Valerie and Piper sat quietly under the white shade as Magnus hauled them eastward. The little girl had even managed to hang on to her stuffed animal, which was looking less stuffed and more animal. A rabid animal.
He knew the females were grieving the loss of the husband and father now buried in a shallow grave. Magnus had wanted to bury the man properly, but there wasn’t time for anything like that. Death by exposure and discovery were both very real possibilities if he didn’t get the mother and daughter to safety soon. Magnus had dug a pit for the late senator using his helmet then laid his body to rest. The man deserved a Republic funeral, but if the senator were to speak from beyond the grave, he would insist that Magnus get them to safety. At least, that was what Magnus would have said had the roles been reversed. Valerie and Piper had wept as Magnus finally covered the man’s face, forever concealing him in the dust of Oorajee.
After constructing the sled, Magnus cut vents in his helmet using his duradex knife. Both the helmet’s main battery and its backup battery were completely depleted. He was sure the AI’s processor was destroyed, too, given the charred components that had failed to survive Piper’s strange energy explosion. The helmet’s only uses now were as a sunshade, as eye protection, and—he’d most recently discovered—as a shovel. It reminded him of when the old Mark IV helmets had crapped out on his unit during the Caledonian Wars. As had been the case back then, he wished the helmet could seal his suit from the sand, but the granules found their way into everything. He swore as a handful of the stuff rubbed against his groin.
For once, Magnus wished his armor was any color but black. Without the suit’s cooling system online, the armor felt like an old convection oven, but he knew he’d need it for its protective abilities should they encounter resistance. And they would encounter resistance.
He squeezed his MAR30 between his hands. Fortunately, Piper’s devastating power surge hadn’t knocked his primary weapon out of commission. His Z and his remaining frag grenade were still online as well. At least he had those.
He wanted to ask Valerie about the girl’s powers, but it was a conversation he simply didn’t know how to start, at least not in front of Piper. Plus, what would he say? So, your daughter shoots energy from her mind and kills people. How does that work? Magnus shook the thoughts away more than once and contented himself in merely being the Marine that would see them to safety. Leave the other stuff for people smarter than you, Magnus.
He stopped every half an hour to provide his passengers a small drink from his limited water supply. The truth was, Magnus needed it more than they did, given his exertion, but he preferred to help them to his own detriment. And anyway, he’d pushed himself through worse. One more meter, one more kilometer. OTF. Just make it to your next meal, Magnus.
As the sun began its descent behind them, Magnus could make out hints of white on the horizon coming from a series of low buildings. The sight worried him, however, as the white, while it could have been paint or ceramics, was most likely linen. A Jujari village. He’d been hoping for another Dregs settlement or something. He placed his index finger on his MAR30’s safety as if to make sure it was still there and hadn’t melted from the excessive heat.
Magnus’s mind flashed back to the mwadim’s palace, where he’d terminated several Jujari warriors before finding Awen’s helpless body behind the dais. Then he and Awen had escaped down the street as he wrestled three strays in the dusty alley. If he could place a wager, he’d put money on having to kill more Jujari before the night was out. Once again, Magnus was protecting innocent lives from certain death by sheer will and, when the time called for it, violence of action—the kind of violence only the Recon was trained to dispense. He thought of his brothers, the ones he’d lost. No, the ones you’ll find. The heat was messing with his head.
The faces of his men flashed before him one at a time. He saw them amidst specific memories from the past, each laughing, smiling, or doing something stupid. Just a few days before this last mission, they’d spent the night at one of their favorite watering holes on the outskirts of Capriana. Flow looked up from one too many Klindish ales and let out a belch that would have rivaled an elephant’s trunk blast.
Flow could drink, Magnus mused as he shook his head, reminded once again of how the black-skinned warrior had gotten his nickname. ’Cause ale never stopped flowing—so much so that Flow had been unaware that he wasn’t wearing any pants that night. Some of the other Recon guys had removed them hours before, but Flow didn’t care. “Doesn’t change the taste of the beer,” he yelled and called for another round.
