Legion Of The Damned - 01 - Legion of the Damned (29 page)

The lock blew. Dakna-Ba felt concrete spatter against his armor. He went through the door low, his weapon spitting death, knowing the defenders had the advantage. And they did, or more accurately Red did, beca
use the grenade blew the Hudathan’s left leg off. Death followed a fraction of a second later.

The ensuing battle was bloody but relatively short-lived, since Spinhead had orders to blow the control center the moment that Red went down. There were no survivors.

 

Leonid ground his teeth in frustration as the third ship dropped into place. The ramp was shaky and the Hudathans could retaliate at any moment. He had seconds, minutes at most, to launch the ship and jump clear. Star divers four, five, and six would go unused. The button made the transition from amber to red. Leonid brought his fist down. The ship sped down the ramp, fired its drives, and headed for the last of the Hudathan ships. The second star diver hit its target, blew up, and bathed Spindle in white light.

Leonid waved his fist at them. “Take that, you bastards!” It was then that the ship-mounted energy cannons turned Leonid, the ramp, and the remaining star divers into a lake of molten metal.

 

“Target destroyed.”

The words barely registered on Niber-Ba as he fought to save his command. There was no time to move the ship, no time to regret the decisions he’d made, and no time to lose. A third star diver was on the way and it was aimed at him.

“Target primary, secondary, and tertiary weapons systems on the human ship. Fire!”

The primary and secondary weapons systems were computer-controlled and responded immediately. Missiles slipped out of their launch tubes, energy beams leaped through the darkness, and the Dwarf bit his lip. The ship was close and still accelerating ...

Missiles hit, exploded, and cut the star diver in two. One half tumbled off towards the sun, but the other turned end over end and headed straight for the Hudathan battleship.

A klaxon went off somewhere in the background and Niber-Ba heard himself screaming over the interface. “Raise the screens! Fire! Fire! Fire!”

But there was no time to raise the screens, and even though the main batteries continued to fire, the wreckage absorbed the additional damage and kept on coming. It hit the Hudathan ship broadside, triggered a massive explosion, and disappeared along with its target.

 

Captain Omar Narbakov shielded his eyes from the momentary glare. “Well, I’ll be goddamned. Three for three.” He chinned his radio.

“N-One to Boss One.”

Silence.

“Hey, Leo, it’s me, Omar. You did it, you miserable sonofabitch, you did it!”

Nothing.

Narbakov shook his head sadly and looked around. There was still some scattered fighting but the humans had won. His ragtag force of legionnaires and civilian irregulars had won on the ground, and whatever fighters and troop carriers the aliens had left would be forced to surrender. Deprived of their mother ships, they had neither the fuel nor computer capacity to travel through deep space.

Then it occurred to him. In spite of his determination to die a glorious death, he was inexplicably alive. Not only that, but his duties had prevented him from getting involved in the fighting, and he’d never been in any real danger. And now, thanks to the fact that he’d survived, there was an enormous amount of work to do. Launch message torps toward Earth, repair the habitat, tend to the wounded, the list went on and on. Shoulders slumped beneath the weight of his responsibilities, Narbakov trudged off towards his makeshift command post.

 

Seeger checked to make sure that his area was secure and headed for a distant spire. It looked like a finger pointing towards space. Given the length of his legs and the near absence of gravity, it was easy to cover lots of ground in a short period of time.

The signs of battle were everywhere. Sunlight winked off a half-slagged antenna, the wreckage of a Hudathan troop carrier drifted past, a blast-darkened crater marked a cyborg’s last stand, and a helmet bounced off the legionnaire’s shoulder.

But Seeger’s eyes were on the spire and the jumble of debris around its base, for that was the place where he had hidden Marie. There’d been no backup body to put her in, and no surety that the habitat would remain secure, so he’d rigged an oxygen supply, a nutrient drip, and a solar array, and left Marie where she’d be safe. Or should be anyway, barring accidents or plain bad luck.

“Marie? Can you hear me?”

Her reply was reassuringly acerbic. “Damned right I can hear you. As can anyone else within a hundred klicks!”

Seeger felt warm inside. “So who gives a shit? We kicked their butts.”

He stepped between a couple of boulders, lifted one out of the way, and remembered what it felt like to smile. She was there, all right, a head, shoulders, and torso that would have looked grotesque to anyone else, but meant everything to him.

“Hi, baby.”

“Hi, ya big lug.”

“You ready to haul ass?”

“I would be, except that I seem to have misplaced it somewhere.”

“No problem. Help will arrive soon, and we’ll submit a req for a brand-new ass.”

“I love you, Seeg.”

“Yeah, I love you too. Come on, let’s get the hell outta here.”

And with that the cyborg freed Marie from the jury-rigged life support systems, tucked her under his right arm, and stepped out into the sunlight. It felt good to be alive.

Legio patria nostra,
or “The Legion Is Our Country.”

Motto of the French Foreign Legion Standard year (approximate) 1835
This motto was established after
the Legion was “ceded” to the
Spanish government as an act of
political convenience. Forced to
take part in a Spanish civil war,
the Legion fought bravely, often
without pay, rations, or uniforms.
Of the 4,000 Legionnaires who
took part, roughly 500 survived.
Almost totally decima
ted, the Legion
was reinvented on December
16, 1835.

 

 

 

 

 

General Ian St. James knew what the orders were long before they appeared on the screen. It was a moment he had dreaded, and put off as long as he dared, knowing he’d be forced to make a terrible decision. He touched a key. Words flooded the screen.

