Sentenced to War

by J. N. Chaney

  “What?” he blurted out.

  “The booby trap was real enough. The shrapnel inside was powder, though. Might sting a bit on bare skin, nothing more.”

  Rev felt stupid now even asking. Of course, they weren’t going to kill off their recruits in training. The Centaurs were doing well enough at killing Marines that they didn’t need any help.

  “So, did I pass?”

  “Yes, Pelletier. You passed. You’re not going to have to retest.”

  A wave of relief swept through him. He’d made it. On Friday, he’d join the rest of his company for graduation, and he’d no longer be Recruit Reverent Pelletier.

  He’d be Private Reverent Pelletier, Perseus Union Marine Corps.

  Part II

  15

  “Welcome to Charlie Company,” the captain told Rev and Tomiko.

  “Thank you, sir,” the two said in unison.

  “I guess I should introduce myself. Captain Lydia Fowler.” She held out a hand, and Rev gave Tomiko a quick glance. They were boot privates, right out of boot camp, and captains didn’t just shake hands with them.

  But the captain’s hand was stretched out to them, and Rev hesitantly took it. Tomiko followed suit.

  “We’re glad to have you aboard. Lots of holes to fill.”

  If there were lots of holes to fill, that was not a good sign. Holes usually meant casualties.

  “I wish we’d gotten more of you Oh-Two-Threes, but it is what it is until the next batch of replacements. You’re both going to the Raider Platoon, of course. Lieutenant Smith’s the platoon commander. Mustang. You’re lucky.”

  A mustang was an officer who’d been commissioned out of the enlisted ranks. The DIs, some of whom seemed to have a low opinion of officers in general, tended to speak in better terms of mustangs.

  “Private . . . uh, Pelletier,” she said after checking her screen again, “I’m sending you to Third Team. Gunny Thapa is the team leader.

  “Private Reiser, I’m sending you to . . . wait a moment. This isn’t right.”

  She touched her right ear and said, “First Sergeant LeDeux.” A moment later she said, “I’ve got the two new joins here. I’m checking the roster, and it has them both going to Third Team.”

  She listened for a moment, slightly nodding, before she shrugged and looked back at Tomiko. “I guess this is right. You’re going to Third Team as well.”

  Rev and Tomiko exchanged glances. As Raiders, there were limited places for them to go. All of their recruit class were from metro Swansea, so with the regimental system in place, all of them were going to either the Safe Harbor Provincial 8th Infantry Regiment (REIN), the Gryphons, or the 48th Support Battalion. Technically, Charlie Company was part of the 6th Reconnaissance Battalion, out of Camp Falcon, but they were part of the (REIN), one of the reinforcing units to the regiment. They were attached, so it was no surprise that they’d be going to Charlie Company’s Raider Platoon. As two boots, however, it was a surprise that they’d be going to the same team. From a logical standpoint, it would be better for Rev if he’d have more experienced Marines as his teammates, but he couldn’t help but feel relieved. He would not be going into this alone.

  “We’ve had some losses, and Third Team is shorthanded.” Then almost to herself, the skipper said, “I could still switch Gramerie . . . No. We’ll do it this way.”

  She turned her attention back to the two privates. “You’ve got the rest of the day to check in. I want you to be ready to report to Gunny Thapa at morning quarters.

  “Do you have any questions for me?”

  The two shook their heads.

  The skipper looked tired. Haggard. Rev had heard rumors that the company had taken heavy casualties over the last six months, and that was obviously weighing on her.

  “Great,” she said, standing and offering her hand across her desk. In that moment, she looked renewed, if only a little. Any help was welcome, it seemed. “Welcome to Charlie Company. Hope you stick around.”

  The rest of the day was full, but routine. Weapons draw, snapping in, drawing gear, getting rooms assigned, checking into the regimental sick bay—the rhythm was familiar, even if the location was new.

  Finally, an hour after missing evening chow, Rev stuck his head into Tomiko’s room and said, “Let’s get to the club.”

  “Why? So you can finally screw Krissy?”

