I snapped up my visor and we locked tongues for awhile but that's not easy to do wearing an A-suit helmet. I lifted her off her feet and spun her around. My heart was burning for her. So lovely, so sweet. Deadman, how I had missed her! We embraced, silent, ecstatic. She wouldn't stop grinning. What a treasure I had in her—and what a fool I was to risk it all at the front. But it couldn't be helped. We were all on Atom's Road, walking point for Deadman, and turning back was not an option.
"Come on," Priestess urged, "we're all inside. It's quite a place!" She shouldered her E and snatched my hand and led me up an imposing cenite staircase into a wide, open doorway past giant armorite doors that had been blasted right off their hinges and lay on the floor. There were no lights inside the cavernous interior. It was cold and gloomy. Trash and wreckage was strewn around the deck.
"Elevators are out. We take the stairs," Priestess said, heading up an interior stairwell. A Systie Mocain was sprawled over the stairs, frozen in death, his bronze-colored armor burnt white with X-max hits. I could tell he was a Mocain by his size—they're big.
"Redhawk asked me to pass you this," I said, tossing the package to Priestess as we continued up the stairs, heading for the upper floors.
"Yes! I know what this is. Just what we need! So how did it go, Three? Was it Tara after all? Are you back with us for awhile?"
"I'll tell you later. Where are we going here?"
"To the top! Recon's up there. We took this place ourselves. I got to kill a Mocain."
"Yeah?" We threaded our way through a darkened office suite, full of d-screens and commo gear. "And how did you feel about that?"
She turned and faced me, her face hardening. "It felt good," she said.
***
Recon was up on the very top of the massive bunker, under dark skies. Priestess and I surfaced through an access hatch used by maintenance people. The sky was full of dirty grey clouds and the air was wet.
"Three!" Psycho spotted me first. "Hey guys, alert. Thinker's back!" His helmet was off. He had been standing by the edge looking out over the city. It was quite a view. The whole panorama spread out all around us.
"Welcome back, Thinker!" Dragon slammed an armored hand into mine. His helmet was off, too. His face was hard and skeletal, dark skin stretched tautly over bone, cold glittering eyes, sweaty dark hair. "Any news on the war?"
"Yeah, I've got news all right. Plenty of news."
"Thinker! Gimme a hit!" Valkyrie punched my fist, grinning fiercely, icy green eyes, golden hair, the Legion Cross black on her forehead. "You missed the Mocains. We got some kills!"
"I heard." They were all there, in dirty camfaxed armor, bristling with weapons, scattered over the top of the building. I spotted Trigger, Doctor Doom, Sweats, and Tourist from Pits and Scrapper, Pads, Ragdoll, Ricochet and Hotpants from Mams. Flash had been our only casualty, but he was not forgotten. I stood by the edge, looking over a smoking wasteland. Their fault, I thought. Cotter-Arc knows we'll fight to the death. He knows. And he can stop the killing any time by surrendering. But he won't—just as the Director said. He has to be killed. That will end the war. Only that.
"Thinker brought the flag!" Priestess exclaimed, ripping open the package Redhawk had tossed me.
"All right! Get it up!" Dragon ordered. Priestess clutched a dark bundle in her arms. She popped off her helmet and ran over to a large conical structure topped by a tall cenite flagpole. She started up a ladder built into the side of the structure. I snapped my helmet off, dropped it to the deck, and started up the ladder after Priestess.
"Priestess! Hold up! What are you doing?" Her boots were right at my face. It was only a short way up to the base of the flagpole.
"The flag, Thinker! You brought the flag! We tore down the Systie colors, but nobody had our own flag. Can you imagine that? We've got to run up the flag, Thinker—everybody will see it up here!" Priestess was on her knees on the narrow ledge above me, fooling with ropes that whipped in the wind. There was no room for me up there. I clung to the ladder.
"Be careful, Priestess! Isn't there a better way to do this?"
"The Systies raised and lowered their flag automatically through this flagbase, but it's broken. Just a frac."
I gazed skyward. Wild dirty clouds scudded close overhead. A few drops of rain spattered around us. It was a tremendous flagpole, all right. Everyone would see it from the horizon—friend and foe alike.
"Careful, guys!" Recon gathered below, watching us.
