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

by Chaney, J. N.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Right, says the trooper who’s just been shot. No, you’re not fine. You’re full of dream juice that your nanos are pumping into you.”

  The Marines and Navy corpsmen called it happy juice, but Gamay was probably right. It was probably better if he did take it easy until he could get out of his Oscar and let the Takagahara’s surgeon take a look at him.

  Rice jetted over to them and announced that the engines were officially shut down. She gave Rev a long once over.

  “Saw what you did, Rev. Totally impressive.”

  Rev shrugged, then winced. The medinanos hadn’t completely deadened the pain.

  She leaned in and switched to the P2P. “And thanks for saving our asses. That fucker had us dead to rights. You did good, Rev, and it isn’t all about that IBHU on your shoulder. You’re a good soldier.”

  “Marine.”

  She chuckled. “OK, jarhead. A good Marine.”

  21

  It was three hours before it was secure enough for the Takagahara’s engineer team to cross over and start working on the ship. Another passed before Captain Chokra declared the ship secure. Thirty-nine pirates had been killed, thirteen captured. Rev and PFC Minnie Rasta had been the only two wounded.

  Even for an elite unit, that was an amazing accomplishment, something that was going to be used by the Congress of Humanity to trumpet cooperation and unity. Rev had to admit that they’d done well, but this crew of pirates had hardly been at the top of the pirate pyramid. Despite being doped up by his nanos, Rev picked out a hundred things he’d have done differently in their situation, starting with trying to stop Fox Company as they breached the hull and all the way down to taking advantage of pinning down SFC Gamay and her team and eliminating them instead of sitting there until Fox reinforcements arrived.

  Not that he was complaining. Better to face incompetence and everyone make it home.

  Rev and Rasta were medivaced back to the Takagahara on the same sled that brought over the engineers, so he wasn’t onboard eight hours later when the engineers finally brought life support back online. Two-thirds of the ship had been depressurized, and half of that was left that way. But temporary patches had been emplaced, and life support brought online.

  That was a big hurdle. With life support working, the passengers and crew could stay aboard until they were taken to the nearest port—and under the Nightingale’s Song’s own power, not a tug’s, which made things much easier.

  Back in sickbay, Rasta was stabilized first. She’d taken a shot to the belly and was in serious condition, but one of the corpsmen assured Rev that she’d be fine. Then it was Rev’s turn. They cut off his Oscar—and now Filmore was going to have to either repair this one or modify another—and the surgeon examined his shoulder.

  “Nice crease there. It’s already sealing up nicely, but I can go in and clean it out if you want.”

  “Do you need to do that, sir?” Rev said, sneaking a peek for the first time. He now understood what the surgeon had meant by “crease.” This wasn’t really a through and through wound. The round had gouged out a seven centimeter long trail at the top of his shoulder, never fully penetrating. Another centimeter or two down, and it might have destroyed his clavicle.

  Or another centimeter higher, and it would have missed me completely.

  “No, I don’t need to. I can put a mesh over it, and you’ll be good to go in a week. But that’ll leave a bigger scar.”

  Rev laughed and held up Pashu. “Really, sir?”

  The surgeon joined him in laughter. “OK, I see your point. No, I think we can leave it like that. I’ll stick on a mesh. That will help with infections, although your nanos seem to have that in hand. It’ll also help with discomfort.”

  Five minutes later, given a clean bill of health, Rev was released, and he made his way to Filmore’s shop where a relieved tech opened the hatch and welcomed Rev inside.

  “Where’s Randigold and S-O-R?”

  “Not back yet. You’re the first. Are they OK? Are you?” he asked, spotting the mesh patch on his shoulder.

  “You don’t know what’s been going on?”

  “I’ve just been waiting here, worrying myself sick.”

  Rev frowned. It shouldn’t be that hard to keep Filmore in the loop so he could be ready for any situation.

