An Uneasy Alliance Read online

  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 Association 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 persies 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?”

  The tech was in his element. He’d started as low-man on the IBHU totem pole, but he was the only one in the field who’d been with the project since day one. He took a lot of pride in the system, and here he had a captive and eager audience.

  Pashu was vitally important to Rev as a Marine, but for Daryll, she and the rest of the IBHUs were his children. And now they had a chance to shine, like kids at a recital. This was Union tech on display.

  He stepped back, and the range officer took his place. “Just to reiterate. Keep on the targets. Don’t just pray and spray. We don’t want the structure to absorb more damage than it has to.

  Rev nodded, but he wondered what the officer thought an IBHU could do to the range. Carved out of solid rock, it was a 900-meter-by-300-meter cavern 150 meters underground. A Marine Davis tank couldn’t blast its way out in ten years.

  “Well, if you’re ready, let’s get this show on the road,” the officer said, nodding at a civilian tech on a suite of various scanners to the side of the firing line.

  “If we ever wanted to keep the specs a secret, that tech there’s gonna get pretty much all the data there is,” the lieutenant said, barely above a whisper, but Rev, with his augmented hearing, had no problem picking it up.

  “Well, we knew it was going to happen, sir. They still don’t know the process, though.”

  “Who will be firing first?” the range officer asked.

  They hadn’t even discussed that. Rev looked at the lieutenant and asked, “Do you want honors, sir?”

  “You’re IBHU-1, and I think they probably want to see the braid more than the fan. I think the honor is yours.”

  For lack of something better, Rev and the lieutenant had decided to call their original cannon the “braid” and the new shipboard cannon the “fan.” They knew the names weren’t very original, but they served the purpose.

  “That’s me, then,” Rev told the officer.

  “So, we have your energy cannon first, right? Three stationary, three moving. Missiles next, followed by the twenty-millimeter kinetic cannon.”

  “That’s what you wanted,” Lieutenant Macek said. “And we aim to please.”

  The range officer didn’t crack a smile, but Rev did. “We aim to kill,” he said in a whisper. “Not to please.”

  “Well, then. Let me step away, and Sergeant Rowdy will call you hot.” The range officer hurried off to the side and fifteen meters behind the line to where he climbed into what looked like a simple fighting hole. Once in, he pulled a dome, which looked like it was made of the same material that protected all the observers, over his head.

  Sergeant First Class Rowdy, sitting in a small but robust-looking range control shack, said, “If the first shooter will approach the line.”

  Rev stepped up to his firing position. Every indicator shone a steady green.

  “Your first target will appear momentarily. Do not fire until given the command.”

  Kinetic weapons were fired at physical targets. Energy weapons had virtual targets. But these were a step up from the virtual targets Rev and Malaika had fired at during their trip to the free range on Nguyen. The range was lined with sensors that measured every aspect of a beam weapon’s pulse, and those went into a massive AI that compared the pulse with the characteristics of the simulated target.

  Rev was eager to see how well they mimicked real life. He didn’t even know what his target would be. For a moment, he wished it would be MDS armor of some sort, but he knew that wouldn’t be politically feasible. So, he wasn’t surprised when a paladin suddenly appeared.

  “Shooter, you may commence fire at will.”

  Like an Old-Earth gunfighter of America’s west, Rev swung Pashu up and fired. The braided meson beams flashed across the range and struck the paladin, which immediately went up in a ball of flame. Rev could almost imagine the heat and shock washing back over him.

  “Damn!” Either he’d gotten lucky with a vital hit, or the AIs were programmed to be generous. Rev had killed paladins in real life, but without such an impressive eye-candy result.

  He had two more stationary targets, and they exploded with the same extreme intensity. Instead of exciting Rev, however, it was a letdown. The over-the-top results made the entire thing more of a video game like he played as a kid.

  “Moving target to commence in ten seconds,” the range NCOIC announced.

  Rev took a quick glance behind the firing line. Over a hundred sets of eyes were locked on him, but he couldn’t read much into them. A few were smiling, a few were frowning, and the rest were somewhere in between the two extremes.

