Legion Of The Damned - 06 - For Those Who Fell (7 page)

Lieutenant Lis Awanda served as both a platoon leader and the company's executive officer (XO). She shouted, “Company . . . Atten-hut!” and waited a beat before the follow-up. “B Company is ready for roll call and inspection,
sir!
”

The cyborgs were already at what amounted to attention, but the bio bods snapped to, and roll call began. The NCOs handled most of it, which meant that Santana had an additional opportunity to examine his new CO. Gaphy was around six feet tall and rail-thin. What flesh he had clung to his bones as if most of his substance had been sucked out of him. The company commander's face was little more than skin stretched over a skull, his eyes were nearly lost in deep-set sockets, and his ears looked as if they had been pinned to his head. Gaphy's uniform was immaculate, but the shirt he wore appeare
d to be a full size too large, while his trousers fit to perfection.

As the roll call came to an end, and the morning inspection began, Haaby felt a growing sense of anxiety. She was designated as Santana's mount, stood directly behind the lieutenant, and could see over the platoon leader's head.

Kuga-Ka was pissed about something, she could tell from subtle clues learned over the last few months, and that was a bad sign. Because whenever the gunny was unhappy, he had a tendency to take it out on the troops, and cyborgs in particular.

Things had been especially difficult during the weeks since Lieutenant Quito had transferred out. As senior NCO, Kuga-Ka had been assigned to lead the 2nd platoon until a new officer arrived. Except that rather than lead the 2nd, he bullied it, riding the T-2s like they were horses, forcing them to carry him around when they were supposed to be
off duty, and making liberal use of a bootlegged neural input device. Drill instructors were allowed to use “zappers” during basic training, and military police carried them as a matter of course, but no one else was supposed to have or use on
e of the controllers. But Kuga-Ka not only had one, he loved to use it, and Haaby had been zapped two times. Once when she refused to wrestle another T-2 out behind the NCO club—and once when the Hudathan forgot to strap himself in and fell off her back.

Now, as Gaphy and Kuga-Ka finished inspecting the 1st platoon, Haaby was worried but wasn't sure why. She and her comrades had a
real
platoon leader now, and if appearances meant anything, a good one. But the feeling wouldn't go away, and the T-2 felt herself tense up as Gaphy stopped in front of Santana, and the Hudathan moved in to examine her readouts.

As with all Trooper IIs, inspection plates were located on various parts of Haaby's mechanical anatomy. In order to thumb the higher ones open most humans had to stand on a footstool, but thanks to his additional height, Kuga-Ka had no need for such assistance.

The Hudathan called each reading out as he checked them. “Power, 98 percent. Coolant, 94 percent. Ammo, zero. Life support, 100 percent. Communications, uh-oh, what have we here? I'm sorry, Lieutenant Santana, but at 56 percent readiness, Corporal Haaby's com status falls well below minimums. Not a very good showing is it, sir?”

Haaby checked her own internal readouts, experienced a feeling of horror when she realized that the accusation was true, and wondered how such a thing could have occurred. In fact, one of the maintenance techs had checked her systems earlier that morning, and . . . Then it came to her. The tech had been bribed or forced to disable part of her com system. Not the short-range stuff, since she'd been using that, but something else. But why?

Santana heard the patronizing, almost condescending tone in the Hudathan's voice, and knew that whatever had occurred was payback for the incident the day before. Kuga-Ka knew the new lieutenant would want to make a good impression on Gaphy and was determined to embarrass him. Just as
he
had been embarrassed in front of his toadies. The cavalry officer looked up into the Hudathan's mocking eyes. “Yes, Sergeant. I would have to agree. Come see me about 1400 hours. I'd like to discuss what we can do to make sure that nothing like this
ever
happens again.”

It was an order—which meant Kuga-Ka had no choice but to obey. Not only that, but the way the response was worded, and the slight emphasis on
“ever,”
had a slightly ominous quality. “Sir, yes sir.”

