The Last Legion

by Chris Bunch

  Four Cookes darted across the smoking jungle, autocannons roaring, and a 'Raum counterattack hesitated, broke. They spun, blasted the area again, and caught two AA missile crews in the open.

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  "Cambrai Leader, got a whole bunch more of them," an electronics Grierson reported. "Humping like they're late for something. Passing the target along to you."

  "Thank you, Big Eye. Guess they're afraid they'll be late for the ball."

  The Zhukov commander switched channels. "All Chambrai elements . . . we have a big target. Men in the open . . . looks like reinforcements. We'll use main arty, finish them with the chainguns. Let's go collect us some heads."

  The four Zhukovs dived on the 'Raum, and collision alarms screamed.

  Their pilots pulled control wheels back into their laps, and the Zhukovs shuddered, nearly stalling, as five alien ships flashed out of the cloud-cover over the Highlands. They were scythe-shaped, the curve of the C forward, about twenty-five meters from horn to horn. On the top and bottom of the ships were pods, each containing one prone Musth. The Musth called them aksai, after a snakelike creature of their homeworlds, known for viciousness and lethality.

  The standard watch frequency came to life: "It isss perceived you have isssolated our mutual enemiesss. Perhapsss we ssshould offer asssistance."

  Without waiting for a response, the Musth ships rolled into the attack.

  At the horns of each aksai air ionized, and a line seared into flame.

  The ships sprayed fire across the 'Raum formation, then again.

  The Zhukov pilots recovered, came back. But there was few targets for their 150mm autocannon except roaring fire, as everything, trees, brush, men, and women, even, it seemed, the ground itself, burned.

  "It isss good to sssee the wormsss burn, isss it not?"

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  "Shit," a rifleman said. "I don't see anything left to kill."

  "Nope," his teammate said. "Guess we—"

  "There's one," the other interrupted. A 'Raum got out of a shell crater and stumbled toward them. He was holding something against his chest, and shouting incoherently. Both infantrymen fired, and the body spun sideways, lay still. "Wonder if he was carrying anything worth souveniring?" the first asked.

  "Let's go check—"

  The explosives the 'Raum carried blew up, and the two soldiers flattened. Dirt rained, and the two stared at each other. "That guy," the first soldier said thoughtfully, "took things way too serious."

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  Comstock Brien picked himself up, wiped blood from his eyes. There were no more than fifteen or twenty of his fighters still moving, and all were wounded. His com carrier was unconscious, blood spurting from a severed artery. He picked up her mike. "Base, this is Brien."

  There was a crackle, then: "This is base. What is going on? I tried to contact you twice, without result."

  "This is Brien. Don't know. Some kind of shell hit us." Brien wiped his face again. "We are surrounded. Are there any reinforcements? Are there any more reinforcements?"

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  Jord'n Brooks looked around the cave at the thirty men and women, touched the com's sensor. "There are no more reinforcements. Can you break away?"

  Silence, then: "No. We are trapped." Again a pause. "Brooks . . . this is Brien. You were right."

  Brooks looked at Poynton, grimaced. "I wish I wasn't."

  "This was one ending, but a beginning, too," Brien's voice said. "Now, it is your Task to see it to its end. Don't mourn for us, Jord'n Brooks. See that we did not die in vain." The com went silent.

  "You heard him," Brooks said. "I want you . . . you . . . you . . ." He pointed around the cave at ten people. "Your Task is with the guards outside, holding back the enemy, for they will be attacking in minutes. Fight to the last, and keep them from following us. The rest of you . . . take what records, what files you can carry. Be ready to move in five—" A bomb blast outside rocked the cave. "No, three minutes. Take what is essential. For we are now the heart of the 'Raum, heart of The Movement, heart of the Revolution, and we must not fail."

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  The Force swept across the battlefield, found only a handful of wounded to take prisoner, and some of those suicided or made soldiers kill them.

  One might have been Comstock Brien, for one soldier said a wounded man with a livid scar played dead, then shot three soldiers before being killed himself. But when II Section realized who the tenacious warrior might have been and went back, no trace of his body was ever found.

