The city-scape was a replica of Oosafar, and one Magnus had fought through before. It was accurate right down to the odor of urine and soured milk—scents that the helmets ported into the armor’s air filters. But instead of fighting Tawnhack, Selskirt, or Clawnip, his new gladia were shooting at Repub Marines clad in black Mark V armor. Three white stripes over their left-side pauldron designated them as Paragon troopers. The enemy was well-fortified behind gun nests that they’d set up ahead of time. The emplacements ran along the sidewalks with a few atop the lower buildings. Likewise, they used vehicle-mounted M109 twin-barrel blasters, a MUT50, 50mm ultra torrent tri-reticulating blaster, and a 70mm RBMB—Really Big Missile Battery.
The old man certainly isn’t going easy on them, Magnus thought to himself.
There was a break in the enemy’s return fire, so the squad leader ordered his units to advance. Troopers crouched low and then peeled away from the skiffs, covered by their peers. But the enemy read the field too, targeting the exposed fighters as they moved down the road. A man dashing for a shipping container had his legs blown out from beneath him. He flipped once in the air, and then his chest slammed into the pavement with a loud crack. A second man took a blaster bolt to the shoulder that spun his body in a complete circle before he fell. And a third trooper fell forward from a gutshot, only to be blown backward by a secondary headshot.
Still, the squad leader pushed the advance, and the majority of his gladia made it to their next position behind a weathered concrete half-wall. Blaster fire whizzed overhead as the leader gave orders. Magnus smelled the sharp scent of burnt ozone, an odor that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He waited to see what the team might try, forcing old battlefield memories to stay buried—they had a pesky way of making him micromanage certain scenarios.
Suddenly, the squads dispersed into nearby buildings, and none too soon: a 70mm missile from RBMB streaked down the street, leaving a white plume of expended fuel in its wake. The half-wall exploded in a spray of fire and rock just as the last gladia left the structure’s cover. The concussion shook the nearby buildings and knocked two gladia to the ground. But they scrambled to their feet and joined the forces advancing into the premises.
As the squad split up, Magnus switched his helmet’s HUD to merge thermal imaging with sensor relay tracking. One squad returned to the streets where they took cover behind various obstructions lining the sidewalks. Another squad cleared a row of buildings, using interior doors between structures as a means of advancing toward the enemy. The third and final fire team—having absorbed the sole survivor of the fourth fire team—advanced along the rooftops.
The street-level squad drew the enemy’s fire and kept the more massive weapons busy. They continued to dive in and out of the buildings to avoid the heavy ordinance. Missiles blew considerable holes in several structures while the M109 raked the sidewalks.
Inside the buildings, the second fire team made good time in clearing rooms and moving toward the intersection. The heaviest pocket of resistance came from three Paragon Marines who’d taken cover inside a Jujari kitchen. The enemy sent streams of blaster fire through the doorway, pinning the gladias down. But it wasn’t long before someone tossed a variable output detonator into the room. The explosion was enough to remove the threat but not enough to cause a cave-in, which would have resulted in the squad taking the long way around—wasting precious time.
The third fire team made the fastest time, moving unobstructed across the building tops. Three of the four gladias took sniper positions along the street while the fourth stayed back to call out targets and watch for enemy fire. The setup was good, Magnus thought. But as he checked the time on the master clock, he guessed the unit wouldn’t reach their objective in time. And he wasn’t the only one either.
“Pick up the pace,” Forbes bellowed from some unseen perch. “You’re burning through time like you’re on vacation!”
The captain’s words added a new level of intensity to the squad’s movements, causing them to make a few critical errors. One came in the form of a gladia popping onto a sidewalk without looking downrange first. The blaster bolt that killed him struck him in the helmet and flipped his body backward like a rag doll. Another gladia, this one on the roof, failed to hear the spotter call out an incoming missile—he was too preoccupied with a perfect shot on the M109 gunner. And the shot would have been a kill shot too, had the missile not blown a crater in the parapet the gladia hid behind. His body flew backward, landed, and then was sucked down the hole in the crumbling roof. He screamed until his simulated vital readouts muted his comm.
