Metal Legion Boxed Set 1
Page 100
Jenkins was not surprised to learn that he had suffered an assassination attempt. During their last meeting, Durgan had intimated that he might not survive the coming attempts on his life. For Jenkins’ part, he was glad the business magnate was still among the living.
“It’s like this,” Pushkin said after taking a long, deep draw from his cigar, prompting both Durgan and Jenkins to do likewise. “With all of the fundraising we’ve been doing, most of which is of your design,” he said in deference to Director Durgan, “and with all the positive publicity we’ve gotten since Antivenom, we will never again have this good a chance to take the Metal Legion semi-private.”
Durgan’s eyebrows rose almost as sharply as Jenkins’ did, but both men gave the suggestion serious consideration for several long, smoke-filled minutes before Jenkins finally broke the silence.
“It wouldn’t be the first time a Republic armed forces organization went mercenary,” Jenkins mused, recalling how several aerospace forces had successfully transferred from public to private status following the first Arh’Kel attacks. Some of those organizations persisted to this day and were among the most feared and celebrated Terran paramilitary organizations in the Republic.
“I’m not talking full mercenary. I’m thinking more along the lines of establishing parallel structures, one public, and the other…not so public,” Pushkin clarified with a mischievous grin before turning serious. “How much material support have we received from the Republic’s bureaucrats in the last ten, twenty, or even thirty years? Frozen Fire, Brick Top, Antivenom…none of them were possible because of the limited funding we receive from the government coffers. They were accomplished almost entirely because of private donations made by businessmen like you.” He made meaningful eye contact with Durgan. “If Fleet had gotten its way, it would have swallowed every single fusion core and capacitor you quietly slipped to us, and we wouldn’t have had half the battle-ready mechs we needed for Brick Top and Antivenom.”
“Things are different, Mikhail,” Durgan replied pointedly. “The last thing you want to do is spoil your branch’s ascent by an ill-timed shift just when things are changing in your favor.”
“Nothing ever changes.” Pushkin snorted. “Admiral Zhao is a good man, but the only reason he could convince Fleet to give us access to those shipyards is that we are at an all-time-high in public approval. Have you seen the unsolicited enlistment submissions pouring into TAC’s servers?” Pushkin snorted derisively. “Armor Corps has received two hundred thousand applications since the court-martial was aired. I’ve had to ask the administrative staff to work double-shifts to process the paperwork before the applicants move on. Probably ten percent of the applicants would make good Metalheads or support staff, and all Metalheads would make good spacers.”
“I’m not sure, General,” Jenkins said skeptically. “It seems…cold.”
Pushkin held up his hand calmingly. “I’m not even suggesting it’s what we should do. I’m just saying that I’ve spent an entire career watching those fuck-sticks carve little pieces off this branch year after year. I’m telling you both,” he fixed them with a hard look, “this is the best opportunity I have ever seen for the Metal Legion to widen its stance and shore up its base. I will continue to quietly make preparations, but I will not act without your input,” he added, settling his heavy gaze on Jenkins.
“Why mine?” Jenkins asked warily.
“Because you are this branch,” Pushkin replied. “I am its past. I will not make decisions you disagree with or set courses you cannot hold after my hand is gone. I am an old man who has remained here out of loyalty to a dear friend who is no longer with us. My days are numbered, both in the Legion and in the universe.” He chuckled. “But I will do everything I can to help you take the Metal Legion in whatever direction you think appropriate. Ben trusted you. You gave him hope, and in doing so, you have given me purpose.”
Jenkins shook his head in disbelief. “I…don’t know what to say.”
“Say nothing.” Pushkin grunted. “Just give my suggestion as much consideration as you can.”
“I don’t think I’m ready to make those kinds of decisions,” Jenkins said bluntly, drawing a smirk from Durgan and a belly laugh from Pushkin.
