Firemask: Book Two of the Last Legion Series (6 page)

Four seconds later, it went off, and most of a wall exploded inward.

A Musth appeared in the gap, spray-pistol hissing acid toward al Sharif, and the ‘Raum blew the alien in half with his blaster.

“Go in for real,” Montagna called, and in shock, but ground-in reflexes taking over, Bravo Element started toward the complex, zigging, crouching, firing at the buildings.

• • •

Loy Kouro and Jasith Mellusin met at the rear of the temple, then moved toward the Leader, who stood below the podium, waiting, as the music rose once again.

A striker rose to throw a grenade, and a Musth came up, fired twice, and the man dropped as a round struck him, then began writhing as the
devourer-weapon’s
creatures came out of the cartridge and began eating the flesh around the wound.

The Musth was about to fire again. Garvin shot him down, then rolled twice as a grenade bounced and exploded a meter away from him. He waited for the stings, but the wasplike insectoids missed him.

• • •

“Wilt thou, Loy Kouro, have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after the Creator’s ordinance in the holy state of matrimony?”

“I will.” Kouro’s voice was firm.

“And wilt thou, Jasith Mellusin, have this man to thy husband, to live together after the Creator’s ordinance in the holy state of matrimony.”

“Yes,” Jasith said, and no one noticed the brief hesitation.

• • •

Garvin blew another panel open, diving through the ragged hole into the building. He heard shots from the next room, or bay, or whatever it was, ran through the door, past strange furniture, booted a doorway open, and the Musth turned, his pistol’s mouth sweeping toward Jaansma.

Garvin pulled the trigger twice, and the Musth fell forward, lay silent.

He heard more shots, a volley of them, a blast of two grenades, one Musth, one human.

“They’re down,” someone shouted, and another gunshot made him a liar, and more blaster rounds answered.

“He’s dead!” someone shouted.

“Are there any more of the bastards?”

Silence, then:

“No! We’ve killed them all!”

• • •

“O Eternal Creator,” the Leader said, “Creator and Preserver of all Mankind, send thy blessing upon these thy servants, and recognize the ring the man hath given the woman is a symbol of their eternal troth and the covenant between them.”

• • •

“What’s the count?” Garvin said.

“Three of ours dead … two more wounded,” Montagna said. “We have six dead Musth. No wounded. We tried to help one of them, and he shot himself before we could get to his gun.”

Her control broke, now that it was over, and she tried to keep tears back.

“God
damn
it, why’d they shoot at us? What did they think we were doing? We aren’t fighting them! What the hell’s going on, anyway?”

“When you figure it out,” Garvin said grimly, “be sure and let me know.”

• • •

“May the Creator preserve and keep you, look down upon you and fill you with all spiritual benediction and grace; that you may so live together in this life that in the world to come you may have life everlasting.”

• • •

“Lance, this is Sibyl Six Actual,” Garvin said into the mike, proud that his voice was calm, emotionless. “I shackle XRAY VELDT RANGE, repeat, XRAY VELDT RANGE. Attacked by Musth. All aliens killed. Need immediate medic flight, request Grierson extraction, two heavy hitters and standby reaction company. Musth were evidently part of some spy operation — extensive com gear found.

“We’re in very deep shit now.”

• • •

“Loy Kouro, you may kiss your bride.”

CHAPTER
4

“So here the Musth were, sending whatever reports they were sending,”
Caud
Rao said. “Lord alone knows what data that was, since nobody’s reported seeing any furry guys skulking around since the Musth officially pulled out.

“You come booming through the brush, and naturally, they think the worst and start shooting.”

“Yessir.” Garvin’s eyelids were bouncing together. It was well past dark, and the I&R trainees were either in bed or hospital. “My fault — ”

“Bullshit your fault,” Angara said. “I approved the exercise, and they fired the first shot.
Caud,
I think our
alt
needs sleep more than anything, and this is the fourth time we’ve put him through the wringer. Jaansma, get your ass out of here, and die until you wake up. Don’t pay attention to anything but loud explosions.”

