An argument would do little beyond cause frustration for Casper. Rechs probably wouldn’t even know to be bothered. He would stolidly go on answering things literally, showing an endless patience until Casper relented and saw things the Tyrus Rechs way.
It was rather remarkable the emotion Rechs showed in chewing out the candidates. Casper wondered if that was a real expression of the man, or if it was for show. He’d known him for so long. It felt… odd to be so unsure. What else didn’t he know about this man he thought to be so simple and straightforward?
“Tell me what you can tell me, Tyrus.”
“Keep doing what you’re doing now, and one other thing.”
“Which is… ?”
“Get me a fleet and an army. Another coalition force.”
Casper laughed. Low and involuntarily at first, and then a loud, deep laugh. He shook his head, unable to remove the smile. “And here I thought we were building an army.”
“The Legion is a sword to pierce the heart of the Savages. I need you to get me the hammer to pound them to where we want them.”
“Raise an army. Check.”
“Assemble another coalition. Recall the one that broke and fled. They’ll listen to you. You… can talk to people. Talk them into things.”
“It’ll be a short conversation once I mention who’s leading this little Legion.”
“Then tell them what they need to hear, Casper.”
Casper formed a steeple with his fingertips. This step had always been a necessity, he knew. Part of his ultimate vision of uniting the galaxy against a common threat. But his assumption had been that this would happen after Rechs’s Legion had won its first victory against the Savages. It was always easier to convince twitchy planetary governments or self-interested empires and alliances to join with a winner.
But that didn’t mean it was beyond his abilities.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Rechs nodded. “Two weeks.”
“How’s that?”
“They need to be ready in two weeks.”
Casper shook his head in disbelief. “How—”
Rechs cut him off. “Have the Chang waiting at the top of the mountain in exactly a week. The rest of what came with us needs to be waiting in orbit. I marked some to stay behind and continue the training of new recruits and injuries cycling back in.”
Rechs tossed a data tablet to his friend.
Casper powered it on and began to study the plans. He looked up to make a comment, but Tyrus Rechs had already left the room.
Legionnaires: Chapter Eleven
“Keep your weapon up here!”
Sergeant Fast adjusted the N-1 in Wild Man’s arms. The big man was a shooter. The best he’d ever seen at range. The way he was able to consistently put shots on target was a thing of beauty, and it was obvious that he would be one of the platoon’s snipers.
But today’s work involved shooting at close quarters, and while Wild Man was hitting his shots, Sergeant Fast was growing concerned at the length of time it took the sniper to get his weapon into the action.
They’d run through the kill house twice now. The first time, nobody was armed. They held their arms out, mimicking an offensive assault and sweeping through the interior of the newly constructed training areas. And that construction had been something else.
While from the outside these looked like rough-sawn slat-board cabins, the interior was otherworldly. General Rechs and the scientist he employed—Makaffie—had taken spare parts from the Chang and other vessels and altered and installed them so the interior of the house had the looks of some bygone starship. That it was meant to look like the interior of a Savage lighthugger was lost on no one.
Even Sergeant Fast had to remind himself to focus on moving through the kill house according to the prescribed pattern, following the shouts of CSM Andres and General Rechs, who watched from catwalks above. No targets presented themselves during that run. As they moved from corridor to room, each member of the squad cleared their assigned corners as they moved as a unit.
The second time through they were given their N-1s. The light combat variant. Not the barbell they’d been humping to get Tyrus Rechs strong. The real thing.
Par for a complete and successful clearing of kill house one—made to look like a Savage docking bay that led through a transit corridor and then broke off into several rooms—was five minutes. Echo Squad took six.
Breaching was textbook. Likewise their entry into the docking bay, where Fast was in the lead, hitting targets with blaster bolts from his N-1 as the rest of his team poured in behind him. They moved smoothly from there, but slowed down with each new room. Each new encounter.
Fast found himself hitting the holographic targets at the far end of the room that should have been the responsibility of those on his wings. At first he thought it was a case of him simply moving too quickly for the rest of the team. So he dropped back and let Kimbo take lead. The results were the same.
After the second run, CSM Andres pulled Sergeant Fast aside.
“You’re a good man, LC-330.”
“Thank you, CSM.”
“You know what’s slowin’ you down, don’tcha?”
“I have my suspicions, CSM.”
“Maybe shoulda taken the colonel up on his offer?”
Fast gave a wry smile. More at the way CSM Andres insisted on calling General Rechs “Colonel” than anything else. “Seeing how that time has passed, what are you observing, CSM?”
“LC-08 is letting his weapon slip every time he moves. Has to bring it up into position with each engagement, and that’s adding up. Not his fault. He wasn’t military. Just a shooter. But it ain’t how you clear a room.”
Sergeant Fast nodded. He’d noticed the same from the back.
“And Davis—she’s about spent, Sergeant.” Andres frowned. Like he didn’t like the words he was speaking. “She got heart. Helped save more than a few of my boys on New Vega. But this ain’t it for her. Uh-uh. She’s draggin’ hard. Slowin’ you all down. Your team is matching her pace. Like you don’t even know it.”
“Squad stays together,” said Fast.