Corporal Miguel “Cheeks” Chico, on the other hand, had two arms around two different alien girls at the bar. He was completely unaware that they were “anatomically incompatible” to him, as the doctor had later said. Cheeks told the story with pride the next afternoon in the barracks as he showed off bandages that were wrapped around his abdomen and buttocks. He’d more than lived up to his nickname.
Mouth was the storyteller. Magnus had no idea if anything Corporal Allan Franklin said was true, but he didn’t care. Mouth could get guys laughing around a table faster and louder than anyone Magnus had ever met, and it had earned him the strange but appropriate moniker.
The memories, mostly of the Fearsome Four, kept Magnus company as he trudged through the sand. He realized more and more how much he cared for his men—how much he missed them and hoped they were still alive. If any of his brothers were still on this cursed planet, he would find them, dead or alive. Fate had delivered him right back to where he’d started, which couldn’t have been an accident. He was here for a reason. No comms, no food, almost no water, and limited weapons—which was really pissing him off—but he never backed away from a challenge. The Recon never quit, never gave up, and never gave in to anything but mission success. If his men needed rescuing, he would get it done, and if their bodies needed burial, he would see to it. On any other planet but this one.
Suddenly, an image of Awen hung in his mind. She was sitting on Ezo’s ship, her knees tucked up to her chin as Magnus handed her a cup of tea. The herbal smell warmed him somehow, as did her face. Despite being a prude, she was…
What was she, Magnus? He fought with himself as his feet stomped through the sand. She was beautiful. Her purple eyes—and something about the way she smiled at him—haunted him. Awen was also feisty, and he liked that. Most people just took orders from Magnus, or else he had them detained or thrown in the brig. Plus, most women he’d ever been around had seemed too easily enamored with his uniform or his commanding presence. But not Awen. From the very start, she’d defied him. It had irritated him, for sure. But it also had an endearing quality. He liked that she wasn’t a pushover. She was petite, but she was a fierce one.
Magnus felt empathy for Awen. She’d lost people in her team, and that was never something a person forgot. The nightmares, the guilt, the second-guessing—all of it was very real and very dangerous. Magnus had known good men who, after being subjected to similar scenarios, had lost their minds and were never able to reenter civilian life after being medically discharged from the Marines.
He wondered how Awen was doing and if she’d returned to normal life on Worru. He recognized that normal was a relative word given all the things she’d seen. Still, he wondered how her after-action review had gone—if that was even what the Luma called it—and if she’d endured any negative fallout. Probably not. She survived a nightmare, and her COs surely understood that. He felt the urge to check in on her, to send an external call over TACNET.
And say what, Magnus? “Hi? How are you doing at being a Luma, Awen? Learn any new spells lately?”
The more he thought about it, the more he realized he sounded like a complete idiot over TACNET in his imagination. Good thing comms are down, a-hole.
* * *
Night approached as Magnus reached the settlement. He was grateful for the fading light, certain that he’d been spotted earlier in the day. Only a completely inept sent
ry could have missed his black armor trudging toward them across the desert in the daytime. But war had taught him that the cover of night could often erase many daylight missteps. Magnus expected he would have an easier time of gaining access to shelter in the village’s outskirts as the sky darkened; he only wished that his thermal imaging was online to give him a tactical advantage. The Jujari might be a superior biological force, but his night vision would have leveled the playing field. Instead, his helmet now accompanied the ladies, as the visor was too dark for the fading light.
“Are we almost there, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir?” Piper asked from the sled. The steady swoosh of sand under the glass became more noticeable as the night air grew still. Magnus could feel the temperature dropping, too, as the sun’s glow faded from the sky.
“Yes, Piper,” he replied, licking his cracked lips. “We’re almost there.”
“And what will we find?”