  “No! I’m just starving, and we can get a burger or something,” he blurted out.

  “Yeah, right, big boy,” she said, the last in a falsetto. “And you’re turning red.”

  He could feel his face burn. And she was right. Krissy had been assigned to the grunts, light infantry. With fewer mods, she’d have been with the regiment for almost six weeks by now. Rev wasn’t so sure he was going to get laid, as Tomiko thought, but he did want to hook up and see if Krissy was still interested. Six weeks would have given her a lot of time to find someone else.

  The problem was that he didn’t know where she was. She’d be in the regiment, sure, but there were three rifle battalions, each with four companies. Since they were not allowed quantphones—a stupid rule, he thought—he couldn’t just call her up or send a text. But the E-Club would be the center of non-rate social life, and he’d be able to track her down there.

  “And what about Mia?” Tomiko asked, a wicked grin on her face.

  “I should never have told you about her,” Rev grumbled.

  He really didn’t miss Mia, and with him in the Marines and not with the Guild, he didn’t think she missed him. But when a group of them were talking about lovers they’d left behind, he hadn’t wanted to feel left out, so he inflated their relationship a bit.

  “Oh, geez. You are so easy to give shit to,” Tomiko said, putting her arm through his and pulling him out of the doorway. “Let’s go get you laid.”

  Rev wanted to argue, but that would only give Tomiko more ammunition, so he let her pull him to the elevator and down to the bottom deck.

  “Uh, do we have to sign out?” Rev asked the duty, a lance corporal standing behind a podium at the entrance.

  The duty snorted, then said, “You ain’t recruits no more, boot. Just make it back by twenty-four-hundred.”

  They’d already spotted the E-club while checking in. Five minutes later, they were inside its protective cocoon. The club was limited to E-1 through E-3. No NCOs. No SNCOs. And for sure, no officers. And as long as they didn’t destroy the place or each other, the non-rates were pretty much left alone while inside.

  Rev’s stomach growled the minute the smells from the kitchen hit him.

  “I guess you really are hungry,” Tomiko said. “What say we grab a bite, then we can try to track everyone down.”

  Rev was good with that, so they went into the galley and to an open autochef. The menu wasn’t extensive, but there were all the old standbys. Rev ordered a burger, Tomiko a gordita.

  As the autochef churned away, a voice called out, “About time you slackers got here.”

  “I know that voice,” Rev said, turning around with a huge smile on his face.

  Cricket, along with a PFC Rev didn’t recognize, was standing behind him. It took about a nanosecond before Rev enveloped the smaller Marine in a bear hug.

  “Damn, son, let me breathe!”

  The bear hug surprised Rev. He hadn’t realized how much he missed his friends. More than a little embarrassed, he released Cricket, who received a much toned-down hug from Tomiko.

  “Dyce, this is Rev and Tomiko. I told you about them.” He turned back and said, “And this is Dyce Stewart. We’re in the same squad. Delta Company, First Battalion.”

  “Deathdealers!” they shouted in unison, smacking elbows.

  “Deathdealers suck!” a voice called out from the back of the galley.

  “They’re all just jealous,” Cricket said with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “So, you just get in?”

  “This morning,” Tomiko said. “Spent all day checking in. Missed chow, so . . .”
>
  She tilted her head back to the autochef where Rev’s burger was at seventy-two percent, her gordita at sixty-seven percent.

  “The gorditas are pretty good here. Better program than in the chow hall,” Cricket said approvingly. “The pelmini are good, too. But you’ll find out. So, what about you two? How was your MilDes Phase?”

  “Tough. Took a while to get used to the augments,” Rev said.

  “Cricket said you two are Zero-Two-Threes?” Dyce asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Much respect,” Dyce said, touching his forefinger to his forehead.

  Tomiko and Rev both gave short, awkward laughs.

  “We’re just boots,” Tomiko said. “We haven’t done anything yet.

  “Still, you guys are something.”

  “So, where is everyone? You keeping in touch?” Rev asked Cricket, anxious to change the subject. Tomiko was right in that they hadn’t done anything yet, but the fact that this guy was giving them respect was a little troubling. What were they getting into?

