Storm World (Undying Mercenaries Series Book 10)

by B. V. Larson

  Each man that popped out was tracked by the turrets. We shouted and even went so far as to pin them down. That kept casualties to a minimum.

  Once we were all out of the tubes, Galina pointed toward the walls. I stared at the puff-crete defenses of Fort Beta, wondering what our next move should be.

  Sure enough, I spotted an automated cannon up there, swiveling and chattering like a sprinkler. It kept swinging back and forth between targets with mechanical eagerness. The crappy AI didn’t seem to know which of us it wanted to shoot first.

  “McGill…” Galina said quietly. “Could you get rid of that thing, please?”

  “Will do.”

  “I’ll do it,” Harris said, and I saw him reach out a long leg toward my Second-man.

  Now, Harris was a master of putting the hurt on a man who seemed out of reach. His body seemed to stretch and stretch under these circumstances, almost like he was made of elastic.

  My blue buddy had no idea what was coming his way, and I don’t mind telling you I thought it was unfair. He was going to use the native as a distraction for the turret to shoot at.

  When Harris had reached his greatest point of careful, slow extension, I intervened before he could kick Second-man. In the end it was me who gave Harris a push with my boot.

  Harris lost his balance and rolled onto his face.

  A sudden rattling sound told the tale of what was preordained to happen next. The auto turret, which had been guarding this lonely section of puff-crete wall, lost its cool. It put fifty rounds through Harris in a dramatic burst.

  The rest of the group froze. They were surprised and alarmed—but not me. I took the turret’s moment of distraction to toss a grav-plasma grenade at it.

  The turret didn’t like that. It was one of the newer models, and it could remember things. It put me on its kill-list and swiveled to shower me with bullets next.

  Whump!

  The grenade went off. The turret twisted up, smoked a little, and died.

  “There you go,” I told Turov. “All fixed.”

  “You got Harris killed,” she complained.

  I shrugged, uncaring. “He was the perfect distraction for the machine. Besides, he was kind of being a dick.”

  “Well, never mind. We must get inside these walls. The Wur have to be marching here next.”

  That idea made me blink in surprise. I mean, it stood to reason, but I’d never considered the thought until now.

  “Who’s running the Blood World legion, anyway?” I asked.

  She glanced at me in surprise. “You don’t know? I thought you were briefed—oh, but you missed all that. You were loafing around, dead.”

  “That’s right. There’s nothing as useless as a corpse.”

  She waved my words away irritably and made her way toward the nearest gate. I followed her, still wondering who the other tribune was, but figuring she wouldn’t like it if I kept asking.

  At the gates, we were challenged and identified. When the guards at last realized they’d met up with an honest-to-God human tribune, they changed their tunes and scrambled to open the door.

  Gawking, two giants of the biggest breed watched us march inside their walls. They each stood a solid six meters high, with heads slightly too small for their gargantuan bodies.

  The gate commander was a squid, naturally. I wasn’t sure I recognized him—but then he identified himself and I whooped.

  “Churn!” I shouted. “Is that good old Sub-Centurion Churn?”

  He looked at me, blinking his overabundant eyes. Squids had more eyes than a tarantula, and they were at least as ugly to look at.

  “Centurion McGill?” he asked. “I’m surprised to meet you again.”

  “You two can make out later,” Turov said. “Churn, lead the way to your tribune’s office, immediately.”

  “Ah… yes sir. But just for the record, I’d like to point out that your arrival is highly unusual. These natives with you, also—they’re problematic. If you would please follow protocol—”

  “Leeson, stay here and fill out whatever bullshit form he wants.”

  “Me sir?” Leeson complained.

  “That’s what I said. Now Sub-Centurion, lead the way. That’s an order.”

  With poor grace, Churn led us toward their version of Gold Bunker.

  -43-

  As we walked, I looked around and estimated the strength of the garrison here at Fort Beta. To my mind, the Blood Worlder fort looked stronger than the Varus fort had. They had a lot more troops, and each man was more physically imposing.

