The Blood War (Gunship XIII)

By John M. Davis

"The perfect mix of space opera and comedy."

Humanity's newest enemy is at the gates and our hero, Dalton James, will be tested like never before. With a glass of whiskey in hand and a revolver by his side, Dalton will fight the toughest battle of his life as death calls for him. The Blood War is an absolute thrill ride, giving fans of the genre exactly what they want!

• Language: English
• Publisher: John M. Davis
• Release date: Jun 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311515728

John M. Davis

John M. Davis is the bestselling author of Gunship, as well as Wicked, and the novelization of the motion picture REDD. Also known for his popular Book Commander Podcast, John is a former writer for the Legends Football League and owns a minority share of the Canadian Football League’s Saskatchewan Roughriders. He currently lives in Virginia with his wife of 18 years and their two spoiled kids. When he isn’t writing or podcasting, John enjoys reading, studying history, and listening to his favorite band, Evanescence.bookcommander.wordpress.com#bookcommander

Book preview

BLOOD WAR

Gunship XIII

by John M. Davis

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical people, events or places are used fictitiously. Any other names, places, events or characters are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual places, events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2019 John Michael Davis

Editing by: Russo Archer

All rights reserved, including the right to copy this book or portions of this book in any form.

Manufactured in the United States of America

johndavisbooks.wordpress.com

Til Death Do Us Part

Keep on 'em boys! Dalton yelled loudly.

As he lay there, his brown duster spread beneath such a large and experienced body; Dalton listened for any sound of continued fighting.

You can let me up now, dear, Cambria said. Doing her best to pull from beneath the man of ill manners. Her lover, and, more importantly at the present time, anything but a lightweight. They stopped fighting nearly ten minutes ago.

She was right. The Viscion had been seriously outnumbered in the skirmish and had pulled back to rejoin their lines several minutes before. And Dalton knew it. He just found it hard to pull away from the women he loved. The same woman that had chosen his embrace over her former lover, Johnny Revolver.

She'd been placed in the position of choosing her interest in love, with no time to ponder it. Simply a moment to state her intentions and follow the lightning bolt inside of her hear, wherever that may lead her.

Of course it led her to Dalton James. Cambria would never deny that she felt something for her former lover, but she understood that her feelings for Johnny seemed to dissipate when Dalton James was around. The filthy-mouthed smuggler her knight in shining armor, though he wore grainy brown leather, the boots of a cowboy and scowl that spoke of experience. A non-bullshit type of man, from the bones inside of his rugged frame to the faded steel revolver slapped onto his side.

Clear! a soldier yelled. Loudly enough that several hundred ears could easily hear.

Alright little lady, it's clear. Dalton said. He lowered his hand to Cambria in the most chivalrous way.

I told you that minutes ago you big oaf, Cambria replied. Grabbing Dalton's hand and pulling herself to an upright position. But you just kept laying there. You're a lot heavier than you think.

Come on now, Dalton replied. You know you love me.

I do, she replied with a grin. Finding it very hard to stay pissed at a man whose smiled peeked through the hairs of an unkempt beard. I really do.

I know, Dalton said, slapping her on the ass. Now get up out of this foxhole.

She looked to him for a moment with affection. With lust. If only they had a bit more time to share the moment – though war waited for no one.

Pulling herself from the foxhole, Cambria immediately found herself thrown back into reality. Hundreds of holes just like the one they had shared. Each containing a small cluster of marines who were feeling a bit victorious.

Their tenacity in battle had coupled with the might of goliath units and mobile mack turrets to fight off the Viscion's advance. A race thinking themselves superior, retreating from a battle in which they'd gotten their asses kicked.

The Viscion had done quite a bit of damage before retreating, which meant the marines' time on this rock would be limited. Dalton and his men were worn down, under supplied and outright exhausted.

Still, they'd managed to rescue nearly a thousand survivors who had hunkered down on the desolate planet in the drifts. Getting them the hell out of dodge before the Viscion could grab hold of their meaty flesh.

The cannibalistic bastards.

The bad news, unfortunately, was that the Viscion were plowing through neighboring drift planets and harvesting anyone they could find. Stocking their freezers and, in turn, filling their stomachs.

The Viscion were a race that lived among the stars. Their acts purely evil and their stomachs growling for the ideal protein to fill them. Human flesh. They'd grown tired of traveling across the tapestry of stars while surviving on processed vegetation and the occasional meat supplies by a recently deceased Vision.

