The Last Charge of the 1st Legion (The Last Hero Trilogy Book 3)
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“Thanks. If nothing else, you can keep me from strangling him.”
“Why would I do that?” He smirked. “Not like anyone around here would miss him. He’s terrible on our limited supply of whiskey.”
“At least he’s only drinking the Canadian stuff.”
Wills cracked a genuine smile in reply that showed his brilliantly white teeth. The sliver of positive energy was infectious. “Shall we?” She had a smile of her own.
“Ladies first.”
“Coward.”
The pair was immediately held at bay by Dalton’s overly dedicated assistant, Miss Templeton. “Can I help you?” she asked as if she didn’t know exactly who they were and what they were here for.
Walker supressed a laugh. Wills’ mildly funny joke was threatening to make her a bit silly. Her mood was certainly starved for anything to chip away at her depression. She cleared her throat. “Yes, we have an appointment with the chairman.”
“I see. Let me check his calendar.” Miss Templeton reached for a sheet of e-paper and closely examined it.
Catching a glimpse of the document, Walker noticed they were the only appointment he had all day. Unable to contain herself, a laugh escaped before she tightly sealed her lips. They almost parted again when Miss Templeton shot her a disapproving look. The poor woman’s dedication and zeal for trying to maintain the facade of high office under such circumstances was just too much unintentional humor.
“Let me see if he’s ready for you.” She opened the chairman’s door a tiny crack to slip in.
Almost a minute ticked by before she reappeared. “You may see him now.”
“Thank you, Miss Templeton.” Walker entered, pretending to not notice the glaring look that tracked her in.
Wills shifted his eyes to lock with Walker and the pair shared a grin. This is turning out to be the best day in a long time, she thought. Damn, that is really depressing.
Above ground, Chairman Dalton had enjoyed a massive penthouse office suite atop a two-hundred-story building. Now he was imprisoned in a six-by-six meter cell. The scent of dried whiskey and sweat polluted the stale air. Dalton sat slumped in his large leather chair, which was too big for the room, an obvious attempt to retain a minor trapping of power. His eyes were devoid of passion; he was a man who had given up.
Our glorious leader.
“What do you want, supreme commander?” He didn’t raise his eyes. “I am very busy today.”
She would’ve laughed if it wasn’t so tragic, so pathetic. This is humanity’s leader. “Sir...we are about to initiate Operation Bait and Switch. You asked that you be informed when we are ready.”
“Oh, yes, our grand plan to win the war.”
“Well...not exactly, sir.” She and Wills glanced at each other. “It’s our plan to buy us time. We’ve been slowly gathering strength. Moving small units, not worth acting against, to a naturally defensible position. It’s taken months, but our forces are in place now. We’re ready to activate our ghost sensor readings, giving the Keepers a target they can’t resist. If they act true to form, they will attack and not stop until they win the battle.”
“And the point of all this is?” Dalton rested his head in his palm, like he was bored or about to pass out.
“They’ll throw everything at the fake target. Other bunkers will be lelt alone while they toss themselves into our trap. Like an ocean, they will eventually erode the mountain, but that will take time. Every day counts. I believe it will take weeks to root out the defenders, and I’ve prepared surprises to give the enemy pause and make them have to start thinking more cautiously.”
“To what end? We’re still stuck on this forsaken planet.”
“For hope, sir. Help is coming. We just have to be here when it arrives.”
Dalton arched an eyebrow. “Do you really believe that?”
She straightened her back. “I know it, sir. Besides, those bastards aren’t getting my planet without the fight of their lives. If this is humanity’s last stand, then let it be our finest hour. Let it be said we never quit, even when defeat and death stared us in the face.”
He flipped his wrist. “Very well. Carry on with your plan. We’ll see what good it will do.”
***
Following the Shihua Cave Bunker massacre, Sergeant Roger Frost and militia Corporal Madison Wyatt spent a month lurching around the North China Plain, avoiding enemy patrols and struggling to survive.
