by B. V. Larson
Turning my wandering eye upward to the heavens, I saw a startling sight. Edge World had a moon today—the first in its entire history.
It was the grizzled old Skay, of course. It rode low in the north sky, hovering a hundred thousand kilometers over the planet’s pole. That was freaky and ominous all by itself, as no natural satellite can sit over a planet’s pole for long. They must orbit in a continuous circular flight, falling forever around their master’s gravity-well.
But such minor rules of physics had never bothered the Skay. They were terrifying beings, artificially intelligent and alien in every sense of the word. They were artificial of the mind, but with fleshly parts as well. Their gigantic selves were collectively spaceships, colonies of bizarre life forms, and a single unique individual all at the same time.
Graves walked up to me as we waited for Armel’s vast army of saurians to approach. “The Skay has come close, lowering itself to get a good view of the action.”
“Yep,” I said, “looks that way.”
“What will it do if it loses? Do you think it will retreat and give us this planet?”
I thought that over. “Probably. The Skay are wily old bastards. It will figure that it can’t really lose, that in the end it will have this star system anyway, once it drifts fully into their territory.”
Graves almost seemed disappointed. “You don’t think they’ll attack the Mogwa over it, huh?”
“Nah. Humans and Shadowlanders are small-potatoes to them. They won’t get into another war over one little lump of dirt out here on the frontier. When they come to fight again, it will be over something bigger.”
Graves nodded. “Hmm… You’re probably right. Ah, I see that you’ve managed to snag Fike’s armor again.”
“What? That’s sheer slander, Primus! I had a fresh set sent out from Central, I swear. If Fike has misplaced his gear, I can’t be held responsible for that.”
He chuckled. “I don’t care. Fike’s been getting kind of big for his britches lately anyway. Well McGill, good luck on the field of battle today.”
We shook hands, saluted, and separated.
Harris walked up to me, having witnessed the entire exchange. “I have to admit, Graves is a class act,” he said. “He always was.”
“That’s true.”
We watched together as the enemy ranks formed ahead of us. Their long lines of metal armor and banners approached, forming a dark mass in the distance. They were saurians from Steel World, and they numbered in the thousands. On average, a saurian was around double the weight of a normal human. They would be very intimidating when they engaged our forces in close combat, which was their favorite tactic.
“Seems unfair that our Blood-Worlders aren’t allowed to stand with us,” Harris said.
“Yeah… hey, tell Sargon to keep our colors straight.”
As our senior noncom, Sargon had the sacred honor of holding 3rd unit’s flapping banner. In years past, that honor had fallen to Harris, but that was no longer the case as he was now an officer.
“I’ll see to it, Centurion.”
Harris walked away. During the quiet moment that followed, I reviewed the enemy forces. It was clear they’d copied our approach to warfare. That part wasn’t surprising, as they’d been trying to form their own mercenary legions since I’d first joined up with Legion Varus.
This time out, they looked stern and professional. They’d been serving under Armel for years now, and he’d probably taught them all he knew about how a legion was supposed to operate.
Armel… that traitor. He was a serious foe. I’d often wondered what had happened to him over the years. Back during the Clone World campaign he’d worked for Claver. When that operation had gone haywire, he’d formed this lizard legion and moved on to serve Rigel.
Today, here he was, working for the Skay in Province 926. We’d had no idea as he’d taken his saurian band outside of Province 921, where Earth held the rights to all mercenary contracts. By selling his legion to other planets in far-off regions, Armel had skirted all kinds of trouble with the Galactics.
After eyeing the enemy for a time, I moved my field of view to the torn-down town itself. The Shadowlanders were gone, but you could still see all their cast-offs. There were still a few hungry scavengers, broken pots and some flattened domes, but that was about it. There wasn’t much to mark the place as the center of Shadowlander culture. I knew there were other similar nomadic towns, but none were as grand and important as this one.
“What are you looking at, Centurion?”
It was Kivi. She’d come up to stand at my side, and she stared at the enemy formations with at least as much concern as I did.
“Have you got your ground-drones and buzzers out there patrolling?” I asked her.
“Eighty percent of them are deployed, sir.”
“Good. Any sign of enemy scouts or infiltrators?”
Kivi glanced at me. “That would be cheating. Couldn’t we get them disqualified for that?”
I shrugged. “Maybe—if the judging Nairbs would dare to upset either of the Galactic sides with a trivial ruling.”
She nodded. “They’re in a tough spot. No matter how this goes, one of these Galactics won’t be happy.”
Kivi wandered off, she was attending to her drones and spying devices. After perhaps five minutes, she came back to me with an odd look on her face.
“Centurion? I’m getting some strange readings out there.”
“Out where?”
“In the center of the field. In the region where those flattened domes are. Do you think—?”
“Ignore that, Specialist. It’s probably just some gear the Shadowlanders left behind.”
She nodded vaguely, shading her eyes from the slanting light of dawn. She kept staring toward the center of the battlefield which was right about where the domes were. Her frown lingered on her face.
“You don’t think there’s something out there, do you sir?” she asked me at last.
