Metal Legion Boxed Set 1

by C H Gideon

  Turney laughed. “Got you all fooled, hasn’t he? Good for him.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing,” Turney said dismissively. “Let’s get some paperwork filled out so I can operate—on both Mr. Podsednik and you. I understand you have each other’s power of attorney, which will expedite things greatly and might just save his life. He’s lucky to have you, you know?” she said in all seriousness.

  “No,” Xi said with conviction. “I’m the one who’s lucky to have him.”

  “Do you have anything else you’d like to add, Commander Jenkins?” Rear Admiral Corbyn asked after eight hours of grueling interrogation.

  “Nothing of substance, Admiral,” Jenkins replied. “I stand by the contents of my logs, vehicle recorders, and testimony here today. But what happened down on Durgan’s Folly was a unique situation in the history of the Terran Republic. I don’t know if I made all the right calls, and I’m certainly not qualified to stand in judgment on that account. What I do know is that my people exceeded the high standard required of this Republic’s armed forces personnel, and they deserve to be recognized for their contributions on behalf of the Terran Republic’s safety and well-being. All command decisions were mine and mine alone, and the people under my command executed my orders in a manner consistent with the good order and discipline of the Terran Republic Fleet.”

  “So noted,” Corbyn acknowledged. “Oh, there is one more thing,” Corbyn added, as though it was of little consequence, “are you aware of the whereabouts of one Sergeant Major Tim Trapper, Jr.?”

  There it was. The most critical link in Jenkins’ plan to weather this bureaucratic storm had just been publicly recognized by the rear admiral, which meant that Jenkins’ worst fears about this proceeding had just been confirmed with the equivalent of an exclamation point. Jenkins didn’t know where Trapper was because he pointedly hadn’t asked. He had, however, made clear to the sergeant major that the future of his battalion was on the line, and that he had nowhere else to turn for help in clearing an exit path should things come down the way they just did.

  Shaking his head firmly, Jenkins said, “No, Admiral Corbyn, I do not know Sergeant Major Trapper’s present whereabouts.”

  Corbyn fixed him with a thousand-meter stare for too long before turning to his left, where Captain Chen sat. “Do my compatriots have anything to add?” he asked, giving both Captain Chen and Colonel Farbright expectant looks, to which they shook their heads. “Then this inquiry is concluded. Off the record, Commander Jenkins…” Corbyn removed his spectacles, laced his fingers together, and leaned his forearms against the table. “You people survived a harrowing ordeal fraught with all manner of obstacles, including being outfitted with substandard gear, having your roster filled with personnel of questionable ability and makeup, and being cut off when the Fleet was forced to postpone your reinforcements. You made your share of mistakes down there, and then some,” he added markedly. “But at the end of the day, you survived and dealt a major blow to the enemy. Irrespective of the admiralty’s decision regarding your trial program, or your worthiness to lead it, I want you to know that you did well for yourself down there.”

  “Thank you, Admiral,” Jenkins said, barely able to keep from sneering at Corbyn’s lackluster characterization of their victory as a ‘major blow.’ It was nothing short of a turning point in the Arh’Kel Conflict, possibly even the single-most significant turning point. Anyone with half a brain could see that.

  But throughout the inquiry, one thing had been made abundantly clear to Commander Lee Jenkins: he had precious little in the way of support within the Terran Republic Fleet, and if his fate was truly in their hands, then he couldn’t rule out a protracted stay inside a prison cell in the near future.

  As he and Styles gathered their things and left the conference room, he knew that his battalion’s hope and, possibly, its peoples’ very freedom rested on Sergeant Major Trapper’s secret mission.

  “That went well,” Styles muttered, nervously wiping the sweat from his brow after they had walked in silence for nearly a minute.

  “We’re not out of the woods yet,” Jenkins assured the other man.

  “I have a snarky reply to that, but I’ll refrain,” Styles allowed, “but we can see the tree line and there’s daylight peeking through.”

  “It’s either daylight,” Jenkins said sourly, “or the headlamp of an oncoming train.”

