The Savage went down. The room was clear. No violations. Fast had cleared a room of five targets with a pistol by himself, with an injured Legion candidate stuck to his side.
There was no time to dwell on the achievement. At least one more room needed clearing, and then they needed to exit the kill house by moving through the door at the end of the corridor.
Sergeant Fast left the room, not bothering to pretend Davis was helping. He simply lifted her up off the ground and fast-walked to reach Wild Man.
“Changing mags,” Fast announced next to Wild Man’s head. “Moving to final room.”
“The brothers are already in!” Wild Man shouted.
That was good. They had managed to clear their final room and then move across to the other side to begin clearing it. Not as fast as a functioning team moving smoothly in unison, but it seemed to LC-330 that they had cleared rooms faster than ever before—once the shooting started. There was no telling exactly how long the delays had stacked up, but his internal clock told them time hadn’t yet run out.
“I got this,” Sergeant Fast called to the Wild Man. “Go back and grab Kimbo. We’re finishing this together.”
Wild Man smiled and ran back to Kimbo, picking the candidate up easily and placing him in a fireman’s carry. The pair returned just as the brothers emerged from the last room, declaring it clear.
“Move up!” Sergeant Fast cried. “Move!”
Echo Squad formed a tactical wedge, the brothers taking the lead with those left standing former the rear. A few more holographic Savage targets popped, and were just as quickly put down.
“Keep pushing!” called out Big Bro.
Sergeant Fast felt as though his left leg was going to break from the added weight of carrying Davis, whose arm felt grating and irritating wrapped around his neck. He could feel pressure in his ankle, which constantly tried to roll out of his tight boots. But he kept running. The entire squad did. And when the doors on the far end of the corridor swooshed open, they exited as a unit.
“Time!” Command Sergeant Major Andres shouted. “Four minutes, fifty-four seconds!”
A cheer went up from Echo Squad. Wild Man set Kimbo down and the two were practically jumping up and down in elation as the brothers exchanged an embrace. Davis bowed her head, and Sergeant Fast breathed a sigh of relief.
They’d made it. Together, they’d achieved success. No stacking of the odds, no setbacks had been enough to keep Echo Squad from doing what it needed to do. Davis would need rest, to be sure. But Sergeant Fast felt confident that his team could achieve whatever was asked of it. They were one. As much a family as the Johnson brothers were.
Fast looked up to the rafters while his team celebrated. Searched out CSM Andres’s eyes, because he’d done what the man had asked. But instead of seeing the fatherly, satisfied, maybe even proud look he expected, he saw concern. Then he looked from Andres to Rechs and saw that things were far from over.
Rechs nodded at the CSM.
“Echo Squad!” Andres yelled. “Atten-hut!”
The celebration stopped as each candidate snapped to rigid attention.
“About face!”
They turned, looking back down the corridor they’d just conquered. Still, there were smiles hidden in their eyes. Like this was some sort of formality attached to their triumph. The last step before the old man finally gave them some well-earned recognition and praise.
Only Sergeant Fast seemed to sense otherwise. His brow was furrowed, serious. Anticipating some new obstacle to be overcome.
“Echo Squad,” General Rechs said, shouting down from the rafters at them. “You have cleared the Savage docking bay and planted explosive charges. You have thirty seconds to traverse from your current location and return to your point of origin. Each man will be expected to carry his own weight. Do not help the man next to you. CSM Andres?”
“Mark. Go!”
A second of confusion passed. And then Sergeant Fast ordered, “Move it!”
Wild Man, Kimbo, James, and Junior took off sprinting, reaching the opposite end of the hall with ample time to spare. The candidates turned and saw Sergeant Fast bouncing on his heels as Davis pulled herself forward, one leg dragging behind the other.
“C’mon, Davis!” Sergeant Fast called. “You gotta move now! Suck it up and finish!”
But Davis kept her pace where it was. A purposeful, pain-filled stride, like an ancient myth of mummies brought back to life, the degradation of the grave mocking each lame step.
“Davis, you can do this!”
Calls came from the opposite end of the kill house. From the candidates who had crossed the line. Met the standard. They were shouting, not for Davis, but for their sergeant.
“Sergeant Fast, you gotta move!”
“C’mon, Sergeant!”
Fast hesitated, still bouncing on his heels as if he were on an open court, ready to cut off a defender.
“Sergeant!”
“I’m sorry,” Fast said, low and beneath his breath. And then he raced past Davis, sprinting down the hall and into the receiving hands of Echo Squadron.
Relieved, the men patted him on the back and shoulders, then stopped as Sergeant Fast turned and watched Davis.
Her head was held high, but no new gear was found. She slid her body along, using her one good leg to drag all else.
“Time!” CSM Andres shouted, giving voice to the sentencing everyone knew was coming.
“LC-25,” General Rechs called, his voice loud but even and unyieldingly firm. “You’re out. Report to Admiral Sulla for reassignment.”
And with that pronouncement, Rechs and Andres left the catwalks. Left the kill house.
