Guard at the Gates of Hell (Gladius Book 1)

by George Olney

  He continued, "However, there is one fundamental difference between that decurion, or the decurion that you were, and the centurion that you are about to become. Responsibility. Decurions have authority, people. Centurions have responsibility. You are responsible for the mission, the troopers under you, and for yourself, in that order. As a commissioned officer, you have the power of life and death. And the responsibility. Never forget that."

  His lips quirked. The smile was about to break through again. "Now that I've scared hell out of you, we're going to set about making you officers. Cadet Captain, bring your formation to attention. Weapons salute."

  Shana gave the commands for weapons salute then joined the class with her arm dagger held point up in front of her face. Instead of returning the salute, the Legate slowly pronounced the commissioning oath, pausing at the end of each line to allow them to echo his words. As she kissed the flat of her dagger blade at the conclusion of her oath, Shana felt a thrill. That was it! She was now an officer! And she knew damn well she wasn't going to screw up like the Legate predicted. She gave the commands to return weapons and parade rest then settled in to wait as names were called and the class crossed the stage one at a time to have their pips attached to their collars. She had a fair wait because the commander was always last to be commissioned. Sometimes rank sucked, she thought, and she still had that itch. The butterflies were gone, though.

  When her name was called, she marched up the steps and crossed the stage to halt in the middle and salute the Legate. Normally, a family member or former commander would affix the pip to her collar. She expected to see Captain Lathik, her former commander, because she had no family in the Legion. To her surprise, the Sergeant Major stumped forward to take the pip from the Legate and attach it. "You're doing good, girl," he growled, softly this time. "Don't screw up. I'll be watching." As he did so, the Victrix started cheering. Shana found herself blushing so hard it was difficult for her to maintain her bearing as she saluted the Legate and marched off the stage.

  When she reached her position in the formation again, the Legate looked at her - a bit strangely, she thought - and said, "Dismiss the class, Lieutenant."

  She spun on her heel and commanded, "Class Dismis-s-s-sed... Ho!"

  After that, a somewhat embarrassed Shana found herself receiving congratulations from thousands of men. Truthfully, she didn't mind the crowd. They were her guys, her Legion. The Legion she'd joined as a recruit. The original Victrix.

  Up on the stage, the Legate and the Sergeant Major watched as newly minted Second Lieutenant Ettranty was being mobbed. The Sergeant Major turned and this time fixed his gimlet glare on the Legate. "So when are you going to ask her out?" he growled.

  The Legate shot Olmeg a deadly look. "Sergeant Major..."

  The Sergeant Major broke in. "Bullshit, Legate! I'm shot up. I ain't blind. I see the way you've been looking at her, and I don't blame you. Now that she's commissioned, you've got a chance. Not so much distance between the two of you now and that girl was born to be an officer anyway. I will say you've got a ways to go, because with all Shana's been through, she's kind of forgotten you exist as a man. You need to remind her you're not just a Legate."

  Karl Athan looked back at Shana in the center of her mob and stroked his chin. For some odd reason, she was scratching a spot on her waistband. "You have a point, Top. You do have a point. Let's go back to my quarters and have a beer over it."

  "Makes sense to me," Sergeant Major Olmeg huffed. "Lead on, Legate."

  #####

  "Lieutenant Colonel Paten, Lieutenant Ettranty reports." Now that she was commissioned, Shana's next big step was to find out what she was going to be doing. Getting her assignment, in other words. Like everyone else, she'd filled out a dream sheet. Of course, hers was a little different from that of a normal female Gladius. She snorted mentally. Well, she was a little bit different from the normal female Gladius.

  Colonel Paten looked up from the hardcopy in her hands, took note of the insignificant being occupying a spot in front of her desk, then went back to something more important. "Have a seat, Lieutenant," she said in conversational tones, still reading. Then she looked up at Shana and asked in those same conversational tones, "Were you drunk when you filled this thing out, or just temporarily insane?"

