by B. V. Larson
“Hmm…” I said as we reached the main hatch on the lifter. “How long have we got before they deliver a payload?”
“About seven minutes—but it could be less.”
“How could it be less?”
“Not all missiles carry conventional fusion warheads.”
I didn’t really know what she was talking about, but I figured she did, and that was good enough for me.
“Okay, listen up,” I said. “Since we’re supposed to be the first group off the ship, we’re supposed to load-up last. Stand aside and let the other units board ahead of us.”
A modern lifter held a full cohort, about twelve hundred troops altogether, plus a lot of gear. It was able to carry more in a pinch, but the brass didn’t like to overload them if it wasn’t entirely necessary.
We watched as two more units straggled in and boarded. There were three units aboard plus mine which was standing around outside on the dock. There was nothing else here other than a big pile of equipment for everyone. We took our portion and stood milling around.
Beyond the lifter, I could see the stars outside. They caught my thoughts for a moment. From here, they didn’t look threatening, but they were blazing nuclear furnaces when you got up close—chock full of radiation too. Space was always deadly, no matter how peaceful it appeared to be from your viewpoint.
“What’s the damned hold-up?” Harris finally shouted in my headset.
“Don’t know,” I admitted. “Is Graves aboard yet?”
“Yes sir,” Natasha told me.
That’s what I liked about her. She kept tabs on everything. If you weren’t paying attention, she was. She functioned like the extra brains I’d somehow missed out on at birth.
“This is bullshit…” Harris said.
“I second that motion,” Toro added.
I glanced around, and they were all looking at me. I was getting an odd vibe… Could they be expecting me to take drastic action? Was there some particular thing they were hoping I’d order them to do, so I would take the heat for it later? It seemed to me that they were.
Instead of answering, I sniffed loudly and checked my tapper.
“Invading a planet without breakfast…” I said. “It just seems barbaric.”
Leeson sidled up to me. I couldn’t recall ever having seen him do that before—at least not to me.
“Sir,” he said in a low tone, using private tactical radio only. “Let the next unit climb over our feet. This lifter might get orders to eject any second.”
I shrugged. “If it does, I’m not going to be the one who wasn’t where I was supposed to be. Not this time. I have been awarded new levels of responsibility, and I intend to behave accordingly.”
Leeson looked confused and a little pissed off. He’d always been a man who had a short temper.
“What’s gotten into you?” he demanded. “Since when have you followed a petty order to the letter when circumstances dictate you could get away with something else?”
I shrugged. “We stand until we’re ordered to move, or until everyone else is aboard.”
He squinted at me suspiciously. Toro tapped his shoulder. She flashed me a look of disgust.
“It’s no good, Adjunct,” she said. “I heard our centurion here is infatuated with these rogues.”
“What?” Harris shouted. “Are you kidding me? Centurion, did you bang one of those skinnies down there already? I mean, seriously?”
Heaving a sigh, I looked down at Natasha—who was quite red-faced. That told me all I needed to know. She’d apparently spread around some version of yesterday’s events that was less than flattering.
“Sorry sir,” she said. “I—that was before last night. I misunderstood the situation, and others must have embellished upon what I said.”
“Gossip...” I said, shaking my head. “It’s just too good to pass up.”
I couldn’t be too mad at her. After all, there was some truth to the claims. I hadn’t touched the scientist in question, but I did feel like slowing this invasion down a little in her favor. I wasn’t in any kind of all-fired hurry to go down there and slaughter anyone.
In fact, I’d been entertaining a highly treasonous line of thought over the last few minutes. If—just if, mind you—the transport was about to be blown to fragments—so what? We’d all be okay. Legion Varus would be revived back on Earth when the mission failure was reported. That sequence of events was about the only way I could think of that would allow the people on the planet below to keep breathing.
And who knew? If these rogue research techs could trash an Earth Legion, maybe they could knock out the Galactic ships that were reportedly in transit to Arcturus, too.
Alas, my subtle plan of stonewalling was demolished by Graves.
“McGill!” his voice boomed in my ear.
“Yes, Primus!”
My eyes darted around my team. Someone had ratted me out and kicked this upstairs. It could have been any of them, or all of them. Only Harris was meeting my eyes, and he looked pissed. That didn’t mean anything, as he almost always looked pissed.
“What are you doing standing around on the ramp with your thumb up your butt?” Graves demanded.
“Sir, I’ve been ordered to be the last unit to board.”
“You are the last unit!” he shouted. “The others were knocked out.”
“What…? How, sir?”
“Didn’t you feel a strike just moments ago?” Graves demanded in my ear.
“We didn’t feel a thing, sir.”
“Really…? It must be the new dampeners. I guess they’re working even better than expected, Centurion. Anyway, the enemy warheads got within ten thousand kilometers when we met them with kinetic countermeasures. Rather than being knocked out, their onboard AI must have set off their warheads.”
“Isn’t that way too far off to affect us?”
“Normally, yes, but they were X-ray bombs. Atomic-powered lasers. That kind of tech only works once, but that’s good enough. Extremely powerful X-rays beamed through the ship with precision. Every trooper who was still in the hold—still inside their cubes—died within a short time.”
