An Uneasy Alliance: Book 4 of the Sentenced to War Series

by Chaney, J. N.

  “So, you’re an IBHU Marine.”

  “Yeah. A oner. A yootie.”

  “Stupid name, yootie. There’s not even a ‘t’ in Union.”

  “Exactly!” Rev said. “I was wondering about that. We call you pit bulls.”

  “I know. And I like it,” he said, giving a few soft barks. “Fits with Mad Dogs, right?”

  Rev burst out laughing. “It’s kind of badass, too.”

  He downed his drink. It still burned like lava, but somehow, it was kind of interesting.

  “Your IBHUs. I guess they were effective against the Cents, not like us karnans.”

  Rev couldn’t help but note that little throwaway statement at the end of the sentence. He’d suspected that the karnans were not especially useful in fighting the Centaurs,

  “I’ve got one of you in my platoon. Corporal Tinter. You know him?” the lieutenant kept going.

  “I saw the name, but I never met him. Regular Corps.”

  “Well, no matter. We were at the live-fire range two days ago. Pretty impressive, if I can say so.”

  “Well, I got into a weight-lifting contest with one of yours. Lincoln Kvat?”

  “You did what? A weight-lifting contest. No way you can win.” He pulled back his sleeve and tapped the two metallic bars that emerged from his elbow until they disappeared again under the skin at the wrist. “Titalloy 363, and powered by a Maiser pump. Sorry. Not saying anything bad about your IBHU, but when you’re talking strength, well, that’s apples and oranges.”

  “I found that out.”

  “Kvat kicked your ass, I presume.”

  “You presume right. I let my ego get in the way.”

  “Eh, Kvat’s an asshole. I hate that little punk. Don’t let it get you down. But speaking of down . . .” he said, lifting up the tiny glass.

  Rev emptied his glass and held it out for a refill. The lieutenant nodded his appreciation.

  The two chatted for the next forty-five minutes. Karnans and IBHU Marines had a lot in common, even if the two systems were totally different. What was the same was that the Marines and soldiers were treated like chattel in many ways, and the sacrifices they’d made were significant.

  IBHU Marines had lost an arm in combat, but they’d volunteered. Karnans were healthy when they started, and they were also volunteers, although from how the lieutenant described it, if they passed the screening given to every soldier, they were basically told to volunteer.

  Rev had thought his process had been bad, but it sounded like the process to convert an MDS soldier into a karnan was another level of hell.

  And one place where they were just alike was that they were both on the path to contracting the rot.

  Rev finally had to call it quits. He had to get back to Reyes and the company area. The two shared one more toast, and to Rev’s surprise, the lieutenant came around the desk to give him a hug.

  Rev was tipsy as he made his way to the tram. He was glad he didn’t have to do anything until morning.

  There was something he should be doing, though. One of the techniques he was taught about memorizing data he received was to dictate it to his battle buddy immediately, while the memory was fresh. Punch might not be able to record anything Rev saw or heard, but he could record second-hand input.

  Rev had received a lot of data. He’d given up information, too. None of what he’d said or received really amounted to much that could be used on a tactical or strategic level, though. Just two soldiers sharing experiences.

  And as he stood waiting for the tram, he decided he’d wait until tomorrow, when his head was a little clearer. For the moment, he was content to just let the experience sink in. Pit bull or oner, the two had a lot in common.

  A small burp escaped, the subtle aroma of Donat Azurco filling his senses, the aftertaste a warm caress at the back of his throat. For something that burned like the pits of hell going down, he could see the attraction.

  “Yeah, as soon as we get back, I’m going to have to get me some more of that.”

  17

  “Righteous,” Ting-a-ling said as he dumped his pack in the small stateroom.

  “You’ve got that right, my friend.”

  Rev had been on quite a few ships during his career so far, from the modern Hégémonie Dixmude, which had been at the very top, to the support ship Alacrity. The MCS Takagahara was in another class altogether.

