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Universal War ARM X: The Road to Betrayal

by Peter W. Smorynski

372 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-1526; ISBN 1-4120-1147-7; US$31.00, C$34.95, EUR25.50, £18.00

Prepare yourself for an anime-infused sci-fi action-drama! ARM X is an all-new, original novel in the tradition of the Japanese Mecha Genre!

Read more!

about the book      about the author      sample excerpt      catalogue info

About the Book After much strife and struggle, humanity has finally achieved peace on Earth under one unified nation: the World Union. But can peace be maintained?! A figure has emerged, planning a revolution that will lead the world back into chaos on a road of betrayal. A mysterious, technologically-advanced society calling itself the ARM X and a group of anti-revolutionaries are targeted as they rise to crush the seeds of the coup. A young soldier, Adam Jhen, is pulled into the conflict and finds his life forever changed. A war is about to erupt that will warp the foundation of the world's leadership unless the insurgency can be put to rest. But a threat beyond imagination lies just on the horizon, and the ARM X's true purpose shall finally be revealed. PREPARE YOURSELF FOR AN ANIME-INFUSED SCI-FI ACTION-DRAMA! PREPARE YOURSELF FOR ARM X! Visit the book's website at ARMXOfficial.com

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About the Author Peter W. Smorynski is an author who has an infinite love for creativity and has just published his first book Universal War ARM X: The Road to Betrayal.

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Sample Excerpt

excerpt from Prologue

"ALL OUT WAR: THE BATTLE OF SAN FRANCISCO . . ."

"Keep pressing the attack!" Captain Gairn shouts ardently, a trace of desperation in his voice.

"But, Captain, their numbers! We'll be overwhelmed if we push forward any further! We've got to fall back and regroup with more support," the objecting voice of Corporal Malone comes through Gairn's commune-link speakers.

"Keep pressing the attack, dammit! Lieutenant Forran and the others need us to keep these confounded IRFers at bay!" a disgusted Gairn responds, apprehension and a bit of dread leaking into his veins, knowing well that the Iron Revolution Faction lines are indeed thick, scattered, and on their home playing field. They had entered the city district with thoughts of cornering the IRF mecha forces, but their dreams were soon dashed as they found that they had stepped into a well-developed trap, caught in a deadly crossfire on all sides.

The IRF Bionic mecha there, which are giant, manually-operated humanoid war machines, consist mainly of the boxy Goliath design and a few of the new, sleek, medievalesque Beta Knights. All of which are faster, more agile, better trained, and especially equipped for closed-space combat in the tightly-condensed city. The soldier-looking Goliaths step from behind the building cover like SWAT members, letting off a stream of energy from their Renard IV energy machine guns and then speedily duck behind them again, never missing a beat. The Beta Knights there on the other hand slink through the thick urban jungle like vengeful snakes and deliver their sting in the form of their gargantuan magna blades, slicing the mixed United States Union Army and newly formed Washington Defense Corps soldiers to ribbons.

The group of remaining USU standard Goliaths and improved WDC Minuteman Goliath manned mechanized infantrymen are swarmed by a virtual torrential rain of bullet-form energy from every direction, creating a storm that is becoming increasingly accurate and web-like, pushing them into tighter and tighter quarters and severing options. The city is literally coming apart, bursting with accumulating debris that is ablaze and showering everywhere, providing a constant light in the dusk-approaching skies. Most of all though, the city is alive with the sounds of war: screams, detonations, metal thuds, and blaring EMG output.

Upon spotting an IRF Goliath retreating behind cover to replace his energy clip and his partner coming out on the opposite side to refresh their firing path, a USU infantryman pilot pivots his mecha's gun. "You guys are startin' to get a bit too predictable," he says with an arrogant grunt, about to apply pressure to his control throttle stick's right trigger. Only, he never gets the chance. The minute he lifts his EMG on the enemy unit, his mecha's arms are torn off, the opposing force's energy fire so profuse now that it is nearly impossible to move at all without being mutilated. A follow-up shot by the IRF Goliath he was targeting does him in, the yellow bolt ramming right into and through his cockpit.

"Crosten! No!" Phillips yells helplessly, witnessing the impact of the energy shot. He sees the blood not incinerated from the initial touch of the hot beam spout from the chest area of the blue machine while it tumbles to the ground, belching smoke. An instant later, a Beta Knight, its black, Y-shaped camera-visor glowing with life, jumps out from a cluster of tall structures. The Bion stabs a USU Goliath through the waist, its charged blade coming out the other end, causing sparks to bleed out in pools from the mechanical wound. Freeing the blade effortlessly, it spins back to the shelter of the buildings while the gouged infantryman explodes into two pieces: its top half landing in the urban cluster, barely missing the Beta Knight that slew it, while its bottom half topples to the ground with a repulsive, mournful creaking noise, shattering a section of road under its weight.

