CONTENTS
Dedication
Legal
Image
Characters and Timeline
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Author Notes - Craig Martelle
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
Craig Series List
Michael Series List
Social Links
They say behind every great man, is a great woman,
but what if the woman is a Werewolf?
DEDICATION
We can’t write without those who support us
On the home front, we thank you for being there for us
We wouldn’t be able to do this for a living if it weren’t for our readers
We thank you for reading our books
The Bad Company
Team Includes
JIT Beta Readers - From each of us, our deepest gratitude!
Maria Stanley
Leo Roars
Sherry Foster
Micky Cocker
Kelly ODonnell
Peter Manis
John Findlay
James Caplan
Kimberly Boyer
Tim Bischoff
Larry Omans
Sarah Weir
Thomas Ogden
Joshua Ahles
If we missed anyone, please let us know!
The Bad Company (this book) is a work of fiction.
All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2017 Craig Martelle and Michael Anderle
Cover by Andrew Dobell, www.creativeedgestudios.co.uk
Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
LMBPN Publishing
PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy
Las Vegas, NV 89109
First US edition, November 2017
Editing by Mia Darien, www.miadarien.com
The Kurtherian Gambit (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are copyright © 2017 by Michael T. Anderle.
Find the high-res version here:
http://kurtherianbooks.com/timeline_jeff/
CHARACTERS & TIMELINE
Find the high-res version of the Kurtherian Timeline here:
http://kurtherianbooks.com/timeline_jeff/
World’s Worst Day Ever (WWDE)
WWDE + 20 years, Terry Henry returns from self-imposed exile. The Terry Henry Walton Chronicles detail his adventures from that time to WWDE+150
WWDE + 150 years – Michael returns to earth. BA returns to earth. TH & Char go to Space
Key Players
Terry Henry Walton (was 45 on the WWDE) – called TH by his friends, Enhanced with nanocytes by Bethany Anne herself (now Empress of the Federation), wears the rank of Colonel, leads the Force de Guerre (FDG), a military unit that he established on WWDE+20
Charumati (was 65 on the WWDE) – A Werewolf, married to Terry, carries the rank of Major in the FDG
Kimber (born WWDE+15, adopted approximately WWDE+25 by TH & Char, enhanced on WWDE+65) – Major in the FDG
Her husband Auburn Weathers (enhanced on WWDE+82) – provides logistics support to the FDG
Kaeden (born WWDE+16, adopted approximately WWDE+24 by TH & Char, enhanced on WWDE+65) – Major in the FDG
His wife Marcie Spires (born on WWDE+22, naturally enhanced) – Colonel in the FDG
Cory (born WWDE+25, naturally enhanced, gifted with the power to heal)
Her husband Ramses (born WWDE+23, enhanced on WWDE+65) – Major in the FDG
Vampires
Joseph (born 300 years before the WWDE)
Patricia (Born WWDE+30)
Pricolici (Werewolves that walk upright)
Nathan Lowell (President of the Bad Company and Bethany Anne’s chief of intelligence)
Ecaterina (Nathan’s spouse)
Christina (Nathan & Ecaterina’s daughter
Werewolves
Sue and Timmons (long-term members of Char’s pack)
Shonna & Merrit (long term members of Char’s pack)
Ted (with Felicity, an enhanced human)
Weretigers Born before the WWDE
Aaron & Yankee
Forsaken
Joseph (born 300 years before the WWDE)
Petricia (born WWDE+30)
Humans (enhanced)
Micky San Marino, Captain of the War Axe
Commander Suresha, War Axe Department Head – Engines
Commander MacEachthighearna (Mac), War Axe Department Head – Environmental
Commander Blagun Lagunov, War Axe Department Head – Structure
Commander Oscar Wirth, War Axe Department Head – Stores
Lieutenant Clodagh Shortall, War Axe engine technician
Other Key Characters
Dokken (a sentient dog)
The Good King Wenceslaus (an orange tabby who thinks he’s a Weretiger, all fifteen pounds of him)
K'thrall – a Yollin who works on the bridge of the War Axe
CHAPTER ONE
An explosion sounded and plasma fire flashed before his eyes.
Hidden in a remote corner of the Pan Galaxy, Nathan Lowell sat in his private office looking at the video communication screen. The President of the Bad Company frowned.
His Direct Action Branch was engaged and not in a good way. Nathan slowly shook his head as he watched.
Thirty-seven star systems away, General Lance Reynolds saw the same images displayed on his monitor. He chewed vigorously on his cigar. The report wasn’t what he had expected.
Colonel Terry Henry Walton, the man in the image, looked back and forth between the screen and something to his left. Ominous sounds accompanied the image.