My mouth dropped open. So that was it. The missiles hadn’t been intending to knock out the ship, they’d been going for our troops.
“How many did we lose, Primus?” I asked.
“About sixty-five percent. Command chat hasn’t released any of this info yet, by the way as we didn’t want to cause a panic.”
I snorted. “A panic? There’s no such thing in a Varus man’s heart, sir!”
“Good to hear. Now, I’m sending some pigs loaded with extra gear. Every lifter has a revival machine aboard. They’ll work non-stop to rebuild the legion. But the fresh troops will need gear, and it’s your unit’s first mission to load the ship with everything you can in the next ten minutes.”
That’s when I remembered there was a big pile of extra equipment in the lifter bay already. Battle-suits, beamers, snap-rifles and rucksacks filled with every type of gear were stacked high.
While I spoke to Graves, I pin-wheeled one arm. Troops began grabbing the extra gear and rushing up the ramp. They vanished in the dark maw of the lifter.
A pig came in with more, and we kept loading.
“Take the first section,” I ordered my men. “Right here at the hatch.”
To fit aboard as many troops as possible, a unit would normally press deeper into the rows of jump seats to the very back before sitting down. That way, the next load of troops wouldn’t have to trip over boots and gear while coming aboard.
Graves contacted me again several minutes later. “Are you aboard yet?” he asked. “I can’t see your suit cam online.”
“All present and accounted for,” I said, and I twiddled my body-cams back into the “on” position. I’d turned them off the night before when things had gotten interesting with Natasha.
“There you are,” Graves said. “Tell your people to hang on. We’re decoupling now.”
As we cast off, I felt a distinct sense of motion. The big, fat ship slewed around and began to immediately plunge toward the planet’s distant surface.
I had to hand it to those dome-dwelling rogues, they were resourceful. I couldn’t help but wonder what other surprises were awaiting us when we got down onto their home turf again.
-33-
“X-rays?” Harris demanded incredulously after I relayed the facts to my command team. “You mean, like, what they use to shoot me in the mouth once a year?”
“Not exactly,” Natasha corrected him. “These X-rays are much more powerful. It’s not just radiation passing through the body to form useful images. Think of radiation that pierces every living cell in many people at the same moment. The organs are lethally damaged, and death quickly follows.”
“That’s crazy!”
“I think the attack makes sense,” she said. “Kill the troops and the crew first, and you don’t have to worry about an invasion. We’re lucky they didn’t wipe Gold Deck as well. If the missiles had gotten any closer, they probably would have killed everyone aboard all at once, wiping our legion in a single strike.”
“Makes sense to you, maybe,” Harris grumbled. “You techies love mass-death. It’s just not an honest way to kill a man. Can you tell me this: why didn’t they strike our ship with these missiles the second we showed up in orbit?”
Natasha shrugged. “Maybe they take a long time to target. Maybe we moved inside their effective range too quickly. We rushed straight in and dropped on their planet, remember. With our troops all deployed on the ground, using anti-personnel missiles on the transport wouldn’t have been as effective.”
“Huh…” Harris said, turning to me. “So, what’s the plan, Centurion?”
“We did have a plan,” I said, “but losing two thirds of the legion has probably changed all that. Command chat indicates that all six of the surviving Primus-level officers are discussing it now.”
“Say what?” Harris said. “What about Deech? She’s in charge.”
“Not for the moment. She was reviewing troops in the cubes, and she was killed with them. The revival machines back on Blue Deck are pumping people out stat, but by the time she’s back in the game we’ll be down on the ground.”
He frowned at me. So did Toro, Leeson and even Natasha.
“Who’s in charge then?” Leeson asked the question that was on everyone’s mind. “Tell me it’s Graves.”
“It should be,” I admitted, “but the word is that it’s Winslade for now.”
There was a collective groan heard among my officers and noncoms. If there was an officer who was more reviled and less respected than Winslade in this legion, I didn’t know who it was.
Serving the legion in the past, he’d been a pet-project of Turov’s. When she’d bailed out on Varus and joined Hegemony—which everyone in the legions called the hogs—he’d followed her.
But after that, there’d been some shenanigans during the invasion of Earth by the Cephalopods, and Winslade had been sent back to Varus again. Their loss was our loss on that deal, the way I figured it.
About then, as if to reinforce my intel on the command situation, a familiar voice penetrated our helmets. It was none other than Winslade himself.
“Citizen-soldiers,” he said. “We have been horribly wronged. Our rescue work here has been rejected by the rebellious lab-dwellers on the planet below. They have struck a great blow against the legion, one that cannot go unpunished.”
I had to admit, old Winslade could turn a pretty phrase when he wanted to. It was all bullshit, of course, hot air about how mean the renegade scientists were for defending themselves. He persisted in the myth we were here to save the locals despite themselves, and he was so convincing it sounded like he believed it himself.
After speechifying for three long minutes, he finally got to the point.
“Now, things are different,” he said. “We can’t afford further losses. Our generous hand has been turned into a fist. These rogues have forced us to act harshly.”
