Casper thought of all that when Sergeant Greenhill voiced his reservations. Had thought it many times over. Even in giving his explanation of why Rechs was giving his orders the way he did, he was only employing guesswork. Tyrus hadn’t shared his reasoning. And, like too many times in the past, Casper was left to clean up.
He was reminded of all the times he had forestalled or misled a strike cruiser of vengeful colony battleships, keeping them from hunting Rechs down after he’d heedlessly nuked a planet full of distant cousins and families. Giving his friend time to escape. And then tried to get him to see reason, to recognize the folly of destroying habitable planets in a galaxy that didn’t have all that many to begin with. Especially those in easy jumping distance of others.
But Rechs was the sort of man who did what he wanted to do.
He’d never said thank-you for those rescues. For those times when Casper could have easily stepped aside and let any number of fighting forces show just how immortal they truly were—or weren’t.
It’s just how he is, Casper reminded himself. A man is no better than his nature. No better than the circumstances of how he came up in the world. Rechs is what he is. Excels where he excels and needs protecting where he is weak.
That’s your job, Casper. As his friend, that’s your job.
When they reached the candidates’ camp hours later, it was evident that men who by all rights should be exhausted, weren’t. At least not enough to sleep just yet. There was talking. Nothing loud and excessive. Quiet, easy conversation punctuated by laughs that, while held low, still escaped the thicket they bedded down in, betraying them.
No one in Casper’s element had spoken. Not since ten kilometers back when Rechs had given his final instructions—and only then because Casper had pulled him aside to tell him that more was needed than the vagaries he had supplied in giving orders. They would move into the camp in a wedge formation, following Martin’s lead. A head-on Savage attack designed to kill everything in first contact. There would be more to it if the intent was to kill. But the N-1s were the training models. They wouldn’t fire. Only the officers carried live weapons, their pistols, and those remained holstered, their owners aware of the purpose of this exercise.
Martin dropped to a knee and looked over his shoulder, verifying that the rest of his “Savages” were in position. Casper nodded to him, and Martin rose and pushed through the obscuring underbrush, N-1 at his shoulder.
They moved forcefully through the camp, surprising the candidates in their repose. No one had even thought to set up sentries or pickets. They should have known better. They had been trained better.
Casper saw this as another consequence of Rechs’s shortsightedness. So much of Rechs’s focus had been on brutal physical training that basic military principles were being forgotten.
The wedge led by Alpha Squad hurried through camp unhindered, rifles aimed at the pockets of Legion candidates who lay dumbfounded on the ground. Martin reached the middle of the encampment and stopped, his N-1 pointed at the candidates before him, his squadmates’ rifles covering those on either side.
Rechs nodded at Casper, who stepped forward.
“Ranger Company. You have been overrun by Savage marines and have suffered a one-hundred-percent casualty rate. You are all dead, the consequences of which are that you will now put your gear back on and prepare for a night march terminating at Mount Doom.”
No one groaned or protested. The deep, sinking reality of what had happened, and what it would have meant had this all been real, had sunk in quickly.
And then there was a rustling coming from behind Alpha Squad and the officers. Casper turned and saw figures seemingly rise out of the ground behind them. The ghostly figures had their N-1s raised and pointed at Alpha Squad. The candidates had branches tied to their helmets and dirt smeared across their faces.
Slowly, Alpha Squad turned around and lowered their weapons.
Casper smiled inwardly. “Identify yourself.”
“Echo Squad, sir.”
“LC-330, is it, Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You have destroyed the Savage element, Echo Squad. Have your team rest here tonight. You will join us on the mountain at first light.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
LC-330 hustled his squad out of the foxholes, and Casper could see Rechs watching them as they moved, shadows in the night.
Sergeant Greenhill walked up to Rechs and Casper, rifle held at the low ready. “How ’bout Alpha Squad, sir?”
Rechs gave a look devoid of mirth. “You just got killed, didn’t you? The dead march at night.”
And then the general moved off back toward Mount Doom, leaving his officers to organize all those who died to march until they could catch what sleep they could among the freezing, craggy stones.
Legionnaires: Chapter Ten
The extra sleep Echo Squad was rewarded with seemed to be equal parts blessing and curse as the team struggled up the mountain to join the rest of the company of Legion candidates the next morning. When Sergeant Fast had woken them before dawn’s light, Wild Man felt stiff and frozen. Like he was stuck back in that goop the Savages had baptized him in. He felt a sudden panic in the seconds before his body limbered itself up and began responding to Sergeant Fast’s orders to get up and get moving.
But Davis was the one who really suffered. She marched with a pronounced limp—and not for sympathy. It was obvious she was trying to hide it. But every step seemed to be accompanied by an audible click of her bones.
Or maybe that was in his head. It seemed like he could hear things more clearly this morning. Like his ears had been waterlogged and had only now finally dried out. But he could make out the clatter of pebbles tinking their way down as Kimbo and Sergeant Fast led the way, the Johnson brothers staged behind them.