The Keepers’ silver troops were everywhere. When the murdering in the cave was finished, the remaining force fanned out across the landscape, hunting and killing stragglers. The civilians they had rescued from the battle were ill-equipped for the endeavor and didn’t make it.
That was hard on Frost and Wyatt. After surviving the initial fight against all odds, they took a great risk to save someone in an attempt to give meaning to their division’s sacrifice, their suffering. They failed. Their only reward was to continue to draw breath themselves, and that, somehow, didn’t seem like enough.
When the last civilian surrendered to her injuries, the pair spent an entire day in mournful silence. Neither spoke about it, but it was clear that something had changed in them. They realized the futility of their efforts, but they decided to live and for only one reason: each other. Romantic emotion wasn’t a factor. There was no physical attraction. They were brother and sister, a relationship forged in desperate combat.
Eventually the pair made it far enough away from the hot zone to catch a small military transport to another bunker. There they sat and waited until new orders came in for them to transfer to a new encampment in the Braun Valley, in the Nepalese Himalayas mountain range.
Being among a select few to live through an engagement with the Silver Horde made them more valuable. For their rare experience, they were promoted several grades. Wyatt became a militia lieutenant and Frost a legion acting-captain, in command of two militia companies.
Rank didn’t save them from back-breaking work. They toiled in the dirt and mud, rushing to prepare a massive network of fortifications. It struck them as odd, since there didn’t appear to be anything of value in the valley. It all made sense one afternoon when an explosion at the center of the base was immediately followed by a burst of life readings on their CALs’ scanners.
Wyatt paused with a shovel in her hands. “What the hell? Where did everyone come from?”
Frost remained still as he processed the data through his cunning intelligence-operative mind. Only one possibility made sense. Sitting on the trench’s edge, he dropped his spade. “Crap.”
“What?”
“They’re coming.”
“Who?”
“Who do you think?”
She looked off into the horizon. “Fuck.”
“Yep.”
She shook her head. “How do you know that?”
He removed his helmet and sucked in a breath of fresh air. “You know how we couldn’t figure out what we were doing out here?” She nodded. “We’ve been building a trap and it’s ready.”
“Huh?”
“It’s time to welcome our guests, so they baited the trapped with ghost life signs.” He shrugged. “The blast is likely a staged accident to explain the sudden appearance of the new contacts.”
“That seems awfully transparent. Do you really think they’ll buy it?”
He chewed on the question. “Yeah, I think they will. They might be powerful, but in terms of tactics and strategy, they’re behind us. They’ll see a big target and they’ll come for it. Sure as rain, they’ll come. And when they do, we’ll be ready for them. This one won’t be easy.”
***
The silver pyramid appeared the next day to unload its usual compliment of invaders outside the tree line. Frost’s militia companies were forward-deployed to observe and harass. For now, they watched from cover as the lifeless army formed perfect ranks, uncontested.
Wyatt thought-spoke to him. “I really hate just letting them get ready without a care in the world.”
> “I know how you feel, but we need to play this smart. Make them come to us.”
“‘Cause that worked so well for us last time.”
Thump, thump, thump.
The wall of silver marched, shaking the earth with each step. Birds in the trees took to the air, blending the soft flutters of their wings with the ominous thump, thump, thump of approaching death.
Frost felt his troops stir. For almost all of them, this was their first real encounter with the enemy. Fear infiltrated their ranks, and he spoke to them. “Steady. We don’t plan on holding them here. We’re gonna give them a bloody nose and then fall back well before they reach us. Remember, this is defense in depth.”
The forest settled. All life not party to the fight had wisely vacated the battlefield. An eerie calm, only disturbed by the thump, thump, thump of the enemy’s march, poisoned the serenity.
Two hundred meters out, Frost shattered the quiet. “Fire!”
