Blood World (Undying Mercenaries Series Book 8)

by B. V. Larson

  “Bingo!”

  “This is absurd,” Armel said, giving himself a shake. “Such fantasies! No wonder you Varus types get wiped every other mission.”

  “No,” Deech said, “it’s true. At least, the part about illusion boxes is. When I took over Varus, I was briefed in detail. I’ll show you the vids.”

  I stepped away from the table while she paired her tapper with it and began playing classified vids. Some of them I’d taken. Some had been made as far back as Tech World, where the Tau wore faces and clothing that were as ethereal as the simulator on the table.

  -53-

  When Armel was convinced he could be in trouble, he came to me again. I was led to his private office.

  “Here,” he said, pouring us each a drink.

  “Should we be drinking before battle, sir?”

  “Of course. This is gin. Do you know what the British used to call this particular spirit, centuries ago?”

  “Uh… no sir.”

  “Dutchman’s courage. The Dutch invented gin, you see, and they dosed their men liberally before marching them into the cannons.”

  I sipped my drink while he gulped his. I considered telling him that a small pistol was sometimes referred to as a “Frenchman’s pecker” in my part of the woods—but I figured that wouldn’t make him happy.

  “You have to talk to me seriously now, McGill,” he said.

  “Um… what else do you need to know, sir?” I asked. “All you have to do is assume you’re fighting against Claver—Old Silver—and plan accordingly. That should about do it.”

  “Old Silver…” he said in a dazed tone.

  “Yeah. Isn’t that what you used to call Claver when he was in your legion?”

  “Yes, of course…” he said, looking haunted. “Did you know that Old Silver was always in trouble—even long before you met him? Even before I came to command Germanica?”

  “No… but it stands to reason. A man like him can’t hide among normal people for long.”

  “Indeed not. He’s one of the first legionnaires, you know. A very old soul, as they say. There have been whispers…”

  He had me curious now, so I leaned forward and peered at him.

  “Whispers about what, Tribune?”

  Armel took another gulp from his glass then set it down with a knocking sound on his desk. The desktop glowed around it, a shimmering blue, waiting for instructions.

  “There have always been whispers about the long-term effects of countless revivals. How they might warp a man’s mind with successive small errors introduced over time. It has been hypothesized that, given enough recycles over a century or more, the personality of the individual involved might become permanently altered.”

  “Makes sense, I guess—but not in Claver’s case. Wasn’t he called Old Silver precisely because he didn’t die much?”

  Armel leaned forward. His voice lowered, as if he was imparting a dark secret. “That’s right—but that’s because when you met him he wasn’t allowed to die often. In the early days, his role was the opposite. He was killed many, many times.”

  “Why?”

  He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “In the old days, when we first began to take contracts and venture out into space—things were different. Our histories from those times… well, they’re darker than you know.”

  All of this was interesting, but it seemed unimportant to me right now.

  “Okay,” I said. “I get it. I know that Earth’s legions were, at times, even deployed to eradicate rebels on Earth herself.”

  “Exactly! When Hegemony was established as our worldwide government, not everyone wanted to embrace the Galactics. Not everyone wanted to be part of the Empire.”

  “Okay… so you’re saying Claver comes from that time?”

  “He does. As do a few others—your man Graves, for instance. He comes to mind. Did you never wonder why it took him nearly a century to rise to the rank of Primus? Well… not everyone in Central trusts him still. Not even to this very day.”

  “I see… but what’s all this got to do with Claver’s behavior now?”

  “They held back his rank for many, many decades. Just as they did with Graves. The revivals—they twisted him. Claver’s dangerous now. He’s mean-spirited and ruthless.”

  I laughed and gulped my drink. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Armel looked at me seriously.

  “All right, I will tell you something new: If Claver is commanding Varus today, as you claim… we’re in trouble. We might not be able to defeat him.”

  That comment floored me. If there was one thing in the cosmos that didn’t fit Armel’s personality, it was humility. He thought he was better than everyone. For him to admit he was in trouble—the situation had to be serious.

