Blue Moon, Fernix System
10/3294
Mark stepped out of his powered armor, and his eyes and mouth closed as someone slapped his helmet on. Air rushed into his face and his smart clothes connected to his helmet.
“Well that’s a fucking terrible idea, why didn’t we do this in the bunkers?” Jerome asked, whilst putting Mark’s helmet on.
“Cause we’re hard charging motherfuckers, and who the hell else is going to say, ‘oh yeah, I took off my respirator on a moon while we’re fighting for our lives?’” Mark asked grabbing Jerome’s helmet.
“We have some of the worst fucking ideas,” Jerome complained.
“You gonna stick your head out? I’m not holding this thing to look good for the ladies,” Mark said.
“Jackass.”
“Glass hole,” Mark grinned, psyching his buddy up. Instead Jerome started laughing as he closed his eyes and mouth and undid his powered armor.
Mark slapped the helmet on Jerome and tapped it twice so he knew it was attached.
“Fucker,” Jerome said, shaking his head.
“Fucking proper comedian me, should get a show when we get back to Earth,” Mark said, moving to the armory that had been brought over by the Reclaimer Regiment.
“That was moving,” Dashtund said, still in his powered armor.
“Get out of there, yah big mutt,” Jerome said, pounding on the armor.
“Grab my helmet.”
“Fucking house maid, am I?”
Mark smiled and grabbed rifles from the armory, checking them over. The rest of the Regiment were spread out all over the place. A few other units had advisers, like Mark, Jerome, and Dashtund, but the rest were already beyond the lines and starting to throw sensor sticks all over the place to get a better image of the Blue Moon.
An explosion ripped through a roof a few hundred meters away.
Everyone seemed to jump except for the Reclaimer crew. Jerome put Dashtund’s helmet on and tapped the man. The others that would be going out with them looked at them like they were idiots as they went into a small reinforced bunker to take off their powered armor and get their helmets on.
“Catch!” Mark said, tossing AMRs to Jerome and Dashtund. They grabbed the weapons, checking the action and adjusting the buttstock to get it comfortable.
Mark pulled on a belt filled with sensor sticks, AMR rounds and a few grenades. He tossed more mags into his leg pocket.
“What do you need grenades and all that ammunition for?” the captain that they were heading out with asked.
“Just in case,” Mark said, shrugging.
“This is supposed to be just a recon mission.” The captain’s eyes thinned as if he had some way to intimidate Mark.
“Hopefully it will stay that way, but if shit goes sideways, be better to have something to fuck those Chosen fuckers up with,” Jerome said.
“We better not run into any Chosen. If we do then this whole thing is a waste of time,” the captain snapped.
“Can plan things out, but sometimes lady luck isn’t on our side. She’s a bit of a fickle bitch,” Dashtund said, clipping on his own ammunition belt and throwing things into his pocket, perusing the small armory like it was a damn retail store.
“You want matching mines with those sensor sticks, to match your grey coveralls, or do you think those spectacular grenades would accessorize your outfit better?” Mark asked dryly.
Dashtund gave him the one finger salute and Mark laughed; the captain looked like he was going to lose his shit.
“Ten creds he starts dressing down Dashtund,” Jerome slung his rifle and grabbed a belt, using his sub-vocals so his mouth wasn’t even moving.
“How long?” Mark asked.
“Ten minutes.”
“Five, maybe.”
“Dressing down, you fuckers, just admiring the full package, eh? Fucking pervs.” Dashtund lowered his finger and grabbed his final bits of gear. “So how we breaking this shit down?”
“We each take four out, get the lay of the land, see if there’s anything important out there. Eight hours,” Mark said, turning businesslike.
“I thought it was to be an entire Section? This will take forever with just twelve people,” the captain said.
“No offense, but going past the line is like crab-walking your balls over fire. First time is probably going to fuck up. Takes time to get good. If we go out there with a squad, it’s like you added a hundred pounds on top of yourself and tried it for the first time,” Dashtund said.
