Storm World (Undying Mercenaries Series Book 10)

by B. V. Larson

  I chewed some more, face slack, utterly without guile or comprehension.

  Sometimes, this tactic worked on folks, especially those who didn’t know me very well. They assumed I was an ignoramus, and they left with a snort or an insult.

  But Armel knew me better than that by now, unfortunately.

  He slammed his fist on the table. “We had an agreement, McGill. One based on mutual respect. You have violated that agreement.”

  “I don’t see how, sir,” I said, as unconcerned and unflappable as he was pissed.

  “You don’t? You’re playing political games again. Not only do you threaten Earth with regularity, you also threaten my advancement.”

  “Ah…” I said, catching on at last.

  Armel had ruled Legion Germanica for a long time. Being reassigned to running one of the near-human legions wasn’t pleasant to him. Near-human, or “zoo legions” as rude people called them, didn’t even have names, only numbers.

  “You’ve been hoping to gain something from this venture, is that it, sir?” I asked. “Maybe… an improvement in status?”

  I gave him a little smile then. It was a mistake to do so, and I knew it. But I didn’t care. He was starting to piss me off.

  “Your conversation with Sateekas was intercepted, McGill. The hubris demonstrated was incredible, even for you.

  “Why… thank you kindly, sir!”

  He glowered and hunched his shoulders. “You can’t go around transmitting things to Galactics, McGill! I don’t want to ever see this happen again!”

  “Sir, I apologize profusely. I was an idiot and a fool of the first order. I want you to know, I hereby swear to never do anything so stupid and downright evil again. I do so swear it, and I hope to die.”

  Sucking a breath through his tight nostrils, Armel stood up and pounded the table one last time, making the silverware jump and jangle.

  “Very well, McGill,” he snapped. “I too, hope that you die.”

  He stalked off, and I ate my food in peace for a goodly ten seconds. It was a rare moment. But then, even as I reached for my third tangerine, I saw it vanish.

  “What’d you think, Cooper?” I asked conversationally.

  “That was quite a performance, sir. I continue to learn from you.”

  “Really? Like what for instance?”

  “Well sir, I wouldn’t have thought you’d be a man who could apologize so nicely. So utterly. It was a bit of a shock to hear it.”

  “Oh… that. That’s no big deal. Unless I’m really angry and losing control, I always apologize immediately and without reservation to anyone who asks.”

  “But it just seems out of character, Centurion. I mean, you’re usually such a stubborn hard-ass type.”

  “Mmm?” I questioned, chewing. Then I swallowed, and I laughed.

  “No, no, no,” I said. “You don’t understand, Cooper. You see, I always apologize. Especially to women, and men like Armel who value such things. But, you have to understand: I never mean it.”

  Cooper laughed quietly, and we both ate our fill. After all, it’d been a long, tough day.

  -61-

  “You’ve got to be shitting me,” Carlos said the next day as we headed outside for some PT before manning our posts. I was a firm believer in maintaining physical fitness, even when we were in a combat zone.

  “It’s true,” I said.

  “Squanto? His name is frigging Squanto? That’s just too good. That’s rich. He wins the prize for worst-named alien of all time. Even that squid-clown called Bubbles—”

  “Shhh,” I shushed him. I was smiling, but I didn’t want our near-human friends to know I mocked their non-coms.

  “What?” Carlos asked. “Did Bubbles die, or something? Did you have him executed and chopped into calamari like Sub-Centurion Silt?”

  My face grew annoyed. I should have known not to talk to Carlos about this, but I was trying to make him happy after upsetting him yesterday. He loved a good joke, and he was good at coming up with them, but he always took it too damned far.

  “Shut up about that, too,” I told him.

  “Okay, whatever. But… Squanto? That’s so great!”

  He wandered off chuckling to himself to join the other bio-people near the gates. I went in the opposite direction, into the open fields. There, a mass of slimy-looking blue and green shapes had gathered. This was my new army of recruits, salamanders one and all.