"All right, I've got the catches. Help me pull it up, Thinker!" A rope slithered into my arms. Priestess pulled, I pulled. The flag snapped loose, unfurling into a rising breeze, wrapping itself briefly around Priestess, then flapping away as we pulled at the rope. Our own black flag, rising now into our newly-claimed sky. Straining at the rope, cracking and snapping, the flag of the Legion, vac black, a silvery Legion cross boldly emblazoned at the center. A cheer arose from the squad below. My blood was ice cold as Priestess and I continued pulling at the rope, sending the flag higher and higher. What a lovely, fearsome banner. It was us, all of us, proclaiming our victory. Death to tyrants! Fluttering now boldly at the very top of the flagpole.
It was quite a feeling, watching our flag, floating majestically over the defeated foe. An aircar hovered not far off. Snow Leopard told me later it had just been passing by, but it had recorded our flag-raising. Those images appeared all over ConFree, showing Priestess and me at the ropes, with Recon below, over the label 'Uniden Legion troopers raising the flag on Pherdos'. I guess I'm prouder of that than almost anything else.
Chapter 22
Reinforcements for the Dead
That's your ship," Snow Leopard said, looking out into the vac. The way he said it, I could tell he was satisfied it was a good ship. And if Beta One was satisfied, I knew I would be. Dragon and I stood beside Snow Leopard before an observation port on the cruiser C.S. Spawn, facing a cold black infinity of silvery dust, a magnificent panorama of primeval chaos, utterly beautiful, billions of lost stars and lonely nebulae glowing faint pinks and frosty pale greens and icy blues. The ship was approaching the Spawn, easing its way towards the docking port, gliding serenely through the vac. We could make it out now, a tiny chip of black, a microscopic shadow against the stars, a grain of black dust.
"It's a tacship," One continued, "the Confederate Ship Wraith. This is the perfect ship for our mission. It's the only ship for our mission." Snow Leopard looked around us, his pale face set, his icy pink eyes glinting resolve. There were a few other troopers and vacheads at the port, but nobody was paying attention to us. "It's fully cloaked," he continued, his gaze shifting to the ship. "It's the largest ship the Legion has ever cloaked. The System has nothing like it. The damned thing is totally invisible. It's state of the art, and it's got everything we need. Cosmic secret, gang. Don't ever repeat any of this."
"Doesn't look invisible to me," Dragon said, looking out at the Wraith. It was coming closer, pinpointed like a bug by the Spawn's spotlights. We could make out the details. It was an unusual shape for a tacship. Everyone on the observation deck was gawking. A roughly delta shape, dead black skin, not an edge on her—cloaked. Good. Cloaked was good.
"Cloaking is off, Dragon," Snow Leopard replied. "When it's on, you see nothing. And all our sensors see nothing. She's a ghost. Just what we need."
Gliding slowly towards us, coming alongside—a ghost ship. Perfect. Tara had delivered, again. It was utterly lovely, perfectly invisible, and totally deadly. Our chariot, to ride into battle against Satan. She'd get us there. I knew it. What happened after that was entirely up to us.
"Let's get to the docking port," I said. "I want to meet the captain."
***
"The Wraith is at your service, Captain," the captain said, saluting me. "I have received orders from Fleetcom to place myself under your orders." We were on the bridge. Captain Victor Zoche of the Wraith was a pale young Outworlder with hot dark eyes, a military shortcut and a Combat Cross on his blacks. T
he Legion didn't award medals but there were sometimes other clues to a person's past. The Captain wore a ring decorated with four tiny Systie starships. It meant he had sent four shiploads of Systie souls to Hell. Good credentials, I decided. His exec was an Assidic, warname Typhoon, fierce slit eyes, ramrod straight, practically twitching—anxious for action. Borderline, I thought, both of them. I could see the madness in their eyes. Yes, these two would take us to Hell all right, and wait around until we were through, or dead. The Legion needed madmen like them. Sane people would never do what had to be done.
The bridge was spotless and deathly silent, glowing with light, loaded with strange instrumentation and exotic controls, duty officers in black monitoring it all from the command chairs, calm, serene, barely moving, almost like phantoms. A ghost crew for a ghost ship. Outside the armored plex, the C.S. Spawn shone in the spots, a great, deadly bird.
"Thank you, Captain," I replied. "This is Snow Leopard, my exec, and Dragon, our squad leader. Is your ship ready for combat?"