  Rev realized that a good part of that was because the Takagahara was certified for carrying a brigade, but for this cruise, there was only a single company with attached support units aboard—sort of a mini-battalion. The end result was that instead of being assigned to SNCO berthing along with five other staff sergeants, Rev and Ting-a-ling were assigned to what normally would be a junior officers’ stateroom.

  Between the two of them, they had as much if not a little more space than their cells back at Nkomo. The Takagahara might not be a cruise liner, but for a Navy ship, it was pretty darn close.

  Rev dropped his seabag and plopped on the rack. What looked like a thin mattress formed alongside his pressure points, giving more and less support as needed.

  Yes, this is a sweet ride.

  Rev had thought that the Heg Navy was the finest in humanity, and by pure power projection, it supposedly was. But the Mezame Concordat evidently went for quality over quantity. It might be smaller than the Heg Navy, and the Takagahara might not have the same armaments, but from the first impression, their Navy plied the space lanes in style.

  “So, what now? Naptime?” Ting-a-ling asked from flat on his back on the rack across from Rev. “We don’t have anything until the welcome aboard brief at seventeen hundred.”

  Their orders had been to get to their berthing spaces, and if they were non-essential personnel, stay out of the working areas to allow the civilian stevedores to do their thing. Rev had a good excuse to take his friend up on that. But he couldn’t. He had to find and check out their assigned IBHU shop. Pashu was his weapon, and he needed to run a check to make sure she was delivered in good working order. Back at Nkomo, he could count on Daryll for that. But with only three of them on this deployment, he had to stay back on Enceladus where he could maintain the bulk of the IBHUs.

  “You go ahead and catch a few Zs. I need to find my shop.”

  “Take it easy. It’s not going anywhere. Hell, neither are we. We’re not getting underway until late tomorrow.”

  “I know. But I need to check on Pashu. I’ll be back, and then I can relax.”

  “Have at it.” Ting-a-ling pulled the bill of his blue Home Guard ball cap over his eyes as he settled in.

  “Show me the quickest route to the IBHU shop,” he told Punch. His augmented navigation wasn’t worth much inside a ship.

  Punch pulled up a route and inputted it into his optic nerve. It had initially taken some getting used to, having what was essentially an overlay in his field of vision, but it was second nature by now.

  Once he left the berthing spaces, things were a little more hectic. He had to hug the bulkheads several times to let trundlebots with containers of supplies or equipment pass by. But eventually, he made it to the space. The hatch was already open, and Zacharia Filmore and Randigold were already there. Filmore was disconnecting the lance corporal’s IBHU, which she named Cruella de Vil, from his testing equipment.

  “A little slow getting here, Staff Sergeant,” Randigold said. “Your officers’ quarters too far away? Or was it tea time in the solarium?”

  “Gee, Top Barber was asking about a working party. You look like a likely candidate.”

  “Which is why I’m glad I’m in Second Platoon, not First. You need to pull one of your own troopers.”

  “And I’ve got friends in high places in Second Platoon, PFC.”

  “Ooh, damn. That PFC hurts, you know.”

  Rev gave her a wink. He usually used her Marine rank, lance corporal, but as long as she was being a wise-ass, he reverted to her Guard rank.

  He turned to Filmore. “Ho
w’s Cruella de Vil?”

  “Checks out green, sir.”

  “I told you, I’m not a sir. I work for a living.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  Rev rolled his eyes. He didn’t know what to make of Filmore yet. He was Sieben, just like Daryll. But where he trusted Daryll with his life, that trust had been earned over the years. This newbie was an unknown factor.

  To be honest, if Daryll couldn’t make the cruise, he’d rather have a Marine tech. But billets in the Guard were limited by law, and for the Marines to send an IBHU tech meant that they would have to drop another Marine from their billet. The workaround was to have Sieben send someone. The vast majority of the Guards support staff were civilians, and it was nothing for Sieben to assign someone to the cruise.

  Filmore wasn’t the only civilian aboard. Rev had heard there was over forty of them, ranging from techs like him to a diplomatic staff. The senior of them was the same rank as the Osnovnoy Alyanz rear admiral who was in overall command of the deployment, and she made all non-military decisions.