  Now, perhaps more than ever, he was tempted to crack open that bottle and climb as far down it as possible. But somewhat perversely, his people needed him at his best if they were going to get through this mess.

  “The operation was a success,” Dr. Turney said as soon as she came to Xi’s bedside located near Podsy’s. “He’s not completely safe yet, but if we make it through the next thirty-six hours, he should be on the road to recovery.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Turney,” Xi said, surprised and more than a little guilty at how pain-free she felt following the extraction of over half her liver. Her liver was apparently larger than normal, especially for a woman, and the more she gave, the better Podsy’s chance of survival.

  “You need to rest here,” Turney said seriously, “and if I even suspect that you’re getting out of that bed to do anything but visit the head, I’ll restrain you—physically or chemically. Do we understand each other?”

  Xi scowled at the other woman. “Looks like I’m not the only one with an overactive ‘raging bitch’ gland.”

  Turney threw her head back and laughed. “Tell Nick he’s missed…by all four of us.”

  Xi rolled her eyes in bewilderment as the doctor left her bedside, and in spite of Podsy’s grave condition, she looked over at him with renewed hope and whispered, “Don’t die on me, Podsy.”

  For his part, he remained blissfully unaware of his surroundings in the deep, dreamless sleep of a chemically-induced coma.

  And for a rare moment in her life, Xi almost wished she could join him.

  21

  Devils & Their Deals

  Three weeks later.

  “Thank you for coming, Commander,” Rear Admiral Corbyn greeted upon Jenkins’ entry to the same conference room where his ‘informal’ debriefing had taken place. “Please, be seated.”

  “Admiral,” Jenkins acknowledged, noting that the rear admiral and he were the lone occupants of the room.

  “The admiralty’s preliminary review of the evidence, along with your testimony, has led us to some rather unusual and, to be blunt, uncomfortable conclusions,” Corbyn explained. “As you’ve doubtless noticed, this meeting is completely off-the-record for reasons pertaining to both information compartmentalization and Terran Republic security.”

  Jenkins had expected the old ‘national security’ bit, so he nodded. “Understood, Admiral.”

  “Pursuant to, and in addendum of, the conditional transfer of the men and women to your temporary command under the Terran Armor Corps, Fleet Command is prepared to execute its obligations to yourself and your people,” Corbyn said, and Jenkins was acutely aware of the word ‘execute’ being included in the admiral’s legal-sounding decree. “Effective immediately, every veteran of Operation Spider-Hole attached to your battalion will be formally transferred out of Armor Corps and onto Fleet rolls where their ranks will be normalized, and they will be promoted a full step. Or, if they so choose, they will receive an honorable discharge from active service with a pension commensurate with their total term of service, including any time served prior to incarceration. Additionally, all criminal records or other legal liabilities previously incurred will be expunged from their records, regardless of whether they choose to stay or leave active service. Posthumous pensions will also be served to the survivors of personnel killed in the line of duty, along with full-honors death benefits befitting their rank at time of death. If that rank was a field commission or other temporary placement, it will be formalized upon your acknowledgment of this document’s authenticity,” he finished, sliding a data slate acro
ss the table.

  Jenkins deigned to look at the slate, instead studying the rear admiral’s eyes before finally saying, “Admiral, you’re clearly versed in the linguistics required to craft such a comprehensive agreement. I’d appreciate if you could break it down in terms I’ll understand.”