“No one ever is, Colonel.” General Pushkin smiled. “You do the best you can, second to second and day to day, in the ultimately futile hope that you can keep it all from crashing down around you as you work to stay ahead of the mother of all bitches: entropy. Every second of life is a struggle for survival. Why should a second in the Legion be any different? It was how we worked under Ben, and it’s how we’ll continue to work after we hold his funeral tomorrow.”
“I’m unconvinced of the mercenary option on the whole,” Durgan said into the growing silence that followed the mention of Akinouye’s funeral. “But you’re a smart man. You’ll come up with a winning strategy, and I’ll continue to support it even if I end up lashed to the wheel of government.”
“You are doing well in the polls, no?” Pushkin laughed.
“Well enough,” Durgan allowed. “But there’s still a lot of time between now and the general election.”
“Well, a better candidate for President I could not imagine,” General Pushkin said with feeling. “Especially given the circumstances. You will have my support.”
“I appreciate that, Mikhail.” Durgan nodded, turning to Jenkins. “I’ve got a courier to catch, but I wanted to look you in the eye and offer my congratulations. You did well, Colonel, and considering the magnitude of the operation, that’s quite a feat.”
“Thank you, Director,” Jenkins replied.
The trio parted company and Jenkins made his way to the quarters assigned him at Armor Corps HQ. Once there, he hit the sack and didn’t move for fourteen hours.
Epilogue: A New Beginning
“That was quite a moving service, Major,” Sarah Samuels said after Xi Bao sat down in the chair opposite the annoyingly beautiful reporter.
“Fifty-three guns was nowhere near enough for a proper salute to General Akinouye’s career,” Xi retorted, referring to the number of guns fired at Terran military funeral services. Fifty-three was the original number of colonies, most of which had been snuffed out when the wormholes had first collapsed. “But it’s tradition,” she added, “and as much as he supported individual expression, the old man cared a lot about tradition.”
“The musical performances blended a bit of both, no? A ten-hour medley of tracks performed solely by Armor Corps personnel was certainly a feast for the ears. On that note,” Samuels veritably purred, “I had no idea you were such a talented guitarist, Major.”
“I can pick a little,” Xi said dismissively. “But it was Podsy’s drum work that really shined. And if you weren’t impressed by Blinky’s upper vocal register during his interpretation of Number of the Beast or Soulforged, there’s something very, very wrong with you.”
“That would be Lieutenant Staubach?” Samuels clarified.
“He may be Lieutenant Staubach to you,” Xi cracked a wry grin, “but he’ll always be Blinky to me.”
“There’s that razor-sharp tongue again.” The reporter flashed a winning smile. “Are all Metalheads as quick-witted as you, Major Xi Bao?”
“Iron sharpens iron.” Xi shrugged. “You try living for weeks on end in a sweaty metal box with someone who, on a good day, smells like they crawled out of a high school football team’s soiled laundry bin and see if you don’t develop a prickly demeanor.”
Samuels’ lips twisted into a faint smirk. “You may have forgotten that I did, in fact, spend several weeks aboard your mech on Shiva’s Wrath?”
“Sharing a space with you for a month isn’t the kind of thing someone quickly forgets,” Xi quipped. “But you were already prickly before you came aboard.”
“Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.” The blond reporter laughed.
“That’d be the safe play,” Xi agreed with a bemused grin.
“I don’t think about it.” Xi shrugged. “It just is. I do everything I can, day after day, to be worthy of the trust my fellow Metalheads give me.”
“Did you earn their trust on Luna?”
“You’d have to ask them,” Xi said steadily, still unsettled by the events of Operation Antivenom. She had no doubt she would eventually overcome the losses, both from a professional perspective and a personal one, but just now those wounds were too fresh to ignore. “What I’ll say without hesitation is that they validated mine in them.”
“My, my.” Samuels cocked her head curiously. “Did saving Solar humanity blunt some of that sharp edge you’ve become famous for?”