“Here it comes,” Leeson said, “and it’s about damned time someone took the collar off this dog.”
“Naturally,” Winslade continued, “we’d rather isolate and arrest the malcontents and bring them to formal trial. Due, however, to our reduced numbers and the persisting resistance of the local population, that’s no longer feasible. Every legionnaire is hereby ordered to use deadly force in the face of any opposition. Any hostiles who do not immediately surrender upon making contact with legion personnel are to be shot without hesitation.”
My troops looked around at one another. We wore grim expressions. The enemy was tenacious and mean, but they didn’t seem to have revival machines. When they died, it was permanent every time. It seemed a little unfair, when all things were considered.
Winslade signed off after assuring us with a promise of swift victory. We muttered glumly and reviewed the new mapping data being transmitted to our tappers.
Instead of dropping in three strategic locations in the highlands surrounding the dome, we were now going to be placed in a single spot of rough terrain. The LZ was about a thousand meters above the dome, and due north of it.
“All they have to do is get one more of those missiles to fly over our camp,” Harris complained. “Then it’s lights-out for everybody.”
I slammed him on the shoulder, earning myself a glare.
“We’re not going to let that happen, Adjunct,” I told him. “When that lifter ramp drops, I want every jackass on this bus racing down there and seeking cover. When we’ve swept the immediate area, we’ll get fresh orders, probably to mount an attack. Time to gear-up soldiers, and don’t forget to say your prayers.”
We rode down through the atmosphere with our teeth grinding. Only the good Lord knew what these people had in store for us today. The one thing I was sure of was they’d never go down without a fight.
When we struck ground the ramp dropped, and we rushed outside.
The planet looked much the same as it had when I’d last been here. It was all black stone, and mist lay over the landscape like a thick coat of teargas. Over my shoulder, Arcturus was big but very dim in the sky, visible through a shroud of thick brownish clouds.
“Take up defensive positions!” I called out.
Carlos came up to me and waved. “Good to be back on this shithole, Centurion,” he said.
“It’s like an April picnic in Georgia,” I agreed.
“I got myself reassigned,” he told me. “All the bio people were being called up to work the revival machines aboard the lifters. We’ve got to churn out a new legion.”
I nodded. “Any news about Deech?” I asked. “Has she been revived yet?”
“No sir. She’s staying in limbo.”
My eyes narrowed. I knew what that meant. “Winslade likes the taste of command, eh?”
“Seems like it.”
Harris came near, cursing. “Is this for real, Centurion?” he asked me. “Winslade’s going to get us all killed—like ten times over.”
“Nothing I can do, Adjunct.”
“The hell you say,” he retorted, looking me over. “That doesn’t sound like the James McGill I know so well. Why don’t you go have a talk with Winslade in his command bunker?”
“He has a bunker?”
He gestured off to the south, at a low point that was sheltered from the dome and everything else. Working with heavily laden, supply-hauling ‘pigs’, a team of men were building a structure out of puff-crete.
“He’s got himself a well-stocked cave,” Harris said, “I want to spit, but can’t do it inside a faceplate.”
“You can,” Carlos interjected brightly, “but it would be messy.”
“And you,” Harris said, turning on Carlos. “You’re one of McGill’s butt-mon
keys and a bio to boot. Get over there and poison Winslade’s soup or something.”
Carlos shook his head. “He’s following protocol. Winslade was designated second in command by Deech. With the legion under fifty percent strength, it’s regs to revive only combat people. You don’t print out brass in the middle of a firefight.”
Harris gestured wildly. His hands rose up on long arms, and they flapped at the sky. “Are you blind, Ortiz? Do you see any approaching enemy armies? We’re on this rock alone, it’s a quiet day in paradise out here!”
“I’ve got a solution,” I said. “Why don’t you go over there and settle the matter?”
Harris looked at me, suddenly calm. “Is that an order, sir?”
“It certainly isn’t.”
He grinned. “I see—but I have to refuse. I’m just not good at that sort of thing. I—I’d get caught right off. You don’t want to see me permed, do you sir?”
“At least it would be quieter around here. It’s put up or shut-up time, Harris.”
He looked at me, then the ground, then me again. “Nah,” he said, and he walked back downslope to his light troopers, muttering. They were all squatting around, taking a break. He began kicking ass and shouting orders the moment he reached them.
“What if he’d gone for it?” Carlos asked me.
“Well, then the problem would have been solved, one way or the other.”
Carlos began chuckling. “That’s cold, McGill. Real cold. I like it.”
He left then, heading into the lifter. He had lots of work to do in a cramped revival chamber. I didn’t envy him that. Giving birth to a chain of angry troopers—I’d rather stand out here and die clean.
Leeson had the weaponeers, and at this range they were our most important troops. He set up three 88s along the ridge overlooking the dome, building puff-crete bunkers around them. I hadn’t operated light artillery in a long time, and I was glad to see them deployed today.
While I walked the ridge, there was some shouting and pointing downslope. Turning, I was immediately alarmed.
“That black slop again, Centurion,” Leeson said. “They’re farting it out of the ground all around the dome. Here we go with round two.”