Dalton and his marines had rescued nearly a thousand, though many more thousands had surely been lost. Families that had waited on a rescue by the fleet. Enduring the terrible days of a plague of infected, only to be taken by a race which, though hard to believe, became far worse than a zombie-like outbreak.

The fleet had let them down. At least that was his feeling deep down. Dalton would have shit kicked every Viscion in the system if he had the resources to do it. But his own men were surviving on one meal a day and running low on ammunition. Nearing the end of his search and rescue mission, by order of the fleet.

Their mission had been admirable, but no longer seemed logical. Humanity knew the Viscion would come to them now. They knew it was only a matter of time before their new home, Second Glimmeria, would be hit by the alien armada.

It made a lot more sense to have troops there to protect the fort – as opposed to having their army scattered across the Skyla System. Dalton had been asked to pack up and return. Not in retreat, but in anticipation of the real battle to come. A war for complete control.

Johnny Revolver and his gang of men were among the survivors who would be shuttled to Second Glimmeria aboard a large transport ship. Heavily guarded by some of the fleet's mightiest warships. Their weaponry aged but reliable. A fact that was quickly learned by the overzealous Viscion.

They had come for war flaunting their technology and advanced understanding of science, only to find that the bite of flying steel was damn mighty. Good old weaponry getting the job done as the humans had pounded their foes in battle.

Should they have the balls to invade Second Glimmeria, there would be more of the same waiting for them. By the orders of Commander Dalton James. During their very first meeting, the Viscion had rubbed him the wrong way. That was something you just didn't do.

As the smuggler turned commander looked around, watching his vigilant soldiers as they packed belongings and began filling mighty spaceships once more; Dalton James savored the moment. Many soldiers before him had known battle without the sweet feeling of victory.

What is it? Cambria asked.

Oh just, Dalton said with a moment of pause. Just thinking about all of the people I've fought beside over the years. The ones who didn't make it.

I'm sure they'd be proud of you.

You're probably right, Dalton replied. But I still carry them with me every time I go to war. It's hard not to.

You're a good soldier. A good man. Cambria said.

I don't know about that. Dalton admitted.

I do. she replied.

I've done a lot of things over the years that I'm not exactly proud of.

We all have, Cambria replied. But that's what makes moments like this special. It makes us appreciate what we have and who we love.

Her eyes locked to his for a moment. Speaking a language of resounding affection.

Are you trying to get into my pants? Dalton asked with a wide grin.

If only we had the time, you old hound dog. Cambria replied with a grin of her own.

There's no time like the present.

What? Here? Cambria asked.

After you, my little sweet booty goddess. Dalton replied, extending his arm back to the foxhole.

Of course, she added with a snarky tone. Nothing says romance quite like a deep foxhole.

Oh, they're isn't going to be much romance involved this time around. Dalton admitted.

All they do is mate. a husk said loudly. Packing up his belongings and watching the two lovers drop back into their foxhole only a few feet away.

Indeed, a second husk warrior replied. And they are not quiet about it, my brother. Let us hurry with this or be caught within ear's reach once more.

The two oversized soldiers of green skin began slinging every speck of their belongings in a large sack of brown cloth. Doing everything they possibly could in order to avoid falling victim to spectator sex.

The large armada of ships had remained airborne, for the most part, which meant that Dalton and his freedom fighters would need to pack up their supplies and shuttle back up from the planet's surface.

Many of the brave soldiers had died in battle – hoping to save as many innocent lives as possible. They would be honored for their sacrifice in due time, but getting the hell out of dodge was priority number one. They had won this round, but were very short on supplies and a round two would end very quickly. Head back to Second Glimmeria, rest up a bit and then prepare for an inevitable invasion. That was the plan.

On their way home, Dalton and his armada of marines would broadcast a signal of hope to any radio which remained waiting below on any of the planets. Survivors who had waited so very long, asked to wait a bit longer. Their radios barking the voice of an apologetic smuggler turned commander. Dalton wanted so badly to land on every single rock and liberate those who remained. He promised to do so in due time. Asking those who'd made it this far to keep surviving and make it a little bit further. Help would come for them. Assuring each living soul who could hear his message that they had not been forgotten.

Meanwhile, the Viscion would regroup and admit that they had indeed underestimated their opponent. Ryalk had led the chalk white skinned race into battle swiftly, thinking his opponents to be sheep. It had nearly cost the Viscion their mightiest warship as humanity's God of War destroyer had torn Ryalk's mighty ship a new asshole, pushing it to the brink of explosion.

They had turned away from battle, choosing to land the limping ship onto a neighboring drift planet for repairs – leaving their warriors behind in the