“This first mission wasn’t what we contracted for, Nathan,” Terry yelled at the portable console that sat with a sideways tilt. He stared at a point off-screen, shook his head, and continued. “My first stop when I get off this rock is that dandy president’s office where I’ll wring his pencil-neck to get our thirty percent bonus and seventy percent kicker. And then I’m leveling his fucking palace!”
“Can you settle this with what you have?” Lance asked.
“Yes, sir,” Terry replied.
“I already told you once, call me Lance.”
“No can do, General. Can’t have you thinking I’ve grown soft just because I’ve been a pseudo-civilian for over a hundred and fifty years. Hang on.” Terry’s smile evaporated as he looked off-screen, his lip curling
involuntarily. “SHOOT HIM!” he shouted.
The crack of hand-held railguns answered. Terry stabbed his finger at something neither Nathan nor Lance could see.
“Not that one, the other one,” Terry corrected. More cracks from the hypervelocity weapons. Terry nodded and flipped the bird. “Fuck you, buddy, and your stupid-looking stalk-head!”
Terry turned back to the screen. “Where were we?”
“Something about you intending to level our client’s palace,” Nathan said coldly.
“After we’re paid, that is. Hang on.” Terry looked off-screen again, flinched with surprise, and started yelling, “Why won’t you die? WOULD SOMEONE KILL THAT THING!”
Terry continued to watch off-screen.
A rapid barrage followed, then a brief silence, and finally a blast that nearly threw the colonel off his feet. Laughing, Terry brushed his uniform jacket with his free hand. “Come back from that one, you blue fuck!”
“Sorry, General, Nathan. There’s about a hundred times more of these crawly bastards than we were led to believe. Mano-a-mano ain’t working. For every one we pop, five more appear in its place. Gotta run. We need to lop the head off this dragon. Have your people call my people and we’ll do lunch.” Terry saluted and ran off-screen. Plasma beams cut through the spot where the colonel had just been standing.
“I’ll call our least favorite client right now and tell him to stand the fuck by. I’m coming for a visit,” Nathan growled, eyes flashing yellow as his anger charged his Were form. He tamped down the urge to change into a Pricolici, an upright-walking werewolf.
He didn’t have the luxury of tearing up the universe. He was in charge and had passed the mantle of Bad Company door-kicker-in-chief to Terry Henry Walton.
Lance Reynolds stroked his chin as he thought about the man who looked happy to be in the middle of a battle seemingly raging out of control.
***
Terry made mental notes of the battlefield as he ran from one position to another. He’d brought all six of the shuttle pods carrying the tactical teams, which still put his Direct Action Branch of the Bad Company in an inferior position.
“Run and gun. We need to run and gun!” Terry shouted at the angry red sky. He adjusted his helmet as it slipped backward. He worked his shoulders to loosen his ballistic vest too as he subconsciously considered a running battle, with rapid action and constant movement.
But they couldn’t. They came under fire the second they ran off the drop ships. The shuttles had buttoned up and taken off immediately afterwards to hold a position out of range of the big guns. Or rockets. Or mortars.
Terry wasn’t sure about the enemy’s weapons, only caring about what he had to do to take them out. His tactical teams were made up of werewolves, weretigers, vampires, and enhanced humans. They had centuries of experience, and were best at making surgical strikes, small teams inserting behind enemy lines.
They weren’t immortal, only enhanced by nanocytes, technology taken from Kurtherian scientists. They were still human, but different.
Terry would never say their enhancements made them better. He would say that their minds and their teamwork made them better. They believed that they trained hard to make war anticlimactic.
“Where’s Kaeden with my mechs?” Terry shouted over the explosions.
Charumati, his purple-eyed werewolf wife, put a finger to her ear as she used her internal comm chip to talk with her son. Terry had a chip too, but he didn’t want to lose focus on the battle as it raged on all sides of their position.
“This is the most fucked-up thing I’ve ever been a part of,” he growled. He clenched his jaw. The muscles stood out of his face and a vein throbbed in his forehead. He carried a Jean Dukes Special pistol in one hand and his Mameluke sword in the other. The pistol was dialed to five out of a maximum of eleven.
“He’s over the hill to the right. The fireworks you see are from his section,” Char relayed.
“Can he get through their lines?”
Char’s eyes unfocused for a moment, then she shook her head.
Terry slid his sword over his shoulder and into its scabbard strapped under his backpack. He took his pistol in both hands and dialed it to eleven. “Order a tactical retrograde to our position. We’re breaking through right over there.” Terry pointed to a heavily-wooded area covering the top of a hill.
“Joseph, where the hell are you?” Terry asked out loud, before switching to his comm chip. Powered by human energy, with a little extra boost from the Etheric dimension, the comm chips allowed the group to talk with each other. It also translated a vast number of human and alien languages into English.