“I said forget about it, Kivi. File no reports. Tell the other techs from the 2nd and 4th Units to leave it alone, too.”
Kivi stared at me for a few seconds. She knew me well, and she wasn’t a dummy. For a short time, I thought maybe she was going to call Graves or something.
But at last, she looked away again and nodded. “I’m sure it’s just junk, Centurion. Not bombs or anything like that. Something like that could get our side into trouble, you know...”
“That’s right. That’s why nothing of the kind is out there. Move along, Kivi.”
She scooted at last, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The sensation was short-lived, however. An artificial horn blew, calling upon us to prepare. Shading my eyes and zooming in with my helmet’s optics, I could see the army of saurians. They were hulking black figures with the bright sky outlining them from behind.
The enemy legion was finally on the move, advancing toward our position at a steady marching pace.
-71-
Armel’s plan was clear from the start. His saurian troops weren’t better trained than our men, nor were they any better equipped—but they did outweigh us. If I had to guess, I’d say he had a few more tails and snouts deployed than we had noses on our side as well.
In short, they outmatched us. Therefore, rather than getting fancy about it, he’d decided to march right down our throats and fight it out to the death, man-to-lizard.
Our troops were much more varied in skills and armament. That’s because our legions were supposed to be able to function in a wide variety of environments. We had light troops with light weapons in case skirmishing was in order. We also had bigger guns—small artillery that could be placed on high ground to command the enemy’s likely approaches. The rest of our number, about half, was made up of heavy infantry.
Now, all that might sound pretty good until you carefully consider the situation at hand. In this battle, we were on flat ground, and we weren’t allowed time to find the best positions to set up artillery. Our li
ghts were just plain outmatched by the enemy, and even our heavies were outweighed by the saurians.
“Hmm…” I said, watching them approach. Right off, I was worried, and I contacted Graves. “Sir? We need to get a move on. We should meet them mid-field.”
“Thanks so much for the strategic advice, McGill. Now, shut up unless you’ve got critical intel for me.”
Graves disconnected.
A few moments later, he gave his first orders. “All units, all cohorts, send in your lights. Harass and skirmish. Do not engage in close combat, but don’t let them run you off too easily. Buy us some time.”
Shaking my head, I turned to Barton. She was pale. She knew the odds—but she rushed out there anyway. “Any special orders, sir?” she asked me.
“Nope. Just give them hell, and try to come back in one piece when Graves calls you off.”
Barton nodded and raced away. A line of lights, a full platoon, raced after her.
“By damn,” Harris said from my right. “They’ve got heart, don’t they?”
“Won’t be enough today,” Leeson said from my left. “Those lizards are going to mow right through them.”
“Got your 88s set up yet?” I demanded of Leeson.
“No sir—almost.”
I waved for him to get going. He trotted back to his specialists and walked the line, checking them all personally.
Then I turned to Harris. “Let’s put your heavies right behind the weaponeers. No sense getting hit in the ass with some blue-on-blue.”
“My thoughts exactly, Centurion.”
We positioned the heavy troops behind the light artillery—two 88s and a dozen belchers. It didn’t look like much, and it wasn’t.
Still, we took heart in the fact we weren’t alone. We were one unit of about a hundred. Together, we could throw a hell of a lot of pain downrange when the time came.
Armel’s forces were ninety percent heavy infantry, but he did have a contingent of troops with mortars to the rear. When our lights came forward and began peppering his line with fire, he had his rear brigade shower them with smoking black spheres.
Each of these spheres contained an acidic smoke. It was nasty stuff, I could tell you from experience. It could eat through a suit, dissolving polymers and choking the victim inside.
The wobbling spheres came down in an erratic spray. A dozen of them landed nearby, and the battlefield was partly obscured. Light troops were enveloped by the vapors. Soon, they were running, falling and finally melting on the stained ground.
“Bastards…” I muttered, beginning to pace.
“You should get down, sir,” Leeson suggested. “They have snipers too.”
“Get ready on those 88s!” I shouted back at him. I was wearing my black armor, and I didn’t care if I did catch a round or two right now. Maybe it would save one of my men who wasn’t as well protected.
Leeson shrugged and went back to his charges, rushing from man to man in a crouch.
Our surviving lights were on their bellies by now. They were sniping away at the saurians who kept marching forward into the fire. Now and then a lizard went down, but it wasn’t too often. Judging by the red names that kept popping up on my HUD, we were taking losses in the neighborhood of two to one.
Losing patience, I called Graves again.
“Sir? I’m sorry, sir, but it seems like a fine time to light up the field with our star-falls, doesn’t it?”
“Can’t do it, McGill. The Nairbs outlawed that during the meeting—didn’t you catch that?”
“Uh…” the truth is, I barely listened to the briefing.
“Get off the line and fight your damn battle!”
Graves disconnected again. Right about then, our lights broke ranks. The saurians were almost on top of them. They fired their heavy rifles, catching our running troops in the back now and then.
When Barton got back to us, panting hard, I ordered her to take her people to the rear and start sniping. She nodded, too out of breath to speak.
