Legion Of The Damned - 01 - Legion of the Damned (20 page)

There were ten or fifteen people present. Some were toadies, some were members of the general’s personal bodyguard, and the rest were duty grunts, stuck with operating the com gear or providing administrative support. All of them looked his way.

“What the hell’s going on here?”

General Nathan Kopek was a slim young man with hooded eyes and pouty lips. He was in the process of donning an ornate set of battle armor with the help of his batman.

“I believe it is customary to address superior officers as ‘sir’ or ‘madam.’ Please do so.”

“Yes,
sir
. So what the hell’s going on here,
sir
?”

Kopek saw the muddy bootprints and frowned disapprovingly.

“We are in the process of preparing a surprise attack. Something you would be well aware of if you spent more time attending to your duties and less time in the sack.”

Baldwin searched the other man’s eyes, looked for the dilated pupils typical of Gar weed users, and found them. They looked like lakes of darkness. Kopek was using, and subject therefore to all the drug’s effects, including delusions of grandeur, a false sense of omnipotence, and occasional hallucinations. Baldwin fought the desire to yell and scream. It was extremely important to remain rational and in control.

“I see. And the target of this attack?”

The batman fumbled a closure and Kopek pushed him away. He buttoned the flap himself. His eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. “Geek central, the nursing complex at Alpha Three, Zebra Seven.”

Baldwin considered what Kopek had said. The humans had known about the nursing complex for some time. Almost all of the indig’s offspring were born there, entering the world in one of the many birthing caves, where they were warmed by natural hot springs and blessed by the priesthood. It was a holy place, and a poor one to attack, since doing so would earn the humans a level of hatred that no amount of diplomacy would ever erase.

But there were other reasons to avoid the place as well. Military reasons that the general had chosen to ignore. The nursing complex was located deep inside a mesa-shaped mountain. The mountain had sheer walls and was surrounded by an impenetrable rain forest on one side and a rushing river on the other. The only practical way to get into the place would be to land on top of the mountain and fight down through a veritable maze of tunnels and caves. Each foot of the way would be contested by fanatical warriors, defending not just their freedom but the very existence of their race. S
uch an attack would be more than suicidal, it would be unbelievably stupid and would lead to disastrous results.

Baldwin swallowed hard. “Sir, I beg you to reconsider. It will be extremely difficult to penetrate the tunnel complex. The indigs will defend every foot of tunnel to the death and hate us forever if we win.”

Kopek nodded as if he had expected those very arguments. “Just the sort of rationalizations one would expect from a slacker and a coward. Your request to reconsider is denied.”

Baldwin came to attention. “In that case I request the general’s permission to lead the assault.”

Kopek waved the words away and allowed his batman to hand him a gold-tipped swagger stick. “Don’t be silly. I have no intention of granting you a position from which you can sabotage my efforts. No, you’ll be where cowards should be, safe and sound. Guards! Place Colonel Baldwin under arrest and throw him in the stockade.”

Baldwin was still screaming his objections when the guards threw him into the muddy stockade, still pleading when the troop carriers lifted off, and still crying long after the sound of their engines had disappeared.

The subsequent massacre, in which Kopek was one of the first to die, had made headlines clear across the empire. It was dramatic stuff.

Never mind that the attack had been poorly conceived, never mind that more than two thousand soldiers had died, and never mind that the indigs had pushed the humans back onto their isolated fire bases. Kopek’s incompetence would reflect poorly on his uncle, so the truth was twisted into something new and delivered all over the empire.

Kopek was transformed from incompetent to hero. The Emperor himself had laid a wreath on the young warrior’s coffin. Statues had been erected on every world that wanted an Imperial favor, three different and wildly inaccurate holo vids had been shot, and Colonel Alexander Baldwin had been court-martialed.

He was completely excoriated, labeled as a coward, and stripped of his rank. Someone had to take the fall, someone had to pay the price, and he was the logical choice.

It was the bitterness generated by this injustice that had burned its way to the core of Baldwin’s soul, had cut the threads of his humanity and set him on the path towards revenge.