  “How do we beat him then?” I asked. “Will he send his lights out in an early, unsupported attack?”

  Armel waved my words away as if they offended his ears.

  “No, no. Of course not. He’s no fool. I’d rather fight a dozen Winslades. Pardon me, but you must go. I have to think.”

  So saying, he got up and went to his liquor cabinet. Apparently, that’s where he did a lot of his “thinking” these days.

  It was my cue to exit, so I took it. I walked out and headed down to the lifters.

  Before I got there, a person I hadn’t seen in a long time caught up to me and matched my stride as best she could.

  “Centurion Leeza?” I asked her. “Wow… it’s been since Tech World, hasn’t it?”

  “Indeed it has, McGill,” she said with one of those foreign accents that sounded faintly British.

  Leeza was a tall one with narrow hips and suspicious eyes. Today, the object of her suspicion was clearly me.

  “Uh…” I said. “I haven’t raided the officer’s liquor cabinet yet. I swear.”

  Her face flickered with a smile at our shared memory. “I know. You just got here. When I heard you were revived on Actium, I traced you to Gold Deck. I waited outside until Armel finished your briefing.”

  “Oh…” I said, already entertaining ideas of a date. Somehow, getting to know a Germanica girl sounded interesting. I’d never managed it before.

  The trouble was that even if this battle went well, one or the other of us would probably be dead. Then we’d be revived on different ships.

  Shrugging, I decided to make the best of it.

  “So, why’d you look me up?”

  “You’ve got to drop with someone’s unit. You’re to be embedded with me.”

  “Sounds good. Let’s review the troops.”

  Centurion Leeza reintroduced me to her legionnaires, calling me a “battlefield asset” and an “advisor” to be taken seriously. She made it pretty clear I was a visitor, with no official command capacity.

  For my own part, I smiled and nodded to all of her adjuncts and noncoms. In return, they eyed me like I was a road-kill soufflé.

  Packing with Leeza’s unit into a lifter, I was geared up in heavy armor and given a belcher to lug around. That was a nice surprise. I’d been a weaponeer back in the day, and I’d always kind of missed the role.

  Actium was equipped with ten lifters, just like Nostrum. When the time came to start the battle, both of the larger vessels spilled out their assault ships in a swarm. Riding down with the rest of Leeza’s unit, I experienced a nearly nostalgic emotion as the lifter screamed down to a harsh landing on Blood World.

  The landscape was familiar—but not identical. The crater we’d landed in this time was different. I could see that right off. It was much larger, for one thing. It was a good ten kilometers across with an oval rather than a circular shape. Apparently, two bombs had made divots in the landscape here, one overlaying the other.

  The city surrounding the mega-crater was bigger than the other I’d visited, too. More importantly, it was still inhabited. It gleamed with lights and people. I could see them gathering around the edge of the crater as our jets wound down to a rumble.<
br />
  The battle started on the night side of the planet this time. We landed and jogged out onto the rough surface. We could see a ragged line of figures circling the crater on all sides.

  “Are those civvies?” I asked Centurion Leeza.

  “I sure hope so,” she replied.

  It was a fair sentiment, so I let it ride. We trotted a long distance away from the lifters before they roared up into the sky again, leaving us on the dirt.

  I flipped up my visor for a sniff—it wasn’t good.

  “Smells like a city dump,” I commented.

  “That’s the living city around us. Not all of them are still inhabited after the planet was bombed—but this one is. They smell better when they’re vacant.”

  “Um… okay. About that, do you know who bombed them, Centurion?”

  She looked at me seriously. “No. No one seems to. Either the squids forgot to tell them, or they forgot themselves.”

  I nodded, but I doubted everyone had forgotten the truth. Someone knew the whole story. Whatever it entailed, the people of this harsh planet clearly had a right to be paranoid.

