Legion Of The Damned - 01 - Legion of the Damned (41 page)

 

The VIP suite boasted dark red walls, gold trim, and ornate handcrafted furniture. Regimental emblems had been framed and hung on the walls along with a selection of ancient hand weapons and some bloodstained flags. It made for a rather somber setting and Chien-Chu would be glad to escape it. He put his hands on his daughter-in-law’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. They were level with his.

“Are you sure? Twelve ships have dropped hyper during the last hour. Scolari will deliver an ultimatum of some sort, St. James will refuse, and the marines will land.” He shrugged. “After that, who knows. The Legion stands a good chance ... but nothing is certain.”

Natasha forced a smile. “Yes, I’m sure. I can be useful here. The Cabal needs a representative on Algeron. You said so yourself. Besides, based on what I’ve heard during the last few days, Earth will be just as dangerous.”

Chien-Chu allowed his hands to fall. Natasha was right. He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. “I should’ve known better than to argue with you. Take care of yourself. Nola will kill me if anything happened to you.”

Natasha laughed. “Look who’s talking! The same man who’s leading a revolution and preparing for interstellar war.
You
take care.”

Chien-Chu nodded and searched for words that didn’t come. A way to tell her that he understood, that her feelings for St. James were right, that Leonid would want her to be happy.

A tear trickled down Natasha’s cheek. Pearly white teeth caught and held her lower lip. “You’re a wonderful man, Sergi. The human race is lucky to have you.”

Chien-Chu waved the compliment away and reached for his suitcase. “Don’t be silly. I’m an idiot who allowed himself to get dragged into a horrible mess and can’t find a way out. There’s nothing noble about that.”

A chime sounded. Natasha dabbed at her tears and headed for the door. It swished aside.

Ian St. James wore battle dress and a sidearm. He looked tired. His eyes met Natasha’s and softened.

“Hello, Natasha. Is Sergi ready? We’re short on time. The first scout ships will drop into orbit three or four hours from now. We’re cutting it close as is.”

“Fuss, fuss, fuss,” Chien-Chu said cheerfully. “What’re we waiting for? It’s time to go.”

St. James and Natasha looked at each other, grinned, and allowed Chien-Chu to pass.

They made a strange trio as they walked down the corridors, the ramrod-straight soldier, the graceful young woman, and the chubby merchant.

But they were hardly noticeable in the bustling hallways, as battle-ready bio bods, cyborgs, and robots hurried to join their units. In hours, days at the most, they would be fighting for their lives. Not against aliens, who were still moving inwards, but fellow humans. It seemed that the second battle of Camerone would be just as pointless as the first.

 

The cabin was as austere as the woman who occupied it. It consisted of gray metal walls, indirect lighting, a sophisticated com terminal, and a fold-down bed that was presently retracted. In spite of the fact that she had occupied the space for several weeks, there was not a single family picture, piece of bric-a-brac, or other expression of the inner woman to be seen.

Admiral Paula Scolari finished her spartan breakfast, wiped imaginary crumbs from her lips, and scrolled through the last few.screens of the intelligence summary. Though the prospect of attacking a human-occupied world was basically repugnant, there were advantages. Like the fact that the Legion’s primary, secondary, and tertiary defense plans were on file with NAVCOM Earth and therefore available to her. She also had access to their personnel rosters, supply inventories, and much, much more.

Knowing what the enemy would do before they did it was a rare luxury and one that she intended to enjoy. The admiral smiled, stood, and pulled the uninflated helmet up and over her head. It smelled of plastic. Air entered through external vents. The suit would seal itself in an emergency and draw on a built-in air reservoir. It was uncomfortable but better than wearing full-fledged space armor all day long.

Scolari headed for the hatch. There was a spring in her step. St. James deserved a lesson and she looked forward to providing it. There would be additional benefits as well. With the exception of some minor ski
rmishes fought during her youth, Scolari had never directed a major campaign, and a decisive win would add to her credibility.

The men and women of the battleship
Sirus,
like all the others in Scolari’s fleet, had been at battle stations for more than an hour now. Ships were vulnerable when they dropped hyper and Scolari was cautious.