  Force casualties were comparatively light—fewer than seventy-five killed, twice that wounded, for almost five hundred 'Raum killed.

  "Now we take their base," Williams ordered. The Third Regiment, augmented by I&R Company, started forward, a little cockily, sure the battle was over, and fire sheeted. Four officers were down in the first blasts, and half again as many noncoms. They fell back, regrouped, attacked once more, and again the 'Raum drove them back.

  "All right," Caud Williams said. "If they want it the hard way . . . Mil Rao, we'll use Zhukovs to reduce their base from the air."

  "Sir, if we could take some prisoners, it would be—"

  "Alt Hedley, you can do your scavenging among the dead after the smoke clears," Williams said furiously. "I will not lose another of my men uselessly. And I'd advise you to hold your tongue, for the goodwill you've gained by finding these 'Raum is being rapidly dissipated."

  Hedley started to say something, turned and stamped out of Williams' command vehicle.

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  "Hey, Monique," a Beta Team finf called. "The boss wasn't whistlin' through his burn. There is a cave."

  "Team forward," Dec Lir ordered. "Two volunteers, with me. The rest, blow the shit out of anything that moves." Blaster ready, she entered the dimness of the cave. Smoke billowed, and she coughed, came back out.

  "Anybody got a light?" Someone tossed her one, and Lir pulled on her gas mask, went back inside. Her light played around the rocks. There were half a dozen corpses, all killed by blast, none appearing hurt except for slight trickles of blood from their ears and mouth.

  "Come on in," she shouted. "We got them all. Goddammit, that horseshit Kipchak had all the fun." She moved the light more slowly around the chamber, across the stacks of paper, fiches, and shattered computers.

  "But I think we got a ton and a half of good shit ourselves," she said to herself. "II Section's gonna come all over themselves."

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  The five Musth ships landed beside Caud Williams' C&C Grierson. A center pod on one opened, and Wiencing got out. Two armed Musth flanked him, as he stalked across the waste to Williams. The caud saluted, and Wiencing lifted a clawed arm in acknowledgment.

  "Finally," he said, without preamble, "you have defeated thessse not worthiesss. Perhapsss, when the time comesss, and we make war on each other, you will not be a helplesss babe."

  Caud Williams could not find a response.

  "With thisss," Wiencing continued, "you will be able to sssmasssh the remainsss of thessse?"

  "I hope so," Williams said. "I think we will."

  "Good," Wiencing approved. "It isss not fit for the grown to be dissstracted by cubssss."

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  That night, the surviving 'Raum found shelter in a village. The nervous farmers reluctantly fed them.

  "Don't worry," Jord'n Brooks said. "We are not remaining here, but will leave within the hour."

  Within two days, they would reach, and disappear into, Eckmuhl, the 'Raum district of Leggett, and the war would continue, but on another front.

  Njangu Yoshitaro, Petr Kipchak, Erik Penwyth, and the others of Gamma Team slept through that gore-drenched da
y, and if they dreamed of blood or slaughter, none of them remembered their dreams when they awoke, late the next day.

  Chapter 30

  "Should I tell you what I'm wearing underneath this jumpsuit?" Jasith whispered.

  "Not unless you want me to explode all over your windshield," Garvin said, a bit hoarsely.

  "My windshield doesn't want that," she said. "So concentrate on the scenery. For a minute, anyway. See . . . there's my house down there."

  Garvin forced his eyes . . . and his attention . . . out the canopy. He looked down at a tall buttress nearly in the center of the Heights that had evidently been hollowed out—large glass windows and balconies dotted its face. "Which one is yours?"

  "All of them, silly. All those rooms are connected, plus there's others that're completely under . . . not ground, but rock. But none of those are mine mine. My place is over there." She cut power, and pushed the lifter into a gentle descent. They closed on a huge abandoned mining site, now overgrown with flowers and plants iridescing the colors of paradise. In its center, next to a fountained pool, was a fairly small house, all dark wood.

  "That used to be a quarry," she explained. "One of the first things my great-how-many-times grandfather owned. It produced a multicolored veined rock, like granite, and it was a great favorite when the early Rentiers started building their mansions. I guess the Mellusins have always been miners, even back on Corwin VIII, which is where we came from."