  “I’m fine. This is just a nick. But my Oscar’s ruined. You’re going to have to check with sickbay to see if it can be salvaged. Randigold and S-O-R never made it to the ship. It got underway before they could breach.”

  “They didn’t make it in? They’re out there, lost in space right now?” he asked, his voice rising.

  “Out there, yeah,” Rev said, feeling a little guilty for not thinking of them. “Not lost, though. Everyone’s got transponders. They’ll get swept up.”

  Filmore didn’t seem convinced, and he muttered as he removed Pashu. Rev left his IBHU in the tech’s hands and made his way back to berthing. There was no one else there, and it felt weird to be alone. He showered and changed, and it was still half an hour before the first of those who never made it to the ship returned.

  Lieutenant Veang was steaming mad when he got back, and when he found out that Rev was there, he immediately rushed over for a debrief. At least he wasn’t angry at Rev but more at the capriciousness of the gods of war. Rev could see that the man wanted to redeem himself for the accident back on Enceladus, but as Rev gave him an account of what he knew, the lieutenant was getting more upset, as if he considered the successful operation an affront that it happened without him.

  The lieutenant was followed by more troopers, all wanting a firsthand account. Rev’s nanos were making him a little sleepy, but he dutifully filled everyone in. Some of them had been floating around space for seven hours before they were gathered up.

  Rev wasn’t particularly claustrophobic, but alone in an Oscar in deep space for that long couldn’t have been fun. And at least he had Punch, so he could have immersed himself in holovids or music. At least half of the troopers had no such AI or database.

  It was another five hours before the troopers who made it into the ship started coming back to the Takagahara. Ting-a-ling was one of the last, and he sat down on his rack, anxious to hear what Rev had done—and Rev wanted to know what Ting-a-ling had done.

  The Takagahara was still going to hang around until a Freedom Confederation Navy ship arrived to escort the Nightingale’s Song to port, but only eleven hours after getting the warning order, and only three days after leaving the home system, Fox Company and the MCS Takagahara had successfully completed their first contingency operation.

  22

  “I can’t believe that we’re getting to Barclay after all,” Corporal Akkeke said as he wiped down his D5, the Millsap combat suit.

  Rev had thought it was a lost cause as well. The deployment had been initially moved up once the Council had decided that the Landing Day celebration should be put on the schedule, and because of the change, the Takagahara had left the home system with very little wiggle room. The transit to the Nightingale’s Song, the rescue, and then the wait for the Freedom Confederation ship had taken almost two days, enough so that everyone on board had thought the trip had been scratched.

  But when the Barclay Parliament had heard the reason why the ship wouldn’t make it for the official celebration, they decided to delay the parade, reception, and fireworks for a day so that the Home Guard could take part in them.

  “Just make sure that D5 of yours is shining to beat the band,” Rev said. “We want them to be glad they waited for us.”

  The original plan had been for the sailors from the ship and the troopers from Fox Company to march in the parade in their dress uniforms. The first sergeant, at the urging of the SNCOs, asked the major if the company could march in their combat suits to thank the Barclay government for delaying the celebration. Combat suits would be far more impressive to the locals. The company commander heartily agreed, and she had taken it to Lie
utenant Colonel Dupris, the commander of troops. After consultation with the ship’s CO and the civilian Council rep, permission was granted. The sailors, who were all Mezame, would lead the contingent in the parade, all in their dress uniforms. Fox Company and all the attachments would follow in their combat suits.

  But combat suits were not dress uniforms. They were not meant to be easily seen. So, the first sergeant had passed down that each combat suit be “prettied up” as much as possible. For once, troopers didn’t mind being told to do something for appearances’ sake. Aside from the fact that they were happy not to have missed the celebration, the rumors were that Barclay was very, very pro-military and that the local population could end up being very, very “friendly” to visiting soldiers.

  Like secondary school students going to a school dance, the single troopers, in particular, wanted to look good and possibly catch the welcoming eye of a local. Rev didn’t know if he was single or not, but he still wanted to shine. A Union Marine always had to look—and be—the best.

