Rogue World (Undying Mercenaries Series Book 7)

by B. V. Larson

  Shaken, his recruits didn’t know what to do. The front rank stood from their kneeling position, and to me, it looked like they might turn chicken and run.

  To her credit, Adjunct Toro instantly recognized that she was in charge of two terrified platoons now.

  “Charge!” she roared. “They cheated! Kill them all!”

  Legion recruits, even the fresh ones, aren’t generally wimps. They’re usually at least jocks, if not true soldiers. A few of them were probably pissed off at seeing their commander taken out by surprise.

  They came at us then, but it wasn’t quite a charge. It was more of an organized trot. No one wanted to be the first man to come up against us.

  They caught up with Sargon, however. He’d just been a little too close. He took a dozen thrusts in the back, but still managed to hamstring one recruit with his knife before he gave up the ghost.

  “Single-rank!” I ordered, and my people formed a sharp line. “Thin them out at twenty paces!”

  Everyone on our side with a second spear threw one at the advancing line. About a dozen of the recruits went down—Sargon wasn’t the only one with good aim, if I do say so myself.

  Taking casualties is never what a line wants to see, but they still outnumbered us badly. They came in, and our two lines clashed.

  It was a mess after that. Screams burned through the air. We stung, stabbed, and slashed at one another. I realized along the way that whole battles in the distant past had been fought just like this.

  The roman legions that were our namesakes must have warred this way. So close up and personal. It wasn’t like shooting from a crouched position in a foxhole at a target you could barely see.

  The smell, the noise—it was terrifying and mesmerizing all at once.

  The battle didn’t end the way it would have in ancient times, however. Those brave warriors of the past only had one life to live. They would have broken—one side or the other running away before half of them had fallen.

  But that wasn’t the way with modern legionnaires. We knew that running would mean the enemy would stick us in the back. Bearing the curse and privilege of knowing deep inside that we would be coming back to bear consequences for our actions, we were less willing to take that chance.

  So, we stuck it out. Even the opposing recruits, God bless them, didn’t break until there were only about fifteen left.

  Finally, exhausted and bleeding, they turned tail and fled for the forest. My troops made to follow, but I called them back.

  “Let them go,” I said. “They did well.”

  Tiredly, my last handful of survivors returned and laid out flat on the rocks all around the stick that was our prize. It hardly looked like it was worth dying over, to be honest.

  Della appeared a few minutes later and brought me my flag. She tossed it to me, and I used it to wipe up blood on my ribs.

  “I wasn’t sure if I should come back or not,” she said. “I watched the whole thing from that tree over there.”

  “You did it right,” I told her.

  Della came close, fussing over my wounds. I let her.

  “It felt wrong,” she said, “not fighting with you down here on the ground. Did you send me away to keep me safe?”

  “If I did, I’ll never tell.”

  She smiled, and she kissed me.

  -19-

  I slept with Della that night. I hadn’t planned to do so, but a man like me rarely plans such events. We just take whatever opportunities arise.

  It felt strange as I hadn’t been with her in a long time. We’d sort-of raised a child, and we’d tried to connect and make a life out of it—but in the end, we were just too different.

  We had a mutual physical attraction, of course. That had never been the problem. But Della was a true wild-woman. She was the kind of person that I figured Etta would grow up to be.

  My father had always said that some dogs were just too wild, too mean and ornery to keep around. That was how it was with Della. If most women were poodles or beagles, well, she was more like a purebred wolf.

  After a night in my private officer’s quarters we parted ways with a smile and a kiss. There were no promises to mend our feelings and make a fresh go of it. That part was kind of refreshing. There was a deep honesty underlying our failed relationship that most people could only dream of.

  Sarah came to me later that morning in my office. That was a surprise.

  “Centurion?” she asked me timidly.

  Normally, a centurion didn’t talk directly to recruits. That was for the veterans. They served as mother, father, nursemaid and angry primitive god for the recruits.

  But she was cute and young. I’d seen her lying dead in the grass the day before. Somehow, that made me feel soft on her this morning.

  “What is it, recruit?” I asked.

  Sarah touched her blonde hair. It was shorter now, but there was still enough to encircle her face nicely. The modern legions weren’t as rigid about buzzing off new people’s hair as they once were. The creation of discipline through making everyone look alike wasn’t as necessary as it used to be. After they died a few times, the recruits tended to listen to you very closely.

  “I fought like an animal out there,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know I could be like that—that other people I knew could kill me, and I could kill them.”

  “Unfortunately,” I told her, “the only way we know how to train troops to fight like experienced soldiers is to give them actual experience in combat.”

  “I know that, sir,” she said. “But something happened to me out there. Something strange—I felt wild. I had a dream when I died, too.”

  Her eyes came up and met mine. Big baby blues looking right at me. “Is that normal?” she asked, her voice down to a near whisper.

  Right about then, I began wishing I had sent her to her veteran. I thought about doing it now—but I didn’t.

  “Sometimes that happens,” I admitted.

  “How could it?” she demanded suddenly, loudly, staring at me. “Was it real?”

  “I don’t think so,” I told her. “It’s like deja-vu, it’s an illusion.

