Best Military Science Fiction Books Novels & Stories

They stepped inside. Raven’s sharp blue eyes scanned the spines—titles in languages older than Arcadia Prime, bindings of shadow-leather and bone. Victoria moved with purpose, fingers trailing over volumes until she stopped before a thick tome bound in matte black hide that drank the light rather than reflected it. Silver script crawled across the cover like living veins: *Intricate Military Command of the Dead* *Advanced Studies in the Art of Necromantic Warfare* Raven reached up—standing on tiptoe—and pulled it free. The weight surprised her; this was no slim intermediate text. This was dense, heavy with diagrams of battlefield sigils, troop formations of the risen, rites for coordinating

“Are you guys ready to finally do as we were formed to do?” My eyes glared at Callighan as he lifted his head up to the sky. Once that loud howl came from him, we all prepared ourselves as the wolves charged at us altogether. All we could do was fight to our hearts desire. One charged at me and right when I thought life was over for me, the gunshots came right after him. Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! However, those shots were not enough… -To Be Continued- The End of Book 2

he folded his arms, leaning back against the mezzanine’s cold railing, “if you’ll remember, I told you three years ago you’d be better off sending Forever War to either TOR, Titan, Baen or Pocket Books, someone with an established name in science fiction.” Gavin shook his glass and looked into it, as if searching for answers there. “Hammer-Fiske has published four science fiction novels in the past five years. They should know how the hell to market my science fiction novel.” Jim sighed. Seemed he’d been doing that a lot lately because Gavin had done nothing but ignore him. “Those other novels were commercial techno-thrillers, video game and television series tie-ins. Not classic, epic space

Wow. I was drooling. It wasn't just a room with books. It was a sanctuary. Floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with hardcovers, a rolling ladder, a massive fireplace that looked like it hadn't been used in decades. The scent of old paper and leather hit me, comforting and familiar. I ran my finger along the spines. ‘The Art of War’, ‘Sun Tzu’. ‘Histories of the Roman Empire’. Biographies of kings and conquerors. Heavy stuff. Interspersed with them were fiction classics. Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Dumas.

I browsed the shelves, and I read the titles. Into the fire, A firsthand Account of the extraordinary Battle in Afghan War by Dakota Meyer, Bing West 500 Days, Secrets and Lies in the Terror Wars- Kurt Eichenwald The War for crown and Empire There are all sorts of books about wars here. I paused in front of a book that I deemed the most interesting. I pulled it out of the shelf and stared at it, contemplating whether to get on with it or not. I can choose a much thinner book… The 33 Strategies of War- Robert Greene

Vampires and Lycans never got along, Why? Because of an ancient war that started before you... Before me, before my kind, and now we're the ones left to fight it, carrying on centuries of a hostile blood war. Caught in the middle of it, are pesky humans... beautiful, and cunning creatures, yes, but not the smartest. And pity them, of how they are so oblivious about everything that constantly happens, mysterious animal attacks, unsolved homicides without leads, missing persons report files stacking higher, and still, they turn a blind eye. But... Are they? Blind? I mean the signs are there, evidence surrounding the existence of the supernatural, theories on theories, and they couldn't find th

- • Alyssa's POV As I entered the room, I was immediately struck by the beautiful sight before me. The paintings on the wall seemed to blink at me, as if greeting me. The room was painted white with stunning murals hand-painted on the burnt orange and red walls. The furniture was rustic and dark, complemented by vibrant cushions. I had never seen a room with so much furniture and so many hues. The white velvet curtains hid the long windows across the room, leaving only a shy peek. The floor was polished wood, dark and free of clutter. The room looked amazing; it was designed not just to be a room, but to feel like home. I could stay here forever.

Instead, she spotted a battered cardboard box, which she pulled out by one of its flaps. The box was filled with books similar to the one she found on the floor—tattered and yellowing, adorned with somewhat cheesy cover art. Except for a few classics by authors like Verne and Wells, most of them fell into the sci-fi genre. Cole admitted to losing interest in this type of literature after a few pages of convoluted descriptions. However, she recognized some of the titles because she had been repeatedly told that she should read them: Asimov, Russ, Vonarburg, Bradbury, Heinlein, Bujold, Engh, Le Guin.