Legion Of The Damned - 06 - For Those Who Fell

by William C. Dietz

  “As most of you are aware, half of my battalion landed here . . . while the other half landed in the Pandu Desert. It is my intention to march north, reconstitute my force, and undertake the mission we were sent here to accomplish.”

  “Why?” a male voice demanded harshly. “Your duty is here.”

  Others shouted, “Yeah!” “That’s right!” “You said it!”

  The crowd surged forward, and Santana turned to Dietrich. “Take two bio bods. Flank them and stand by. Fire over their heads on my order.”

  The noncom nodded, selected two soldiers, and slipped away.

  “No,” Kobbi replied stolidly, “it isn’t. Unfortunately, the nature of my orders prevents me from sharing them with you—nor do I have the latitude to act on my own.”

  “But we’ll be slaughtered!” a woman wailed. “Take us with you!”

  “I can’t do that,” the officer responded, “and you wouldn’t want me to. If the battalion sees combat, which I believe that it will, it would be impossible for us to protect civilians. The best thing you can do is evacuate Savas Prime, hole up in one of those mine shafts, and maintain a low profile. It may be a while before the navy arrives in-system, but when it does, you’ll be able to reoccupy the town.”

  There were angry protests, and Santana was starting to become concerned for Kobbi’s safety, when a loud explosion shook the dome. Someone shouted, “It’s the bugs! Run!” and the townspeople stampeded toward the exits.

  Meanwhile, out in the plaza that marked the center of Savas Prime, Captain Gaphy stood and stared toward the south. One of the Ramanthian aerospace fighters had already passed overhead—and it appeared that two more were on the way.

  One of the problems associated with his addiction was the fact that the joy-leeches fed whenever they chose to. That made it difficult to function at times. The officer gave an involuntary jerk as one of the creatures injected a dose of endorphins into his bloodstream and began to suck blood from his abdomen. Gaphy fought the rising sense of euphoria and struggled to concentrate. One part of his mind was focused on the oncoming fighters while the rest rode a towering wave of ecstasy.

  Seemingly off in the distance, as if shouted from the top of a hill, someone told Gaphy to “Take cover!” but the officer was pretty sure that he was immortal and saw no reason to compromise his dignity.

  Slowly, as if underwater, the legionnaire drew his sidearm and took aim at the oncoming aircraft. He managed to fire two rounds before his ears were filled with the roar of engines, something exploded off to his left, and a shadow flitted over his body. He wasn’t wearing his body armor, and a piece of jagged steel punched its way through his chest a fraction of a second later. Gaphy fell, his head hit the pavement, and the handgun skittered away. The sky looked so blue, so very . . .

  But then Gaphy was gone, as someone yelled, “Medic!” hands ripped at his bloodstained shirt, and the fabric was ripped away. The medic took a look at the hole in the officer’s chest and knew he was dead. A private pointed to one of the leeches. “Look at that! What is it?”

  Well aware of the fact that its host was dead, the leech reached out to make contact with the new food source, but failed when the medic jerked the intended victim back out of range. “I don’t know, Mendez, but there’s more of them. Grab his ankles . . . we’ll drag him to cover.”

  The entire town shook as the Spirit of Natu took a direct hit from a ship-to-ship missile and exploded. An enormous mushroom cloud boiled up to blot out half the sky, even as a secondary blast sent still another column of smoke upward, and pieces of debris rattled and in one case clanged as they hit the surrounding duracrete. Then, satisfied that the objective had been destroyed, the Ramanthian pilots pulled up and away.

  Santana was at Kobbi’s side as the colonel stepped out of the miraculously untouched customs dome and took a look at the devastation that surrounded him. “You know,” the battalion commander said to no one in particular, “those bugs are really starting to piss me off.”

  Even though Lieutenant Lis Awanda could look up and see glimpses of blue sky, very little light made it down through the triple canopy jungle to the ground below. That meant that while there were plenty of plants to either side of the trail, most weren’t very large. Many were green, but there were pale yellow leaves as well, and some that had maroon spikes. Higher up, beyond what she could actually see, Awanda had the impression of extremely tall trees, a lot of interlocking foliage, and a tangle of parasitic vines.