  Shana sat precisely erect, her hands carefully holding her cap in her lap, the cap with its precious new pip instead of a legion crest. "Neither one, Colonel," she said in even, reasonable tones. So far this interview was living up - or down - to expectations. "I was asked to state where I would like to be assigned and I did so."

  Camille leaned back in her chair and fixed the very junior single pip Lieutenant in front of her with a searching look. "Every assignment on your list is a combat assignment. Even a Strike platoon, for Lord Above's sake! You have to have a line unit assignment before you can even be considered for Strike. Did you know that?"

  "Aye," Shana said with a nod. "I was aware of that. I'm also different from a normal female Gladius and we both know why, Colonel. I like Intelligence, I like being with troops, and I'm very comfortable with the men. I think they're comfortable with me as well and a good decurion will help me there. I want to be out on the cutting edge. I know I have to have a unit first, but Strike's where I want to end up."

  "You know you're Exempt," Camille said softly.

  Shana nodded again, with a little less military precision. "Aye, but I don't want to be Exempt. If I have to have a desk job, I'll do it, but I'm more at home with the guys and always have been. Even as a reporter, I liked to be out in the field and the rougher the assignment, the better. Maybe my heredity is why, but that's who I am."

  She took a deep breath. "Colonel, I feel like I still have a job to do for the Victrix and I'd do it better in the field with troops. I'm grown up enough to understand that means fighting, killing, dying, but I'm not a child. I'm ready for that. I've seen it. I was in civilian clothes for my first battle. I want to be in uniform for my next one."

  Camille gave her a very long study. "You come from our ancestral stock, Lieutenant. Back then both sexes fought. I came along after the Corps intentionally changed itself so that some of us wouldn't have to kill. Personally, I think that was a good move. However..."

  She made a show of looking at her terminal. "As it happens, I've discussed your request with Colonel Protac, and he tells me First Cohort is willing to give you a try. After I talked to him, he discussed you with his battalion commanders and I understand the meeting was very interesting. It seems they all wanted you. However, I've been told you once stood with Fourth Platoon, Second Century, First Battalion on a very significant day for the Victrix. They appear to remember it and they currently need a Platoon Leader. Fourth Platoon is yours if you want it."

  Shana's eyes widened. Did she want it? Did she want it! Lieutenant Colonel Paten was handing her a dream. She was a Gladius woman. An ancestral type of Gladius woman, but still a Gladius woman, just taller, brown haired and a little slimmer. Despite the Corps culture as it was now, she felt that a troop unit was where she fit. "Aye Colonel!" she blurted out. This was more exciting than the day SOC Garua told her she was going to OCS! "I'm ready for my platoon!"

  "I wonder if they are ready for you," Camille said in dry tones. "At any rate, Sergeant First Class Steel is in the outer office. You're his child to raise now."

  Camille touched a sensor. A few seconds later the door opened and a well remembered grizzled decurion entered. The last time Shana saw him, he was drinking her under the table during her alcohol therapy session with the Sergeant Major. He came to precise attention in front of Camille's desk. "Aye, Colonel."

  Camille waved her hand. "Sergeant First Class Steel, Lieutenant Ettranty. She's your new platoon leader, Sergeant. Kindly keep her from getting killed or killing someone we don't want dead. Oh, and keep catastrophes to a minimum will you?"

  The husky decurion turned as Shana rose and shook the hand she extended. A twinkle in his eye told Shana h
e also remembered their last meeting. "Nice to see you again, Sergeant Steel," she said.

  "And you, Lieutenant," he replied. "Glad to see the pip. The boys are happy to have you, too."

  "Wonderfully heartwarming," Camille broke in dryly. "Now out of here, you two. I have a lot of work to try and undo the damage I've just done to the Victrix. I need to get back to it. Dismissed."

  In the outer office, Steel told her, "I said the boys are happy to have you, Lieutenant, and I meant it. They're kind of proud, actually. They're waiting for you in the platoon CP. It's not procedure, but the Colonel told me we could meet them first. After that, we have to go meet your commanders from Colonel Protac on down."

