The Gallant (Star Legend Book 3)

by J. J. Green

  Wright was tired. Bone tired. Too tired for the man’s intrigues. “Well, I’d better go. I hope whatever greater good it is you’re aiming for, you get it.” He began to move away.

  “For the greater good of all, of course.”

  Wright didn’t answer.

  “Safe journey, Major!” Jonte called out.

  Wright wasn’t stupid enough to imagine the man actually cared about his well-being. He only cared that he didn’t die before passing on the message. But Jonte’s words reminded him of someone else who had wished him a safe journey not so long ago, in a hollow in a hill in West BI.

  He picked up his pace to catch up to his platoon and continued walking fast until he reached the front. They had a long boulevard to traverse, which would lead them into the city center. From there, they had to head east. The route wasn’t the most direct, but Devon had warned them to steer clear of an area that housed a sports stadium. It was here the majority of Crusaders were concentrated, entirely surrounded by Alliance troops. Negotiations had been attempted but met with silence.

  Should blow the whole lot of them up, Devon had said, disgusted.

  Wright could sympathize. He expected tales of execution sites and mass graves to come out soon. That was what had happened in every other place the EAC had invaded. He didn’t see why Jamaica should be any different.

  Carol comm’d him. After the usual preliminaries, he said, “I want you to make a short diversion. There are seventeen soldiers in a bad way about half a klick from you. They’re only just out of Basic, have no officers with them, and several are injured. I want you to collect them and take them to the rendezvous. I’m sending coordinates.”

  The numbers appeared on Wright’s HUD.

  He mentally sighed. He didn’t object to lending the Army a hand, but the men and women in need of help were near the sports stadium Devon had advised him to avoid. “Roger wilco,” he replied.

  “See you for debriefing on the Gallant in a couple of days,” said Carol before closing the comm.

  Wright ordered his platoon to halt. He picked Bates, Snowdon, and three more uninjured Marines to take with him, and then told the rest to find somewhere safe to wait until he returned.

  The route to the soldiers took them through downtown Kingston. Like everywhere else he’d seen in the war-torn city, the place was devastated. Looters had ripped the place apart, and battles with the EAC had finished the job.

  The stadium rose above the skyline. Miraculously still intact, it was testament to modernity, its lines sleek and silver, glinting in the brilliant sunshine. The contrast with the ransacked, demolished corrugated iron and wooden shacks of the poor sector they were walking through was stunning. Helis were circling the skies over the stadium, and Wright had no doubt the Alliance would be flooding the place with survi-drones as they assessed the situation. He wondered how many Crusaders were holed up in there.

  They found the soldiers in the shadow of two huge shade trees in a square. Most had their backs propped against the trunks, some lay at full stretch on the dirt. There were a few half-hearted responses to the Marines’ approach, but the men and women were clearly spent. What a baptism into military life they must have had, straight from Basic into full-blown warfare. He guessed they were all barely adults too. The Alliance was becoming more and more desperate in its search for new recruits.

  Wright told the ones who had stood and saluted they were at ease, and then began assessing the group. Distant sounds of voice amplifiers could be heard as the Alliance negotiators tried to talk the Crusaders into surrendering.

  He looked at the ones lying down, while Bates and the other Marines chatted to the rest. Veterans of several battles, they knew the gentle banter that would help the teenagers heal psychologically from their experiences.

  He ran a medical scan on the first recumbent soldier. Private Kelly Mapple: Fractured humerus, multiple hematomas, third-degree burns to the stomach, low blood pressure but no internal bleeding, ninety-one percent chance of full recovery with medical treatment within the next eight hours. “Are you able to walk, soldier?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” she replied. “I think so.”

  “Good.” He ordered Snowdon to assist Private Mapple.

  He felt sick. The young woman reminded him of Patel. The Alliance docs would patch her up and send her back into battle, a lamb to the slaughter.

  Pushing through his misgivings, he moved to the next injured soldier.

  The sky lit up.

  Brighter even than the tropical sunlight, a flash burst from the direction of the stadium. At the same moment, an explosion roared through the air. Wright didn’t have time to order the soldiers and Marines to take cover before the shockwave hit. Ripping the trees out of the ground, the wave blew him across the street and into a wall.

  His helmet saved his head from the worst of the impact, and luckily he hadn’t lifted his visor to talk to Mapple. The people in his care had been similarly tossed like rag dolls by the detonation.

  He lifted his gaze to the skyline. The stadium had disappeared and in its place was a rising cloud of smoke and dust.

  What had happened?

  The Alliance would not have ordered an air strike on the place, not while negotiations were being attempted and it had so many personnel in the immediate area. The AP? The act seemed senseless. Ua Talman had little to gain by bombing the site and antagonizing two forces that opposed him. And the Resistance was unlikely to possess a weapon capable of inflicting that level of damage. That only left the EAC. The trapped Crusaders had either blown themselves up rather than surrender, or the Dwyr had ordered the annihilation of her own troops. Both were possible.

  Wright looked around him, scanning the Marines and soldiers. Several were unmoving.

  He opened his visor, turned onto his hands and knees, and vomited into the dust.

