied out, Rika looked over the others. They all wore the bulky jumpsuits, and the least disheveled of them still looked as bad as she felt. She was surprised to see that only half looked like street-rats; the rest of the men and women appeared to have seen baths and good food in recent days. The clean hair and trimmed fingernails were also dead giveaways of a better life. She did a quick sum as the last woman stepped from the bus, followed by the soldier and her swinging baton. There were thirty-two of them. Thirty-two miserable souls unwillingly added to the Genevian war machine. The other soldiers formed up around the conscripts, and the baton-wielding woman yelled into the rain-soaked gloom, “Move it, you fucking filth! We don’t have all night!” Continue reading in Kindle Unlimited or listen to all 65 hours for 1 Audible credit

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Join the Fight with Rika's Marauders

For fans of military science fiction who love ground pounding combat with mechanized warriors. Hammers Slammers crossed with Starship Troopers.