Edge World (Undying Mercenaries Series Book 14)

by B. V. Larson

“Sorry, Adjunct,” I called over my shoulder. “Unless you can outrun me, I’ll catch you back at camp in the morning.”

  “You aren’t sorry! You’re enjoying this, McGill!”

  Harris was up and hopping in my wake. I had to give him that: he didn’t give in to death easily. He hated dying, he always had.

  About then, I saw Barton moving to help Harris. “Dammit, girl! Leave him! We’ve got a cliff to climb!”

  But it was too late.

  “Incoming!” someone up ahead screamed.

  Damnation. I’d miscalculated. They’d taken so long to fire the first time, I’d figured we had a few minutes—but no, of course not. The first long wait had given them time to aim and get the range right. Now that they had us zeroed, the salvos would only take about two minutes to come in.

  “Take cover!”

  We were down again, and we tried to find cover, but there wasn’t much to be had. Fortunately for me, the lizards had decided to nail the same spot as before, finishing any survivors. Those of us who’d gotten moving quickly were only knocked off our feet by the rippling series of blast waves hitting us in the back.

  Those that had been too slow, however, weren’t so lucky. Harris and Barton were both killed. A lot of our weaponeers died as well, as they couldn’t run quickly in their insanely heavy kits.

  One exception was Veteran Sargon. He usually operated in Leeson’s platoon, serving as the top noncom to ride herd over the other specialists. Being a big man, even for a weaponeer, he’d managed to move his metal-covered body over the ground faster than the others.

  He threw himself down in a gully beside me, and the moment the blasts stopped shaking us, he was up and running again.

  “Centurion,” he said, “we’ve got to keep moving. We’ve got to run all the way to the shadows under that overhang.”

  Sargon pointed ahead toward the base of the cliff. I nodded in agreement, and I raced away close behind him. Winslade, Leeson and maybe two dozen others followed us.

  It was pathetic. We’d lost most of my unit, and most of Winslade’s cohort. Graves was going to be pissed.

  After three more crashing barrages from the lizards, we reached the base of the cliff. Walking around it, we were out of range of the mortars above. They simply couldn’t angle downward enough to hit us here.

  Winslade hugged the shadowy stone walls with his skinny sides heaving.

  “We’ve got to keep moving, Primus,” I told him.

  “No. We’ll wait here for a few minutes. I’m tired of playing the fool.”

  I looked around at my cluster of survivors. Sargon shrugged and leaned against the cliff wall. Leeson joined him.

  “Forget about taking a piss,” I said. “Give me a full run-down. What have we got left? Troops, specialists, gear—the works.”

  Leeson muttered something about his ass, but he began tallying up what we had left to work with.

  “Nice dodge, McGill,” Winslade said. He’d gotten to his feet again, and his rodent-like eyes were surveying the landscape.

  “Uh… what dodge is that, sir?”

  “Looking busy. We have to have some reason to be hugging ourselves here while others are starting the long spiral up to the top.”

  I turned and looked around. Sure enough, several more units were indeed shuffling on by as we delayed. All of them looked tired and hurt.

  Suddenly, I got an evil suspicion.

  “Sir? You aren’t lingering down here just so more of our troops get in front of us, are you?”

  “Of course I am. I’m not a fool—and you aren’t either. Stop pretending, it’s tiresome.”

  After we’d taken stock of everything, I found we’d been hit pretty hard. We had no medics, no techs, only a dozen light troopers, twice as many heavies—and that was about it. The only weaponeer with a working belcher was Sargon. At least he was good with his weapon.

  Our helmets crackled after we’d screwed around for another few minutes. It was Graves.

  “Primus?” he called. “Winslade, why aren’t you moving? Don’t tell me you’re dead, I can see your vitals on the screen in front of me.”

  “I’m feeling better, sir,” Winslade answered. “Thanks for inquiring. We took a hard blow out there on those rocks. We’ve regrouped and we’ll be—”

  “Just get moving, dammit. You’ll be at the rear of the formation now as it is.”

