This gifting, as the Marines called it, was new and it was experimental but it worked. Fraser’s biology was close enough to his twin’s that he could purge the combat drugs that were messing with his head and replace with something far better tuned to Arun’s physiology than anything that Detroit’s medical staff could supply.
Fraser had been right about the side effect on his memory as Fraser’s nanites battled Detroit’s combat drugs.
Arun remembered nothing. He had to rely on his surviving comrades to explain the events afterward. Given the number of wounds he’d taken, Arun felt lucky to be alive, his periods of unconsciousness no cause for shame. Not his surviving comrades, though, who found Arun’s progress through the battle to be a constant source of amusement. They even named the engagement after him.
To the survivors, it would forever be known as the Battle of the Swoons.
——
About the time Fraser’s nanites were temporarily destroying Arun’s short-term memory, the assault force that contained both McEwans was scurrying away across the roof of the base. Wide Battle Net was being jammed by the rebels, but the loss of comms affected the enemy too. The thirteen heavily armored rebels were vulnerable to being cut off from each other. Fraser exploited this, making hit and run raids, drilling through walls, and surprising the enemy detachments from behind before the slow-moving rebels could turn in their bulky armor and fight back.
Arun had a brainwave. When Force McEwan sneaked back into the building via the breach they had first cut into the wall from the outside, they had found Osman still hanging upside down. Arun removed his comrade from his suit, laying him to rest in gravity’s embrace, but dragging Osman’s suit with him. Corporal McEwan had a more advanced form of battlesuit, one able to switch his visor to share the view anyone in his command was seeing at the time. Even dead members of his command. They’d left Osman’s body behind, but his suit AI was still on active duty, buried in an armored band across the chest of his suit.
Osman’s helmet and suit AI made a perfect scout as they played cat and mouse games with the rebels through the maze of corridors, always trying to hit the armored rebels from their lightly armored rear.
Arun remembered none of this. His first dim recollection was of their attack on the secondary control room.
The main objective of the Hardits in their heavy armor was to keep the humans pinned down while their engineers could boot up the secondary control room and re-route power to the mass driver, recommencing the bombardment before the system defense boats blew them off the face of Antilles.
The Hardits had been only a whisker away from completion when Stopcock cut through the wall, allowing Arun, Majanita and Springer to rush through while the rest of Force McEwan were pinning down the enemy fighters tasked with defending the room.
The engineers surrendered immediately, complying without hesitation when Majanita ordered them to kneel with hands on heads.
When Corporal McEwan joined them, he began shooting the prisoners and ordered the others to do the same.
Majanita complained that this was murder, and Arun could remember Fraser’s reply clearly. “Murder suggests the rule of law, but in war there are no rules, there is no law. There are only winners and losers. Murder? What authority declares one action to be acceptable in wartime and another to be murder? Such a body doesn’t exist.”
Majanita told Arun later that Fraser had been calm throughout rest of the battle. But when he shot the prisoners, he was impatient, as if he didn’t want to give them a chance to talk. But what could the Hardits say that Arun’s brother didn’t want to be heard? It made no sense.
Had Arun obeyed and shot the unarmed Hardit technicians? He didn’t ask and no one offered to tell him.
——
Perhaps the events with the prisoners troubled him so much that his brain commandeered all of its limited capability to record them, because of the skirmishes and raids, the victories and casualties that followed, he had no memory.
It wasn’t until the final firefight that an image seared across his mind so vividly that it overcame all forgetfulness.
He was running, his breath hot in his helmet, his vision fogging with the exertion. Stabbing pains jolted up his legs and into his ribs, his head. Everything hurt because Arun’s body was screaming its need to shut down and die, but Arun was forcing himself beyond the limit of endurance. And all because there ahead of him, on the edge of a heap of bodies blocking the blood-slicked corridor, lay Springer.
She’d been caught in a lethal rocket blast and now she was down with her lower leg blown off. Below the knee, her suit was growing an emergency seal, simultaneously fusing shut the spray of Springer’s arterial blood.
“Get back, Cadet McEwan!”
The order came from Ensign Thunderclaws.
For the first time in his life, Arun disobeyed a Jotun.
Springer was down. There wasn’t time to explain to the officer why that mattered so much.
Arun blacked out.
When he came to, he found he’d only been out for three seconds. Loyal, clever Barney had kept him moving forward. Arun was now coming down into a crouch over his wounded comrade. His wheezing gasps were bubbling, leaving the taste of blood on his lips.
He checked Springer’s suit integrity and requested a medical update from her suit AI. She was stable, it told him, but she couldn’t take any more damage. Arun had to get her away.
That was when his fogged-up brain remembered he was in a firefight.
He glanced up at the Hardit defender who’d unleashed the volley of rocket fire. He was still standing there in his huge battle armor, being blasted at by the Marines, like a titan wreathed in fire. His rocket launchers were ruined and his armor near blasted away. But behind him two more titans were turning around, ready to launch everything they had at the humans.
Where once they had set their rockets to low yield to avoid damaging their vital equipment, now they were cornered and desperate to take as much human life as they could.
Where was his carbine?
