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

by Chaney, J. N.

  Rev understood this, but those weapons were real. He didn’t quite aim Pashu at them, but she was oriented in their general direction so that they understood the implied threat.

  PFC Gingham was next, then Sergeant Racine-Okan. They formed a hasty defense, expanding it as one by one, the patrol crossed the wash until Rev, now as tail-end Charlie, followed. SFC Gamay gave the signal, and the patrol moved off, Rev slipping back into the number two slot.

  While back in the Marines, Rev, due to his particular situation, had often functioned outside of the normal duties of his rank as a sergeant, then corporal, then sergeant again. Now, as a staff sergeant, it was still annoying that he was functioning as a lance corporal. It was bad enough in the Raiders, which tended to be top-heavy in rank, but the Home Guard took it to new levels.

  As a regular infantry Marine back on New Hope, he’d be a squad leader at the least. He’d probably even be a platoon sergeant. Here, he was just one more trooper in the patrol.

  Not that it really mattered in the long run, and it made sense. The second person in a patrol was often someone with an automatic weapon, and what better automatic weapon was in the squad but Pashu? It was just that Rev was ready for more responsibility. This wasn’t a dig on Gamay. He just wanted the chance to lead Marines or troopers. The very IBHU that made him so valuable seemed to be keeping him from being put in a leadership position.

  Focus, Reverent. You’re on patrol, so do your job. You’re a lucky son of a bitch, so don’t complain about not being a squad leader.

  The battalion had been on Cat Scratch for four days now, and each squad was doing two patrols a day. The area was dry and arid, and while there were plenty of washes and gullies in which an infantry company could hide, the line of sight was still quite long. As they patrolled, Rev could see two other patrols off in the distance. It seemed kind of crazy. The area was crisscrossed with drones and sensors, not to mention the Takagahara in orbit, so it wasn’t as if they were making sure there were no incursions from either side. But that wasn’t their mission. They were leaving a message, one that would be hard to miss.

  “Tighten it up,” SFC Gamay passed. “Look good for the audience.”

  At least we have good comms.

  Shielded and scrambled, Rev was sure that the Scratchers couldn’t interfere with them, and the CMG mercs might not be able to, either. It was a nice change from most of Rev’s combat experience to date.

  The Scratchers continued to keep pace with the patrol until Gamay turned them to the east. They stopped and watched the patrol move away. They’d cross over to the other side and patrol back to the base camp.

  The CGM mercs wouldn’t pace them like the Scratchers did, though. They’d stationed their Ragers—small, all-terrain wheeled vehicles—a meter or so inside the boundary where a single merc would watch the patrols move by. Depending on the terrain, there would be Ragers every couple of hundred meters, enough so that each patrol would always have CMG eyes on them. There were places where a patrol would drop out of sight, but as soon as they appeared again, there would be another Rager, the merc watching.

  And there he was. As they reached the east side of their AO, a Rager was positioned just on the CMG side. A merc was standing in the open turret looking through a set of what looked like Kyocera binos. If they were the Kyoceras, then he could see them quite well. Rev’s eyesight was good, but not that good. Still, he could swear that the merc was looking directly at him, not the others.

  Rev was sorely tempted to react, but he wasn’t sure if he should wave or give him the finger.

  In the end, he refrained, and the patrol continued on its long circuit to nowhere.

  * * *

  Rev cracked his helmet and sighed with relief. It wasn’t as if the heat bothered him. His PAL-5 was fully climatized. But just being cooped up in it was wearing on him. Between the asteroid and then the invasion of New Hope, he’d taken a dislike to being stuck inside his combat suit for extended periods of time.

  Not that this was that long. Eight hours was nothing. But the battalion CO had ordered that combat suits were to be worn at all times unless troopers were in their shelter. That meant they were wearing them for sixteen hours at a time. But with their upcoming sleep cycle, he’d have eight hours of relief.

  He dropped the helmet on the cot he’d claimed, then got out of his PAL-5 and hung it on the rack alongside the foam walls of the shelter. The rack was universal, so it didn’t quite fit the PAL, but it was good enough for government work.

  “Hey, Bob, when you’re ready?”

