Return of the Fear (Gunship XIX)

By John M. Davis

Alicia is not your average solider. Even when an ancient race returns to declare war on the Skyla System, Alicia finds herself falling in love. With a steady pistol in each hand, this hero will need the help of a very handsome stranger.

The last pulp author returns, bringing yet another story to this bestselling series!

• Language: English
• Publisher: John M. Davis
• Release date: Jul 20, 2016

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

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Gunship XV

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

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

About the Author

Chapter 1

How It Is

Nothing else mattered.

For several intriguing moments Alicia sat there, mesmerized and alone at her corner booth watching them all dance. Especially the buxom blonde and her date.

Alicia had watched them for nearly an hour, remembering a time in which she would have done the same. Of course the blonde and her date were both catches to say the least, but Alicia didn't care about that footnote. For her, it was reminiscent of a time when she and her lover, Greg, would have enjoyed such a moment. Now he was gone.

Sipping slowly from her bubbling red drink, Alicia did what she could to hold her tears back. They had taken so much from her – from all of them. She had no right to feel sorry for herself. But she did.

Alicia missed Greg so incredibly bad that it hurt. Seeing a fresh-faced couple enjoying their moment together was only a hammering reminder for her own soul. A part of her just wanted to find a quiet spot to crawl to and die. It would have been so much easier than watching two people in love, enjoying their moment. However, Alicia was quickly reminded that quitting was not an option.

Calypso entered the club in his usual fashion. The thick-chested warrior commanded attention as the light of the crackling sun outside illuminated his near-superhuman size. Everyone cast their eyes to the door, including Alicia.

Damn. she said under her breath. She couldn't let a member of her own team see her tears. They expected more from her.

Of course the big man's born name wasn't Calypso, it was Gunther Stokley. Calypso was simply a nickname that was given to him by those he fought beside, including a very irritated young heroine.

We are needed. Calypso said, glancing down for a moment as Alicia took a very long sip of her drink.

Nodding, Alicia turned to watch the young couple a final time. They'd likely die, just like the others. As she and her squad mate both exited the club, they were handed a harsh reminder that it was back to business as usual. War.

It has been nearly one hundred years since the fall of Dalton James. A man whose legend continues to grow for those who wear the uniform. During the past century, the Skyla System has rebuilt itself as well as expanded its exploration program. Furthering the reach of humanity and its allies. Less than six months ago, the discovery of a brand new race changed all of that, as well as the future of the Skyla System.

They call themselves ancients. Their technology is vastly superior to anything we've yet to create and their numbers are seemingly endless. They wanted no conversation with our leaders. They wanted nothing – only war.

The smallest ancient that anyone has laid eyes on is roughly eight feet in height. The largest, about the same. They walk like we do, but that's where the similarities end. Covered in pasty-gray skin, the pupils of their eyes burn with an amber-colored pigment that helps them deal with the rays of the sun, or so we're told.

They also possess a transparent skull and bones, which has been linked to their ability to heal quickly. Very quickly. Sometimes not quickly enough though. In other words, they die. Alicia would know. Her unit has killed more of the sky-born bastards than any other group of soldiers currently stationed in the Drifts.

Alicia and Calypso approached the third member of their team, G. Gregory-Hawthorne Laurenitis got his nickname largely in part because Alicia hated spouting off such a long name, so G it was. Either way, he was damn deadly with his silhouette blade, which was a perfectly cut sword.

The stringy-haired man carried the blade on his back, along with several of his personal affections which were tied snugly into a leather knapsack. From first glance, G looked as though he was prepared to stand in a soup line, rather than continue the fight against a race of warriors from beyond the stars. But he was rather tested against the large demon-like bastards. G's reputation had spread throughout the ranks of those who'd been sent to the front lines. The ancients had pushed their way deep into the Drifts, but had been stopped cold before getting through entirely at the Skyla System's most dominant planet, Glimmeria, which also served as its capital. They preferred the fight be in the remote stretch of planets known as the Drifts, rather than in their own backyard. Therefore they funneled their finest soldiers there.

G's blade had been sharpened with the point of a diamond and angled to do massive damage, not to mention hand sharpened by G personally on a regular basis. In the event that the silhouette blade didn't seal the deal, he always had his ranger pistol to fall back on. It was a simple design, mostly wooden with only two shots of black powder in the barrel. While his team came from different areas of the star system, G was a Drifts man, born and bred. G took great pride in the condition of his blade, but the opposite could be said for his sidearm.