  The whole thing was beautiful, but frightening, too, because of the limited visibility. Anything could be hiding in the shadows including predators, Jithi tribesmen, and Gunnery Sergeant Hreemo Kuga-Ka. The first two possibilities bothered her, but the third scared the hell out of her, and the cavalry officer keyed her radio. Ito was on point. He heard the click, turned to look, and saw the loot hold up her hand. The legionnaire nodded, dropped to one knee, and kept his eyes on the jungle ahead. The patrol was on the right trail, Ito was certain of that, since there was no mistaking the pancake-sized RAV prints that bracketed both sides of the path.

  Awanda had closely cropped black hair, brown skin, and broad cheekbones. A miniature version of the 1st REC’s wreath-and-shield insignia dangled from her left ear. She was a combat veteran and knew that trails were the natural place for the enemy to lay traps, plant mines, and set up ambushes. But to travel parallel to the trail would eat time, allow the deserters to widen their lead, and lessen the chances of catching them. Still, it made sense to pause every once in a while, and listen.

  Private Ricci saw the loot’s gesture and relayed it back to Nugen, Eckers, and Sergeant Brio. All of them were grateful for the momentary respite. In spite of the fact that they had left Savas Prime only five hours before, they were tired. Even though the rain had stopped before they left, water continued to drip down through the foliage, leaving them soaked. Making them even more miserable was the warm humid air, constant harassment by insects, and the fact that like most cavalry they were uncomfortable in the role of foot soldiers.

  Still, none of those factors bothered the legionnaires as much as the nature of their quarry. With the exception of Sergeant Brio, every single one of the troopers had been bullied by Kuga-Ka at one time or another, and they weren’t all that eager to catch up with him.

  The jungle teemed with life, much of which seemed determined to screech, chortle, and trill all at the same time. Awanda strained to hear something besides the ambient noise, thought she detected the distant thump of what might have been an explosion, but couldn’t be sure. The cavalry officer used her right forearm to wipe the sweat off her forehead, looked up toward the sky, and directly into the thumb-sized camera-sensor unit that Knifethrow had attached to a neighboring tree trunk.

  Meanwhile, a thousand yards uptrail, Sawicki shook Kuga-Ka’s shoulder. “They’re here, gunny, just like you said they’d be. It looks like Lieutenant Awanda and at least three troopers. There may be more, but they’re out of camera range.”

  The Hudathan’s eyes popped open; he yawned and stretched. “Are they on the move?”

  “Nope. They’re taking a break.”

  “Where’s Knifethrow?”

  “Right here,” the Naa answered, dropping out of a tree not six feet away.

  “Damn!” Sawicki complained. “Don’t do that! You scared the hell out of me.”

  In spite of the fact that Naa physiology had evolved to cope with cold rather than warm temperatures, Knifethrow had adapted to the jungle environment by stripping down to his trousers and sweat-soaked fur. He grinned. “You’d better pay attention Sawicki—or something will sneak up and bite your ass.”

  Kuga-Ka eyed the tiny vid screen, saw the patrol start to move, and reached for a headset. It was connected to Haaby’s brain box. “So,” the Hudathan said into the mike, “how’s it going, freak? Are you all cozy in there? Just waiting to die?”

  The Hudathan’s voice seemed to echo through the darkness that surrounded Haaby. “Why haul the extra
weight around?” she inquired. “Kill me now.”

  “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Kuga-Ka said. “But that would be too quick . . . too painless. Besides, I have to kill someone else right now . . . Rather than send Santana the way I hoped he would, the leech-head sent Awanda, so she’s got to die. And it’s your fault. Because if you weren’t such a freak, none of this would have happened. Think about it.”

  Haaby liked Awanda, and was about to try to intervene on her behalf, when the Hudathan cut her off. Darkness closed around the legionnaire, and she tried to cry.

  The ambush had been ready for hours, which meant that all the renegades had to do was take their places along the east side of the trail. Ito followed the RAV tracks up a slight rise, over a fallen tree trunk, and through a gurgling stream. But, in spite of his best efforts to take in everything around him, he failed to see the deserters as he walked past them.

