Legion Of The Damned - 06 - For Those Who Fell

by William C. Dietz

  Riff and the rest of the northern Paguum, thousands in all, stood as the lead animals came into sight and cheered their favorites. The chieftain spotted Sorn Dukk’s son in the lead, saw Tithin pull up alongside, and screamed his lungs out as the racers neared the finish line. Then it was over as the rest of the mob thundered past and a cloud of dust rose to conceal the last few seconds of the contest.

  Though invited to watch, the off-worlders hadn’t been given seats among the tribe’s leaders, a slight intended to keep them in their place. However, thanks to their electrobinoculars, both Ramanthians had enjoyed a much better view of the race than the Paguum had. They stood just west of the VIP section, not far from Riff’s dome-shaped shelter, and lowered their glasses as the contest came to an end. “So,” Subcommander Pamee said as he turned to face the special operations officer, “who won?”

  “Tithin did,” Ruu Sacc replied. “By a nose.”

  “Will the judges agree?”

  “Yes, I think they will.”

  “And that’s good for us.”

  “Very good,” Sacc agreed thoughtfully. “Tithin will tell his father about the equalizer I gave him, and he’ll invite us to an absolutely disgusting dinner. That’s where you will present the assault rifle. Riff will fall in love with the weapon and demand more. The rest will be easy.”

  Pamee considered the special operative’s words. “Disgusting? How disgusting?”

  “Really disgusting,” Sacc replied wearily. And it was.

  NORTH OF SAVAS PRIME, PLANET SAVAS

  The legionnaires stood to just before dawn, ready should the Jithi attack through the gently undulating mist, but nothing happened. The sun broke over a hill to the east, a baby started to cry, and the day creatures took that as their signal to warble, screech, and howl in sympathy with the infant.

  The Jithi clearing, which showed signs of seasonal use, had been enlarged by felling two dozen trees but was still smaller than Santana liked. Especially given the need to cram three beat-up aircraft into the center of it. But that was the nature of the situation, and there wasn’t much the officer could do about it, except give thanks that the long creepy night was over and finish his morning shave. He was still in the process of wiping the last of the gel off his face when the company’s lead com tech (CT) appeared at his side. She wore a look of perpetual gloom, as if most of the messages she handled were bad, and there was no reason to believe that this one was any different. “Sorry, sir, but the old man wants to see you.”

  Santana raised his eyebrows. “When?”

  “The message didn’t say, sir.”

  The company commander nodded. “I imagine that means now. Tell his CT that I’ll be there shortly.”

  It was extremely difficult to stay clean in the jungle environment, but Santana managed to brush the worst of the mud off his trousers and boots prior to grabbing his assault rifle and leaving the area assigned to Bravo Company.

  The civilians had been herded into the center of the camp, which meant that once the lifters landed, the boxy aircraft had been used to anchor all manner of tarps, shelters, and tents. That, plus the crisscrossing lines, made it nearly impossible to pursue a straight course for more than a few paces before being forced to turn left or right. Santana wound his way between piles of belongings, smoky fire pits, and clusters of muddy civilians.

  Some of the townspeople seemed to know exactly what they were doing, and went about their chores with the serenity of experienced campers, while others stared helplessly while their Jithi servants did all the work, or in the case of one poor woman, sat on a pack and cried.

  Finally, as the cavalry officer emerged from the center of the clearing, he left the chaos and entered the civilian-free zone that the Legion had established around the perimeter. The RAVs had been dug in all around the encampment so that one mortar round wouldn’t be able to destroy all of them and their nose guns could add weight to the defensive fire. Santana was careful to walk behind rather than in front of the robot.

  Bat. HQ was deliberately modest so that a Jithi scout wouldn’t be able to distinguish it by appearance alone, and rather than identify the officer to a sniper by saluting him, the sentry nodded instead. “Morning, sir.”

  Santana nodded in return. “Good morning. Is the colonel around?”

  The legionnaire pointed. “Down there, sir. With some cits.”

