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

  She swiveled her chair back to the screen. Rev didn’t need her to tell him he was being dismissed.

  He resisted giving the back of her head the finger, but he couldn’t resist saying, “Thank you so much for your superb customer service.”

  She didn’t turn around.

  Rev looked at his checklist. His next stop was reporting in to his new company. He activated the small finder attached to the top of his kit.

  Pretty low tech.

  Given a location, Rev could find his way anywhere on the moon, so why a location finder? Was it possible that not all troopers had navigational augments? Rev didn’t know much about other soldiers, just the Frisians, and their nav augments worked just like the Marines’.

  But since he hadn’t been given a location to his new company, he followed the directions on the finder. He was guided along the main passages, which were filled with soldiers from different services. While most wore the standard Home Guard working jumpsuit, many were in their home uniforms. Rev had to keep asking Punch to identify where they were from.

  No one he passed gave him a second look. He made his way to the Fox Company office and stepped inside. The same MDS karnan was already sitting there. He looked up as Rev entered, then ignored him.

  “You Staff Sergeant Pelletier?” the corporal in back of a pristine white desk asked, and then without waiting for an answer, continued. “Take a seat. You’ll see the first sergeant when he’s free.”

  Rev sat. Trying not to be too obvious about it, he checked out the MDS soldier. He had the same light-yellow tab that Rev had been given, so they were the same rank. When the karnan reached up to scratch his nose, Rev caught a glimpse of something dark and metallic-looking around the man’s wrist.

  He didn’t see much, but that glimpse supported the rumors that the karnans had structural replacements to give support and strength. That was getting into Deimer territory, or even Genesian.

  Rev hated it when people made comments like that about him. Tomiko used to joke and call him a Genesian until she realized it really bothered him. When he’d taken on the thugs who’d beat up Mr. Oliva, one of them calling him “Genny” had almost set him off in and of itself.

  I don’t want to project that onto the karnans, but geez, we’re different. I’ve just got Pashu, but those guys are half android.

  A small voice tried to remind Rev that he had a harness to support his IBHU, his spider web, reinforced joints, better eyesight, internal navigation abilities, and more, but he was able to push that voice away. He’d had lots of practice in denying that he was much different from everyone else over the last couple of years.

  The hatch into the passage opened, and a Heg naval infantry trooper came in and asked the corporal at the desk something seemingly inane, but his focus was on the karnan. He was followed by several more over the next few minutes. The word must be out that he was reporting in, and people wanted to see what the fuss was about. None of them paid much attention to Rev.

  So, it was a surprise when the hatch opened and a familiar voice said, “Fancy meeting you here, jarhead.”

  Rev jumped up as Ting-a-ling came forward, hand outstretched. He ignored the hand and hugged the Frisian, pounding on his back.

  “Damn, man. Don’t break my ribs,” Ting-a-ling said, but he gave almost as good as he got.

  “What the hell are you doing . . .” Rev started to ask when his BS meter kicked in. He broke the hug and pulled back. “I can be gullible, but this isn’t a coincidence.”

  The Frisian shrugged and quietly said, “There ain’t many of you around, and when they started sending all of you to the Guard, well, our command started researching who of us might have a prior relationship with any of you.”

  Rev frowned. “To spy on us?”

  “No. Well, yeah, I guess. That, or as my tan-master told me, it’s to maintain relationships. After what almost happened between us, the feeling is that we can’t allow things to degrade that much again.”

  Which made sense. But Rev didn’t like the idea that the Frisian Host was sending someone to bird dog him. It didn’t seem like something friendly forces would do.

  “Come on, you know me,” Ting-a-ling said, giving Rev a punch in his organic arm, right where it was still a little sore from the chip that had just been implanted. “We’re on the same team again fighting for all that is righteous, holy, and blah, blah, blah.”

  He looked at Rev with a lopsided grin, waiting for his response. Rev didn’t like it much, but they’d been briefed that all eyes would be on them. At least this way, he knew one of those who’d be watching.

  “We good?” the Frisian asked.

