The Far Stars War (The War Years, Book 1)
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We asked David Drake to start a war — the result is ...
THE FAR STARS WAR
To Fight or Die Among the Farthest Stars ...
It’s 2237 . . . and the Far Stars War has begun.
Isolated by the light years that lie between them and Earth’s established colonies, the pioneers on the outskirts of the galaxy suddenly face a merciless enemy—the Gerin. An alien warrior race of unsurpassed cruelty, they are bent on the total destruction of every other spacefaring race that might challenge them for dominance. Before human and allied alien authorities can react, the Guerin blast world after world into oblivion.
From the terror-stricken response to the first deadly Gerin assault through desperate battles to the terrible aftermath of total war, follow the League’s Space and Marine forces as they challenge the enemy with high-tech weapons and old-fashioned courage.
This first book in the shared universe of The War Years series, created by David Drake and Bill Fawcett, showcases ten stories produced by top military SF authors performing at their writing best.
is devoid of human life,” the simulacrum replied dispassionately. “It does to the humans who die here!” Charlie replied hotly, forgetting for a moment to what he was talking. He cooled off. “Besides, how are we supposed to preserve this information?” “That,” the simulacrum responded, “is why I was united with a human being—to allow him to make that determination. That is your function, your sole function, so far as I am programmed to respond.” “Five hours, huh?” Charlie mused. How is our
were already slamming into a vertical rolling scissors that tracked the enemy vessel’s climb and blocked both any getaway and any potential attack. At first, the two ships ran level, but when Larry’s barrel-roll reversals began to swing wider, the Gerin fell into the trap of a slow-speed overshoot and on line for Red Four’s off-boresight targeting predictor. It didn’t live long enough to realize its mistake. “Red Two, this is Red Four: God damn it, Johnny, are you asleep or somethin’?” Stewart
followed, once the sound of a baby crying, tantalizingly near. “I can feel ‘em watching,” said Minh, the last man in line. “I’d better not see one,” Heatherton responded. “I know damn well those shit-scared bastards’re reporting to the Slime.” “None of that,” Lermontov said sharply. “There’s no evidence that the locals cooperate with the Gerin. They’re just scared. Same as you’d be if your planet had been run by the Slime for three generations.” “Cap’n,” said Sanger, “they don’t have the
He could mark targets with a lightpen, but direct input was more accurate by an order of magnitude. The meter-square table couldn’t lie flat, but it had better be close enough. “Okay,” said Lermontov. “I’m coming forward…” “Wait, sir,” Rudisill said. He focused on the “boulder,” which was literally close enough to spit on, and pressed the enter key on his helmet’s pad. Then he slid a meter to the side, focused on the same point, and clicked the key again. His helmet fed the triangulated
brush to tell the captain there were nasties up there or get all video-hero and run screaming at the Gerin, right into a beam or a slug. What else is there to do? you ask. Well, for one thing you can lie there quietly and think for a moment. If they’ve seen you, they’ve shot you—the Gerin aren’t given to patience—and if they haven’t shot you they don’t know you’re there. Usually. It was already strange that the Gerin fighters hadn’t come back. And if Gerin held the top of this hill—which seemed