Phillips lets off some fire after the Beta that did in his comrade's Goliath but fails to hit it, the energy instead nipping away at the tops of buildings on the uneven, hilly landscape. "Banner's gone now too? Shi-it! Is that how we're all going to end up?! Enough of this crap, I'm leveling the city on these bastards!" he cries out, adjusting his gun to a fixed position as rival fire bites at his machine's shoulders, coming closer and closer to vital spots.

Gairn catches this through the conglomerated chatter on the commune-net and tries to stop the maddened Phillips. "Lieutenant, this is war and it's not supposed to make sense, but I need you to hold on, soldier. Listen to me! If you open up uncontrolled on this district the whole place is liable to crush us too!"

"I've seen enough! I-I can't take it anymore! It's . . . just . . . too much!" With that he cements his finger to the trigger and swiveling on his machine's broad waist he lets loose an unforgiving hell storm, spraying everything in front of him, his wild barrage tearing into the bases of the buildings there.

"Someone stop him! It's madness, he'll kill us all!" Gairn spouts in panic, too busy returning fire to do anything to arrest his subordinate's crazy act.

"I'm not sure it is madness, Captain . . . Hell, these 'Ironsiders will do anything to achieve their ideals, sir. They're gonna waste us all if we don't do somethin' soon. I'm not ready to go down without taking a few of these 'haters with me. I agree with Phillips, I say we bring the house down on 'em."

"Ward, I'll have you in a court-martial if you shoot one deliberate shot into those buildings!"

"Shit, we'll be lucky if there's anybody left to court-martial. Sorry, Cap, somebody's gotta do somethin'," Sergeant Jamal Ward retorts. He swings his Bion's long-barreled, spear gun-like Gering rocket launcher toward a space where two buildings meet a bit in the distance, a Goliath shooting between the gap there. Clinging to the cumbersome weapon with two, strong, iron, mechanized hands, as is required, he launches the single, large rocket. After a brief ejection of smoke, it soars out of its holster like a bullet, a streaming tail behind it, advancing on its target in an intense rush.

Kickback from the ignition throws his machine's arms up and the enemy fire immediately starts to hit home, searing holes throughout its frame. The missile zooms in on and slams into the Goliath hiding between the structures dead-on in the chest, blowing it to mere shrapnel, the combined explosions of the rocket and the mecha bringing down both cover-serving buildings in a tremendous hurry. Ward gets but a brief satisfactory glimpse of his handiwork before converging fire finishes off his Bion, transforming it into a vivid ball of energy.

Phillips meanwhile continues his rampaging onslaught, buildings beginning to tumble all around, the entire area turning a hazy concoction of gray and brown. "Basss-tardsss! Go'ta hell! Your ideals have already killed my family, but it ends here! I'll destroy you all myself!" he screams with rage over his gun's roar, not letting up even though both of his machine's bulky shoulder guards have been blown off and several sections of primary armor stripped nearly bare around his mecha's thighs and lower rib cage area.

Ward . . . Another good man lost. How many more? Why the heck am I here in this nightmare? These thoughts swim through Captain Gairn's mind, dizzying him as he tries to make sense of the insanity surrounding him. We have to retreat, we're too hurt to do any damage now . . . unless we want to kill ourselves in the process. No, I am committed to this! Ward and Phillips are right, we have to do anything we can to win. I have to preserve the union! But the cost . . . He continues to argue with himself like this hysterically and sporadically as he pinpoints and tries to alleviate certain trouble spots.

Gairn looks hard into the gathering obnoxious fog created by the destruction all about, and at once realizes what he must do. But at that moment a Beta Knight crashes through a building to his right and swings its sword upon him. He lifts up his mecha's left forearm and it takes the brunt of the blow, severed cleanly by the radiating, energy-filled, steel frame of the weapon. Gairn wastes no time and brings up his tube-shaped energy machine gun to the Beta's breast with his right arm, grinding it to superheated bits.

The Bionic manned mechanized infantryman comes apart in front of him, throwing him back some, but remarkably he does not fall prey to the omnipresent energy fire. Noticing that Phillips is still hammering away at the buildings, which are now crumbling and killing both friend and foe alike, he starts barking into the commune-net.

"Listen up, people! We're going to rush them. Use the dense debris dust to conceal your movements as best you can. Right now we've got no chance of escape, but there is a chance we can break through them. Let's not make all the sacrifices made today go to waste. You hear me, we're going to break through that enemy line or die trying!" Gairn hollers, thoroughly focused.

Hearing a cheer of wild, unanimous agreement over the commune-net, he allows a bittersweet smile. Here we go again. Out of the frying pan and into the fires of hell. Seems this is getting to be too much of a routine thing these days. He tightens his sweaty grip on the CTS, knowing what will come next. This'll be the gutsiest charge since the Eastern Conflicts.