  Looking around the hangar deck where most of the company was working on their combat suits, Rev couldn’t help but compare them with his. The PAL-5 was more minimalistic in appearance than most of the rest, including Corporal Incrit’s PAL-3, the normal Union Marine infantry combat suit—Incrit was one of two regular Union Marines in the company. The Paxus militia’s Tanter was even less bulky than Rev’s PAL-5, but the rest, as far as he could see, were larger and more robust.

  And many had a cool factor that the PAL family of suits lacked. Take Akkeke’s D5. With a pointed helmet, it looked like a raptor on the hunt for prey. Punch had given Rev the specs on the suit, and those were impressive as well. It had far better protective numbers than his PAL-5, even better than a Marine PAL-3.

  But what kept drawing Rev’s attention was that at the moment, it was a bright red. He was sure the red was totally for show. There was no way the Millsap soldiers fought like 18th Century British redcoats. But if a combat suit could camouflage itself, why not be able to show a splash of color when it was appropriate?

  Rev didn’t want to admit it, but he was a little jealous. With the stealthy lines and red color, Akkeke was going to look like Satan himself as they marched in the parade. The blue Home Guard pauldron took a little away from that, but not much.

  “Let’s start wrapping it up,” Top Barber called out. “The chief wants to get the first cargo shuttle loaded before we arrive in orbit.”

  Rev stepped back and gave his combat suit a once over. It probably hadn’t looked this good since it came off the production line. He backed it into the transport crate again and closed the crate up. He wouldn’t see the suit again until they hit the staging area for the parade.

  One of the cargo handlers came up and asked, “Can I take it?”

  “Have at it.”

  The Mezame sailors didn’t wear shirts with colors that designated what they did on the ship like Union sailors did. Rev was having a hard time getting used to it, but the crew seemed to coordinate well without them. He wondered how much the Union Navy’s colored shirts were practical and how much was just a nod to tradition.

  With the Home Guard’s lack of permanent squad structure, Rev wasn’t technically in charge of anyone else. But he was still a staff sergeant, and he took a moment to inspect the sergeants and below. They may be from different nations, but their appearance would reflect on the Home Guard as a whole. He didn’t have any corrections or comments to make, but that wasn’t always necessary. Sometimes, merely the fact that he’d shown interest was enough. Top Thapa back in the Raiders had told him that it was half “I appreciate and am interested in what you’re doing” and half “I’m watching you, so don’t screw up.”

  Rev rotated his right shoulder as he watched his crate get picked up and moved. It still twinged, but given that he’d been shot just days before, he could take it.

  Ting-a-ling’s suit was picked up by one of the crew. “What now?” Rev asked him. “We’ve got four hours before we reach Barclay.”

  “What now? We’ve just spent an hour polishing up a piece of combat gear so we can impress the locals. But one thing’s for sure. No way in hell am I going to let my combat suit show me up. I’m getting back to the head, shower up, maybe go all out and clip my nose hairs. I will be looking good, my yootie friend. You coming?”

  Rev hadn’t considered how he looked. He didn’t have the same goals for the three days on the planet as most of the crew and embarked troopers. But still . . .

  He raised his arm, took a sniff of his pit, and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

  Yeah, I guess I could use a shower, too.

  “Wait up, fry!” he called as he hurried after his roommate.

  * * *

  “We’re meeting at The Angry Pelican when all this is over,” Rice told Rev and Ting-a-ling as they were donning their combat suits. “Sergeant Crocker confirmed it’s the place to be.”

  “Uh, I asked Punch about it. It’s really not a military bar. More of a tourist place,” Rev said.

  “Oh, my poor, naive little persie. You think the militia here’s gonna be buying us drinks? Hell, no. We want civilians. Tourist civilians who came to the capital for the celebration.”

  Rev started to argue when her words sunk in. After a moment’s reflection, he had to agree with her reasoning. He bent at the waist and dramatically genuflected before her. “I must bow to your greater knowledge, oh queen of bumming drinks.”