  Looks, however, can be deceiving. Legion Varus troops had a lot more experience than any formation of Blood Worlders. Many of us had decades of combat experience behind us, and all of our skills are sharp.

  That didn’t mean the Blood Worlders couldn’t fight—they were born and bred for that express purpose. They just didn’t have our expertise.

  Arriving at Gold Bunker, we were ushered inside. The bunker was similar in layout and design to the one we’d left behind at Fort Alpha, but it was bigger. Since Blood Worlders were often three times the height of a man, the ceilings were arched like cathedrals. The doors, too, were on a titanic scale.

  Making our way to the end of the main passage, we arrived at the tribune’s office. There were two more giants at the doors. They were imposing doormen, but they weren’t heralds by any means. They reached out and pulled the doors open without saying a word.

  Inside, an over-decorated chamber was revealed. That wasn’t anything unusual to me—I’d become used to Galina’s extravagant tastes.

  What did surprise me was the nature of the décor. There were lots of trophy cases. The cases were made with real wood that darkened with age. Half-way up the very high walls was an arsenal of antique weapons.

  Right about then, I caught on. I’d seen this kind of décor before…

  “Don’t tell me…” I said. “It can’t be! Isn’t he still commanding Legion Germanica?”

  Galina smirked at me. “No longer,” she said. “Drusus demoted him—sort of. He put it in complementary terms, of course. Lots of talk about needing an experienced man, one who could handle a new legion made up of non-humans. All nonsense, of course.”

  “Right…” I said. “They had to find experienced tribunes somewhere… but to be reduced to leading a Blood Worlder legion after having run Germanica for decades…”

  Galina lowered her voice. “If I were you, I wouldn’t bring that up. He’s touchy about it. Xlur kept complaining about him, which is partly why he ended up here. Don’t forget you had something to do with the tribune’s fall as well. Don’t forget that, McGill. I’m sure he won’t.”

  I thought that over, and a new understanding dawned in my mind.

  The last time I’d had direct dealings with Germanica was back on Blood World itself. The locals had arranged a series of arena battles between various groups. In order to ensure victory, Earth had sent not one, but two legions into the fray.

  Germanica was the odds-on favorite to win the whole thing. Unfortunately, the locals had taken a shine to me and my troops. Because of this, Germanica had been forced to forfeit.

  “Hmm…” I said, as more memories of those days flooded into my mind.

  We stepped through the outer office, which was manned by a mix of real humans and a few squids. The next set of doors was smaller, only about three meters in height. I reached out and opened these by myself.

  Inside, leaning back in his chair with his boots on his desk, was none other than Tribune Maurice Armel.

  His eyes belied his relaxed appearance. He was gauging us both as sharply as a fox on the hunt. Those quick eyes slid over Galina to me, where they stayed.

  Was it my imagination, or had his tight-lipped face just twitched a hair? Yes, I do think it did. He wasn’t happy to see me, of that much I was sure.

  This wasn’t surprising. The last time we’d been in each other’s presence, we’d killed one another. The only good thing about that fi
ght had been the simple fact that he’d died first. That had left me the winner by default—until I’d bled out later on in private.

  “Turov!” Armel said, sweeping his boots off his desk. He spoke with a French accent and wore an embarrassingly thin mustache over his sneering mouth. “I’m so glad to see an Imperator has come to take proper command of this campaign at last!”

  Galina’s face had been brightening, but it fell immediately when the word “Imperator” came out of Armel’s twitchy mouth. She’d held that lofty rank, equivalent to a two star general—but that was in the past. She’d been busted back down to tribune before being deployed to Dark World.

  Armel knew all this, naturally. He’d called her an imperator to slap her in the face.

  “Oh!” he cried out, put his hand to his mouth. “Oh no, I’m a scoundrel! You lost that rank, didn’t you? Please, accept my apology for that slip of the tongue. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you, Armel,” she said stiffly. “My regrets echo your own. It’s too bad we only have one real legion on this planet to fight with. If Germanica was here, instead of this stinking rabble of Blood Worlders, Drusus might have seen fit to assign us an imperator.”