Immediately upon glancing at the weapon, it became obvious that he cared little for it. The pistol had seen no action, and when it was in use, the heavy scarring of its wooden shell pointed to the fact that it was getting tossed somewhere.

The truth was, G had long wondered if it would even fire. And it was for that reason that he refused to clean it, shunning the idea of handling the weapon any more than he had to. The Colonial Army had plenty of sidearms, all of which were a lot more up-to-date. But the pistol he carried, which closely resembled one of a high seas pirate, had been a gift from his father. One of his only reminders of a world that once was.

So G carried the weapon, along with his love for music, as a reminder to continue the fight. They all carried something to remind them of those who'd been lost during the initial invasion, just as Alicia carried the memories of times spent with her lover – killed by the ancients.

The city around them, at least what remained of it, bore similarities to a civilization that once thrived. Even if the remote area of the Skyla System had always preferred the simple life. Horse and buggies. Farming and bartering.

Streets were once again equipped with wax lanterns which hung from poles on every corner, requiring a crew of lamplighters to travel through the city near dusk. Some survivors had oil lamps as well, however, with the highly-flammable fuel in such short supply, they generally only burned oil during special events and holidays. On occasion, war jets would fly over like scalded dogs from the one and only military base still operational in the Drifts. Norfon was operating at maximum capacity and holding out for the next wave of reinforcements to arrive from Glimmeria.

Just as if it were the First Glimmerian War all over again, the streets of Wheeling City were dirty, overcrowded and no longer a place to gather. They were simply means of getting from one area to another, and that was further reinforced by wagons full of armed soldiers of the Colonial Army. They had taken the place of a police force that once was, and maintaining a suitable life for the survivors inside of the city had proved itself nearly as taxing as the war on those who sought to take it away.

Living in Wheeling City meant living under the protection of the Guardian Angel grid system above, which had been developed by scientists back on Glimmeria. It was a double-edged sword, allowing their soldiers and survivors a safer place of living, while forcing them to survive as though it were hundreds of years behind the actual calendar date. Not that true citizens of the Drifts minded the primitive style of living.

Calypso was a bit more hardcore than G when it came to weaponry, a mini-gun hung from his shoulder on a thick leather strap and would have weighted a normal man to the ground. Calypso was half-human and half-husk, though. Inheriting the rippling strength that normally came with the husk DNA. His gun was an old relic pulled from a downed combat chopper and had been rusted heavily at one time, but Calypso had done a solid job of cleaning the weapon. Making it something of a marvel.

Every soldier who was Colonial sworn in Wheeling City carried a primary and secondary weapon. It was a standard loadout. And accompanying such a massive gun, one that pulled the warrior's frame a bit lower from the gravity of weight, was a pump-action shotgun. Solid black and basic in style, it was the type of gun that commanded attention. Its unique, throaty sound while pumping it to the ready would accept nothing less than full attention from those around it.

Alicia Lucard was simplistic when it came to her weaponry as she stood there with the men. Scorching sun bared down on them as two Glock-style pistols were strapped to her legs with thick nylon holstering, and well-defined hand to hand combat skills if it came down to it. One of them had belonged to Greg and he'd pushed her into becoming familiar with a sidearm before the invasion even came. She had chosen to carry her own sidearm as well as the gun that had been his; attempting to pay the bastards back. They'd taken his beautiful soul away from her. In response, she'd end as many of the soulless aliens as she could.

Before Invasion Day, she had been an accountant on one of Glimmeria's smaller moons. Funny how her top priorities used to include quitting time, grocery lists and which books to read. Now, her short list had been replaced with living each day to its fullest, staying one step ahead of her peers when it came to survival and slaying as many aliens as she possibly could, while making the Colonial Army proud.

As she began to think back to her days of sampling the newest latte in her office of modernized distractions, Alicia looked up above them and watched Guardian Angel for several moments.

It looked like a series of neon lights hovering above Wheeling City, but in reality it was a cluster of low orbiting satellites which emitted electromagnetic pulses on a timer, rendering the superior air capabilities of the ancients defenseless. Slowing them down as much as possible in the Drifts would allow the Skyla System enough time to assemble a much larger army. Or so that was the plan.

The Guardian Angel grid was beautiful to Alicia. Much like the society of old had driven to work, passing by life's true beauty with disregard, the society of new had long-forgotten the beauty of Guardian Angel.

The lights of the man-made cloud of protection above burst out every few seconds, each shudder of electromagnetic pulse sending a small wave of color. It had been designed that way in order for surviving military craft to navigate through it more easily. Each color was a burst of light that