St. James read the last paragraph again. He’d never seen anything like it. Rather than assume the blind obedience that human military tradition called for, Scolari had threatened him. A fact that could mean nothing or a great deal.

Where was Marianne in all this? Why did the orders originate from Scolari rather than her? There were a lot of potential answers and none of them pleasant.

St. James frowned, sent the orders to his printer, and waited for six sets of hard copy to whir out.

Then, with the frown firmly in place, and his eyes on the floor, he left his quarters for the situation room. It was located a hundred feet down the main corridor and was guarded by a Trooper II. The cyborg crashed to attention as St. James entered.

The situation room was huge, large enough to house a hundred people if necessary, and very spartan. The walls were opaque at the moment, but had the capacity to transform themselves into a multiplicity of screens, all of which were linked to a powerful battle computer located twelve stories underground.

His staff rose as the door hissed closed. They stood around a circular table made of native hardwood, cut from the forests that bordered the Towers of Algeron and handcrafted by members of the Legion’s Pioneers. The wood came in a variety of hues, including red, brown, and a light, almost blond color, that had been worked into the table mosaic style to form a star.

St. James forced a smile. “Take your seats. You’ll be glad you did.”

So saying, the officer walked the circumference of the table and handed hard copy to each member of his staff.

There was Colonel Alice Goodwin, commanding officer of the 1st Foreign Infantry Regiment, or 1st RE. Forty-five or so, she had a badly scarred face and a determined mouth. She, and the legionnaires under her command, had responsibility for the Legion’s administrative affairs.

Goodwin had been a line officer once, and a damned good one, having earned the sobriquet “Crazy Alice” when she attacked an enemy machi
ne-gun nest single-handed. The resulting wounds had taken her out of the field but not out of the Legion. St. James could count on her anytime and anyplace.

There was the dark and volatile Colonel Pierre Legaux. He commanded the 1st Foreign Cavalry Regiment, or 1st REC, 90 percent of which were cyborgs. Light gleamed off the officer’s metal parts and caused St. James to wonder if the rumors were true.

The Legion had a long-standing rule that bodies more than 51 percent artificial were classified as cyborgs ... and cyborgs were not qualified for command. So how did Legaux, who looked like he was at least 70 percent artificial, manage to retain bio-bod status? There were plenty of theories, most of which centered around corrupt medical personnel, but no one knew for sure. Except Legaux, that is, and he wasn’t talking. But one thing was for sure: the cyborgs had a profound trust for their commanding officer and would follow him through the gates of hell. Yes, Legaux was an asset.

If Legaux was an asset, then the next officer, Lieutenant Colonel Andre Vial, was a question mark. Though possessed of a good record, and competent enough, there was something about the man that St. James didn’t trust. Was it the slick ingratiating personality? The preening good looks? The innuendos aimed at his peers? Whatever it was annoyed St. James and caused him to wonder about the officer’s loyalty. But as luck would have it, Vial commanded Algeron’s contingent of the 5th Foreign Infantry Regiment, or 5th REI, most of which was spread out across a dozen rim worlds. He’d h
ave a role in what came next but a small one.

Then came Lieutenant Colonel Jennifer Jozan, a tiny little thing with black hair, snub nose, and a perpetual twinkle in her eye. She loved practical jokes, and was forever playing them on her superiors and subordinates alike, a habit that did nothing to lessen everyone’s affection for her. But she was tough, and commanded the 13th Demi-Brigade de Legion Étrangère, or 13th DBLE, with an iron hand, which accounted for the nickname “Iron Jenny.”

Next was Lieutenant Colonel Tam Tran, a diminutive man with an extremely keen mind and a whipcord body. He commanded the famed 2nd Foreign Parachute Regiment, or 2nd REP, and his green beret lay on the table in front of him. Known for leading from the front, Tran was an asset indeed, and would play a key role in the difficult days ahead.

Last, but certainly not least, was his XO and personal friend, Colonel Edwina Augusta Jefferson, better known to her friends as just plain “Ed,” the real power behind his throne. She had an excellent mind, a robust sense of humor, coal-black skin, and a body that weighed more than 250 pounds. Most of the weight came in the form of muscle, and god help anyone who got in her way. She commanded the 2nd Foreign Infantry Regiment, or 2nd REI, and had just returned from the rim. Her report would help lay the groundwork for a decision.

St. James rounded the table, found his chair, and sat down.

“All right ... you’ve seen the orders. What do you think?”

There was silence for a moment as the officers glanced at each other across the table. Forthright as always, Legaux went first. Light reflected off the metal plate that had replaced the left side of his face. A servo whined as he held the hard copy aloft. His vocal cords had been replaced by a synthesizer and his voice sounded hoarse.

“The orders are a travesty. Algeron will be forfeit if we obey them, and worse than that, the entire rim as well. Scolari is an idiot.”

“Scolari is
anything
but an idiot,” Jozan said softly. “She cares more about the Navy, and about her own career, than the good of her empire.”

“Yes,” Tran agreed. “This is the first step of many. Scolari intends to sacrifice the rim worlds and gain control of the Legion in the process.”

“
If
we let her,” Legaux muttered darkly.

“What choice do we have?” Goodwin asked. “Orders are orders.”

There was silence for a moment as the officers thought about that.

It was then that St. James turned to Vial. “What about you, Andre? What do you think?”

Vial had been dreading this moment, dreading the necessity to take sides, knowing the others would settle for nothing less. It was the worst situation he could think of, one in which his commanding officer had allowed subordinates to tread the thin ice of insubordination, and was inviting him to do likewise. Whatever he said, whatever he did, could come back to haunt him. Vial summoned his most serious expression and chose his words with extreme care.