  Chapter Eleven

  Kala leaned forward, propped her elbows on a table, and rested her forehead on her fingertips. She was sitting in the Belladonna’s mess, facing Perran.

  Everything seemed to be falling apart. Jamaica and Barbados were lost to her—two major Caribbean islands and thousands of military personnel. Reports from the other islands she held were either bad or missing. She suspected she’d lost more of her territory, only the relevant military leaders were dead or the situation was too chaotic to get information out.

  One thing she did know for sure: faced with being taken prisoner by the Alliance, the troops trapped in Kingston had destroyed themselves. Their final message had reached her half an hour ago. It had been the right thing for them to do. Nevertheless, she felt their loss. Despite her exhortation to her people to reproduce, the numbers she could devote to warfare were decreasing every year.

  She was beset on all fronts, and she didn’t know what to do. Should she divert the forces she’d massed in the BI to the Caribbean? It would take days for the majority of them to get there, and by then it would probably be too late. Should she press ahead with the invasion of Ireland despite the damage the BI Resistance had done to her military infrastructure?

  Or would her time be better spent focusing on the challenges she faced here aboard her flagship?

  It was between regular meal times, and the mess was nearly empty. She’d brought Perran here supposedly for cocoa—the chef could whip up a more delicious drink than that created by the food replicators—but in fact she hoped to avoid Morgan. The last place she would look for them would be somewhere frequented by the ship’s crew, knowing Kala’s distaste for over-familiarity with her inferiors.

  “I want to go home,” Perran whined.

  Kala tutted. Though she loved him dearly, sometimes her son could be vexing. But she suppressed her irritation. As well as her military problems on the surface, she was fighting a personal war. It was a subtle battle for Perran’s affection. This one, she was determined to win.

  “Which home do you mean?” she asked, reaching out to brush away a stray hair that hung over his eyes. “We
have so many.”

  “The last one. By the harbor. I made a friend there and I miss her.” His lower lip jutted.

  “I’m sure your friend will wait for you to come back,” Kala replied.

  “That isn’t the point! I want to play with her. I don’t have anyone to play with here. There are only grown-ups, and they aren’t any fun.”

  “But there’s so much else to do. Aren’t you excited to be aboard a starship?”

  “No.” He folded his arms across his chest.

  “What if I ask one of the weapons officers to show you the particle ray?”

  “I don’t want to see it.”

  “Or the chief engineer could show you the engines.”

  “Why would I be interested in engines?”

  “That’s fair. I’m not interested in the engines either.” She smiled.

  He frowned.

  Maybe it was time for the talk.

  “Perran, you’re growing up so fast. It won’t be long before you’re a young man. Have you thought about what that means?”

  “I can have a girlfriend?”

  “Yes, you can have a girlfriend if that’s what you want. You can have your pick. Any girl would consider herself lucky to be with you. But that isn’t what I mean. You know I’m the Crusade Leader. As my son, you’ll have a role to play when you’re a little older. An important role, second only to my own. And when I die, you’ll take over from me.”

  She paused, watching for his reaction. He didn’t seem to be particularly impressed.

  “Isn’t that exciting?” she asked.

  “What will I be able to do?”

  “Anything you want, within reason. It’s a perk of being the leader.”

  “So if I wanted to go home right now, I could?”

  “Yes, but you would have to consider whether that was wise. It isn’t in our best interests to return to Earth now. So although we could, we aren’t.”

  “Why isn’t it in our best interests?”

  At last, he was beginning to think things through. “Because some people want to hurt us. It’s safer if we remain on the ship for a while until the danger’s over.”

  “You mean that man with the sword? Is he the one who wants to hurt us?”

  Kala grimaced. Perran had witnessed Arthur’s murderous approach through the crowd on the quayside at the invasion launch ceremony. “Yes, him, and a few others.”

  “We should kill them.”

  “We should and we will, in time. Until then, we need to stay here. Do you understand?”

  With some apparent reluctance, Perran gave a short nod. He picked up his mug of cocoa and sipped.

  Kala was pleased. She hadn’t expected the conversation to take the turn it had, but it had been for the best in the end. Perhaps she’d shielded her son too much from the reality of life leading the EAC. He was more mature than she’d thought.

  Compared to her other problems it was a small win, but she was grateful for it nonetheless.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jamaica had been won. Now, for Hans, the hard work began.

  As he prepared to leave the cave in the mountains for the last time, he hoped the Royal Marines’ major he’d met could be relied upon to pass on his message. Support from the BA’s military wing would be instrumental to his return to a position of influence. Ties between SIS and the Alliance’s armed forces had been strong in the past. When SIS eventually rose from the ashes they would be so again.

  But he couldn’t risk approaching the new military heads directly. They were not the type of people one could approach unnoticed, and he was confident the Resistance were observing him closely. Mariya had warned him many Jamaicans would never overcome their distrust of the backra.

  He lifted the heavy, old-fashioned pulse rifle that had been his constant companion since the attack on the EAC headquarters. Would he ever need the weapon again? He hoped not, but the situation on the island remained chaotic. Crusader troops were still being hunted down and rounded up, though he guessed as the news of the Resistance/BA victory spread, many would take their own lives.

