BattleMaster (The BattleMaster Corps Book 1)

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  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Publisher’s Note:

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are the work of the author’s imagination.

  Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is coincidental.

  Solstice Publishing - www.solsticepublishing.com

  Copyright 2017 Nathaniel Danes

  BattleMaster

  By

  Nathaniel Danes

  Book One of the

  BattleMaster Corps Trilogy

  Dedication

  To all those who struggle against barriers not of their doing.

  Chapter One

  The slug meant for Private Michael Stanner’s head whizzed past his cheek. The miniature gust of wind tickled the skin, speaking to how close he’d come to death. The smart-bullet sensed it had missed and exploded to pepper the back of his helmet with tiny bits of shrapnel.

  Fear, not training, drove this virgin warrior to the ground. He hugged the black dirt like an infant its mother.

  An endless storm of steel zipped overhead. Looking right and left, he saw the enemy’s fury had stalled the attacking platoon. Muzzle flashes, exploding rounds, and grenades sent bursts of light into the night air.

  The captain had told them the Euros needed to hold this hill and they’d shown their determination to do just that.

  I’m going to die right here and now in my first battle. What a loser!. Why did I volunteer? Oh, yeah, that’s right. To piss off my anti-war political science professor father. Joke’s on me.

  A boot kicked him in the side and his earbud com-link crackled alive. “Get your asses moving!” It was the unmistakable voice of Sergeant Veech.

  Stanner turned his head to look behind him. His eyes bulged at seeing the sergeant hunched over him, daring the enemy to hit him. Veech’s boiling stare seared Stanner.

  The platoon stirred, but not Stanner. He continued to kiss the ground until Veech grabbed hold of his belt and yanked him up.

  “Move forward, private!” Veech screamed less than an inch from his face. The sergeant’s hot breath blew over him. “Live or die, you will attack!”

  Stumbling to his feet, Stanner aimed his rifle toward the top of the hill and fired several three-round bursts. The recoil of his weapon gave him a false sense of security.

  Click.

  The magazine ran dry. Two soldiers in front of him fell, limp. A whistling cry above drove him to the ground. He covered his head as enemy mortars impacted all around, sending black earth into the air. The noise was deafening.

  He cracked his eyes open and saw Sergeant Veech hunkered down in a foxhole created by a shell impact.

  Shit! We’re dead if he’s hugging cover.

  Veech made eye contact and waved him over. Stanner low-crawled to join his sergeant.

  The shelling ceased. Thank God.

  “Oh, hell!” Veech moved to the edge. “Here they come!”

  “Huh?”

  “Prepare for counterattack!” Veech broadcast to the unit. With his free hand, he pulled Stanner to his feet. “Get that weapon pointed in the right direction!”

  Stanner aimed at the attacking enemy and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  Fuck! I didn’t reload! I’m dead!

  A fresh surge of adrenaline flooded his arteries. He slapped in a magazine and sprayed and prayed like the rookie he was.

  Click.

  A battle-cry rose from the enemy charge. It paralyzed him with terror. They rushed straight for him, rifles blazing.

  Veech kicked his leg. “Fire, Goddammit!” Operating only on muscle memory, he inserted another mag and fired controlled bursts. The entire platoon opened up, giving the Euros everything they had.

  It wasn’t enough.

  “Fall back!” blared in his earbud.

  Stanner turned and ran, outpacing his comrades. He turned to look back when a rock caught his boot and sent him flying to the ground. Soldiers ran past. He could hear the enemy closing.

  I’m dead!

  His eyes shifted toward his own line. That’s when he saw her, saw the BattleMaster. The twin moons stood at her back, illuminating her presence with a mystical glow. She was alone on the ridge but not for long.

  Eight machines-of-war, battle-drones, emerged along her side. Half were small tracked vehicles with twin fifty-calibers and rocket launchers on a turret. The rest looked like six-legged spiders with a ball-shaped laser cannon and mortar tube on top.

  She flung her arms forward and her minions erupted.

  Bullets whizzed overhead, rocket exhaust trails streaked across the night sky, and red laser beams popped in and out of existence. He heard the mortar shells whistle on their way down behind him.

  The enemy’s battle-cry turned into screeches of pain.

  Someone grabbed hold of his ammo belt and pulled him up. Sergeant Veech’s dirty white face was an inch from his. “Attack! Now!” Veech pushed him at the fleeing enemy.

  Stanner ran and took some potshots, but they didn’t compare to the hell the BattleMaster was unleashing with her drones controlled via a neuro-link. The enemy made it back to their own lines. The covering fire that carried him this far stopped.

  “Get down!” Veech ordered on the platoon com channel.

  Stanner dropped to the ground as a flock of ten aerial drones swooped low in a V formation. They slowed dramatically for their run, making themselves easy targets. Antiaircraft fire rose up to knock six of them down. The remaining four twenty-foot-long triangular craft unloaded their payload of scatter-bombs. The ordnance carpeted the area with grenade-sized bomblets. Their detonations thundered through the air, plunging the battlefield in a black fog.