  “A pity…”

  Graves signed off, and we got going. Winslade set the pace, and he wasn’t moving terribly fast. We stayed in sight of the unit ahead of us—but just barely.

  “This is humiliating,” Leeson told me. “The rest of the boys up ahead are never going to let me live down this chicken-shit stuff.”

  “Probably not,” I admitted.

  After nearly an hour of hugging the cliff, we made it to the rear escarpment. We were able to begin the long spiraling climb at the back side of the tableau, and we were still way behind the most forward troops.

  “Have you got any ghosts left?” Winslade asked me.

  “Negative, sir. Cooper and Della are both dead.”

  “A pity… Della is quite likeable. That fiend Cooper, however… never mind. You’ll be my scout when we get to the top.”

  My helmet rotated, and I eyed him. “Why’s that, sir?”

  “Because you’ve got an impenetrable suit of armor on, you oaf. Had you forgotten?”

  “Oh… right. I’ll move to the front ranks.”

  Clanking along, I found myself to be in better shape than most of the men. Almost everyone had suffered some form of injury.

  As we climbed up higher, it seemed like the sky was brightening. It was an odd effect, as you expected the angle of the light to change with the rising sun—only, in this place dawn took weeks to crawl over the land. The angle of the sun never changed. It was like taking the longest morning walk of my lifetime.

  At last, we got close to the top of the cliff. I could tell because a shower of explosive pellets came raining down from above.

  The first casualty was Leeson. Either he’d been careless, not hugging the rocky cliffs, or the saurians had orders to shoot officers first.

  Three cracking shots rang out, and he went spinning off the narrow pathway. His body bounced and thumped all the way to the bottom.

  Everyone else shouted in alarm and hugged the wall of the cliff. Only I leaned out, trying to get a glimpse of the enemy.

  The rocks jumped and smoked next to me, making me duck back under cover. Yep, they were officer-hunting today.

  “Light troops! Put down some sniper fire on those smart-ass lizards!”

  Barton’s recruits were well-trained, if a little shaky. They stepped into view and began plinking away at the saurians above us. Unfortunately, as any gunman can tell you, being on top of a cliff was way better than being at the bottom when it came to surviving.

  The two sides exchanged shots for a full minute. One of our recruits died in the process, and I couldn’t tell if we got any hits.

  Regardless, I used this precious time to advance up the cliff. Reaching out with my big hands, I pulled myself up the rocks, like an orangutan heading for the treetops. Soon, I was able to get a bead on one of them.

  Blam!

  I was hit. Right in the chest—but the big round didn’t penetrate. Still, I was spun half around, and I almost fell. As we were about two hundred meters above the rocky floor of the valley, I wouldn’t have survived the drop—armor or no.

  But I managed to catch myself and take a one-handed potshot back at the surprised lizard who’d nailed me. It was he who was blown off his scaly feet. He did a rolling, bouncing tumble all the way past Winslade and the rest to crash down in a bloody pulp far below.

  I went back to climbing again, and I managed to down two more lizards. They hit me one more time, but again, my armor held. The rest of the snipers retreated.

  “Come on up!” I shouted to the men below.

  They climbed after me, and eventually Winslade caught up. He
was breathing hard. “You’re a master of stealth, McGill,” he complained. “Why didn’t you just blow a horn or something to let them know you were coming?”

  I grinned, but I kind of felt like tossing him off the cliff. He seemed to sense this, and he stalked on by sourly.

  The sad thing was we were down to just two squads of infantry, mostly heavies. For leadership, we had Winslade, myself and Sargon—that was it. We needed everyone we had left, so I couldn’t afford to shank Winslade—not now.

  The rest of the way to the top went smoothly. That was mostly because other groups had forged the way ahead. Their broken bodies were scattered here and there on the rocks. As we passed them by, we looted gear and ammo as needed.

  “You have to admit,” Sargon said as he came near, “Winslade’s bullshit has kept us alive so far.”

  “Yeah… but we’re not here to stay alive. We’re here to kill the enemy.”

  “Amen, brother. How are we going to do it?”

