Legion Of The Damned - 06 - For Those Who Fell

by William C. Dietz

  The acceleration couch served to absorb a great deal of the impact, but Calvo still felt a bone-jarring thud as the hull hit, bounced back into the air and hit again. That was followed by the shriek of tortured metal, and a cacophony of alarms as the ship’s computers hurried to tell the crew and passengers what all of them already knew: The Mothri Sun had crashed.

  Finally, after bursting through a succession of three sand dunes and plowing a two-mile-long furrow through the open desert, the ship came to a halt. The Legion had landed.

  ABOARD THE CONFEDERACY TRANSPORT SPIRIT OF NATU, PLANET SAVAS

  All kinds of items that had been on the deck rained down upon those aboard the Spirit of Natu as the starboard drive quit, and the ship rolled over onto its back. Colonel Kobbi figured the ride was over and was waiting for the final body-crushing impact, when the NAVCOMP fired a series of steering jets and flipped the transport right side up. Cheers could be heard over the intercom as the captain said, “Belay that!” and the hard-pressed pilot assumed control and put the vessel into a series of wide spiraling turns. Fleecy clouds parted to let the freighter through. What looked like a thick green carpet appeared and laser fire stuttered up past the bow. “The idiots are firing at us!” the captain exclaimed. “Tell them who we are!”

  A com tech ran through a number of commonly used frequencies before landing on the one being used by the local colonists. It took the tech the better part of a minute to convince the civilians that the ship was friendly, but she finally succeeded, and the laser fire stopped.

  Savas Prime sat in a valley embraced by low, softly rounded hills. A river flowed through the center of town and made a long series of lazy loops, before emptying into the southern sea some thirty miles beyond. Significant sections of the jungle had been logged, mine tailings spilled down some of the hillsides, and a network of dirt roads wandered back and forth.

  The settlement itself consisted of a cluster of prefab domes, some of which were blackened as a result of Ramanthian air attacks, and hundreds of wooden dwellings. Some were quite substantial, and reminiscent of expensive homes on Earth, but the vast majority were little more than crudely built shacks.

  The spaceport had never been much, but now, after repeated attacks, the control tower resembled a burned-out stump, fire-blackened skeletons of what had once been atmospheric craft lined a debris-strewn taxiway, and the sign that read, “Welcome to Savas Prime,” hung askew from the front of the small terminal building.

  It hadn’t rained for a few days, so dust billowed up to surround the battle-scarred transport as the pilot fired his repellors and lowered the transport onto the much-abused duracrete. Colonel Kobbi waited for the solid thud as the huge landing skids touched down, triggered his suit radio, and switched to the command override. Everyone could hear him except for the cyborgs.

  “This is Colonel Kobbi . . . The bugs know we’re here. They have a warship in orbit, a patrol boat with atmospheric capabilities, and an unknown number of aerospace fighters. That means they’ll come after us sooner rather than later. Check for casualties, patch ’em up, and get our gear off this ship in record time. I don’t think we’re going to get much help, so Alpha company will throw a security perimeter around the ship while Bravo, Charlie, and Delta Companies hump gear. Let’s get started. Company commanders report to me in fifteen minutes. That is all.”

  FIRE BASE ALPHA, THE GREAT PANDU DESERT, PLANET SAVAS

  It was extremely hot, and Calvo had already stripped down to her olive drab T-shirt. A single circuit of the downed ship had been sufficient to leave dark circles under her bare arms. Having just spent weeks aboard ship, the combined impact of the vast overarching sky and the seemingly endless desert was nearly overwhelming. But Calvo knew there wasn’t any time for sightseeing. She had problems, lots of problems, the first of which loomed above her.

  Thanks to the pilot’s skill, plus the cushioning effect of the deep sand, the transport had suffered relatively little damage during the landing. Not the hull at any rate, something for which the MO was grateful, since the battalion’s war forms were stored in her holds. Now, standing in the shade cast by the freighter, it was up to Calvo and Captain Amdo to figure out what to do next. “As near as I can figure we’re about here,” the naval officer said, tapping the hand comp’s screen with a long, narrow finger. “About halfway between Savas Prime and Hagala Nor.”