Wild Man paused and looked below. He puffed out exhausted breaths, the cold air making the vapor look like smoke escaping the mouth of a dragon. He was looking for his wife, but she hadn’t come with them.
But he could see Davis, struggling to make her way up. Using her hands to pull her along where the others had only required their feet and a willingness to lean into gravity, those rucks weighing heavily on bent backs and tired shoulders. She slipped. Sliding down a few feet on her belly before pushing herself up and starting again. Rocks tumbled down below her.
Wild Man turned and yelled up the mountain. “Sergeant!”
And then he carefully climbed back down to reach Davis, holding out his hand. “Here.”
Sergeant Fast scaled down the mountain in an instant. He grabbed the Wild Man’s webbing to keep him steadied as Davis pulled herself up by her anchored squadmate.
“How we doing?” Fast asked.
“I got this, Sarge,” Davis huffed, her voice raspy and dry. “I got this.”
Fast’s face was impassive, but Wild Man felt as though he saw the hints of concern in his eyes. Like his face was trying to make the expression, only the sergeant wouldn’t let it.
“Echo Squad stays together,” Fast said, positioning himself slightly above Wild Man, allowing Davis to pull herself up from the first man and then to the next.
The rest of the team fell in line, giving Davis the handholds and pulls she needed to make the climb.
They were a quarter of the way up when they reached the rest of Ranger Company. First light had spread its glow over the candidates long before, and every man was awake and spending his time either eating rations or simply watching Echo Squad slowly move up in their odd, chain-gang climb.
When Wild Man and the others rejoined the main unit, their uniforms were drenched with sweat. And while it felt good to finally stop moving, it gave way to a new discomfort as the mountain wind whipped into its newly stationary victims, making them feel as though their sweat would freeze to their skin.
Rechs was l
ivid.
“LC-330! When were you ordered to rejoin the rest of your unit?”
“First light, sir!”
Rechs looked up into the sky. “It appears some time has passed since then, LC-330!”
“Yes, sir!”
“I’d ask if you slept in, but we could all see your squad poking up this mountain. So I’ll ask something else: does Echo Squad wish to be in this Legion?”
“Yes, sir!”
“I don’t believe you, LC-330! So far, all I’ve seen from your team has been a propensity to dig holes and set up ambushes. The moment I ask you to move your asses, it all falls apart, doesn’t it, LC-330?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Well the Legion doesn’t have a security guard division! I expect my legionnaires to excel at all fronts of warfighting. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir!”
And then, to the rest of the candidates, Rechs shouted, “Is that clear?”
The mountain echoed with the reply: “Yes, sir!”
“Good! Then let me make another thing clear, you sons of bitches. This little vacation is drawing to a close and the Savages are still out there. Now I can count on two hands the number of you who have what I think it takes to be a legionnaire. But we aren’t finished yet, and maybe some of you will surprise me.”
Rechs turned his attention back to Sergeant Fast, who remained at attention, his squad scattered behind him.
“LC-330. You were a capable candidate before you got hitched to your squad, weren’t you?”
“Sir?”
“Don’t ‘sir?’ me. You damn well know how you went from the front of the pack to its ass. Why is that, LC-330?”
Fast repeated the mantra Rechs and his trainers had drilled into all the candidates’ heads since dividing them up into squads. “Sir! A Legion squad fights as a unit, sir!”
“Except there ain’t no fighting when you’re late to the damn battle, is there?”
“No, sir!”
“You’re a capable soldier, LC-330.”
“Thank you, sir!”
“I wasn’t finished!” growled Rechs. “Echo Squad has dragged you down to its level.”
Wild Man swallowed at these words. Tried to catch Rechs’s eyes. Wanted to see if he meant what he was saying. He was so different… so different from the man he had fought with on New Vega.
Which was the real version of the man?
Or was he both? Living in two worlds.
Just like you, huh, babe?
She was back. And she was enjoying the spectacle.
Wild Man wished she’d have just stayed down in the forest. Or waited for him back at the Chang. And then, for a moment, he wished she was more like…
You thinking thoughts of other women, babe?
Wild Man said nothing. Thought nothing.
That Davis girl got you all hot between your legs? Got you feelin’ warm. Yeah. I see it. Me and our baby, doin’ what we can. You playin’ Romeo out here, chasin’ skirts. Sure as hell ain’t killin’ Savages. I know that much.
“Not like that,” Wild Man mumbled.
And then his heart sank.
“What?” shouted Rechs. “What the hell did you just say, LC-08?”
Wild Man, already at attention, stiffened. He didn’t answer. Didn’t know what to say. Wanted to be away. In that moment just wanted his rifle and a clear sight picture of a Savage marine.
I told you. You know I did.
“Well this just makes me sure of my mind.” Rechs shook his head and returned to Sergeant Fast. “LC-330. You have your choice of reassignment. You want Alpha Squad, First Platoon—it’s yours. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, LC-330?”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
“Good. What’ll it be, Sergeant?”
Fast’s posture softened ever so slightly. Like the general calling him “Sergeant” instead of his candidate number told him and everyone else just what the old man thought of him.
