BattleMaster (The BattleMaster Corps Book 1)

by Nathaniel Danes

  He was engulfed with bright faces, and hands thrust forward, seeking a hearty shake, while others slapped him on the shoulders. Dozens of questions assaulted his hearing, making it impossible to distinguish them. This was the homecoming he’d envisioned.

  He’d never felt success like this. No one patted him on the head and said, “A B’s an okay try. Next time, if you study harder, you can get an A.” His comrades were impressed with his deeds and made him feel valued.

  This was why he joined the Army. Brotherhood. Acceptance. Belonging. Things he didn’t get at home.

  “Let the corporal breathe,” Sergeant Veech’s voice called out.

  Hands fell away and the questions ground to a halt, but the view of pearly white teeth stayed put. The crowd parted to make way for Veech, who strolled toward them with his typical command presence dominating the room.

  Stanner half-expected the burly non-com to give him a hug and congratulate him on a job well done but wasn’t surprised when the sergeant simply said, “Welcome back. Get your stuff squared away and see me later for an update on our status.” He turned, throwing a hand over his head. “Carry on.”

  Voices raised and questions again flew out. Stanner soaked in the attention until he began to notice the missing faces.

  “Where’re Eggie, Epstein, Woodruff, Kilgore, Martine?” More were missing, but he ran out of breath.

  Teeth vanished behind tight lips and an uncomfortable silence fell over the room.

  Olsen put a hand on his shoulder. “They didn’t make it. Well...Woodruff’s in the hospital, but he’s in pretty bad shape. We lost a lot of guys.”

  “Sorry.” He hated himself for bringing it up, running not only his but everyone’s good mood.

  Olsen clapped his hands, filling the barracks with a sharp crack. “Let’s not go there. Our unit’s on downtime, and that means we have access to the EM club. I say we go and drink the place dry.”

  The group announced their approval with a mighty cheer. Stanner stared at Olsen in amazement. His old friend, the boy before the POW camp, would never have exposed himself in public like that. He wasn’t certain he still knew who this guy was anymore, but he was sure he wanted to find out.

  “First round’s on me.” Stanner hooked a thumb at his chest. A renewed cheer rose up as the horde made for the door.

  ***

  Light from the rising sun burned into Stanner’s face. He opened his eyes and was immediately blinded. “Oww,” he croaked out, slamming his lids shut and trying to rub the white spots out. “Where are we?” He had no idea who we could be, but he assumed he wasn’t alone.

  Groans came from his flanks. Opening his eyes with great care, he looked around. Two soldiers were sprawled out face-down next to him. One of them was black, so he guessed that was Olsen. The other … he couldn’t tell. A few seconds later, he determined they were outside their barracks, not ten feet from a door.

  Christ, were we really that drunk? Images of beers and shot glasses hitting the bar flashed in his head while his stomach muscles clinched. He curled forward and puked.

  The sound and smell stirred Olsen and the nameless body, who turned out to be Private Potts. They too up-chucked in the grass. The trio sat silent and motionless for a minute before laughing in unison.

  “What the hell.” Olsen whipped his head around. “We’re right by the damn door. How did we get this far and not make it inside?”

  The true statement solicited more laughter, after which Stanner crawled to his feet. “We’d better get inside and cleaned up. I’m sure the sarge is already thinking of new ways to punish us for not being in our bunks.”

  Like zombies, the other two rose and staggered to the door, holding their heads and stomachs.

  Stanner opened the door. His eyes bulged and body froze upon seeing Veech waiting for them with hands on hips.

  Olsen ran into his back. “What the...” he said before seeing the grim-faced sergeant and snapping to attention as if that would make a difference in his current state.

  I am so fucked, Stanner thought.

  Veech took a step forward. “There you are. I was starting to get worried. I was thinking of sending a search party out for you.”

  “You wouldn’t have had...” Stanner gagged on his words and fought the urge to spill his guts. Biting down, he shallowed. “We would’ve been easy to find. We apparently made it to the lawn by the door before we called it good.”