  The officer said, “Thanks,” followed a reasonably dry ramp down into the bunker. The timber ceiling was low, but cell-powered lamps provided plenty of light, and the floor was dry. Three com techs sat along one wall while other legionnaires came and went. Kobbi was present, as was Cam Qwan and his daughter Qwis. They turned as Santana entered. “Here he is,” Kobbi said, “all rested and ready for a stroll in the jungle.”

  Both civilians laughed, and there was something about the light, almost musical, sound of the young woman’s laughter that the cavalry officer liked. He smiled. “If you say so, sir.”

  Kobbi nodded. “I do. Come on over here and take a look at the map that Mr. Qwan was kind enough to provide us.”

  Santana complied and soon found himself eyeing the hand-drawn contour map that lay flat on the folding table. “We’re here,” Kobbi said, marking the spot with a blunt finger, “and we want to go here.”

  Santana saw the same digit fall on the words “Great Pandu Desert,” and realized that the battalion had a long way to go yet.

  “In order to get there, and do so in a timely fashion,” the senior officer explained, “I plan to send an advance party up ahead. Their mission will be to perform reconnaissance, prepare campsites, and establish river crossings. That should cut at least five days off the overall journey. That’s why I want you to take two platoons, plus Ms. Qwan and her civilian scouts, and clear the way for us. Questions?”

  Santana looked at the Qwans and back again. “Sir, yes sir. No offense to Ms. Qwan, or the other civilians, but what if the digs attack us? There could be a fight.”

  Kobbi started to reply, but Qwis raised a hand. She met the cavalry officer’s gaze. “No offense to the lieutenant, or the members of his company, but there weren’t any legionnaires on Savas when the battalion arrived. The fact that we were there to greet you should speak to our ability to fight.”

  Kobbi grinned sympathetically. “Sorry, son, but you walked right into that one. I can spare one RAV. Any other questions?”

  Santana knew when he was beat. He shook his head. “No sir.”

  “Good. It will take this traveling circus the better part of three hours to break camp. I want you and your people out of here in one.”

  It took an hour and twenty-six minutes for Santana to pull his team together, unload a RAV, and reload it with the kind of gear that the mission demanded. Heavy weapons to serve as force multipliers, power saws to help clear campsites, and light monofilament cable that could be used to build bridges.

  Because a normal cavalry platoon was a good deal smaller than an infantry platoon, and half his legionnaires were currently being toted around on backpacks, Santana was forced to combine the bio bods from his headquarters platoon with bio bods from two of the combat platoons to create two eight-person squads. Sergeant Dietrich would lead one, and he would lead the other. The addition of Qwis Qwan, plus two Jithi scouts, brought the total up to nineteen people. Far from overwhelming, but adequate, or that’s what Santana hoped.

  The last time Santana had seen the Jithi named Yamba, the well dressed majordomo had been serving dinner in the Qwan family’s dining room. Now, wearing nothing other than a loincloth, cartridge belt, and bush knife, the indig cut an altogether different figure. He nodded as Qwis gave him some last-minute instructions, slung a well-maintained rifle over his shoulder, and disappeared up the trail. A similarly clad companion followed behind.

  The newly constituted recon unit left ten minutes later. There were no brass bands to see them off, and such was the chaos that ruled the camp as Kobbi and his staff tried to get the civilians up and moving, that nob
ody other than Cam and Lin Qwan even noticed. They held hands and watched their daughter leave, before turning back to the encampment and the work that awaited.

  In spite of the fact that the Jithi were theoretically on point, and that the Qwans clearly trusted them, Santana sent Suresee Fareye forward by way of an insurance policy. Qwis came next, followed by the cavalry officer, the first squad, the heavily laden RAV, and the second squad.

  The jungle wrapped the group in a humid embrace and caressed the advance party with dewy leaves as it proceeded up the trail. Qwis gloried in the rich, pungent smell, the sounds that filtered down from the treetops, and the dark mysteries that lay to either side of the path. The civilian noticed small things, like the fact that the tracks that Kuga-Ka and his companions had left had been overlaid by new tracks, as if the off-worlders had been followed for a while. There were other signs, too, messages that took the form of notches that Yamba had cut into the trees, a pile of pebbles next to the trail, and a stick that pointed up into the canopy. A place where the Jithi scouts could not only travel faster than they could on the ground, but check to make sure that their “wild” cousins weren’t waiting in ambush.

