Blood War 1: Last Stand of the Legion: Rift (2 page)

DESTROYER LYRE

PATROL AREA BRAVO

SOL STANDARD 11/09

LEGIONNAIRE'S MESS

1330 HOURS

Dasan walked into the platoon's mess hall. The faces of the men and women of his platoon were drawn and lined with fatigue as they ate the traditional large preflight meal. None of the ethnic favorites were real but they were good replications. The mess staff on the destroyer was one of the best.

The platoon was eating silently, with little of the usual banter before a mission. They looked as bad as Dasan felt, despite the endless hours of physical training and patrols that had hardened them into the epitome of physical prowess
. They too were suffering from Status Insult.

The men and women were hunched over their food trying to shovel enough calories in to get their metabolisms working. Almost every breed of human was represent
ed at the table. There were Ceti's, Lyten's, Cygni's, a Lalande and even a Sol. In the Legion there were no breed differences. In another place the Ceti would not be sitting at the same table as a Lyten. A Sol would not be in the same room as the other outer-world breeds. Of course no Sol ever volunteers for the Legion. They usually have the choice of eight years in jail or eight years in the Legion. The smart ones given the choice took jail, you had a better chance of coming out alive than you did in the Legion, but Tolla had turned out to be a good Legionnaire.  The Legion was the great leveler. Nothing mattered here except your performance. Here everyone was a Legionnaire and nothing more or less. The Legions motto was taken seriously: The Legion is our Breed.

Everyone in the platoon was a purebred of one breed or another, everyone except Sergeant Aijuba who was the only mongrel in the platoon. She sat alone at the non-commissioned officers table. She was the platoon sergeant and in reality the
actual leader of the platoon. Her flight suit was more tattered and faded than his own, yet she made it look good. Aijuba was tall and muscular with her white hair cut in a traditional Wolf female warrior's Mohawk. She was a strikingly attractive woman despite the hard set to her face. Aijuba was the only one with red tears in her service cascade. You were only allowed the red tear after combat. Aijuba had seen much combat.

Her home planet of Taima in the Wolf system disdained the genetic engineering of the other planets. They interbred with no effort to change natural selection. It was their belief that natural selection would produce the strongest offspring. The harshness of their planet demanded that only the strongest survived. Only one in three children survived to adulthood.  The environment was too brutal for any weakness
and produced the fiercest warriors in the known worlds. She was one of their fiercest. She glanced up when Dasan entered the room, her hard clear eyes revealing no emotion.

"Listen up," she said.

The rest of the platoon turned to Dasan.

"We were brought out of status for a mission. We will perform a long-range recon of the Gaxola II settlement. There has been an alarm and we have been unable to communicate with the settlement. Our mission will be to check on the welfare of Gaxola and its inhabitants. We launch within the hour."

"Shit..." Votava said.

"We lost Mai to flight status for an alarm. They got her in sick bay now..." Betak said.

There were other audible moans from others in the platoon.

"Ha wo deh bang."

"JAFDIP."

The last comment almost made Dasan smile because it was how he felt too
; just another fucking day in paradise. He couldn't show his own feelings especially for this mission so he suppressed his smile.

"Knock it off!" Sergeant Aijuba shouted. The platoon went silent.

She stood. When she did Aijuba had to grab the table to steady herself. She looked as bad as anyone.

"I trained you
how and by god you will act like Legionnaires. You heard our orders. Finish your chow and get to the flight deck. Ohadia and Gupta see the corpsman before you report to your craft."

She sat and downed several pills with a large gulp of coffee, then took
a long, deep breath from the medical inhaler that had been next to the pills before tossing it into the trash. Dasan could almost see the pills and inhaler take effect. Her eyes became brighter and some the lines of fatigue began to disappear. The drugs would prop you up but there was always a letdown later.

"Sir," a mess attendant said as he put a plate in front of him.

As he sat down a corpsman put down his own pills and inhaler. He immediately took them. They always hit harder on an empty stomach and he was going to need all of the help he could get to make this flight.

Dasan's eyes met Aijuba's. He lowered his voice and said
,

"Can they make it?"

