He turns into the doorway and quickly moves inside. I spin out and follow. We enter at the point of a corner—Rook goes straight, one wall on his left, and I follow the wall on the right, trusting that we’ll see whatever might be in the middle. Usually there would be a few more leejes behind us to clear center, but Kags is the only one with any combat training, and this sort of close-quarters room-clearing isn’t something he’s familiar with. Besides, I don’t particularly want to risk getting shot in the back by an overeager basic.
We move past desks and blinking comm stations, our view occasionally interrupted by semi-transparent grid screens showing the location of all known friendly and hostile elements on the planet. We’ll converge at the large observation window that overlooks the cliff. If you follow seamball, think of Rook going up the third bag line while I head toward first bag.
“Clear.” Rook reaches a series of three steps that run the back end of the room. He climbs them, arriving at the concave wall with a horizontal viewing window running the length of it.
I’m just a few short paces from saying the same when I see a pair of shiny Republic Army boots pointing at the overhead lights. My brain processes the sight of two dead Republic techs in an instant, and then I see who killed them. “Get down!”
A pair of ear-splitting twin booms sound as the third tech fires some sort of slice-rigged blaster pistol at Rook. The weapon looks to be an unstable fusion of three Republic-issue blasters wired into one. The massive blaster bolt brightens the room and slams into Rook, sending him flying into the wall. A second later, the unstable gun explodes in the tech’s hand. I hurl myself away from the blast instinctively.
As I lie on the ground, blinking away the white flash burned into my eyes, I hear the distant shouts of Kags as he runs into the room. My vision comes along quickly. I’m staring at the tightly woven carpet fibers of the comm station’s floor. It still smells new. I push myself up, and a moment later Kags is at my side. He’s looking from Rook to the tech, waiting for me to give an order. Both men are still alive, but in bad shape. The tech’s arm was blown apart, and fragments of bone and blaster are embedded in his face, neck, and chest. He won’t last long.
“Watch the tech,” I order Kags. “Try to stabilize him. But be careful.”
Kags reaches him in seconds as I stumble toward Rook.
“What the hell, man?” Kags shouts at the tech.
“He was coming for me!” the tech croaks in a raspy voice. He doesn’t even seemed fazed by his wounds. “They’re all coming for me! I saw it! I kept seeing it! Everyone’s dead! The holos wouldn’t stop coming to me showing everybody! I saw them! Saw what the koobs did. They were sending the holos to me because they want to kill me, too! Kill me! No! Noooo!”
“Lieutenant,” Kags calls over to me, “this tech’s lost his mind. And from the look of all these med-tabs on the ground, he’s hopped up on Zulu’s entire supply of med-stims.”
“Just keep an eye on him. Don’t let him do any more damage.”
I drop down at Rook’s side. He’s lying flat on his back, taking tortured breaths that come out of his helmet speakers in ragged bursts. I prop his head up with my knee and gently pull off his bucket.
“I’m sorry, Sarge—Lieutenant—I’m sorry.” Rook sputters a cough and paints his lips red with blood.
“Hey, no. You did great, Rook.” I look down at him. There’s a fractured hole where the blast hit his armor, and blood is seeping out. Not as much as I expected to see, though.
Andien runs into the room. “Can I help?”
“Maybe,” I say, watching her as she moves toward us. “You have any medical training?”
“Just basic aid in case of field accidents.”
“That’s better than nothing.” I look past her for the bot. “Pully! There should be a medkit in the galley. Bring it in here!”
“Of course, Lieutenant Chhun.” The bot moves down the hall, but not before detaching his hovercam, which floats in and starts recording the carnage.
“Not a good time, Pully!”
“Sorry,” the bot calls from the hallway. The hoverbot scoots away to reunite with him.
“Tech’s dead,” Kags calls.
“See if you can help Pully,” I order.
Andien looks over Rook. The leej isn’t talking, and I can tell it’s taking him every bit of strength he has not to cry out in pain at the slightest touch to his abdomen. He winces and sucks in his breath as Andien pries away a loose fragment of armor.
“Sorry,” she says.
