Sword of the Legion (Galaxy's Edge Book 5)

by Jason Anspach

  It was a beautiful thing in action. A destroyer could auto-fire all its turbo lasers and MAROs at once, each battery linked by the bot’s transmission to strike a single target with pinpoint precision. No need for individual AI and gunnery targeting. Just a single command by the captain and… utter devastation.

  The targets were painted, and the team was ready. When Intrepid arrived, it would be a beautiful and terrible spectacle. Six bombardments—one for each bot—that would leave the Kesselverks Shipyards in utter ruins. Sullus’s fleet would barely have time to adjust before the ship was done and ready to jump back out of the system. And while Goth Sullus’s ships scrambled, the Indelible VI would leave atmosphere and jump to rendezvous. Just another blockade to run.

  The time ticked down, and each legionnaire steeled himself for the expected bombardment. Any moment.

  Any moment.

  “Hey,” Masters said, when the time on the HUD chronometers showed five minutes past strike point, “what gives?”

  “Just keep your targets painted,” Chhun ordered. “Better late than early.”

  But time continued to roll, and there was still no sign of Intrepid.

  Wraith was keenly aware of the change in light. Daybreak was far too close for his tastes. “Hey, Chhun,” he called over a secure comm. “Let’s say for argument’s sake that the bombardment isn’t coming. This doesn’t seem like an op your team can scrub.”

  “No, it’s not,” answered Chhun. “We can’t let this warlord start pumping out his own destroyers. Gotta take it down.”

  “Five more minutes?” Wraith said.

  “Yeah,” Chhun agreed. “Otherwise we have to get moving to keep ahead of the sunrise.”

  “Right.”

  Wraith looked at the feed the bot was projecting into his bucket’s screen. The compound looked empty—at least the portion of it that he had visuals on. The Republic had a chronic problem of assuming that no one would ever attack. That reflected the consistently flawed belief of the Republic—that there was no one who could wage a campaign against them. And the thing of it was, if Victory Squad denied the shipyard to these insurgents, that belief would once again be shown to be true.

  “Tell me about Exo,” Wraith said, his voice flat, his attention remaining on his target.

  “He was on the team until about a year ago,” Chhun answered. “Got tired of the way the Republic seemingly did everything in its power to prevent us from doing our jobs. The situation you pulled us out of? It was starting to become more common than not. Nothing quite as bad as what you pulled us away from, but it definitely got to the point where the Legion couldn’t count on the navy or army to support us once we were inserted, with some notable exceptions. It was getting to him. He was always talking about how we didn’t survive Kublar to get dusted because some navy point dirtbag was too scared to use the equipment he was in command of. Getting hot. You know Exo.”

  “Yeah,” Wraith said. “So what’d he end up doing? Seems like former leejes are always in demand for personal security or training. You guys stay in touch?”

  “Said we would. But… you know.”

  “Yeah.”

  The conversation died, leaving only the sounds of the jungle—sounds that seemed to grow fainter as the system’s sun bided its time. And when the sun’s rays arrived, a whole new symphony of calls and growls would take up the alarm, as the nocturnal creatures gave way to the things creeping in daylight.

  “So why’d you stay?” Wraith asked, startling himself with the way his question broke the mental still in the air.

  Chhun shook his head. “Because I believe the Legion is the only thing left in the galaxy fighting for what’s good and right.”

  Wraith laughed, not unkindly. “I remember a time when you weren’t so sure of that.”

  “Yeah. Well, I can’t stop fighting while there’s still a leej alive by my side. Can’t walk away, either.”

  “True believer,” Wraith observed.

  “And you’re not?”

  Wraith paused to consider before shaking his head. “No, I don’t think so. I think I just do all this stuff because I’m good at it.”

  Before Chhun could respond, Wraith recalled his bot. Careful to communicate only with Chhun, to avoid giving the impression to Chhun’s men that he was in charge, Wraith said over private comm, “Five minutes is up. We need to figure out what to do next.”