  The colonist was also aware of the officer who followed a few paces behind her, a tall, silent sort, who seemed very different from the young men of Savas Prime. He was attracted to her, she knew that, and wasn’t surprised. Males had always been attracted to her, ever since she had been twelve years old, and that was her primary source of power. That and her parents’ wealth.

  And she was attracted to him, at a hormonal level at least, since there was nothing more to base the feeling on. They barely knew each other—although that was likely to change. Not that it mattered much, Qwis reflected, since everything was in doubt, and there was very little point in thinking about the future. She had been planning to attend college on Earth, to see the planet her parents had been born on, but the war put a stop to that.

  The colonist’s eyes narrowed as the eerie, undulating cry of the koto bird cut through the other jungle sounds before gradually dying away. She turned to Santana, said, “Yamba found something!” and took off running.

  Santana said, “Wait!” then swore and triggered his com set as he pounded after her. “Bravo Six to Bravo One Five . . . It looks like the digs have something up ahead. Bravo Three One is closing on your six. Over.”

  Fareye sent two clicks by way of an acknowledgment, stepped to the side of the trail, and waited for Qwis Qwan to round a bend. The Naa took note of the fact that she ran like someone who enjoyed it and wasn’t surprised when she blew past him. Then, consistent with his role as point man, the legionnaire followed. No more than a couple of minutes had passed before the civilian triggered her com set. In spite of the fact that Qwis had agreed to use the Legion’s com protocols, she forgot to do so when confronted with the horror of what Yamba had off the main trail. Her voice was thick with emotion. “You need to see this, Lieutenant . . . You need to see what those animals did.”

  The rest of the column couldn’t move any faster than the RAV, but Santana could, and hurried up the trail. Fareye was waiting next to what appeared to be a narrow footpath that disappeared into the jungle. “She went in there, sir.”

  Santana paused. “Thank you, Private. Wait for the column and tell them to take five. I don’t know what this is all about . . . but we won’t stay for very long.”

  The thick vegetation reached out to brush the legionnaire’s face and baste his body with dew as he forced his way back through the foliage toward the sound of rushing water. And it was there, in a well-trampled clearing, that he found Qwis, Yamba, and the Jithi bodies. Three of the partially blackened corpses dangled over the remains of a fire, while the fourth lay across it. All of them were nearly obscured by a thick swarm of insects. It was horrible, and Santana was reminded of the atrocities he had witnessed on LaNor.

  “Your soldiers tortured them,” Qwis said, “before cutting their stomachs open.”

  The officer was about to ask how she knew the deserters were guilty when Yamba offered him a bloodstained camouflage shirt. It was huge, large enough for two humans, and the name “Kuga-Ka” was still visible over the right breast pocket.

  Of course the blood could have belonged to the renegade himself, but Santana was pretty sure that it didn’t and resolved to keep the garment in case the deserter was brought to trial. He looked at Yamba. “I’m very sorry about what happened here . . . These soldiers will be punished if we can catch them. Can you tell how long ago the murders took place?”

  The Jithi knelt next to the fire pit and placed a hand over the ashes. They were cold. “A day ago . . . maybe more.”

  The cavalry officer swore. Kuga-Ka and his toadies had a lead, a big lead, which made it highly unlikely that he would be able to carry out his assignment and catch them as well. “I’ll call for some shovels. We’ll bury them before we leave.”

  “No,” Yamba replied emphatically. “That would cut their souls off from the sky. Look up . . . Do you see the ribbons? Their tribe has already been here.”

  Santana looked up, saw that hundreds of multicolored ribbons had been tied to the branches over his head, and realized that the treetops were like a highway that he couldn’t see, much less control.

  That was when distant drums began to beat, a chill ran down the cavalry officer’s spine, and Qwis Qwan took his hand. “Come on, Lieutenant. It’s time to go.”