  I gazed doubtfully up to the top of the cliff. It was alarmingly close. There was sporadic fire up there, and I knew the lizards were under continuous assault. They had to be getting low on troops as well.

  “Here’s the deal,” I told Sargon, “when we get to the rim, I’ll call Graves. That’s what they’re waiting for, a final distracting attack from our side.”

  “That’s what any man in 3rd Unit is best used for—a distraction.”

  Using my HUD, I scanned the region. Several other units were in position now, near the top like we were. They were all waiting among the rocks for Winslade to arrive and give them new orders. He was gathering everything we had together, a wise move.

  Soon we reached the rim, staying low so the lizards couldn’t take a potshot at us.

  “This is it, sir,” I told Winslade. “It’s not getting any better than this.”

  He nodded, and he contacted Graves. “We’ve taken heavy losses, but we’re finally in position. You can begin your invasion.”

  “Not good enough,” Graves said. “Hit them now with everything you have left. That’s an order.”

  Graves dropped the channel. Hissing, Winslade bared his teeth. He turned on me like it was all my fault.

  “A few short hours ago,” he hissed at me, “I was in command of this operation. I should never have helped you free Turov.”

  “Well… yeah…” I said, and I trailed off. From his point of view, he was right.

  “Grenades out, troops!” Winslade commanded. “We’re going up and over the top of this final ridge. I want every man-jack of you to carry and toss a grenade at the enemy. Don’t let any of them survive.”

  There was a ragged, tired cheer of “Varus! Varus!”

  Taking a deep breath, Winslade stood up.

  We all followed him, and our hearts surged. Sure, he was just one skinny man with the heart of a weasel, but he’d been ordered to die like the rest of us—we all knew it. If he was going to lead this action, we’d follow him.

  Winslade reached down to his chest and activated his body-cams. This would broadcast the action live over command chat. Any officer who cared to could watch. That was against regs, but I doubted anyone would give him a hard time about it.

  As he activated his grav-grenade and stood tall, I have to admit, I figured he was going to fake us out at the last moment. It’s a sorry state of affairs that a centurion would have such a firm lack of faith in his primus, but there it was.

  But Winslade didn’t chicken out. His spine was straight as he vaulted lightly over the rocks. Reaching the rim he threw his one and only grenade.

  A few hundred others followed him. We were the ragged remains of a dozen units, but we all roared until our throats burned.

  When I passed over the last rocks, coming out of cover—I was rudely surprised.

  The mortars were there waiting for us. They were all lined-up, perhaps twenty of them. Fat-bellied and aiming their black muzzles on a flat-trajectory, I had only a second or two to realize it was a setup.

  Then, the saurians operating the big guns fired them all at once.

  -59-

  It’s said that Napoleon Bonaparte broke the back of the Royalists in Paris with the careful use of forty cannon, using a “whiff of grapeshot” to decimate a force that outnumbered his by six to one. Well, today it was my turn to be on the receiving end of artillery used at a point-blank range.

  Lying on my back, coughing up blood, I found myself shocked to be alive at all. I’d taken a blast, but my armor had kept me alive—barely.

  All around me, hundreds of other Varus troops were dead or dying. Oh sure, we’d gotten off a few grenades and destroyed a cannon or two—but overall, we’d gotten our clocks cleaned.

  Breathing was difficult. Each sucked-in gasp seemed to hurt more than the last. I just lay where I’d fallen, on my back, staring up at that purple sky. There wasn’t much going on inside my brain, other than shock and a ringing sound that rattled around in loops.

  A figure came near after a minute or so. I saw him stand over me with his hands on his hips. He shook his head and eyed me in distaste.

  “We meet again, McGill,” Armel said. “Why do such moments always seem to end in death for one of us or the other?”

  “I’m not sure about that, sir,” I grunted out.

  “You fought well, but you were outmatched. My saurian troops have made me proud today.”

  “That’s right. Your toy lizards played us every step of the way.”

  He bent forward, narrowing his eyes a little. “Praise? Honest praise from the mouth of a scoundrel? You surprise me.”

  “A man gets what he deserves in the end, that’s what my mamma always said.”