The buildings are falling all around now in full force, a steady waterfall of hard concrete and metal, and yet they advance. A calm, confident march quickly becomes a racing dash. A majority surprisingly make it through, while others, not quite as lucky, are flattened or pinned down by the rubble. Phillips is now out of energy yet he continues to hold down the trigger and swing back and forth, his mecha so badly damaged, and yet ironically holding up while everything else comes down around him. At last his luck runs out though and a chunk of ruin crushes him while he closes his eyes and thinks back to calmer days, back to when there was life without war, without violence; when there was only innocence and peace. Suddenly, he feels freer, lighter, and senses that those days will be returning to him soon.

Gairn's charge is so insane that it stupefies the dispersed IRF mecha teams, who were already thrown off balance and had lost a considerable amount of men and mecha in the cascading buildings. It comes to a close-quarters battle and the first to be assaulted are the close-quarters specialists: the BMMI-2 Beta Knights. The one who killed Banner destroys a blitzing Goliath, carving it down the center, only to be stitched hard with energy up the side by another of Gairn's troopers, extinguishing the Bion's reign of terror once and for all.

The other Beta Knight is clashing with the Goliath piloted by Corporal Malone. It slashes down on the Bion, hoping to slice through its head and into the cockpit, but it misses because it is so close and instead only succeeds in chopping off the Goliath's left shoulder and arm. Malone then presses his gun to the Bion manned mechanized infantryman's chest and pulls the trigger, blowing it to pieces. Unfortunately, the detonation of the Beta is too close to his cockpit, and the heat of the blast cooks his machine's front side, killing him as well.

Some wield their Renard IVs like clubs now while others continue to battle in a straight-on firefight. The colossal machines skim down the inclined streets as if they are slides at a park, exchanging fire and metal while others contend on the flat portions, crushing everything in their way. The struggle for power at last unfolds and comes to a close, Gairn losing nearly all of his troops before the remaining IRF forces go into full retreat. As he looks to the ruined state of the great city and the dead all around, he muses in deep thought, searching for justification, but troubled by his feelings.

We took the ground . . . we won. But I feel so empty, so heartless. There comes a point when fights like these have to end because they become bloodbaths. But I'm not so certain that the IRF will give up. They're determined to end the corruption in the government, though they do not realize that is already well underway. God, end this war soon. It is becoming unbearable for everyone, even a stubborn, stalwart military man like myself. . . .

excerpt from Chapter 15

"A FATEFUL DUEL: THE DEATH DANCE OF WARRIORS . . ."

A stab for the Redeemer's head misses and Darrian unsheathes and brandishes his turbo spear again, diverting a second swipe meant for his chest sensor. The two weapons, turbo spear and shock pike, strike and bounce off one another, the no-holds-bar battle turning into an intense sword duel. The pair of machine-giants prance about in the never-ending field of snow like human fencers, blows and counter-blows dealt one after another alongside blocks and parries. However, neither duelist can seem to achieve the fast victory that each feels they are justified to receive.

The ARM X officer retro-boosts into the sky, the Centurion following close behind and the two recommence their match, sparks flying everywhere, the steel weapons forcing themselves upon one another as their pilots will them to. Once a ground quarrel, the fight has now escalated into an aerial death dance. The two drop down though after a few more moments of midair contention and lock their weapons once again, sharing words.

"I must say, I am now thoroughly impressed! Never before have I met a soldier so skilled. Your technique is remarkable."

"Likewise, Gartenk," Darrian gets off, deflecting another shot, this time intended for his mecha's rib area. "You're one heck of a fighter . . . I suppose it would be crazy to say that I'm almost enjoying myself . . . Too bad only one of can come out of this . . . and that'll be me!"

"Don't be so modest, soldier," Gartenk responds with a hint of sarcasm, and abruptly twisting his shock pike hard to the right, he triumphs in dislodging Darrian's turbo spear from his Redeemer's grasp.

Darrian can do nothing to stop the spear-like wrist extension from plunging into his Tekkion's left breast like a stake, bypassing his cockpit by only several feet. He grabs onto the shock pike firmly with both hands while Gartenk tries to drive it in further. With some emphatic arm impulses he extracts the stinger-like pike from his mecha's body, leaving a sparking and smoldering wound in its wake.

So dismayed by the fact that his mecha was actually dealt a near-fatal hit, Darrian does not see the Centurion's cylindrical stump-hand with the broken blade coming around like a war club. His Tekkion is whacked with two, swift, swinging blows, tossing him to the ground, the snow splashing up and partially covering his machine's legs.