  “Look at this asshole-parade,” Cooper said next to me as I halted to inspect the troops. “You think they’ll fight this time, or will they run again?”

  Glancing around in irritation, I noted he was nowhere to be seen. He was abusing his stealth-suit, as usual.

  “I should never have given you that suit,” I told him. “And I’d better not hear anymore rumors about you haunting the rooms of young ladies at night.”

  It was a stab in the dark—literally. I hadn’t heard any such rumors. But, given Cooper’s personality and his love of stealth, it stood to reason it might be true.

  “That’s a highly insulting suggestion, Centurion,” Cooper said. “The thought has never even occurred to me.”

  Right then, I knew he was lying. Sure, Cooper was a slippery man, but it’s hard to lie to a master of deceit such as myself. He shouldn’t have even tried it.

  “One more report, Cooper,” I said sternly. “Just one more mystery-man leaving footprints in the wrong places, and you can kiss your specialist rank as a ghost goodbye.”

  Cooper sighed. “Thanks for the warning, sir,” he said.

  “Now, get your tail out onto the far side of that wall and start scouting.”

  He left, and I grinned a little. Cooper’s opinion of me must have shot up in several ways, and I hadn’t even done anything.

  I spent the next three hours drilling the Scupper troops. They weren’t accustomed to organized exercise—or even to lining up for that matter, but they quickly got the hang of it. Talking to Armel, I got him to release ten squids from his Gold Bunker into my custody.

  These were all non-coms who’d lost their squadrons of near-human troops. They’d been given desk jobs in the HQ. I figured it was about time they earned their reputation for handling recruits of different species.

  They both exceeded my expectations and disappointed me at the same time. They were harsh. Squids were cruel task-masters who meted out physical harm thoughtlessly. By early afternoon, at least a dozen Scuppers had been laid out, knocked cold by the long slithering tentacle of an angry squid.

  At that point, Second-Man sidled up to me.

  “Excuse me, First-Man,” he said. “May I discuss a delicate matter with you?”

  “Of course. What’s the problem?”

  “Centurion, we appreciate your intensive training, but many of the men are unhappy.”

  “It’s not my job to make them happy, Second-Man.”

  He blinked his big bulbous eyes at me twice. “But… how will you get them to fight for you if they hate you and your sub-officers?”

  I frowned. “They aren’t thinking of deserting, are they?”

  “Six already have, by my count.”

  “Six! How do you figure that? These squids keep a tight roster of their charges. If that many had slipped away…”

  Second-man shook his head. He’d learned the gesture from humans, I guessed. “The six have all awakened after being stunned by unjustified attacks from these unpleasant and giant aquatics. Maybe they have been deemed unworthy of counting, or perhaps they haven’t yet been missed.”

  Aquatics was a term the Scuppers used to reference the squids. It was apt enough, I supposed.

  “I see… Did they escape into the underground subway system?”

  “They did—at least, that’s my assumption. In any case, they’ve vanished.”

  “Desertion in the face of the enemy. That’s an offense worthy of execution, Second-Man. Do they understand that?”

  “Indeed they do. The threat lingers in every man’s mind in thi
s entire army. Most of them are beginning to rethink the wisdom of their volunteer efforts, and they’re scheming to escape in spite of the risk.”

  “Hmm…” I said, thinking it over. “Maybe I need to change things…”

  “That would be an excellent idea.”

  “You will help me,” I told him. “Tell our troops that we’ve come to an understanding. No more of them will desert.”

  He seemed to brighten, standing taller and holding his shock-spear like a weapon instead of a walking stick. “I will do so immediately!”

  After he left, I got Kivi to help me contact the Scupper queen. I discussed the matter with her, and I offered my solutions. She agreed eventually, and the job was done.

  Swaggering out in front of the entire throng, I had the salamanders brought together as a group. They lined up neatly enough—the training had taught them that much, at least.

  I nodded to Sub-Centurion Churn. “Good job, Churn. They’re already getting it.”