  Veech’s mouth twitched like he wanted to smile. “Don’t just stand there stinking up my barracks. Get showered and finish sleeping it off.”

  The drinkers stood paralyzed with blank expressions of incomprehension.

  “Well, move it!” Veech clapped, sending a stabbing pain into Stanner’s forehead. “This offer is set to expire.”

  “Ah, thank you, sarge.” Stanner led the trio past him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It didn’t.

  ***

  Reba felt naked. No, not naked. It was as if her right arm was missing — or eight right arms, to be more exact. She was a BattleMaster without an army to command. No better than an ape in a fight. Worse, in fact, given her weaker physical form and lack of grunt experience.

  Fresh bots weren’t due in from Liberty for weeks. Until then she was dead weight, a burden with nothing to do but wait and drink.

  She kicked back the last of her vodka rocks and pounded it down onto the bar. It clanked as ice rattled and droplets flew out. “Another.” She waved her left hand in the air, not addressing anyone in particular but expecting someone to bring a new drink within seconds.

  The unseen bartender slid a fresh glass in front of her. He sidestepped. “What can I get you, sir?”

  “Gin and tonic,” a familiar voice said.

  Reba looked up to find Lieutenant Butler waiting for her drink with a smile on her face. Why is she so damn happy? “Lieutenant, fancy meeting you here. Particularly after I’d given you up for dead when you went MIA.”

  Stephanie gripped her glass. “I managed to survive.” She lifted her chin to bring attention to her collar, flashing a set of shiny bars. “And it’s captain, captain.”

  “Oh...congratulations.” Reba’s heart raced and her fingers tightened around her glass, half expecting it to shatter in her hand. “A well-deserved promotion and it shouldn’t be an issue working together, since my commission predates yours.”

  “No one’s told you yet?”

  “Told me what?”

  “I’m being reassigned, special project.”

  “What kind of special project?” Reba felt her cheeks warm with rage-infused blood.

  Stephanie sipped her drink and shrugged. “I’m not even sure yet. Something very top secret. I’ll learn more after my decoration.”

  “You’re being — decorated?” The room spun, and Reba gripped the side of the bar to keep from falling.

  Reba was the brilliant BattleMaster, a professional hardened by countless battles. She was the Warrior Queen, and now this young upstart was taking glory that should’ve been hers if not for dumb luck.

  She wanted to scream, to throw her glass against the wall. How could they honor this pup of a BattleMaster whose average, at best, battle-stats more warranted a trip back to school than an early promotion?

  Reba, having drifted away in her anger, looked up to confront Butler. To tell her she was a fraud who hadn’t earned the bars on her collar. She cracked open her jaw and froze when she saw nothing. Stephanie was gone, her half-drunk gin and tonic sitting on the bar, sweating streaks of condensation.

  How dare that bitch just leave in the middle of a conversation!

  Reba huffed and slammed back her vodka before marching out of the officers’ club with a mountain of pent-up rage and frustration. She needed someplace to go to release the negative energy before it burned her up. She typed a command into her wrist computer and headed for her office.

  Reba paced in her office, waiting for her release valve to arrive.

  Knock.

  “En
ter.”

  Private Stanner, no, not a private. He was a corporal now. What is wrong with the Army? The twin stripes on his uniform taunted her, driving her mad.

  He was standing at attention, quiet and awaiting her commands. That thought relaxed her, taking the heat out of her skin. Yes, he was still hers to do with as she pleased.

  She hopped onto her desk and stared at him with narrowed, lust-filled eyes. “Come here, corporal.” She slid her hands down to unbutton her pants.

  It took her a few second to realize he hadn’t moved. “I told you to come here.” He remained still. She felt her control, her sense of self, and security slipping away. “What’s your problem, Stanner? You go deaf and dumb out there?

  “Don’t think for a second that your antics with Lieutenant … Captain Butler changed anything for you. You were an ape grunt before and you’re an ape grunt now. Your only true value is that you do what you’re told.”

  Reba pointed at the floor inches in front of her. “Now, come here and do that thing with your tongue for me or I’ll make your life hell.”

  “No.”