“Son of a bitch old man,” mumbled the Wild Man. “Ungrateful son of a…”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Because Davis hadn’t stopped. She kept pulling herself forward, the sweeping of her bad leg across the ground filling the rafters of the kill house like a knife pulled across a whetstone. It was a sound that cut into the hearts of those who’d formed a bond with her in Echo Squad.
Kimbo took a step out to help.
“No!” Davis shouted, struggling to breathe through the pain and exertion. “No. I’ll finish… on my… own.”
Sergeant Fast put out an arm and pushed Kimbo back behind the line. The remaining members of Echo Squad watched the slow scrapings of their friend as she shambled toward an achievement that held meaning only because she decided it did.
She had given everything she had.
It wasn’t enough.
Legionnaires: Chapter Twelve
I confess that I hoped to have heard from you by now, Reina. Forgive me for that. It’s an entirely one-sided imposition caused by me. I know this.
Still, it’s in our nature to long for the unattainable. The old man who pines for youth. Who despises the young because he is no longer counted among them. And what can those younger men do in response?
And what can you be expected to do about my own hopes? For you. For me. For the galaxy.
I just hope—and I hesitate to mention this—that these missives are not beyond your reach. That your silence in responding is a choice. That you’re not too far gone to be reached.
We are poised to strike back at the Savages. Tyrus concluded Legion selection training this morning. A final march that carried the candidates to the top of a mountain. Its peaks were modest, but the view of the forests and training grounds wasn’t lost on those who made it through. I now have the entirety of the Legion aboard my command ship, Chang.
That these men didn’t break under the withering demands Tyrus put on them, both physically and mentally… it’s beyond remarkable. I suppose many of them did break. But not all. And what’s left… I marvel at them. These are all men who weren’t exposed to what we once were. They’ve known terror, but
they lack the benefits that came to us as a result of our terror.
They are mortal men capable of achieving immortality through their efforts. Timeless men who need only an Alexander or Leonidas to lead them. One capable of showing them what heights can be reached with vision, resolve, skill, and determination.
Ask me sometime if I still believe Tyrus is that man. I think now that he is. But… doubt has crept in. It gnaws at me, Reina. He’s a man who will destroy lives—destroy worlds, even. Toss them into the air like sands to be carried off into the wind. But never to any purpose. Never for something greater than what is sitting directly before him. He remains a gladiator. Focused on surviving. On killing his opponent.
But after the Savages are dealt with… what then?
Who can lead the galaxy to a place where its potential can be finally reached?
The man with a hammer for his hand sees nothing but nails. The man with a gun… he sees only targets.
Legionnaires: Chapter Thirteen
Word had leaked that those Legion candidates who had left Hardrock aboard the Chang were not going to New Vega as they had imagined. But that they were staging for a fight was evident. Each man had been issued a new kit of body armor, worn piecemeal around their tactical blue battle dress uniforms—a color selected for maximum efficiency for wherever they were shipping off to.
Casper looked over the crowd of officers and NCOs that now waited to hear from him. Some of them held their helmets at their sides as they stood in the Chang’s main hangar. Others wore the open-faced helmets loosely on the back of their heads, the tactical information face shields covering their foreheads like visors. These were modifications of the United Worlds design. Each helmet had the LC number and squad identifier painted on the side in a muted gray paint that shone in radiance under infrared light.
“Gentlemen,” Casper began, causing the group to hush. “I trust that you and your men have had sufficient time to recuperate during the jump. And though this may come as a surprise to you, New Vega will not be our first stop.”
Casper paused and gave a fractional micro-smile. Just enough to let them know that he knew they knew, and that it wasn’t going to be an issue.
“The time to put the rumor mill to bed is here. We are fighting the Savages, gentlemen, of that you can be sure. However, not the ones you might expect.”
An image of a Savage lighthugger appeared on a mobile screen behind Casper, easily filling its twenty-by-twenty-foot area. Then the view panned out, shrinking the lighthugger until it was roughly the same size as the Chang, which was included on-screen for scale.
“This is what we call a Savage mini-hulk.”
A full-sized lighthugger was superimposed behind the mini-hulk, dwarfing it in size.
“When the Savages initially took to spacefaring, not all of them had the massive hulks you are familiar with on New Vega. Ships cost money, and there were a lot of people who had enough resources to reach the stars before the hyperdrive was discovered but who couldn’t scrape together what was needed for one of the big colony ships. People who didn’t want to throw in with the corporations, for one reason or the next.
“Many of these were crewed by rudimentary flight programs. The passengers and crew kept themselves in stasis because generational reproductivity wasn’t an option for a ship with such limited resources. There’s no telling how many of those are out there.
“But our target… is different. The crews of this particular vessel didn’t go to sleep, and they sure as hell went Savage in however long they’ve been out there. Too Savage.”
Casper paused to scan the room. All eyes were on him. The men were at rapt attention. Like schoolchildren listening at story hour. And Casper didn’t blame them. The Savages were fascinating. Or at least, they would be if they weren’t so damn destructive and terrifying.