  Awanda was more observant, however. She saw the thin, almost invisible monofilament line just as Ito’s boot broke it. She thought a warning, but never had the opportunity to deliver it, as the bounding mine jumped up out of the mud and exploded with a loud bang! A thousand steel spheres scythed through the air, blew Ito off his feet, and removed the officer’s head.

  That was when the renegades stood and opened fire with their assault weapons. Ricci, Nugen, and Floro went down in a welter of blood as Brio grabbed Eckers by the back of his combat harness and pulled him back out of the killing zone. Then, firing from the hip, the survivors backed down the trail. The incoming fire stopped. The legionnaires turned and ran.

  “I’ll get them,” Knifethrow said, and was just about to follow when Kuga-Ka grabbed his arm. “Let them go, Private . . . Once Kobbi hears what happened to the first patrol—the second will proceed more carefully. That will take time.”

  The Naa grinned. “Right you are, gunny. Come on, Sawicki, let’s collect the loose ordnance. Something tells me that we’re going to need it!”

  The human nodded cheerfully as he followed the Naa out onto the gore-drenched trail. “Did you see the way the loot’s head flew off? Damn! That was cool.”

  Meanwhile, high above, a pair of bright yellow eyes peered down through the foliage. The Jithi smiled. The off-worlders were killing each other . . . And that was fine with him.

  HAGALA NOR, PLANET SAVAS

  The wind was warm and made a gentle rumbling sound as it swept across the brown grasslands to the north, caressed the flanks of the small, cone-shaped mountain, and continued on its way. Though not the one who had decided to establish a military base inside the extinct volcano, Force Commander Ignatho Dontha was grateful to the predecessor who had since it made an excellent fortress. Especially given the new weapons emplacements linked together by a series of internal tunnels and passageways.

  And that was why the officer had journeyed out into the desolate land that surrounded the fortress, to look back at it, and make sure that the work had been done correctly. And that was when Dontha noticed that a fan-shaped layer of recently excavated soil pointed up at each weapon. He turned to Subcommander Ootha Pamee, who stood at his side. “Do you see the soil below each gun? It’s darker than the surrounding earth. Why stop there? You could place a red flag on each weapon to make it that much more visible.”

  The possibility had never occurred to Pamee—and he felt a deep sense of embarrassment. “Yes, Force Commander, I will take care of it.”

  “Good,” Dontha replied. “Although our aerospace fighters destroyed a human ship earlier this morning, the hypercom is extremely important, so we must take every possible precaution.”

  “Yes,” Pamee agreed. “A hypercom! Think of it! You could speak with the Egg Dontha.”

  “True,” the more senior officer allowed, “but that would mean that she could speak with me.”

  The joke went a long way toward easing the embarrassment that Pamee felt regarding the all-too-visible dirt, and he laughed.

  Dontha smiled, marveled at how malleable Pamee was, and felt grateful for it. “I have a job for you, Pamee . . . an important job.”

  The subcommander brightened. “Of course . . . Tell me how I might serve.”

  Dontha turned to his right, and Pamee did likewise. The arid landscape rolled away toward the desert to the south. The force commander raised a tool arm in order to point. “We have allies, Pamee . . . Thousands of them. And they live out there.”

  Like the rest of the Ramanthians on Savas—Pamee was well aware of the indigenous Paguum. At some point in the past a single race of protosentients had split into two groups. The Paguum chose to roam the steppes and deserts on co-evolved quadrupeds, while the Jithi took up residence in the rain forests, and gradually adapted to that environment. The subcommander looked confused. “We have an alliance with the Paguum? I didn’t know that.”

  “No,” Dontha answered patiently, “we don’t. But we will, just as soon as you go out there and help create it.”

  Pamee looked at his superior to make sure that Dontha was serious and saw that he was. “Meaning no disrespect, sir, but how would I do that?”