Grenades leapt from the undergrowth, impacting along the enemy front, engulfing it in a thin layer of smoke. The line barely registered the effort. A few, hit by multiple rounds, staggered and fell. More showed scorch marks and other signs of damage, but the horde advanced into the thickening wall of grenades.
He walked the line, crouching low. “Keep it up!”
The kill count rose as the headless, three-armed monsters absorbed barrage after barrage. A grin of satisfaction grew on Frost’s face. That’s when the enemy began to fight back.
Invisible streams of energy plowed into his position, turning the natural paradise into an inferno. Soldiers too exposed suffered hits and melted from within. Trees, flowers, bushes—everything caught fire.
Their battle-suits protected them from the flames, but Frost knew his green troops couldn’t be expected to do more here. “Fall back!” He hadn’t been fast enough for those who’d already sprinted for safety. Most fell back in good order, cutting through the virgin ground like a stampede.
Deeper in the woods, Frost slowed to stand his ground at a prepared defensive line manned by thousands of militia. Half of his men didn’t seem interested in participating this time around. They jumped over the trench without breaking stride. He opened his mouth to shout at them when Wyatt beat him to it. “Stop and fight or I swear to God, I will shot you myself!” She raised her rifle and sent a burst of supersonic BBs into a number of trees ahead of the fleeing mob.
That got their attention.
The fortified line hammered the enemy who had difficulty keeping formation on the rough terrain. The raging forest fire amid their ranks also seemed to affect their targeting. Nonetheless, they advanced regardless of loss, pushing the militia back. Again the humans made another stand to bleed the enemy before being forced to retreat once more.
For hours the delicate dance played out until only a few of the beasts remained. They attacked to the last and were cut down in detail.
A roar erupted from the line when the last of them collapsed onto a bed of fire. Frost joined them. He wanted to enjoy the moment, because he knew next time it wouldn’t be so easy.
Chapter Twenty-One
Forward On
Captain Lars DeWalt ran a hand through his short blonde hair as he examined the repair updates from what remained of his task force. The news was a lead weight in his gut. Halfway through the information, he let out a sigh and collapsed into his chair. “I shoulda been a farmer. Raising tulips wouldn’t have been all that bad.”
His mind wondered to his family’s estate in Holland. The DeWalts were more land barons than farmers, but he preferred to remember his father and brothers in a romanticized light. He thought of it as a privilege of the living.
Lars never showed much interest in the family business and his father never forced the issue. Like his ancestors, he wanted to sail the vast ocean of space as a merchantmen. Utilizing his family’s business contacts, he was able to buy a share in a new cargo ship and so began his life in space.
His gift for managing large vessels carrying a vast amount of material got him drafted and put on a shortlist to eventually command the envisioned battlecarriers. A distinguished service record in the war’s earliest years earned him the captain’s chair on the first one out of the shipyard. He’d never envisioned himself as a naval commander, but again, he excelled at it.
The DeWalt family took great pride in having one of their own appointed to such an important post. Lars soaked in the admiration of his siblings and enjoyed being the apple of his father’s eye—while it lasted. None of them survived Earth’s Fist’s trek across deep space after his first mission.
Images of kilometer-long rows of beautiful tulips brought a smile to his face. Sadly, the fond memory of home only served to remind him of the devastation the Keepers were wrecking on it. The spark of negativity triggered an emotional spiral as he thought of the pain his absence caused. He would’ve sunk deeper into that deep pit of despair if not for the saving grace of a door chime.
“Enter.” He shook his head to expel the demons.
General Maxwell entered and the two commanders exchanged nods. Lars liked Trent because he got the planet-side job done and didn’t pretend to know how to run a naval operation. Both of them knew their places and worked seamlessly together because of it.
Lars still wore a sour expression.
“You look like you’ve had better days.” Trent took a seat.
“Sorry, you just caught me in the middle of a memory.”
“I know what you mean. I find memories to be very dangerous. They have a way of sneaking up on you when you’re in a good mood and spoiling it.” He sighed. “But then again, I wouldn’t trade any of them for the world.”