“We lost a lot of people on Luna, Ms. Samuels,” Xi said tightly. “Both Terra and Sol lost sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, fathers, and mothers. We’ll never recover from that loss. All we can do is move on and keep the torch as high as possible while we keep putting one foot in front of the other.”
“Just six months ago, the Terran Armor Corps was considered a vestige of the Terran military.” Samuels shifted gears again. “But today it enjoys a popularity that surpasses even the universally-beloved Terran Fleet. What do you think about that?”
“I think people appreciate results,” Xi said carefully, “and it’s natural to support victory. I think the Metal Legion has a brighter future than its detractors care to admit, and I think the Terran people see that more clearly now than ever.”
“That sounded awfully diplomatic,” Samuels observed. “Can we expect to see Xi Bao on a political ballot in the near future?”
“Not likely.” Xi scoffed. “Besides, aren’t Tier One felons prevented from voting or holding public office for twenty years?”
“I’m glad you mentioned that,” the reporter said neutrally, causing Xi’s mouth to suddenly go dry in anticipation of a purely antagonistic line of inquiry. “There’s a lot of conversation going on about how the Metal Legion’s active roster features an inordinately high ratio of prisoners and general ne’er-do-wells. Much has been made of whether it was a fluke that you came together to pull off some of the most difficult operations in human history, or whether maybe we’ve collectively misjudged who can and can’t contribute to society.”
“I think society always has blind spots,” Xi said measuredly, knowing that this particular line of questioning could lead her straight into a political minefield. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt the Legion just as its momentum started moving in the right direction. “I don’t think anyone can be faulted for missing out on opportunities, and I don’t think societies should feel all that bad about implementing and continuing practices that later turn out to be problematic. But I do think that once there’s evidence in hand to suggest those practices could use revision, society owes it to itself and its individual constituents to make the appropriate adjustments. Nobody can know everything. Humans are terrible at predicting the future. Maybe we’re not actually all that smart,” she allowed, recalling the Vorr’s consistent remarks along those lines, “but we’re pretty good at using evidence to revise our beliefs and practices…when we want to be. You and I will probably never be friends,” she added, “but I respect the job you do, and I think a large part of that job is at least as noble as anything I’ll ever do. Your role, certainly more than mine, is to help expose the blind spots that end up hurting society. I can offer my opinion and perspective, but in the end, I’m just a girl who likes playing with big guns.”
Samuels’ grin spread into a genuine-looking one. “If there was one thing you could say to every Terran, what would it be?”
Xi considered the question for a long moment before leaning forward and meeting the other woman’s eyes. “The Metal Legion did something extraordinary on Luna, but we didn’t do it alone. We had the support of many people, from wealthy businessmen to factory workers who made sure our ordnance was up to standards by caring deeply about doing their jobs to the best of their ability. For example, Antivenom was the first time in my career that my crew didn’t have a single cartridge jam or a pack of supplies fail. That means something to me,” she said passionately. “It means that even though I might be out on a cold, dead rock somewhere way beyond the line, there are literally thousands of people working various jobs in the Republic who’ve got my back. The military is just the tip of the spear, Ms. Samuels. A spear-tip by itself is unwieldy, poorly-balanced, and more likely to harm its wielder than the enemy. But with the shaft of society behind it, that spear-tip becomes part of a devastating system. We Metalheads will keep charging forward because, frankly, it’s what warriors do. It’s the only way we know how to be. We want to be on the line doing our part to keep society safe.”
“Hearing you say that,” Samuels mused, “I think I actually believe it. It runs in such stark contrast to some of the sentiment we see expressed in the media, with distressed servicemen coming home and struggling to rejoin society.”
