An Alliance Reforged Read online

  Copyrighted Material

  An Alliance Reforged Copyright © 2021 by Variant Publications

  Book design and layout copyright © 2021 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.

  www.jnchaney.com

  www.jonathanbrazee.com

  1st Edition

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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

  Epilogue

  Cast of Characters

  Acknowledgments

  Connect with J.N. Chaney

  Connect with Jonathan P. Brazee

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  About the Authors

  GLOSSARY

  AGMS: Anti-G Straining Maneuvers

  AIW: Association of Independent Worlds

  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

  CASEVAC: Casualty Evacuation

  CCR-32 Didactic Interface: the AI implanted into the Marines’ heads.

  Cerrocrete: a very strong futuristic concrete

  CG: Commanding General

  CO: Commanding Officer

  COH: Congress of Humanity, the highest authority of mankind

  CST: Combat Simulation Trainer

  D-5 Cord: an explosive-saturated cord

  Camp Seong-Matris: One of the three camps on Eceladus housing the Home Guard’s Second Brigade

  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

  EVA: Extravehicular Activity

  FEPM-K: A combined electromagnetic pulse shell that is followed by a kinetic missile.

  FSCL: Fire Support Coordination Line. A control measure beyond which fires into the area must be coordinated.

  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

  Goundpounders: slang for infantry

  HE: High Explosive

  Host: the military arm of the Frisian Mantle, a sometime ally/enemy of the Perseus Union

  Karnan: Nickname for the hyper-augmented soldiers from the MDS

  KIA: Killed in Action

  Leaches: Military slang for civilians

  LOD: Line of Departure

  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

  MDS: Manifest Destiny Sphere

  MilDes: Military Designator

  MilDes Ninety-nine/Ninety-nine: essentially indentured servants in uniform

  MMCS: Marine Mechanical Combat Suit

  MoV: Medal of Valor, a Home Guard award. Runs from third class to first class.

  MP: Military Police

  MPT: Military Placement Test

  NCO: Non-commissioned Officer. The middle two ranks of enlisted Marines

  NCOIC: Non-commissioned Officer in Charge

  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

  SFC: Sergeant First Class

  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

  Torinth Accords: a treaty governing the rules of war

  VGW: Veterans of Galaxal Wars

  WIA: Wounded in Action

  Weislen’s Syndrome: A cancer-like disease affecting those who have had their bodies augmented. Known as the “rot.”

  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

  “Antiemetics.”

 

  “Eat me, Punch.”

 

  Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier, Perseus Union Marine Corps, didn’t bother responding in kind to his battle buddy. Even if Punch seemed to be getting more juvenile at times, maybe he had matured, at least. For every other landing, he’d refused the anti-nausea meds until his queasy stomach forced him to. This time, as the egg carton was moved into place by the Navy yellowshirt, he decided just to take it now and be done with it.

  Rev was the most experienced IBHU Marine in the Union, and he had more combat days racked up than anyone else, but he really didn’t want to puke up his landing breakfast on this, his first drop as a platoon sergeant.

  “Systems check,” he told Punch, more to change the line of thought than thinking that anything had changed since the last time he asked.

 

  “Even the coldpack?” Rev asked in table talk, the visual system he and Punch had developed to communicate without fear of Big Brother eavesdropping.

 

  Rev sniffed. For all intents and purposes, his new PAL-HX was a much better system than his old PAL-5, with stronger and more flexible armor and a much more effective helmet cap designed to protect their brains better from beamers, but the coldpacks, the cartridges designed to keep Marines from overheating, had been glitchy. Without a working coldpack, an active Marine in a combat suit would be combat ineffective within thirty minutes.

  Rev subconsciously tapped the small limpet pack just behind his right hip. Inside were two spare coldpacks in case the one now in use decided to go to crap.

  “Third Platoon, you have ten minutes until launch,” the faceless voice from who knows where came over the net.

  Their guide wasn’t in their launch platform. That was an unmanned skid that had carried the four egg cartons from the PUNS Rapier, a super-stealthy Navy corvette that had brought them into the Armadillo system. For all Rev knew, the man wasn’t even on the Rapier but back on New Mars and Marine Headquarters.

  Must be rough fighting a war in all the comforts of home.

  A jerk made Rev reach out to brace himself. He wished he could see out of the Personal Insertion Sphere 39, his “pisser.” But he was closed off to the outside world until his pisser sloughed off of him during the descent and he glided into the DZ.

  His very first insertion on Preacher Rolls during the Centaur War, almost seven years ago, was by drop as well. But there was a world of difference between that and this. His Personal Insertion Sphere 31 was to the 39 what an ancient Model T was to a Blinkster Spector. His 31 was essentially an inert sphere that slowed down by ablating its shell, which did leave a heat signature that could be detected. The 39 had several jumps in tech that should get him and the rest of the Marines down with a much greater chance of not being detected and shot out of the sky. The ever-improving technology that had helped win the war against the Centaurs—well, that and the fact that the alien race had such few numbers—had changed the face of warfare.

