BattleMaster (The BattleMaster Corps Book 1)

by Nathaniel Danes

  Leaning toward Bach’s ear, he whispered, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “Stiffen up, Mr. Stanner. I told you this wasn’t going to be easy. Those in positions of privilege always resist another group joining their ranks. If we are to elevate you, we’ll have to kick in the door first.”

  “What the heck does that even mean?” Stanner held out an upturned palm. “Why do we have to kick any doors in? I thought the data from my simulation yesterday showed the project was a success.”

  “Well, yes it did.” Bach shuffled his feet. “But...some are finding it hard to believe what you accomplished. We are here today to give them a demonstration.”

  “Yeah, but isn’t this a pretty big damn step? Taking on a seasoned BattleMaster in a head-to-head simulation?” Stanner rung his hands. “I just figured this thing out a day ago. What if I get my teeth kicked in? What good will that do? Why is the brass pushing for a demo so quickly? Just seems like an odd way to develop a new weapon system.”

  Bach cleared his throat. “Yes, well...who really knows what those higher ups are thinking? I find it best to not try to get inside their heads. Just focus on showing them what you can do today.”

  “That’s easy for you to say.”

  The click - clack of hard-heeled shoes on the hallway floor pulled their attention away from the door. Major Lowen marched toward them, back straight as a rail and cap under his arm.

  Lowen frowned as he came to a stop. “Doctor, can you now tell me what’s so important you canceled Captain Butler’s session and insisted I meet you here?” He hooked a thumb at Stanner. “And who is he?”

  “All will become clear, Major Lowen, I promise.” Bach regarded Stanner. “And as for him, he’s the future.”

  “What are you talking about, Bach? The future of what? Why am I here?”

  “There’s something I need to show you and I need your help to do it.” Bach hooked a thumb at the secured door. “You’ll like what you see inside, but I need your help to arrange a demonstration.”

  Lowen crossed his arms. “What’s in there that you need to show me what’s so important?”

  Stanner shifted his eyes between them. What? How can he not know about the project?

  A coy grin appeared on Bach. “In there is the BattleMaster practice simulator. Mostly the Masters pair off and fight each other, keeping score and ranking themselves. I need access to it so Corporal Stanner can defeat all comers. So he can show you his wetware and programming is the future of warfare.”

  Lowen twisted his lips and stared at Stanner.

  Stanner shallowed the lump in his throat. He stayed at attention, not moving a muscle. He did nothing about the beads of sweat rolling down his face. Can I really do this?

  “This is a joke, right? It has to be a joke. I fail to understand how you turned this boy into a BattleMaster, let along something better, while you were supposed to be working solely on my project.” Lowen jabbed a finger at Bach. “Did you use my protocols on him? Cause I’ll throw you in jail and lose the key if you did.”

  What? Stanner glared at Bach who paid him no attention.

  “His system is of my own design. No one has aided my work. Whether you believe me now or not isn’t important. He is the future, a BattleSwarm Master. And, one way or another, his abilities will come to light and when that day comes, you can either be the genius who brought him to the brass or the moron who tried to stop him. If he doesn’t impress you in the sims, we will leave quietly. This is a rare no-risk, big-reward moment. Don’t pass it up.”

  Lowen pointed his chin at the door. “I need more than that if he falls on his face. I’ll look like an idiot in front of the BattleMasters for even bringing him in.”

  Bach shrugged. “Very well. I will resign but work on your project until my replacement can be found and brought up to speed.”

  “Really?” Lowen studied Stanner, looking him up and down. “Let me get this straight. You successfully implanted upgraded BattleMaster wetware in him and tested it in computer-generated simulations? And he performed well?”

  “Ninety-nine percent combat efficiency.” Bach handed him a tablet.

  “Bullshit.” Lowen snatched the device, reading its reevaluations while holding his breath.

  “There’s an easy way to prove that data, major.”

  “Damn it.” Lowen handed back the tablet. “I still think you’re full of shit, but you’ve got me curious as hell. If nothing else, I’ll enjoy seeing you fail spectacularly.” He headed for the door. “Follow me.”