The Bad Company’s Direct Action Branch had only had the comm chips for a few weeks and weren’t yet accustomed to them or how best to optimally employ them.
We’re where you saw us last, but we’re dug in better. My people are burning through their ammunition. It’s like an endless tide. I’m not sure we have enough bullets to kill them all, Joseph reported.
Have you tried not shooting them?
The first bunch got close and you know Fitzroy isn’t afraid to break into pugilist form. These things rammed him and bit the holy hell out of him before we could blow their stalk-heads off. He said punching them was like hitting a tree trunk. I wailed on one with my sword. I’ll second his observation. It took a lot to cut through that neck. I don’t recommend we devolve into hand-to-hand.
Joseph and Petricia were vampires, exceptionally strong and fast.
If you had a problem with the Tiskers, then we’re fucked if we run out of ammo, Terry replied. Where are my goddamn mechs?
Coming, Kaeden replied. Enhanced by nanocytes, Terry and Char’s adopted son was in charge of the small mech section, powered one-person armor suits. They were the tanks of the Etheric Federation. Bigger targets but they could take a beating while delivering their fair share of death and destruction.
Terry thought he could feel the ground shaking as the mechs pounded their way toward him, since they drew an inordinate amount of incoming fire.
Kae and the other three mechs of his team were on their way.
“Get down!” Terry bellowed at Christina. She was standing and blasting away at a small mob of incoming Tiskers.
“Fuck these guys!” she yelled over her shoulder, sounding too much like Terry Henry himself. She was still angry about not being able to change into her Pricolici form.
“Might as well hide inside a mech,” she mumbled.
“Might as well. Now stay down!” Terry shouted. “There are snipers in the back of that mob.”
Terry ran behind her position, varying his speed and zigging at odd times. He dove behind cover and crawled the last few meters to reach her. She fired one last time and bent down, keeping her eyes above a small berm so she could watch. Terry kneeled next to her and looked out.
“I know how powerful and well-trained you are. You wouldn’t be out here if you weren’t. But if one of these Tisker slugs hit you in the head, you’ll be dead, just like any of us. I really don’t want to tell your parents that I got their daughter killed.”
Christina glanced toward Terry. “I’ve never had to sit back and wait to get attacked. It’s a little frustrating.”
Terry laughed out loud. “No shit! That makes you one of us. We all fucking hate this. Trench warfare sucks mongo bistok balls, if I got the expression right.”
“Never heard it before, but I get your meaning. I think I’ll use that.” Christina leaned over the berm, fired twice, and returned to watching.
“Nice shot,” Terry said as the Tisker’s stalk-head turned into a blue mist from the impact of the hypervelocity dart.
Christina smiled and nodded slowly.
“Don’t doubt that you’re one of us, Christina. And don’t doubt us. We dropped into the middle of a shitstorm. We’re going to figure this out, roll up these blue fucks, and end this war. Then we’re going to look at what we did wrong to put ourselves in this position. And that�
�s on me. It’s my fault that we’re ass-jammed inside a circle jerk. So, stay down. Think about how bad I’d feel if you got killed?”
“How bad you’d feel?”
Terry slapped her on the shoulder. “Welcome aboard. Now kill those two so I can get going.”
Christina snapped her attention back over the berm where two of the enemy were approaching quickly. “I don’t know,” she said before firing two rounds, “how these goofy-looking bastards—” Two more shots fired. “—can move so fast.”
Terry peeked over Christina’s shoulder as she continued to double-tap approaching Tiskers. “You got me. Those stumpy legs of theirs. We’ll probably never know.”
“Go!” Christina called as she sent a steady stream of darts into the enemy.
Terry ran, staying low, and stopped when he reached Petricia, Joseph’s wife and also a vampire.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
She looked at him oddly. “I can think of a thousand things I’d rather be doing,” she replied matter-of-factly. Terry shrugged and held up one hand. There was nothing he could do about that.
Terry turned toward the enemy, gripped his Jean Dukes Special in both hands, braced himself, and stood up, angling forward as if he expected to stop a speeding train with just his body.
He aimed at the middle of the attacking mob and fired. He grunted at the force of the kick, but laughed softly when the entire mass of stalk-headed, turtle-shelled aliens exploded into a cloud of blue-mist.
“Baby’s got some juice!” he exclaimed proudly.
Nice one, Dad, Kae said over the comm chip. Terry looked around and was unable to spot the mechs.
Drone, Kaeden added.
Terry looked up to see the micro-drone hovering soundlessly twenty meters over his head. He smiled and gave it the thumbs up before jumping out of the small depression that Petricia was using for cover and running for the next position.
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