He had come to trust and depend on Aijuba's judgment. She had two full-term enlistments as a career Legionnaire under her belt and had seen combat. Dasan was on his first enlistment and he depended on her for many of the decisions for the platoon. She hesitated while she thought through what a long patrol would mean to the platoon.

"Yes, but we will lose one or two.'

Dasan’s stomach tightened with fear. He had never lost anyone in his years in the Legion. Now he could lose people without ever going into combat. Aijuba looked tired.

"It is the way of the Legion. We are expendable," she said.

"I spoke with the Captain."

"And?" Aijuba said.

"There has been no sensor flyby. We are going in cold."

"It gets better. That is not like the Captain. I have served with her before. She would not be doing this without a reason," Aijuba said.

"She said she had a ‘hunch.”.

Aijuba was silent for a moment.

"I don't like hunches. Too many times they are right."

They both turned to the plates to finish their food. They would need the strength. By the time he finished his meal the others had left to complete other last
minute personal needs before they reported to the hanger bay. Some would seek out a quiet place for a religious moment, while others would finish a message home. He stood slowly. The drugs had taken effect but he was still unsteady on his feet. Aijuba was the only other person left.

"Sergeant, are you ready
?"

She stood. There was no give in Aijuba. She was a Wolf and Legionnaire to her core. The Legion was her home. She lived the Legion
’s motto. As a Wolf, war and service were her life. She had been raised from childhood for moments like these. Despite their working relationship, she had kept her distance through out the patrol. As his platoon sergeant he had learned to depend on her but never felt he had earned her personal respect.

"Aye, aye sir."

FLEET DESTROYER LYRE

PATROL AREA BRAVO

SOL STANDARD 11/09

HANGER BAY

1400 HOURS

Dasan paused as
the doors to the hanger bay opened. This was the heart of the ship. The ship existed to transport Legionnaires and this is where they launched. The bay was filled with technicians, umbilical cords, and all manner of equipment floating in its zero-g. At the center of all the activity were the Legionnaire's fighters. Navy technicians floated around each ship, busy preparing them for flight. One-man tugs flew through the ships pulling sleds filled with torpedoes.

Dasan pushed himself off and floated in the
zero gravity upward to his ship.  She always looked so small.  The Raptor III was a black glistening teardrop shaped ship, attached to the hanger bay by several umbilicals; she was almost lost in the huge hanger bay.  Power lines, weapons lines, and information hookups were feeding his ship all that it would need for the patrol. His ships’ maintenance crew floated around the ship taking readings and making adjustments.  Open panels illuminated their faces in pale green and red light.  The movement around each ship appeared hurried, yet as precise as a well-trained ballet troop.  Each man and woman knew their role and the roles of the others.  There was no wasted motion.

As he glided upward toward
s his ship, he marveled at her sleekness and design as if he were seeing it for the first time; his ship the glistening black teardrop that seemed to absorb light. It appeared dark and deadly, almost frightening.

There was an ancient saying that a ship flew like it looked. These fighters looked as if they were anxious to fly, anxious for their pilots, anxious for space and for battle. 

Dasan placed his hand on his ships’ cool surface. It hummed beneath his touch.  His crew chief had her tuned to respond to Dasan unlike any other maintenance crew had ever been able to do.

"She
is just about ready Lieutenant," The Crew Chief said as she floated over to Dasan.

             
"Thanks, Chief." Dasan touched the top of the ship and a hatch dilated open. It would open for no one else. The plasma of his cockpit glowed soft green indicating the oxygen level had been perfectly balanced. 

"Any problems
Chief?" Dasan asked.

"Negative sir, she is ready. You are carrying the standard armament.
She is locked and loaded. Ready to rock."

Dasan floated around the ship touching her here and there.  Making sure the techs closed her up tight. Doing his own pre-flight, in the way pilots had done for centuries.  Finally, it was time, time to mount up.

He floated up to the hatch.

"Ready, sir
?" the Chief asked.

"Yes, Chief
," Dasan said.