Arun tried to remember what had happened to it but the corridor was a mess of debris and blinding flashes.
The Hardit titans had nearly turned around.
Arun picked up Springer to carry her to safety.
But after he’d lifted her only a few inches, his vision swam so furiously that he had to set her back down.
How did she get to be so heavy?
The officer’s voice came loud into his helmet. “Curse you, human.”
Arun looked behind at the Jotun. Thunderclaws was ten meters away, in a small group of Marines in open order. He watched as the seven-foot tall hexaped dropped his weapon and closed the gap between them in an astonishing burst of speed.
A quick bunching of six limbs and Thunderclaws was tumbling up through the air, but he’d overshot — aiming for a bruising impact against the ceiling. When the officer slammed into the roof, Arun saw that this was all part of his maneuver, two limbs pushing gracefully against the ceiling and sending the bulky armored alien down to land… directly on top of Arun!
In the moment before the Jotun thumped down on top of him, Arun got on all fours over Springer, trying to shield her with his body.
A crushing weight fell over Arun, leaving him spread-eagled over his wounded buddy.
He found he was still alive, though, still breathing because the officer had extended all six limbs, using them like pillars to support the shield that was the Jotun’s body.
Hardit explosions engulfed them.
Arun felt them as a white flare that seared every molecule in his body.
He should have died. He would have, a dozen times over today, if he had been a mere human. The White Knights, or their bio-engineers, had made him something far stronger than human, but Arun could push his battered body no further.
Barney could, though.
Now that the corrupting combat drugs had largely been scoured from Arun’s body, Barney could implement the sta
nding order to keep badly wounded Marines conscious. The suit AI refused to allow Arun the easy escape of slipping into blackness.
This wasn’t kindness. A conscious Marine had a higher chance of staying alive long enough for a medic to reach him.
Around him, the battle raged on.
Arun’s body persisted. His visor was smeared in blood. He was crushed under the bulk of Ensign Thunderclaws, unable to move his suit. The only movement from Thunderclaws was his alien blood flowing over Arun like a crimson waterfall.
Barney tried to show him a zoomed-out tactical display but Arun’s mind had been beaten up even more than his body and his thoughts shied away from the fighting.
Arun was alive and conscious, but his battle was finally over.
His comrades would have to handle the rest without him.
—— PART V ——
A
Promise
Made Good
Human Legion
—— INFOPEDIA ——
Key concepts
–The regimental system
The earliest regimental system originated in the Earth continent of Europe a development of that continent’s first nation states: France and England. An English regiment of the 18th century British Army, for example, would typically have three battalions. A 1st battalion of the best men and equipment would fight overseas in the continental European wars. The 2nd battalion remained in England to defend the home country. A further depot battalion billeted at the home base would train and equip new recruits, sending a stream of replacements out to the main two battalions and possibly perform garrison duties. The depot battalion would often be little more than an administrative concept, manned by a scattering of accountants, invalided veterans, and the idle rich masquerading as officers.
When the army needed to be expanded rapidly to meet the demands of a new war, all the government needed to do was raise additional battalions for the existing regiments.
The regimental system set up for the Human Marine Corps had to cope with completely different needs.
The Human Marine Corps was mostly employed in the Eighth Frontier War, a series of fluid probes and parries by the Muryani and Amilx around lightly held, minor systems situated 10-40 light years from Tranquility.
When the depot battalion in France or England sent out replacements, they would reach the front line battalion within a few weeks. But if the two depots on the planet of Tranquility sent out similar streams of replacements to frontline battalions, the journey would be not weeks but decades. European replacements could sometimes take months chasing down their battalions in a fast-moving campaign. At modern distances of light-years, and transportation cruising speed typically half the speed of light, the problem of straggling replacements looking for their unit would make the whole depot system a joke.
So instead of sending small streams of replacements to the front, fully formed companies or battalions were sent instead. As the strength of frontline units depleted due to losses, they merged and merged again. Veterans with leadership capability were sent back to leaven the green cadet battalions with a few experienced Marines.
As for the problem of how to expand the army in the face of a crisis, the Human Marine Corps solved this by constructing reservoirs of cryogenically frozen Marines to be thawed out when needed. Indeed it has often been speculated that the only purpose of sending the Tranquility battalions to the frontier was to experiment with human military units under battlefield conditions. Any military contribution to the Eighth Frontier War was coincidental. The main purpose of Tranquility was really to breed and freeze huge armies of loyal Marines who would be thawed and retrained to the latest standards when a major war sprang up.
Detroit alone was thought by some authorities to store over four million frozen Marines, each in a cryo box designed to be shielded from cosmic rays and micrometeorites and magnetized so the boxes would clamp together.
Transport ships would have towed these boxes in their millions between the stars.
It would have been an astonishing sight, like city-sized reefs of frogspawn glittering occasionally in the dark of space.
This topic entry has mentioned the Human Marine Corps, but what about the Human Legion? At this stage in the Human Legion’s development, the administrative policies for battlefield replacements are something for the future, but for our human warriors, at least, no one has suggested a better approach than that used at Tranquility.
