March of the Legion sotl-2

by Marshall S. Thomas

  "So it might have been the knife…"

  "Or the biobloc…"

  "Or the plasma."

  "Or maybe a combination! Let's get outta here!"

  "I've got the samples," Priestess said.

  "Get up, Warhound. Helmets—let's go, let's go."

  We backed out slowly, back the way we had come, through a spreading fire. The complex shuddered again, and we could hear a tortured grinding. The lava was forcing its way into the starport. It was definitely time to leave.

  "NOVA! NOVA! NOVA! ANY LEGION UNIT…WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!"

  The alarm almost shattered our ears. It was a full power burst, a wild and desperate appeal for help, a frenzied, suicidal gamble. We froze, our own holocaust burning all around us.

  "Full power! They've had it." Snow Leopard declared grimly.

  "Who is it?" Psycho whispered.

  "Home in! Sweety, did you get that?"

  "Ten, Thinker! I have zeroed the site, as marked." It flashed onto my faceplate.

  "NOVA! NOVA! GAMMA TWO FOUR…" It turned into a scream, a shriek of agony. It raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Then there was only dead air.

  "Gamma!"

  "Oh no…Gamma!"

  "Do we answer?"

  "Move it, Beta! We answer with our feet! Everyone in the area will be moving on that site. But there's a good chance that's only us."

  "That's where the O came from!"

  "Is anyone going to give me my E back?"

  "Somebody give Six his E back." Snow Leopard led the way. We followed him, tracking the O like a pack of wolves. Further into the Camp of the O's. We would never get back to that aircar, I decided. Never. We would follow Snow Leopard to our deaths. We would die with Gamma, face to face with every O on the planet. We would die for the Legion, just as we should. We would die with our E's on auto xmax, we would die in a burst of our own tacstars.

  We would die for Gamma.

  Dead air. Only dead air from Gamma, hissing in our ears. A full-power Nova. Suicide—only a truly desperate sit would justify a full-power burst. The tacmap showed Gamma was in the heart of the starport, far far below us.

  Deadman only knew how they had got in there. The entire starport was being slowly crushed as the magma forced its way in. I figured we had zero chances of surviving this one.

  I tried not to think about Valkyrie—Gamma Two. I had once promised her—in a different life—that she would always have a call on me, no matter what the future brought. I had promised her that she only had to call, and I'd be there, no matter what. No matter what, I had said. Well, she had called. And we were coming—no matter what. It didn't get much clearer than that. You call a Nova and the Legion is going to respond—no matter what. That's the difference between the Legion and the rest of humanity. Try it sometime with your non-Legion friends. It's a very fast method of discovering Truth.

  ###

  We cut our way to Gamma with plasma. As we got closer to the heart of the starport, the structural integrity of the base became worse and worse until finally we were just slicing our way through a massive tangle of compressed metal.

  "Gamma, Beta. Approaching your position."

  Silence.

  We slashed away at coils of solid cenite—why so damned thick? And thousands of writhing cables, spitting pale liquid. Only the Gods of Hell knew what that was. We cut straight down; our tacmods showed Gamma was right below us.

  "Gamma, Beta! We're on you! Respond!"

  Muffled curses, as we cut away at the metal. They were right below us! The deck glowed and melted.

  "Fire at will, gang," Snow Leopard ordered. "Take it easy on the tacstars, Psycho—we don't want to hurt Gamma. But I expect the O's will be here. See you all in Hell."

  It was One's farewell. How could we not follow our One? Yes, we'd follow him into the heart of Hell and shoot Satan right between the eyes. I wished a quick prayer as the deck collapsed beneath our feet.

  "Gamma, Beta! Respond! Damn! Nine, take out that section there."

  They had to be right below us, a steep drop. We could see down through several levels, tacstar shafts, spiderweb cables and twisted cenite junk dangling in air, a thunderous fire roaring down below, thick clouds of black smoke rising. Gamma had fought a desperate battle, and had unleashed a hurricane of tacstars.

  "Gamma on scope, as marked! All weapons live, tacstar, laser, xmax, flame, biobloc. Recommend extreme caution!"

  Good advice from Sweety—good advice.