  “It’s been difficult,” he admitted. “They’re wild-things by nature. Barbarians. Part devil, and part child—but… I thank you for the words of praise, Centurion.”

  Once the throng had quieted, I took up a bullhorn and roared into it so they all heard me. We’d issued translators to the lot of them by now. You couldn’t very well command troops who had no idea what you were saying.

  “Scupper Militia. We men of Earth have come a long way to intervene on your behalf. We hope to save your planet from the uninvited and hostile forces of the Wur.”

  I didn’t get a cheer, not exactly, but I did get some up-raised fists, hissing throats and shaken spears. I guessed that for this army, that was an exceptional response.

  “Sadly,” I went on, “a small handful of your number have tried to abandon this fortress. They’ve all been captured and executed, as is our custom.”

  Croaks of dismay swept the crowd as they heard my translated words.

  “You’ll be happy to know,” I continued booming, “that I’ve taken steps to remedy this lack of courage among a few cowardly members of your species. I understand you aren’t professional soldiers, and at times, your fears might override your will to serve and save your planet.”

  One of the blue men in the back bolted then. I saw it, as did Sub-Centurion Churn. He gestured to me with an excited tentacle, but I directed a flat palm toward him, and he restrained his urge to go after the deserter on the spot.

  “That’s right,” I said, continuing my speech to the assembled native troops. “Your queen and I have decided to end your torment. We’ve shut down the tubes. From now on, no one can enter or exit the access points in this vicinity.”

  Another murmuring rumble swept the crowd like a forest fire. They only quieted down when I continued speaking.

  “No need to thank me!” I shouted, my voice rolling like thunder over the assembly. “Your leaders back in the Sacred City are the ones who manipulated the tunnels. It was a simple thing, and it’s been done. No longer will you be tempted by thoughts of returning home. You will fight here, and some of you will die here, but those who live will be better men for the experience!”

  I had the squid noncoms call at-ease, and the Scuppers fell to talking among themselves. Most of them milled around looking stunned.

  Several skulked away and attempted to enter the various access-points—but all were rebuffed. They looked even more dejected.

  The Scuppers were under my command, and since there was no way to run home now, they began training harder. Soon, they marched and formed squares like they meant it.

  Discipline had already been ratcheted up at least two notches.

  -62-

  As the afternoon wore on, I began to get disturbing messages. Several came from HQ, requesting reports as to our readiness. I declared myself, my unit, and my entire army of reluctant natives to be fit and anxious to fight.

  That was a bald-faced lie, of course, and I figured they knew it. But they appreciated the gesture and gave me accolades anyway.

  After that, the level of chatter on command-chat elevated. The brass was seeing something. I contacted Natasha to find out what it was.

  “You know I can’t do that, James,” she said. “They’re watching my traffic. I’m not getting any feeds from space—not a thing.”

  “So hack into a proxy or something. Spoof the bastards. These poor buggers down here in the trenches are going to be permed if we get surprised. They aren’t like Earth regulars, you know. They’ve only got one life to live.”

  Natasha sighed. I knew how to push her buttons. She was a sucker for life-and-death situations. Many legionnaires yawned at such things, but not good old Natasha. She was a softie, and she always had been.

  “All right, I’ll see what I can do.”

  I waited for about nine impatient minutes. My finger had just lifted up, poised to buzz her again, when she called me back.

  “James,” she said, her voice a whisper. “Something’s wrong. At first, I thought I was seeing a battle, but now… I’m not sure what it is.”

  Frowning, I tried to make heads or tails of a battle map projection she’d forwarded to my tapper. But the screen was too small and the data too abstract. It just looked like a sea of red contacts, like a mound full of fire ants.

  “Uh…” I said. “I’ve got to see this on something bigger.”

  “Come to Gold Bunker. They’ve got big displays everywhere.”

  I did as she suggested, putting Sub-Centurion Churn in charge of my Scuppers and Leeson in charge of my human unit.

  A few minutes later, I talked my way past the entrance security and stumbled into Natasha.