  He gave her skirt a quizzical look. "Then we draw your equipment. I'm afraid, Lieutenant, you're going to have to draw pants, too. I'm sorry about that, but those will work better than your skirt for our usual duties."

  Shana smiled at him. "I wore pants for the first twenty six years of my life, Sergeant. I don't look at them the way another Gladius would. I'll also draw an ax, but I intend to keep my dagger. Lead on."

  #####

  The Narsim Clarine Femiam was working late, not an uncommon circumstance. The returns from the outlying towns were bothersome. This new Popular Movement for Good Government was going to have more Members in Parliament after the election. They were still a small group, but steadily growing stronger. The most bothersome thing about them was they just weren't susceptible to the usual tactics. So far, money or women or men hadn't been able to buy or suborn one. That was acceptable for a small fringe party, but her projections showed real growth. If things kept up, the PMGG would be a major force inside of a year. They could conceivably control Parliament after the next elections. Absurd, but true.

  Clarine sat back away from the light on her desk and rubbed her eyes. Too many late nights. Matic told her time and time again the Movement was simply a small splinter group that could be safely ignored. If they got to be too much trouble, he had ways of handling them. Maybe he did. She wasn't sure she really wanted to know those ways. Put that sort of thing out of her mind. That was always the path to survival on Central, and now her survival instinct was telling her it was the only way to survive here.

  No. It couldn't be. This was Cauldwell and it was nothing like Central. Was it? The thought disturbed her and she quashed it. Instead, she started wondering if Matic was suffering from good old fashioned hubris. The plain fact was the Movement was something she worried about - something she could worry about - and her damn fool cousin wasn't worried. That was a problem.

  She sighed as she thought about another problem. Lana. The girl was running wild. The tridio celebrity shows were full of her. "Glamorous party girl" was one of their favorite descriptions. What the hell was she doing spending all her time in the spotlight and the party circuit? Granted, most of her circle was just like her, but Clarine had tried her best to raise Lana to be better than that. What was she going to do with her?

  The Narsim's worries and meditations were disturbed by a movement in the outer office and the overhead lights coming on. It was a member of the cleaning crew. Was it really that late? The cleaning woman, a short frumpy type, gave her a startled look and started to apologize. Clarine waved it away. "No, it's time I was going. You go ahead with your job."

  As she left, she was still worried about Lana. The cleaning woman watched Clarine go then casually scanned the documents on the desk before she went about straightening up the office. Everything else was taken care of by the bug in the Narsim's computer terminal.

  #####

  Lana had finally had enough. The party was its usual glittering, noisy, actively swirling self as men and women circulated, linked up, and then went to other expensively and provocatively dressed partners. Lana looked around and realized she was probably the only one here not drunk or drugged. Looking at the whole scene with sober eyes, she felt disgusted. Ever since her mother joined Ettranty, she'd been left alone. The social whirl was fun for a while then it started to get to her.

  Like tonight. She should go home.

  Her mother was showing signs of strain lately and there were things she didn't talk about. Well, how could she if her daughter wasn't around to lend an ear? Lana suddenly felt guilty about that. Maybe it was time to mend fences. Jamie wasn't around for them to fight about and there really was something bothering her mother. Mother needed someone to support her. The two of them had come this far together and it looked like they still had a way to go. Go home. Try to be a daughter again instead of an air headed glamour girl.

  She took a lift tube down to the ground floor and walked outside the building. Looking up, she decided it was a nice night. She felt like walking for a while. She walked a few blocks then stopped just outside a park. There was a scuffling noise in the bushes behind her, but she tactfully ignored it. Probably a couple having sex.

  Thinking for a moment, she decided she'd walked far enough. She tapped her earphone and touched keys on the virtual keyboard when it appeared, dialing a robo cab. With no other thought but home and bed, she got in the cab when it arrived and was lifted up into the Beauregard traffic lanes.