“But …”

“That’s an order. Go. Yoshitaro’s outside, and he’ll point you toward your bunk, maybe hose you off a little first. Now get gone.”

Rao, Angara, and Hedley waited until Jaansma staggered out.

“Now what?” Angara asked.

“Hedley, that’s your department,” Rao informed his Intelligence chief.

“We flipping disperse like we’ve never dispersed before, making as rotten a legion of targets as we can,” Hedley said. “None of the offplanet warning stations detected any transmission from the Musth when the patrol hit them, but they never picked up anything before, either.

“So we’ve got to assume they punched a message through on some unmonitored freq, and if their fuzzy brothers weren’t on their way back to Cumbre with a case of the ass like they promised to have after the ‘Raum War, they surely must be by now.

“Plus let’s not forget Our Friend Redruth has, or had anyway, somebody reporting to him that we’ve never tracked down. So that’s another country to be heard from. Lord knows what the Kurans are going to do, but I think we should assume flipping unpleasantries.”

“Who knows if you’re right,” Rao said, “but we can’t assume you’re wrong, so we’ll move this instant.

“Here’s what we’ll do: Keep Headquarters and Support, less the units I’m going to detach next, here at Mahan, along with I&R Company and their proprietary air. That’ll have to be our reaction force, pissyass though it is. Mahan’s almost completely underground and hardened against anything short of prolonged nuke bombardment, so we should be covered there.

“Pull one infantry company from a regiment and get it across to Mullion Island’s airbase as their security element, plus all pilots who’ve been involved with our hideout fleet.

“First Regiment will disperse to Leggett, somewhere back of the Heights; Second to Aire; Third to Taman City; Fourth to Kerrier. Split up Artillery and Gunship Battalions, plus support, into the usual elements with each regiment so they’re independent. Have them bivvy outside the cities, using what bunkers are available, building more. We’ll run showers and field kitchens out to the regiments. I’ll have PlanGov commandeer some translifters to shuttle the troopies back and forth from the boonies to Mahan in a week or so for some time off.

“We’re screwed if anybody hits us and we have to react quickly in force, but we’ll have to take the chance. I’d rather be spread out than sitting in a big happy pile waiting to get massacreed.

“From now on, no passes, no leaves, one-third on alert. I can hear the troopies scream now.

“Oh yeh. How many of those Musth attack ships do we have flying?”

“Four
aksai
are at full readiness. Maybe five in a day or so. And we’ve got ten pilots trained on them fairly well. They probably’d get nailed in a dogfight with experienced Musth pilots, but I think they’d at least give the furry ones a tough way to go for a few minutes.”

“Good. Disperse those to Balar, with their pilots, and give the force one of the freighters for a mother ship. Offworld, they can maybe be a bit of a hole card, and give us an inch of the gravity well if we’re attacked, or anyway some surprise. Put three or four Zhukovs, the patrol craft, and a couple of the yachts with ‘em.”

“Yessir.”

“One more thing I should’ve taken care of — with all these extraneous aircraft, we’re a bit short on pilots. Tell the regimental commanders to link up with the local flight schools for support — they can invoice PlanGov with their expenses — and get any of our soldiers who want to fly into training. Also, get our recruiters banging the drum for recruits who’ve got any sort of flight experience or who’re interested in leaving a perfectly good planet behind.

“And we’re going to have to figure out some way to start building a navy. But that’s for PlanGov and me to figure out.

“That’s all I can think of.”

“What about the civilians, sir?” Angara asked.

Rao thought for a moment. “That’s PlanGov’s department, but I don’t see what good we can do telling them the shit’s going to come down maybe soon, except start a wave of hoarding and maybe panic. Plus I don’t think … emphasis think … the Musth will start strafing the innocent. At least, not in the beginning.

“So wake up the hundering third, and get them rolling.”

“On my bike, sir.”
Mil
Angara hurried out, and a few seconds later alarms began to gong monotonously. Rao pictured soldiers tumbling out of bed, cursing and wondering where the hell their blasters and alert gear were.