  Calvo shook her head in disgust. It wasn’t Amdo’s fault, but if it weren’t for the navy, the battalion would have been on a single ship. But that was history. The first thing they needed to do was fortify the wreckage in case the bugs decided to attack. The MO was about to say as much when Amdo’s eyes narrowed, and the naval officer raised a hand. It appeared that someone was talking to Amdo via his headset. That impression was confirmed when he looked at Calvo. “The Natu put down at Savas Prime. Colonel Kobbi wants to speak with you.”

  The rest of the battalion was safe! Calvo felt a sudden surge of hope as she ran for the ship, thundered up a durasteel ramp, and passed between the containers that held the war forms. The ship’s power plant was still functional. That meant the lights were on, and her techs could check each transit box for damage. Captain Rono-Ra called to her, but the MO waved as she hurried past.

  Outside of the fact that the deck was tilted ten degrees to port, the ship’s corridors looked quite normal as Calvo made her way into the control room, where a com tech handed her a headset. A servo whined as the MO used her artificial hand to pull the device down over her head. The ship wasn’t really a ship anymore—so the officer gave a call sign consistent with Legion practice. “This is Fire Base Alpha, Captain Beverly Calvo speaking, sir. Over.”

  The Natu made a big fat target sitting as it was at the center of the settlement’s spaceport. It was being stripped and Kobbi was forced to step aside as a heavily laden tech managed to squeeze past him. He heard the designator Calvo had invented and grinned. “Roger that . . . Please use the call sign Pandu Six from this point forward. There’s no point in providing the bugs with more information than they already have. I know Amdo outranks you, and that Rono-Ra is present, but it’s my opinion that you are best qualified for this particular command. Organize personnel as you see fit.

  “Now, here’s the plan . . . It’s pretty simple. Fortify your position and hold it regardless of cost. We’ll join you as soon as we can. At that point we will have one helluva reunion if you take my meaning. Over.”

  Calvo’s mind raced. The message was clear. Kobbi intended to bring the brain boxes up through jungle and desert to Fire Base Alpha. At that point the cyborgs would be reunited with their war forms and the battalion would proceed on to Hagala Nor. The plan was courageous, stubborn, and almost certainly doomed to defeat. Especially since it would take the rest of the battalion weeks, if not months, to reach her position. Still, there was only one response that Calvo could give, and she gave it. “Sir, yes sir. Over.”

  “Good,” Kobbi replied. “The com people will establish a contact schedule so we can stay in touch. You know what to do—so do it. Nomad Six, out.”

  Calvo returned the headset to the com tech, got up, and made her way back down to the ship’s number two hold. Both Amdo and Rono-Ra spotted the MO and hurried to join her. “So,” the supply officer said, “what did the old man have to say?”

  “We’re supposed to hold here,” Calvo replied, “until the rest of the battalion can join us.”

  Amdo gave a long slow whistle. “That won’t be easy.”

  “No,” the MO agreed, “it won’t. There was one other thing—something I wish you had heard firsthand.”

  “Kobbi put you in command,” Rono-Ra said, eyeing her face.

  “Yeah, he did.”

  The Hudathan nodded. “He made a good choice. You’ll have my full support.”

  “This is a ground operation, so I’m naming Rono-Ra as XO,” Calvo said, turning to Amdo, “but I’d like you to accept the number three slot. I know it’s a weird job for a naval officer,
especially one of your seniority, but we need your help.”

  “Count me in,” Amdo responded, “and my crew as well. So, what’s first?”

  “Defense,” the MO answered grimly. “Are the ship’s laser cannons functional?”

  “Yes,” Amdo replied, “with the exception of those that are buried under the sand.”

  “Excellent. Place them on standby—and keep them there. It won’t be long before the bugs spot us from orbit and send some fighters. Let’s prepare a warm reception.”