Until someone devises a better system, it looks as if the regimental system, originating from Earth’s ancient history, will spread through the galaxy for millennia to come.
—— Chapter 63 ——
As soon as Staff Sergeant Bryant strapped himself into his harness he gave a thumbs up to the camera. The shuttle eased away from the orbital elevator dock without delay. Destination: the as-yet unnamed human-Trog base under construction on Antilles.
Arun and two former Gold Squad cadets were sitting on the bench set against the opposite bulkhead. The cadets had all been wounded in the attack on Antilles, and were hitching a ride back there, back to their new posting on the moon.
Bryant took his time to size up the cadets.
“You did well, Cascella,” said the NCO. “You too, Abramovski. I read how you were quite the marksman, picking off enemy leaders rallying their troops to counter-attack through the bridgehead. I expect every Marine to be an expert with the SA-71, but it takes special aptitude to be a sniper. If we weren’t dumping you on this frakking moon, I’d put you in for sniper assessment. I haven’t the authority to get you back to Detroit, but I’ve made a note on your record recommending you for assessment if you do return.”
“Thank you, Staff,” said Abramovski coldly. Arun had liked the pale-haired girl back in novice school. She had a big heart and warm eyes, but the instant she was in the presence of a superior, her face became as unyielding as ceramalloy.
“You keep your thanks in reserve, cadet. A sniper’s role is not easy.” Bryant paused. “I’ll say it once more. I’m proud of you two.” He didn’t just say the words, he glowed with so much pleasure that enemy targeting systems would mark the shuttle out as having a hot payload.
To their credit, Arun’s two new cadet squadmates – even Abramovski – glanced at him with embarrassment on their faces when Bryant proceeded to ask them about their injuries and treatment. Arun didn’t exist for Bryant. The senior NCO utterly blanked him, which wounded Arun deeply. After risking his life to save Springer, having put himself in the line of fire alongside his comrades, hadn’t he earned enough respect to be acknowledged as existing?
Clearly not to Bryant.
Waiting for Arun on Antilles was a place in the new Indigo Squad, formed from the survivors of Blue and Gold. Would they treat him any better?
Arun turned his head away from Bryant and set his mind back to earlier that day when the medics had let him look in on Springer. She was still in an induced coma, looking scarred but peaceful, wrapped in clear sheeting like a logistics package. He’d found it difficult to believe but they’d told him she would follow in a few weeks.
Springer would never blank him. He’d done right by his buddy.
That was good enough for him.
Frakk the rest of them.
——
An hour later, Arun was on the parade deck, looking for his place in Indigo Squad’s lineup. Not an easy task, because other than electric lamps directed at the front of the deck, where the officers would stand, the only illuminations was a dim bio-lume red oozing up from the floor. The parade deck was actually a cavern literally chewed out from under Antilles’ rocky crust.
How had the Trogs managed to construct all this? Just three weeks earlier, Arun had been fighting a battle about a klick from here. The dead moon of Antilles had no plant roots, water, rotting vegetation or even weather — none of the things that would produce soil on a living planet. Under a layer of powdery dust, the moon was made of cold, hard rock. But the floors and walls looked the same
as the packed soil tunnels of the Troggie nest where Arun’s adventures had begun. He looked again. Perhaps the walls were a slightly grayer color, and the caverns in Tranquility hadn’t had those stone columns supporting the vaulted roof. It was difficult to say in the ruddy gloom that rose from the floor, transforming a parade of human cadets into something that looked more like a demonic horde assembling in the fiery depths of hell.
But his eyes soon recalibrated for the light conditions and he found his place in the line. Madge was now leading a new Delta Section. Zug, Del and Umarov were still there, along with two survivors from Gold Squad: a stocky girl called Azinza Sadri, and Kolenja Abramovski whom Bryant had recommended for sniper training.
There was a space left for Springer.
He thought of Cristina and Osman. There were no spaces left for them. They would never be coming back.
“Welcome back, friend,” whispered Zug as Arun pushed past.
Madge ignored Zug’s infraction of speaking while on parade. “Park yourself at the end of the line, McEwan,” she ordered. “And for frakk’s sake, try to keep out of trouble.”
By the time Arun had taken his place, the two senior figures inspecting the parade were taking theirs.
Bryant was there wearing an expression like a plasma bomb two seconds from going off. He trailed half a pace behind the commanding officer. Arun didn’t blame Bryant because the new ruler of all personnel on Antilles — including Hardits and humans — was a Trog!
For a moment, his heart leaped when something about the way the insect-like creature curled his antennae in faint amusement made him think it was Pedro. It couldn’t be, though. Surely not. Because this was a Trog at a different stage of their weird lifecycle.
He missed Pedro’s excitable nature, his playfulness. This Trog commander was very different. For a start it was much larger, almost struggling with the weight of its body. Unlike Pedro’s gleaming carapace the commander’s abdomen was like a barrel of blisters. Dead skin — or chitin, or whatever the big aliens were made from — sloughed off as the commander walked, leaving a scabrous trail on the floor.
Marine Cadet (The Human Legion Book 1) Page 43