  Armel laughed. He threw back his head and grabbed his gut. “You can’t know how pleased I am to see you dying at my feet. That last time you got away, and I was cheated. Today, I want to feel the joy of watching your life completely pass from your oversized, apish body. Today—”

  A lizard showed up behind him about then. Saurians were as tall as I was and bigger-boned. This lizard was one of Armel’s officers, and he towered over the human.

  Armel turned on him angrily. “What is it, you cold-blooded brute? Can’t you see I’m speaking to the enemy commander?”

  The translation light flashed at the saurian’s neck. “My apologies, Tribune, but a ship approaches from the south.”

  “A ship? What ship?”

  Right about then, I saw a shadow looming up behind both of them. It was bigger than Armel, and bigger than his lizard—way bigger.

  “Turn the cannons!” he shouted wildly. He raced off, leaving me on my back like an overturned turtle. “Turn the cannons, fools!”

  The saurians worked, bulging their scaly arms and shoulders. The fat-bellied cannons wheeled slowly around. I was surprised they weren’t automated, but maybe old Armel didn’t have access to the good stuff. Sometimes, when you were a homeless mercenary selling your sword among the stars, you had to make do.

  Watching with interest, I saw the big lifter come down to land behind the saurians. It was a ballsy move on Graves’ part. After all, if Armel had left a few of those big guns aimed out over the valley, one direct hit would probably destroy the lifter—and that was a serious chunk of credit to lose.

  Armel put in a good effort, mind you. He beat the hunched shoulders and triangular skulls of his troops with a walking stick. Each blow caused a shower of sparks, which told me the stick was more than a cane—it was an oversized shock-rod.

  But it did no good. Before he could get his fat cannons turned around, the lifter’s anti-personnel turrets opened up and began to blaze. Showers of power-bolts flew from a dozen gun ports, tearing into the artillery brigade. The mortars were destroyed, the saurians were destroyed—even old Armel himself was blown to fragments.

  After that, the lifter landed and troops poured out. They walked from body to body, executing survivors.

  It didn’t take long for one of the troops to reach me. He raised the
muzzle of his weapon to aim right into my faceplate, but then he halted.

  “Centurion?” the man asked in surprise.

  “The name’s McGill,” I managed to rasp out.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I thought you were a saurian. Your armor looks different and… well sir, you’re kind of big.”

  “No problem, Specialist. Could you do me a favor?”

  “What’s that, sir?”

  “Call your commander over here.”

  A couple of rough minutes passed after that. I was kind of feeling shivery and sick. I figured I must be all broken-up inside, but I didn’t let myself die. Not yet.

  Finally, a primus showed up. It was Graves himself.

  “Hey, sir,” I said weakly. “Good to see you.”

  Graves glanced at his tapper. “Your vitals are shit, McGill.”

  “Yes sir, and you’re all heart to notice. Did you see that broadcast? Did you see how Winslade sewed on some pretty big balls at the end of this death-march?”

  “Yes. Yes he did—it was quite surprising.”

  “Uh… was it your plan, sir, that we would all die and give you the shot at hitting Armel in the flank?”

  “It all worked out better than I’d hoped it would.”

  “That’s good to hear, sir. Good to hear.”

  “Now McGill, I’m retiring you. You’ll be debriefed in a few hours—make that tomorrow. Get some sleep, you’ve earned it.”

  “You’re all heart, sir. I’ve always said it.”

  Without further ceremony, Graves shot me in the chest.

  “Ouch!” I complained. “I felt that one.”

  Muttering, Graves lifted his pistol again. He fired until his magazine was empty.

  “Jeez!” I said, groaning and half rolling onto my side. “Did my dog take a shit on your lawn, sir? My ribs are broken, and you’re not helping any.”

  Graves sighed. “That armor is a little too effective. Open your faceplate, Centurion.”

  I hesitated. A part of me wanted to survive, and I entertained a few fantasies about being carried down to camp in that big lifter. Letting go of such pipe-dreams, I opened my visor.

  Maybe I’d get a chance to meet up with that little bio I’d met the last time I’d died…