  Stanner leaned toward Bach and whispered, “What is going on? How did he not know about me?”

  “No time. Tell you later. Play along for now.” Bach went for the entrance.

  Stanner shook his head and followed. What else was he going to do?

  Entering the BattleMaster inner sanctum made Stanner think about those old men’s clubs he’d read about in ancient novels from Earth. At first he was disappointed when the door at security led to a bland square room. It was a ruse, though, something for curious passersby to strain their necks for only to discover that those BattleMaster chicks didn’t have it so good anyway.

  The decoy gave way to barracks in stark contrast to the Spartan living conditions of the infantry. Walls painted in shades of light blue with art hanging on them lifted his spirits instantly.

  Individual rooms of Corps members ringed an expansive open area complete with a comfortable-looking social space on the ground floor.

  Bach noticed the look on his face. “You’ll be living here soon enough.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, doctor.” Lowen turned a corner down a straight hallway. “No man’s passed the entry test, let alone defeated a real BattleMaster.”

  Stomach acid churned inside Stanner at Lowen’s reminder.

  The cold stares of the women they passed furthered his anxiety. He doubted he’d ever be welcome here, no matter what he proved or how well he worked. This was their territory, a no-man’s land.

  They entered a lounge complete with cushy chairs, small tables, and a serving bot ferrying drinks from the dispenser. Big flatscreens dotted the walls, displaying a combat sim between two aerial BattleMasters.

  Patrons cheered the action and talked with one another. One by one they went silent and turned toward the door until only the play-by-play filled the air.

  Lowen puffed out his chest and marched ahead. Stanner followed behind Bach but couldn’t find the courage to look up from the floor. He suddenly had more respect for the desk jockey. He might not have had combat experience, but dealing with these women on a regular basis was no small thing.

  Rapping his knuckles on the control room door, Lowen surged in on his own, closing it behind Stanner. A female sergeant at the control panel shot to her feet.

  “At ease, Sergeant Kilson.” Lowen stepped beside her to access the controls. “I need to make a change on your next match.”

  She froze, staring at Stanner then jiggled her head. “Yes, sir. Another special training session? Who for?”

  “Him.”

  “Doctor Bach?” Kilson nodded. “Oh, some kind of calibration run, I see. What are...”

  “No.” Lowen turned and pointed a stiff finger at Stanner. “Him, the corporal.”

  “I — I don’t understand.” She shifted her stare between the three of them. “He has wetware? BattleMaster-grade wetware and you want him to fight a BattleMaster?”

  Bach stepped toward the control panel as he pulled out s data drive. “It’s a touch more complicated than that, sergeant. You will need to upload this program. His gear isn’t the standard model.”

  Kilson rolled the drive between her fingers. “I imagine not. Okay, who do you want him to go against after I get this set up?”

  “The more senior of the next scheduled matches so as to only cause a minor disruption to your schedule.”

  “That would be Major Essa. She had a match with Captain Chandler.”

  Lowen nodded. “Tha
t’ll be a good test. Her call sign isn’t Hellfire for nothing. I’ll let Chandler know myself. Get it up right away. This will either be a colossal waste of time or the most incredible thing we’ve ever seen and I’m curious as to which.”

  “Me too.” Kilson stared at Stanner.

  “Me three,” Stanner muttered to himself.

  The sim chamber was coated in a shiny layer of stainless steel. Two reclining chairs sat facing each other with a holographic display platform in the middle. Stanner was alone in the room but felt a hundred eyeballs burning into him through the window in the lounge.

  The silence seemed odd, because he could see the audience’s lips move as fast as butterfly wings and their animated gestures further illustrated the captions he was inserting into the scene.

  “Ridiculous.”

  “What is he doing here?”

  “This is bullshit.”

  “What a joke.”

  Most were likely saying far worse, but he saved himself the hurt of delving deeper into their discontent.

