by J. N. Chaney
Copyrighted Material
Sentenced to War Copyright © 2021 by Variant Publications
Book design and layout copyright © 2020 by JN Chaney
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from JN Chaney.
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Contents
Glossary
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
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About the Authors
Glossary
AGMS: Anti-G Straining Maneuvers
ASAP: As Soon As Possible
BC: the digital currency for most nations
BOCT: Benevolent Order of Crystal Technicians
Bronze Nova: the third-highest medal in the Union military
CCR-32 Didactic Interface: the AI implanted into the Marines’ heads.
Cerrocrete: a very strong futuristic concrete
CG: Commanding General
CO: Commanding Officer
COH: Council of Humanity, the highest authority of mankind
CST: Combat Simulation Trainer
D-5 Cord: an explosive-saturated cord
DC/Direct Combat: Marines such as infantry, recon mech combat engineers, who will face the enemy in direct combat.
DI: Drill Instructor
Dykstra: a heavy sniper rifle
E-Club: Enlisted Club where the lowest three ranks can hang out, drink, and eat.
ECR: Effective Casualty Radius. The radius from a detonation within which will produce 50% casualties
EMP: Electro-magnetic Pulse. Will shut down all electronics within range
EOE: End of Enlistment
FTL: Faster Than Light, a starship drive
Gold Nova: the second highest medal in the Union military forces
G-Loc: G-force induced loss of consciousness
Groundpounders: slang for infantry
HE: High Explosive
Host: the military arm of the Frisian Mantle, a sometime ally/enemy of the Perseus Union
KIA: Killed in Action
Leaches: Military slang for civilians
M49 Assault Rifle: the standard weapon of the Union Marines. It fires a 2mm high-velocity dart.
M-102 Nellis: the Marine Corps’ main sniper rifle
M-133: a heavy weapon fired by mech Marines
MF-30: a standard issue handgun
MilDes: Military Designator
MilDes Ninety-nine/Ninety-nine: essentially indentured servants in uniform
MMCS: Marine Mechanical Combat Suit
MP: Military Police
MPT: Military Placement Test
NCO: Non-commissioned Officer. The middle two ranks of enlisted Marines
NM: Neuro-mapping
NVD: Night Vision Device
Omega Division/OD: the secret police and spy agency of the Union
Optisight: a flexible optical tube
PAL-3: Personal Armor, Light 3: the standard body armor for an infantry Marine
PAL-5: Personal Armor, Light 5. The standard body armor of recon Marines and Raiders.
Paladin: a large Centaur heavy mech unit, similar to a light tank
PFC: Private First Class
Phoenix MG-3 Incendiary Mine: a small grenade that can burn through most substances
Plastiderm: a synthetic skin that is used in medical procedures
PN: Platinum Nova the highest military award in the Perseus Union military
Poolee: someone who is committed to the Corps but who is not yet been sworn in as a recruit
PQ: Personality Quotient. Used to determine the human characteristics of some AIs
PUNS: Perseus Union Naval Ship
Raider: part of Recon, but with more combat-focused missions instead of surveillance
Recon: Reconnaissance Marine
Riever: a smaller Centaur mech unit, similar to a Marine Raider or reconnaissance Marine.
Secdrones: Security drones used by the police
SNCO: Staff Non-commissioned Officer. The highest three ranks among enlisted Marines.
SOP: Standard Operating Procedure
Syksky: a deep-fried bread stuffed with spiced meat and vegetables
WIA: Wounded in Action
XM-554: a more powerful missile designed to have more punch
XO: Executive Officer, the #2 person in the unit.
Yellowjacket: a shoulder-launched missile
Yellowshirt: a Navy sailor charged with moving people and goods around a flight line.
1
Corporal Reverent Pelletier, Pegasus Union Marines, shook his head, clearing out the cobwebs.
“So, I take it we’re here in one piece?”
Rev stretched the best he could in the Personal Insertion Sphere-31, the “pisser,” yawned, and as the wake-ups took hold everything came into focus. The vibrations he was feeling was his pisser breaking through the planet’s exosphere. This had been a long insert: fifty-three hours since he launched from a nondescript in-system tramp.
