The Last Legion: Book One of the Last Legion Series

by Chris Bunch

  “Trust has nothing to do with it,” Brooks said. “There is no time to choose and train another, even if I wished. Forget about what happened, as I told you, and make your work reap twice the rewards as compensation.”

  His smile appeared quite sincere. Poynton hurried away, remembering, however, the time Brooks had smiled just as honestly, and then shot a double agent in cold blood.

  • • •

  Ben Dill was already awake, unable to sleep, when the sirens blared across Camp Mahan’s parade ground.

  “ ‘Zat for us?” Kang asked sleepily.

  “No. Don’t think so.”

  She sat up, reached for her deliberately old-fashioned spectacles, and turned on the antique two-dee vid that had been their only entertainment while waiting to extract Garvin and Njangu. They watched the various ‘casts, saw nothing but the usual early-morning drivel, then the stations started cutting away to sleepy-looking journohs.

  “Something’s going on,” she said, pointing out the obvious.

  “And it’s in the Eckmuhl,” Gorecki said, the noise having wakened him.

  “Awright, awright,” Dill said. “Let’s warm it up. Maybe it is for us.”

  “You’re gonna have to have a word with that idiot Garvin,” Gorecki said. “First he goes and lets himself get volunteered, then starts doing something or other with the ’Raum. Your boy better straighten out, Dill, for I’m getting tired of being his goddamned fast ship every time he wants to stick his heinie in harm’s vise.”

  • • •

  Njangu and Garvin lay motionless on top of the roof as smoke rose, ever thicker, ever more choking. The air above was alive with the whine of lifters, from police to fire to media, and the sky was beginning to gray.

  “You got any bright ideas?”

  “If we move,” Njangu said, “they’ll start shooting at us again.”

  “And if we don’t,” Garvin said, “pretty soon we won’t be able to.”

  “As long as it looks like we’re for it,” Njangu said, “mind if I ask just what the hell you did before you joined the Force? Hoping for an honest answer.”

  “I told you the truth,” Garvin said. “I ran a circus.”

  “ Yeh. Right.”

  “I shit thee nix,” Jaansma said. “Come from a long line of circus families. Managers, ringmasters, once every now and then a high-wire act, but those were mostly the black jeeps of the family.

  “Generally a Jaansma kid’d work for one of the family shins, doing everything from being a joey … that’s a clown … to a slanging-buffer in an arcade, then go out on the road, somewhere out on the fringes to get seasoned, finally end up with one of the big shows on Centrum or somewhere. But my folks were killed in a fire, and I ended up with an uncle who wasn’t that connected. He did the best he could, and I worked the circuit some, but when I got to be seventeen I jumped at the first circus that offered a graft for a Jaansma, any Jaansma. That was Altair, on a world called Willy’s Fortune, believe it or not.

  “The show was a gam, crooked from the go. Snakier than any of the hustles you’ve told me about. Rigged wheels, girls, boys, anything for a credit. About the only thing we had that was worth a shit were the animal acts. I was the ringmaster, but since I was just a kid, I didn’t have the pull I should’ve, and the owners didn’t listen when I said things were going sour, and even the diddly flatties … normal citizens … we were gaffing were starting to catch on. So I started hanging out with the acts and trying to figure out what I was going to do next, and where I was going to get the graft to pull out.

  “The whole thing went to shit about the fourth month I was with them. Somebody started a rube on the midway … a fight in the middle of the circus … and it got nasty, going from fists to clubs to knives to guns. I heard an animal scream, and saw some asshole trying to set fire to the tent we had the grai — that’s Earth horses — in. I went a little apeshit.”

  “You shot him?” Njangu said, fascinated in spite of the madness around them.

  “Not quite,” Garvin said. “I opened the big cats’ cages.”

  “You what?”

  “And the bears,” Garvin said. “Sic’ed them on the flatties. Then I took off. Ended up on the neighbor world of Klesura, about busted, seeing the stories of how many deaths I’d caused get bigger and bigger, and all of a sudden there was this recruiting office.”

  “Remind me,” Njangu said thoughtfully, “never to get you seriously pissed at me.”