  ABOARD THE STAR RAVAGER, IN ORBIT AROUND THE PLANET SAVAS

  Torches flared and sparks flew as half a dozen space-suited Ramanthians continued to work on the destroyer’s badly damaged bow. They couldn’t repair the ship, that would take a couple of months in a naval yard, but they could cut away the worst of the wreckage and reinforce the bulkhead just aft of the impact zone. It was a process the ship’s officers could monitor via vid cams set up for that purpose.

  Naval Commander Jos Satto looked down from the vid screen and wished a pox on the Ramanthian high command. Both of the human transports had been destroyed, which meant that with the exception of the human blockade runner who had slipped through his graspers one cycle earlier, the surviving humans had been reduced to scuttling about the planet’s surface like so many chit lice.

  So, given the amount of damage the Ravager had sustained, she should have been taken off station, and sent to a Class B repair facility. However, thanks to a severe shortage of ships, and orders issued by a know-nothing civilian bureaucrat named Suu Norr, both the destroyer and its commanding officer were stuck in-system until relieved by a mysterious task force. Something related to the research facility at Hagala Nor, Satto supposed, although Force Commander Ignatho Dontha refused to confirm that, even as he continued to make unreasonable demands.

  The latest order, which had been phrased as a “request,” was that Satto use the ship’s guns to attack what remained of a human transport. A conspicuous waste of time and energy since any aliens still alive were stranded in the middle of a desert a long way from Dontha and his precious research facility.

  But the infantry officer was insistent so Satto had agreed to attack the wreckage from orbit, a task which, though technically feasible, required moving the Ravager to a lower orbit, turning the ship onto its side in order to bring the starboard batteries to bear, and firing a preprogrammed series of energy bolts, which though far from precise, would probably do the job. The pilot, who had been making some last-minute adjustments to the destroyer’s attitude, looked up from his controls. “The ship is ready.”

  Satto gestured assent. “Warn the repair crew. Delegate fire control. Run the mission.”

  The pilot murmured into a mike, flipped a series of switches, and touched a button. It would take 3.5 units before the destroyer was in the optimal position. In the meantime all they could do was wait.

  FIRE BASE ALPHA, THE GREAT PANDU DESERT, PLANET SAVAS

  It was early morning in that particular slice of the Great Pandu Desert, and if Captain Beverly Calvo had a favorite tim
e of day on Savas, the period immediately after dawn was it. The sun was still low on the eastern horizon, so the air was cool, and the entire area was awash in soft, pink light. That was why the maintenance officer always rose early enough to make herself a cup of tea, clump down the transport’s metal ramp, and make her way up onto the top of the nearest dune.

  Two T-2s, each with a bio bod riding on high on its back, were patrolling the perimeter. The nearest one happened to be a couple of hundred yards away as Calvo arrived at the vantage point and looked out over the area below. The cyborg waved as the MO popped the lid off the top of her metal mug, blew steam off the surface, and took the first tentative sip of tea. It was good, and she waved back.

  A good deal of progress had been made since the crash landing. Eight war forms were up and running, the cyborgs who had been assigned to crew them were becoming more competent with each passing day, and four of the transport’s energy cannons had been stripped out of the ship and moved to positions at the corners of an imaginary grid. Conduit had been laid to three of them—and efforts to bring power to the fourth were under way.

  The effort to free the number two lifeboat hadn’t gone as well, however, because in spite of all the work carried out by a T-2 equipped with bucket arms, the cofferdam holding the sand back had collapsed, nearly killing Captain Amdo and two naval techs who had been in the bottom of the hole at the time. So, rather than invest more energy in what looked like an impossible task, the project had been abandoned.

  Meanwhile, it sounded as though Kobbi was making steady, albeit relatively slow progress, as he and a menagerie of civilians worked their way up from the south.

  Calvo sipped her tea, enjoyed the way the hot liquid felt as it trickled down her throat, and frowned as her eyes came to rest on the blackened remains of the Ramanthian assault boat. After the attack was repelled, the maintenance officer had expected an all-out reprisal. But nothing had happened. The question was why? Because the bugs were short on troops? Or had decided that what amounted to a handful of legionnaires weren’t worth the effort? Or their CO was an idiot? There was no way to know.