Legion Of The Damned - 02 - The Final Battle (6 page)

Booly was about to graduate thirty-third in his class, and therefore marched three ranks back, just behind the much-vaunted top twenty. Various parts of his body were sore from the previous night’s adventures but he hardly noticed. It was a proud moment, and one that he tried to memorize by absorbing the way it looked, smelled, and felt.

A row of Trooper IIs stood along the left side of the field, tall, angular shapes capable of killing everyone present in a few short seconds. They had a brooding quality, like pallbearers at graveside. Their armor was newly painted and rows of medals hung from their ceremonial harnesses. The cyborgs were fronted by rank after rank of enlisted personnel, instructors mostly, and the officers who ran the academy.

The enlisted people wore the epaulets, green shoulder strap, and red fringe that had been standard since 1930. with the green ties adopted in 1945,
the scarlet waist sashes authorized in 2090, and the collar comets added after the disastrous Battle of Four Moons in 2417. Some of the instructors were on loan from line outfits but most were assigned to the 1st Foreign Regiment, which supplied administrative services to the entire Legion.

But the item of clothing that gave the legionnaires their distinctive look, and was most reminiscent of the thousands who had preceded them, were the gleaming white hats they wore. Hats with short black bills known as the
kepi blanc
.

The stands, bright with bunting, lined the right side of the field and they were packed with civilian spectators. Careful to face forward, Booly searched the crowd from the comer of his eye, but was unable to spot his mother and father. But he knew they were there and the knowledge made him move with even greater precision.

There, just beyond the stage where General Ian St. James and other officials waited, Booly saw the tops of the flagpoles he had visited during the night, and the pennant he had raised. It would fly all day and be lowered that evening. And although no one would officially acknowledge the
flag’s
presence, or who had put it there, everyone knew. While some were disappointed at his success, most of his classmates seemed genuinely proud, something that gave Booly hope.

After colliding with General St. James and being allowed to escape, Booly had continued down the stairs and into the basement. Like a lot of basements, this one was the province of the building’s heating and cooling systems, all of which were computer controlled and tended by various kinds of low-order robots. They didn’t even turn a sensor in the cadet’s direction as he raced down the long underground passageway that connected Tonel Hall with Conrad Hall, better known to his peers as the “Ptomain Palace” after the seemingly poisonous meals served there.

A pair of double doors blocked his path and he shouldered them aside. The thick odor of cooking filled his nostrils and made him gag. A plebe picked the wrong moment to step out of a storeroom. The senior hit her and sent an avalanche of crockery crashing to the floor. Her arms wind-milled and she landed on her butt. Booly knew she was in for a long session on the quad. He felt sorry for her but knew that turning himself in wouldn’t lighten her punishment one iota.

The air was thick with moisture. An intersection loomed. Booly turned left, hit a puddle of water, and skidded into the opposite wall. He pushed off and resumed his race down the hall. An autocart full of kitchen garbage blocked the right side of the corridor. He dodged left. Another approached and he lunged right
. The objective was in sight. A pair of double doors that led out onto the loading dock. The word Exit glowed above them.

Would Riley be there? Or had he given up and left? Good old Riley, who, in spite of the academy’s best efforts to trim fifteen pounds off his five-and-a-half-foot frame, had not only retained the weight, but managed to add some more, and just barely squeaked through physical training. Still, Riley had the second highest GPA in the senior class, a fact that made him popular with instructors and a target for the same bullies who harassed Booly. A commonality that brought the two cadets together and forged a lasting friendship.

Booly hit the swinging doors. They banged on the outer walls. A pair of floods threw light across the loading dock. Riley heard the noise, popped to attention, saw who it was, and let his shoulders slump. His fatigues were rumpled and creased, as was any uniform that he wore longer than ten minutes. “Damn it, Booly . . . where the hell have you been? And what did you do? All hell broke loose on the quad.”

“I ran into a little trouble, that’s all. Is that the truck? Let’s go.”