Without saying much, I counted heads. She’d lead thirty-six out and come back with nineteen. That was pretty bad, even by Legion Varus standards.
Already, the saurians were cracking shots at us. There weren’t any hits, but they were still a coupled of kilometers off.
“Leeson! Fire at will!”
I ordered the rest of the unit to hug the ground. We hadn’t been allowed to dig trenches, but there were natural divots and contours in the land. Even the blooms coming out of the carpet of mosses offered some cover.
As always, Leeson took a damnable long time to bother to fire. The enemy had picked up speed by now. Saurians troops could charge fast and hard, but not for long. Armel was clearly holding them back until he got close enough—that last kilometer—then he’d order his men to rush us.
By this time, we were all plinking away. Our heavies were armored, and they could take anything short of a direct hit. Once, I caught an explosive pellet in the ribs. It staggered me, but I didn’t go down.
Carlos rushed to me, but slapped my ass quickly, declaring me fit to die all over again. I pushed him down as more vapor-spheres began to fall on our line.
“Barton! Leeson! Pull back everyone in light armor!”
They didn’t need any further urging. Almost a third of my troops fell back and soon were obscured by the drifting acidic clouds.
“Leeson, dammit, are you dead?”
“No sir, don’t worry. It’s almost game-time.”
I gritted my teeth and cursed for ten full seconds. Leeson knew his weapons well—better than I did. Even though some of the units on our flanks had opened up, he wanted maximal effect.
When he finally did fire, he achieved his goals. The sickly green beams reached out, cutting right through the drifting black clouds to touch the approaching ranks.
On both sides of my unit, other weaponeers had begun to fire their belchers and 88s. The range was kind of extreme, but the enemy was undeniably thinned out.
That’s when the enemy decided to change the tempo. Armel had chosen this critical moment to close the gap between our two armies as quickly as possible. In everyone’s estimation Varus had superior ranged fire, so it was time to take the fight to us, up-close and personal.
Every enemy throat on the battlefield released a terrific blast of noise. Taken altogether, this alien cry was deafening. Half-howl and half-roar, it swept the mossy plains and made every human cringe.
The saurians were charging us at last.
They came out of the black smoke and dust like a herd of wild beasts. Each bounding step took them higher and farther than any human could have managed without technological aid. Somehow, knowing they were managing this feat with just their own muscles powering every churning step made it all the more intimidating.
“Jesus!” Harris said. “Look at them come! It’s like a field full of giant hopping locusts!”
He wasn’t far from wrong. The enemy charge was disheartening, both their numbers and their eagerness seemed overwhelming. The bounding saurians were in a frenzy now, and they’d soon meet our line and break over it.
Leeson finally gave the order to fire. His twin 88s hummed and swept from both sides of the field toward the middle. The light of them was unnatural, and the wide beams filled the air with the smell of ozone. This was quickly replaced by the stink of charred flesh and an oven-like heat.
The front ranks of saurians were caught and destroyed. They burned as they continued to run until they collapsed in a heap of gray ash. After the beams swept over them, however, the ranks that followed came on, undaunted.
“We need more elevation,” Leeson shouted. “I can’t stop them, McGill. Not all of them. Should I pull back the 88s?”
“No—hold your position. Give ‘em everything you’ve got.”
“Yes, sir!”
That was it. I’d just ordered Leeson and his men to die. They all knew it, but they stood their ground anyway, furiously working their weapons. They spit into the dus
t and cursed my name—but they kept on firing.
Twice more the 88s sang. On either side of 3rd Unit, the centurions ordered their most valuable troops to the rear—but I used a different tactic.
“Heavies!” I shouted, raising one improbably long arm into the sky. “Up and charge them!”
“Say what?” Harris squawked.
“You heard me!”
Already, his men were scrambling to their feet. Harris got up with the rest, releasing a stream of bad words and shoving aside anyone who came near him. He hustled to the front, rushing past the 88s and weaponeers to the front line.
Just as he got there, the first saurians arrived. They were a bloody, dirty mess. Some of them were shot, many were scorched. Many had stumps for limbs, but they came at us anyway, seeking to tear us apart with a mouthful of sharp teeth if they had to.
Harris’ men were rocked backward by the impact of the enemy charge, but they weren’t soft. They had powered exoskeletons, metal armor and morph-rifles set on assault mode.
Their guns ripped the air, chugging out thousands of power-bolts. The ragged enemy ranks were destroyed.
Long before we could think about declaring any kind of victory, however, the second wave came bounding toward us.
Standing tall, I shielded my eyes and I gazed over the tops of countless heads. In a brief gap in the dust and smoke, I was able to see a kilometer or two across the field of battle.
What I saw way out there was spirit-crushing. There weren’t just two waves coming. There weren’t even three—there were four of them.
We’d taken out the first chunk of Armel’s army with artillery and ranged fire. They’d been annihilated. But now, the rest of them were about to land on us. We couldn’t hold—there was no hope of it.
The battle would soon be lost.
-72-
It should be said at this point that I’ve never been a man to take defeat lightly. In my long and storied lifetime, I figure that my competitive nature has probably gotten me into more trouble than any of my many other character flaws.