“Everyone faces different challenges,” Xi said heavily. “I can’t speak to theirs. I can speak for the rest of the Metalheads when I say we’ll keep our eyes on the enemy for as long as we can, but we can’t do it alone.” She shook her head with dramatic emphasis. “We need everyone behind us to do their part. Humanity’s horizons have never been broader and the sky over our heads has never been darker than they are at this very moment. Right now, all-out war rages between nearly every single intelligent species in Nexus space, and both Terra and Sol have choices to make about how we will contribute to that conflict. If we’re not careful, humanity will end up as a footnote in some non-human archeological record when they pick over our long-dead bones thousands of years from now. I, for one, will not stand by while my fate is decided by strangers from distant stars.”
She stood from the chair, and for a moment she thought Samuels looked more than just interested in her surprisingly-impassioned speech. The reporter actually looked convinced by Xi’s words.
“I’m going back to HQ, Ms. Samuels, where the rest of my Metalheads are getting ready for the next fight. And the next. And the one after that,” Xi said with conviction, smartly donning her beret. “The Metal Legion is ready to play its part in shaping humanity’s future. It’s my sincerest hope that every human, both Terran and Solarian, feels the same.” Xi took one step away before stopping and turning back. “Never forget, Ms. Samuels: metal never dies.”
The End
Metal Legion, Book 4
If you like this book, please leave a review. This is a new series, so the only way I can decide whether to commit more time to it is by getting feedback from you, the readers. Your opinion matters to me. Continue or not? I have only so much time to craft new stories. Help me invest that time wisely. Plus, reviews buoy my spirits and stoke the fires of creativity.
Don’t stop now! Keep turning the pages as Craig talks about his thoughts on this book and the overall project called Metal Legion.
The Story Continues with Watery Grave
The Pearl. A smooth round ball of a planet with an ocean hiding a secret.
The water is near boiling, and the Jemmin don’t want the Vorr or the Terrans to find what’s hidden in the depths.
What is worth the Jemmin committing overwhelming forces to this out of the way system? But they aren’t the only ones bringing max firepower to the game. The Metal Legion gears up for what they expect to be a pitched battle against a determined defense.
All for a single prize deep beneath the surface of an inhospitable sea.
Metal Legion – climb the ramp and come along for the ride. It’ll be bumpy and hot, but the sound of the 15kg mains is worth it.
Get it now from Amazon or through Kindle Unlimited!
Author Notes - Craig Martelle
January 12, 2018
You are still reading! Thank you so much. It doesn’t
get much better than that.
What a fabulous end to the first arc before the Metal Legion drops onto new planets in prohibited space against old and new enemies. As the Marine Corps of today knows, it takes fighters to control the sky, but it takes boots on the ground to win the war.
That’s what Jenkins and Xi bring to the fore—the will to win against a determined enemy. How about that court-martial? I love the respect that people can show their fellows. I also claim very few friends. It’s not the quantity that matters but the quality.
I had the great fortune of spending Christmas in Hawaii, New Year’s in Australia, and a few days after that in Bali. The weather in all three places was incredible, maybe a little toasty down under, maybe a little too humid in Indonesia, but that was all good compared to what we came home to. It was -38F when we landed in Fairbanks. From when we got up earlier that day for our flights home, the temperature had changed 123 degrees. It was quite the shock to the system.
We had turned the thermostats down in our house, but even 64F felt warm after spending ten seconds outside. I turned the pellet stove on and the thermostats up. It took a while, but soon we were able to snag a few hours of sleep. Sleeping on a plane messes with me, and it took nearly a full week to get back into the groove.
It could have also been the extreme cold. It hit -44F this morning. Poor Phyllis the Arctic Dog! She is very efficient at these temperatures, but it’s still hard on her.
What is next in the worlds where I live?
I love the Metal Legion, so look for the next four books in that story arc. I think Book 5 may hit around the middle of February. That would be way cool:) Then we’re going to do a new series in the same universe, but completely standalone. Battleship Leviathan. I’ll let the series name work its magic. A ship. Alone in space. Fighting the battles that others can’t. Or won’t. Space combat amid the majesty of the universe.