  Chhun recalled his bot as well. “Time for Plan B,” he announced to the team.

  The others shifted and recalled their own bots. Chhun’s was the first to return, it being the closest. The spherical unit hummed down, placed itself in Chhun’s outstretched palm, and switched off. The legionnaire stowed it in a specially shielded pouch attached to his webbing.

  “What’s Plan B?” Fish asked.

  “That’s going to depend on all of you,” said Chhun, before looking over to Wraith. “You too, Ford.”

  Wraith nodded, but said nothing.

  “Mission was to destroy the shipyards. The Intrepid would have made that a whole lot easier, but getting left high and dry by the navy is nothing new. Besides, knowing Captain Deynolds, if the ship isn’t here, there’s a good reason.”

  “So we blow up the shipyard ourselves?” Sticks asked, the uncertainty clear in his voice. “Captain, we don’t have the ordnance necessary to accomplish a demo project of that size.”

  “Unless Wraith has more goodies on board his ship?” said Pike. “Maybe a MARO tucked away somewhere?”

  “No such luck,” Wraith answered. “Just the anti-starfighter missiles. That won’t be enough to do the job, and I honestly doubt a single MARO would be able to do it either.”

  “So I don’t get it,” Fish said, stowing his own bot. “Is there some kind of self-destruct button built into the shipyard? That seems like a design flaw…”

  “Sort of,” confirmed Chhun. “The data that Wraith’s code slicer pulled up said that the shipyards are currently building three corvettes, but no destroyers. That detail is important, because Kesselverks is supposed to be capable of producing one destroyer and ten corvettes at once. So the downshift in production means…”

  Wraith jumped in, seeing where Chhun was going. “That they’re building something bigger than normal on this cycle.”

  “Exactly,” Chhun answered with a snap of his fingers. “So figure the Republic is either building another carrier—unlikely, since there’s a dedicated facility for that on Craggock Three—or, my guess… a super-destroyer.”

  Sticks shook his head. “Super-destroyers are too big to be built on-planet and then repulsed into orbit. And I didn’t see any partially built units floating in dry dock on the way in.”

  “Could’ve been destroyed early in the fight,” Bear observed.

  Chhun nodded at this and said, “Neither side would want to lose a partially completed super-destroyer. Too valuable.”

  “So that means they just got started,” Wraith said.

  “I think so.” Chhun stepped to one side as some yellow-and-orange-spotted snake slithered past him. “These ships start with the reactors and drive elements in place. That’s the first thing they build, and then they bring in the defense fleet to seal off the sector as the protective elements are constructed around it. So I say we go in there, find the super-destroyer’s drive and reactor build, and follow Legion lost capital protocol.”

  The kill team stood in silence, each man contemplating what this would mean. In the event that a Republic capital ship was deemed unsalvageable, the standing orders for the legionnaires on board were to compromise the ship’s reactor, denying the ship to any would-be raiders and creating an explosion massive enough to potentially take out several more enemy capital ships in the blast radius. It was a Legion protocol that drew scoffs from the rest of the Republic military-industrial complex—because who could ever assemble a force formidable enough to take over a destroyer? But the Legion still planned for everything, and now it seemed that planning might come to good use. Ass
uming the kill team was prepared, mentally and physically, to do the job.

  Fish was the first to speak. “Yeah, I mean, let’s do it. I’m just wondering what the odds are that we make it back to the ship…”

  “They need to be pretty good if you want me to come along,” Wraith said, folding his arms. “I didn’t come to Tarrago just to get vaporized.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” Chhun said. “This is still a Republic facility, and the bio-signatures required to make that reactor go are going to be tied into the databank of authorized, active Legion. By default, that’s every kill team member. So once we set it up, we can control how much time passes before boom-time. And no one on the other side can stop it, no matter how shiny their knockoff leej armor looks.”

  “So hey, great,” began Masters, “but… is this going to blow up just the shipyards, or the entire city, too? ’Cause that’s a lot of people, man.”