“I suppose you’re right. What can I do for you?”
Trent stood and gripped the back of the chair, leaning forward. “I just wanted to go over the plan again. Just the two of us, just to make sure we’re going about this the right way.”
“Nervous, general?”
“Damn right I’m nervous.” He let go of the chair and paced. “Ever since I joined the legion, every mission has been of critical importance. The fate of the human race supposedly hung in the balance.” He throw his hands in the air. “But...”
“But this time it really is.”
“Yeah, it is, and not just our race or even just us and the Bearcats. If we fail, the Keepers will go on killing. Probably for hundreds or even thousands of years until they’re defeated or simply worn down after a trillion murders.”
“I know how you feel.” DeWalt reached into a drawer to pull out a bottle of brandy and two glasses. “Our plan doesn’t get complicated until we get to the Bearcat world.” He poured the deep burgundy liquid into the short glasses. “With a little luck, we’ll find at least a battle group at Echo Base.” He shrugged. “Maybe the Bearcat world will be undefended. They were stretched thin before our grand joint offensive. If I know them, I’d bet they gathered every ship in their fleet and attacked the Keeper vessel over their home world by now.”
“That does sound like them, charging into a hopeless battle without a chance of victory to satisfy honor, doesn’t it?” Trent kicked the brandy back. “Still, don’t expect them to hand over the Pills because they’re intimidated and we asked nicely.”
“Fair point.” DeWalt stared down at his desk.
“What are you thinking?”
“The United States, Israel, Jutland, and Bull Run are pretty beat up after our fight with those Internal Security pricks. I’d really rather not bring them along for this mission. They can refit and repair at Echo to get ready for the push to Earth.” Pressing his lips tightly together, he paused. “I’m just not sure that’s the best play, though. Even wounded, they bring firepower to any fight.”
Trent reached for the bottle and poured himself another. “I’ve been thinking about that, too.” DeWalt glanced at him. “Yes, I do read the fleet readiness reports you forward me. It all depends on what we find after our jump. If we can swing it, I’d like them
to dock for a fast and dirty repair job before heading out to the four corners of human space. I want them to be our messengers, to gather the entire fleet into one fist.’ He balled his hand tight.
“Can’t we do that with com drones?”
“Yes and no.” He drank half his glass in one gulp. “A message is easy to ignore. Remember, the colonies are freaked out and isolated. They’re likely scared shitless, and trying to exert control over whatever military force is nearby won’t be easy.” He shrugged. “I’d bet a few commanders will try to assert their own authority in lieu of any other centralized command. But...” He waved a finger. “...a battle-scarred battleship or cruiser with a captain making a desperate plea to support a mission with a real chance of success isn’t so easily dismissed.”
DeWalt winced at a drink that went down the wrong way. He pointed a finger at Trent as he gathered his voice. “I...like the way you think.”
“I used to sell insurance for a living. Trust me, sales almost never occur strictly through calls and emails. Face-to-face is needed to seal the deal.”
He raised a refreshed glass. “It’s settled, then. We’ll make every effort to send out our messengers. What is it you Americans once had—a Pony Mail Service?”
Trent smirked. “It was called the Pony Express, and yes, I’m talking about something like that. Only faster... and no horses.”
They laughed and drank some more.
***
Jones’ bones still ached. It felt like the gamma radiation had melted her bone marrow and it was sloshing around as she moved. The doctors recommended at least another two days of bed, but she was done with sitting on her bum. The First Legion had already seen action without her, and she would be damned if another day went by when she wasn’t in uniform.
It had taken her far longer to get dressed than she expected. Her fingers didn’t seem to want to work right. She powered through it, as she always did. Behind the med bay curtain, she allowed her face to contort with pain and make careful, deliberate motions. When she was ready to show herself to the world, she sucked in a lungful of air, straightened her spine, and puffed out her chest. People might think a lot of things when they saw Colonel Nina Jones, but weakness would never be one of them.