The remaining members of the squad pressed forward as Forbes began counting down the seconds. Several more gladias went down, some walking into enemy fire in hasty attempts to beat the clock.
“That’s time,” Forbes said. “End simulation.”
Instantly, the Jujari landscape vanished and the hard-light emitters powered down, easing anyone on elevated positions back to ground level. All sixteen gladia collected themselves. Half got off the hangar bay floor and stretched their bodies, some rotating shoulders or favoring one leg over the other. The other half stowed their NOV1s and removed their helmets.
Forbes ordered the squad to fall in and make a circle around him. “Better than last time,” the captain said, taking off his helmet. “But still not what it needs to be.” Then Forbes went through the evolution’s after-action review, covering three positives and three points for improvement. The captain’s keen insights gave the gladia plenty to think about as the squad reset the simulation and prepped to rerun it.
Magnus caught Forbes’s eye and waved him over. The two men stepped out of the enclosed combat-simulation environment, allowing the squad to get into position. “What do you think about the ECSE?” Magnus asked.
“Never seen anything like it,” Forbes replied, his black hair matted down with sweat. “Sure beats the board and brick sets the Repub cobs together.”
“Makes for believable combat scenarios,” Magnus added.
“You can say that again. I have three guys who need medical attention from the hard-light emitters.”
“Nothing motivates you to keep your head down like pain.”
“I feel that,” Forbes said, rubbing the back of his neck.
“And the new armor and weapons?” Magnus asked.
“Gonna take some getting used to, but in a good way. This tech blows ours out of the water.”
“And you’re only running simulated rounds at 10% of the weapon’s fire rate. Wait until you see it in action.”
“I already did.” Forbes pointed to his ears. “Remember?”
Magnus laughed. “Sorry about that.”
“Payback’s a bitch.”
Over the last three days, Forbes had undergone cellular reconstruction therapy for his blown-out eardrums. He’d used the downtime to brief his team leaders and prep them for command within the newly restructured Gladio Umbra. The men in this simulation were those who would oversee platoons in Forbes’s Taursar Company, the newly created rifle company under Colonel Caldwell’s command.
“Azelon should have manufacturing done on the rest of your company’s equipment within the next few days,” Magnus said. “The colonel will let you know when your platoons can outfit in the armory.”
“Sounds good. They’re still getting briefed on this whole scenario anyway.”
“How are they taking it?”
“Better than I expected. Then again, they are on an alien ship being briefed by the Colonel Caldwell and Lieutenant Magnus. Kinda hard to ignore that sales pitch.”
“Worked on you too, it seems.”
“And then someone went and blew out my ears.”
Magnus chuckled again. “Not living that one down anytime soon, am I.”
“Not a chance, Lieutenant.” Forbes paused, and his smile disappeared. “So you’ve really asked the colonel to take over your spot leading the Gladio Umbra?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
Forbes shrugged. “Hell yeah. But then again, I’ve never built a force of resistance fighters made up of several different species to take on the Galactic Republic.”
“And the Luma,” Magnus reminded him.
“And the Luma.”
“The way I see it, I need someone who knows what they’re doing, and I don’t have enough time to learn it myself,” Magnus said. “Who better to lead it than a seasoned veteran?”
“That kind of attitude is what gets guys promoted, you know.”
“I don’t need any more of that,” Magnus said with a smile.
“So, where does that leave you?”
“I’m in charge of Granther Company, like before.”
“And you’re at home there,” Forbes stated.
“Sure am. The old man says he has an idea to re-task it as a special operations unit, which I can run like a Recon platoon. Colonel says he wants to fill it out with some of the original members, calling them elites based on their expertise and experience. We’ll see what he has up his sleeve.”
“Aren’t you fancy.”
“Well, you still outrank me, Captain.”
“And don’t you forget it.”
“I have a feeling you won’t let me.”