“If you two have completed your little chat, it would be nice if we could move this process along,” Gaphy said irritably. “I realize that you have been dirtside for less than a full rotation, Lieutenant Santana, and am willing to grant you some momentary slack, but not after today. Corporal Haaby is
your
responsibility, and I expect more of my officers, especially those with your experience.”

It was a proper dressing down, made all the more humiliating by the fact that it had been delivered in front of the 2nd platoon, not to mention the rest of the company. Santana felt the blood rush to his face as he stared at a point one foot above Gaphy's head. “Sir! Yes sir!”

Kuga-Ka smiled thinly—and the inspection continued.

The sun inched higher, the temperature continued to climb, and the Legion baked in the sun.

 

A cold lunch had been brought into General Ibo's office fifteen minutes earlier. It sat mostly untouched as the increasingly heated discussion continued. The meeting with Kobbi had gone well, but taken a turn for the worse, when Naval Captain Horace Yantz arrived, and immediately launched
into a list of all the things that the navy couldn't possibly provide, starting with armed escorts, and extending to the request for a Leviathan class transport.

“So,” Yantz said, flicking an imaginary piece of lint off an immaculate sleeve, “the
Mothri Sun
and the
Spirit of Natu,
are the best that I can do. Both of them are smaller than the type of transport you requested, but there's a war on, and we must work with what we have. Especially where these off-the-cuff special ops missions are concerned. There's only so much we can do you know.”

Ibo watched the naval officer stroke his well-manicured mustache with the back of a finger and wondered if he had ever been shot at. It seemed unlikely.

Kobbi, his face bright red with barely contained anger, leaned forward in his seat. His voice was so low, so hoarse, that it resembled a growl. “What can you tell me about those frigging ships? My battalion includes cyborgs as well as bio bods. . . Do both ships have the necessary life-support systems?”

Yantz frowned, used a silver stylus to tap a series of comp keys, and peered at the data that morphed onto the screen. “It looks like the
Natu
has racks for 150 brain boxes—but the
Sun
doesn't have any. It shouldn't matter, though . . . we'll put all of your borgs on the
Nat
.”

“The hell you will,” Kobbi said thickly. “Think about it . . . If the ship carrying the brain boxes is destroyed—the war forms on the other vessel will be frigging useless! The boxes have to be split in two so that each cyborg is on the same vessel with his or her body. Need I remind you that this mission has a Nova class priority?”

“Sorry, old boy,” Yantz replied smugly. “Mission priority doesn't matter . . . It just isn't on. You can take what we have or walk to Savas. The choice is up to you.”

Kobbi started to come up out of his chair but hesitated when Ibo placed a hand on his arm. “As you were, Colonel.”

“Captain, I can't say that I think much of your attitude, something I intend to make clear to Admiral Sato. In the meantime make whatever arrangements are necessary to board Colonel Kobbi's battalion in three days' time.

“Oh, and one more thing, you will either find some sort of believable escort for the transports, or I will remove this comet from my collar and personally kick your chair-bound ass. Do I make myself clear?”

Yantz was an expert at bureaucratic warfare, but didn't relish the prospect of an actual fight with the tough-looking general, even though he outweighed her by a good thirty pounds. The naval officer rose from the table and reached for his hat. “That won't be necessary, General. I'll see what I can do.”

The legionnaires waited for Yantz to leave, looked at each other, and grinned. “I would pay good money to see you kick his ass,” Kobbi said.

“It would be hard to miss,” Ibo growled, “but I won't get the chance. He'll come up with some sort of escort. But what about the brain boxes? You could leave them in their war forms.”

“Yeah,” Kobbi agreed, “I could. But it's a three-week trip. Each borg would be buried in a hold—and locked up with his or her own personal devils. Half of them are convicted murderers—so who knows what would happen if they were isolated for a prolonged period of time? I'll put most of them in the racks and take my chances. We can put a few in spider forms and put them aboard the second ship. It sucks—but it's the best I can do.”