 

Norwood felt a momentary sense of confusion as she floated free of Baldwin’s memories and became herself once more. Raft One sent soothing thoughts.

“The one called Baldwin sleeps now. He will feel better when he awakes.”

“What about his mission? You wanted to speak with a soldier.”

“I
am
speaking with a soldier,” Raft One replied easily. “A sane soldier. We would value your advice.”

Norwood thought out loud. “My guess is that the Hudathans would like to recover their ship but are willing to sacrifice it if need be.”

“Yes,” Raft One agreed, “Baldwin’s thoughts confirm what you say. There’s something else as well. It’s his belief that the one called
Poseen-Ka is, how do you say, ‘stalling for time.’ Deliberately avoiding combat while he waits for your race to react.”

“How very interesting,” Norwood mused. “I wonder what Poseen-Ka really thinks. Well, regardless of that, the fact remains that the Hudatha have the means to destroy your planet without coming in range of your mental powers.”

“That is correct,” Raft One confirmed. “We acted without consideration of the consequences.”

“Then you have very little choice,” Norwood thought. “You must negotiate the best terms you can.”

“What about the human soldiers?” Raft Three asked. “Will they come to our aid?”

Norwood gave the mental equivalent of a shrug. “A few weeks ago I would have said yes, but I’m no longer certain. I hope so, but Baldwin’s memories reveal how flawed our leadership can be, so there’s no guarantee. All you can do is make a deal and hope for the best.”

“They could destroy us the moment that we release their ship,” Raft Three said suspiciously.

“Maybe,” Norwood agreed, “but I doubt it. To destroy you would be to destroy your abilities, and it’s my guess that the Hudatha would like to study you, something they won’t have time to do until the war is over.”

“It’s risky,” Raft Two put in, “but we don’t have much choice.”

Norwood delighted in the sunlight, the gentle movement of the ocean, and the presence of the Say’lynt.

“No, my friends. The truth of the matter is that you have no choice at all.”

Again, in basic training, we had been forbidden to say please or thank you as such words implied the existence of gratitude, charity, and benevolence.

Ex-legionnaire Christian Jennings
Mouthful of Rocks
Standard year 1989

 

 

 

 

 

Angel Perez stopped just inside the tree line where the combination of the shadows and his camouflage would make him difficult to see. He swept the area for electronic activity, came up empty, and dumped his detectors. The principle was second nature by now. Instructors had screamed it while he was awake and machines had whispered it during his sleep.

“Detection equipment is a two-edged sword. It can find the enemy or reveal your presence. Use it sparingly.”

The meadow appeared to be empty, but appearances can be deceiving, so Perez knew better than to take the situation at face value. He boosted his vid cams to high mag and searched the area for any of a hundred possible signs—dead grass that could indicate the roof of an underground installation, loose soil that could conceal a minefield, tire tracks, tread marks, old campfires—but the meadow gave no hint of those or any other threats. It was lush with green grass, dotted with yellow and blue wildflowers, and broken here and there by weathered boulders. They were large enough to conceal a few
bio bods or a small vehicle, but it didn’t seem likely.

The rest of his company, a mixed force of cyborgs, bio bods, and native troops, was coming up fast. Perez had the point. The transmission was short and scrambled.

“Red Dog One to Pointer Six. Report. Over.”

“Pointer Six to Red Dog One. I have a visual all-clear tree line to ridge line. Over.”

“Roger that. Uplink authorized. Scope the reverse side of the ridge. Over.”

“Roger.”

Perez selected the appropriate frequency, made contact with one of three sky-eyes assigned to that particular area, and took a peek through its vid cam. Shit! There was armor on the other side of the ridge! Big stuff just waiting for his company to emerge from the tree line.

The cyborg activated the command channel just as the enemy identified the sky-eye and blew the device out of the sky.

“Pointer Six to Red Dog One. Over.”

“This is Red Dog One. Go, Pointer Six.”