  "Deadman. Gamma, Gamma, Gamma, Beta, Beta! Beta responding to your Nova! Gamma, it's Beta! Answer, Gamma! We're here! Don't fire!"

  Silence—only silence.

  We cut away another massive slab of metal and it fell in a rush of sparks, trailing a chaotic jumble of cenite cables.

  I could see Gamma now on the tacmap, lower left plate, a ragged circle of glowing dots. Why weren't they answering?

  "Beta, Gamma." Cold and dead, it was a voice without soul. "Board. Watch out for the spheres—there's no defense." It was Gamma One, I suddenly realized—Boudicca. Her voice was a hoarse, chill whisper.

  We had to rappel down to Gamma's position. Everything was burning all around them, a flaming, glowing holocaust.

  Gamma was in a fighting circle, but most of them were not moving. Some of the A-suits were glowing cherry-red. There was no sign of the O's. We approached cautiously, E's up. I reached for one of the glowing A-suits.

  "Don't touch him!" A stinging rebuke from Boudicca. "Don't touch our dead!" I withdrew my hand quickly.

  "Report, Gamma!" Snow Leopard demanded. Some of them were still alive, I could see. I was frantically looking for Valkyrie. It was so smoky, and I was so charged I could not see clearly.

  "One hundred percent casualties," Boudicca replied coldly. My adrenalin count jumped.

  Snow Leopard knelt before Boudicca and gently moved her E to one side. "Gamma—tell me what happened."

  I could see into one of the faceplates of the dead. I looked away quickly. Broiled alive, the inside of the faceplate covered with heat bubbles, a glimpse of what had once been a human face. Deadman, I never want to see it again. My heart pounded frantically.

  "Spheres," Boudicca responded. "Glowing spheres of energy. Probes. We tried tacstars, we tried stunstars, we tried xmax, we tried laser, we tried flame, we tried vac. Scut, we even tried biobloc. None of it worked. The spheres hit our A-suits and merged. Five spheres—five dead. They didn't have a chance."

  We listened in horror. I was shaking inside my suit.

  "Gamma!" Boudicca's voice was like the crack of a whip. "Report!"

  "Squad Gamma all present or accounted for, sir!" It was Valkyrie—her voice was shaky, but she was alive!

  A body orgasm of sheer joy rushed through my veins. Alive!

  "Count off!" Boudicca hissed.

  "Gamma Two present!" Valkyrie shot back. I could tell she was just barely in control.

  "Gamma Three—mission accomplished!" But the voice was Valkyrie's.

  "Gamma Four—mission accomplished!" It was Valkyrie, again, counting off for the dead.

  "Gamma Five—present." A hoarse whisper. It was Scrapper—alive! She was Warhound's dream angel, an attractive girl with tawny hair and heavy breasts.

  "Gamma Six—mission accomplished." But it was Scrapper's husky voice, again. Gamma Six was dead.

  "Gamma Seven—present!" A deep bass voice. Seven was Sassin the Assassin, Gamma's Manlink master, a fierce Cyrillian merc with skin as black as death and cold slit eyes and sharpened teeth.

  "Gamma Eight—mission accomplished!" It was Sassin's voice, again.

  "Gamma Nine—mission accomplished!" But it was not Gamma Nine—it was Sassin, yet again.

  "Squad Gamma all present or accounted for, Beta," Boudicca reported calmly. "Four effectives, five dead. Please stand back, we're going to vaporize our dead."

  We stood there quietly while Boudicca spoke for the dead in a cold emotionless voice.

  "Immortals in blood,

>   Brothers in arms,

  Soldiers of the Legion

  Flying black standards,

  Gamma Two Four,

  Delegates to the stars

  All seasoned recruits

  For Heaven's wars

  Now recon Death's cold road.

  Gamma Three, Gamma Four, Gamma Six, Gamma Eight, Gamma Nine; you're four effectives short—Remember your brothers-in-arms.

  Missing in action,

  We join you soon!"

  Sassin then stood forth and fired one final tacstar into the killing ground. It burnt hot as a sun. I cried uncontrollably. I knew we were all going to end up like that—all of us.