"Fully ready, sir. We're taking on provisions right now, but we can launch on your command."
"And all this fancy equipment I've heard about—it all works?"
"Yes sir! All cloaking systems and holo systems have been tested 100 percent effective and are at 100 percent readiness. All combat mission support systems report 100 percent readiness. All strategic, operational and tactical attack and defense systems report 100 percent readiness. All officer and crew are at 100 percent readiness except for your mission complement and a delayed Triage crew, which should arrive shortly. We have a replacement staff standing by in Triage. The Wraith awaits your inspection, Captain."
"All right, Captain," I replied softly. "We'll be taking on the rest of our squad shortly. Continue your loading."
"Yes sir. And the mission?"
"Mission will be revealed once we're underway. Let's do that inspection."
"Yes sir! XO, inspection!" The XO snapped a tab and the inspection whistle sounded eerily throughout the ship.
"Attention the Ship! Stand by for inspection! All hands to duty stations!"
***
"This is Plans." the captain announced, "It's all yours." The door snapped open to reveal a little office built around a circular holo table, the bulkheads covered with d-screens and holo projectors. Twister stood at attention behind the table in new blacks, Combat Cross on her chest, stifling a smile, tall and awkward, chocolate eyes, a face full of freckles, curly reddish hair. Beta Thirteen—just as I had last seen her on the Spawn.
"Ops Plans reporting—ready for inspection, sir!" she snapped out.
"At ease, trooper," Snow Leopard said.
"You didn't tell me she would be coming," I said. Snow Leopard looked at me in surprise.
"Twister is my XO," he said. "I depend on her. What's the problem?"
I looked at Snow Leopard, then over to Twister. "No…" I said. "No problem. Plans looks good. Let's continue."
Outside in the corridor, I excused myself and ducked back into Plans. Twister was still braced at ease, her eyes full of unshed tears. I went over to her and embraced her.
"Twister." I said "It's a suicide mission. We're not coming back. I want to spare you. I don't want all Beta going out."
"I've stood by you a few times," she choked.
"Yes…that you have. All right, trooper, stand by. We're all going out together. And we'll see you in Hell!"
"Yes sir!" The tears streamed down her cheeks but her jaw was rock-hard. What a shame, I thought. What a damned shame.
***
"Element ready for inspection, sir!" Dragon shouted, his harsh voice echoing off the cenite walls of the boarding lock. Five troopers were braced at attention in their blacks, in the cold white glare of the ceiling panels. The uniforms were faded—well worn. Each trooper wore a Combat Cross. Snow Leopard and I moved out of the shadows to confront them.
"Wipe that smirk off your puss, Psycho!" Dragon snarled, almost in my ear. Psycho tried to stifle his grin. The little runt was almost presentable in his blacks. His pale blond hair was cut short, his evil blue eyes glowed with the fires of an alternate world, and I knew he was busting to say something outrageous and stupid.
"How'd you like to haul a Manlink again, Five?" I asked.
He paled for a moment, stunned. "I'd like that very much, sir," he replied in a delighted whisper. I knew I had scored—and I was never going to let him forget he had finally called me 'sir'.
Snow Leopard was right beside me as I moved on to the next trooper. I could tell the gang was thrilled to see us both, and overjoyed that Beta One, our old squad leader, the ultimate squad leader, would be a part of whatever we had planned for them.
Priestess braced, staring into nothing, her cheeks flushed, dark eyes sparkling. What a lovely child. An angel, an innocent, a saint. But I knew she was as much a killer as I was. And what did it change? We all walked Atom's Road for Deadman, with the faith of children. I wanted to reach out and kiss her, but I didn't. I just stood there, frozen.
"Good job on Pherdos, Nine," One said.
"Thank you, sir!" A lovely smile—an ache in my heart. Valkyrie was next. I knew exactly what I was doing. I knew these troopers like I knew myself. Valkyrie would stand forth and die for us, without hesitation. I'd seen it, on Uldo. Valkyrie, cut right from my heart. Hair like spun gold, a pale, flawless face, cold green eyes, tender pink lips, and that hellish Legion cross burnt onto her forehead. Valkyrie, my first lover, here to drive me mad. Now, standing mils from her tantalizing presence, I could feel my heart speed up. She always did that to me.
"What's the mission, Three?" she asked. "Do we get to kill Systies?"