  “Give me a sec.”

  Rev sat down at the foot of his cot. Without Filmore (who might be coming with the reinforcements), he didn’t have a nice hoist to remove Pashu, so he needed help. Having others help take her on and off might be giving out a little more tech data than the Union might want, and while he could track down Bundy, his friend was still an officer with a lot more on this plate than hanging around the shelter to be Rev’s squire. And as sleeping with Pashu was not the best way to get his rest, he made a command decision to ask Bob and Akkeke to assist.

  The two came over a few moments later, and Rev stood. “Remember, up and counterclockwise. On three. One . . . two . . . three.”

  They grunted as Pashu came free, and they placed her on the ground beside the cot. Rev caught Kvat, still on his cot, watching. As soon as he saw the karnan, the man closed his eyes.

  Look all you want. It’s not going to help you.

  The two had kept at arm’s length since Rev had gotten back at the man, barely speaking or even acknowledging each other. Rev had told Bob and Rice that he doubted Kvat would do much, but he really wasn’t too sure of that, and he half-expected some attempt at retribution. He’d been keeping a wary eye on his rival. So far, so good, but the best way to get at someone was to lull them into a sense of complacency.

  Rev didn’t bother putting on his social arm, which he kept at the foot of his cot. He pushed it to the side as he sat down when a thought struck him. He looked across the shelter to where Kvat was still sleeping.

  Would he?

  He didn’t think the karnan would screw with his arm, but . . .

  Maybe I’d better do something to secure it.

  But the thought was interrupted as Gingham, as the junior trooper in the squad, came by with a case of D-rats.

  If Rev felt put out sometimes not having a squad, Gingham, as an E-3, got every shit job coming to the squad. He might make corporal and still be doing a private’s job.

  “I heard they’re trying to contract for real food,” Bob said as he popped open his meal and waited for it to heat up.

  “What, so they can poison us?” Sergeant Lines said. “No, thankee. Not me. Ds are fine with me. Look. Rotted Dicks. I mean, what could be better?”

  “How about prime rib with maiser crust and cloudberry glaze?” Racine-Okan said.

  Rev sighed as he looked into his Chili Mac. It wasn’t Rotted Dicks, the unanimous worst meal in a box, but it wasn’t great, either. It certainly wasn’t prime rib with maiser crust. Rev had never heard of maiser crust back in New Hope, but evidently, it was the de rigueur in the AIW, and after tasting a burger with it at the chow hall at Camp Reyes, Rev hoped it would find its way to Swansea.

  “Oooh, baby! Love that crust!” Lines agreed, laughing out loud.

  “Will you assholes keep it down,” Kvat said, still lying on his cot.

  “You’re supposed to be on alert, not in the rack, Kvat,” SFC Gamay said, walking into the shelter.

  Which was true. The rotation was one squad on patrol, one squad sleeping, and one squad on alert status. With First Squad just coming back, they were already eating into their sleep time, and Kvat’s Second Squad was supposed to be ready to react in five minutes if needed.

  “You heard her, Kvat,” SFC Arsenyev said, following Gamay in. “You and Tims, get your asses up.”

  Gamay grabbed a D-rat and sat down. “Lieutenant Bundy said that First of the Third should
be here tomorrow. No word on whether they’re going to land or not. Nothing else to tell you. So, eat up and get some sleep. I’ll find out more after we get up.”

  She dug into her chow, frowned, and asked, “Did I hear you say they’re going to contract chow?”

  “That’s what I heard,” Bob said.

  “Well, the lieutenant sure didn’t mention it.”

  “Sounds like a rumor to me,” Rev said.

  Not that he was too upset. D’s were edible, at least, and who knows what they’d get from some contractor going for the lowest bid?

  “And like I just said, they’d probably try to poison us. Give us all the shits so we’re stuck in the latrine and can’t go fight when they take on the Scratchers.”

  “Didn’t say they were getting the chow from the CMGs,” Bob said to no one in particular.

  “Think they would? I mean, give us bad chow?” Corporal Acevedo asked, her face twisted with concern.