“Piper,” her mother reprimanded. “That’s enough.”
“But I want to know what we’ll find, Mother.”
“We’re going to look for water, something to eat, and a safe place to sleep,” Magnus replied, not minding the little girl’s questions nearly as much as he might have. Hearing her speak reminded him who he worked for and who he would fight to protect. Life, this life, was precious and worth dying for. And I will die for you, Piper Stone, if I must.
The faint glow of fires began to appear throughout the village—some on rooftops in braziers, others from within the linen walls of sandstone buildings and standalone tents. Smaller fires burned atop lamp stands, while dozens of wall-mounted torches illuminated streets and archways.
Magnus pulled the sled behind the skeleton of a blown-out skiff that lay on its side. So far, he had not attracted any attention, at least none that had warranted inspection from the village’s inhabitants. For that much, he was grateful. With any luck, this town would be sympathetic to the Republic cause and welcome them with open arms.
Were you born yesterday, Marine? You’re so naïve sometimes.
No, I’m optimistic. But he knew his true self was right. He hated when that guy was right.
“Pardon me, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir,” Piper said, her teeth chattering, “but I don’t see any food or water yet. I don’t see a bed either.”
“Piper, be patient,” Valerie chided.
“It’s okay,” Magnus said, catching the glint of Valerie’s eyes in the distant torchlight. Despite the wind- and sunburn, the woman’s face still looked like fine porcelain. “She’s right to question me.” He looked down at Piper. “I haven’t found any of those things yet, but I will. For now, I need you to wrap yourself in the parachute and stay close to your mother, okay?”
Piper nodded.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes. No sound, no movement, copy?”
“Copy?”
“When I say ‘copy,’ you say ‘copy’ back to confirm that you understand me.”
“Copy back,” Piper said in a tiny voice.
Magnus smiled. “Right.”
Suddenly, the little girl reached out to him. Magnus wasn’t sure what to do. Seeing her little hand, he realized just how different it was from everything else he knew—from war, from violence, from death. Take it, you idiot. He slipped off a glove and placed a finger in her palm. Her fingers wrapped around it.
“You always save me, Mr. Magnus. You always do.”
Great. No pressure. But the truth was, he wanted to save her more than anything else. He would too—at least, he would try his best. Someday, he might fail her. No one was perfect. But not that day. That day, he would be the warrior in her dreams.
* * *
Growls and barking came from deeper in the village as Magnus left the skiff’s cover, eyes scanning for motion. He ran forward to a heap of metal. As he took cover, he realized he was at the bottom of a shallow, blackened bowl. An orbital strike. Not from one of the big LO9D cannons, as there wouldn’t be a village left standing if that had happened. No, this was a smaller laser strike but still nothing to mess with. The metal he hid behind was charred and gnarled, and even in the moonlight, he could make out the telltale blast ring around the impact crater only a few meters away. This village had been assaulted sometime over the past few days.
Along with the distinct scent of laser fire, Magnus could smell campfires and cooking meat on the wind—something pungent and oily. The inhabitants here were the survivors of the strike or squatters who’d taken advantage of the aftermath.
Magnus’s MAR30 was in low-ready position, giving him the ability to freely sweep the shadows and still bring the weapon to bear faster than most humanoids could blink. Without his helmet’s AI to call out targets, he activated the weapon’s holo-sight display, which hovered over the rail and extended down the barrel. The information-rich HSD projection was only visible from the operator’s perspective and emanated in relation to ambient light so as not to light blind the operator.
Magnus maneuvered to the opposite edge of some debris, stole another glance downrange, and moved out. He headed for a low-walled well and sank below its sandstone blocks. He noted its position and hoped it had potable water at its bottom.
Again and again, Magnus picked his waypoints, scanned for the enemy, and moved. Slow is smooth, and smooth is deadly, he reminded himself, mentally reciting one of the many unofficial mantras of the Recon.
