CASPer Alamo

by Eric S. Brown

  “Wow,” Rai commented.

  “I take it that Colonel Hendershot didn’t have a safety net in place for when things went south?” Robert asked.

  “The Hellhounds lived contract to contract, sir,” Rai told him honestly. “We got by…up until this one, anyway.”

  “I see.” Robert leaned forward in his chair. “I think the real question now, Rai, is what are you going to do next?”

  “I haven’t exactly had time to think about it, sir,” Rai answered. Being reminded that the Hellhounds were no more hurt even more than the pain she was already in.

  “Look,” Robert said. “I could use a pilot like you, Rai. I’m going to be rebuilding my unit pretty much from scratch after this one. Having a CASPer pilot as talented and experienced as you—not to mention as competent outside of her suit, too—would speed things up a great deal.”

  Rai blinked in surprise. “Are you offering me a job?”

  “I am.” Robert smiled at her. “And a promotion,” he added. “How would you feel about being a captain in Robert’s Guard, Rai?”

  “Sir,” Rai said, beaming, “I’d say that’s best offer I’ve had in a very long time. If you want me, you’ve got me.”

  “Glad to hear it, Captain.” Robert nodded at her and got up. “We’ll deal with all the paperwork once you’re back on your feet.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Rai called to him as he headed out through the curtains that separated her from the other wounded troops in the sickbay.

  Robert paused long enough to glance back at her and say, “My pleasure, Rai. Good help is hard to find.”

  Rai watched him leave. It was good to know she still had a future ahead of her.

  # # # # #

  Four Horsemen Titles

  Cartwright’s Cavaliers

  Asbaran Solutions

  Winged Hussars

  The Golden Horde

  A Fistful of Credits

  Peacemaker

  For a Few Credits More

  The Good, the Bad, and the Merc

  The Four Horsemen: Alpha Contracts

  * * * * *

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  About Eric S. Brown

  Eric S. Brown is the author of numerous books including the Bigfoot War series, the Kaiju Apocalypse series, and the Homeworld series. Some of his standalone works include War of the Worlds Plus Blood Guts and Zombies, Kraken, Megalodon, Megalodon Apocalypse, Sasquatch Lake, Crawlers, and World War of the Dead to name only a few. His short fiction has been published in anthologies from Baen Books, the Grantville Gazette, Walmart World Magazine, and hundreds of other places in the small press and beyond. The first book of his Bigfoot War series was adapted into a feature film in 2014 by Origin Releasing.

  * * * * *

  About Jason Brannon

  Jason Brannon is the author of The Maze and The Tears of Nero. His fiction features flawed characters trapped in impossible situations that test and try their faith. If you like the message contained in a Ted Dekker book but want the suspense of a Stephen King thriller, then check out his fiction and get the best of both worlds. Jason Brannon currently lives in Amory, MS and maintains a website at https://www.jasonbrannon.us/ where more information can be found about his work.

  * * * * *

  The following is an

  Excerpt from Book One of the Revelations Cycle:

  Cartwright’s Cavaliers

  ___________________

  Mark Wandrey

  Available Now from Seventh Seal Press

  eBook, Paperback and Audio

  Excerpt from “Cartwright’s Cavaliers:”

  The last two operational tanks were trapped on their chosen path. Faced with destroyed vehicles front and back, they cut sideways to the edge of the dry river bed they’d been moving along and found several large boulders to maneuver around that allowed them to present a hull-down defensive position. Their troopers rallied on that position. It was starting to look like they’d dig in when Phoenix 1 screamed over and strafed them with dual streams of railgun rounds. A split second later, Phoenix 2 followed on a parallel path. Jim was just cheering the air attack when he saw it. The sixth damned tank, and it was a heavy.

  “I got that last tank,” Jim said over the command net.

  “Observe and stand by,” Murdock said.

  “We’ll have these in hand shortly,” Buddha agreed, his transmission interspersed with the thudding of his CASPer firing its magnet accelerator. “We can be there in a few minutes.”

  Jim examined his battlespace. The tank was massive. It had to be one of the fusion-powered beasts he’d read about. Which meant shields and energy weapons. It was heading down the same gap the APC had taken, so it was heading toward Second Squad, and fast.

  “Shit,” he said.

  “Jim,” Hargrave said, “we’re in position. What are you doing?”

  “Leading,” Jim said as he jumped out from the rock wall.

  * * * * *

  Get “Cartwright’s Cavaliers” now at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MRZKM95/.

  Find out more about Mark Wandrey and “Cartwright’s Cavaliers” at: http://chriskennedypublishing.com/imprints-authors/mark-wandrey/.

  The following is an

  Excerpt from Book One of The Psyche of War:

  Minds of Men

  ___________________

  Kacey Ezell

  Now Available from Theogony Books

  eBook, Paperback, and (Soon) Audio

  Excerpt from “Minds of Men:”

  “Look sharp, everyone,” Carl said after a while. Evelyn couldn’t have said whether they’d been droning for minutes or hours in the cold, dense white of the cloud cover. “We should be overhead the French coast in about thirty seconds.”