  Rev laughed. “Yeah, we’re good. Tip of the Spear.”

  “Tip of the Spear,” Ting-a-ling repeated.

  “So, I see you’re still a yellow-master. Double yellow,” Rev said, pointing at the two tabs on his friend’s collar.

  He had the light-yellow Home Guard tab under a Frisian yellow-master tab. By coincidence, the dark-yellow symbol of not-rank—as the Frisians insisted they didn’t have ranks within the Host, only job positions—was the equivalent of a Home Guard staff sergeant. So, where Rev had his rocker on top of the light-yellow Home Guard tab, Ting-a-ling simply had a dark-yellow rank tab on top of the light-yellow HG one.

  “Home Guard regs. I had to have a rank here. And since you’re a staff sergeant, they took away my amber and gave me yellow.”

  “So, you can match me? Sorry I wasn’t a gunny, so you could keep your amber rank.”

  “I keep telling you it’s not a rank. Just a billet. So, there’s no demotion. It’s only with you hierarchal services where your time in the service means more than what your job is.”

  Rev had had this discussion a million times with Ting-a-ling and the rest of the Frisians, and he knew he’d never convince this friend that the colors were just different names for ranks. But he couldn’t resist saying, “And a yellow-master gets paid less than an amber master. So, sorry you took a pay cut.”

  “We join the host only to serve to our fellow humans, not like you Union jarheads with the big paychecks. What do we care about the credits?”

  “Yeah, that’s why I became a Marine. For the tons of money,” Rev said. “And since you’re so altruistic, I know you’re turning back the CoH salary you’re getting paid.”

  “Of course, I would, but our orders are to fit in with everyone else. So, with great personal distaste, I am keeping the money,” he said with a short bow. “It is my burden to now be rich.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Another soldier stuck his head in the hatch, gave the karnan a long look, then disappeared.

  “Lots of interest in him,” Rev said, barely above a whisper.

  “Oh, there’ll be more in you, too, as soon as you get your IBHU hooked up. I got a brief all about those things before coming here. Pretty stippy-do, if you ask me. You and the Mad Dogs. We’re getting two more of them in the company. Two more of you, too.”

  “Two more of us? How do you get that? I don’t even know where everyone is going to end up.”

  The Frisian shrugged. “If you’ve got people in personnel . . .”

  Rev wasn’t going to ask, but his curiosity was too strong. “Who’s coming here?”

  “A Sergeant Sign of Respect and a Lance Corporal Randigold. You know them? Randigold’s from New Hope.”

  Rev had seen Sign of Respect’s name on the list, but other than the fact that he was regular Marines, he didn’t know anything about him. He knew Ethereal Randigold, however, quite well.

  “Randigold is a good Marine. Don’t know the other guy.”

  “Well, we’ll all get to know each other, right? But hey, I’ve got to go. You’ll be checking in all day, so how about I buy you dinner tonight?”

  “There’s a restaurant here?” Rev asked. “What kind of food?”

  “You don’t know me as well as I thought, Rev. Me, actually paying for food? I meant the chow hall.”

  Re
v laughed. “I guess I forgot what a skinflint you are. Even if you did just tell me you’re a rich guy now.”

  “Rich in military experience, not in material wealth.”

  “Thought so,” Rev said with another laugh. “But yeah, I’ll catch you for chow.”

  He felt good after Ting-a-ling left, and he took his seat. He was glad he had a friend in the company already, and if the Frisian was right, then Randigold would be joining him, too.

  It seemed a little weird that Fox Company would have three IBHU Marines and three karnans. One per platoon? But why not spread load them over all three, soon to be four, brigades?

  He shook his head. All of that was way above his pay grade.

  “So, you know that fry?”

  “What?” Rev asked as he snapped out of his reverie.

  “That fry. You obviously know him,” the MDS karnan said.

  “Uh, yeah. We served together,” Rev said, a little hesitant.

  “Word is that you persies and fries almost started your own war a year back.”