  "The quarry made grand-whatever even richer, and then he started buying great chunks of C-Cumbre and other things. But he built his house near where he started. Then the vein played out, and the quarry just sat there, until my mother married my father. She was a Kemper, and their money's from holding companies, so she always thought she was better than my father. At least, that's what I heard, even though Daddy never snides her. She died about ten years ago."

  "I'm sorry," Garvin said.

  "Don't be," Jasith said. "I never thought she liked me very much, and I guess I must've been a brat and returned the favor. Anyway, she's gone, and so it doesn't matter. She took a look at that quarry, after she and Daddy got back from their honeymoon, and said she wanted to turn it into a garden. She and about three hundred 'Raum she had Daddy hire full-time. She built a little house on the shore of the lake, that's supposed to be a copy of something called a teahouse from ancient Earth, and spent time there. When she wasn't buying things, anyway. She was gone a lot when I was growing up. She went to Larix a lot. I don't know if she had a lover there, or if the stores on Larix have better toys. I guess it wasn't much of a marriage."

  "When she died, I asked if I could have the house, and Daddy gave it to me for my sixteenth birthday. And the garden, too. I still have about seventy-five gardeners working for me on the grounds. What's the matter, Garvin?"

  "Nothing, nothing," Garvin said. "That was just the sound of my mind boggling. So you live down there, all by yourself? And Daddy doesn't happen to have a spy-beam on your front door or anything? Or has the servants bribed?"

  "I don't know about any spy-beams," Jasith said. "That only happens in romances, anyway."

  "I wouldn't put large credits on that," Garvin said.

  "Of course he bribed my servants. But I've got my own trust fund, so I bribed them bigger."

  "The very rich aren't like you and me," Garvin murmured. "Just sneakier. Can I make a suggestion?"

  "Of course."

  "Land this baby, or else we're liable to find ourselves bumping into range shacks again. I feel a certain set of urges coming on."

  "Anything you want, Garvin. Absolutely anything."

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  "Oh dear," Jasith said. "I'm afraid my head gardener's going to be hot at me tomorrow. And I'll bet my back is all moss-stained and nasty like your knees."

  "You're the one who wanted to show me the garden instead of the bedroom," Garvin said.

  "But I didn't think you were that impatient."

  "Now you know. Still am, in fact." Garvin moved his hips, and Jasith gasped. "You're ready already?"

  "I never stopped being ready," he said into her ear. "Now lift your legs . . . slowly. Hook your ankles around my back."

  "Like . . . like this? . . . oh . . . oh . . . Garvin, not so hard . . . please . . . slowly now . . . now, yes now . . . oh gods, gods, gods . . ."

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  The restaurant, deep in the heart of the Eckmuhl, had only two things recommending it: It had an entrance on each of four streets; and those streets, unlike most in the Eckmuhl, had excellent line-of-sight perspectives for lookouts. There were two at each exit, armed with mil-issue blasters. A police patrol—three lifters, as was customary in the Eckmuhl—saw the gun guards and sensibly kept on going.

  There were seventeen men and women in the restaurant, all armed. Jord'n Brooks and Jo Poynton sat at a table in front of them. "We shall make this brief, brothers and sisters," he began. "This location can only be considered secure for minutes. You seventeen are the most highly regarded warriors and agents who survived the disastrous and poorly advised jungle campaign. I want to form the new Planning Group, for you to be The Movement's sohs if you will. A few of you were members of the previous Group, and I request you continue to serve."

  A 'Raum stood.

  "Yes, Brother Ybarre?"

  "This is very irregular, brother. According to custom, the Planning Group should be selected by the fighters, after due consideration, prayer, and discussion."

  "In normal times, true," Brooks agreed. "But these are not normal times. I cannot emphasize that too highly. We took heavy casualties in the forest and when we relocated to the cities. What are your estimates, Sister Poynton?"

  "About forty percent," the woman said. "That's an estimate, but I think pretty close to the truth."