The normally busy main corridor was practically empty, so, with the exception of a lone maintenance bot, Scolari had the passageway to herself. The ship’s artificial gravity generators had been set at 1.5 gee to strengthen the marines. Scolari enjoyed the feel of the additional resistance.

A pair of marine guards crashed to attention as she approached the operations center. The heels of their right boots hit the deck at precisely the same moment that their Class IV assault rifles went vertical. Scolari nodded her approval, taking pleasure in the recognition of her rank and the precision with which it was rendered.

The hatch slid aside and Scolari entered the ops center. All three watches were present, bringing the total number of people in the compartment up to thirty or so, making things a bit crowded.

Like Scolari, the ops center staff wore lightweight pressure suits that would automatically inflate if the compartment was holed. Their helmets, which were transparent, hung down around their faces like folds of translucent skin. They looked more alien than human as they hunched over their screens and muttered into their microphones.

An officer materialized at Scolari’s elbow. His name was Wheeler and his normally attractive features looked grotesque through the heavy-duty plastic. The helmet muffled his voice.

“Welcome to the ops center, Admiral. Captain Kedasha is making her rounds. We’re right on schedule.”

Scolari nodded her approval. “Any sign of the transports?”

Wheeler knew what she meant. The transports sent to evacuate the Legion had never been heard from again.

“No, ma’am. The intelligence reports were accurate. The ships are gone.”

Scolari nodded again. Lieutenant Colonel Vial had been correct. St. James
had
loaded the transports with reinforcements and sent them to the rim worlds. Good. The Hudatha would cut them down to size and make her job that much easier.

A com tech wormed his way through the crowd and whispered something in Wheeler’s ear. He turned to Scolari. “One of our scouts reports that a ship has lifted and is headed out-system.”

“Profile?”

The tech whispered something more in Wheeler’s ear.

“A relatively small Class IX courier or yacht.”

“Let it go. We have bigger fish to fry.”

The tech nodded and disappeared into the crowd.

“We’re in com range?”

Wheeler nodded. “Yes, Admiral. Easily.”

“Excellent. Get General St. James on-screen. I want to talk to him.”

It took five minutes for the signal to reach Algeron, another five to find St. James, and five more to get him on-screen. He wore a crisp set of camos and his face looked bleak. Scolari saw combat-equipped legionnaires moving around in the background and knew that his forces were as ready as hers. More so since the planet was fortified.

“Hello, Admiral. Nice of you to drop in.”

Scolari squinted through plastic. She could feel everyone in the operations center staring at her. She was conscious of how her statement would sound to the Emperor, to the public, and to the historians who would study the campaign.

“I’m only going to say this once ... so listen carefully. You have been charged with dereliction of duty, refusal to obey lawful orders, incitement to mutiny, and high treason. On behalf of the Emperor, and in accordance with the relevant military codes, I hereby relieve you of command, and order that you step down. You will surrender yourself to the military police and be confined to quarters until I arrive. Lieutenant Colonel Andre Vial has been appointed to take your place.”

Only those who knew St. James extremely well would have noticed the slight tic in his right eyelid and understood what it meant. His expression was otherwise unchanged.

“Lieutenant Colonel Vial is somewhat incapacitated at the moment. It seems that my intelligence people caught him trying to load and launch an unauthorized message torp. As for stepping down and surrendering myself to traitors, the answer is no. The Legion will stand against tyranny even if it comes from within.”

Scolari’s jaw worked and her fists were clenched into balls of bony flesh. “Then say your prayers.” The Admiral made a cutting motion with her right hand and the video snapped to black.

 

Bio bods, cyborgs, and vehicles of all sorts had poured out of Fort Camerone for hours now. Radios crackled, orders snapped, engines revved, servos whined, boots stamped, and gears ground as they headed out into the wastelands. The lights that normally lit the parade ground had been extinguished, but the sun was in the process of rising, so it was possible to see.