  -54-

  We were deployed by cohorts onto the field of honor. We didn’t line up like Napoleonic Era fools, however. We took cover, fanned out, and advanced into the brush.

  There was more organic material here than there had been in the last pit I’d fought in. Big mushrooms still dominated, but spiny plants with crooked branches like fingers were everywhere in between.

  As Leeza’s group was a light unit, I was stuck with a pack of snap-rifle toting troops. Playing the part of a weaponeer, a heavy belcher thumped on my shoulder. I’d been issued a breastplate and a heavier protective suit than the regulars—but it wasn’t a powered exoskeletal rig.

  “Getting tired, Varus?” Leeza’s top noncom called out to me.

  A few of his buddies in light kits grinned.

  “Nope,” I lied. “I’ve been looking forward to the workout. It’s been hours since I fought those Vulbites.”

  They looked a little disappointed, and I made an effort to make my long strides seem smooth and untroubled. For laughs, I began to outpace them.

  Now, there’s something deep in the human psyche that just hates the hell out of being beaten in a race. Just watch people in a shopping line or a slow-down point on a highway if you want proof.

  The veteran raced after me to catch up. I could hear him puffing, and all his assigned squaddies were in his wake.

  There was no way I could keep up my pace for long, of course. I’d sprinted ahead, and my legs were about a mile long, but I knew they’d give out pretty soon as I had about fifty more kilos of gear than my pursuers did.

  Accordingly, I twisted and dove into a ditch, sliding into a position to sight along my belcher’s optics.

  Alarmed, the lights all hopped after me and threw themselves onto their bellies.

  “Did you see something?” the veteran puffed. “Are we under fire?”

  “Nah,” I said, “I just thought this was a good spot to fire from. See the terrain ahead? I’ve got a little elevation, but not enough to be exposed on all sides.”

  Frowning, the veteran looked over the quiet landscape.

  “Why don’t you take your bunny-rabbits forward a ways? I like to have a screen for my belcher.”

  He looked at me, spat deliberately, and then moved away in a crouch. His troops followed, fanning out.

  As it turned out, I almost felt bad for these Germanica pukes. After all, I’d arguably been to blame for their bad luck.

  Snap-rifle fire erupted. They were single-shots released at long range. Two of the lights pitched onto their faces, chests and heads blasted open.

  “Sniper!” I shouted. It was a bit late, but better late than never, I always say.

  The lights were crawling like snakes in every direction. The veteran made it back to my hole and slithered in beside me.

  Face full of dirt and hate, he snarled at me.

  “You knew they were there!” he accused me. “They’re your troops!”

  “Nah,” I said, sighting along my belcher.

  At long range, a belcher was still an effective weapon. Even a kilometer away, it could knock out a soldier, small gun emplacement, or even a vehicle without a trace to give away your position.

  Some said the belcher was antiquated. That a shoulder-launched smart missile was a better weapon. Under certain circumstances, I had to agree. But it was the sheer versatility that made the belcher a good weapon. You didn’t have to carry extra ammo for it, just recharge it now and then. It might overheat if you held the trigger down too long, but so did a lot of weapons.

  What I liked most about it was the fact I could tighten down the beam to a narrow stream of energy no bigger than a man’s skull or crank it wide to take out a dozen unarmored targets at once.

  Now was the time to tighten it down. Spotting a Varus sniper, I placed the reticle on her chest and fired.

  No recoil. No drop-off due to range. Nothing complicated like that. The beam simply connected two soldiers for a split-second—then one of them was dead.

  My unannounced shot startled the Germanica veteran a bit. He began sweeping the field with his scope.

  “Two o’clock,” he said.

  “Take the shot, I’m after another sniper.”

  “Check it, McGill,” he said. “It’s a nest of them. They’re setting up an 88.”

  That got my attention. “Damn,” I said. “So far forward? Advancing so fast with artillery? That’s aggressive play.”

  The veteran said nothing.

  I sighted and fired, letting the beam go for nearly a full second. I played it over the nest, destroying the weapon, the gunner, and one of the team who’d been dragging it.