  The legionnaires again looked at one another. And then at Chhun. The decision was ultimately his, and Wraith didn’t exactly envy him. Though if it were up to Wraith, he’d know what he’d decide. If denying the shipyards was what the Legion asked… he’d do it.

  “I’ll call into my human computer and see what he says,” Wraith said.

  He hailed Garret over the comm and explained the situation. Then he linked in the rest of the legionnaires so they could hear the code slicer’s answer.

  “Oh, wow,” Garret said. “So in theory, the shipyard should contain a breach like that and keep the city safe. It wouldn’t be producing any more ships for… well, a long time. But that’s all theoretical. I don’t know of a time where those safeguards were even put to the test.”

  “It’ll have to do,” Wraith said, his way of giving thanks. “Wraith out.”

  “Oh, Captain Keel,” Garret said. “I’ve been talking to an old friend. He discovered something really incredible about the comm system and—”

  “Kind of in the middle of something here, kid,” Wraith said, sounding far too casual, too much like his alter ego, for his own liking. This was a mission. He needed to focus on it accordingly, or he’d be dead.

  “Okay, but, technological breakthroughs aside, we’re decoding some pretty groundbreaking stuff. Like… about Admiral Devers working with the Black Fleet?”

  “Who’s the Black Fleet?” Chhun asked.

  “That’s what Goth Sullus calls his armada.”

  “Friendly,” Bear growled.

  Wraith nodded impatiently. “Garret, we already knew Devers is a piece of twarg dung. Is there anything that will help us right now?”

  “Not as such…”

  This confirmed Wraith’s suspicions. The kid was amazing, truly. But this could wait. They had to get inside the shipyard compound before daylight—and the sky was already losing its darkened edge. “Okay. We’ll go over it when we return. Keep it secure, index it, get it ready for debrief.”

  “Okay,” Garret said, sounding small over the comm.

  “Wraith out.”

  “Captain Keel?” Garret said almost immediately, causing snickers of laughter over the L-comm.

  “Yes?”

  “Got the S-comm cracked so you can listen and talk.”

  That was something that actually would come in handy. But it was also the sort of trick that was best only paid once. “Thanks, Garret. That will be useful. Wraith out,” he said again, half-expecting the kid to add something more. But the comm was silent.

  Chhun looked through his macros at the shipyard. He transmitted the image to display on the HUDs of his kill team. “Still not a whole lot out there.” He clicked the macros and painted a generator building yellow. “Wraith, can you drop one of those missiles on that target when we’re ready to approach? That should make them go to emergency generators, and we can blow those when we get inside.”

  Wraith stored the image in his HUD as target-001. “Sure thing. Just tell me when you want the thing dropped.”

  Another section of the HUD display lit up yellow.

  “This,” Chhun said, “looks to be the only sentry at our approach. At least, the only one who’s likely to see us. We’ll need to take him down.”

  It was too long a shot to make, even for a Dark Ops sniper—though the thought of trying likely crossed each man’s mind. But Wraith understood that taking down this sentry would need to happen right before insertion. Done before the rest of the—what were they called again?—shock troopers had the opportunity to investigate or go to their fighting positions.

  “I don’t see how we can approach the compound without that sentry seeing us, even if we come in from the jungle,” Masters said. “From up there, the sentry’ll have all the time in the world to pick us off as we try to cross the grounds. Even if he doesn’t call for help.”

  “Maybe we can play a lullaby, get him to go to sleep,” Pike offered.

  Chhun agreed with Masters. “We’re going to have to draw his attention away from whoever takes him out.”

  Bear raised a hand. “I volunteer to kill the insurgent.”

  “Fine,” Chhun said. “Figured as much. So Masters, Wraith, and I will slip into the city and distract the sentry from there. This is before most of your time but, Wraith, remember Life’s trick for drawing out snipers? Same principle. We grab the sentry’s attention, and if he calls something in on us, it’ll take patrols away from where we want to be. Pike, you stay put in case the Intrepid does show up. Everyone give Pike your bots.”