  Back in the bushes, a large muscular man crouched over the fallen body of another man, smaller and more raggedly dressed. The ragged man's knife was lying on the ground next to his body. The body's spine and neck were twisted at impossible angles.

  A second man walked quietly out of the dark and joined the first. "What in hell did that dumass bimbo think, walking around the park after dark?"

  The first man's shrug was perceptible if you had excellent night sight. Both did. "The Rhiannonithi saved her ass the first time, now it looks like the Victrix gotta keep doing it. The Lieutenant would go ripshit if we let anything happen to her. You know officers. They don't need a reason. Anyhow, she's on her way home now."

  The second man grunted. "Good enough. So's her mother. That's why I went looking for LF and found you with your friend. Need help with the trash, mate?"

  The first said, "Nope. I'll use one of my incendiary capsules. Put him down on the walkway inside the park so nothing shows burn marks. A few seconds and you'll need to have a molecular tracer to know he was here and I don't think anybody will ever want to know where this asshole went, anyhow. They won't miss the creep."

  "Then I'm outta here," the second one said. "See you back at the house."

  "Later," the first replied laconically then hefted the mugger's body. He had to get rid of it then he was off for the night. Just another wonderful day in the Corps.

  #####

  Morning formation was over. Instead of turning her brand new platoon over to Sergeant Steel for the day's planned activities the way she normally would, Shana waited until the rest of the century was dismissed to training. Then she faced her twenty troops. Nineteen looked curious. Sergeant Steel looked like her was expecting something to happen. Well, he was right. She was going to make it happen. "All right, people, we have a little change for today. I have a surprise for you.

  "Right fa-a-a-a-ce, ho! Forward marc-c-c-ch, ho! Quick time!"

  As the pace sped up, Shana jogged to the head of the formation. "Double time, ho! Guide on me!"

  The platoon sped up into a run as they matched their pace to hers and followed as she twisted and turned through corridors and down ramps until they were in one of the huge underground drill halls. This one had target dummies scattered through it at irregular intervals. Coming into the open area, Shana didn't slow her pace. Instead, she yelled, "We're going to take the blade range today. Swords!"

  Every man's short sword snapped into his hand the same way her dagger flew into hers. As they ran onto the course, Shana yelled, "Combat formation... Weave!"

  The platoon spread out at a dead run, breaking into three person teams, seven of them. The teams began the Gladius interlacing movement that was so confusing - and deadly - to an enemy, a constantly interweaving formation of teams that flowed onto the course. As each man passed a target, he thre
w his sword at a small lighted dot just below the neck of the dummy. The swords - and one dagger - drove into the target at varying small distances from the dot then flew back to their owners.

  Shana took them through the course twice and looped the platoon around in some dead space at the end. "Axes," she commanded as they ran. "We'll do it again." This time her new ax was in her hand. As they flowed back through the course, the axes went out.

  After the second run with axes, Shana called, "Reform... Quick time... Platoon, halt. Get the results, Sergeant First Class Steel."

  He looked up at the holographic scoreboard over their heads and announced, "Ninety seven percent composite, Lieutenant."

  "And mine?"

  He checked the icons listed below the overall score. "Yours was ninety eight percent with the dagger, Lieutenant. Ninety six with the ax."

  "Thank you, Sergeant Steel. You may take charge of the formation and return the platoon to its assigned duties."

  Instead of personally taking charge, he turned the platoon over to Staff Sergeant Amos, the senior squad leader. He waited until the men were gone then walked over to his platoon leader. "Would the Lieutenant kindly inform the Sergeant as to what this exercise was in aid of?"

  Shana was happy with the way her platoon had performed, and quite proud, in fact, of her own accuracy. However, she had enough experience as a ranker to know that when a senior decurion spoke to an officer in the third person it was a sign the officer had just shot her foot completely off, with possible catastrophic consequences. That deflated her pride. "I was giving a demonstration, Sergeant. I'm the platoon leader, but I'm a woman. I wanted to show the men I could do the job as well as they could."