  Rev was a fan of technology. Pashu, his IBHU, was the pinnacle of military technology. But if the coldpacks were an example of growing pains as new tech was introduced, then there certainly could be glitches in the new insert system, and augering in after a drop from space had just slightly more consequences than having to insert a new coldpack.

  “We doing OK, Staff Sergeant?” the lieutenant asked on the P2P.

  Rev didn’t know if she was asking about him or herself.

  “Doing fine, ma’am. We’ve got this. Get in unseen, accomplish the mission, and then just sit back and wait for the cavalry to arrive.”

  “Have we forgotten anything?”

  “Probably, yes.”

  There was dead silence on the other end of the comms, then, “How can we fix that?”

  This was the lieutenant’s first combat mission. She’d been commissioned right at the conclusion of the Centaur War and after a vehicle accident had cost her right arm, and it had only been six months since she’d been checked off as an IBHU Marine.

  Rev had to put himself back to Preacher Rolls and his first mission. He remembered how he felt, unsure of himself, and he was just a snuffy then without being responsible for anyone else. There had to be a lot of pressure on her, and it was his job to shoulder as much of that as he could.

  “We’ll adapt, Lieutenant. Whatever comes up, we can handle it. We’ve sure trained enough for it.”

  “I . . . I guess so, but what if—”

  Rev never heard what if what because the voice said, “Second Platoon, five minutes to launch. Prepare final physiological preparations.”

  “You heard him,” Rev passed on the platoon net, cutting his platoon commander off. “Juice yourself.”

  He settled himself into his pisser’s seat, then told Punch, “Do it.”

  A lot had changed since his first pisser insert, but not this part. His combat suit started to cool while cardiovascular constrictors flooded his circulatory system. All of this was designed to help him cope with the high Gs of deceleration.

  Next, his combat suit began to constrict around his arms, legs, and pelvis, forcing blood into his thorax and head. Rev hated this part of the process, but he understood the need to protect his frail human body—even one heavily augmented—from the effects of massive G-forces. It wasn’t very pleasant, but it was better than being squashed like a grape.

  “Second Platoon is away,” their emotionless friend came over the net. “Third Platoon, you have one minute.”

  Rev started to address the platoon, but the lieutenant beat him to it. “You heard him, Marines. After four long months, this is where we prove ourselves. Semper fi.”

  Rev had been about to remind the squad leaders to do an immediate headcount upon reaching the ground, something that was more pertinent than a half-assed pep talk, but he wasn’t going to step on the lieutenant. And as he thought about it, the squad leaders knew what to do. They didn’t need him talking just to hear his voice.

  “Thirty seconds. Initiate foaming.”

  Rev’s egg filled with shock foam, and Rev could barely move. This was a new development in the process, another one not overly popular with the Marines. If he was claustrophobic, he’d have a serious case of the heebie-jeebies right now. It was bad enough as it was.

  “Ten seconds, Marines. Godspeed,” the voice on the comms said.

  Rev tightened his thighs, took a deep breath, and exhaled while tensing his belly and limbs, ready for AGSM. With all the tech in his pisser, he still had to use Anti-G Straining Maneuvers to help fight the forces he was about to endure.

  At zero, the egg carton shot out of the transport with barely a shudder. It was the deceleration that hit a moment later that tried to throw Rev through the front of his pisser. He instinctively tried to lift his hands to keep from smashing into the front of the sphere, but the foam was gripping him like wet plasticrete. He suddenly had a nasty vision of missing the entry envelope, then traveling forever until a million years from now, some evolved cockroach recovered the egg and his fossilized body, encased in hardened foam, and put him in a cockroach paleontological museum.

  “Give me some music,” he gasped.

  A moment later, the soothing sounds of Guava Beach Machine filled his senses. After seven years together, Punch knew what he liked. He was still straining, but the music helped him endure the worst of the deceleration. Either that, or he was getting used to it.

  Rev watched his timer count down the seconds. The foam dampened much of the motion, but the Gs were heavy and constant as the decelerating units did their thing. It wasn’t bad, but Rev was glad he’d al
ready taken the anti-pukes.

  With thirty seconds to go before they decoupled, Rev passed, “Comms silence in twenty seconds.”

  The clock ticked down, and at zero, the three decelerating units attached to the egg carton broke free. Their ride smoothed out as they plunged toward the planet, and the Gs mercifully diminished to nothing. They wouldn’t decelerate again until they hit Armadillo’s atmosphere. The foam began to break down, and Rev’s movement was freed up. Not that there was anything to see or do, nor would there be for another four hours and twenty-three minutes.

  Rev settled in to wait. But he didn’t have to brood in silence, pretending to be a pebble of inert mass within the larger inert mass of the egg carton.

  “You got anything new for me?”