  “Well, if Cruella’s all green, how about you checking Pashu now?”

  “Yes, sir.” He punched in a code, and an overhead-mounted arm moved down a rail, opened a locker, and pulled out Pashu. It brought his IBHU to one of three racks, and Filmore hooked up the diagnostics.

  “You doing OK?” Rev asked Randigold.

  “Same as before. I’m still taking shit from the pit bull. Always wants to prove his superiority. But I’m handling it just fine.” She looked up with a bit of a guilty expression as she realized how that might sound.

  Not like me, you mean.

  But she spoke truth to power. And he knew that for all her being a smart ass, she wouldn’t be trying to ding him like that.

  “What about S-O-R? You talk to him much?” he asked, shortening Sign of Respect to something more manageable.

  “Not really. We’ve all been on crazy training cycles. But word is he’s pretty close to his pit bull. Like friends, even.”

  With a Mad Dog? Hell, I guess we can work together.

  “Well, will wonders never cease. I guess they aren’t all assholes.”

  But he knew that. His meeting with Lieutenant Vreemish had been proof enough of that. He didn’t think his issues with Kvat had as much to do with Manifest Destiny Sphere vs. Perseus Union as much as it was just competition between two highly augmented types of soldiers. Both Rev and Kvat had pride in their nations and militaries, and it was natural for both to want theirs to be the best.

  “We’ve got two more Mad Dogs in the platoon, you know. Not pit bulls, just regular ones. And one of them seems OK,” Randigold said.

  “Like I said, not all of them can be assholes.”

  “Is it OK if I take off now?” the lance corporal asked. “I want to make sure my personal stuff is stowed and no one screws with it.”

  “Yeah, of course. And if you see S-O-R, remind him that I said that this takes priority.”

  “Sure thing,” she said before she stepped out of the shop and disappeared.

  “So, Filmore, how’s she looking?”

  “So far, so good, sir. I’ll know in another minute or so.”

  “And you’ve got everything you need here? It doesn’t look like there’s much room. And where’s your printer if you have to make new parts?”

  “I don’t have a printer, sir. But I’ve got access to one of the RG-8000s they’ve got in the ship’s machine shop. Completely compatible. Not including the printer, sir, I’ve got everything I need right here.”

  “Well, we’re counting on you to keep us up and running.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”

  I don’t want you to just do your best. I want you to keep IBHUs combat-ready. Nothing else is acceptable.

  “I know you will.”

  The last LED turned green. Pashu was ready for combat. Rev thanked Filmore, then walked out of the hatch. He contemplated poking his nose around to get the lay of the land, but it had been a long thirty hours or so—five or six during which he’d been feeling the Donat Azurco—and his rack was singing its siren call. He’d have plenty of time to explore the ship over the next six months, and a Marine’s credo was to sleep and eat whenever the opportunity arose.

  “Naptime it is,” he mumbled as he started back to his stateroom.

  18

  Damn. This is really good.

  Rev was proud of the Union and of being a Marine. He arrived at Enceladus believing that both were the best humanity had to offer. And while he still believed the Marines were the best fighters in human history, other little fissures had appeared in the wall of superiority he’d erected.

  And this was just one more little hammer hit, one more tiny crack showing.

  No one would argue that the Mezame Concordat had a stronger army than the Union Marines. No one would say that they had a more powerful navy than the Hégémonie Liberté. But they really did some things well—this sim trainer being one.

  The ship’s trainer had spaces for 250 soldiers at a time, more than enough for a normal infantry company, although at the moment, only thirty-nine stations were being operated.

  Rev knew he was on a station, which was essentially a treadmill hooked up to an immersion helmet that would give any jackhead gamers back on New Hope an immediate orgasm.

  He knew where he was, but it would have been easy to forget that, what he was experiencing was so real. It looked real, in extreme resolution, and it never had any of the tiny visual glitches when moving that the sims back at Camp Nguyen had.