“A joke? I’m just coming to, and you want to make me suffer through one of your jokes?”
I never should have upped your PQ.
It had been six months since Rev, along with everyone else, had been involuntarily extended in the Corps, and he’d raised Punch�
��s PQ to one hundred percent at the time. In some ways, his battle buddy was no different than he was before. In other ways, such as his intense interest in humor, the difference was more pronounced.
“How long before power-up?”
The insertion sphere was almost totally inert as it plummeted to the planet’s surface. The only electrical impulses inside of it were those of his own nervous system and his battle buddy leeching from it. Everything else was off in the hopes that the Centaurs wouldn’t be able to pick the pisser up on their scans.
Rev hated not being in control, and his mind strayed to the surface of the planet, wondering if he’d been detected, wondering if a meson cannon was now being trained on him.
The drugs that had kept him out during the approach to Tenerife were being purged from his system, so that was no surprise. That and the fact that he was a big fat target, unable to take evasive action.
I’m going to regret this, I know.
But anything to take his mind off the Centaurs below.
“OK, tell me a joke.”
Does he sound eager?
It was getting harder to think of his battle buddy as simple crystals in a lattice lodged in his brain, but Rev hadn’t decided if Punch enjoyed telling jokes or if that was just part of his programming—something the psychologists thought Rev needed to perform at peak function.
“OK, I don’t know. Why?”
It took Rev a second for it to sink in, then he groaned.
I knew I should have said no.
“I should lower your PQ to fifty.”
He made sure not to make that a direct order. He’d said that facetiously once before and didn’t realize for over a week that his battle buddy had followed that order.
Your jokes still suck, buddy. You’ve got a long way to go to catch up to the king.
The belief that his jokes were better than Punch’s oddly made him feel comfortable. With so much that his battle buddy could do better, it was good to know that, in this case, an organic brain could outdo a crystal one. Tomiko said his and Punch’s jokes were equally bad when he asked for her opinion, but what did she know about humor?
The pisser’s vibration turned to shaking, and Rev had to brace himself to keep from being slammed about. If Punch’s joke had been intended to keep his mind off the entry, it had failed. He just had to sit back and trust, which was difficult for him to do.
Just centimeters from where he was bracing himself, the surface of the capsule was ablating, slowing him down. Much of his speed had been bled away by using parabolic braking around the system’s second-largest gas giant. Now, the pisser was using the atmosphere to slow to the point to where Rev could survive the transition from the capsule into the atmosphere.
Rev fought with his stomach as the pisser lurched and shook. Some of the others made it a point of pride to be able to handle the descent. Rev cared more about puking, or not puking, as the case was. Despite the crap the others gave him for having a wimpy stomach, he wasn’t too proud to have his medinanos push antiemetics through him. Better than covering his flight suit with puke.
Finally.
The pisser was violently shaking now, and Rev was being thrown about, banging his head and arms. Antiemetics or not, he was decidedly uncomfortable, and his ejection, despite the danger, was a welcomed prospect. He removed the power-up from the compartment by his right hand.
Punch counted him down. At zero, Rev snapped the power-up like a chem-light, allowing the three sections to intermix, then slid it into the recessed slot.
If the system was working, a tiny microwatt flicker of electricity was powering up the pisser’s sensors. They would measure its speed and location. The speed was to determine if it was going to be safe enough for Rev to be ejected. The location was because by adjusting the pattern of ablation, the pisser could make slight course corrections. All of this was being done without any input by him.
This was Rev’s second pisser insertion, so compared to most Marines, he was an old hand at it. That didn’t do much, however, to calm his nerves. Give him a Yellowjacket and put a Centaur in front of him, and he was at least in control of the situation. Here, he was just a slab of meat, a package to be delivered.
He couldn’t tell for sure, but it seemed as if the shaking had abated somewhat. He stared at the spot where the LED would light, telling him he had only seconds before ejecting.