  ###

  "Let 'em rot!" Boudicca was furious. Through her faceplate I could see the Legion Cross burnt onto her forehead. She was crazier than Psycho. "I'll not risk the rest of my squad for these stinking Systies!" We were back in the blood factory, adrenalin churning. Rows of pale Systies lay naked on slabs, sightless glazed eyes blinking slowly, tubes of blood snaking overhead. They were all dead unless we helped. We popped a flare so the Systies could see. It was a nightmare scene, black armor and cold flesh and leaping, flickering shadows.

  "They're all alive," Priestess reported, rising from the last one. "Ten Systies. I've charged them all. This area is still pressurized. If the outside atmosphere leaks in, they die. I need emergency breathers from everyone; you've each got one in your medkits."

  "How can we transport them?" Warhound asked. "There's only nine of us."

  "I can solve your problem," Boudicca snapped back, "with one tacstar! Or better yet, let's burn 'em! They don't deserve the dignity of a tacstar! These subs were helping the O's. We should kill them!"

  "We're not leaving humans behind for the O's," Snow Leopard responded. "We're taking these prisoners to the aircar. We'll do it in shifts, if necessary. Priestess, you decide which Systies go first."

  "They're not humans!" Boudicca insisted. "They're Systies! They're traitors! You're risking Legion lives for Mocains! Look at that skin—those are Mocains!"

  "Take the Outworlders first, Nine," Snow Leopard added.

  "Tenners." Priestess lifted one of the Systies—a female—from her slab. It was ob she could not stand. "We can carry them easily," Priestess decided, "with our A-suits. Everyone can take one Systie."

  "That still leaves one Systie."

  "We can't drag anyone—don't forget that radioactive pool."

  "Thinker, can you take two of them?"

  "Yeah, sure. Tenners. We can strap one on my back." It would be no problem. Systie trash was light.

  "All right, do it—so we make only one trip."

  "Gamma wasn't planning on making two trips!"

  ###

  Doomed, we awaited the end, huddled in the dark. We never even made it back to the flooded hall. The starport was crushed, grinding in on itself, imploding, thousands of megatons of metal crumpling like paper, millions of megatons of lava, rushing in. Our road in had been sheared right off, and we had been carving a new road, with plasma, through a cenite nightmare, a cenite spiderweb. Now we were on our own road, Beta's Road, but it led nowhere. We were lost, pausing, as the base slowly ground itself to pieces all around us. Lolites illuminated the Systies, pale naked bodies sprawled all around us and sinister black A-suits stepping over them, our helmets scraping against the overhead.

  We were in a raw, smoking, glowing hole, cut out of the wreckage with our plasma. Now we faced another drop, several levels straight down. No way out for the Systies. They could not even move. We were giving them a break—the Systies were on their backs, twitching. We had each contributed an emergency breather from our medpaks and Priestess had a few extras, so the Systies were still breathing oxygen. The air in the base was no longer breathable, as the lava rushed in with Andrion 3's poisonous air. The temperature was rising. The lava was close.

  "Doesn't look good."

  "Ten, One. Ten, One." No answer. Only another earthquake, and more shrieking metal. Faint groans from the Systies. "We're still out of range." Snow Leopard considered the options. I knew there was no need for me to think, with Beta One on the job.

  "Thinker, do you think we're cut off?" Snow Leopard asked for my opinion. A bad sign. I noted he was on private.

  "It could be," I answered carefully. "If not, we soon will be." Once the lava cut off the starport from the aircar station we were done for.

  Valkyrie was right next to me, silent. She was my past, my lost love, a stunning blonde with icy emerald eyes. I had asked her how she was, on private, and she had said she was alive. What more could a soldier of the Legion ask?

  "All right, Beta, Gamma…" Snow Leopard announced. "I'm going to full power, just for a frac—commo and sensors—just to see if there's still a way out, and to map it. If we're already cut off, we're going to die anyway. If the O's pick up the burst and respond, we die fighting. If not, perhaps we get out—if there's a way. I'm also going to contact Beta Ten. Stand by to die."

  Stand by to die. I closed my eyes. I tried breathing deeply. Tangy hot sweat and violent fear—I could taste it.

  Beta One would do it, I thought. One would do it.