“Stay together, die together. Drift apart, die apart.” CSM Andres dug in his pocket for a cigarette and lit it, pulling in the smoke through the side of his mouth and exhaling as he added, “But that’s only if you make par.”
Fast nodded again.
Andres rapped him on the chest with the back of his hand. “And, you didn’t hear this from me… but last chance is your next go. Make par, or somethin’ gon’ happen what ain’t good. Reassignment if you’re lucky. Squad washout if you ain’t. Colonel didn’t tell me what.”
“Thank you, CSM… Why are you telling me this?”
Andres blew out a cloud of blue smoke. “Colonel told me I ain’t goin’ with y’all. Says gettin’ shot took away the last of the young man I used ta be. He ain’t wrong. I’m slow, and that gut shot made me slower. So now it’s my job to stay here and train your replacements.”
“Replacements?”
“Word gets out. Plus we got some scrappers that want to take the chance. Some of them boys from the engineering corps.”
“Like that Seaman kid?”
“Yeah. You know him?”
“Not really.”
Sergeant Fast had run into the builder who had spoken to Rechs back before N-1 training. From day one, the kid was running the Legion training all by himself. Getting worked with no one to share in his misery. Lately a few more candidates had joined in with him. Soldiers who’d heard rumors and somehow worked their way to Hardrock.
“Well. I gotta train him and make him Legion. Gotta train the others too. That means I can’t watch my boys. That’s a sergeant’s job, you know. Watch out for your boys.”
Sergeant Fast nodded. He’d run into military types
all throughout his career hunting for Ancient artifacts. Exploring temples. Uncovering what death and time had tried to keep hidden. A lot of times it was local systems or planets that wanted something checked out. Discovered. Explained. Found.
Fast had spent a lot of time as an interstellar guide in those days. Leading platoons of soldiers through hostile wilderness, looking for pirates who had pushed their governments too far. They relied on Fast because he was often the only other human who had set foot on those planets and moons.
Call it osmosis, but Fast was able to put together what made an officer or NCO effective and what didn’t. He’d seen men with more valor than brains lead their troops to their deaths. And he’d seen the tears of men like Andres as they circled back around to recover the dead.
But CSM Andres wasn’t far off, in Fast’s opinion. The good leaders watched out for their boys. They made sure those under them were the best at what they did, to the best of their abilities, and made sure those people weren’t wasted. Weren’t used up in vain. They might die—that came with the job—but they should never be put to waste. Never sent to the slaughter because nobody could think of anything better to do.
Sergeant Fast hoped that Rechs wasn’t the type to do that. But he didn’t really know. Sometimes there was a glimmer of knowing in the old man’s eyes. Sometimes he seemed like the type who would send a thousand men to die to gain a hill that command planned on abandoning the next morning. Sometimes.
But CSM Andres… he was being sincere. He was worried about the Spilursan Rangers who’d served with him. Worried about what would happen when he was no longer around to keep watch over them.
“They gotta have NCOs who can keep ’em from doin’ somethin’ stupid,” Andres continued. “And that ain’t gon’ happen if men like you don’t pass Legion selection. And the colonel won’t hesitate to drop you if you can’t get it done. No, sir.”
“Roger that,” Fast said, unsure of any other answer. His mind worked for ways to shave off time. He would go over what needed to be done, of course—talk to Wild Man and Davis about how they could optimize their assaulting. But if that wasn’t enough…
What then?
“All right,” Andres said, throwing his cigarette to the ground and stamping it out. “You got the rotation to come around. So fix what’s broken, LC-330.”
And that’s what Sergeant Fast did. But still, as they stood outside the kill house, waiting for the signal to begin the breaching procedure, he found himself having to right the Wild Man’s weapon. Davis looked dead on her feet, not recovering from the morning’s push through the obstacle course and run. The rest between rotations may as well not have happened judging by the look on her face.
“Davis,” Sergeant Fast said, snapping his fingers for her to pay attention to him. “You’re in back with me. Big Brother, you breach. Kimbo first. Then Wild Man and Junior.”
The candidates nodded and then activated the breaching charge. A blast that sent the door swinging open initiated the start of the exercise, and the team pushed in, clearing corners and dropping individual targets.
“Clear!” called out Kimbo.
“Keep moving,” shouted Sergeant Fast. “Wild Man, keep your rifle up! Up!”
Wild Man grunted and followed the team out of the first room and into the long corridor. The walls were a sleek, shining robin’s-egg blue—which seemed an odd choice to the sergeant. But he’d never been inside a Savage ship before. Maybe their aesthetics didn’t match the whites, grays, and blacks that seemed to dominate space travel in his experience.
Down the hall, illuminated by harsh overhead lights, targets began to appear. Life-sized holographic projections of Savage marines that dropped dead when shot, lay on the floor for a few seconds, and then dematerialized as the projection system rendered new stationary threats. Wild Man and Kimbo moved forward and both took a knee, watching the corridor for additional targets.
There were three rooms on each side of the corridor. The squad was to clear each room as they moved down the hall.
“Clearing left!” called out James, whom the team had taken to calling Big Brother. Or Big Bro. Or simply Big. It depended on the mood.
