Rogue World (Undying Mercenaries Series Book 7)

by B. V. Larson

  Their odds weren’t that bad, actually. They’d be coming in from every direction and outnumbering us by three to one. All I had on my side of the equation was experienced troops and a five minute head start.

  Legion Varus took a unique approach to training fresh recruits. We didn’t sit around on Earth for six months having them do jumping jacks and whatnot. Other legions did that, but the masters of Varus considered that sort of thing to be expensive, antiquated thinking and a big waste of time.

  Rather than paying some greenie on Earth to play around in a camp, we trained them on the job. The advantages of this approach were many. For one thing, other than the revival machines themselves, it was dirt cheap. For another, troops tended to pay real close attention to instructors when they knew they might die at any moment.

  Plain old dying in itself helped out. The revival machines didn’t bring you back exactly the way you went out. They restored your mind in an up-to-the-minute incremental way, so you didn’t forget much about your final moments. But your body was stored in its prime. Dying could be a fountain of youth, effectively. Soldiers often lost years of age, injuries and the results of bad eating choices all at once. Undesirable details such as warts, cancer, excess fat cells and the like were all automatically edited out.

  When we were returned to life, we truly were the best we could be. Every revival brought back a more finely tuned killing machine in its prime.

  For all these reasons, our training was harsh. Most legionnaires died once or twice on their way out to their mission world. It was all part of service to the Legion.

  In preparation for the morning festivities, I briefed my key troops. Of course, I chose Carlos and Sargon. They looked kind of sick, but they were game. They were almost always game.

  After that, I turned in early to catch a good night’s sleep. I’d let old Harris drill his kids until midnight if he wanted. I’d rather have a well-rested crew who were balanced and ready for whatever might be in store to come in the morning time.

  -17-

  That night, I dreamt about my momma. She was coming out of a bad revive, and she was screaming in my ear something awful—but I had to fight to wake up anyway.

  “McGill!” shouted a familiar and slightly shrill voice. “McGill, we have to get to the exercise room!”

  “What time is it, Kivi?”

  “It’s go-time!”

  Heaving a sigh, I rolled out of bed onto my feet in one smooth motion. I stood and straightened up. Kivi had wisely skittered back out of my reach. I was well known as a man who didn’t like to be shouted awake.

  Kivi needn’t have worried today, however. I was in a fine mood. My dream was just that, a dream. Sometimes I woke up from a nightmare all spooked—but this time was different. I was relieved my momma wasn’t really dead. Not yet, anyway.

  Slamming my hands together so loudly Kivi blinked, I followed her out of my private room.

  I have to tell you, if there was one thing I liked more than anything else about becoming a centurion, it was my private room. Gone were the days of waking up with some clown like Carlos in my face every morning.

  Sure, my door wasn’t locked, and my troops often came in to annoy me when they felt like it. But they’d already learned a healthy respect for a closed door. That’s why Kivi had bounced out of the way when I got up.

  “You’re not in this one, Kivi,” I told her. “Not directly. No techs.”

  “I know that,” she said, practically skipping to keep up with my long strides.

  Kivi was short, cute, and nicely rounded all over. Don’t get me wrong, I liked the skinny ones too, but a girl like Kivi always made my eyes rove over her more than other types did.

  “I have to go over the shock-sticks,” she said. “We’ve never trained with them before.”

  I frowned at her. “What? I’ve used a powered baton more than once…”

  She shook her head. “I thought that, too. But these units are new. They’re long, like spears. They have tips that deliver a powerful jolt.”

  “Are the tips pointed?” I asked.

  “Yes, but they aren’t sharpened like you would expect. The metal heads are charged and weighted, with a point that’s a rounded surface about a centimeter across.”

  “Hmmm…” I said. “Sounds like the tip of a bullet. Not truly sharp, but still enough to hurt if you hit someone hard with it.”