“You know any prayers, Hedley?”

“Not a flippin’ one, sir.”

“Me either. This may get interesting.”

• • •

Normally, graduation from Infantry and Reconnaissance Qualification was a private, verbal ceremony, followed by a three-day pass and extended drunkenness.

Six days after the fight with the Musth,
Caud
Rao ordered Headquarters onto the massive parade ground at Camp Mahan, plus representatives from the fielded regiments to return for the ceremony.

Five men and women stood at attention in front of
Caud
Rao, with Jaansma and Yoshitaro flanking him. All wore full-dress uniform: midnight blue trousers, belted tunic and kepi, yellow piping on trousers, cap, and epaulettes.

Next to the five were three blasters, stuck muzzle down into the ground. Hung on their stocks were the dress kepis of the recruits who’d died in the Highlands, their highly-polished boots in front of the weapons.

There was a pickup, casting the ceremony to the two soldiers graduating long-distance and on their backs in the Force hospital.

“You made it,” Jaansma said. “Things got a little grimmer than usual, but that’s the way soldiering always seems to go. Congratulations. You did well, all of you. I’m proud to welcome you to the company.”

Yoshitaro just nodded, said nothing.

Rao’s remarks were almost as brief.

“Striker Darod Montagna, for bravery and coolness when brought under fire by an element of the Musth race while on a training maneuver, you’re given the Order of Merit, and promoted to
finf.
Striker Baku al Sherif, you’re awarded the Combat Legion award. All of you are promoted Striker First Class, and your performance commended in dispatches. Those who died in the line of duty, Strikers Joanes, Zelen, Hathagar, and those who were wounded, Strikers Mahue and Seelam, are awarded wound stripes.

“I’m afraid this is just the beginning. I warn all of you, not just the men and women honored in this ceremony, to soldier well and carefully in the days, weeks, and months to come.

“Never forget. You serve the Confederation as well as Cumbre, and the honor of the Strike Force depends on you, and only you. Serve as bravely as these eleven did, and we shall never have cause to be ashamed.

“Thank you again.
Alt
Jaansma, take charge of your soldiers and dismiss them.”

• • •

The Kouros, Matin’s society section reported, were spending a protracted honeymoon on one of the family’s private islands.

• • •

“I remember,” Jaansma said thoughtfully, “I went with my parents on an animal-buying expedition once. Don’t remember what world it was, but it was pretty desert-y. We were buying flying reptiles.”

He and Yoshitaro’d been invited to the noncommissioned officers’ club at Camp Mahan by First Tweg Monique Lir. Normally thronged with noncoms from the ten-thousand-man unit, now it was cavernous, almost echoing.

At least, Lir’d told them, they didn’t have to worry about rationed suds, like the dispersed regiments had to until they’d made their own quiet arrangements. There was the whole Legion’s allotment to swill down, unless they wanted to shame I&R. But Yoshitaro noticed that none of the warrants were drinking heavily, any more than the two officers. If it came down right now, nobody wanted to get bombed while bombed.

“Somebody actually
wanted
flying snakes?” Lir said. “As if the bastards aren’t enough just crawling up your legs.”

“People want thrills,” Garvin said. “The circus delivers.”

“Now I know why my folks never took me to one,” Monique said. “Brragh!”

“Second that emotion,” Njangu said. “But go on. Here you were, cute’n’cuddly little Garvin, toddlin’ around with all these writhers writhin’ at you from the skies.”

“Actually,” Garvin said, having patiently ignored the backchatter, “it wasn’t the snakes that got my eye, but some of the local furry rodents the snakes fed on. I remember watching these little bitty sorts, all furry and friendly, and how they’d scurry from bush to bush, always with one eye cocked up, to keep from becoming somebody’s dinner.”

He sipped at his beer, seemed finished with his story.

“So?” Monique demanded.

“So … the way things have been, I’m starting to understand those cute little buggers real well.”

“Got the moral,” Njangu said. “But you don’t look very cute and cuddly.”