  "Full power," Snow Leopard ordered his tacmod. "Ten, One. Ten, One. Don't respond. Maintain your position. We're on the way. One out. Full power off." My tacmap exploded with data. The entire starport glittered in cool green tracks, all over my faceplate. In microfracs Sweety was listing alternate routes—two, three, five alternates, flashing over the tacmap, the most likely glowing in orange. Bless you, Sweety! Now we had it all—five routes! We were not cut off at all. The only problem was that the O's might have us, as well. Full power was a two-edged sword.

  "Let's get out of here!"

  "That's a big ten!"

  "Deadman! It's the Legion for me!"

  "Psycho, can you get that Systie on my back again?"

  "Beta, Gamma—on me!" On Beta One we rose, naked Systies lying across our armored arms, our E's live and ready to fire. And we were on our One all the way, into the dark or into the light, to death or life, back on Atom's Road once again. I said a prayer and followed, one Systie on my back, another in my arms. I could hardly see. I was so charged, I think I had convinced myself that I was on a mission for God, and Snow Leopard was God. I knew damned well that nothing was going to stop us now.

  I didn't know what the future held, and I didn't care. Everyone I cared about was with me—Beta and Gamma. And nothing else mattered at all.

  PART II:

  GHOST RIDERS

  Chapter 8:

  King of the Dark

  Priestess was asleep in my arms when I awoke. It was still and cold, and we were huddled under thick blankets. For a moment, I was unsure where we were. Cold wet air—a partially open window port, a soft grey dawn. A shiver ran over my skin. Planet Two—we were back on the New World, Andrion 2, waiting for a mission.

  I did not dare move. Priestess was breathing softly, completely relaxed, one arm draped over my chest. We were naked, and her body was warm against mine. A sleeping angel, fallen from the sky, wounded, right into my arms. She was perfect—a child's face, fine delicate features untouched by cosmetics: long dark eyelashes, a small soft red mouth, pale luminous skin, and a silken cascade of gleaming black hair. Deadman's death, how could I not believe myself in the hands of the Gods, sleeping with an angel? A warm rush, right into my heart—shot between the eyes. How in holy God's name did I deserve such a lovely creature? Who was I, to share her life? I knew Priestess as well as everyone else in Beta—I knew what made her go. She deserved something better than me. But it was not as if we had any choice. I felt like a Peeping Tom. I feared I didn't deserve her. I was cheating someone—the Gods were asleep.

  I eased out of bed. It was freezing. A cold, slick floor. I reached the window; why had we left it open? A cold dawn, a soft wet breeze, grey clouds close overhead. A stunning view. We were in a large medmod perched on a rocky hill overlooking a forested valley, a black forest wreathed in grey m
ist. A dark dawn, for the Legion. This was our S & S, waiting for a mission. I shivered again; I could taste the moisture in the air. Beta would be together again, soon.

  I could feel only fear, thinking of tomorrow. Our E's were propped against the wall. I did not know what we would face, but I knew it would be bad.

  ###

  Breakfast was on the patio, open to the morning. Breakfast in the clouds. The forest below was wreathed in mystery, and the jagged rocks of our hill cut through cold grey waves of mist. I felt totally alive, breathing in the new day, setting my tray down gently on the long table we had chosen for the squad. Priestess was beside me, all in black. The patio was filling up with wounded soldiers. The medmod was a recovery facility. A lot of walkers from Andrion 3 were here—survivors. We were survivors, too. Some of us had not even been hit, but we were just as wounded as the rest. The Legion had dropped us here, anxious, perhaps, for a little mental healing before the next ordeal. I suppose we had to wait somewhere, and this was as good as anyplace else.

  "Thinker, what do you think?" It was Ironman, Beta Seven, our first casualty. He had missed all the fun on Coldmark and Planet Three. He was clothed in a sleeveless sweater, seated at our table, holding both arms out for my inspection.

  "They look the same," I responded. It was the truth; both arms were pale and well muscled. Ironman was a lifter.

  He was a little guy, very young, with fine, clean features and a fantastic build. He had always been proud of his body.

  Ironman smiled, a flash of white. His long brown hair hung over his eyes. "I've been doing a lot of lifting, trying to get them the same," he said. "Doesn't the right still look bigger?"

  "That's a twelve—they're the same, Ironman. Relax—stop worrying, Morning Light won't care. After all, it was only an arm. You're lucky it wasn't something she really cared about."