“Damn straight.” Forbes brought his helmet around like he was about to put it back on. “I’m gonna get going. But Magnus?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for bringing us along for the ride.”
“Thanks for saying yes. The alternative was I’d have to kill you.”
“Like you’d have gotten a shot off.”
“I had you dead to rights in your dining room,” Magnus protested.
“Your weapon was on the table, Lieutenant.”
Magnus gave Forbes a confused look. “And?”
“Mine was under it.” Forbes covered his head, nodded at Magnus, and stepped back into the ECSE.
* * *
Over the last few days, Colonel Caldwell had turned one of the Spire’s largest conference rooms into his new battalion headquarters. He’d brought in several workstations for secretaries and administrators, and even asked Azelon if he could push two walls out to expand the room’s capacity. The Novian AI was only too happy to comply, giving the colonel whatever he needed and making her share of recommendations.
By the time Magnus checked back on the colonel, dozens of holo displays filled with charts, personnel rosters, equipment profiles, and ship schematics lined the walls. Three administrative assistants hovered over glowing tabletops, and another pair of operators monitored data streams. Meanwhile, Azelon stood beside the colonel, lost in conversation about something above Magnus’s pay grade.
The site made Magnus’s heart swell. He’d been right to do this—to ask the colonel to take the lead. There was simply no way Magnus would have known where to start, let alone how to organize everything that was happening here. And we’re not even engaged with the enemy yet, he noted.
But something else stood out to Magnus. The colonel looked different. Something had changed in the man’s face. His eyes were alert, and he was—smiling—well, at least as much as a colonel could. But the man had a spring in his step again.
Magnus understood then. Caldwell wasn’t deskbound on some peacekeeping mission on Worru, nor was he stuck babysitting a company of troopers in a remote non-action scenario. No, he was back in the thick of it, organizing resources for war. Where the blinking charts and number streams would have overwhelmed lesser Marines, Caldwell seemed like he was loving every second. He’s like a new man, Magnus reasoned.
Suddenly, the colonel noticed Magnus and invited him toward the central black mapping table that took up a large portion of the room.
“Looks like you’ve made yourself at home, Colonel,” Magnus said.
“It’s hard not to with all new toys,” the colonel replied with a smile. “Let me show you what we’ve got.”
Magnus joined Caldwell and Azelon as the conference room lights dimmed. The other administrators quieted down as the colonel filled the tabletop with a three-dimensional schematic of the Spire. Then, from various sections of the ship, charts emerged to show troop rosters, supply lists, and various mission readiness status indicators.
“Holy hell,” Magnus said. “You… you did all this in the last few days?”
“Wasn’t all me, son. Miss Smarty Pants here made herself a damn fine addition to my admin team.”
“Again, Colonel, my designation is Azelon.”
“Which is why I call you Smarty Pants.”
“And yet pants are neither items I wear nor are they sentient, so they are incapable of intelligence. I regret to say that don’t follow your logic, sir.”
“Probably best you try not to, Azie,” Magnus replied.
The bot tilted her head and then nodded at Magnus. “Very well, Magnus.”
The colonel pulled up a master list and expanded it. “We’ll start here at the top. The Gladio Umbra now has seven companies, which include your special units company, two rifle companies, a support and intel company, a starfighter attack air wing, naval operations, and last but not least, your mystics.”
Magnus whistled in appreciation. “Can you go through it all with me?”
“I thought you’d never ask, son.” Caldwell started with Granther Company, which caused a section near the ship’s bridge to glow. A smaller window came forward and listed twenty-six names in five sections. “You’re leading Granther Company’s first and only platoon right now. You’ve got yourself five teams ranging from Alpha to Echo. Each one consists of a Jujari, a rifleman, a mystic, a sniper, and a combination medic and demolition specialist.”
“And the thinking behind it?”
“Turns out those damn hyenas have a pack ability.”
“Something like a sixth sense in the Unity,” Azelon added.
“Right,” Caldwell said. “Allows them to sense each other and communicate emotionally. I figured that if there’s one on each team, you’ve got yourself an extra layer of communication if something goes south.”