He was ten meters from the village’s outermost structures and wished his helmet were functional. With a working helmet, he would have been able to see and tag every living thing without them ever knowing. Instead, he used his senses to try to guess where potential threats might be hiding.
A large broken portion of the village wall was visible to his right. Through it, he could see several tents with no internal lights on. The structures were made of sandstone pillars with linen walls and canopies. Magnus figured that either the inhabitants were asleep or these were unused, maybe even supply tents—wishful thinking. Only idiots would keep food, water, or weapons caches along the perimeter of any enclave.
Magnus left his MAR30 to the care of its sling and withdrew his duradex knife while moving to the first tent. He pressed his back against the nearest sandstone pillar and listened for movement. No breathing, no rustling. Odds were, the tent was unoccupied. He squatted and turned, cutting a vertical slit in the linen. The blade made silent work of the task, and Magnus peeked inside.
Once through the slit, he found only the remnants of a former occupant’s sleeping quarters. The Jujari equivalent of a cot—a nested litter of straw covered by a blanket—was strewn with windblown sand and refuse. And it stank. He pushed his toe through the shards of a broken clay vessel and flipped open a small box that turned up nothing.
Magnus turned his knife on the inner wall that bordered the next tent and slit his way through. Once again, he found sand-blown litters and smashed containers. The third tent yielded more of the same. These tents are going to be dead ends for resources, but at least they would serve as cover for the night if he couldn’t find anything else.
Magnus chanced a glance out the main entrance, keeping himself within the linen folds. A hard-packed street ran to his right and left, bending in a concave shape around the perimeter of the village. Torches lit the lane every fifty meters, casting orange light between long swaths of shadow. Judging by the lack of tent lights here and the noise beyond, he guessed that most of the settlement’s inhabitants had congregated near the village center.
Magnus stepped into the street and crossed to the closest unlit tent. He entered with his knife at the ready only to find another old litter. Feeling more confident, he checked several more tents and found stale bedding, refuse, and the remains of various containers.
Now it was time to see if the tents with lights on were occupied. Magnus maintained strict noise discipline as he rolled his boots into and out of each step. He stalked to the nearest glowing linen tent and double-checked his six, listening for any signs of life. He could hear hea
vy breathing from within. Ever so gently, Magnus used the tip of his blade to crack the folds of the tent’s entrance. Unless the occupant was staring directly at the spot where he placed his knife, they would be none the wiser.
A small oil lantern sat on the floor, wick flickering with the last drops of fuel in the glass bowl. And there, curled up like a massive lapdog, lay a Jujari warrior, fast asleep. A sniper blaster rested against one of the sandstone pillars, as did a pair of binoculars and the warrior’s keeltari long sword. The warrior had no other possessions, which meant he was traveling light. A sentry, Magnus concluded, realizing he and the women had just stumbled into the best possible scenario.
While the village had no doubt been a bustling hub of Jujari sectarian life in its former years, it was now being used as a military outpost. And a poorly run one, at that. Where barking families and wild commerce had probably once filled its streets, warriors used the town as a safe haven. But from where? Magnus figured they’d been displaced from another village or city.
Between the orbital-strike craters that he’d seen from the air and the one he’d stood in on the outskirts of the village, there was plenty of evidence that the Republic had already begun its assault on the planet. But judging from this pack’s lack of vigilance, as exemplified by this slumbering mongrel, they weren’t expecting enemies on foot. Which meant the Republic hadn’t sent a ground-assault force yet.
He left the Jujari unharmed, figuring a dead body would raise the alarm sooner rather than later. At the moment, he needed as much time as he could to get the women hydrated and to cover. Still, he needed to know what size force he was up against. Magnus found a gap between tents that served as an alley, and he sidestepped his way down it toward the center of town. The light ahead grew brighter. He was careful not to catch his armor on the linen walls, moving like a shadow. A shadow that slays. A Midnight Hunter.
Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6 Page 26