Rook nods, a pained smile on his face. “What’s—ah—what’s the…” He grimaces and shuts his eyes before spitting out the last word. “… prognosis?”
“Better than it could have been, but not good.” Andien motions her head toward the center of the room. “Can I speak to you a moment, Lieutenant?”
“You good, Rook?” I ask.
“Pretty sure you being by my side isn’t slowing down the rate I’m dying.”
I smile in spite of myself. “Yeah, I guess not. Don’t get ahead of yourself, though, okay?”
I join Andien at the center of the room. She’s looking down at the tech corpses. They haven’t been dead long. Maybe a few hours.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Your friend doesn’t have much time. The intensity of the blaster bolt seems to have cauterized his wound. He’s only bleeding from where the shattered armor punctured his flesh. That can be fixed up by a medic and some skinpacks. But I’m sure he has internal injuries. Bad ones. I have no way of telling, of course, but suffice it to say he needs a cycler or a med-drop as soon as possible.”
“I doubt there’s a cycler up here.” I look to the doorway for Pully and Kags to return. “And he’s in no condition to climb down.”
“Even if there were a cycler,” Andien says, looking back at Rook, “neither of us knows the proper dosage of sedative. We’d likely kill him through guesswork or cause his system to fail from the pain of the cycler bot doing its work on a conscious patient.”
I nod, feeling grim. “So where does that leave us?”
“When the bot comes back, I need to start the transmission right away. The sooner it reaches a ship—any Republic ship—the faster help can arrive.”
Kags and Pully appear in the doorway, carrying what looks to be a drop crate full of medical supplies.
“Republic overstock,” Kags observes.
“I’m not complaining.” The soldiers below us could desperately use these. “Here’s the plan. Pully, work with Andien to begin the transmission. Kags, grab some blankets and do what you can to keep Rook comfortable.”
“What about you?” Andien asks.
“I’m going to strap myself to this crate and climb back down. Doc Quigs can use it. I’ll leave a few skinpacks to try and help Rook ward off any infection.”
“Lieutenant,” Pully says, looking me up and down. “This crate is very heavy for a human. What if you fall?”
“Either way, it gets down. Drop crates will hold together, even if I don’t. Everything clear?”
The team acknowledges their understanding and gets to work. Andien pulls over a conduit and plugs it into Pully’s back, while Kags moves to the bunks. I bend over and pick up the crate. The bot wasn’t lying—it’s heavy.
I turn to take one last look at Rook. “Keep fighting, leej.”
“KTF, sir.”
“Ooah.”
***
The climb back down is nerve-racking. I’ve got a fifty-pound crate of medical supplies attached to my chest webbing and I’m hanging from a line of synth-rope. Aside from the fact that going down is tougher than coming up, having the thing banging against the rocks and continually pulling me off balance has me thinking I’ll join the rest of the legionnaires the fast, hard way. But I hang on, and soon I’m only twenty meters from the ground.
There aren’t any sleds rising up to meet me. In fact, everyone below seems busy to the point that I’m not sure they even know I’m up
here. I debate cutting the rope, but decide against it. Mercifully, the crate eases toon the ground as I descend, making my final ten meters a comparative breeze.
A legionnaire rushes past me, a gunnysack of charge packs over his shoulder. I hold out a hand and call to him between heavy breaths. “Slow down, Leej. What’s going on?”
The trooper stops, but with reluctance. He was likely ordered to go from Point A to Point B quickly. “Koobs are coming in force. Captain Ford has us setting up a defensive line.”
He makes to take off again. “One more thing,” I call. “I brought back some med supplies. Where did Sergeant Quigs set up?”
“He has the wounded set up in a cave. Captain Ford wants the med-sleds reconverted to allow for combat ops if possible.”
“Can you lead me to the caves?”
The leej grabs one of the med crate’s handles and helps me carry the load. “This way, sir.”
It doesn’t take long to reach the cave opening. Once inside, I see that there isn’t much room. Just a narrow tunnel that leads to a cavern, maybe a hundred and fifty square meters. One of the first people I walk by is Captain Devers. He’s standing under his own power, leaning against a wall close enough to the outside that it doesn’t need any portable lighting. The captain looks away the moment he sees me, but I get a long enough glimpse to see that his face is a wreck. There are deep cuts on the bridge of his nose and beneath each cheek. One eye is swollen completely shut, and the other is red and weeping, with a black bruise circling it. His lower lip is split nearly in two. Yeah, he could use the skinpacks I’m carrying.