  “Simple,” Dontha replied. “There are two tribes of Paguum. The northern tribe and the southern tribe. Both depend on herd animals called katha. Hundreds of thousands of them. They feed on the grass that borders the desert to the north and south. But no one area can support that many animals for long. That’s why the tribes travel around the circumference of the planet in opposite directions. They pass each other once every four and a half years. As luck would have it, the ‘passing’ as they call it will take place a few weeks from now at a spot southeast of here.”

  Pamee looked uncertain. He knew the Paguum were nomads—but that was all. Like most of the Ramanthians on Savas, he considered them to be irrelevant. Or had until now. “How do you know these things?”

  “Because,” Dontha answered, “one of our operatives has been traveling with them for more than six months. I’ll provide you with a copy of his reports. They’re quite instructive.”

  “So, what can I do?” the subcommander inquired.

  “Our operative believes that it would be in our best interest to start a war between the northern Paguum and the southern Paguum. That should be relatively easy since the two groups have fought each other on and off for thousands of years. Neither group has military supremacy at the moment, but once you present the northern tribe with five hundred Negar III assault rifles and the benefit of your leadership, hostilities should begin within a matter of days.”

  Pamee was malleable, but he wasn’t stupid, and his head bobbed approvingly. “If the humans were to march on us from Savas Prime, they would be forced to pass between a pair of warring tribes!”

  “Exactly,” Dontha said smugly. “And, even if they did manage to break through, our armor will be here waiting for them.”

  “Truly the gods are great,” Pamee said reverently. “We are blessed.”

  “Yes,” Dontha agreed thoughtfully, “we certainly are.”

  SAVAS PRIME, PLANET SAVAS

  The saloon was located at the edge of the Savas Prime city limits, where what remained of the badly devastated town made contact with the verdant jungle. It was a place where mostly men went to have a little fun, where Jithi tribesmen could slip in to buy things they weren’t supposed to have, and where Hol Owens could make a comfortable living.

  It was a three-story wood frame building with a saloon on the first floor, a brothel on the second, and living quarters on the third. Covered porches circled all three stories, and the windows were covered with louvered shutters that remained closed during the heat of the day. A mangy Earth hound lounged out front, a colorful jungle bird squawked from its cage, and a wind chime tinkled gently on those rare occasions when the a breeze found its way down from the hills.

  Owen’s Place never opened until about three in the afternoon, not even on days when the town was attacked by Ramanthians, which was why it was just sitting there, dozing in the heat, when a beefy legionn
aire tried the front door, discovered that it was locked, and applied a combat boot to the much-abused wood.

  There was a loud crash as wood splintered, the door swung open, and the legionnaire stepped inside. A quick check confirmed that the room was empty. He stepped to one side and slammed to attention. “The saloon is now open for business, sir!”

  Kobbi grinned as the sweet-sour stench of alcohol, incense, and spicy food pushed out to greet him. “That’s quite a key you have there, Corporal, thank you.”

  The Earth hound had seen worse. He yawned, and his tail made a thumping noise as Kobbi entered. Owens had his own power plant, which meant air-conditioning, which kept the interior cool. Too cool for Kobbi’s taste, and the officer shivered. A bar ran the length of one wall, a small stage occupied the far end of the room, and there were about a dozen tables scattered around the plank floor. Mismatched chairs were stacked on round tables. With the exception of the drunk who was passed out asleep in a corner, there was nobody present to greet them.

  A flight of stairs ran up along the wall opposite the bar. Kobbi took the steps two at a time. He had just reached the top when Hol Owens appeared. The proprietor wore powder blue silk pajamas. He was armed with a lethal-looking pump gun. The legionnaires on the stairs raised their weapons and a half dozen red dots appeared on the saloon keeper’s chest. He lowered the scattergun and scowled. “Who the hell are you? And what’s going on here?”

  “Sorry about the front door,” Kobbi replied cheerfully. “Submit a form CCF-967, along with proper identification and three independent bids. The Legion will pay you in about ten standard years, assuming we win the war, and you’re still alive. I’m looking for a man named Teeg Jackson . . . Where is he?”

  Owens looked from the officer, to the legionnaires on the stairs, and back again. “Room four. Straight down the west side of the building on your left.”