"Where is the bold warrior I fought a moment ago? Do not give up now. This is the fight I have been waiting for. I didn't go to all this trouble just to receive an uncontested victory. Don't disappoint me. Show me your power! Show me just what kind of commitment a soldier of the ARM X has!" Gartenk spits out with grandiose emotion.

"I've heard just about enough out of you," he spouts, breathing heavily, obviously infuriated. "You want to see my power . . . I'll show you my power!"

excerpt from Chapter 18

"SMOOTH OPERATOR . . ."

A man in his late-twenties/early-thirties now walks up the flight of neatly kept stone steps that separate the normally luscious park from the work of a master architect: the Washington Grand Peace Ballroom. He slicks back his tightly-held brown hair as he brings his black-shined shoes over the last step, straightening his dark gray suit and tilting his opaque glasses up on the bridge of his nose shortly after. He approaches the front door of the hall entrance, already brightly lit for the long evening's festivities, and plays his right hand gently yet absently over a small scar on his freshly-shaven chin. Just before reaching the guarded glass double doors, the man looks up casually at the building, noticing a window wiper on the side of the circular structure. It is not too shocking to find someone cleaning the place today, yet working so late into the night hours only shows how important this event must really be. Waving a friendly hand at the two, suit-clad WDC doormen, the brown-haired man displays a pearly smile.

"Good evening, gentlemen."

"Good evening, Senator," the guards say in unison, keeping stoic looks. "Sir, we need to see your ID, it's part of this evening's protocol."

"That's quite all right," he responds cheerfully, bringing out an aqua-colored card from his inner suit jacket pocket. The guard snatches it up and runs his eyes keenly over it. He then swipes it through a scanner and it beeps confirmation, giving the card a digital stamp.

"Thank you, Senator Waltars. Enjoy your evening."

"No, thank you, gentlemen. You keep this great nation of ours safe. Have a pleasant night," he attaches, taking back his ID as the electronic lock recesses with a click, opening the glinting glass doors.

Stepping in, he walks through a concealed metal detector, but because of the metal reflector he was given earlier, the device fails to detect the gun and spare energy clip fastened to the back of his belt loop. As he slowly strolls through the beautiful room, he observes the decorative statues and paintings along the walls, each displaying the history of the US Union restoring peace throughout the years. Changing his direct path toward the ballroom, he casually turns and walks to a large painting depicting a white-gray-haired war hero in a small boat with a dreary, wintry scene showing in the background. Diddling with his glasses, he suddenly hears a sound of light static coming from the ears.

"I'm in," he says softly, as if he was talking to himself in thought.

"Good. The real Senator Waltars will be conveniently delayed for probably three hours. You know what to do."

excerpt from Chapter 19

"UNINVITED GUESTS: A DIFFERENT SORT OF TWO-STEP . . ."

The ninjas move across the dance floor nimbly with incredible speed, appearing more like mischievous and malicious gremlins than assassins. Three of the cloaked killers home in on Adam, pulling out knives from their belts. The first swipes for Katelin's head but Adam moves her aside with a fast twirl, causing the assailant to go flying by. As he does so, Adam applies a kick to the man's back which sends him hard to the floor. He cannot worry about that enemy though, as the other two move in, just as deadly with their daggers.

"Well-well, looks like it's time to dance," he states with a dry enthusiasm, slickly side-stepping a stab along with a follow-up slice aimed for his neck. With complete control, Adam sends a strong elbow into the man's masked head, the bony appendage sinking into his flesh, numbing his face. By this time the third has taken to the air and is coming down on Adam, her blade at the ready. Adam pulls his gun up and snaps off two quick shots, redirecting the cloaked woman to the floor. The one Adam had sent to the ground with a kick returns then and takes up a knife-fighter's stance, a crazed glint in his eyes.

"I'm ready to go anytime you are, gatecrasher," he says plainly to the ninja, who was expecting to evoke fear from his opponent.

The sinister figure charges Adam, his blade moving all over the place like lightning, but Adam blocks every single blow with his pistol, using it as a counter-blade. After dodging a lunge meant for his abdomen, he catches the man's knife-wielding hand with his free hand and gives him a hard smack-punch across the jaw with his gun. The man spits up blood in his mask and goes down, his lights fading from the hit.

Meanwhile, Katelin has been giving her all, already putting down two assassins with kung fu-style blows. But she finds her maneuverability highly hampered by her dress and her new assailant is armed with an assault rifle. Adam turns around in the nick of time though and delivers a tornado kick, slamming the man against the solid ground with a painful groan.

"I thought you said you'd protect me?!" she utters mockingly, thoroughly peeved at his nearly late save.

Adam ignores her complaint though as he puts down two more rushing ninjas with some angry fire, his gun recoiling back violently in his hand with each frantic squeeze of the trigger.

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Catalogue Information

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