“So fewer people, less possibility of a fuck up, gotcha,” captain forgot-his-name said.
Wilkins, fucking Wilkins, that just sounds weird. Mark thought after looking at the man’s breastplate. No matter the man’s name, Mark’s appraisal of the man behind it went up.
“Our aim is to train these four rug rats to be the best you’ve got, then we can go back to our Regiment and they can pass their skills onto others they recognize in your units,” Mark said.
“You got dip?” Jerome asked.
“How in the fuck are you going to pack a lip?” Mark asked incredulously, pulling out a tin.
“Up the air to full, pop visor, put lip in and start going. Got an empty water back in my powered armor.”
“You’re a fucking addict,” Mark handed the tin to him.
“Aww, thanks man,” Jerome said, trying to make himself look flustered.
“Let me know if it works then I’ll give it a go.”
“Makes sense,” the captain said, getting past whatever had annoyed him about the trio’s antics and trying to get back on task.
“I like him; can we keep him?” Jerome asked in sub-vocals as he took Mark’s tin of dip. He took his glove off to grab a pinch from the tin and tossed it back to Mark. With a shaking hand he opened his helmet and shoved the pinch of chew into his lip, then closed the visor and pushed his hand back into his glove.
“That is fucking cold,” he said, holding his hand in his armpit even though it wouldn’t actually heat the hand up. His smart clothes were already doing that for him.
“I’m good,” Mark said putting the tin away. Jerome’s expression was enough to stop him from doing it.
“Sometimes I even start looking like the smart one,” Dashtund said.
Mark looked over at him, the idiot was smoking a cigarette with his visor open.
“How?” Mark asked.
“Electric lighter,” Dashtund said, holding it up.
“Cig me,” Mark said.
“I don’t know whether to be impressed, or dreading this outing,” Wilkins admitted.
“We’ll do our best, though I dunno if our best will be good enough against the Chosen?” Mark shrugged, taking a cigarette from Dashtund. He opened his visor so air was blowing on him and fighting the light atmosphere that was dragging it away.
“Sure you should be smoking next to the ammunition?” Wilkins asked.
“They’re only fired by electric pulses, and there isn’t enough oxygen to start a fire,” Mark said pulling the cigarette from his mouth and holding it up for Wilkins. In seconds it went out.
“Light!”
“I just put it away before your friggin’ science experiment,” Dashtund sighed, lighting Mark’s cigarette up again.
He couldn’t take it from his lips, otherwise the visor’s oxygen wouldn’t keep it alight.
Careful balance, probably pretty smart for someone smarter than me, Mark thought proudly as he smoked.
“Should pick out your eleven best instead of getting them all out of their armor only to get back in it again,” Jerome said.
“Why didn’t you say this before?” Wilkins asked.
“Because it’s funny to see them getting out of their powered armor like a bunch of new boots going into the coed shower,” Dashtund said.
“Right,” Wilkins said, taking a breath. He wasn’t their biggest fan, but he seemed willing to put his emotions aside for the good of his Regiment.
Wilkins started talking on a cha
nnel, and two people got out of line and went to the front. The rest dispersed and walked away, sending sullen glances at the trio who smiled and waved mockingly.
“I win,” Jerome said.
“Dick,” Mark said, transferring the credits.
“Win what?” Wilkins asked.
“We thought you’d have blown your gasket at Dashtund by now.”
“Fuckers,” Dashtund said.
“Cause of his lack of ability to remember command structure, or because he palmed a screamer rocket?” Wilkins asked.
“Didn’t think you saw that,” Dashtund said, impressed.
Wilkins grinned. “I heard the stories and I saw the videos, but unlike some others I have enough brain cells to see that most of your activities are real, not some made up ministry shit. For this, I know I’m going to be the guy doing the learning. You have the lead and authority. Do not make me take it back from you.”