  Rev frowned as he considered how to respond. He considered it more of a clash than a war, but he didn’t want to admit even that.

  “That’s news to me.”

  “Well, your governments were sure slinging accusations about Cent prisoners and stuff.”

  “Shit happens. But we were all fighting the tin-asses, right?”

  “Yeah, the cents. At least you and we finished the war off on the Mother, right? Didn’t need no fries or nobody else.”

  “I guess so.”

  “And now, there’s us, you and me,” he said, pushing up a sleeve for a moment.

  Rev saw what looked to be a normal human arm, but with metallic bars running through it. Not a power frame, hooked onto the outside of the arm, but actually partway within the flesh.

  He immediately realized that the soldier knew exactly who and what Rev was. He’d just been ignoring him before. But Rev couldn’t tell what the man wanted to say by revealing his arm. Was it a challenge or a sign of brotherhood, like the Brotherhood of Steel, but even more exclusive?

  Before either of them could say anything else, the corporal looked up and said, “The first sergeant will see you now.”

  The two modified warriors stood and crossed over to the first sergeant’s door. For better or for worse, Rev’s time with the Home Guard was about to begin.

  8

  “Here’s your cell,” Ting-a-ling said, pointing to the octagonal door. Two rows of the small compartments surrounded the common area, the upper row’s bottom halves nestled between the spaces between the lower’s upper halves. They really did look like the cells of a beehive.

  The space between the bottom halves of the lower cells was taken up by ventilation and heating tubes, while storage lockers were above the upper rows.

  Ting-a-ling was pointing to one of the upper row cells. Two folding steps could be lowered so that Rev could easily step up and into his home for the next three years. He ignored the ladder, set the door to his retina, then opened it. If he’d expected an upgrade from the temporary quarters he’d been in for the last week, given that the cubicle was the company’s SNCO quarters, he was duly disappointed.

  He threw in his seabags and closed the door. He’d unpack later.

  After Ting-a-ling had suggested they meet for dinner, Rev hadn’t expected to see him before then. But that was before he’d been assigned to take Rev under his wing and get him situated. The first order of business had been to go back to the temporary quarters and retrieve his seabags, then get him in his new quarters.

  “So, how many SNCOs are here?” he asked his friend, looking around the space. He counted twenty-four cells.

  “Here? Or in the company?”

  “They’re not the same?”

  “The first shirt is in with the other first sergeants and master sergeants. We’re just staff sergeants and sergeants first class. But to answer your question, we’re full here. You just got the last cell. As you can guess, we’re rather top-heavy in the Guard. No privates at all, and I think there are only a couple of PFCs.”

  Being a Marine Raider, Rev was used to a rank-heavy organization, but not that heavy. At least the Raiders had Marine PFCs—which the Guard called privates—and lance corporals—which were PFCs in the Guard. It was going to take some getting used to the new ranks.

  Wonder what my billet is going to be if we’re that heavy. As boot as I am as a staff sergeant, I’m sure as shit not getting a squad, not with only twelve of them in the company.

  “If your personal stuff is stowed, let me take you to supply for your gear issue.”

  Rev hadn’t expected a guide to get to the company area, but he’d been happy to see the Frisian yellow-master . . . staff sergeant. And it was time he met the company staff.

  “How’s the company commander? She wasn’t in this morning. All I saw was the XO and the first sergeant . . . uh, first shirt, I guess they say here.”

  “The Major? Don’t really know. I only met her once, and that was when I checked in.” He lowered his voice and said, “I’d be more concerned with Veang—that’s First Lieutenant Chhay Veang, our platoon commander. He’s from the AIW, from Angkor, and he’s kind of an asshole if you ask me. Got that need to prove he’s the boss and all, especially with the XO and the other platoon commanders being captains.”

  The Alliance of Independent Worlds was a loosely aligned group of planets and systems spread out over half of human space. There was a wide range of political leanings within the Alliance, but the organization had come out against the Union in the Frisian-Union confrontation over Centaur tech.