  A set of unmoving lips caught his attention. He followed the hard frown to the burning gaze of Chandler. Her eyes matched her signature fiery red hair. Jerking his head away, he spared himself the shame of showing her fear.

  The universe threw him a bone when his sudden movement allowed him to see the most unexpected sight, a smile. Stephanie was one row back from the glass and beamed him an ear to ear grin. She mouthed, “Good luck,” and puckered her lips to blow him a discreet kiss.

  He grinned momentarily before erasing it to don his war face in time to greet his opponent.

  Major Essa, Hellfire, was a brown-skinned beauty with icy blue eyes that seemed to beat your will down from across a room. They matched well with her reputation for being ruthless in battle.

  She put her arm on the back of her chair. “You ready for this, corporal? It would be a shame if you blow your frontal lobe or something trying to prove a point. Bach told me you’re sporting some interesting new gear. Sounds intense. Sure you can handle it?”

  Stanner opened his mouth to say something with bravado but felt the start of a terrified squeak coming out. He shut his mouth, then cleared his throat. With a slight smile of bravado he didn’t really feel, he replied, “I won’t blow anything, major.”

  She smirked and sat down, shaking her head.

  That was real freaking smooth, Stanner. His heart raced as he settled in his chair. Just don’t get your ass kicked. Even a good loss is a win for you, a win for every man.

  “Ready?” a voice asked on the speaker.

  “Ready,” the combatants announced in unison.

  “Go!”

  Stanner closed his eyes and activated his link, connecting with the simulation computer. He was no longer in the featureless chamber, he was standing in the woods. A gentle breeze rustled leaves and cooled his flush skin.

  Slamming his virtual eyes shut, he opened the ten windows. Data poured into his mind as he powered up the two thousand miniature drones under his command. A growing chorus of thmoop, thmoop, thmoop filled the forest.

  Confidence began to rise within him as the soft roar intensified with their liftoff. His spirit plunged back down, however, when the ominous thud of approaching spider drones drowned out his little warriors’ battle-cry.

  Shit, shit, shit. His tiny helicopters lost formation. Individual units and clusters inched off in different directions. He needed to get a grip. The Wasps were only effective when used as a swarm. His face tightened and he arrested his panting. Get it together. You are a BattleMaster, a SwarmMaster. You will conquer all those who oppose you.

  A red beam of light streaked through the thin trees, impacting a trunk head on. Burning past the barrier in a second, it struck the edge of his hovering swarm. Five drones were instantly incinerated into falling chunks of carbon.

  He knelt and sent his ten groups in different directions. The rattle of tank treads off to his sides caught his attention. She was sending her spiders on a frontal assault while her mini-tanks attempted to encircle him by arching around his flanks. It was a classic attack pattern.

  And he knew exactly how to defeat it.

  Wasps shot straight up, rising above the canopy as mortar rounds harmlessly impacted the forest floor several yards away from him.

  Essa adjusted her aim and lasers lanced toward the heavens to set trees ablaze like giant torches. Smoke drifted across the battlefield and filled the sky overhead.

  Stanner sent the swarm into the swirling haze, disappearing within the darkness. His feeds went black and heat from the fire made infrared useless. He navigated closer to the enemy targets using lone scouts he’d moved out of the smoke.

  As one, the black cloud descended from the fiery treetops. The swarm screwed down in a long line of swirling death, stabbing at the spider drone on the far right. They attacked from the angle furthest from the other three. The main-battle unit’s thick armor could withstand even the concentrated volleys of the Wasps, but that wasn’t Stanner’s game.

  Hundreds of petty lasers focused their energies on the beast’s mortar tubes, laser turret, and sensor suite. Five seconds of continuous fire melted away the spider’s ability to see, ear, and fight.

  The swarm retreated to the inferno above, leaving the neutered spider to aimlessly wander in the woods.

  He’d lost thirty Wasps in the assault — a small price to pay for dispatching a foe thousands of times greater in weight and firepower.

