Legion Of The Damned - 01 - Legion of the Damned (48 page)

“Cissy?”

The cyborg’s head came up at the use of her old name. He looked just as he had on the day he killed her, minus the sunglasses, of course, and the gun. Fear rose to constrict her throat.

“You’re beautiful.”

Beautiful? She looked down to find that the hard angular planes of her Trooper II body had been replaced by smoothly rounded flesh. Naked flesh. It felt strange to have breasts again. She blushed, and clothes appeared as quickly as she thought of them. The fear started to dissipate as pleasure seeped in to take its place. Villain, for that was how she continued to think of herself, twirled.

Memories came flooding back. Memories of what it felt like to be human, to move her limbs, to suck air into lungs, to taste, hear, feel, and see without electronic assistance. She laughed, and Salazar joined her, taking a flesh-and-blood hand in his and whirling her through an impromptu dance.

Villain felt wonderfully light, but tired with surprising suddenness, and remembered how weak a bio bod really is. Nothing like a cyber-form that could dance for days and never tire. She came to a stop. Salazar kept the grip on her hand. It felt good.

“What’s beyond the fog?”

“Whatever you like. The more completely we visualize our surroundings, the more real they become.”

Villain considered that. A place both of them were familiar with would be best. She thought about Earth and the Pacific Ocean.

“The beach, with surf and no people.”

Salazar nodded. The fog swirled, grew transparent, and vanished. Miles of pristine beach appeared, backed by whitewashed condos, hotels, and mansions, empty of people. Sun beat down on her back, surf broke twenty yards out, and foam surged towards her feet. The leather pumps were silly and she wished them away. The sand felt warm and damp beneath her feet.

“Hello, baby.”

Salazar had changed. He wore a loose-fitting blue shirt, white shorts, and slip-on tennis shoes. He looked handsome and she loved him. A flood of emotion rolled over her and was transformed into tears. Salazar took her in his arms. For the first time since her death Villain felt warm and secure.

She said, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“We can have sex if you want.”

“Next time, or the time after that. There’s no hurry.”

For the first time since her induction into the Legion Villain felt truly happy. They were still together, sill walking on the beach, when death fell from the sky.

 

Colonel Alex Baldwin sat sideways, wedged between two Hudathan soldiers, pondering his fate. The landing craft shuddered as it hit the outer layer of Algeron’s atmosphere, slowed as friction warmed the surface of its hull, and jerked as a pair of short stubby wings were extended from the fuselage.

He remembered the military history classes that he’d been forced to take, and the soldiers who had volunteered for the Forlorn Hope at the siege of Badajoz, hacking their way through flesh and bone for a laurel-wreath badge or the chance of promotion. He imagined that he felt as they had. Dread, mixed with a terrible sense of elation, knowing that his decisions were behind him and nothing but the present remained.

Poseen-Ka wanted him dead, but had given him one last chance. Yes, he was a member of the almost suicidal first wave, yes, he would lead troops against a heavily defended target, but some chance is better than none. And a victory, snatched from the jaws of almost certain defeat, would entitle him to the same forgiveness granted Hudathans under similar circumstances. It wasn’t much but would have to suffice.

Baldwin smiled grimly. There was something else as well. Everyone agreed that the Emperor was dead, and assuming that was true, he had already accomplished the first part of what he’d set out to do. He had proved his competency, made them sorry, and evened the score. The only thing missing was absolute power over those who had betrayed him, but the possibility remained, and he might have it yet.

The landing craft lurched as a SAM exploded nearby, but the human didn’t even notice. His mind was far, far away.

 

Natasha had made herself a seat behind St. James. Everyone agreed that the Hudathans had the odds on their side, and that being the case, she preferred to die with someone she cared about. Besides, where better to track the battle than by looking over the general’s shoulder?

St. James knew she was there, but his attention lay elsewhere. Information poured in through his headset and the visual displays that surrounded him. The voices were male, female, and computer-generated.

“Wave one has entered the atmosphere, sir. Existing glide paths suggest at least three hundred landing zones, most in the northern hemisphere. Waves two, three, and four are only minutes behind.”

St. James felt his jaw tighten. It was a massive attack calculated to overwhelm his weakened defenses. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, the Hudathans had found a way to multiply the variables he’d have to track, thus spreading his forces over more territory. Divide and conquer. The axiom was as old as war itself. They key was to ignore the small stuff and keep his eye on the ball. He fought to keep his voice calm.

“Continue to track. Provide me with grid coordinates on anything battalion strength or better.”

“Yes, sir.”

Another voice whispered in his ear.

“‘A’ Company, 2nd REP, has located and engaged a force of Hudathan scouts. They were southbound on feeder road RJ2.”

“Likely target?”

“Three possibles, sir. A Naa village in sector four, the underground ammo dump on the edge of five, or the missile battery at B-18.”