  The legionnaires handed Pike their bots so that he could paint the target—hopefully with them in the clear—should the need arise. Pike, for his part, seemed disappointed to be out of the action, but understood the importance of his role.

  “So what am I supposed to do if Intrepid shows up and you guys are still inside?” asked Pike.

  “We’ll call in reports,” Chhun said. “If we have confidence that our plan will work, call them off. If we tell you otherwise… have Intrepid take its shots.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Wraith said. “I at least want a heads-up if an orbital strike is coming my way.”

  “You hear that, Pike?” said Masters. “Be sure to tell Wraith he’s about to be blown to bits.”

  Wraith scowled. Why did I let myself get into this mess?

  “Wraith,” said Chhun, turning his rifle over in his hands. “If Intrepid shows, and neither you or I think they will, they’re going to take their best shots whether Pike paints the targets or not. If it comes to that, I doubt any of us will be in a position to stay alive.”

  “How comforting.”

  Chhun returned his attention to the others. “That leaves Bear, Fish, and Sticks to get up behind the sentry from the jungle cover and take him out.”

  “Ha,” Wraith said. “I didn’t see that before.”

  “What?” Chhun asked.

  “Fish. Sticks. Fish sticks.”

  The kill team stared at Wraith blankly.

  “It’s a food,” Wraith insisted, feeling suddenly off his game. The nonchalance of Captain Keel guided him. “Pirates like it. All right, never mind. Before you guys take out the sentry, that’ll be a good time to drop the first missile.”

  “Good,” Chhun said. “Now…” The leader of Victory Squad began to map out routes, identifying fallback positions, repeating team objectives, and giving last-minute instructions.

  Wraith heard all of this, but distantly. Like the songs sent over distant waters. Present, but thin and barely comprehensible.

  Who am I? Wraith asked himself. What am I even doing here?

  The abrupt blending of two worlds and two lives left Captain Ford feeling as though he was cracking up. After this… he needed time to sort things out. Time to reconcile the words he’d spoken to Leenah before he left the Six with the words he’d spoken to the kill team before he’d left a shuttle bearing the body of Twenties, years ago.

  Did he owe anyone anything? And what did he owe himself?

  And did it even matter? Because now was the time to KTF. It
would be them or him, soon. And he would win and prove himself right, justified in everything. Seven years, and now a payoff in the form of a crippling blow to a warlord he’d only heard of a few days ago. Stopping Goth Sullus would make everything he’d done, right.

  It had to be.

  14

  General Nero walked through the central command room of the Republic shipyards. No—not the Republic shipyards, not any longer. Kesselverks was now under control of the Black Fleet. Its owner was the man in black.

  The attack on the moon had stalled, Nero knew, but Fortress Omicron would fall; the legionnaires defending it could not resist the superior numbers of his shock troopers. The gun would soon belong to the Black Fleet. Nero would see to it personally, if he must.

  But the shipyards! The shipyards had come under his control exactly as he had intended.

  A burst of blaster fire echoed from somewhere deep in the cavernous depths of the factory. The area where the destroyer bridge frames were printed before being sent for cold-fusing to the impervisteel hull, as Nero recalled.

  Well. The shipyards were mostly under his control.

  He turned and ordered one of his staff officers to send a detachment of shock troopers to shore up whatever force was meeting resistance. The private security had been routed early on, but the Republic marines were a persistent bunch. Nero would credit them that much. They always had been.

  A major stepped out of the massive double doors of a conference room and gave Nero a sharp salute. “We have converted the Kesselverks boardroom to serve as your command center, General.”

  “Good.” Nero pulled open the doors, revealing a busy crew of black-clad staff officers monitoring S-comms, battle grids, and intelligence reports. “General Nero on premises!”

  The command center jumped up in rigid attention, each officer crisply saluting in textbook fashion.