  “Why not? Asymmetrical warfare,” Rev said, even if he doubted that either side would. “If they didn’t think they could take us on, they might do anything to degrade our capabilities. And as Lines so graphically inserted the image into our brains, having us stuck in the latrine would do that.”

  “Yeah, thanks, Lines,” Gamay said.

  The sergeant smiled. “I try.”

  Kvat, who’d finally gotten out of his rack, stepped up. He was in his shorts and a tank top, which showcased the metal frame that ran inside and outside his body.

  “You guys make me laugh. You’re worried about the Scratchers? The mercs? We’re the fucking elite of the elite. If they look sideways at me, I’ll smash their heads,” he said, smacking his right fist into his left open palm. “Poisoned food or not.”

  As he pounded, the bars in his arm flexed and bowed, something Rev hadn’t noticed before. Rev had thought that having parts of the frame visible was just for show, to cow the enemy. But maybe there was something more to it.

  He wished Punch could record what he’d just seen, but he took a quick moment to narrate what he’d just seen and assign it to “guava.” After his D-4 debrief, he’d changed it up slightly, assigning every MDS-related observation to a tropical fruit cue.

  “You all can stay worried that some damn farmers with rakes and hoes or mercs who couldn’t hack it in their own military can be a threat. I’ve got better things to do.”

  “Yeah, like doing what SFC Aresenyev said. You and Tims get out of here,” Gamay said.

  Kvat stood and glared like he wanted to reply, but Gamay was a sergeant first class, and he held back. He turned and started to don his combat suit.

  Kvat wasn’t done yet, however. “Hey, Pelletier. If war is going to break up our happy alliance, did you ever think it was going to be the damned Alyanz and the FIS instead of the Union and the MDS?”

  “That’s enough, Kvat. Get your gear on and get out of here,” Gamay said. “And the rest of you, let’s stop the chatter. Eat up and get some sleep. In seven hours and fourteen minutes, we’ll be back on deck.”

  Rev gulped down his Chili Mac in four bites, then drained the juice pack. After a moment’s consideration, he put his social arm under his blanket to act as a pillow and lay down.

  The karnan had a point, though. It sometimes seemed as if the Union and the MDS were on a collision course. Hopefully, that would never happen, however. And now, it was time to get that sleep the squad leader was telling them to get.

  He kept his eyes half opened, though, watching as Kvat donned his combat suit, not closing them until the karnan left the shelter.

  33

  “Any questions on activity?” Bundy asked.

  No one in the squad raised a hand. It was just more of the same. The Scratchers were doing their own patrols along the battalion’s western boundary, and the CMG mercenaries were massed, but generally static, along the eastern boundary.

  “In that case, let me move on.” First Battalion should arrive in-system within twenty-eight hours.”

  “Will they be landing, sir?” SFC Gamay asked.

  “The decision hasn’t been made. There have been concerns raised as to the militaristic posture giving the wrong impression.”

  There was a concerted rolling of eyes.

  “We’re supposed to be portraying a position of strength . . . sir,” Rev said.

  It was still hard for him to remember that in public, at least, Bundy wasn’t Bundy but Lieutenant Bundy.

  Maybe not only in public.

  Bundy was still Rev’s friend, but there was a subtle difference in their relationship. It wasn’t necessarily in a bad way, but there was no doubt that Bundy was in charge, and if the shit hit the fan, Rev would be treated like any other trooper.

  As it should be.

  Bundy responded with typical officerese. “Second of the Second portrays significant power, and there are other factors at play here. Once a decision is made, we will salute and march on.”

  Do they teach that no-speak at butter bar bootcamp?

  “But until that time, we’ll continue with the patrolling.”

  Gingham tentatively raised his hand.

  “Yes, PFC Gingham. You’ve got a question?”

  “Who’s supporting who, sir? I mean, we’ve got the Alyanz and the AIW up there.” He pointedly looked around at the squad. “We don’t have anyone here from either one, but where are our governments falling under? And there’s SFC Arsenyev in Second Squad and Corporal Manuel in Third. What’s going on with them?”