  There was a low murmur of dismay. Brooks nodded. "Exactly. I do not wish that figure to be spread about, for fear of further destroying morale. We were beaten badly by the Rentiers' dogs. Let us never forget that, and let us never make the mistake of thinking the Task is completed until we see real victory."

  "Our fight will be, must be, in the heart of the enemy. We will strike them hard, and take any target that we find. But these targets must be risk-free. If we are to be hit as hard again as we have been, I fear the Task may lie uncompleted this generation, and will have to wait for another generation of warriors to rebuild The Movement."

  "I will not allow this to happen. We must practice patience and cunning, and we also must move swiftly. Time is of the essence. Let me tell you our new grand strategy: I propose the Grand Rising shall occur soon. Very soon. Within the next six months, in fact." There were exclamations of shock, surprise. "Yes, brothers and sisters. The day is at hand when we shall grasp power. We shall not fail this time. Before the year is out, Cumbre will belong to us."

  ———«»———«»———«»———

  "You're 'Raum, right?" Njangu asked.

  "What makes you think that?" the girl asked.

  "My suspicious mind," he said. "Well?"

  "What if I am?"

  "Then I'd ask why you're so interested in a stinking soldier like me?"

  "Why shouldn't I be?"

  "Oh, I don't know . . . could have something to do with loud bangs and people getting hurt and nonessential things like that," Yoshitaro said. "Or have you been in a timewarp for the last year or so?"

  "I don't pay any attention to politics," the girl pouted.

  "'Kay," Njangu said. "Now, my next question . . . since you're on the, shall we say, youthful-looking side, might I ask if you're over the age of consent?"

  "Is all you soldiers do is talk?"

  "Not at all," Njangu said, leaning closer and whispering in the girl's ear. Her eyes got wide.

  "You talk dirty! And what's a bunny rabbit?"

  "Never mind. Do you want to dance some more?"

  "Uh-uh," the girl said. "Let's go for a walk. My name
's Limnea."

  "And I'm Njangu the Adequately Equipped." Njangu stood, dropped coins on the table, and put his service cap on. "Where are we strolling to?"

  "Down on the beach, maybe?"

  "Sounds as good a place as any to get mugged," he said. The blaring music chopped suddenly when the insulated door closed behind them. The night was brilliant—all three moons were up. A breeze came off the bay, and Njangu shivered. The girl, who was wearing a pair of green silk-looking pants that flared hugely at the leg, supported by suspenders that served to hide the nipples of her firm, fairly large breasts, appeared to feel no cold. She had close-cropped red hair, and her eyelids, lips, nails and earlobes were tinted blue. Njangu eyed her, looked at the softly romantic shoreline, at the colorful beached fishing boat they were walking toward, and wished he had a pistol.

  "So what do you do with the Force?" Limnea asked.

  "Not much," Njangu said. "Push papers back and forth. Make sure people get paid on time."

  "Oh." Limnea sounded disappointed. "I thought you were one of those like I've seen on the holos. You know, carrying a gun and things like that."

  "Not me," Njangu said. "Loud noises terrify me." They reached the boat, and Njangu leaned back against it, Limnea beside him. "You can take it as a compliment if you want," he said, "or not, but you remind me of some of the girls I used to clique with."

  "What's that mean?"

  "Not a lot," he said. "And maybe I'm wrong. I'd sure like to be." He put his hands on Limnea's hips, moved her in front of him, pulled her back against him.

  "Isn't it pretty?" she said.

  "Mmm-hmm," he said, hands moving around and around on her belly.

  "That feels good," she said softly. He moved his hands up, cupped her breasts, tweaked her nipples with his fingers. She sighed, turned, put her arms around him. Her tongue darted into his mouth.

  Limnea's open eyes flickered, and Njangu threw her into the man coming at him with a knife. She squealed, fell to the sand. The roan slashed at Njangu, and Yoshitaro bent backward. The man recovered, tried a thrust, and Yoshitaro grabbed his wrist with his left hand, yanked him down, and snapped a knee up into the man's ribcage. Bones snapped loudly, and the man gagged and fell. Njangu kicked him in the face, and scooped up his knife as the second man came in. Yoshitaro slashed, and the man yelped, pulled his bleeding guard arm back.