  “Jeez, these apes are touchy,” I said, glancing back over my shoulder at the twin near-human giants who were watchdogging the entrance. “You’d think I resembled a teddy bear the way they grunted and frowned at me.”

  “Armel’s personal guard,” Natasha said, “yes, I know. They don’t smell too good, either.”

  She led the way into the interior of the bunker, and I followed.

  Watching the way she walked, I felt a familiar pang. Natasha and I had been close long ago, and I don’t think she’d ever quite gotten over it. Maybe I hadn’t, either.

  She led me into an empty meeting chamber and flicked the table and walls on with her fingers. They lit up, and the gloomy room swam in imagery.

  I whistled a long one. “By damn… Armel doesn’t spare the budget down here, does he?”

  “No, he doesn’t. He’s more like Turov than you probably knew.”

  I glanced at her sidelong, but she was bent over the table, tapping at it. Was that remark some kind of a dig at Galina? Natasha knew Galina and I were an item, and she was never happy about any of the women I dated—except when I dated her.

  “Uh…” I said, “show me what you’ve got.”

  She did so. With expert touches, she brought up a system-wide forces display. This laid out the planet with realistic textures then overlaid it with crawling symbols. The symbols represented troop formations, ships, fortifications—the works.

  Quickly sorting through it all, I found the oddity that Natasha had been trying to describe to me.

  “Is this right? Are the Rigel boys in the thick of it with the Wur?”

  “It would seem so,” she said. “Their forces are right on top of each other.”

  I released a war-whoop. “That’s great! Let them fight it out for a change. Legion Varus is sick of playing punching bag on this rain-soaked rock!”

  Natasha wasn’t smiling, however. Her arms were crossed, her frown was firmly in place, and she stared down at the maps with a decidedly worried expression.

  “What’s wrong now?” I asked, figuring that some people were never happy.

  “James,” she said, “the Wur and the Rigel forces have been occupying the same geographical areas for hours. They’re not destroying one another. They aren’t even moving around much.”

  I gaped at the table. “Is that so?”

>   After watching for a time, I caught on to what she was saying. “You would think there would be some explosions or something…”

  “There’s nothing. No heavy radio traffic. No emissions indicating missile launches. No… anything.”

  “Uh… why not? Have the Wur surrendered?”

  “I thought about that,” she admitted. “But it seems unlikely, doesn’t it? I mean, the Wur are plants. They never give up. The Rigellians don’t impress me as quitters, either.”

  I thought about Squanto and the fight he’d given me down in the Scupper city. “I’ve got to admit, you’ve got a point there. This is weird.”

  As we puzzled over the feed, a large red box popped up on the screen. It was a warning of some kind.

  Sniffer detected, the message read.

  “What’s that?” I demanded. “Are they attacking us?”

  Natasha didn’t answer. She quickly swiped at the screens shutting them down. Some of them lingered. Cursing, she opened up her ruck of tricks and powered down her computer.

  Now, that was a big deal for a tech. They never shut down their portable rigs.

  A pounding began at the door of the conference room about two seconds later. When I say a pounding, I mean it was loud. It sounded like the hammer of the Almighty himself was beating on that door.

  “Shit!” Natasha hissed.

  I stepped to the door as it opened. I don’t know what I expected to see on the far side, but the reality of it surprised me.

  There, standing in the broad hallway, was a massive giant.

  Six meters tall if he was an inch, he reached in and grabbed me around the waist. I was hauled out of the room and out into the open like a doll.

  With his other hand, he grabbed Natasha. She squeaked in pain.

  Those fingers were as thick as my calf and they were impossibly strong. Fortunately, I hadn’t been caught entirely off-guard. I had one hand free, and I was wearing combat armor.

  My force-blade extended to a half-meter’s length from my right gauntlet. It blazed with hot kinetic force. Plasma ran like flame down the length of the blade.

  One down-stroke. That’s all it took.

  The giant, who’d just begun striding along the passageway with his two captives in his hands, stopped and looked down stupidly.