“We’ll teach you as best as we can, you have our word,” Mark said, standing and holding his arm out.
Wilkins went to shake but Mark grasped his forearm, something he didn’t do with those outside of the Reclaimer crew, or those he didn’t respect.
Wilkins must have seen some of that in Mark’s eyes as he held his gaze. “Thank you, I’ll be happy to send these fuckers to their deaths. I had a cousin on Strike Station I’d like to pay them back for.”
“Oh, we’ll be killing plenty of Chosen,” Mark said, letting the rage and anger he kept hidden rise to his features. At first Wilkins looked scared, then the expression in his own eyes matched Mark’s.
Chapter 34
Asamau City
Cela, Cerey System
10/3294
Nerva was looking at the scans coming in from Harmony. One Carrier of possible legionnaires had already come and left the system and six more were on their way or already picking up possible candidates.
There were ten ships in Housapel and they were rushing to grab as many of those that wanted to be in The Legion. The EMF fleet was trying to get them, but they didn’t have the forces left to get them all. Nerva felt his mouth twist in distaste. All too many of them would die because the EMFC captains had been caring about looking good, more than they cared about killing the Harmony bastards.
Nerva felt sorry for the people caught up in the middle of all of this. They believed that Harmony could do better. Peter Quinn and Omoti Akani with their fellow corporation heads had played them. Creating a government and a religion that were intertwined, promising all that the people could want. The people had jumped for it, devoting everything for the cause. They were all pawns in Peter and Akani’s plan.
The real heads wanted power. Nerva wished that he could go in and help get the people to Roma, to save them, but it was too late. The EMF would destroy Harmony, slowly and surely, as long as they got their reinforcements and the tools.
With a few good surges, the Blue Moon in Fernix could be retaken. Thankfully, Housapel had been submitted. Their reinforcements were heading for Fernix, as the biological gas had killed millions.
The EHC needed stability, and to get that they needed to remove everything that had been Harmony. The companies gave stability, and to have their system pulled apart by governments would turn it into chaos.
Neither Harmony nor the EHC were willing to budge on their beliefs; they were just shells for competitors battling each other and trying to win.
Both sides were right and both of them were wrong. It was a fucking mess, and Nerva’s people were right in the middle of it.
He had grown a good Legion out of the forces he had been given. Cela had been living in peace for decades now. Many of the Legion had stayed for him, and their brother and sister legionnaires. Their transport was coming in days. They had been using Cela as a forward operating base, heading to the Demash System with the planet Goulag dealing with three Maraukian transport barges.
They had done five tours and still they were willing to go back into the fray. Nerva would now be heading back not as just a legate, now he would be a prima legate, the commander of all of The Legions on the planet. It was a rank he had earned hundreds of years ago.
He was a man living two lives. It was confusing, it was hell, and he hated it. He might have been forced to leave his Troopers behind, but now he also had his legionnaires to think about. He had marked all of his Troopers for possible recruitment. They had proved themselves time and time again and now they were working behind the enemy lines, in just their normal armor, and hunting down Chosen leaders.
The Chosen had a new name for them: Company Dogs.
They had taken the name to heart and painted rabid dogs on their helmets.
Nerva sighed. He was old now, and his anger and hatred were harder to rouse from his depths. The reason he used to be so cold was that he had been at Roma when it had been attacked by Maraukians for the first time. He had watched as millions of his people, including his own family, were torn apart and used as Maraukian feed as they charged the old city. It was there that he and the Troopers of three Carriers, and any other that had taken up arms, had fought off the Maraukians. It was where they had made their last stand in the five-year war.
He had been a happy family man, but he could now only remember Deliah, his daughter, and Esai, his wife. His family were grim shadows in his mind. Yet the men and women he had fought with, he saw them every night. They had been burned into his mind, as deep as his daughter and wife.