  His first target, another paladin, started rushing across the range. He barely thought about it as he raised Pashu and fired. As before, the target went up spectacularly. He thought this was beyond certification and more for show.

  Two more targets, two more spectacular kills. Rev was happy to step back and let the lieutenant come forward to fire the fan and the Morays.

  The fan would fire at the same type of virtual targets but at a much closer range. But at least kinetic rounds fired on real targets. Six by four by three-meter blocks of woven carbon steel armor over cerrocrete would traverse the range upon rails. There wouldn’t be the exaggerated special effects of the virtual targets, and Rev was fine with that.

  Rev retreated off the line as the lieutenant took his position. First up was the fan cannon. Due to the nature of the beam, he didn’t expect as much show with the kills. And he was right. As the targets were virtual, they could have been programmed for something just as spectacular, but each of the kills was a mere flash.

  Rev stole a look at the observers. After the first shot, most had lost interest and were in conversation with each other while the lieutenant gave the instruments what they needed to certify the fan for range use.

  Then it was time for the six missiles the lieutenant was carrying. As with the braided and fan cannons, two would be fired at stationary targets while the instruments would scan across every possible spectrum. Morays had been certified before, and as the IBHU was just a launcher, Rev didn’t know why they had to go through the process—or for the 20mm cannon, for that matter. All those people watching from behind the barrier were probably the reason. The general and the rest were interested in what the Union had come up with.

  Rev didn’t even watch the lieutenant fire—this was child’s play. He was more interested in seeing the reactions of the observers, particularly from his platoon and squad. And it was hard to tell. Staff Sergeant Kvat had a half sneer on his face, but his eyes were locked on the demonstration. Ting-a-ling had his head together with another Frisian—from the lieutenant’s platoon, Rev thought he remembered. Ting was speaking and pointing out something. Another trooper Rev didn’t recognize was overtly listening in. As for the rest, it was a mix with some intensely watching, such as Sergeant First Class Gamay, some seemingly lackadaisical, and a few who, while Rev couldn’t say they were antagonistic, were at least on that side of the spectrum.

  Soon enough, the lieutenant was done. He turned around, and with a sly smile, asked Rev, “They want a show. You want to give them one?” He pointed at the 20mm cannon.

  “Good idea, sir.”

  Rev joined him on the firing line waiting for the command to fire. It was obvious that the range NCOIC didn’t know what to do. Rev could see him talking, and when he swung around to the range officer, that man was replying.

  “I think we’re giving the range NCOIC a heart attack, sir.”

  “That’s on him. Not us.”

  Evidently, the officer gave the SFC the green light because a moment later, he said, “Prepare to fire on my command.”

  “Fire the whole belt, sir?”

  Each of them had an abbreviated belt of fifty rounds. That would be good for six or seven normal bursts. Daryll would have a hissy-fit if they blasted through the belt. The max burst they were supposed to fire was twenty rounds. Rev didn’t think the lieutenant would go for it. A jammed round would be pretty embarrassing right now.

  But he surprised Rev. “Fifty rounds, and both of us on the center target. Five rounds per second.”

  Rev’s smile grew wide. “You’ve got it, sir!” He adjusted the rate of fire and waited for the command.

  “Shooters, you may commence fire.”

  As one, they raised their IBHUs and blasted away. Rev shouted with glee as the rounds slammed into the target, sending dust and debris billowing off of it. Ten seconds might not seem like a long time, but it stretched out as the din echoed off the far walls.

  The belts ran out at the same time, and Rev lowered Pashu to see the damage. The targets were constructed to absorb a lot of abuse, but as the dust cleared, it was clear that it wasn’t made to take what the two Marines had unleashed on it. Whole sections were simply gone, and the rest was riddled with holes.

  “I think we killed it, sir.”

  The range officer flipped open his dome and crawled out of his hole. He walked forward to join them, looking downrange.

  “I guess that one gets scrapped,” he said.