“The mini-hulk in question is named Brentwood. It was discovered by General Rechs some time ago. It is a derelict. Its initial vision was one of harmony, as best we are able to ascertain. This is important: Every Savage cruiser has an agenda. An ideology. A purpose. The key to defeating them is finding out what that ideology is and exploiting it to our advantage.
“Brentwood was seeking a way for animals and humans to live in complete harmony and community. The general’s personal intelligence reports state that the hulk was working on a quantum communication device that would allow the crewmembers to communicate with any biological life at a conversational level. This led to experimentation, both on the animals aboard and the crewmembers.”
Casper clasped his hands behind his back.
“What you will find on that ship are Savages who have made themselves into animal hybrids. They are no longer capable of higher brain functions or of controlling their cruiser. Highly cannibalistic, they simply survive.
“Your objective is to secure the Brentwood until it can be completely cleared of the Savage threat. Squad leaders are to report to your platoon commanders for further instructions. But before that, I have a letter from the general that you are to share with your squads upon completion of their briefings:
“’Legion candidates, today marks a turning point…’”
* * *
Kimbo held the letter in his hand, reading it aloud for the rest of Echo Squad to hear.
“‘…a turning point. For today, those of you who survive this encounter with the Savages aboard the mini-hulk Brentwood will be counted as legionnaires.’”
The younger Johnson brother raised a hand. “I thought we already was legionnaires?”
“Nope,” said his older sibling. “Gotta prove you’re willing to die for the old man one last time before you’re graced with his approval.”
Kimbo held up the piece of paper the letter was printed on. “Can I finish this?”
“Do you have to?”
Kimbo looked up thoughtfully. “Good point.” He crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it over his shoulder.
“I don’t know about you guys,” said Big Bro, “but I have the distinct feeling that while we’re tromping through some Savage ghost ship, the old man is gonna be hangin’ in the back, yelling at us for not using our LC numbers over the comm.”
Kimbo swelled himself up and impersonated the general. “You boys din’t kill them Savages fast enough. Bring ’em back to life and kill ’em again in six seconds or less or you’re out of my Legion!”
The whole of Echo Squad laughed. Except for the Wild Man, who was sitting on a supply crate, bent over and examining the expert marksman pin he kept in his pocket, turning it over again and again with his fingers.
“He’s not a coward,” Wild Man muttered.
“The old man?” asked Randolph.
Wild Man nodded. “Not a coward. I seen him fight on New Vega. He’s mean in a fight. Good in a fight. Not like… not like how he is on Hardrock. I dunno. I want him to be there. Fighting.”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing him there, either,” said Big Bro, acting like he was looking down his N-1 rifle. “Old man runs out in front of me and… whoops.”
“Serve him right for how he treated Davis,” chimed in the junior Johnson brother.
“And a lot of other candidates,” added Kimbo. “But let’s be honest, Big. You don’t have the stones to take a shot at Tyrus Rechs.”
The squad laughed again.
And then Sergeant Fast entered the room. “Savages should provide more than enough targets, SPC Johnson.”
Big Brother stood up. “Sergeant… I was just jokin’ around. I wouldn’t—”
Fast cut him off. “As expected, Command doesn’t have a replacement for us. So we’re a five-man squad plus one. That means it’s us along with a VIP we’re to escort through the ship.”
“Who?”
“Donal Makaffie. Scientist or something.”
“I know him,” Wild Man said. “He’s… kinda fu
nny. Not in the way that makes you laugh.”
“Sounds great,” said Kimbo.
“Does this mean Echo Squad is getting held back until the ship is secured, Sergeant?” asked Junior.
“You’d think so, but Command wants Makaffie in the thick of it. Apparently the mini-hulk may have some fail-safes and intruder protocols online. There’s more to this mission than killing Savages. Probably some intel the old man wants prior to hitting New Vega.”
Sergeant Fast looked at the crumpled letter on the floor. “Did you all read the general’s note?”
Kimbo nodded. “Pretty much. What’d you think of it, Sarge?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“When we rollin’ out?”
“That’s why I’m here. Grab your gear and follow me. It’s time to stage at the ship-to-ship docking bay. We’re being inserted first at the opposite end of the ship. Main force is going through the big bay doors while we get Makaffie to a place where he can assume control of the mini-hulk. You’re about to kill a lot of Savages, Echo Squad.”
The squadmates whooped at the thought.
Except for Wild Man. He merely let a wide, malevolent grin creep across his face and whispered, “I told you, darlin’. I told you.”
Legionnaires: Chapter Fourteen
Echo Squad waited at the docking doors, alone even on their own ship as the rest of the Legion candidates massed for the main assault that would take place from the larger hangar bay of the Chang. Makaffie was supposed to have been waiting for them, but the scientist, who was supposedly in charge of Legion R&D and intelligence, was nowhere to be seen.
“We in the wrong place, Sarge?” asked Kimbo.
Fast shook his head. “No. This is it.”
“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” asked Big Brother. “Old man says we’re candidates. Only this is the real deal. No one’s watching over our shoulders. CSM Andres is back on Hardrock… feels like Mom and Dad left and put us in charge.”
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