  We had to duck after that as a storm of counter-fire came back our way, pinning us.

  “That was a mean shot,” the veteran said. “Sorry about suggesting you were on the other side. Clearly, you’re not.”

  “Apology accepted, Vet. But now I think we should exit this position and seek new cover. They’ve got us flagged. Lord only knows what’s coming next.”

  The battlefield had been steadily heating up during this early encounter. Both sides had moved forward, gaining ground rapidly. We’d met, and now sporadic exchanges were transforming into an all-out firefight.

  Crawling deeper into Germanica territory, I saw lots of stuff fly overhead. Mushrooms jumped and caught fire. Spiny bushes were lashed as if hit by a sudden windstorm, crumbling apart to show the white wood within the black bark.

  Along the way, the vet caught one. I felt kind of bad about that—but I kept crawling.

  When I reached Leeza’s trench line, I crawled inside and lay on my back.

  “Are you hit?” she demanded, crawling right over my body and checking every inch of my armor.

  “I caught a couple of rounds in the back of my breastplate—but it held.”

  She released a gust of air, sighing in relief. “What’s wrong with you?” she demanded. “I’ve been calling for five full minutes.”

  “Yeah… I was kind of busy.”

  “What possessed you to race right up into contact with the enemy?”

  I hesitated. I sensed that telling her about foot-racing her vet wasn’t going to impress.

  “Uh… I guess I wanted to convince your people I wasn’t a Varus spy.”

  She shook her head. “Such foolishness. You’re an officer, and you’re critical to this mission. Where’s the squad that was with you?”

  “The rabbits? Um… I don’t think they made it.”

  Leeza spoke through clenched teeth after that. Knowing women pretty well, I felt sure this was a bad sign. All hopes of a date with her after this vaporized.

  “Armel has ordered me to help you withdraw to the rear lines,” she said.

  I looked at her questioningly. “Help me withdraw? Is that anything like placing me under arrest?”

  “If it needs to be that way, then y
es,” she said flatly.

  Shrugging, I got up to follow her.

  Leeza moved furtively. “This way. Don’t stand up straight and make a target out of yourself, please.”

  Moving in a fast crouch, I followed her through the winding trench lines. The firefight was still hot, but the sounds of it soon faded behind us.

  At last we reached a set of four pigs—big drones that could move a lot of weight. The pigs were digging a hole—a deep hole.

  “What’s that? Four meters straight down?”

  Armel came swaggering up to me. “Precisely four meters,” he said. “And I’ll make it your tomb if you don’t stop taking chances.”

  “A bunker?” I demanded. “That’s what you’re doing, digging an officer’s latrine in the middle of a death-fight? This might be over, Armel, before you finish this hole.”

  Armel’s eyes were red and his voice was slightly uneven. I could tell he was mildly drunk. I felt like asking him if he was as full of courage today as an old-time Dutchman.

  “Yes, it’s a bunker. But it’s not for me, fool. It’s for you. I should have placed you under arrest immediately, it would have helped everyone.”

  “No offense,” I told him, “but I’ve been under arrest before. Many times, in fact. Not once did I find it helpful.”

  Armel chuckled. “Then you shouldn’t have run off like a madman to the slaughter. You shall stay in this bunker and let my sweet Germanica do her job.”

  The bunker was done in a few minutes. After the puff-crete dried, we retired within.

  “You’ve even got a desk down here,” I marveled, running my hands over it.

  “The better to coordinate my counterattack.”

  I shook my head. “There’s not going to be one.”

  Armel narrowed his eyes at me. “What do you know about it?”

  “Claver has decided to push hard. He’ll probably keep going. Let’s take a look at the front.”

  Warily, Armel activated the desk and brought its graphics to life. He depicted the known positions of friendly and enemy units all over the battlefield. Already, Armel’s forces had been pushed back, and they owned only a third of the limited territory.

  “Looks like an all-or-nothing play to me.”