Riley frowned and stood his ground. “Not till you give me a sitrep. Did you raise the pennant?”

Booly glanced at the doors. The kitchen plebe would have reported the collision by now and a noncom could arrive at any moment. “Yes, sir, General, sir, I raised the pennant, sir. Man, I feel sorry for any poor sonovabitch that ends up reporting to you!”

Riley grinned and punched Booly on the shoulder. “So do I! Come on . . . what are you waiting for? Let’s haul ass!”

The truck was a glorified garbage wagon with separate sections for organic waste, metal, plastic, and paper. Booly figured the paper bin would be the most comfortable and least disgusting place to hide. He climbed in, pulled armfuls of paper over his head, and heard the lid slam shut. The truck jerked into motion a few moments later.

Riley had used his charm, his position as an upperclassman, and a hefty bribe to “borrow” the truck from a plebe on garbage duty. The plebe was now waiting at the campus transfer station hoping nothing went wrong.

Booly felt his heart skip a beat as the truck slowed and came to a halt. It was way too soon for the residence hall so that meant a check of some sort. Seconds became minutes. The cadet heard muffled voices. Metal squealed as a bin was opened, then clanged as someone let go.

Then it was his turn. A voice said “Let’s take a look in here.” Hinges squeaked and a flashlight played across the trash over Booly’s head. Light leaked through layers of paper and he was ready to surrender when the lid crashed down.

Another bin was checked, followed by a period of silence and a distinct jerk, as Riley applied too much power and the truck lunged into motion. Fifteen minutes later he was in Danjou Hall, in his room, snuggled under the covers. Riley got rid of the truck and returned twenty minutes later. Booly described his journey over the roofs, Riley marveled over the encounter with General St. James, and they wondered how graduation would go. Riley dropped off after a while but Booly lay awake until reveille sounded. There was a lot to think about, including the upcoming visit with his parent
s, and the question of orders. He had put in for the 2d REP, the elite airborne regiment, but so had half of his peers.

A distant part of Booly’s mind, the part that had learned to march while half-asleep, heard the preparatory command and came to a halt with the others. The sun warmed the left side of his face, the sweet scent of newly cut grass filled his nostrils, and birds chirped in the surrounding trees. This was the moment he had looked forward to for six long years. He looked up at the speaker’s platform. It was white and draped with regimental flags.

General Ian St. James gazed out over a sea of gleaming white kepis and felt his chest swell with pride. There had been a time hundreds of years ago when the Legion had been led by French officers, some of whom sought such an assignment as the means to promotion, while others served because they had to. A few were outstanding officers, but many were not, and the Legion had suffered at their hands. Which was why the academy was so important. By training its own leaders, by instilling them with pride, the Legion insured its future. He smiled. His voice boomed through the public-address system.

“You arrived as children. You survived six years of hard work to emerge as men and women. You are the best, and we will need the best to meet the challenges ahead, for freedom is never entirely won. Never forget that there are those who want what we have, who would enslave us, or kill us because of what we
might
do. You have the will, the strength, and the training to stop them. Your presence on this field is proof of that. Therefore it is my honor, no, my
privilege,
to grant you commissions in Confederacy’s Armed Forces.
Vive la Legion!”

The answering shout was so loud that it scared birds from the trees.
“Vive la Legion!”

There were more speeches after that, including one from Anguar’s secretary of defense, but they were more the benefit of the spectators and news me
dia than the cadets themselves. Like his peers, Booly felt a sense of relief and anticipation when General St. James returned to the podium.

St. James took one last look at the cadets, the field, and the campus beyond. A robotic news cam floated in for a better shot. No one else knew it yet, but this was his final year in the Legion and his last appearance before a graduating class. He had given the Legion thirty-nine years of his life and that was enough. His wife would be pleased. He smiled and hundreds of upturned faces smiled back. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, all good things must come to an end, and that includes congratulatory speeches.”

The words echoed off distant buildings, laughter rippled through the ranks, and St. James nodded sympathetically. “Yes, the time has come to leave the Academy and apply the knowledge gained here.” His face grew serious. The laughter died away. “Cadet battalion, atten-hut!”