“Well I just learned something new.”
“Me too, son. Again, Smarty Pants here brought the attribute to my attention.”
Azelon looked at Magnus as if to protest the nickname, but Magnus gave her a look that suggested she’d better stay quiet.
“I’ve given you Rohoar, Saladin, Cyzy, Longchamps, and Grahban for Jujari,” Caldwell said. “For riflemen, there’s Abimbola, Titus, Zoll, Bliss, and Robillard. They’ll also act as your team leaders.”
“Copy that.” Magnus’s eyes scanned the lists. “I see Awen here listed as a mystic. But who are Nídira, Wish, Telwin, and Findermith?”
“Additions from Willowood’s people,” Caldwell said. “She said they were the best, so I figured you should take them.”
“I’m grateful.”
“For snipers, you’ve got Silk, Dutch, Reimer, Bettger, and Jaffrey.”
“Nice. And the demo and medics?”
“Doc Campbell, Nubs, Rix, Dozer, and Handley.”
“Nubs? A medic?” Magnus’s eyebrows went up. “Kid’s missing more than one finger.”
“Abimbola vouched for him. Said he’s got plenty of med training. But—yeah—he’s gonna be more demo than surgeon.”
Magnus chuckled. “Sounds about right.”
“Next, you have Taursar Company.”
“That’s Forbes,” Magnus said, noting the series of glowing hangar bays allotted to the captain.
Caldwell nodded. “Three fifty-man platoons. Followed by Hedgebore Company with another three platoons, led by Lieutenant Nelson.” Another row of hangar bays glowed.
“Nelson’s one of your former LTs?”
“He’s still one my LTs, just a different insignia.” Caldwell gave Magnus a crooked smile. “Next up is Drambull Company under Azelon’s supervision.” A large section near the ship’s aft illuminated. “This is our support and intel company. First Platoon is under Cyril’s command.”
“Couldn’t make a better choice for intel,” Magnus noted.
“So I hear. Haven’t met the kid yet, but Smarty Pants says he’s got the right stuff.”
“Yes,” Azelon said. “As I informed the colonel, Cyril has demonstrated a high degree of—”
“I’m familiar with Cyril’s code slicing abilities. Let’s keep going.”
Caldwell nodded. “Second Platoon is a logistics unit lead by Abimbola’s righthand man, Berouth.”
“Another good choice,” Magnus said.
“And Third Platoon is a fighter support unit lead by our old pal Gilder.”
“The guy can fix anything.”
“So I hear. I’m attaching Third Platoon to Fang Company. Since all our forces are based on the Spire, it makes sense to spread Gilder’s units out over all three squadrons until we have more numbers. If and when we do, I’ll reallocate units to squadrons directly.”
“Tell me about Fang Company.”
“This is where TO-96 comes in, sir,” Azelon said.
Magnus couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like the bot spoke about TO-96 with some measure of pride. “Lay it on me, Azie.”
“Lay what on you, sir?”
Magnus closed his eyes and let out a small laugh. “Tell me about TO-96 and his unit’s composition.”
“Ah, I see. Laying it on someone is a turn of phrase for expounding on a given topic.”
Magnus chuckled. “Be sure to explain that to Awen next time you see her.”
Azelon perked up. “Duly noted, sir. Thank you for the action item.”
“You’re an evil son of a bitch,” Caldwell whispered to Magnus.
“Ain’t it grand?”
“As I was about to say, TO-96 will be overseeing Fang Company, which is composed of three squadrons: Red, Gold, and Blue,” the bot said. “Each squadron is comprised of fourteen Novian Fangs—as you may have guessed from the aptly termed company name. The squadrons will be commanded by Mr. Ricio, Mr. Nolan, and Mr. Ezo, respectively. Ricio has already begun training new pilots recommended to him from Captain Forbes’s and Lieutenant Nelson’s Marine companies. It seems there were some air wing candidates in their ranks already.”
Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6 Page 145