  Her face exploded with red and hammered a fist onto her desk. Bang! “No! You don’t get to say no to me.”

  “No.” Nothing save his lips moved. “I’m done being your whipping boy. Do whatever you want to me outside these walls, but I am done.”

  Stanner did an about-face, opened the door and marched out.

  Reba set her slack jaw. “Get back here! You can’t talk to me like that! I’m Captain Reba Chandler, warrior bitch from hell!”

  The door swung shut and she was all alone. Powerless.

  A chill ran over her body. She was suddenly cold and afraid. Of what, she had no idea.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Stanner’s mouth opened wide, forced apart by an early morning yawn that stretched the limits of his jaw. Rolling out of his bunk, he flinched at the touch of the cold, hard floor. The jolt woke him up like a shot of expresso.

  The barracks was coming alive with men rising from their soft beds.

  It had been four days since his return and most of the empty slots had been filled with a fresh batch of troopers who had arrived just a day ago. He stared at his new comrades, the strangers who now occupied spots vacated by dead friends. A part of him hated them for it and he hated that part of himself.

  He glanced down at Olsen, who hadn’t stirred. “Let’s go, private.” He poked the lazy soldier. “Vacation is over. We’re hitting the training grounds again to get ready for the next one. Those Chinese bastards aren’t leaving on their own.”

  “Ugh.” Olsen rolled onto his back, rubbing his face. “I liked you better when you were just a lowly private like me. I’m not sure I appreciate this Corporal Stanner person.”

  “Yeah, well, someone has to kick your butt into gear. Might as well be me; I’ve been doing it for years already,” He responded with a grin.

  “Don’t remind me.” Olsen staggered to his feet and yawned. “Let’s get to the mess quick. These new guys take too damn long in the line.”

  The mess hall was abuzz with conversations. The energy of green troops who’d never experienced the horror of combat gave the expansive room a positive vibe. It was a lie, Stanner knew, but it was a lie he preferred not to disturb. They’d figure it out soon enough and he liked the mood.

  “Corporal,” a voice said as Stanner concentrated on building his makeshift toast, scrambled egg, and bacon sandwich.

  “Corporal.”

  Olsen elbowed his ribs.

  Stanner huffed. “What?”

  Olsen jerked his head toward a baby-faced new guy. “He’s trying to talk to you.”

  “Oh, sorry.” You are a corporal, remember. “What is it...” He raked his brain, “...Johnson?”

  “I — I was just wondering, well, a lot of us have been wondering if the rumors are true?”

  “What rumors?” Stanner pretended not to know what he was talking about. This wasn’t the first time someone asked him about his heroics behind enemy lines. Frankly, it was getting annoying, so he tried to get some fun out of it by messing with the questioners.

  “Um, you know...the ones about you, the sarge, and that BattleMaster.” Johnson swept his eyes across his equally-curious platoon-mates seated around him. “We heard you three pretty much saved the entire expeditionary force.”

  “Huh.” Stanner took a bite of his sandwich and a sip of coffee, purposely making them wait. “And who told you these stories?”

  Johnson’s gaze shifted to Olsen.

  “Ah, I see.” Stanner leaned back. “That’s where you went wrong. Private Rosewood is perennially full of shit.” Olsen snorted. “You can’t trust a word that comes out of his mouth.”

  “Sooo...” Johnson blushed. “So they’re not true?”

  Stanner regarded him without smiling. “I didn’t say that. Now, stop the mindless chatter. Finish eating and get geared up for field exercises.”

  Stanner’s wrist computer chimed and he stared at the message.

  “What’s that about?” Olsen pointed his fork at the screen.

  “I don’t know. I have to report to the lieutenant. Right now, without delay.” Stanner looked up with a confused expression.

  “That can’t be good.”

  Stanner threw his food down his throat and double-timed it to Hart’s office. He knocked and was told to enter. His heart skipped a beat upon seeing Captain Chandler standing in the middle of the room with an evil grin painted on her face. He snapped to attention.

  Fuck me.