  “Or if you hit them in a sensitive spot, like an eye,” she agreed. “But that’s not the real change. The main thing is their amperage. They do more than sting, they numb the body. You tend to lose the function of anything that’s touched with a charged spear.”

  “Spears…” I said. “The oldest of weapons, except maybe for the club and the knife. Well, we’ll make the best of it.”

  My hand-picked crew was waiting for me in the foyer just outside the exercise chamber. We were at the northeast corner, and I knew the three noob teams were gathering in similar spots at the other three corners.

  “Do we know yet which group is gathering at which corner?” I asked her.

  She gave me a sly look. “Not officially.”

  That made me smile. “Buzzers? You’ve got buzzers out there?”

  “Shh!” she said.

  “Why Kivi,” I laughed. “You’re cheating for your friends, aren’t you? No wonder Graves said ‘no techs allowed’ last night.”

  “What good would I be as a tech if I didn’t at least scout for my team?” she asked.

  “What good indeed… Show me what you’ve got.”

  She lifted her tapper, and we viewed a few brief clips. Her tiny insectile drones had located and identified the enemy officers.

  Each of them was haranguing recruits in their typical fashion. Leeson was making a dull speech. Toro was walking around making lots of noise and hand-gestures. Harris, being more hands-on, was lining his people up and having them all do stop-thrusts with their spears. He walked behind them, screaming in their ears and slapping anyone who did it wrong.

  “They look scared,” I said.

  “They should be,” Kivi replied. “What are you going to do to them?”

  I gave her a little grin. “I’m not telling. You can watch from the observation booth.”

  Her full lips pouted, but she didn’t complain. “Leeson is directly across from you, in the southwest corner. Harris is southeast, to your left as you walk in. Toro is on your right—northwest.”

  “Good work. Now, get out of here and hide your bugs before I’m disqualified or something.”

  She ran off, and Carlos walked up to replace her.

  “Still lusting for my girl, McGill?” he asked. “Isn’t it a violation to pork your noncoms now that you’re a centurion?”

  “Nope,” I said firmly. “Not in this unit, anyway. Are the troops ready?”

  “We’re here, and we’re ready to die pointlessly at your command.”

  “Good.”

  Carlos was the only bio I had in my hand-picked group. Partly, I’d chosen him because he was a capable hand-to-hand fighter as well as a medical type. Most bios were soft, but not him.

  The rest of my crew consisted of the most vicious fighters in my unit—among them were Sargon and Della. She was small, but she was a natural-born killer with a knife in her hand.

  “Okay team, we’re going low-tech this time around. When we get in there, follow my lead. Della, you take point.”

  She looked surprised but didn’t complain.

  “The terrain is set for jungle-rough,” I told them. “It’ll be hot and hazy. Greenery will block vision more than ten meters in most places. Della, I want you to run to the center, grab the flag and hide it.”

  She looked confused. “Um…” she said, “aren’t we supposed to fight over it?”

  “We’re supposed to be the last team holding it for thirty minutes,” I said. “Fighting is purely optional.”

  Several of my team nodded thoughtfully. They weren’t arguing at least, and I liked that.

&
nbsp; “Okay,” I said, “the rest of you follow my lead when we get in there.”

  “No hints, Centurion?” Sargon asked.

  “Nope.”

  He shrugged and began stretching near the closed hatchway.

  “Wait a second,” Della said, coming up to me as I stood next to Sargon. “That’s the whole plan?”

  “Nah,” I said. “I have some other thoughts, but I’ll tell you about them when we get inside.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “Are you worried about spies?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  She nodded and looked around suspiciously. “Wise. I must ask you though, what if the flag doesn’t come free from the center? What if it’s stuck in a puff-crete base?”

  That made me frown. I hadn’t considered such a possibility. “Well… you’ve got a knife. Cut the flag off and run away with it. Sit in a tree or something.”

  She made a face that indicated resignation and took her place at the front of the pack.

  A digital counter began running on everyone’s tapper at once. It started at fifty-nine and began counting down.