“Nope,” Garvin said. “But I sure feel like an am-blin’ target.”

“Question?” Njangu asked quietly.

“Yeh?”

“You feel better?”

“About what?”

“Shit me nix, little brown brother,” Yoshitaro said. “About your former flame.”

“Her?”

“Her.”

“Have I ripped anybody’s lungs out lately?”

“Who didn’t need it? No,” Njangu said.

“Answers your question, doesn’t it?”

Njangu eyed his friend, decided that was enough answer for him.

• • •

It was another week before the alarms went off, first from one of the innermost ice giants, F-Cumbre, then echoed, within the hour, by other automated posts closer to D-Cumbre.

One ship, medium-sized, inbound.

More sophisticated if shorter-ranged sensors “saw” four patrol craft accompanying it.

The bigger ship was identified as an obsolescent Confederation
Remora-class
destroyer leader, the three patrol ships types unknown.

Shortly thereafter, coms set on the standard Confederation frequency clicked on:

“C-Cumbre Control, this is the
Corfe,
inbound from Larix and Kura, Protector Alena Redruth aboard. Request landing instructions for Confederation Base Camp Mahan.

“Members of the current Planetary Government are requested to attend Protector Redruth on his arrival.”

The voice, even filtered through com speakers, wasn’t asking, but demanding.

• • •

Fifteen Council members and
Caud
Rao nervously waited outside the still-sealed airlock of the
Corfe.
Behind them were thirty volunteers from the Legion, ostensibly an honor guard since Redruth was still a Confederation member, actually as much of a bodyguard for the Council as Rao could devise.

Each woman or man had, concealed under their dress uniforms, two magazines for their blasters, and small handguns hastily grabbed from Hedley’s “contingency” armory. They were also well trained in unarmed combat and knife fighting.

Hidden inside a hangar, its doors open a slit, a warrant ready to hit the door-lifter control, were two autocannonarmed Cookes. Garvin commanded one, Njangu the other. Garvin’s pilot was Rao’s driver,
Dec
Running Bear, his gunner
Finf
Ho Kang, the former ECM specialist with Ben Dill’s Grierson.

Yoshitaro had an equally skilled crew of hastily-picked volunteers.

The autocannons were fully loaded, and the gunners ready.

Garvin watched the
Corfe.
Its chaingun turrets were lifted, guns ready, and missile launch tubes unmasked.

“Stand by,” Garvin said. “Their hatch is coming open.”

The gangway hissed down, touched the tarmac. Four soldiers in dark green dropped down it, stood at attention, blasters ready.

A speaker crackled.

“I’d like to extend an invitation for you men and women of Cumbre’s government to board my flagship, so we may discuss matters of great urgency.”

Even through electronic filters, the invitation was, again, clearly a command.

The Council members exchanged looks, then slowly went up the gangway into the ship.

Waiting inside the lock was Protector Redruth, who still looked more like a stocky, balding low-level bureaucrat than the dictator of two systems.

“I welcome you,” he said, tone not at all friendly. “We have matters of great import to discuss. If you’ll accompany me to the conference room?”

A green-uniformed man came out with a detector and swept each of the Councilmembers, in spite of protests.
Caud
Rao made none. Nothing he had hidden on him would respond to any detector he was aware of.

“None of them are armed, Protector.”

“Good. This way, then?”

The men and women followed Redruth. Rao tried to take in everything, trying to reach an estimate of Redruth’s military. The
Corfe
was spotlessly kept, even if it was obsolescent, and the two weapons stations he peered into were manned by alert-looking soldiers, clean-cut and sharply dressed.

The conference room was paneled with false wood, old prints on the walls. It could have served any Rentier corporation well.

“If you’ll be seated,” Redruth said.

A door slid open, and a man Rao recognized as Celidon, Redruth’s military leader, came in. He wore dark green, as his soldiery, glittering with decorations, and a Sam Browne belt with pistol holstered on one side, dagger on the other. He was tall, muscled, with a scar along his forehead. He gave Rao a slight nod, looked at the Council members with chill amusement, but said nothing.