The brothers disappeared inside the first room on their left, working together to clear it and return to the corridor and move up with Kimbo and Wild Man.
Sergeant Fast had to wait for Davis, who was limping to catch up, rifle lazily pressed against her shoulder. It was painful to watch.
“Davis, you good?” Fast said, knowing she was anything but.
“What’s wrong, Sergeant?” Wild Man asked, peeking over his shoulder.
“Watch your lane!”
Wild Man refocused on what was ahead of him just as Davis reached the door. “I’m good,” she panted, squinting in pain as she did so. “I’m good.”
“Like hell. Kimbo, swap out with Davis.”
“Up!” Kimbo called and hustled back. It was clear from the look on his face that he was concerned about Davis—and the seconds melting away from the mission counter.
Sergeant Fast wrapped an arm around Davis and helped her practically hop as she limped to replace Kimbo’s position.
“Echo Squad,” a voice boomed over the kill house PA system. “LC-116 has been killed by Savages and is to lie down. You have three minutes remaining to complete this training evolution or your squad will be cycled out of the selection program.”
It was General Rechs.
“Sket,” Sergeant Fast said, aware that Davis and Wild Man were watching him.
The brothers emerged from their room, announcing it cleared.
“Move up,” Fast told his squad. “I’ll clear this room and catch up.”
“Not supposed to go alone, Sarge,” protested Randolph, the younger brother they all called Junior.
“Sometimes we have to improvise.” Fast slung his rifle over his shoulder and drew his pistol. He felt more comfortable with the weapon and had earned expert in its qualification. “Get going, Echo Squad.”
They moved up with Wild Man in the lead and Davis limping to follow and then crashing onto her stomach and assuming a prone shooting position.
Kimbo lay on his back. “This sucks.”
“Yeah. Sorry you died. Shoulda been me.”
“No. Not you, Sarge.”
Fast moved his way into the room, quickly clearing both corners, each of which was filled with the holographic projection of a Savage marine. A third popped up from behind a storage crate. The sergeant eliminated the threat with a double-tap, each round striking the marine in its dome-like reflective helmet.
The room clear, Fast moved back into the corridor and staged outside the next room. The brothers hadn’t yet finished clearing their own room ahead and across the hall. Which meant Fast had gone through his own quickly, or that they were running into some trouble.
He didn’t for sure know what he or the brothers might expect. The kill houses were modular and could be set up in a variety of configurations. Some of the other teams going through their final evolution had complained that it was like a whole new experience. Those teams had all passed, though. Something that Sergeant Fast was worried wouldn’t be true of Echo Squad.
New targets were appearing at the far end of the hall that Wild Man covered with his N-1. They appeared to be moving to engage the boarders, pouring out from some holographic barracks. But Wild Man didn’t miss at range, and he was able to knock the targets down as soon as they showed up.
Davis was clearly hurt, though from what, Fast couldn’t tell. She was lying prone, putting shots downrange, but they were either missing or coming after Wild Man had already put the target away.
“LC-330!” Rechs shouted over the PA system.
Sergeant Fast knew at once that an already tough situation was about to ratchet up in difficulty. “Do not clear that room solo, candidate. You will breach with LC-25
or you will fail this training evolution.”
Keeping low, Fast moved along the side of the corridor back to where Wild Man and Davis were covering. The brothers returned from clearing their room.
“Two down!” James called. “Moving up!”
“Move up with them,” Fast called to Wild Man, and then covered the trio as they advanced.
Davis was struggling to her feet. Fast grabbed her by her webbing and pulled her up. “We gotta clear this room, Davis!”
She shook her head. “Something’s wrong. Something’s broken. My hip… I can barely move.”
Fast could see tears of pain welling in her eyes. She was standing on one leg, leaning all her weight against him.
Rechs boomed a warning. “Time is short, LC-330. Move. Now!”
Sergeant Fast cursed under his breath.
“We can do this,” Davis said, tightening her jaw against the pain. “I won’t quit. We can do this.”
Fast nodded, then slung one arm around Davis’s waist, the other holding onto a pistol. “You clear left when we go inside.”
“I’ll try.”
That would have to be good enough.
Practically carrying her, moving so fast that her good leg would sometimes drag as it tried to keep up, Sergeant Fast entered the room. He saw at least five targets and knew he had only seconds to clear them or be declared dead. He sent two shots into the predictably staged target in his blind spot on the right. Then he swept his sights inward and dropped a second target, the effect so rapid that it sounded like four shots being discharged at random. Like a drunk with a pistol shooting at the moon in the wee hours of the night.
Pop-pop-pop-pop.
The sound of Davis’s N-1, wielded from the hip with one arm, added itself to the din. It fired again. And again. But Fast could tell that Davis’s aim wasn’t adjusting. She was trying to hit her first target.
Pivoting, Fast swung himself to face the left blind spot, dropping two more targets in his deadly arc. It felt like forever… like time had run out long ago and the only reason the general or CSM Andres hadn’t declared him dead was because they wanted to add that little bit of suffering that came from thinking you’d done something only to find out that, no, you hadn’t. He took the shot even as Davis did her best to make it her own.
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