  Upon hearing her insult, Armel’s expression darkened a shade, but he recovered quickly enough.

  The two clasped hands briefly. I watched, knowing that this universal demonstration of peaceful intent was a falsehood. These two already wanted to murder one another, and we’d only just arrived.

  “Uh…” I said. “Maybe I should wait outside.”

  “No,” Galina snapped. “Please sit with us, Centurion. After all, until the lifters bring down the rest of my legion, you’re my highest ranked supporting officer.”

  Armel indicated chairs with a flourish. We sat in them—and we sank low.

  Slightly alarmed, I looked around at Galina, she’d noticed it too. The chairs in front of Armel’s vast wooden desk were low-slung. In contrast, Armel’s seat was a bit high, allowing him to lord it over us.

  Sighing and leaning back, I took full advantage of the seat. “This is nice and comfy,” I said. “My limbs are sore after fighting all day long.”

  “Ah, where are my manners?” Armel asked.

  He sprang up and opened one of the wooden cabinets he had standing here and there. Producing a large bottle of brandy, he poured three glasses and handed them around.

  I didn’t refuse the drink—in fact, I tossed it down.

  “This brandy is the finest in the star system,” Armel told us. “It’s seven hundred credits a bottle, direct from the best cellars in Old France.”

  Galina sniffed hers, and she took a tiny taste. Immediately, she set it aside.

  I burped in my mouth and waved my glass at Armel, asking for more.

  Frowning, he poured me a stingy amount. I kept shaking the glass under his hand until he reluctantly poured another dollop.

  “Armel,” Galina began. “Let us set aside our petty jealousies and disagreements of the past.”

  “What?” he asked, blinking in surprise. He pointed at me. “Has this one been telling stories?”

  “Nah,” I said. “I didn’t even know you were the tribune of this zoo.”

  At the term “zoo” Armel’s eyes narrowed. It was a relatively new derogatory word the legions had decided to give Blood Worlder outfits. The military had always been full of special words—both the official and the unofficial.

  Galina reached out a hand and touched my wrist. “McGill, you must make an effort to be more polite.”

  Armel noticed that touch, and I got the feeling he’d heard rumors about Galina and I. In fact, I braced myself for a whole new slap-fest of insults on our sexual relationship.

  But that never came. Instead, Armel leaned back behind his desk, sipped his brandy, and nodded.

  “All right,” he said. “I agree with you, Turov. We have both been mistreated by our superiors. The only way to get back what we once possessed is through cooperation.”

  Galina nodded. “I’m glad you see reason in this instance. We must win this battle. We can’t be outdone by the Wur.”

  “Agreed.”

  And that was that. They’d started off all catty and hissing, but after getting some of that out of their systems, they decided to put away their knives and treat each other right. I was surprised and happy about the development.

  “So,” Armel said. “We must assume that the Wur will attack Fort Beta just as they did your pile of sticks to the north.”

  “They’ll come,” Galina said. “I only hope we can kill them all this time.”

  “When can your troops arrive from Legate?”

  “As soon as I give the order. Do you have room for them all?”

  Armel shrugged and made a pouty face for a moment. “We will have to build more bunkers. In the meantime, I suggest your troops come down and sleep on the lifters. I’d rather have them close in case the Wur make a serious move.”

  About then, I stopped listening. They worked out how many troops could man the walls, how long the shifts would be, and a dozen other dull details.

  The next thing I knew, a sharp jab in the shins woke me up.

  “Stop snoring and drooling, McGill,” Galina said. “It’s time for you to gather your skinny blue friends and post them at the main gate.”

  I blinked the sleep from my eyes. After fighting most of the day, I found I was more than a little fatigued.

  “The Scuppers? Why are they going to the walls?”

  “Because the rain is picking up—they don’t mind getting wet, do they?”