  “Sorry about that,” the lieutenant said.

  “Don’t be. That was pretty impressive.”

  And Rev knew it was. The same rounds could be fired from a Davis or a Falcon, and their rate of fire was higher than anything an IBHU could manage. But from a man-packed weapon, it was pretty righteous, as Daryll would say. And inside a range, even one as large as this, it seemed more impressive.

  “So did we pass?” the lieutenant asked.

  “Hell if I know. I just run the ranges. The data will be sent to facilities, and they’ll be the folks who make the decision. But I don’t see any problem. Nothing you have is new. Only your delivery method is unique. So, a week or so, you might have an answer.”

  “A week?”

  “That’s the Home Guard for you.”

  The range officer looked past Rev and the lieutenant’s shoulders toward the observation area. “Looks like you’re getting company. And that’s my cue to make myself scarce.”

  Both Marines spun around. Heading their way was a gaggle of senior officers and enlisted, led by the general himself. Not the two platoons who would be working with the two Marines. Looking past the incoming, Rev could see Lieutenant Veang and Master Sergeant Barber up against the glass, watching. He was sure they’d be coming, too, if they hadn’t been crowded out by more senior troopers.

  But they’d have a lot more time in the coming years. Rev was sure that both of them would be trying to plumb the IBHU secrets before all was said and done.

  “Impressive showing, Lieutenant,” General Ibsen said, right hand out to shake when with a laugh, he switched to the left so the lieutenant could use his organic hand. “I can see how you IBHU Marines became Centaur killers. Fine work, that.”

  “Staff Sergeant Pelletier, here, General, he was the big Centaur killer. As a pilot, he’d be an ace.”

  The general turned to Rev, shook his hand, and said, “Of course. Good, good.” He shifted back to the lieutenant and said, “If you don’t mind, I’ve got a few questions for you.”

  Nice try, Lieutenant, pawning him off to me. But he wants those golden officer observations, not some enlisted puke’s who barely knows his right from his left.

  Which was absolutely fine with Rev. If he could escape everyone’s attention, all the better. He gave the lieutenant a wink, then started to edge back, letting the brass crowd around him.

  He felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see an older trooper. He didn’t recognize the insignia, but the magenta collar tab, this one bounded with a silver border, told him that this man was the Sergeant Major of the Home Guard.

  “I’m curious about a few things, and I’m hoping you can help me out.”

  Rev managed not to roll his eyes, but only through an extreme effort.

  “Of course, Sergeant Major. What can I answer for you?”

  Beyond the sergeant major, other senior enlisted and officers were moving in as well.

  I’ve got a feeling this is going to be a long afternoon.

  10

  “Randigold!”

  The lance corporal looked up and caught Rev’s eyes, a huge smile breaking out across the half of her face that was still all organic. She made her way through the crowd, heedless of those she was smacking with the seabags on each shoulder. An officer in a uniform Rev didn’t recognize started to protest, but when he took in all the metal making up her body, he quickly looked away and moved off at an angle.

  You little troublemaker. You know exactly how many people you’re hitting, Rev thought while trying to hold back a smile.

  She reached him and stuck out an elbow, which Rev dutifully clinked with his social arm.

  “Brothers in Steel,” they both said in unison.

  “I didn’t know they’d send you to pick me up. I must be special if a staff-en-cee-oh is sent to be my tour guide,” she said, saying each letter in SNCO in an exaggerated staccato.

  “First lesson, Randigold, is that here in the Guard, a staff sergeant ain’t crap. I don’t even get a squad.”

  “In that case, what’s a lance corporal? Fly shit?”

  “No, that’s a sergeant. Don’t know what a lance coolie would be. And they don’t call you guys lance corporal. Here, you’re PFCs.”

  “Yeah, I know. Sucks that I just got my skeeter wings, and now people are going to be calling me PFC again.”

  She turned her head to kiss her skeeter wings, the chevron and crossed rifles that was a Marine lance corporal’s rank insignia. “At least I’ll still draw lance corporal pay, not PFC.”