  C-Cumbre

  The ’Raum at the controls of the cargo lighter had been the best, most reliable pilot at his mine, and there’d been considerable wonderment at his disappearance with his craft. He, and a few other ’Raum, hid in an abandoned survey station in the middle of nowhere, resupplied and equipped by sympathizing crews of the ships that shuttled back and forth between D-Cumbre and C-Cumbre.

  The strange device in the back of the lighter had come from a park monument dedicated to the memory of the early settlers of the Cumbre system. It had been mounted in an archaic lifter, and fired explosives in long rows, clearing lanes through the jungle. The apparatus had been stolen from the park, carefully cleaned and refurbished by ’Raum technicians who guessed at what they were doing without manuals, without anything other than old holos, then, after testing, smuggled to C-Cumbre.

  The pilot took the lighter out of its “hangar,” a haphazard-looking pile of scrap plas, and, barely two meters above the ground, drove toward the horizon.

  • • •

  “This is Matin,” Loy Kouro bayed into the mike, “giving the News You Need, When You Need It, Loy Kouro transmitting. Our Matin lifter is above the suspicious fire raging in the Eckmuhl. Our firefighters have been unable to enter the district and combat the fire due to sniper fire from ’Raum banditry.

  “But your Matin crew is over the scene, as you can see. We’re trying, with our high-powered stabilized light-amplified cams, to show you two of the snipers who made the mistake of shooting at a police lifter, and were shot down for their pains.

  “Here … come in a little closer on that … here we are … now you can see them, and … Great God, from what I’m seeing on my pickup one of them at least appears to be one of the degenerates who’ve deserted our fighting Force to join with the scum who call themselves The Movement.

  “Yes, look at that one’s blond hair … no ’Raum ever looked like that! Matin sends its compliments to our best, our police, and if you’ll stand by, we’ll give you more coverage of the fire that’s raging out of control in — ”

  • • •

  “Son of a bitch,” Gorecki swore, staring at the screen. “Ben. Look. That’s Garvin on that goddamned roof.”

  “No,” Dill said. “Yes. The bastards got him … no, look. His lips are moving. He’s still alive … and so’s Yoshitaro, next to him.” He took a deep breath. “ ’Kay, troops. There go my stripes. Saddle up. We’re on our way.”

  • • •

  “No ideas?” Garvin said.

  “Shut up. I’m thinking.”

  A blaster round spanged off metal a meter or so away.

  “Now they’ve got shooters on the rooftops around us,” Garvin said. “This isn’t playing out as any fun at all.”

  “At least the smoke makes it hard for them to get any accuracy,” Njangu said.

  “Don’t be such a pessimist.”

  Garvin edged one hand down to his pistol. “I don’t have any intention of frying,” he said.

  “Nope,” Njangu agreed. “Give me another minute, and if I can’t come up with something, we’ll take on those snipers.”

  “Good a way to go as any,” Garvin agreed.

  • • •

  Dill’s Grierson floated out of the hangar, Ben in the open hatch, wondering what lie he’d use for takeoff clearance, as a column of troops double-timed out of the I&R barracks toward waiting Cookes. At their head was Alt Hedley. He spotted Dill, waved him down. “You saw the news flash?”

  “Yessir.”

/>   “And were gonna cowboy off to the flipping rescue?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Dumbshit. Hang back. I’ve got clearance from Mil Rao — the old man’s in another flipping conference with Haemer — to go beat things up a little bit. We’re going to suppress whatever snipers they really have on the rooftops, and there’ll be a flight of Zooks inbound if we need heavy hitters. Rao’s got the rest of the flipping Force saddling up now. You go on and get those two flipping idiots out. Or bring back their bodies.”

  “I’m gone,” Dill said, and touched his throat mike. “Take it on up at speed, m’boy, and balljack toward the smoke. Kang, anything that you see shooting, level the suckers. It’s time to quit fiddle-farting around.”

  C-Cumbre

  The cargo lighter came out of the low valley it’d been following, and the Musth Mining Center was in front of it. There were two of the aksai attack ships grounded on the landing field, and half a dozen cargo ships that looked like bloated seedpods, but nothing in the yellow, dirty air. The scattering of missile sites around the headquarters was unmanned.

  “Be ready,” the pilot commanded. Two of the ’Raum were already at the controls of the explosive planter in the back, and didn’t bother responding. The last, sitting beside the pilot, muscled a 20mm cannon on an improvised mount into position.