  “Bundy’s already a PFC. Meritorious. He’s in tanks, of course.”

  Which Rev had figured. Not that he’d wangled PFC already, although it wasn’t surprising. The tank battalion was the only place in the regiment for armor.

  “I saw Aguilera, too. He’s in supply.”

  Cricket’s tone was more than a little dismissive, and Rev wondered if the schism between Direct Combat and Combat Support—no, supply was in General Support, he reminded himself—was more than just good-natured ribbing.

  “Uh . . . Fyr and Udu are in Second Mech. Fyr’s in Golf and Udu’s in Echo Company. Orpho’s in Alpha. Oh, you remember Cali Hu? She’s a Disk Marine with Golf. You’ll see her around, I’m sure.”

  Disk Marines, with their mobility, often supported or took on recon missions, but the Raider Company was a little separated from the rest of Recon Battalion. Rev didn’t bother to correct his friend, however.

  “And you know Willow—”

  “Not to interrupt, Cricket,” Tomiko said, putting her hand on his arm. “Well, yeah, to interrupt. But our good buddy Rev, here, has blue balls something fierce, and he wants to hook up with Krissy, Where’s she at?”

  “Miko! Give me a break! I told you it isn’t that,” Rev said, but was stopped cold when Cricket’s ever-present smile disappeared.

  “You haven’t heard?” Cricket asked.

  A hollowness started to form in the pit of Rev’s stomach.

  “Of course not. You just got out of Nguyen.” Cricket took a deep breath, then said, “Krissy went to Fox. They were embarked on the Gharial.”

  At their blank looks, he went on. “The fucking Centaurs hit the ship. There were no survivors. Respect to the fallen.”

  Rev’s vision started to narrow, his mind going numb. He’d realized, almost in abstract, that they were embarking on a dangerous three years. Not everyone was going to make it through. But already? And Krissy?

  Reality just gave him a shot in the gut, and he bent over and dry-heaved.

  Behind Rev, the autochef chimed. His forgotten burger was ready.

  16

  Rev hugged the ground. Centimeters from his face, the dirt was rich and loamy, filling his nostrils with the scent, something he’d rarely noticed before.

  Technology. It still amazed him almost six months after his augments. Humanity was advancing by leaps and bounds. It had to. The Centaurs were not going to let up in their attempt to eliminate humanity.

  A pebble bounced off of his helmet, and he turned to see the gunny giving him the hand-and-arm signal to keep alert, his face rigid in anger. Rev nodded, then turned his attention back to the valley below.

  The irony of that was not lost on him. Human technology was advancing by leaps and bounds, but they were relegated to using hand-and-arm signals, much like the Babylonian armies used. No matter how far humanity advanced, the Centaurs were ahead of them, and the Marines’ comms had been cut for over ten hours now. No comms, no uploads, no downloads.

  Rev had his AI and knowledge library, but he was cut off from the rest of the Marines, forced to rely on ancient techniques.

  It wasn’t a good feeling.

  But this was the face of modern warfare, and he had to concentrate.

  “How long until we move?” he whispered.

 

  At least he was meshing better with his AI, and it had almost become natural. Almost. He still felt like he was sharing his brain to an extent, and while he could supposedly put it to sleep when he was off duty, he couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that it was still there, listening and recording. For what, he didn’t know, but he didn’t like it.

  His heart was beating hard, almost loud enough to be heard. In a little over four minutes, they’d be leaving the hide to complete the mission—and they had to complete it. The entire regiment was inbound, and if the array was still functioning, then the carnage would be devastating. Failure wasn’t an option.

  He checked the charge and the safety of his M-49 for the tenth time in the last twenty minutes. Raiders had more of a choice in their weapons, and he could have picked any number of them, but he was still more used to the 49 than anything else.

  Not that the personal weapons were of much use against a Centaur. It could knock down a Centaur’s drone-eyes, but the 8mm round could only penetrate the enemy armor if it had already been severely compromised. Still, the powers that be decided Marines should carry them, if for nothing else than as a security blanket.