  An eerie silence fell over the hill. The enemy was stunned and the attacking platoon was still for a moment. Stanner prayed the battle was over.

  The faint sound of an electrical motor grew louder. He glanced back to see a spider battle-drone walking toward him. Thwmoop, thwmoop. Its mortar broke the quiet. Fresh explosions blossomed on the enemy position.

  Veech ran along the line. “Get up! Attack! Finish it!”

  Sporadic fire signaled the renewed charge. It steadily grew in intensity as soldier after soldier moved forward. Stanner dug deep into his reserve of courage. He jumped to his feet and ran, firing from the hip and screaming as loud as he could.

  The Euros recovered from their defeat and bombardment but only enough to offer weak resistance. He worked his way up the slope, using whatever cover the torn-up terrain offered.

  A hail of bullets self-destructed on his flanks at the crest, forcing him into an abandoned foxhole. He used a pause in the fire to creep above the edge. That’s when he saw the first Euro of his life, in person.

  The enemy soldier was a kid, just like him. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty tops. His dark hair and Caucasian skin were also just like Stanner’s. There was something else he recognized in his eyes. Fear. This supposed warmongering Euro, a plague on the Eden System, looked just as scared as he was.

  It didn’t matter, though. The deep political, historical, and cultural reasons behind the war, which dated all the way back to Earth before the colony ships left, didn’t mean anything right here, right now. Stanner was a soldier in the American Army and his mission was to take this hill.

  Training kicked in, guiding the crosshairs on his visor to the y
oung man’s chest. The trigger glided back and the rifle bucked. A red mist puffed into the air and the man was gone.

  I killed him. I’ve never killed anyone before. My God, what have I done?

  A mini-tank drone rolled along side, its fifty-caliber guns sweeping the area ahead, throwing up debris. Euros who tried to escape were cut down.

  The machine stopped. That was his cue.

  Something had snapped in Stanner. He wasn’t so afraid he needed Sergeant Veech to kick him in the ass. Climbing out of the foxhole, he let out a terrible battle-cry and charged. He glanced back to see he was leading the platoon.

  Veech waved the others forward. “Follow him!”

  Hurdling a sandbag barricade, Stanner caught up to the fleeing enemy as they were running down the hill. A few paused and turned, sending a smattering of frantic shots at him. He raised his weapon and zeroed in on one of the brave Euros. A three-round burst hit the enemy in his shoulder, spinning him like a top.

  He dispatched another and another. More joined him as they gunned down the enemy.

  The hill was theirs.

  ***

  “Do you think they’ll try to take it back?” Private Olson Rosewood’s eyes were as big as golf balls. They appeared larger against his black skin. “I mean...it’s important to them. They have to try, right?”

  Stanner scanned the area where the Euros retreated with his visor on zoom. “I don’t know...maybe. Just keep your eye open for them. If they try, we’ll kill ‘em.”

  “But...”

  He sighed. Olsen had been his best friend since the second grade. They’d joined the Army together and just survived their first battle together. Stanner would do anything for his friend but Olson had always been a nervous talker and leaned on him for reassurance. It could be exhausting sometimes. “Look, if they come, they come. No reason to eat yourself up whether or not they do. You can’t do anything about it.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  Lieutenant David Hart stood on the edge of his foxhole. “Stand down. Command says the Euros are pulling out of this sector. First and second squads, police the bodies. Third and fourth, work on improving our defenses. I want the fifth on patrol, no more than three klicks out.”

  Stanner slapped Olsen on the back. “See, I told you it wasn’t worth worrying about.”

  “Yeah, I guess you were right.” Rosewood’s pearly white teeth shone.

  “Let’s get to work.”

  They studied the area behind them for the first time, taking in the full depth of the carnage. It wiped the smiles right off their faces. Smoldering fires, wrecked equipment, and mangled bodies painted a true picture of war.

  One of the bloodied corpses caught Olsen’s attention. His finger whipped toward it. “Look! It’s York.” His head dropped. “I...I was just talking to him a little bit ago about getting together for cards.”

  “Damn it.” Stanner pointed left with his chin. “There’s Jeff. Shit. Fuck it all. He was really nice.” The hollow feeling in his gut welled up. He slammed his mouth shut and choked down the tears threatening to rise.

  What are we doing here? Maybe my dad is right?

  He’d never really asked himself that question before. The propaganda that had so effectively encouraged his enlistment seemed petty in the face of real war. But what could be done? The Eden System had been colonized by three of the old Earth nations: the United States, the European Confederation, and China. This war was a struggle to see who’d dominate the system and it had raged for twenty years.

  There was supposed to be a fourth people, the Indians, but their colony ship never arrived to lay claim to their terraformed planet. For the first hundred and sixty years of humanity’s initial interstellar settlements, their world remained unpopulated. Then the fast-developing colonies reached out, each claiming ownership of the habitable jewel.

  It was big enough to share, but no one wanted to. Whoever controlled all of New Calcutta wielded twice the resources. Dreams of supreme power had corrupted the minds of their leaders, who thought it worth the price in blood to enforce their self-declared rights of settlement. Years of war had also hardened the hearts of all three peoples.