  “Strike at the animals’ combat ships first,” the pilot ordered, and the gunner opened fire, and dust spurted across the field and over the aksai. One gouted flames, the other crumpled to the side.

  “Good,” the driver approved, then was too busy to say more as he closed on the buildings. A ’Raum in the back closed a large breaker switch, and the launcher chugged rhythmically, each blast hurling impact-fused charges of Telex to either side. The explosives spattered across the rooftops, shock waves rocked the lifter, and smoke and black flame gouted. The lifter cleared the buildings, and came back in another pass, X-ing across its first line of destruction.

  On its third pass, two Musth had reached a launch station. A missile blasted out of its tube, smashed into the lighter, and it snap-rolled upside down, dived into one building, and exploded. Moments later, black flame shot high into the greasy atmosphere as something within the Musth buildings detonated. Of the approximately eighty-four Musth at the mining station, fewer than half a dozen survived.

  • • •

  “This is Tver. Begin Plan Tumbril,” Jord’n Brooks ordered, and on the outskirts of Leggett a rented storage shed’s door came open, and a long, luxury lifter stolen six months earlier was pushed out.

  • • •

  Dill’s Grierson soon outdistanced the swarm of Cookes, soaring closer to the pillar of smoke in mid-Leggett and, in turn, was passed by three hurtling Zhukovs, each outlined by the rising sun.

  “Unknown Grierson,” a voice came in Dill’s helmet. “This is Cambrai. Going our way?”

  “This is Sibyl Black Recovery. That’s a big affirm.”

  “Good to have you along. We’ll try to keep things nit and tiddy for our little brothers behind us.”

  “Get some,” Dill said, and got a double-clicked mike in response.

  • • •

  “Straight in,” Haut Chaka ordered, “and try not to obliterate too many civvies.” The Zhukovs roared across the lower city toward the Eckmuhl’s walls. “Not too fast,” Chaka advised. “Gunner! Don’t bother me with chitchat. Targets of opportunity.”

  One gunner saw the sparkle of gunfire from a rooftop to the left of the burning building, swung the Zhukov’s main turret, and the 35mm chaingun sprayed the roof clean. The second gunner targeted a group of ’Raum in the streets below, and sent a single Shrike almost straight down, into their midst.

  • • •

  “Fiddleemee,” Garvin howled as the heavy gunships swept overhead. “You can stop thinking now, little brother.”

  Njangu rolled to where a blaster lay. A ’Raum two buildings away saw his movement, and blazed a burst across the rooftop, missing Yoshitaro by inches. Njangu fired back and didn’t miss. “Now, if the smoke doesn’t get us,” he said, coughing.

  Garvin leaned over the edge of the building and let half a magazine roll down the barrel of his blaster, spraying the street below. “I do hope all good little boys and girls are sleeping in this morning,” he murmured, looked for a specific target. He found three ’Raum leaning out of a window two blocks down, aiming some sort of crew-served weapon, and blew the room in around them. The air came alive with the shrill whine of Cookes, swarming into the Eckmuhl like invading mosquitoes.

  • • •

  “All right,” Lir told her driver. “I want you to put it — ” The Cooke’s engine hiccuped, died. “Aw, goddammit!” she swore. “If you’re gonna crash, find something worth hitting.”

  “I can flare it, boss,” the driver said, yanking at the controls. “How about that little round building?”

  “Just get it down,” Monique ordered. “Flying makes me nervous.” The Cooke pancaked onto the roof of the building, and Beta Team spilled off. “First take care of anybody above us,” Lir shouted. “Then we’ll get the midgets down below.”

  • • •

  A spurt of flame sent the rooftop door spinning upward. “Getting close,” Garvin said over the roar of the fire.

  “Too close,” Njangu managed. Garvin noticed Yoshitaro’s slightly toasted features for the first time.

  “Aren’t you a little young to be so bald?”

  “Runs in the family,” Njangu managed. “Get — ”

  A round spanged off the roof and seared through Garvin’s upper shoulder. Njangu spun, saw the gunman on a rooftop, and shot him down.

  Garvin sat down suddenly. “Getting shot hurts,” he said thoughtfully.

  “No kid. You gonna die on me?”