  Sarah looked down again, but she didn’t leave. “You want to know what I dreamt about?” she asked quietly, stepping closer.

  Suddenly, I sensed I was in danger. I was a centurion now, not a regular soldier or even a noncom. To take advantage of this poor girl’s obvious distress, which had clearly turned her into a seductress in some kind of cruel psychological twist…well, it would be plain wrong.

  Still, she was pretty. I knew myself well enough to know I’d succumb to the situation eventually if I didn’t unload her sweetness right-quick. Maybe not today, as I’d already spent the night with Della… but eventually.

  Accordingly, I smiled big and stepped past her out of my office. I walked toward the main chamber of our pod.

  Sarah was surprised, but she trotted after me.

  Every unit had its own pod for use during transport. They were generally cubical in shape, about a hundred meters square, and built to house troops comfortably enough.

  “You’ve given me an idea,” I told her. “Let’s gather up the whole unit.”

  Using my tapper, I alerted my adjuncts and noncoms to gather the unit for an immediate assembly. They hustled troops out of their beds, bathrooms and hallways in a hurry.

  When they were all organized, lined-up and looking bewildered, I stood in front of my collective command.

  “Yesterday was a tough day for many of you,” I told them, “especially those who died. That probably wasn’t your first death, and it won’t be your last.”

  They looked at me. The recruits were bleary-eyed from a bad night’s sleep. The regulars ranged from bored to curious.

  “Normally,” I said, “a unit is given a day off to recover after an exercise like the one we just went through. I, however, don’t ascribe to that theory. I think unit cohesion needs to be reestablished. Therefore, we’ll drill today on the shooting range
all afternoon. You have until lunch to get your shit together and turn your new brains back on. Dismissed.”

  Stunned, the unit wandered off. There were some mutters and curses. That was fine with me. I watched them melt away until most were gone.

  Sarah was one of those who left dejectedly. I felt a little bad for her, but I figured we were done with introspection, sympathy-sex and navel-gazing for today.

  Harris was one of the few who stuck around. He walked up to me, narrowing his eyes.

  “What is it, Adjunct?” I asked him.

  He shook his head as if wondering at something. “I don’t know what to think,” he said.

  “Yeah? You want to talk about it? Maybe you had a bad dream when you were dead?”

  “Say what?” he demanded angrily. “Hell, no. My problem is I don’t know what to think about you. Yesterday—that was plain dirty. The dirtiest move I’ve ever seen played out in that scenario.”

  I shrugged. “I wasn’t promoted for my personality.”

  “Damn right you weren’t,” he said. “You picked me out to ambush, didn’t you? Or was it chance?”

  “Which way would make you feel better, Adjunct? I’m all about feelings.”

  He squinted at me again and shook his head. “Graves himself couldn’t have been more heartless, and I doubt he could have been more cunning. Why didn’t you just sit in the middle of that damned jungle like any normal centurion would’ve done? Why’d you have to screw with the flag, knock out an enemy group—all that shit?”

  I shrugged. “To win.”

  Harris nodded. “All right,” he said. “I can accept that. A new centurion needs to demonstrate he’s an ass-kicker…”

  As Harris continued talking, my mind began to wander. It seemed that he was trying to figure out my angle in the training. The God’s-honest truth was I hadn’t been thinking about any higher-level of learning for my command. The contest was a game of sorts, and I’d wanted to win. I always wanted to win. It was that simple.

  Leeson or some other similar officer might have stood his troops around the flag, fought hard, and possibly won anyway against a pack of green recruits. But that wasn’t my way.

  Listening to Harris vaguely, it occurred to me that telling him the truth about my motives wouldn’t expand my mystique in his mind. So I let him carry on trying to fathom my alleged genius without help.

  “One last thing,” he said finally, forcing me to pay attention again, “what about today’s drill? Why hit them hard right off? Is there something I need to know? Are we going into action earlier than planned?”

  “Nope,” I said, “I just got tired of seeing my people mope around. It’s best to keep them busy. Forget your troubles, don’t dwell on them, that’s my motto.”

  He nodded seriously. “A good motto… That’s all, sir.”

  After lunch, my unit hit the shooting range. There was an inspection going on when we got there.

  Leading my unit to the lines, we took up our assigned weapons and began practicing. The recruits were given snap-rifles, standard issue for our greenest troops. The regulars were given plasma weapons. We formed two groups and began firing.

  There were two other units using the chamber. A group of higher level officers walked along, reviewing their performance.

  Graves and Winslade were among the officers performing the inspection. They seemed surprised to see my group when they approached.

  “I believe these men are part of your cohort, Graves,” Winslade said. “I’m surprised they aren’t shooting my men in the next field by accident.”

  “McGill?” Graves asked. “Why are you drilling your troops today?”

  “To clear their minds, sir,” I said crisply.

  I worked a plasma rifle charging pod out of the stock and replaced it with another. I rammed the spent pod into a slot in the rail that ran between me and the firing range to recharge. Flipping the rifle back on, I heard the weapon hum. It was a sound that rose in pitch until it became an inaudibly high singing sound. That meant it was good to go.