“We still good to go?”
Rev didn’t like the “as far as I can tell,” but the capsule was entirely automated, and Punch had no control over it, either.
Come on, Reverent. You don’t need a battle buddy to hold your hand. Man up.
At last, the single green LED lit like a beacon in the dark. Rev got into the ejection position, pulling in his arms, tightening up his legs, and bringing his chin down to his chest while the LED pulsed down the seconds.
Rev tightened his position, counting under his breath, then the pisser split open around him. The shock almost took his breath away as forces clawed at his arms and legs. Without his augments, he wouldn’t have been able to hold his position, and his survival rate would have been in the twentieth percentile. Even augmented, it was a struggle.
The atmosphere yanked at his arms and legs, but Rev managed to keep his position, and within a few moments, he had stabilized. Slowly, he extended into the age-old freefall position and deployed his flight suit.
Rev sighed with relief. He may be twenty-thousand meters in the air, plummeting to the ground in enemy-held territory, but he was in control of his actions.
That was what mattered to him.
Rev stomped on the dirt regretfully, flattening it out. He’d just buried his M-49 Assault Rifle, M554 Moray Missile, and battle kit under the forest floor, and he felt naked.
“You ready, now, Hansel?” Tomiko—no, “Leona”—asked.
“Sure, Gretel.”
“We’re on-planet now. Cut the shit and stay on script,” the lieutenant said.
“Sorry, sir,” Rev said, rightfully chastised.
Each of the team had been given identities of Tenerife citizens currently off-planet—and that included the highly illegal process of retinal matching. Rev had been given a brief as to the real Hansel Minik, and almost everything possible about the man was uploaded into his battle buddy.
Tomiko had been given the identity of Leona Galdós, but Rev had taken to calling her “Gretel” during their work-ups. His little act of rebellion had been merely annoying back at Camp Nguyen, but here, on mission, it could be a fatal mistake.
Rev still thought all of this was overkill. No one knew if the Centaurs had much in the way of security, and it was just as likely that if they did, it would be facial recognition. With the use of theatrical prosthetics that would make a New Bollywood production proud, Rev now sort of looked like Hansel Minik, but he had to squint really hard to get to the point where Tomiko, with her East Asian features, looked like Leona Galdós.
“OK, you two, take off,” Lieutenant Omestori said.
Rev waited a moment for some last-minute reminder of the mission’s importance or an admonition not to screw up, but evidently, the platoon commander thought the untold hours of prep had been enough. He gave one last glance at where his weapons were now buried, then he and Tomiko set off through the pine tree forest. They had a good five-hour hump in front of them.
“Looks just like New Hope,” Tomiko said after five minutes of silence.
“It is a Roher planet, just like home,” Rev said. “Look at all the laurel.”
“You’d think that with all the planets terraformed by humans, they’d have put a little variety into things.”
Rev shrugged. “If it works, don’t break it.”
He’d never given much thou
ght to terraforming. It was just a fact of life, like Ponson Dam back home creating Ponson Reservoir to supply Swansea with water. Where Tomiko was always wondering about things, the why and the how, Rev was more accepting of life. As his stepfather was fond of saying, “Don’t worry about the things you can’t change. Worry about what you can.”
Tenerife was now his fourth planet, and if three of them had been terraformed by Roher, at least that made things more familiar. But familiarity could be a problem, as Gunny Thapa had warned them before the embark. Familiarity could breed complacency. The teams were in civilian clothing, and they’d be among other humans. But they couldn’t forget that Tenerife was an enemy-held planet. While the Centaurs hadn’t wiped out the planet’s citizens yet, no one knew why the people were still alive or what might set the Centaurs off on a genocidal purge.
The two fell into an easy silence, unerringly on course, guided by their navigational augments. Rev still didn’t quite understand the science behind it, which had been explained a hundred times if it had been explained once. He was beyond being grossed out about the ferrous molecules and pigeon DNA inserted into his hypothalamus. It wasn’t a process, like following a GPS back home. He just knew where he was and to where he was going.