Six hundred forty-three men and women crashed to attention. A hush settled over the field. St. James paused, took a deep breath, and released it with two words: “Battalion . . . dismissed!”

A cheer went up, along with a blizzard of snowy white hats. Booly caught one, clapped it on his head, and exchanged high-fives with Riley. “Congratulations, Tom!”

“You too, Bill!”

“See you tonight?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Twenty hundred hours at the
Képi Blanc.”

Booly nodded, waved, and allowed the crowd to carry him toward the stands. He saw his mother first, partly because she was beautiful, and partly because she the only full-blooded Naa among the spectators. Booly found himself checking to see if his classmates were staring at her, felt ashamed of himself, and kept his eyes straight ahead. He loved his mother, and if the other cadets had a problem with that, then tough shit. He waved and forced his way through the crowd.

Windsweet waved back and swallowed the lump that filled her throat. Memories flooded back. She remembered how her father had ambushed a Legion patrol, how she had nursed a legionnaire back to health, how she had slowly but surely fallen in love with him, how he had fought a duel for the right to court her, how he had deserted to be with her, and how they had fled into the snow-capped mountains. And it was there, in the ruins of a long-abandoned Naa settlement, that her son had been conceived. A conception that some claimed was scientifically impossible, unless humans and Naa were r
elated somehow, or a miracle had occurred.

But Windsweet cared about none of that, for the young man with the big grin owned every bit of her heart not already given to his father, and nothing else mattered. She opened her arms and was swept away as Bill Booly, Jr., grabbed his mother and whirled her around. She laughed. “Stop that! Put me down!”

The cadet did as he was told. He held his mother at arm’s length. Her short, downy fur might have darkened a little, but the delicately shaped face, charcoal gray eyes, and the full, sensitive lips were just as he remembered them. She smelled like her name. Windsweet. Her voice was gentle and the words were Naa. Although the language
seemed
simple, different pitches could be employed to embellish or change meanings, making it quite complex. “Greetings, my son. I see you are a warrior now.”

Booly felt his heart swell with pride, for in the Naa culture the words “warrior” and “man” were synonymous. His father stepped forward. He spoke Naa like a native but his words were in Standard. “Your mother is correct, son, you look like a recruiting poster. Congratulations.”

Bill Booly, Jr., accepted the hand-to-forearm grip common to adult males and looked at his father. He had aged during the three years since they had last met. The hair, close cropped as always, was thinner now and shot with gray. And the eyes, while no less blue, looked tired, and a bit distracted. He smiled. “Thanks, Dad. That means a lot coming from you.”

The elder Booly shrugged and smiled wryly. “I hope
your
career in the Legion goes better than mine did. Here . . . your mother has something for you.”

Windsweet smiled and offered her husband a box. He removed the lid. A second lieutenant’s blue kepi and shoulder boards were nestled inside. The gift was expected, and identical to ones being received all around him, but it felt special nonetheless. As his mother buttoned the shoulder boards into place, and his father placed the hat on his head, Booly was transformed from cadet to officer.

The moment felt good, so good he couldn’t stop grinning, and still had a grin on his face when they left the stands and headed for the long black limo that hovered at the curb. It was then that a corporal in the famed 1st REC crossed their path and snapped a salute in Booly’s direction. The young officer returned it just as smartly, asked the NCO to wait for a moment, and gave him the fifty-credit note he had pocketed for that very purpose. It was an old tradition that had originated in another army and been adopted by the first senior class. The corporal smiled, rendered a second salute, and d
id a neat about-face.

There was no way of knowing whether the corporal had simply happened along, or timed his passage to coincide with the flood of new lieutenants, but
Booly saw what seemed like an unusual number of enlisted people lurking in the area, all saluting like mad. He laughed, waved to a distant Tom Riley, waited while his parents entered the car, and slid into the rear-facing seat. It was dark and smelled of leather.