  Seeing Jeff and York’s lifeless bodies, Stanner couldn’t help but ask himself why?

  Veech’s heavy steps fell behind them. Stanner cringed, expecting a curse-filled dressing down for not getting to work. Veech was a solid non-com, however, and knew when to yell and when to guide.

  Veech sighed. “They were good soldiers and will be missed. Set our dead aside and bag them for transport home. You can take another minute to digest it but don’t take too long.” His palm landed on Stanner’s shoulder. “Good work today, private. You did the Army proud.”

  “Thanks, sarge.” Veech walked away. Stanner whipped his head around. “Sarge, what do we do with the dead Euros?”

  Veech flipped his wrist. “Dig a hole and burn the pieces of shit. I don’t want them sinking up the place.”

  ***

  Stanner almost lost his dinner half a dozen times cleaning up the battlefield. Olson didn’t have the same intestinal fortitude but still only threw up twice.

  On their way back to the line, something caught Stanner’s attention on the back slope. It was a blackened spider-drone with one leg blown off. He broke off from Olsen’s side and approached the temporary monument to the battle. Its laser ball turret stood nine feet high.

  He tentatively extended his hand out, dragging his fingertips across the cold metal.

  “I wouldn’t do that.” Olsen looked side to side. “I hear those BattleMaster chicks are real touchy about people messing with their drones.”

  “Can you imagine controlling one of these things in a fight?” Stanner laughed. “Hell, could you imagine controlling eight of them like they do? All perfectly coordinated to maximum efficiency. We would’ve been slaughtered without ‘em. What I wouldn’t give.”

  “Keep dreaming. No man has ever passed the BattleMaster exam. We both bombed it, remember?”

  “Well, I’m not giving up just yet.”

  Olsen snorted. “It’s not personal, it’s biology. All of that estrogen swimming around a woman’s head allows ‘em to multi-task far better than us. I heard they’re wired that way so they can take care of babies and still get other stuff done.” He shrugged. “We’re better at focusing on a single goal and are faster and stronger, but that means shit when you have several drone interfaces buzzing inside your brain. That’s why the infantry is all male.”

  “Maybe.” Stanner shook his head. “I’m still gonna try again, though. They can’t stop me from taking the test.”

  “No, they can’t, but they sure as heck can fail you. No man has passed. Only something like three percent of woman can even make it.”

  “Yeah...”

  “What the hell are you two apes doin’ by my bot!?”

  They snapped to rigid attention. The BattleMaster’s gaze burned into them. She was a redheaded goddess. The skin-tight black polymer suit hugged her perfect body in all the right ways. Her breasts were molded into spears and they were heading straight for the pair.

  She brought her face to within a foot of them. “I asked you dumb grunts a question! What are you doing by my bot?”

  Stanner sucked in a breath. “Sir, I was just curious and...”

  “Curious?” She threw her head back and laughed. He tried his best to not notice her breasts pointing to the sky. He failed. She gave him a disapproving look and crossed her arms. “Private, a man being curious about one of my bots is like an ape scrolling through a physics textbook.”

  He should’ve kept his mouth shut. Her attitude pissed Stanner off, though. She might be a BattleMaster and an officer for that matter, but he’d just fought and carried his dead friend’s bodies away. He deserved more respect and couldn’t help himself from picking a fight he couldn’t win.

  It was a personality trait he shared with his father, a fact his mother had pointed out more than once />
  “Sir, I was taught a woman can do anything a man can and vice versa.”

  “Is that right?” She leaned forward. “Well, let me let you in on a dirty little secret. You were lied to. That politically-correct bullshit is shoveled out to make you boys feel better about yourselves, to protect your fragile male egos. You’re in the Army now and no one gives a shit about your feelings.” She stood straight, putting hands on her hips. “Now get the hell out of my sight or I’ll put you both on report. And if I ever catch you near one of my bots again, I will own your asses.”

  Olson gripped Stanner’s shoulder and pulled him up the hill. “Yes, sir. Understood, sir.”

  Stanner frowned. “Yes, understood, sir.”

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood. He felt her sharp eyes cutting into him, examining him in detail. He glanced back. She gave him a sinister grin and turned away.

  What the heck was that about?

  Chapter Two

  They manned the line for twelve more hours before reinforcements arrived to release them to return to the rear. It was a long march back to base with barely a word spoken.

  Stanner was one of the last to enter their barracks, and it was a painful ordeal to step into the room. The number of empty bunks punched him in the gut. At least most of them were due to injuries the owners would recover from, but too many would have to find new occupants.

  Steam from the showers rolled into the main room. The sounds of splashing water drowned out whispered conversations. He collapsed onto his bottom bunk, laid motionless until Olsen climbed off the top to nudge his arm. “How you doing?”

  “Tired.”

  “Well, don’t fall asleep now. You’ll want to shower first and grab some chow while it’s still hot. They’re serving right now if you want to get ready. I’ll wait.”

  “Sure.”

  The mess hall was packed. They managed to find two seats across from each other near the back corner. Stanner hadn’t taken his first bite before a soldier from another company turned toward him. “You with the Second?”