  He surveyed the rest of his meager belongings in the cave: clothes, a blanket, water bottle, camping utensils and other items, all scrounged after being released from his cage, all dirty, old, and worn. He didn’t need these things. Why had he bothered to come here? Better everyday articles could be found among the wreckage of Kingston. So many of the city’s inhabitants had been murdered; though food was now scarce, it was awash with other goods, too many even for the looters to handle.

  “Are you ready, Hans?” Devon asked from the cave entrance where he stood waiting.

  “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  The wide space was nearly empty of people. Members of the group he’d lived with for weeks had mostly already departed, taking their most treasured possessions with them.

  He suddenly realized why he’d wanted to come back one last time.

  He walked to a small alcove under a jutting overhang. The items here were undisturbed. A blanket was folded neatly on top of a pillow. A few items of cloth were stacked in an orderly pile. He squatted down and opened a small backpack. Inside were personal things: a comb, a silver necklace, several photographs. He pulled one out and held it up to look at it more closely in the beam from his flashlight.

  It was an image of two sisters, their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders. They were standing in front of a rundown little house in the countryside, smiling at the camera, their smiles lazy but full of joy. Full of love for each other.

  He looked more closely at the identical young women, but he couldn’t tell them apart.

  He inhaled deeply and then exhaled in a sigh.

  Tucking the photo into his breast pocket, he looked into the pack again. He found small ceramic pots filled with lotions and oils. As he opened one, he recognized a medicinal, herbal odor. It was the ointment that had healed the sores he’d developed in his time in the bamboo cage. He put the pot down and picked up another. Sniffing the light oil it held, he was surprised as sudden tears flooded his eyes. His mind only caught up with the visceral, unconscious response a second later.

  It was the oil Mariya had used in her hair. He would recognize the scent anywhere.

  Rationally, it made no sense he should grieve her so deeply. She’d brought him to the Resistance hideout knowing the terrible torture her people would inflict on him. His experience had left physical and psychological scars that would never disappear. Yet she’d also saved his life. If she hadn’t driven him away from his villa on the mountainside, the EAC would have caught him eventually. He could never have survived alone.

  He screwed the lid on the pot and slipped it into his other breast pocket. He also took the silver necklace.

  Devon had left, and so had everyone else. The cave was empty and silent. Scattered remains from the months the group had spent there were strewn carelessly over the floor. How long would the things stay here, unwanted, undisturbed, forgotten?

  Heaving another sigh, he plodded out.

  Just beyond the entrance, he paused for a few moments to allow his eyes to adjust to the strong sunlight. Stragglers were leaving the clearing, walking along the path that led upward into the jungle. Devon waited for him on higher ground, next to Mariya’s car.

  The fire that had burned for many nights on the flat, stone ground was smoldering. Some people had chosen to burn their belongings rather than abandon them.

  Devon had spied him and was looking impatient, standing with his hands on his hips.

  But Hans had one more thing to do. He searched under the cave overhang.

  There it is.

  In the shadows stood an open, empty bamboo cage, the canes lashed together with vines. Revulsion and dread had passed through Hans as he spotted it. He strode decisively over and snatched it up. Holding it over his head in both hands, he marched to the fire and threw it on top. The vines charred and smoky tendrils drifted up.

  “Hurry up, Hans!” Devon sho
uted. “It’s time to go.”

  Still, he waited.

  The flames were too weak to take hold quickly on the tough bamboo.

  Hans swung his pulse rifle forward, took aim, and fired.

  IT WAS AN HOUR’S DRIVE to Kingston. Charles, the Kingston Resistance leader was meeting them there along with the leaders of other Jamaican Resistance groups. Alliance techs were working on re-establishing the net and it was hoped that, by the time the meeting started, the leaders might be able to speak in real time with their counterparts on Barbados, Cayman, Martinique, and St. Lucia. The EAC had been defeated in all these islands, though on other former BA islands, the fighting was ongoing.

  As Devon drove along the dirt road through the forest, Hans considered his next steps. The phase he was entering would be particularly tricky. His goal of uniting the countries that had once belonged to the Britannic Alliance and transforming them into a globe-spanning republic remained a long way off. He had to retain the—somewhat shaky—trust and confidence the Caribbean Resistance currently had in him while at the same time resume his former importance within the BA Government. The two objectives were perfectly opposed, making his task almost impossible.

  Waves of excitement and pleasure passed through him. He loved a challenge, and this was the challenge of his life.

  Sunlight glinted on a moving object on the road ahead.

  “What’s that?!” Devon exclaimed. He braked, bringing them to a crunching stop.

  Hans recognized the device. He’d seen them before on news reports covering disasters and wars. It stood about thirty centimeters tall and was running toward them on eight or ten articulated legs supporting a small, lozenge-shaped body of smooth metal.

  “It’s a cadaver sniffer,” he explained. “The Alliance must have deployed them.”

  The automated machine raced down the track. When it reached the car, it climbed over the hood. Its feet tapped on the metal. Without a change in pace it mounted the windscreen, ran over the roof and down onto the trunk. After reaching the road again, it swerved right and disappeared into the vegetation.