  Corbyn smirked. “Put simply, Commander Jenkins, you agree that every data recorder in your battalion was corrupted by Arh’Kel interference, and that there were numerous errors in your logs and the logs of your people. Logs which, it so happens, were lost in the shuffle between the surface and here. You also agree, under the most severe penalty under military law…” He let that last bit linger for a long, tense moment before continuing, “That you will not divulge any account of what took place on Durgan’s Folly, nor will you recount the events or operational details of Operation Spider-Hole to anyone but your immediate superior or, if you feel it prudent to bring it to their attention, to the Joint Chiefs themselves in a formal, secure setting. If I haven’t made this clear enough, let me spell it out for you…” He leaned forward, and actually relaxed his hard-edged façade as he spoke with open frustration and, somewhat shockingly, a trace of fear. “The details of Durgan’s Folly, if leaked to the press, could shatter the Terran Republic. The fear of Arh’Kel crypto-colonies lurking under the noses of every world in the Republic would be devastating for morale among the citizenry, and frankly, Durgan’s Folly makes Fleet look bad. This happened on our watch, son. Yours and mine. And with a potentially catastrophic Arh’Kel invasion looming, the last thing we need is for the colonies, let alone Sol, to learn about this SNAFU. Fleet is humanity’s only lifeline out here, Commander Jenkins. If faith in Fleet goes…”

  “Understood, Admiral,” Jenkins said agreeably. “I will, of course, stipulate to all of this, Admiral Corbyn. I’ve spent my life in service to the Republic, and I’m not about to stop now. If this is what the admiralty thinks is best, I will absolutely toe the line as you’ve just described it. But I need to know one thing, Admiral, and if you’ll forgive me for being forward, I need you to answer me frankly and honestly.”

  Corbyn scowled before making an inviting gesture. “Go on, Commander.”

  “What’s going to happen to my unit?”

  The rear admiral eyed him, rhythmically drumming his fingers against the table as Jenkins awaited the reply. And when it came, it genuinely surprised Jenkins. “You’ve proven to my satisfaction that armor has a place on the battlefield, especially against the Arh’Kel. Unfortunately, the political will just isn’t there to adopt a restructuring of the scale needed to move forward at this time, especially since the details of your outstanding performance on Durgan’s Folly will be sealed for the foreseeable future. I’ve been in on the meetings with the Joint Chiefs, and I’ve testified before the Armed Forces Committees, Commander,” he sighed. “The system is too set in its ways to change course in your proposed direction. The Marine Corps is the most devastating, efficient, and finely-tuned sub-branch of the Terran military and everyone knows it, which is why we were able to wrestle enough funding to get the power-suit production facilities back up after the Arh’Kel recently tore them down. For better or worse, we’re riding that horse into battle. But let me be clear—” He emphatically put a finger on the desk. “—your work down there will revolutionize the way we fight the rock-biters, and possibly everyone else.”

  “Just not today,” Jenkins concluded, making no attempt to hide his disappointment.

  “Just not today,” Admiral Corbyn agreed sympathetically. “Give it another decade, climb another few rungs up the ladder, and I’d wager you’ll be asked to personally spearhead the development of a Fleet Combined Arms sub-branch to supplement the Marines. The bureaucracy takes time to make adjustments like this. You understand, of course.”

  Jenkins sat back in his chair, having learned one important thing that he hadn’t expected to learn from the rear admiral: in spite of appearances, Corbyn seemed sympathetic to his entire situation.

  “I appreciate your candor, Admiral, as well as what I expect will be your ongoing support. And I’d view it as a personal favor if you gave me the opportunity to break this to my people,” Jenkins said.

  “Of course, son.”

  “Thank you,” Jenkins said before swallowing the dry knot in his throat and finally saying the four words he had dreaded from the moment he’d stepped aboard the Paul Revere. “Where do I sign?”

  “Good boy,” Corbyn replied in unveiled condescension. He nodded, and a few minutes later, the distasteful deed was done.

  But the fight for Jenkins’ command—and, more importantly, for the immediate resurgence of armor in the Terran military—was far from over.

  “Lieutenant,” Jenkins greeted after finding Xi and Podsy’s place in the Paul Revere’s sickbay. “No.” He held up a halting hand when she tried to stir. “Don’t get up. That’s an order.”

  Xi nonetheless propped herself up by adjusting the bed’s posture. “What can I do for you, sir?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “When I picked you out of a Terra Han prison last year, did you think it was possible you’d start any conversation with those seven words?”

  She shot him an irritated look. “If you’re here to gloat about pounding me into shape…”

  “Far from it.” He shook his head, pulling a chair between Xi’s and Podsy’s beds. “How is he?”