“Yes,” Ibo agreed soberly. “Well, odds are that both ships will make it through, and everything will be fine.”

Kobbi nodded, and even managed a smile; but there was an empty place in his gut, and the battalion commander wished he could find something that would fill it.

 

The boxy eight-by-eight paused just long enough for Sergeant “Dice” Dietrich and Private Suresee Fareye to hop off the tailgate before it lunged forward and growled into a higher gear. Dietrich waved his thanks to the truck's rearview mirror, took a scrap of paper out of his pocket, and was about to examine it when Fareye spoke. “It's over there, Sarge, next to the water tank.”

Dietrich put the piece of paper away. “All right then—let's see if the loot is home.”

Though unarmed, the legionnaires advanced the way they would have on LaNor. Together, yet separated by enough space that a single burst of machine-gun fire wouldn't kill both of them, eyes scanning the area for danger. Not because they expected trouble on Adobe, but because they expected trouble
everywhere,
and were ready for it.

Platoon leaders rated a four-person shelter or squat all to themselves, and like everything else in the area, Santana's was covered with dust. The legionnaires were about ten feet away from the front of the dome-shaped tent when a Hudathan emerged. He scowled at them. “Who the hell are
you?
”

“I'm Sergeant Dietrich—and this is Private Fareye. We're with the 2nd platoon, Alpha Company, 1st REC. And you are?”

“I'm the one who's about to call your company sergeant and tell her that you're out roaming around where you shouldn't be,” the gunnery sergeant replied. “Or should I call your platoon leader instead?”

Dietrich had been in the Legion a long time, had dealt with every kind of NCO there was, and the expression on his leathery face didn't change one iota. “Call anyone you like, gunny. We have passes. Is the lieutenant in?”

Kuga-Ka made no reply other than to grunt, barge between them, and stomp away.

The legionnaires looked at each other and shook their heads in mutual amazement as they approached the tent.
“Lieutenant Santana?” Dietrich called. “Are you in there?” But there was no response. A quick peek confirmed that the squat was empty.

“So what was
that
about?” Fareye wondered out loud.

Dietrich shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me. Well, let's grab some shade and take a load off. The loot will probably turn up soon.”

Santana returned twenty minutes later, spotted the twosome emerging from a patch of shade, and returned their salutes. “Well, I'll be damned . . . Aren't you two supposed to be back on LaNor?” Dietrich had a tendency to be rather ruthless at times, and Fareye wasn't above a bit of larceny, but he felt a real sense of affection for both of them. In a tight situation, when the chips were down, no officer could ask for better soldiers.

“No sir,” Dietrich replied, stepping forward to shake the platoon leader's hand. “You left, the captain took some staff job on Algeron, and the n
ew CO arrived. There wasn't anything wrong with her except for the fact that she's infantry, and we're cavalry. If you take my meaning, sir.”

Santana grinned, read between the lines, and figured the new officer was green as grass, something of a tight-ass, or a combination of both. “Well, we're lucky to have you whatever the reason. Which outfit were you assigned to?”

“Alpha Company, sir. Second platoon,” Dietrich answered. “It's a good group but we wondered if the lieutenant's platoon is up to full strength?”

“It is,” Santana answered, “but I'll check with the company sergeant. Maybe we have some slots in one of the other platoons.”

Dietrich nodded. Once he and Fareye were on the company's muster sheet they'd find a way to join Santana's platoon. “Thank you, sir. Your company sergeant. . . Is he Hudathan by any chance?”

“Why yes,” Santana replied, “he is. How did you know?”

“A Hudathan gunnery sergeant was leaving your tent just as we arrived,” Fareye responded. “It said, ‘Kuga-Ka' on his name tag.”

“Thanks,” Santana said, his eyes narrowing. “I'm scheduled to meet with him later this afternoon. I'll check on those slots when I do.”

“Thank you, sir,” Dietrich replied. “Well, we'd better get going, but we'll see you around.”