  -18-

  When the count reached zero, the hatch opened, and we all sprinted inside. Carlos was whooping like an ape, and I almost felt like joining him.

  Our legs churned, and big ferns slapped them wetly as we charged through the tangled rainforest. The trees were quick-grows with spindly roots, but they were good enough to fool me. Damn, this biotech was amazing. They’d grown an honest-to-God jungle in here overnight.

  I knew the trees were weak, about as tough as stalks of witch-grass, but they looked great and felt solid enough when you slammed into one.

  The moment we all got into the jungle, the hatch clanged shut behind us. We were locked in now and committed. Today it was do or die for the hundred and twenty odd lost souls in this cage. Even I had to wonder how many of us would walk out on two feet.

  “Listen up!” I said, trotting to my left. We soon parted ways with Della who ran light-footedly for the center of the arena. “We’re going to set up an ambush. It’s critical that we gain utter surprise. Stand well back and lay low—half of you hide with Veteran Sargon, half with me. We’ll watch the rookie group rush in, then hit them in the tail feathers the second they go by us.”

  We rushed through the ferns and vines, leaping over fallen logs and splashing through boggy areas. It only took about a minute to reach the next hatch—the southeast one.

  Carlos puffed up to me and stood at my side.

  “Find a hiding spot, Specialist,” I ordered him.

  “I will, but I have a suggestion first.”

  “Name it, quick-like.”

  “Someone should play bait in case they come in cautiously. Someone should stand in the direction of the center, and run off when they come in. That way the rest of you can hit them from behind.”

  “You know,” I said, “that’s a damned good idea. You’re the bunny-rabbit. Get out there ahead of them and hide.”

  “What? Me? No way, I’m too slow.”

  My spear tip wandered close to his face, and he ducked away.

  “Get out there bunny,” I told him. “Lame bait is the best kind. They’ll figure they can catch you easily.”

  Cursing in a steady stream, he headed toward the center. About a hundred meters in, he stopped and crouched.

  The rest of us melted into the landscape. All we had to do was wait until our five minute head start ran out. I hoped Della had stolen the flag by now, or this mock-battle was going to go down as my first disgrace as a centurion. The other teams only had to walk in and take it.

  The hatch groaned open on massive hinges. A group of nervous-looking punks walked in, holding their spears like they were hunting a saber tooth.

  “This way,” Harris said, taking the lead.

  He didn’t have much choice with this crew. They had to be led, or they’d freeze up.

  For the next few seconds, everything went pretty well. Harris got about halfway to Carlos’ position when the bio specialist jumped up and bolted. Harris roared and gave chase as did his crew.

  All around us in the jungle, my own hidden people tensed, ready to spring up and charge into their rear line—but then Harris went off-script. He threw his spear after Carlos.

  It was a mighty cast. Even I was impressed. Both accurate and hard-hitting, the spear caught Carlos between the shoulder blades. There was a snapping sound and a bluish flash—wow, these sticks could give a mean jolt!

  Carlos spun around and went down. I couldn’t see him in the underbrush, but I could see the spear sprouting up out of his back. He’d been gigged like a frog.

  Already, I could see my plans were falling apart. I needed a new plan. Instead of charging off into the jungle after Carlos, the recruits were cautiously advancing behind their hero, Harris, who was bragging about the first kill of the day.

  It was up to me to make the next move. I decided to take a page from Harris’ book. I stood up, trotted a few feet, and chucked my spear at Harris himself.

  One of the recruits stepped in the way at the last second, and the spear went right through his neck. He fell onto his face, gargling and such-like.

  The stunned recruits were too green to respond properly. They looked at their fallen comrade, not back at me. It was only a split-second, but that was enough. A dozen more spears rose and fell. Recruits were taken out with jolts and impalement. Apparently, my troops had decided we were throwing our weapons away today as a group.