  Rev was all in for that decision.

  And then it was time. Gunny signaled for them to rise. Rev, Tomiko, and Tanu—Lance Corporal Bintang Tanuwijaya—got to their feet. Somewhere over on the next finger, Lieutenant Omestori, their new second lieutenant team leader, and Staff Sergeant Montez would be leading her element forward.

  The key in fighting the Centaurs, even in discreet operations as were the Raiders’ usual modus operandi, was for multiple prongs of attack. But without comms, the Marines had to depend upon timing and planning. If the gunny and the staff sergeant had this down, then both elements of the team would arrive close to the same time, ready to kick off the assault.

  In a single file, with Rev on point, they slipped through the dense evergreen forest. Rev kept his head on a swivel, looking for any sign of the enemy. If they were spotted, however, chances are he’d never know it. One blast from a Centaur beamer, and the entire element would be toast.

  Rev shifted his shoulders, nudging his PAL-5 (Personal Armor, Light-5) combat suit back into place. It never seemed to fit him right, always shifting, and it didn’t provide the best protection, but it was both “slippery” and light camouflaged. Unless a Centaur was specifically looking for them, or it had its gammasearch on narrow lobes, they should be able to get to the target undetected. Most Centaur scan waves would either slip to the side or be absorbed.

  Or so the manufacturer said. But the CEO of Ryndyne Industries was back on Titan, not out with the Marines in combat.

  From a visual aspect, the hundreds of thousands of optical-grade nanotubes woven into the suit would reroute light around him, revealing whatever was behind him. It was somewhat effective, giving a Marine a chameleon effect, but no one could say with any certainty that the Centaurs used vision in the same way that humans did.

 

  A right-pointing arrow flashed five times across his right eye—rather, it seemed as if it was flashing across his eye, being dumped right into his optic nerve. With the mods to his hippocampus, Rev knew where he was within about twenty-five meters. His AI, combining a simple gyroscope with what Rev saw on the ground, was accurate to one meter. In a case like this, where the terrain was accurately mapped out and imaged, it was better to rely on his AI.

  Rev turned around and held a hand out, pointing in the new azimuth. The gunny nodded.

  Rev led them down the steep slope, working to maintain his footing. He gave the command to extend his pi
tons vertically. Sixteen pitons, eight on each boot, extended three centimeters, digging into the loose soil. If he hit rock, the pitons’ tips would react by retracting. They made for slower going when extended, but it was better than losing his footing and sliding to the bottom of the slope.

  His inner map told him they were just over five hundred meters from the objective when he reached the bottom, a seasonal creek, now dry, that would give them a little more cover as they approached. The creek would emerge from the hills a scant 180 meters away. That was when things would get interesting. They would no longer have the hillside to block any Centaur’s gammasearch, and they’d have to rely on their PAL-5s to keep them invisible.

  The sides of the hill closed in around them, transforming rocky cliffs. Rev kept scanning the cliffs. Not because he thought a Centaur would be sitting on them, but to keep an exit plan in mind. A Centaur riever could fly over, and that would be a problem. Even with their augments, it would be difficult to scale the cliffs now. If they were spotted, they really had only one way out, and that was back the way they’d just come.

  But nothing interrupted their movement, and with thirteen minutes to spare, they reached their assembly point, right where the creek bed tumbled past the cliff walls and out into the open. Rev went down to his belly. Up ahead, over some loose scree and into the forest, was their objective.

  The gunny crawled up alongside him to get the lay of the land. The array itself wasn’t in sight, so they’d be assaulting blind.

 

  The gunny’s head whipped around to the right as if linked to Rev’s. He’d gotten the same message.

  Being in the ravine had made them more difficult to detect, but it kept their scanners blind as well. The Lido was their most sensitive passive scanner, and it could pick up a gnat’s fart, but as with all passive scanners, it could be spoofed. Not only that, but it could also simply make a mistake.

  “What do we do?” Rev asked the gunny.