She saluted and Dasan returned the salute then turned his back to the Chief so she could connect him to his ship. The Chief's hands were gentle as she pulled the
umbilical cord from the ship and plugged it into the I/O socket behind Dasan's right ear. Dasan closed his eyes as he was connected to his ship.

Instantly his world changed.  Suddenly he was the ship. The ship was an extension of his senses and intellect. He felt the physical bump of the other ships through his ships radar.  His skin tingled as his ship
's sensors read their electronic signatures.  Dasan could "see" them clearly now.  He could feel his power increase as the umbilical fed his ship directly from the Lyre's main banks. He heard the destroyer's computers downloading the mission briefing.

Dasan was only vaguely aware of the tech's easing him into his ship. He did not feel the plasma as they lowered him in and sealed the hatch.  He relaxed and curled up into a ball. He inhaled deeply drawing the plasma deep into his lungs. Then he swallowed large mouthfuls of the gel, filling his stomach. The drugs in the plasma immediately began to take effect
; suddenly all his senses were sharper and more focused.

The
Raptors had been nicknamed "mother tears" when they were first produced, because so many new pilots had died trying to learn to fly them. They had caused a flood of mother's tears over the years. Given the dangers involved in flying the ships, Legionnaires began to have a black tear tattooed at the corner of their eye when they qualified as a pilot.  For each combat patrol a blue tear was added to your service cascade of tattoos. They were a visible reminder of just how much it took each time you climbed into a ship. A red tattoo was rare now because they were only awarded for combat operations. Aijuba was the only one in the platoon with red tears in her service cascade.

The Lyre's main computers finished downloading the patrol briefing into Dasan's ship. Dasan saw the 3D maps of the patrol route on his situation display. He saw the planet and a 3D blueprint of the refinery and the crew quarters. He felt the settings for each of the waypoints for the patrol. He would sense these settings in flight, making it easy to navigate through the vast expanses of space.

The ground crew was double-checking his armament; he had a full load of torpedoes on board.  His other weapons banks were being charged from the Lyre's main power banks.

"Sand ready," Dasan said.

"Aijuba ready. We lost Ohadia to flight status. That puts us at eighteen with three sections of six. I moved Betak to section leader."

"Very good." Betak always performed better if he was placed in charge. This would be a good test to see if he was ready for his next stripe.

The rest of the platoon quickly followed as they finished their mount ups.  It was time to launch.

"Gaxola II patrol to Flight."

"This is Flight."

"Gaxola II patrol request permission to launch."

"Roger that Gaxola II. Standby for launch."

Red lights and strobes began to flash as the audible launch alarms sounded in the hanger bay. Crew
chiefs and technicians pushed off and entered their launch stations through hatches along the Hanger's bulkhead. The patrol's ships were left alone in the Hanger, floating in the zero-g. Slowly, the huge launch doors began to slide open revealing the cold black space beyond. A hurricane of air rushed past Dasan's ship as the atmosphere in the hanger bay was sucked into the emptiness of space.  Dasan saw a torque wrench flash by, narrowly missing his ship.

"Gaxola II to Flight. Be advised I came within six inches of being a no-go because of a loose tool."

"Goddamnit. Sorry Lieutenant, I will have someone's ass over that one."

"Check."

"Gaxola II patrol you are cleared to launch."

"Gaxola II to patrol we are a go. On my mark launch."

Dasan hesitated then said,

"Gaxola II launch."

"Lyre to Gaxola II patrol good hunting. To the glory of the Legion."

The Legion song  "
I Regret Nothing
" began to play over the comm. It had become a tradition to play the ancient ballad by Charles Dumont for each launch.

No! Absolutely nothing...

No! I regret nothing

Neither the good that I've done nor the bad

All this is much the same to me!

No! Absolutely nothing...

No! I regret nothing...

It is paid, swept away, forgotten

I don't care about the past!

With my souvenirs

I lit a fire

Dasan eased his ship forward. It felt very much like he had just stood up and begun to walk; it seemed to take the same effort.  Once he cleared the ship he increased his speed until he felt as if he were trotting. He glanced at the icons of the platoon on his virtual screen, they were tucking into formation like the professionals they were.