  “Dunno,” Garvin managed. “But I sure could use a painkiller and a soothing kiss.”

  “Fresh out of both. Maybe — ”

  A long, mottled monster nosed out of the smoke onto the rooftop, its hatch opened and Ben Dill’s head appeared. Kang appeared beside him. “Come on,” Kang shouted. “I’m missing good targets!”

  Njangu and Garvin stumbled across and up the ramp. A ’Raum shot at them, and the bolt spanged off the armor plate beside Yoshitaro. He managed the universal twin-fingered salute before the ramp slammed up and the Grierson nosed down and away at full drive.

  • • •

  “Look at all those flipping people,” Hedley said. “And they’ve got flipping guns and everything. Alpha Troop … ground it in that open square, and advance by teams.”

  The Cookes slid in for landings, and the men of I&R Company came out fighting. The ’Raum broke, began retreating deeper into the tangled web of the Eckmuhl.

  Hedley picked up his mike. “Lance Six, this is Sibyl Six.”

  Rao’s voice came. “Sibyl Six, this is Lance Six. Go ahead.”

  “I’ve got lots and lots of baddies, Lance, and they want to butt heads. We could use all the people you want to throw in.”

  “This is Lance Six … First Regiment on the way. Use your people to guide them to targets.”

  “Flipping-A,” Hedley said. “Happy to help. Sibyl Six out.”

  The Eckmuhl was no longer a sanctuary.

  • • •

  Ton Milot had his blaster slung over his shoulder, and three portable rocket launchers under one arm, and a case of ammunition beside him. He crouched behind a statue of something or other that’d been blasted into unrecognizability. Take a minute to think about things. You don’t want to go and do something stupid and get shot, he thought. The rest of the guys are over there … and the ’Raum are over there. So I’d best get my young ass moving, like yesterday, but cutting around this frigging statue, out of the line of fire. He grabbed the re-supply, burst out into the open, thudding along, seeing bolts smash into the pavement, not letting his mind realize it, come on now, twenty-five meters to go, you can fly over that, just like training, those bullets won’t
really hit you, you’re doing fine, just fine —

  Something smashed his leg, and he crashed headlong, tasting grit, blood, smelling smoke, and pain grabbed him, like a red-hot clamp pulling at his thigh, and he saw blood, and other bullets were beating the ground around him. He felt a thud, saw blood stain his uniform sleeve black. He couldn’t move, and guessed this was about all, that he’d die in this goddamned dirty-ass sun-baking square, never see the boats or Lupul again, and —

  — And somebody had him by the back of his combat vest and was dragging him, and pain seared, but he bit his lip hard, No, dammit, I won’t scream. And the sun was gone, and he was in the shade, being rolled over, and hands were tearing his pants open. Fuzzy shapes above him became figures, and he saw one of the Troop medics, and next to him was Hank Faull.

  “Where the hell did you come from?” Milot croaked. “You’re in Vic Team, aren’t you?”

  “Saw you go down,” Faull said. “Thought you might need a hand.”

  “Hank, my friend, my father, my mother, my brother,” Milot said. “You can have anything I’ve got. You can drink on me from now until the sun goes black. If you ever want to cheat on your wife, I’ll provide the giggler and the alibi.”

  Faull grinned, started to say something, then looked startled. He slumped forward across Ton Milot, as if all the bones in his body had melted. Another soldier was there, pulling Faull away, and Ton Milot saw the fist-sized hole in Hank Faull’s back.

  “No,” Ton Milot managed. “That can’t be. That can’t be.” Then the universe went black.

  The medic shouted, “Get a lift in, dammit! I’ve got one down, one critical. Come on, people!”

  “They’re in that building over there, Petr,” Penwyth said. “We’ll need a goddamned airstrike to get ‘em out. That goddamned door’s solid steel or something, and they’ve got the windows sandbagged. Not to mention we’re more’n a bit outnumbered.”

  “Maybe,” Kipchak said. “Maybe not. Gimme that SSW.”

  The two were crouched in a shop door, catty-corner from the big building that held half a hundred ’Raum. The rest of Alpha Team held positions up and down the street. Penwyth licked his lips, ducked into the next store, and came back with the squad weapon, trying to ignore the two dead I&R men beside it and the bolts exploding around him.