  As one, every set of eyes in the squad lasered in on the platoon commander. It was a good question, one on everyone’s mind. Rev hadn’t wanted to bring it up, so it took a very junior trooper to ask the question.

  Bundy kind of tilted his head, and from long years together, Rev knew he was trying to pick his words and decide what to say.

  “SFC Arsenyev is a Home Guard trooper right now, and that takes priority. Same with Manuel. I’ve spoken with both, as has the major. They’ve assured us that their home affiliation won’t affect them in the performance of their duties.

  Yeah, that’s what they’re going to say. But when push comes to shove, what are they going to do? I’m not sure how well I’d handle that.

  At least, neither side is here on the ground.

  “As far as the big picture. Not everyone’s declared. The Frisian Mantle has expressed support for the Alyanz,” he said, looking to Bob. “The Rigel Cluster and Millsap have expressed support for the FIS. The Union has declared neutrality. That’s it as far as I know.”

  Rev was relieved that the Union was still neutral. If war did break out, they’d probably have to declare themselves, but for now, they could act as if they weren’t involved.

  “But I have to stress that we take our orders from the congress. Not our homes. So, try and put all the political tangos out of your mind. Focus on the here and now. That’s what matters.”

  The platoon commander looked at the squad, letting his gaze linger on each one of them. Rev could feel his intensity, knowing that he was analyzing each of them and judging their reactions. He wondered what he’d do if, say, SFC Gamay, who was from the Rigel Cluster, showed signs of not accepting the Home Guard neutrality. Relieve her?

  That would be drastic, but Rev knew Bundy well enough to be positive that he’d do it if he thought that was the best course of action. Not the best course for him, necessarily, but the best course for the platoon and the mission at hand.

  “OK, if there’s nothing else, you’ve got another six hours plus before you go out. I want you all fed an hour before you step off. Other than that, try and relax, but not completely. Remember, you’re on alert status, and anything can happen between now and then.

  * * *

  “Anything” did.

  Five hours after their brief, Second Squad was in contact at the north end of their AO. The situation wasn’t clear, only that one or both of the two forces had tried to bypass the Home Guard buffer zone, and Second Squad somehow got stuck in t
he middle of the fight and was pinned down. No one was sure if they were being attacked or just caught in the crossfire.

  While Major Yves tried to unravel the situation with the help of the Takagahara’s somewhat limited sensor arrays and the battalion CO and Ms. Borgia rushed to keep Alyanz and FIS from committing to a fight, First Squad was rushing to the commercial Anaconda all-terrain truck that was acting as the platoon’s ground transport. Second Platoon’s alert squad was staging as a secondary reaction force, while all other patrols in the entire AO were getting into defensive postures until the situation became more evident.

  Rev’s heart was pounding as he rushed to his position in the makeshift turret. Each of the nine rifle platoons had one of the rented Anacondas. For Echo and Golf, either a meson cannon or .50 cal had been jury-rigged to give the commercial vehicle some firepower. Fox company had done the same thing, but the company also had a much better weapons system—an IBHU Marine.

  Rev ignored the .50 cal and perched above it, Pashu ready for anything. He braced himself as the Anaconda lurched forward, its three tracks digging into the dirt.

  Fox Company’s bivouac site was the farthest north, and Second Squad was patrolling right at the northern boundary of their AO, about five klicks from their camp. The Anaconda tore up the ground as it raced north. With limited jump capability, it could clear a nineteen-meter gap while full loaded—and the terrain was full of them. Every time the vehicle jumped, Rev had to hang on for dear life as the thing landed.

  At least he could see what was happening. The troopers in the cargo compartment were thrown around like dice in a gambler’s hands, shouts reaching Rev each time the Anaconda landed.

  “Listen up,” Bundy came over the squad net. He’d joined the squad as it loaded the Anaconda. With two of his squads either engaged or about to be, he’d made the quick decision that he could best handle the situation leading from the front.

  “We have one trooper down. But indications are that we were not targeted. One side or the other advanced first. At the moment, we don’t know who. Whoever it was most likely thought they’d better move now before the arrival of Third Battalion. But the reasons don’t matter. Second Squad is pinned down, and we need to relieve the pressure on them so they can withdraw.”