  “No problem,” the naval officer assured her, “I’ll get on it,”

  “How about the cannons that are buried?” Rono-Ra inquired. “Could we dig them out? And if we did, could we place them three or four hundred yards out?”

  Calvo brightened. “That’s a great idea! Will it work?”

  Amdo rubbed the stubble that covered his chin. It made a rasping noise. “We’d have to build some sort of cofferdams to keep the sand out, and it would involve a lot of hard work, but yes, it might be feasible. One question though . . . Assuming we succeed, how will you get power to them?”

  “We’ll strip conduit out of the ship,” the Hudathan replied, “run it out to the gun positions, and bury it under the sand.”

  Amdo winced at the thought of doing further damage to his precious ship, but knew she would never lift again. He nodded. “I’ll put a team on it.”

  “Good,” Calvo put in, “and we’ll help by activating eight of the battalion’s war forms. Most will take up defensive positions, but we can equip a couple of them for construction work, and that will speed things along.”

  Rono-Ra looked as surprised as a Hudathan can. “Really? No offense, ma’am, but outside of some VR time during basic, the techs weren’t trained for combat.”

  The supply officer towered above her, and the MO looked up at him. “First, cut the ‘ma’am’ crap. I may be in command, but I’m still a captain. Second, look who’s talking! Maybe you’ve seen combat—but I haven’t. We’re REMFs remember? None of us are combat vets. But if we’re going to hang on to this piece of real estate we’re going to have to learn. So, the faster we load some war forms and get our techs some on-the-job training, the better off we’ll be.”

  The Hudathan nodded ponderously. “What you say makes sense. How about some fly-forms? It would be nice to carry out a little reconnaissance.”

  “Not yet,” Calvo answered. “The techs need to walk before they try to fly.”

  Amdo narrowed his eyes. “I might be able to help with that one . . . The port bay is buried—but the starboard bay is exposed. Given some prep work, and a bit of good luck, we might be able to launch the number two lifeboat. Though never intended for prolonged atmospheric use, we might be able to get two or three hops out of her.”

  “That would allow Lieutenant Farner and his people to scope the surrounding area,” Calvo said enthusiastically. “Maybe they could place some remote sensors. I don’t know much about the locals, but the briefing materials describe them as ‘warlike,’ so we may have to contend with them as well.

  “Okay, I know there will be more issues to resolve, but let’s put our people to work. It will be dark in a few hours, and I’ll sleep a helluva lot better if we have some sort of defense in place by then.”

  SAVAS PRIME, PLANET SAVAS

  It was dark outside, and rectangles of buttery yellow light revealed the presence of nearby homes as Colonel Jon Kobbi, Dil Gaphy, and Lieutenant Antonio Santana left the embrace of a broad porch, passed through a doorway, and clumped into a richly paneled reception area. A flood of Jithi servants rushed to offer the off-world guests hot towels, cups of fragrant tea, and the soft slippers that the locals wore inside their houses.

  The Jithi were a humanoid race that had split away from the nomadic Paguum hundreds of local years before to make permanent homes in the verdant rain forests that girdled most of the planet. Over many successive generations Jithi physiology had evolved to better meet the demands of their tropical environment. They had light green skin, their hair took the form of thick dreadlocklike fronds, and they boasted tail tentacles that functioned as highly specialized hands. All wore crisp white jackets, matching trousers and black slippers.

  Colonel Kobbi took a seat on one of the benches that lined the walls of the reception area and allowed one of the Jithi to remove his combat boots and fit him with a pair of slippers. Once that was accomplished, the jacker removed his sidearm from its holster, ejected the magazine, and slipped the clip into his pocket.

  The rest of the officers did likewise. A servant accepted the weapons, put tags on them, and locked the guns inside a beautifully carved cabinet.

  Then, as if summoned by a signal, their host appeared. He was human, of average height and rather handsome. What hair he had was black, his eyes had an Asian cast, and he had a round, open-looking face. He wore a dark blue shirt that hung down past his waist, white pantaloons, and blue slippers with red embroidery. A few quick steps carried him forward to greet Kobbi. “Colonel! What an unexpected pleasure! My name is Qwan, Cam Qwan, welcome to our home.”