  “He’s going to pull through,” Xi said with relief. “The doctor says he won’t be conscious for another week at least, but it looks like the worst is behind him.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Jenkins said with feeling. “You two were absolutely essential to our success down there,” he said, letting his gaze linger on Podsednik’s ruined body before turning toward Xi, “which is why I came to you first.”

  “Sir?” she asked guardedly.

  “I just cut a deal with Admiral Corbyn,” he said in a low voice. “Part of that deal was my agreement to have everything that happened down there be classified.”

  Her eyes went wide with anger. “Those assholes! After everything you did, after everything we did, they have the nerve to take it all away from you?!”

  “Calm down,” Jenkins said, and much to his surprise, she actually listened to him, though her face was now beet-red and he imagined steam pouring out of her ears. “You’ve got a choice, Xi. Option one is to sign out of military service, agree to never talk about Durgan’s Folly again, and go back to Terra Han to start a new life. You’re not even twenty years old,” he said, marveling at that fact even as he stated it. “You’ve got your whole life in front of you. You’d even get a modest pension, and the right to wear dress blues at any and all formal functions,” he snickered softly at that last bit.

  She cocked her head in silent contemplation before asking, “What are you going to do, sir?”

  “Option two,” he continued without pause, “you stay on with Fleet, take a promotion to full lieutenant, and continue serving the Terran Republic with the same ferocity and commitment you’ve shown under my command. They need people with your abilities, Xi. I’d bet everything I own that you’d make dropship pilot inside of a year and carve a place for yourself in the Corps. Hell, I’d even put in the word with Colonel Villa and see to it you ended up in Wolf Company if that’s what you wanted.”

  “What are you going to do, sir?” she repeated intently, her eyes as hard as granite.

  “Me?” He cracked a mischievous grin. “I’ve never been too fond of binaries or of following the rules.”

  She returned the expression, and after hearing the details agreed to support his audacious plan on one condition.

  He agreed and set about the task of informing the rest of the battalion of his high-risk plan, or at least, those members he wanted to include in it.

  Later that day, Jenkins greeted the last member of his team who, like Xi and Podsy, was in sickbay.

  “Captain Murdoch,” Jenkins greeted, “a moment?”

  “Commander,” Murdoch
replied stiffly. His wounds looked to have been largely healed, and to Jenkins’ eye, he was fit to be discharged from sickbay. But the inveterate sandbagger was playing true to form, milking the situation for all it was worth in order to increase his personal comfort quotient as much as possible.

  “First off,” Jenkins said, turning a chair around before sitting in it, “I know you and I have had our disagreements, but you’re a fine soldier. You played a key role in our victory down there, and I’ve been lucky to have your expertise and experience under my command.”

  Murdoch eyed him warily. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Fleet Command has given surviving members of the battalion a choice,” Jenkins explained. “You can either sign out of the service or take a step up in rank and formally transfer to Fleet. Either way, your criminal record is expunged, and your jacket will read as clean as the day you signed up for service.”

  Murdoch nodded. “I’m taking the promotion.”

  “I expected as much.” Jenkins nodded approvingly. “You’ve got a long career ahead of you. Fleet will be lucky to have you. Have you thought about where you’d like to be stationed?”

  The captain shook his head. “Not really.”

  It was clear that Murdoch didn’t want to go into any greater detail, so Jenkins said, “You’ve already spoken with Admiral Corbyn, so you know that the events of Durgan’s Folly are classified. Correct?”

  “Yes,” Murdoch sneered, “I’ve spoken with the admiral.”

  “Good.” Jenkins nodded. “Good. Then I just want to say that it’s been an honor serving with you, Captain Murdoch.” Jenkins proffered a hand invitingly.

  “Permission to speak freely, sir?” Murdoch grunted without acknowledging Jenkins’ outstretched hand.

  “Granted.”

  “You’re a loose cannon, sir,” Murdoch sneered. “You put all our lives at risk with every single decision you made down there. We’re lucky any of us got off that rock alive, and the fact that some of us are still breathing is due to nothing but dumb luck.”