  Rev let Ting-a-ling’s warning flow over his head. He and the Frisian had fought together, so their relationship was different, but if the Perseus Union and Frisian Mantle had patched up their differences, he doubted that an Alliance officer would hold any previous animosity against him personally.

  Rev was following Ting-a-ling out when Over-Sergeant/Staff Sergeant Kvat, a huge pack on his back, and an MDS sergeant first class came into the space.

  “Is that him?” the SFC asked loud enough to be heard, even not taking into account Rev’s augmented hearing.

  “Yeah. That’s the oner.”

  I guess I know what they’re calling us now.

  The SFC stuck out a hand, but his left one, a glint in his eye.

  There were some cultures that shook left hands instead of right, but BCs to donuts, the MDS wasn’t one of them. The guy wanted to test Rev’s arm. Which was stupid as this wasn’t Pashu but rather his social arm.

  “Sergeant Uli Myrt, Manifest Destiny Sphere,” the soldier said as Rev took the hand.

  Rev had heard that in the Guard, staff sergeants and sergeants first class were simply called sergeants in common usage. In the Marines, calling a gunny “sarge” or “sergeant” would have drastic consequences.

  The SFC gave his hand a firm squeeze. He probably was hoping to get a reaction from Rev, too, but if he did, he was just as much an idiot as Kvat was. Rev’s arm was a prosthesis, not organic.

  Rev was tempted to squeeze back, but he refrained. No reason to get into a pissing contest his first hour with the company.

  “We need to get to the company office,” Ting-a-ling said.

  “We’ll be following you soon enough,” the SFC said.

  Rev and Ting-a-ling turned to leave, and as the two stepped into the corridor, just as the door was closing behind them, the two MDS soldiers started barking.

  “What the hell was that?” Rev asked.

  “Mad Dogs,” Ting-a-ling said with a huff. “They always have to test everyone.”

  “I mean the barking.”

  “That? It’s a tradition with them when they join the Guard. I guess they found out that everyone in the galaxy calls them Mad Dogs and they’re taking it to heart. You know, embrace it, so it isn’t an insult.”

  “And oners? I take it that isn’t for all Union Marines.”

  “They call you pers
ies or yooties. Yooties, especially for you jarheads. It’s you IBHUs that they call oners.”

  “Yooties? Persies, I know a lot of you call us that. But Yooties? Shouldn’t that be Yoons, or Unis or something? There’s no “T” in Union. And oners? Like in one arm? Pretty weak, if you ask me.”

  Ting-a-ling just shrugged. “You never know with the Mad Dogs why they do anything. I think it’s to get a rise out of everyone, as if they just like seeing what pushes people’s buttons. Still, they’re not bad folks. Good drinkers, and they like to pick up the tab.”

  Well, I’ll have to see about that, I guess. Anyone who picks up a bar tab can’t be all bad.

  9

  “Looks like we’re the center of attention,” Rev told Lieutenant Macek.

  “Yep. Everyone’s out to see what we have.”

  Most Guardsmen were issued the standard RP-5 or AP-22 as their personal weapon, but some weapons and weapons systems were brought in from the various contributing militaries. Before a new weapon could be used in any of the training ranges, however, it had to be cleared for use.

  Rev and the lieutenant were the first two IBHU Marines to join the Home Guard, so they were the ones going through the process. And as the system had more than a small amount of notoriety, there were more observers than usual—more than a hundred, the best Rev could tell. At the top of the ladder was none other than the Guard’s commanding general, who flew over from Titan for the demonstration. At the bottom were the members of Rev and the lieutenant’s platoons.

  Rev spared a glance behind them. The observers were behind a reinforced shield wall of some sort. In a normal range, that might seem like overkill. But this was HGR-1, the moon’s only atmospheric range for heavy weapons. It wasn’t even at Fort Nkomo but sixty-two klicks away. The range was a self-contained facility where no matter what could happen during a shoot, it would not affect Nkomo, Willis, or any other part of the Enceladus Military Complex.

  Daryll gave the two a last-minute check. “I think you’re ready. Kick some ass, OK?”