Quigs is standing over Pappy, examining a datapad. He joins me in the center of the cave as I set down the med crate. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yeah.” I rub the back of my head. “Brought it down from O-Z. Thing nearly pulled me off the mountainside a few times.”
Quigs drops to a knee to open the crate, then sorts through it beneath the artificial light suspended from the cavern ceiling. “How did it go?”
“Transmission is underway, but at a price. One of the techs got into the stim stores. Got paranoid from the journo-bot’s transmissions. Killed his crew, probably killed Rook, too.”
Quigs stands up. “Rook was shot?”
“Yeah. Tech made some kind of a high-powered super-blaster by splicing together a few service pistols. Hand cannon. Blew a hole in Rook’s armor, burned him up pretty good. Blew the tech’s arm apart. He died before I left.”
“I can’t get up there to help him…”
I nod. “Yeah, I know. Just have to hope he holds on until relief comes.”
“Well,” Quigs says, closing the crate’s lid, “let’s hope it comes soon. This will help—there’s some antibiotics and skinpacks—but it’s not enough. No stims, obviously. No demidural, so I can’t extend Pappy’s coma or give anything to help with pain.”
I look over at the major. He looks at peace. Next to him is the scientist whose wife was killed. He’s just sitting still, catatonic.
“What’s the plan with Pappy then? If he comes to with a cycler still moving through him…”
Quigs nods. “Bad, yeah. I traced the cycler’s movement and issued the shutdown sequence about an hour ago. I figured if he went into cardiac arrest or showed signs of trauma I could prime it again and let it finish the job, painful as it would be. But he seems okay. I’m hopeful the cycler repaired most of the major damage already, and what was left can be healed by Pappy’s body.”
“Good. And Devers?”
“Other than looking like he was trampled by a taurex, he’ll be okay.”
I turn to take my leave, but Quigs holds up a hand. “Wait.” He reopens the case and pulls out a slim cylinder. “Take this to Twenties. Tell him to drink the entirety of the contents. Should clear up his infection within twelve hours.”
I shake the cylinder at Quigs in a salute. “Thanks, Doc.”
21
I make my way past legionnaires and Repub-Army basics hurriedly digging trenches. The excavated soil, dry and rocky, is scooped up by waiting soldiers and formed into berms. Sled drivers have positioned their vehicles behind these, and gunners are already in place, scanning the horizon for any sign of the koob-MRC force. I’m sure we’re expecting a lot of incoming fire, and the berms will protect the repulsors’ engines beneath the sleds, keeping the vehicles mobile in the event we have to make a last-ditch attempt to break out.
Hopefully it doesn’t come to that. Our position is defensible. Our line has a clear field of fire for miles, plus the protection of sheer mountain walls at our back and sides. We’re dug in deep, and it’ll take a day of hellfire before anyone can even get close enough to pull us out. It’s going to be all about attrition of resources. Insurgent bodies against Republic ammunition. Whichever side runs out first, loses.
A group of basics are grunting as they stack up aero-precision missiles behind a high berm. One of them nearly drops one on its head. The legionnaire overseeing the group’s efforts rushes in to help grab the missile before it has the chance to clatter into a munitions pile. “Nice catch,” I say as I walk by. “It’d be a shame if we blew ourselves up and deprived the koobs the opportunity.”
“That you, Lieutenant?”
I look up to the sled and see Exo standing in the gunner’s hatch. He’s in one of the med-sleds, so there are no twin blaster cannons. “Have you set up as a mobile anti-vehicle gunner?”
Exo nods. “That’s about right. Lock and pop until all the koob trucks go boom. Hey, how’d it go up top? We got help coming?”
“Time will tell. They were initiating the transmission when I left to bring some med supplies back to Doc Quigs.”
“Oh yeah?” Exo taps out a beat on the top of the sled. “How’s Point looking?”