  The men all reacted to this announcement with varying degrees of excitement and terror. Sean got up from his seat and came back to her, holding an awkward looking arrangement of fabric and straps.

  Put this on, he thought to her. It’s your flak jacket. And your parachute is just there, he said, pointing. If the captain gives the order to bail out, you go, clip this piece into your ‘chute, and jump out the biggest hole you can find. Do you understand? You do, don’t you. This psychic thing certainly makes explaining things easier, he finished with a grin.

  Evelyn gave him what she hoped was a brave smile and took the flak jacket from him. It was deceptively heavy, and she struggled a bit with getting it on. Sean gave her a smile and a thumbs up, and then headed back to his station.

  The other men were checking in and charging their weapons. A short time later, Evelyn saw through Rico’s eyes as the tail gunner watched their fighter escort waggle their wings at the formation and depart. They didn’t have the long-range fuel capability to continue all the way to the target.

  Someday, that long-range fighter escort we were promised will materialize, Carl thought. His mind felt determinedly positive, like he was trying to be strong for the crew and not let them see his fear. That, of course, was an impossibility, but the crew took it well. After all, they were afraid, too. Especially as the formation had begun its descent to the attack altitude of 20,000 feet. Evelyn became gradually aware of the way the men’s collective tension ratcheted up with every hundred feet of descent. They were entering enemy fighter territory.

  Yeah, and someday Veronica Lake will...ah. Never mind. Sorry, Evie. That was Les. Evelyn could feel the waist gunner’s not-quite-repentant grin. She had to suppress a grin of her own, but Les’ irreverence was the perfect tension breaker.

  Boys will be boys, she sent, projecting a sense of tolerance. But real men keep their private lives private. She added this last with a bit of smug superiority and felt the rest of the crew’s
appreciative flare of humor at her jab. Even Les laughed, shaking his head. A warmth that had nothing to do with her electric suit enfolded Evelyn, and she started to feel like, maybe, she just might become part of the crew yet.

  Fighters! Twelve o’clock high!

  The call came from Alice. If she craned her neck to look around Sean’s body, Evelyn could just see the terrifying rain of tracer fire coming from the dark, diving silhouette of an enemy fighter. She let the call echo down her own channels and felt her men respond, turning their own weapons to cover Teacher’s Pet’s flanks. Adrenaline surges spiked through all of them, causing Evelyn’s heart to race in turn. She took a deep breath and reached out to tie her crew in closer to the Forts around them.

  She looked through Sean’s eyes as he fired from the top turret, tracking his line of bullets just in front of the attacking aircraft. His mind was oddly calm and terribly focused...as, indeed, they all were. Even young Lieutenant Bob was zeroed in on his task of keeping a tight position and making it that much harder to penetrate the deadly crossing fire of the Flying Fortress.

  Fighters! Three o’clock low!

  That was Logan in the ball turret. Evelyn felt him as he spun his turret around and began to fire the twin Browning AN/M2 .50 caliber machine guns at the sinister dark shapes rising up to meet them with fire.

  Got ‘em, Bobby Fritsche replied, from his position in the right waist. He, too, opened up with his own .50 caliber machine gun, tracking the barrel forward of the nose of the fighter formation, in order to “lead” their flight and not shoot behind them.

  Evelyn blinked, then hastily relayed the call to the other girls in the formation net. She felt their acknowledgement, though it was almost an absentminded thing as each of the girls were focusing mostly on the communication between the men in their individual crews.

  Got you, you Kraut sonofabitch! Logan exulted. Evelyn looked through his eyes and couldn’t help but feel a twist of pity for the pilot of the German fighter as he spiraled toward the ground, one wing completely gone. She carefully kept that emotion from Logan, however, as he was concentrating on trying to take out the other three fighters who’d been in the initial attacking wedge. One fell victim to Bobby’s relentless fire as he threw out a curtain of lead that couldn’t be avoided.

  Two back to you, tail, Bobby said, his mind carrying an even calm, devoid of Logan’s adrenaline-fueled exultation.

  Yup, Rico Martinez answered as he visually acquired the two remaining targets and opened fire. He was aided by fire from the aircraft flying off their right wing, the Nagging Natasha. She fired from her left waist and tail, and the two remaining fighters faltered and tumbled through the resulting crossfire. Evelyn watched through Rico’s eyes as the ugly black smoke trailed the wreckage down.

  Fighters! Twelve high!

  Fighters! Two high!

  The calls were simultaneous, coming from Sean in his top turret and Les on the left side. Evelyn took a deep breath and did her best to split her attention between the two of them, keeping the net strong and open. Sean and Les opened fire, their respective weapons adding a cacophony of pops to the ever-present thrum of the engines.