  “About time you acknowledged that.”

  “Hey, Unifora, how about you quit jaw-jacking and get ready?” SFC Lev Arsenyev, the Second Squad leader, shouted out.

  “My master calls,” Rice said. “I just wanted to make sure you two knew where we’ll be.” She hurried back to her squad to don her combat suit.

  Rev closed the last seal, then took off his social arm. The decision had been made for the three IBHU Marines to go fully armed. More for the locals to gawk at. Now he had to wait for Filmore to hook up the other two and get to him.

  He took a moment to look around the gym. It had been turned over to the Guard as an assembly area for the parade. The sailors, fully two-thirds of the ship’s complement, were ready, of course. They rode down from the ship already in their black and grey dress uniforms.

  The troopers had come down in their long johns, or whatever the other services called the unis that were worn under the combat suits. Each trooper also carried a duffle with their home service uniform. After the parade, they’d change into those for the official ceremony at the Civic Auditorium. And after that was over, it would be party time.

  “You ready, sir?”

  Rev turned back to see Filmore with Pashu dangling from a medium suspension hoist he’d gotten from the Navy. “Let’s do it.”

  He had to stand for the attachment, and instead of just letting Filmore guide it in, as usual, he had to help by maneuvering his shoulder into place. He glanced up to see Ting-a-ling watching closely. In fact, the entire squad was watching. Ting-a-ling had seen Pashu before, but Rev just then realized that he’d never seen how the IBHU was attached. That was something that all the other nations would like to understand.

  He didn’t want to think that his friend was doing the spy thing now. That bothered him.

  Leave it alone, Reverent. That’s what he is supposed to do. Everyone is supposed to do. Doesn’t mean he’s not the same Ting.

  He turned to Filmore. “Where’re you going to watch the parade?”

  “I’m not, sir,” Filmore said as he made the connections. “I’ll just stay here.”

  “No party tonight?”

  “I’ll be watching the IBHUs until I can escort them back to the ship. Maybe after that, sir.”

  Rev tilted his head, eyebrows raised as he looked at the young tech. There was dedication, and then there was dedication. Who knew when the weapons, combat suits, and the three IBHUs would be shuttled back up to the ship? And it wasn’t as if the gear was just going to be lying around. A rotating team
of sailors and troopers would be on duty while the local government was providing a police security force.

  “Filmore, I know you want to show how gung ho you are, but you do know this gym will be secured, right?”

  “I know, sir. But I’ll feel better if I have eyes on the IBHUs.”

  Rev just shook his head. The tech was an adult and fully capable of making his own decisions.

  “Home Guard, you have fifteen minutes before moving to your parade position,” came over a loudspeaker.”

  “You heard her. Fifteen minutes,” the platoon commander shouted out. “Keep getting ready, but I want everyone to listen up.”

  Everyone turned to the lieutenant.

  “Now, I know we’re not the fucking Praetorian Guard. We don’t drill. We’re not paid to look pretty. Some of you have probably never drilled before, even back home. But we’re representing the Council here, and appearances matter. So, try and look like you know your left foot from your right, OK?”

  No one laughed, and he went on. “I’m going to be giving a cadence over the platoon net, so try and keep in step. If you screw up, just get your mind straight and fix it. Other than that, enjoy yourself. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience for almost all of you. If someone waves at you, you can wave back. Just don’t leave the formation until we’re all done.”

  “That doesn’t mean when we reach the end of the parade. Wait until the lieutenant dismisses you. And from there, it’s back here to get into your uniforms,” Top Barber shouted.

  “So, with that, get back to your prep,” the lieutenant said.

  “You’re all green,” Filmore whispered as if afraid he was interrupting.

  “Thanks.” Then to Punch, “Run a check.”

  They weren’t going into battle, and Filmore had just told him that Pashu was green, but he had Punch run a check every time he donned his IBHU. It was a good habit to have.