  “No… I suppose not.”

  “Then, get out there.”

  Galina dismissed me with a wave. Armel poured another brandy, but he excluded me, even though I shook my glass at him.

  “One for the road?” I asked.

  He frowned at me and then glanced at Galina’s glass, which was untouched. “Perhaps McGill would like to share your beverage, hmm, Tribune?” Armel asked.

  “What? Oh… you want this, McGill? No wonder you’re falling asleep on me. All right—take it.”

  I snatched it from her and downed it in a gulp before anyone could change their minds. Armel looked at me like he smelled crap. Galina turned away, disinterested.

  I could tell Armel wanted Turov to get drunk. Maybe I’m paranoid, but that was my honest impression. Hell, I might have wanted the same if we’d been alone tonight…

  That thought gave me a chill. What if Armel was about to put the moves on old Turov? Should I try to protect her—was I even justified in doing so?

  After all, she was a grown woman, and our occasional hook-ups weren’t anything serious. Still, I found myself lingering at the exit. My eyes roved over the two.

  Armel had poured her another drink, and he looked pretty lit himself by this point. He swirled his glass around, sniffed it, and talked about the bouquet.

  Galina finally took a sniff, and she was about to drink. I could tell.

  Now, you have to understand that I knew Galina Turov pretty well. She didn’t drink often, but when she did, she often lost control. Armel, on the other hand, was a crafty, high-functioning alcoholic.

  I cleared my throat loudly.

  They both turned a cold eye in my direction.

  “Sorry sirs,” I said. “Do you want me to ask Graves to begin landing the troops? I’m—”

  “Yes, yes,” Galina said, flapping a hand at me. “Get on with it. Dismissed.”

  Trying not to look sour, I nodded and left.

  But as I was exiting, Armel caught my eye. He made a tiny kissing motion with his lips, just for my benefit. Galina didn’t notice, as she was taking a burning swallow of his overpriced brandy.

  Dammit.

  I left, and the big doors swung shut behind me.

  -44-

  Walking out, I was fuming mad.

  Sure, the last time Armel and I had met up, we’d fought to the death. But that had been an honorable thing to my mind, a challe
nge made and executed to the finish. I’d won in the eyes of the worldwide audience, but we’d both been dead within the hour, making it close to a draw.

  But this? This was different. He was seducing a girl he knew full well I was involved with. What’s more, I thought he was doing it out of spite.

  Sure, Galina was a lovely woman. She kept herself fresh as an orchid, dying and coming back again as young as young could be every few years. But still, I’d be willing to bet a stack of credits tall enough to buy one of his fancy bottles of brandy that Armel was only doing it to bug me. That made things personal.

  Unfortunately, I couldn’t think of an easy way to remedy the matter in my favor. Sure, I could go back in there under some pretext and then maybe assassinate him. That would be satisfying for a few minutes at least—but then his damned Blood Worlder apes would tear me apart. They were already eyeing me like they had special orders to keep me out of the office—who knew? Maybe they did.

  Worse, Armel would just pop back out of the oven downstairs a few hours later and have me shot.

  Nope… I just couldn’t think of an easier path. This was going to take more work than my usual violent outburst.

  Checking my tapper, I found a raft of messages. I paged through those, and soon realized there were way too many to bother with. Irritated, I contacted Natasha who was up in orbit, aboard Legate.

  “James?” she answered immediately. “I see you didn’t die, and you’re at Fort Beta. How’d you pull that off?”

  “I’m slippery,” I said.

  Natasha was a tech—possibly the best tech in the legion. She’d had a thing for me that stretched all the way back to our first campaign together, so I couldn’t very well ask her for help rescuing Galina, but there was more than one way to skin a cat.

  “Natasha,” I said, “I need a crisis. Go through today’s news for me—here, I’ll give you access to my official email.”

  “Um… you want a crisis?” she asked. “I don’t understand.”

  “I need a pretext to barge in on Tribune Armel, and I need it fast.”