  Flak! That was Carl, up front. Evelyn felt him take hold of the controls, helping the lieutenant to maintain his position in the formation as the Nazi anti-aircraft guns began to send up 20mm shells that blossomed into dark clouds that pocked the sky. One exploded right in front of Pretty Cass’ nose. Evelyn felt the bottom drop out of her stomach as the aircraft heaved first up and then down. She held on grimly and passed on the wordless knowledge the pilots had no choice but to fly through the debris and shrapnel that resulted.

  In the meantime, the gunners continued their rapid fire response to the enemy fighters’ attempt to break up the formation. Evelyn took that knowledge—that the Luftwaffe was trying to isolate one of the Forts, make her vulnerable—and passed it along the looser formation net.

  Shit! They got Liberty Belle! Logan called out then, from his view in the ball turret. Evelyn looked through his angry eyes, feeling his sudden spike of despair as they watched the crippled Fort fall back, two of her four engines smoking. Instantly, the enemy fighters swarmed like so many insects, and Evelyn watched as the aircraft yawed over and began to spin down and out of control.

  A few agonizing heartbeats later, first one, then three more parachutes fluttered open far below. Evelyn felt Logan’s bitter knowledge that there had been six other men on board that aircraft. Liberty Belle was one of the few birds flying without a psychic on board, and Evelyn suppressed a small, wicked feeling of relief that she hadn’t just lost one of her friends.

  Fighters! Twelve o’clock level!

  * * * * *

  Find out more about Kacey Ezell and “Minds of Men” at:

  http://www.kaceyezell.net/

  * * * * *

  The following is an

  Excerpt from Book One of the Kin Wars Saga:

  Wraithkin

  ___________________

  Jason Cordova

  Now Available from Theogony Books

  eBook, Paperback and Audio

  Excerpt from “Wraithkin:”

  Prologue

  The lifeless body of his fellow agent on the bed confirmed the undercover operation was thoroughly busted.

  “Crap,” Agent Andrew Espinoza, Dominion Intelligence Bureau, said as he stepped fully into the dimly lit room and carefully made his way to the filthy bed in which his fellow agent lay. He turned away from the ruined body of his friend and scanned the room for any sign of danger. Seeing none, he quickly walked back out of the room to where the slaves he had rescued earlier were waiting.

  “Okay, let’s keep quiet now,” he reminded them. “I’ll go first, and you follow me. I don’t think there are any more slavers in the warehouse. Understand?”

  They all nodded. He offered them a smile of confidence, though he had lied. He knew there was one more slaver in the warehouse, hiding near the side exit they were about to use. He had a plan to deal with that person, however. First he had to get the slaves to safety.

  He led the way, his pistol up and ready as he guided the women through the dank and musty halls of the old, rundown building. It had been abandoned years before, and the slaver ring had managed to get it for a song. In fact, they had even qualified for a tax-exempt purchase due to the condition of the neighborhood around it. The local constable had wanted the property sold, and the slaver ring had stepped in and offered him a cut if he gave it to them. The constable had readily agreed, and the slavers had turned the warehouse into the processing plant for the sex slaves they sold throughout the Dominion. Andrew knew all this because he had been the one to help set up the purchase in the first place.

  Now, though, he wished he had chosen another locale.

  He stopped the following slaves as he came to the opening which led into one of the warehouse’s spacious storage areas. Beyond that lay their final destination, and he was dreading the confrontation with the last slaver. He checked his gun and grunted in surprise as he saw he had two fewer rounds left than he had thought. He shook his head and charged the pistol.

  “Stay here and wait for my signal,” he told the rescued slaves. They nodded in unison.

  He took a deep, calming breath. No matter what happened, he had to get the slaves to safety. He owed them that much. His sworn duty was to protect the Dominion from people like the slavers, and someone along the way had failed these poor women. He exhaled slowly, crossed himself and prayed to God, the Emperor and any other person who might have been paying attention.

  He charged into the room, his footsteps loud on the concrete flooring. He had his gun up as he ducked behind a small, empty crate. He peeked over the top and snarled; he had been hoping against hope the slaver was facing the other direction.

  Apparently Murphy is still a stronger presence in my life than God, he thought as he locked eyes with the last slaver. The woman’s eyes widened in recognition and shock, and he knew he would on
ly have one chance before she killed them all.

  He dove to the right of the crate and rolled, letting his momentum drag him out of the slaver’s immediate line of fire. He struggled to his feet as her gun swung up and began to track him, but he was already moving, sprinting back to the left while closing in on her. She fired twice, both shots ricocheting off the floor and embedding themselves in the wall behind him.

  Andrew skid to a stop and took careful aim. It was a race, the slaver bringing her gun around as his own came to bear upon her. The muzzles of both guns flashed simultaneously, and Andrew grunted as pain flared in his shoulder.

  A second shot punched him in the gut and he fell, shocked the woman had managed to get him. He lifted his head and saw that while he had hit her, her wound wasn’t nearly as bad as his. He had merely clipped her collarbone and, while it would smart, it was in no way fatal. She took aim on him and smiled coldly.