  Graves didn’t say anything for a second, but soon he nodded in approval. “Carry on.”

  I turned and fired at the target. A robotic monster flailed as it was taken down. After about five seconds, it got up again and began moving in random circles. I shot it again.

  Sensing a presence at my side, I glanced to my left. It was Winslade.

  “Can I help you, Primus?” I asked him.

  Winslade peered up at me. “You’re bucking for more rank, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Who ignores a day off to go shooting after an ordeal in the arena? Only a man with unbridled ambition would even think of it.”

  “Uh… Think what you like, Primus, but my men do best when they keep busy.”

  “Yes… I can see that. I’ll keep an eye on you, McGill. You’re a dangerous man.”

  “Thank you, sir!”

  He left me then, and the inspection ended. I went back to shooting, and I actually found it cathartic. There was something about firing a powerful weapon and knocking down an alien over and over again—even an artificial alien—which I found very enjoyable.

  -20-

  After Drusus had been promoted up to Imperator, and then Equestrian, he became too high and mighty to run a Legion like Varus.

  Accordingly, a new Tribune was appointed. However, that honor didn’t fall to Winslade, who’d disgraced himself early-on in the Battle for Earth. Friends from high places on the Ruling Council had kept people like Winslade and Turov from being run out of town on a rail, but they hadn’t managed to get them any new rank.

  Instead, people of worth were advanced. In my opinion, Tribune Helena Deech was one of them.

  On the one hand, she was a real piece of work. She wasn’t pretty, and she wasn’t nice. But she was effective.

  Looking to be around thirty-five, she had tight curly hair and lots of freckles. Most people had edited that kind of thing out by the time they had reached a high rank—but not old Deech.

  “You know what they say about our new tribune?” Carlos asked me during our general assembly.

  “What? That she’s Deech the Peach?”

  He made a face of disgust. “Nah, that’s lame. They say she’s a ball-buster. That she hates men and attractive women. She only likes ugly old battle axes like herself.”

  “Huh,” I said, gazing across the open expanse of the transport’s upper deck. “I don’t think she looks all that bad.”

  Under my unit’s feet was our home pod. The whole legion was in the hold, standing on top of a stack of identical pods. The hull of the big transport arced overhead and the ribs of the ship loomed near. Each one was ten meters thick and forged with pure crystalline steel.

  Deech didn’t bother to walk in front of the whole legion and inspect us. She floated on a flitter above the cohorts, staring down from her whirring platform at us.

  “Officers, veterans and recruits,” she said. “This is my first action as the overall commander of Legion Varus. I’m proud to serve with you.”

  “This is bullshit,” Carlos muttered. “Varus should be led by someone from Varus. She’s from Iron Eagles. They don’t know shit about us—about our culture.”

  “Culture?” I asked. “We kill stuff for a living. What’s there to know?”

  Carlos looked sullen.

  I wondered why people always disliked outsiders from the first minute they ran into them. For my part, I was more than willing to give this old battle axe a fair shake.

  “This operation should be a simple one,” Deech went on. “In fact, we shouldn’t even be deploying an entire legion for such a small matter. A group of renegade lab workers have refused to abandon their facilities. They’ve been warned and warned again. Earth can only tolerate so much defiance.”

  We stared up at her, listening, frowning. So far, she did sound like a hard-ass—I wasn’t disappointed.

  “Legion Varus has always served in special-du
ty cases like this one. It might get messy if they try to actively resist. It’s even possible they’ll use specialized, experimental weapons against you.”

  “Are they going to throw beakers and microscopes at us?” Carlos demanded aloud.

  “Shut up and maybe she’ll tell us,” I told him. I’d let him get away with talking to me because we were friends, but I knew that couldn’t continue in front of the troops. I was a centurion now, not a recruit in the back row.

  To Carlos’ credit, he did shut up.

  “Now that we’re underway,” Deech continued, “I can reveal some details about our mission. First of all, it is important. The Galactics have outlawed weapons research of the kind that’s been taking place at this facility. When Earth took over the Cephalopod worlds, it took us some time to figure out what we’d gained—and what we’d taken responsibility for.”

  She swept the crowd with a stern gaze. Nobody was laughing now. We knew trouble when we heard it. Galactic legal violations topped the charts in that department.

  “Our government let the work continue in secret for a time. But when the Galactics were detected returning with their battle fleet, it was decided such efforts must be shut down and expunged. That’s our true mission, to not only remove the scientists, but also to delete all evidence that might be incriminating.”

  Deech began praising us as a legion after that. She listed our accomplishments and talked about how respected we were. She then applied the old saw about doing the dirty work that needed doing. That’s when I knew she was wrapping it up.

  “Your individual officers will brief you on operational objectives. Train hard, don’t assume the mission will be easy—even though it probably will be. Dismissed!”

  The legion melted back into their pods over the next several minutes. I didn’t go below decks, however, I watched a knot of officers approach Deech. Most of them were centurions, and there was a primus or two.

  Taking my new rank seriously, I walked toward them and joined the circle.

  “That’s right,” Deech was saying. “There is no comprehensive list of their security systems, or their experimental weaponry.”