  With the booties on his feet, he could feel the difference between the loamy forest floor and rocks as he stepped on them. Heck, he could smell the forest. That was something that only the die-hard—and rich—gamers could experience, and that was through high-end jacks.

  This sim suite didn’t use jacks. Even if they wanted to, Rev’s jack was no longer fully connected. The Union powers that be didn’t allow jacked Marines to join the Home Guard—security concerns, supposedly. Rev needed his jack to function as an IBHU Marine, though, so his hadn’t been disconnected as it would be for regular Marines, but it had been degraded, blocking his ability to upload data normally, and the connection had been changed out to a unique configuration.

  “Keep alert,” SFC Gamay passed to Rev. “I don’t want a repeat of the last go-round.”

  Rev withheld his “I Told You So.” He’d known that having him as tail-end Charlie had been a mistake. Too much of his firepower had been masked by the troopers in front of him, and the ambush had come at just the right spot in the terrain—right spot for the enemy, and seven members of the squad had been killed before the lieutenant, who was monitoring all three squads, had pulled the plug.

  He’d laid into SFC Gamay pretty hard, too. Rev had known the patrol formation was problematic, but he understood that the squad leader had wanted to try it out anyway.

  From Rev’s perspective, there was also the fact that Kvat had been on point for Second Squad’s last exercise. No matter what he’d told Gamay about working with the MDS karnan, he was still smarting over the gym incident, and breaking the upcoming ambush would go a long way in proving the viability of the IBHU system.

  Today’s exercise was very basic—immediate action drills. In a real combat situation, there were events that didn’t allow for planning and discussion. When under enemy artillery or orbital fire, if ambushed, troopers had to be able to react immediately, knowing just what they had to do. So, they practiced the drills over and over until they became second nature.

  This was more like flipball drills back on New Hope. It wasn’t real combat where they didn’t know what was going to happen at all. They were getting hit, but they didn’t know when and from what direction.

  Rev kept his eyes on a swivel. Without the normal drones and sensors, if he was going to spot the ambush before it happened, it was going to be with his senses.

  The platform beneath him tilted up, and inside the sim, Rev could swea
r he was climbing to a ridgeline just visible ahead. This was a good place for an ambush. It was a large kill zone, and charging the enemy, which was the standard SOP for most ambushes, would be more difficult.

  “Analyze for unnatural movement.”

 

  Punch may have been neutered in many ways, but many of his abilities were still better than a human’s. He didn’t need to focus on a single spot but could monitor a wider field of vision. If there were tufts of grass moving against the breeze or anything else against the ordinary, his battle buddy should have a better chance of picking it up before Rev did.

  As it turned out, he picked up the movement at the same time as Punch. Thirty meters ahead, a bush quivered. Realistically, that could be because of a rabbit or even a local kid sneaking off to watch the troopers. Rev hadn’t identified what made the bush quiver, but within the confines of the sim, he was sure it was the ambush.

  “Contact front!” he yelled as he broke into a sprint, Pashu lighting up the top of the ridgeline with 20 mm cannon fire.

  Foliage and trees erupted into splinters and dust as his augmented legs ate up the slope. He was barely aware of the troopers behind him. He knew that Corporal Akkeke, Sergeant Lines, and PFC Gingham would be moving to his flanks and charging while the rest of the squad would be breaking off in an attempt to flank the ambushers.

  He didn’t intend to let that happen. He wanted to break the ambush himself and show the rest—particularly Kvat—just what he could do.

  There was movement to his left, and without consciously thinking about it, he swung Pashu and cut down the body that had attempted to retreat back down the far side of the ridgeline.

  Rev was in his element. He screamed, a raw, primeval burst of aggression, then he reached the top and swept Pashu to the right. Three broken bodies littered the first fifteen meters along the ridge. He hesitated only for a moment. The squad would be flanking to the right of their former line of advance. So, Rev was going to leave anyone else on the right to them. He turned to the left and started running down to clear it.