I look back in the direction of the cave. “Like he went three rounds in the cage with O’Connor Malice and didn’t bother putting his hands up.”
“Good,” Exo says. “He deserves worse. Where’s Rook?”
I frown, regret and worry quickly washing over me. “Took a blaster bolt to the stomach by some half-crazed tech on Outpost Zulu. He was alive when I came down, but it’s not looking good.”
“Oba.” Exo looks to the sky and rolls his neck. “That’s just great.” He reaches down for his rocket launcher, hoists it onto the sled’s hull, and begins fiddling with the targeting assembly.
The basics continue to work. A silence grows until I understand that Exo is done talking. He needs time to deal with what happened to his friend. “I gotta go. Where’s Captain Ford?”
Exo points farther down the line. “Over there. He set up a command overwatch on a protected ledge.”
“Thanks.” I move on, leaving Exo to do whatever it is he does with his emotions. I know that, ultimately, it’ll be the koobs who’ll bear the brunt of it.
Wraith isn’t far from Exo. A five-minute walk and a brief climb, and I pull myself onto the flat slab of overhanging stone where he’s perched. It’s a perfect setup. Boulders dot the edge of it like castle parapets. The mountain itself serves as a sort of roof, with only the very end of the ledge exposed to the elements. “Nice place you have here, Captain.”
“Thanks,” Wraith says, turning from a datapad Sergeant Powell was showing him. “But I’ll be setting up elsewhere. This space will be better used by a sniper.”
“Twenties?” I ask.
Wraith nods. “He’s on his way, along with his spotter. How did the op go?”
I brief him on what happened from climb up to climb down. He folds his arms and rocks on his heels. “That’s too bad. For Rook, sure, but for us, too. We need every legionnaire we can get. I’m halfway hoping Pappy comes to with enough strength to grab an N-4 and join the fight.”
I set my jaw. “The scientist—Andien—she says her dropship was the Mercutio.”
Wraith taps his foot on the ground. “I wouldn’t have thought Admiral Ubesk would be in this part of galaxy’s edge. And I don’t see why the Mer
cutio would be the ship to drop that field team—or why there seems to be a comm expert on a team designed to get the ball rolling on ore and mineral extraction.”
“The Chiasm, Camp Forge, now this.” I drop my arms to my sides in exasperation. “I’ve given up trying to make sense of what’s going on. I’m just trying to get everyone back home.”
“Yeah,” Wraith concedes, “that needs to be our focus. And as long as a Republic warship gets to us before our ammunition and rations run out, I think we can do it.” He points at the line. “I’ve got legionnaires dug into trenches, plus all sleds with twins ready to lay concentrated fire on an advancing enemy. We’ll build a wall of bodies before any force moving on foot has a chance to reach us.”
“How do we make sure they move on foot instead of in their trucks?”
Wraith holds out an open palm. “Sergeant Powell, can I see that datapad again?”
“Yes, sir.” The sergeant walks the pad over. Wraith holds it in my view and scrolls through a series of graphs and text strings.
“One thing we should have enough of is AP missiles.” Wraith taps the screen, bringing up a schematic of the anti-vehicle ordnance and launcher. “The loadmasters at Camp Forge gave us more than we needed and stuffed ’em in one sled. Sergeant Powell and I calibrated the range of the koobs’ mortars based on some holofootage I recorded during the barrage. Our heavies will be able to engage with AP missiles a full three hundred meters before they can answer with any kind of effective fire. It’s not much, but it should be enough to keep them from getting comfortable. That, combined with focused sniper fire, should make the koobs have to choose between trying to starve us out—which works to our advantage if help is coming—or go all out in an attempt to overrun us. We both know how much that will cost them.”
“How do we handle communication?” I ask, looking up from the datapad. “Without a wide L-comm it’ll be difficult to get orders across the line without the koobs listening in.”
“Still thinking that one over. The L-comm master channel can only be changed via narrow-beam recalibration by a destroyer. I guess Republic engineering didn’t anticipate a company being isolated without Capital ship support, and we don’t have time to wait for R&D to come up with a hardware patch. Suggestions?”
Legionnaire Page 17