Long dark shadows slanted down from the walls, rippled across the jam-packed grinder, and gave Booly a place to hide. Escaping from the base hospital had been as easy as walking away. Now came the hard part: breaking his word of honor, betraying those that trusted him, and discarding his way of life. But if desertion was horrible, then the other possibility was even worse.

Windsweet had filled a space that he hadn’t even known existed, and having done so, had left an emptiness that only she could fill.

Booly had been thinking of her as General St. James pinned a medal to the front of his hospital robe, had dreamed about her that night and every night that followed, until it seemed as though he thought of nothing else and would explode if he didn’t see her, hear her voice, smell her perfume, or touch the fur that covered her body.

Booly’s breath came in short shallow gasps and his heart beat like a trip-hammer. His shoulder ached, nausea filled his stomach, and fear weakened his knees. To desert now, on the very eve of battle, was to sever all ties with the Legion and become an outcast. He would be hunted by aliens and humans alike, forced to scavenge a living from the surface of a harsh planet, all because of someone he should never have even known, much less loved.

But no matter what he told himself, no matter how much he tried to suppress the feelings, they wouldn’t go away. So he would trade what he had for what he couldn’t live without, and willingly pay the price.

A platform surfaced and a company of Trooper IIs clanked off. Some bio bods were right behind them. Elements of the 1st RE under the command of Colonel “Crazy Alice” Goodwin. She marched at the head of the troops, her badly scarred face a symbol of the sacrifice that she was willing to make, and expected others to make as well.

Booly waited for the legionnaires to climb into the waiting APCs, drifted out of the shadows, and marched briskly towards a heavily loaded hover truck. He carried a field pack stuffed with E-rations, twice the normal amount of ammo, and a brand-new assault rifle. He opened the passenger-side door, threw his gear inside, and climbed into the cab. It smelled like stale cigarette smoke. The driver was surprised but cordial.

“Hi, Sergeant Major ... need a ride?”

“Yeah, the brass had me on an administrative shit detail. Just busted loose. Have you seen Legaux? Or any of his staff?”

The driver wore a kepi tilted towards the back of his head. A cigarette rode the top of his left ear, and thick red eyebrows wiggled as he talked.

“I didn’t see him, but the 1st REC pulled out about three hours ago, or so I heard. A good thing too. Wouldn’t want the swabbies to catch the borgs in a trap. Don’t know where they headed, though ... so I might take you in the wrong direction.”

Booly nodded. “Well, the way I figure it, somewhere’s better than nowhere, so let’s go.”

Radios crackled and the column started to move. The truck in front of them rose on its fans. Grit sprayed sideways and rattled on the windshield. Turbines whined, the truck wobbled, and the cab tilted forward. The main gate came and went. The fortress and everything it stood for disappeared behind them.

 

The mobile command post (MCP) consisted of three linked units, each with its own set of tracks and individual power plant. The
vehicle, custom-designed for use on Algeron, looked like a segmented beetle as it crawled up and over gently rounded hills or waddled through low-lying gullies. A squad of six Trooper Ils accompanied the huge vehicle, scouting ahead and protecting its flanks.

Boulders popped under the MCP’s considerable weight and peppered the undercarriage with rock shrapnel. One of these, larger than the rest, caused module 2 to lurch sideways. Natasha lost her balance, slid toward the edge of the jump seat, and grabbed for a handhold. It made her conscious of where she was. The sights, sounds, and even the smells were foreign to her.

Module 2 functioned as a defensive nerve center and used encrypted radio transmissions to stay in touch with sensor stations all over the planet. A single aisle ran down the vehicle’s axis. Rows of computer-controlled equipment and camo-clad technicians sat to either side. It was their job to take raw intelligence, put it through sophisticated computer programs, and feed the resulting summaries to module 1, where St. James and his staff used the information to plot strategy.

Tactical problems, like those handled in module 3, relied on the sensor stations for data, but were dealt with by an artificial intelligence known as “Bob.” It was Bob’s job to counter incoming missiles, attack ships, and energy weapons that could reach down from space itself. Since the Legion had no air or space force of its own, Bob’s role was especially important, with most of his processing ability being dedicated to antiaircraft activity.