He had been cold, knowing that they were going to die as they fought Maraukians. Then he was cold as he recruited Troopers to be legionnaires. He knew that they were mass murderers, but he also knew that they were the hope for the future. The shield against the Maraukians.
With time he became cold not because of the losses at Roma and against the Maraukians, but because he knew the motivations of the companies as they were sent to slaughter colonists. He could see the mindless dulling of the Troopers as they killed because they had to, lest the companies’ ire turn on them.
He was the Iceman, because letting his emotions rule him would have driven him to tears, to madness. He still felt, and it hurt so damned bad.
Though now I know how to control it, how to reconcile that pain. He took another look at Mark’s face as he looked at Captain Wilkins.
Nerva knew those eyes; they were the ones that had looked back at him in the mirror after Roma. They were the ones that he hid from his legionnaires as he looked at the Maraukians.
He felt more free than ever: his mission was to kill a threat that would kill him and the people he protected. It felt as if it was cleaner somehow. More honorable. His people weren’t dying for companies, they died for the people at their sides and the people at home.
“Prima Legate, we are ready to depart,” NIDenise said in his mind.
Nerva stood from the chair he’d been sitting in for the last few hours, NIDenise relaying the latest information from the EHC.
Nerva wore the sand-colored fatigues of The Legion. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal his powered armor wearing white skin. On one arm was the tattoo of a Trooper, on the other was his legion brand. Both barely peeked from under his rolled up sleeves.
People walked in. Another legionnaire off to war, this one older than his muscled body looked. The dropship cargo master looked at Nerva, and nodded his head as if sensing a warrior beneath those fatigues.
“Let’s get this thing on the road, I have a Maraukian horde to repel,” Nerva said.
“That you do.” Legate Harold was previously Captain Harold of the EMF, a man who had died on Masoul’s gas planet.
They braced arms and Nerva sat down as the dropship’s ramp closed and the engines pushed them away from Cela.
“You been looking at the reports coming from the EHC?” Harold asked.
“Yeah,” Nerva said darkly.
“We’ll get them into The Legion, they’ll beat those Harmony fucks.”
“They’re just people trying to have a good life,” Nerva countered.
>
“People that allowed others touting their name to rape, torture and murder until they controlled a population that didn’t want Harmony there in the first place?” Harold’s voice was hard. “They might not have known everything, but they blinded themselves to the truth. They didn’t care.”
“So for that it’s okay to kill them all?” Nerva was more curious than accusatory.
“Leave one of them alive and it might happen again. That’s why we fight wars, that’s why we fight the Maraukians: to kill all the bastards and stop what they do from ever happening again. Some things can only be solved with violence. Maybe in the beginning this could have been dealt with peacefully, but now? Now they’re both too dug in to do anything about it. Hatred runs deep once the bullets start flying.”
“Yeah,” Nerva nodded, sighing.
“Plus, once they get out here, then maybe they can stop using that terrible frigging chant I died to.”
Nerva couldn’t help but smile. He might be Iceman but, every so often, a bit of emotion seeped through his mask.
Chapter 35
Factory Complex Three
Blue Moon, Fernix System
10/3294
General Ando stood from his bunker. His people had tried to stop him from walking the lines and talking to his people. They had tried and failed. He needed to keep his people’s hopes up. Having them out there and him cowering behind defenses while they had the numerical superiority wouldn’t work for him. They knew the land better than any of these Troopers, and he needed to show his faith in them.
They had been working their way into the Chosen’s lines. He didn’t know how they were doing, but artillery strikes were more accurate than ever and his people were dying all across Blue Moon. They couldn’t sleep, and they couldn’t get out of their armor to get some sleep without being scared that they were going to get bombed. The Troopers might just have mortars, but their Carriers had heavy rail-cannon that could punch through any defenses.
I wish I had been able to help Admiral Zeichner more, he thought. They had butted heads and he had pulled funding from her. It had been short-sighted. Now his people were paying for it in the worst way.
Fernix (Harmony War Book 4) Page 12