  Truth be told, it almost wasn’t a fair fight. The opposing drones simply were not equipped to deal with such a threat. Their weaponry was designed to bring down large Euro and Chinese armored units. Their only defense was to send their heavy laser beams into the air. They scored kills with every shot, but it was serious overkill while being not enough to save themselves.

  The Wasps appeared out of the smoke once more, descending upon the next spider in the line. Its brethren had closed ranks in anticipation of the attack and offered what support they could. Victory came at a greater cost for the swarm, but the price was still a fair deal.

  Stanner pressed the attack, engulfing the last two spiders in a whirlwind of black snaking columns. The maneuver taxed his mind and a familiar pain developed between his eyes, His muscles tensed as he pushed through it until the enemy was finished. He left them to bump into each other and the surrounding trunks.

  Essa countered by rushing her remaining forces on a headlong charge to find and kill him. It was her only hope of winning the match. It wasn’t typically how these exercises were decided, which is why he hadn’t sent his units on a wide search pattern to end it quickly by killing her. Besides, he wanted to show them he could wipe out her entire complement.

  He broke into a sprint, snapping twigs and plowing through undergrowth as he ran toward the muted spiders.

  Fifty-caliber smart-bullets tore into the forest around him. Splinters and tiny bits of shrapnel from exploding rounds flew everywhere. He covered his face and surged ahead, his black body suit protecting him from the smaller projectiles.

  A recall order had the swarm on a direct intercept course. The loyal Wasps zigged and zagged between the trees until they reached their master, encompassing him in a blanket of carbon fiber.

  He felt the ping of loss as bullets shattered drones and chunks of debris hit critical components, sending dozens raining down.

  Finding good cover behind a boulder amid a cluster of trees, he renewed the hunt. Over sixteen hundred Wasps buzzed their tormentors. Rockets were launched at them but they detonated out of position to inflict significant casualties. Fifty-caliber barrels swung around in circles on full auto but it was like trying to kill flies with a sledgehammer.

  One by one, the mini-tanks ran out of rockets and had their machine gun barrels turned to slag.

  When the last of the enemy units was defenseless, the swarm burned into each one until their CPUs were destroyed.

  Stanner was victorious.

  He rose from his cover and stood atop
the rock that had protected him. Raising a fist, he shouted, “I am the SwarmMaster!”

  The simulation cut out. He was back in the chamber. Sweat soaked his body. He glanced around the room. The window was a portrait of silent, stunned expressions. Essa just stared at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

  The world had changed forever and everyone knew it.

  ***

  Five and zero, that was Stanner’s final record that fateful day in the simulation chamber. Essa and her assembled female compatriots refused to believe the results of the first match, insisting it was a fluke.

  After defeating the major again, the onlookers assumed it was her fault and replaced his opponent with the top of the leaderboard. Upon dispatching her, he was accused of cheating. A two-hour delay to review the simulation’s programming failed to produce any evidence.

  It took two more overwhelming victories before the women began to move beyond the denial stage of the grieving process.

  Stanner walked out of the chamber and viewing lounge a little taller than when he’d entered. He’d done something not even he had truly believed was possible. They looked at him differently this time, as well. Before, they’d glared at him with disgust. Now, they gazed upon him with wonder, disbelief and fear.

  The crowd remained silent as he exited, spilling out to watch him walk down the hall alone. He’d left Bach and Lowen in the control room to fuss over the data. He made it to the bland entry lobby when a shout of “Stanner” from behind stopped him.

  Stephanie jogged to catch up to him. Her face beamed with pride. She didn’t slow down until the final inch, throwing her arms around his neck and spinning them.

  She planted a sloppy kiss on his lips. “What the hell was that?”

  He had been too shocked to kiss her back, let alone hold an intelligent conversation. He pulled his hips away from her to avoid an embarrassing situation that was quickly developing. “I — I...”

  She slapped his chest. “You were holding out on me! I thought my project was top secret, but you were doing some really crazy shit.” Her eyes widened. “You, a BattleMaster...oh, my God.”