  “Corporal Stanner, thank you for hurrying here. At ease.” Hart regarded Chandler. “I called you here because Captain Chandler has filed an official request to have you transferred to her command.”

  Stanner’s stomach churned. He licked his lips to speak through his suddenly cotton-dry mouth. “For what purpose, sir?”

  “That was exactly my first question.” Hart circled around to the front of his desk. “Apparently the captain feels she has a need for an administrative aide.”

  “A secretary?”

  Reba’s facial muscles flexed as she fought the urge to burst with glee.

  Hart shifted his eyes to glance at her. “I prefer the term administrative aide.”

  “Sir, I’d like to protest this request...”

  A raised hand from Hart shut him down. “I’m sorry, corporal, it’s out of my hands. The request was filed through BattleMaster Corps Command and approved without my knowledge. I only learned about it myself a minute before I called you.”

  A cold sweat ran down Stanner’s forehead as he felt the room spin. “When?”

  Reba crossed her arms. “Effective immediately.”

  Stanner thought he might pass out when a knock at the door tethered him to consciousness.

  The two officers looked at each other.

  Hart shrugged. “Come in.”

  In a daze, Stanner made way for the door to open. He didn’t pay attention to the older man who entered. He wore civilian clothing, which struck Stanner as odd.

  “Oh,” the man said, “I wasn’t expecting such an audience.” He looked Stanner up and down.

  “Can I help you?” Hart arched an eyebrow.

  “Oh, yes, sorry. I am Doctor Xavier Bach, R&D. I’ve come to hand-deliver an approved transfer order to you. I believe a member of your platoon could prove quite valuable to my research.”

  Hart accepted a tablet and read it.

  “I’ll get out of your hair, lieutenant.” Reba pointed at Stanner. “You’re with me, corporal.”

  Bach stepped between her and Stanner. Her head jerked back to avoid a collision. “I’m afraid not, captain. The transfer order is for … him.”

  “That’s ridiculous. What possible value could this ape be to your research?”

  “That’s classified and none of your concern.”

  “This has to be a joke.” She regarded Hart. “Lieutenant?”

  Hart used his index finger to scroll down
the screen and nodded. “No joke, captain.” He smiled. “Corporal Stanner has been transferred to R&D, effective immediately.”

  “But my orders...”

  “Are superseded by these.” Hart lifted the tablet. “It’s out of my hands, captain. You can protest through proper channels if you like but as of now, he’s going with the doctor.”

  Her face turned a cherry-red and whipped toward Stanner. “This isn’t over.” She stormed out, shoving Stanner in the shoulder as she passed and slammed the door behind her.

  Bach grimaced at the bang that filled the small room. “That was unexpected.”

  Hart sat down in his chair. “Stanner, you’ve either got a guardian angel or you’re the luckiest soldier in this man’s army. I don’t know what you did to so royally piss her off, but I do believe that woman meant you harm.”

  Stanner snorted. “You have no idea, sir.”

  “And I prefer to keep it that way.” Hart gestured toward Bach. “He’s all yours, doctor. Whatever you think he can do for you, I hope you’re right.

  “And, Stanner, it’s been an honor. You did your unit proud out there and it’s … unfortunate that you aren’t getting the credit you deserve. But know this: everyone knows what you did and that we would’ve lost without it.”

  “Thank you, sir. That means a lot. I’m disappointed to leave the platoon but grateful for avoiding Captain Chandler’s plans for me.” He turned to Bach, remembering him from Stephanie’s hospital room. Why in the world does he want me? Must be to help her out or something. “What’s next?”

  “Please gather your personal effects and report to the R&D building by noon...um, twelve hundred hours. I will explain more then.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Doctor is more appropriate.” Bach reached out and took hold of Stanner’s upper arms, staring into his eyes. It gave Stanner the creeps. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time, corporal. We’re going to do great things together.”

  ***

  Bach’s wrist-computer vibrated. He read the message, arresting his tapping heel once he was done. Stanner was settled in his new quarters and ready to come to the lab. He was close, he could feel it. Don’t get too excited. This might still not work. The sim based on his medical scans only said it’s probable.