“There are fifteen to twenty heavies dug in on the reverse side of the slope. I have a ninety-six percent match with indig armor. Over.”

“Roger, Red Dog One. Sit tight. Over.”

Perez allowed himself a brief moment of relaxation. The training exercise was just that, a virtual-reality scenario created to test recruits like Perez.

Which explained why he couldn’t remember what the company CO looked like, where the outfit had been the day before yesterday, or what planet he was on. Perez knew that the instructors could have filled those gaps had they chosen to but saw no need.

After all, why bother? The meadow
looked
real, the breeze
felt
real, and the situation
was
real for all practical purposes, since his life depended on the outcome. Unlike bio bods, cyborgs were subjected to something called the “graduation exercise,” or GE, which they either passed or failed. The GE was the culmination of basic training, the final test of all that the recruits had learned, and so close to actual combat that the two were virtually indistinguishable. If Perez passed, he’d be admitted to the ranks of the Legion, and if he failed, his life would be forfeit just
as it would be in actual combat.

The GE was a brutal uncompromising test designed to separate the weak from the strong and the dull from the bright. It stemmed from simple economics. It cost very little to train and equip a bio bod. But the technologically sophisticated bodies provided to cyborgs were expensive, a fact that made it worth the Legion’s while to identify the most durable and agile minds. The rest were destroyed, as they would have been anyway, had they been executed or allowed to die of natural causes. No one knew how or when that death would come, only that it would, and that no exceptions we
re made. Perez pushed the thought away.

He’d come a long way since first awakening. He’d endured the insults, the zappers, and the endless mind-numbing drill. He’d learned new skills, overcome bad habits, and survived where Morales, Sibley, Lisano, Ho, and Contas had died. Yes, the very thing that had destroyed some of his fellow recruits had strengthened Perez and made him better.

The critical moment had arrived during a field exercise. The squad had done well for once and earned a ten-minute break. It takes effort to keep a trainer on its feet, so the recruits had lowered themselves to the ground, and discussed the relative merits of bestiality.

Most of the stories were lies, but the conversation caused the recruit to look around and realize what jerks his companions were. It was a moment of Epiphany, of sudden realization, when Perez accepted the fact that he was no better than they were, and probably worse. The decision to change that, to make himself a better person, had seemed like the logical thing to do.

During the days that followed he dealt with the loss of his body, accepted the fact that it was his own fault, and decided to make amends. Assuming such a thing was possible, that is.

“Red Dog One to Pointer Six. Heads up. We’re on your tail. Over.”

Perez checked his forward-looking sensors again and came up empty. He triggered his radio. “Roger that, Red Dog One. Over.”

Then they were all around him, quads, the earth shaking under their pod-shaped feet, Trooper IIs like himself, trees swaying where massive shoulders had brushed them, and bio bods, slipping from one shadow to the next like evil spirits.

The quads would cross the open space first, followed by a mix of Trooper IIs and bio bods, with the lightly armored support vehicles and native troops bringing up the rear.

The enemy armor would get in some licks, but the vacuum jockeys would keep the bastards pinned until the quads could finish them off. Some of the legionnaires, members of the 2nd REP, would go straight up the scree-covered slope, but most of the force had been divided into two groups and ordered to sweep around opposite ends of the hill.

Perez was impatient and eager to get the whole thing over with. He welcomed the order when it came.

“Red Dog One to Red Dog Force. Let’s kick some ass. Over.”

The quads stepped out into the open and a trio of heavily armored ground support aircraft screamed out of the sky. Fingers of white appeared along their wings and pointed towards the enemy. The missiles made dull thumping sounds as they hit, and smoke boiled up from the other side of the ridge.

A barrage of SAMs rose to greet the planes. They rolled, split formation, and dumped chaff. Some of the missiles went for it and some didn’t. Of those that didn’t, most were destroyed by antimissile missiles, but at least two made it through. Both hit the same aircraft. It exploded in midair and rained debris on the enemy. Perez waited for a chute but didn’t see one.