  After each officer had been introduced the legionnaires were led through a formal sitting area into a softly lit dining room. A long, linen-covered table ran down the center of it and nearly a dozen people rose to greet the soldiers as they entered. Large mirrors threw their images back and forth, candles flickered as a breeze found its way in through louvered windows, and a round of introductions began.

  Santana exchanged greetings with each of his fellow guests but quickly lost track of their names, and was left with the impression that Qwan’s guests were movers and shakers within the local community. It was the sort of situation in which Christine excelled—but made him feel uncomfortable.

  The platoon leader had no idea why he had been selected to accompany Kobbi, nor did Captain Gaphy, who clearly would have preferred someone else. The fact that he was attired in camos, rather than a dress uniform, added to Santana’s discomfort. But formal kit, like the other items not required for combat, were back on Adobe.

  Lin Qwan, Cam Qwan’s extremely attractive wife, moved to the far end of the table and stood behind her chair. She had shoulder-length hair, a slender face, and a trim figure.

  Cam announced dinner, and the officers were shown to their seats. Santana found himself halfway down the table between the local representative of an off-planet mining company and an empty chair.

  The guests were seated, and Cam Qwan was just about to propose a toast, when a door slid open and a beautiful young woman entered the room. She had long black hair that was tied back with a simple ribbon. Jewels sparkled at her ears, and the ankle-length red sheath dress was slit up the side, which allowed the occasional glimpse of her shapely legs. “Most of you know my daughter Qwis,” Cam Qwan said, “but for those of you who don’t, I suggest that you steer clear of the planet’s legal status unless you want to hear a two-hour seminar on the subject.”

  Such was the young woman’s reputation within the small community that most of those present laughed, while all of the males stood. Santana found himself enveloped by a cloud of extremely intoxicating perfume as the younger Qwan arrived at his side. Qwis had serious brown eyes, even features, and a beautiful smile. The officer held her chair, waited for the young woman to sit, and took his seat. She offered her hand. Her skin felt cool but slightly rough, a sure sign that she did more than sit around and look pretty. Her voice was soft and melodic. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Welcome to Savas. I wish the circumstances were different.”

  “You’re welcome. This must be a very difficult time for you and your family.”

  A look of amusement entered her eyes. “Yes, it is. And you are?”

  “Santana, ma’am, Lieutenant Antonio Santana.”

  It appeared as if she were going to say something further, but her father chose that moment to propose a toast. “To the Confederacy! To the Legion! To the 1st REC!”

  There was hearty agreement, followed by more toasts, an
d the first of what proved to be a delicious seven-course meal. Santana wasn’t entirely sure what occupied his plate most of the time, but was accustomed to all manner of exotic food, and happy to consume whatever was placed in front of him so long as it tasted good.

  The mine manager seated to Santana’s left proved to be a demanding conversationalist, which meant that there wasn’t much opportunity speak with Qwis, but there were some enjoyable moments, including one exchange when her leg made prolonged contact with his.

  But such intervals were rare since the main topic of dinner conversation was the war, the Legion, and the battalion’s presence on Savas. A subject of considerable interest to the colonists but one Kobbi couldn’t address without revealing the nature of their mission. That made one guest more than a little testy. “So let me see if I understand,” the store owner said. “You weren’t sent here to protect us, but you won’t tell us what the purpose of your mission is.”

  “Can’t is more like it,” Kobbi said matter-of-factly. “I’m sorry, but that’s how it is.”

  “But what about us?” a matron demanded plaintively. “The bugs have already attacked the settlement on three different occasions. What if they land? We’ll be slaughtered.”

  “Not if the militia has anything to say about it,” another man said staunchly. “We’ll fight them in the jungle.”

  “They evolved in the jungle,” Cam Qwan said pointedly, “which means they would most likely win.”

  “Perhaps,” the militia leader allowed expansively, “but the Jithi would cut them down to size . . . Isn’t that right Yamba?”