  The tactic seemed insane at first, but it turned out to work pretty well. Any group, especially rookies, can only take so much. With a third of their number knocked down all at once, some broke and fled into the jungle. The rest listened to Harris and circled around him.

  Sargon and his troops advanced on their flank with confidence, while my well-rested regulars followed stalked them head-on. We had the eyes of killers, and the greenies in the middle had the eyes of prey.

  “McGill!” roared Harris. “You did this just to screw with me, didn’t you? Don’t you even care about winning? This is a sorry attempt at revenge.”

  “Not so, Adjunct,” I shouted back. “I’m in it to win it!”

  We marched forward, half of us with spears leading the way. We outnumbered them by about three to one now. They didn’t want to toss any more spears. They knew they’d be torn apart if they had nothing left but knives.

  The lines clashed, flashing shock-sticks slapping at one another—but this is where Sargon’s superior training really came into play. He was confident and accurate. He’d fought with any number of weapons. Like a wildman, he beat aside the opposing team’s spears and jolted their bellies with impunity.

  Harris was the one and only problem. He grabbed up fallen spears behind his retreating line and threw them with deadly effect. Three of my troops fell, but at last, Harris’ line crumbled. One poor bastard even tried to surrender.

  “You frigging coward!” Harris screamed at him, “get up off your knees!”

  The man refused, so Harris planted a knife in his skull. The second he did so, Sargon shocked him down, and a brutal butchery began. Harris and his people had been beaten.

  “A few of them got away,” Sargon told me.

  “Yeah, but they’ll probably hide in the bushes like rabbits until this is over,” I said. “Let’s move toward the center.”

  I checked on Carlos as we passed him by, but he’d bled out during the battle. That was just as well, I figured. I picked up his kit and tossed it to the nearest troop who was scratched up. She began smearing medical salves over her bloody legs.

  We grabbed up spears, most of us had more than one by now. The throwing tactic—I liked that.

  Moving forward with caution, I had Sargon do the scouting. We couldn’t afford to walk into an ambush like the one I’d just sprung on Harris.

  At the center of the jungle, we found a ring of some sixty spearmen. They were organized into two ranks, with the back rank standing and the front
rank kneeling. They’d gathered around whatever cover they could—but that wasn’t much. There were only a few dozen stone blocks and squatty palms here, with knee-high grass all around.

  In the center of the spearmen was a staff-like stick about three meters high. I could still see a scrap of red cloth from the banner that had once flown there.

  From a range of about fifty meters or so, I stood fast and waved to Leeson. He was standing on the tallest block in the center. Toro was lower down, walking among the recruits and no-doubt telling them encouraging things.

  “Leeson!” I shouted. “What are you doing out there?”

  “Winning,” he boomed back at me.

  “I don’t think so. That’s not the flag—that’s a stick.”

  “The flag is a place, McGill,” he said confidently. “A location, not a—”

  “Do it, Sargon,” I whispered to my side.

  Trotting forward in a crouch, Sargon advanced in the tall grass. He was like a leopard or something even more impressive.

  Jumping up on top of a block myself, I stood as high as I could and laughed at Leeson. “That’s a stick, man. Not a flag. You’re losing! We’ve got the flag.”

  “You’re so full of shit, McGill,” Leeson said hotly. “I don’t know who you blew to get centurion—wait no, on second thought—”

  He never finished the sentence. His nervous recruits had been busy looking back and forth between me and Leeson like a crowd at a tennis match. They never saw Sargon until he sprang up about twenty meters out and cast his spear.

  It was a beautiful thing to watch. Sargon had been a weaponeer before he’d reached Veteran, and those boys have to work out every damned day to carry their heavy guns around. You wouldn’t think that a man of our day and age would be good with a spear, and most weren’t, but some still believed in the old sports such as the javelin. All of us had trained over the years with various pieces of improvised weaponry anyway, just in case.

  This was the day it paid off. The spear went a little bit low, catching Leeson in the belly—but that did the trick. He pitched off his perch and went down, howling.