Here it comes.
Wild Man held his breath. Ready for the camaraderie and everything good to fall apart. And why shouldn’t it? Sergeant Fast was a pro athlete playing with kids in the slums. Echo Squad was holding him back. They all knew it. Showed how much they were aware by the way they hung their heads.
“Sir!” Fast let the address hang in the air for a beat, then said, “I choose Echo Squad, sir!”
“Damned fool,” Rechs growled, and then stalked past Casper and the rest of the company, CSM Andres falling in line. “Nothin’ but a damned fool!”
And then the general stormed off, disappearing behind a bend. A moment later the whir of small craft engines sounded, and a light transport lifted off and banked down the mountain toward the Chang, far away.
Casper stood, hands clasped behind his back. He didn’t speak until the sound of the ship’s engines had faded away, leaving the deep quiet of the mountain to regain its hold on the minds of those present.
“Sergeant,” he said to Fast, “have your squadron fall in.”
“Yes, sir.” Fast waved his candidates forward. “Echo Squad on me.”
“The general mentioned that we are nearing the end,” Casper said when they were assembled. “We are past the point where quitting should have any allure. You have all suffered too hard, marched too long, endured too much to toss it away for a moment’s respite. Now is the final push. You will qualify on Legion-issued sidearms, will perfect the squad-based tactics you’ve trained on in the kill house, and will finish a final navigational course. And then you’ll move from candidate to legionnaire.”
The candidates cheered at the prospect.
“Today we made it a quarter of the way up Mount Doom. The next time we’re here, you’ll be expected to reach the summit. And for now… we march back down and to the Chang. Sergeants, give your men twenty minutes and then have them ready.”
A lieutenant called for the men to rest, and almost immediately the candidates began to voice their opinions about what they’d just heard from the admiral.
Wild Man realized that his wife had left again. She was bitter that Sergeant Fast had stayed loyal to Echo Squad, when it would have been better for him to make another choice. But Wild Man was glad Fast had chosen the way he did. So was everyone else.
Everyone but her.
The Wild Man didn’t dwell on that. Instead he dropped his ruck down where Davis and the Johnson brothers were resting and voiced the prevailing opinion of the candidates that morning. “Of course the old man would march us up here just to have us turn right around and march back.”
* * *
Casper was tired and footsore when he reached the Chang. He and the candidates had marched all day and arrived as the sun began to set. There was a chair in his office that he desperately wanted to settle himself into with a glass of Espanian port.
But, as his aide told him upon his arrival, his office was “occupied by General Rechs and Mister Makaffie.”
That didn’t stop Casper, though. He entered his office, stepped inside, and was greeted by Tyrus’s stern face. “Casper. Can we have a couple more minutes?”
“Sure. Of course.”
That was fifteen minutes ago, and Casper was debating abandoning his daydreams of wine, perhaps a cigar, and some time in his chair in exchange for a shower and bed when the door to his office whooshed open and Makaffie stepped out.
“The whole world is unfolding before us, Admiral,” the wiry, odd little man practically sang. “Big things are coming for the Legion. Big things!”
He repeated that phrase to himself as he left, presumably to return to his lab. “Big things… big things.”
Tyrus was waiting for Casper inside the office, arms crossed.
“‘Big things,’ Tyrus?”
Rechs sniffed and gave a fractional nod. “Looks like it. Gonna take
some work. Phase two of the Legion training.”
This was the first Casper had heard of there being a whole other phase.
“Phase two? Holy hell, Tyrus. How much more do you intend to put these men through? They’re supposed to fight Savages at some point. That is still the plan, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“Well… good.” Casper threw his arms out, exasperated. “Because lately, I’m not so sure. I find myself spending more time outside than in.”
“We tied up your office for too long.”
“Not just the office, Tyrus. Everything. I’m finding out what’s planned next sometimes just minutes before the candidates. Same with the rest of your officers. And the morale… Tyrus, they’re just as likely to shoot you in the back as they are one of the Savages at this point.”
“They won’t.”
“They despise you. And you’ve earned it.”
“That’s their choice.”
Casper opened the lid to his cigar box, then flipped it closed in disgust, not bothering to remove one. He sighed. “Help me see what it is you’re attempting to do.”
“Nothing’s changed. I need men who can fight the Savages. We’re getting there. And you need to keep doing your part.”
Casper collapsed into his chair. It felt uncomfortable against his thighs and back. But his legs felt too tired to stand up again. “And what part is that?”
“Exactly what you have been doing. You and the rest of the officers and NCOs. That’s part one.”
“And are you going to fill me in on part two, or phase two, or whatever it is that’s happening next?”
“In part.”
“In part.” Casper sighed and shook his head ruefully. “I know we’ve only known each other for centuries, but your confidence in me is truly overwhelming, Tyrus.”
Rechs shrugged. And Casper recalled that his friend wasn’t one for verbal sparring. He didn’t get humor. Couldn’t tell a joke properly. Missed most social cues. Had little empathy.
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