"That's a ten, Val. There'll be plenty of targets."
"Good. Glad to hear it." She sounded completely content.
Scrapper was next, Valkyrie's fem lover. Thick sandy hair, clear grey eyes, black Legion cross on her forehead, large heavy breasts straining against her tunic. She had made the transformation from rational to psychotic in the time it took the O's to annihilate squad Gamma on Andrion 3. Now she was a lovely shooting star, pledged to die for the future—or maybe for the past. And she belonged only to Valkyrie. The Legion was full of doomed immortals. I had a whole squad of them.
"Hi, big guy," she said dreamily in a low, husky voice. She always called me big guy. I had never asked why. "Welcome back, Snow Leopard. Will you be downside with us on this one?"
"Captain Thinker will explain the mission, trooper," Snow Leopard replied. "It's good to be back."
Redhawk was the last of my select group of fools. He was at rigid attention, but the tangled, greasy hair, the scruffy beard, the pale splotchy face, earrings and giant grin kind of spoiled the over-all military effect.
"Quit grinnin', Redhawk," I ordered. "This is an official inspection. Is your Phantom ready for combat?"
"Kiss is ready, Thinker," Redhawk replied softly. "She's hot & wet. No foreplay necessary."
"Good. Excellent. We're going to need her." I backed off a few steps and looked them over, with Dragon and Snow Leopard standing off to one side. Not many troopers, to change the course of history. These were the survivors of Beta and Gamma. We had been through a lot—more than anyone could demand. And now we were going to give just a little bit more.
"All right, gang," I said. "We've got a mission. I'm in charge this time, but Dragon will be right there as element leader and Snow Leopard will be topside in charge of planning and ops. We don't drop until Snow Leopard approves the mission, so you know the ops plan will be solid." I knew the troopies would be pleased with that.
"We'll proceed to the target in this tacship, the Wraith. It's a rather special ship, but we'll acquaint you with its capabilities later. The mission is…important. We're going to take out a ranking Systie political creep. We'll be using Holo-X, and we're going to practice this one until we are dead perfect. I want no mistakes. This is to be a surgical operation. We hit one target, eliminate him, and disappear. If we are successf
ul, we could end the war." I paused, to let it sink in.
"There's a down side to everything," Valkyrie sighed. Psycho laughed, delighted. Gone. They were gone.
"I would like to stress that there's a good chance none of us will be returning from this mission," I continued. "We're going to be deep in Systie vac—very deep. We are taking extraordinary precautions to protect ourselves, but the target is also exceptionally well protected, and all our Holo-X wizardry won't work if our ship is blown to bits. There's a very good chance that might happen." I paused again, looking them over in the harsh light of the boarding lock. Snow Leopard and Dragon—Deadman, what other army in history had leaders like these? Psycho and Redhawk—certifiably insane. Valkyrie and Scrapper—seeking death like mindless biogens. Priestess, a holy angel, standing by me—no matter what.
"We'll have some backup," I said, "if they can get to us—which is unlikely. But we'll do the mission. I've chosen you, troopers, out of the entire Legion, because I know what you can do. I say again, chances are high we may not survive. If anyone is not ready to die, I want them to drop out right now. There's no shame in wanting to live. We've all done more than enough for the Legion already. I'm sure there are people out there who don't want you to die—lovers, family, friends. This mission is voluntary. Please speak up now, and you're out."
Silence. The silence of the dead. I knew Redhawk wanted nothing more than to be with his lover Whit, Tara's exec, forever. And Dragon—he had a Legion lover, too, a lovely girl—light years away.
"All right. The target is Kenton Cotter-Arc. And this is our payback—for everything. Any questions?"
"Yeah," Psycho said. "What's to eat?"
***
"This is where he's hiding," Snow Leopard said. "Took us a long time to track him down, and longer still to learn the details. But it looks like he's gone to ground here." The lights were down in Ops. Dragon and I leaned over the holo table, peering in fascination at the eerie image that glowed before us in a field of pale green light. It was a fortress, I realized—a great brutal metal fortress, vaguely circular, like two hemispheres sealed together with tops and bottoms lopped off. And it was underwater, blazing with murky lights. A great fortress, sprouting from a dark, muddy sea floor, bristling with weapons and sensors, tiny submarine craft circling it like minnows.
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