“Anything from Jenny?”

“Yes, sir. She says not to worry, sir.”

“Good. I won’t. Next?”

“The orbital bombardment has begun, sir. The enemy is using both energy cannons and missiles to probe the hills in sector four. It appears as if they know about MCP Two and are trying to smoke it out.”

“Use a land line. Tell MCP Two to button up and stay off the air until further notice.”

“Yes, sir.”

The next voice sounded female but belonged to a computer.

“The first wave has landed. We have three battalion-strength-or-better landing sites, sir. One in the south and two in the north. All three can be viewed on screen three.”

St. James looked. He didn’t like the landing in the south, but the northern sites concerned him more, since both were close to strategic targets.

The larger and more vulnerable of those was the fusion plant that had supplied Fort Camerone with most of its power, and while buried deep, was still vulnerable to attack. Though fairly well camouflaged, the heat generated by the plant and electromechanical activity around it would be visible from orbit. He had anticipated a move against the power planet,
however, and had positioned a goodly portion of the 1st RE, along with elements of the 1st REC, to defend it.

Of yet more concern was the vast underground facility known as “Logistical Supply 2” (LS-2), which housed the only remaining cybernetic repair facility. The first, and primary, maintenance center had been destroyed along with Fort Camerone. Making the situation even more difficult was that he had counted on LS-2 escaping initial detection. But the Hudathan spy-eyes had proven themselves to be damnably efficient and it looked as though they’d found it. There were troops nearby, including some borgs, but not nearly enough. No, it looked as if the Naa would have to plug the gap, and he h
oped they were up to the task.

“Get Sergeant ... I mean Major Booly on the com.”

“Yes, sir.”

Seconds passed before Booly spoke. He was on radio rather than land line. “Banditkiller One. Go.”

The deserter’s code name stuck in the general’s craw but he chose to ignore it. St. James cleared his throat and knew that the sound would be encrypted, routed hundreds of miles away, and broadcast via a relay station.

“Heads up, BK-One. The geeks have part of one wave on the ground with at least three more in-bound. Preliminary computer projections suggest more than three hundred drop zones—repeat, three hundred—with most in the northern hemisphere. Over.”

There was a pause as if Booly were absorbing the news.

“Roger that, L-One. One wave on the ground plus three on the way. I recommend independent-command small-unit tactics against everything company strength and below. Over.”

Booly was sticking to the game plan and St. James approved. There had been insufficient time to integrate the Naa into the Legion’s forces and train them to fight as the humans did. Besides, their tribal structure, knowledge of the terrain, and experience as guerrilla fighters made them perfect for the task at hand.

“Roger that, BK-One. Remind your company commanders to activate their beacons. I’d hate to see an entire tribe wiped out because a quad thought they were geeks. Over.”

The beacons, identical to those carried by the Legion’s bio bods, were Booly’s idea. Given the fluidity of the coming battle, and the independence of his subordinates, the potential for mistaken identities was enormous.

“Beacons. Yes, sir. Over.”

“And another thing, BK-One ... We have a battalion-strength landing party just east of LS-2. A mixed force of bio bods and borgs are in the area ... but won’t be able to hold it. Move your troops into position, make contact with Force Apple, and hold until further orders. Questions? Over.”

“No, sir. Over.”

“Good. Kick some ass. Over.”

St. James broke the connection, prayed that Booly would hold, and moved on to the next set of problems.

 

The landing craft hit the ground with a distinct thump. Baldwin had been waiting by the hatch and was the first one out. His determination to lead from the front, and take the same kind of risks they did, amused the troops and impressed them as well. Courage, be it human or Hudathan, was something they revered.

The ramp bounced under Baldwin’s combat boots. One of the planet’s weird one-hour-plus nights was under way and it was pitch-black outside. His Imperial-issue night-vision goggles made everything look green. The air was cold and smelled fresh. Gravel crunched as his troops spread out and took up defensive positions. Their skin had turned black in the cold and made them hard to see. There was no sign of opposition. Not too surprising, really, considering how many landing zones the Legion would have to deal with. Baldwin adjusted his helmet mike. The command frequency would override all othe
r transmissions and leave no doubt as to who had spoken.

“The landing zone is safe. Ships two, four, and five may land.”

The third drop ship had been destroyed in the upper atmosphere and pieces of it were still landing over a large section of the northern hemisphere.

There were no acknowledgments or any need for them. An order was an order.

The other ships had been hovering a hundred feet overhead, waiting for the all-clear, ready to provide suppressive fire. Repellers roared as the landing craft dropped into position and formed a fighting square.

Hatches hissed open, vapor out-gassed, ramps lowered, and troops poured forth. Vehicles followed, tracks clanking, engines growling. One stalled, sputtered, and died. A noncom swore. Orders were snapped and bodies moved. An armored personnel carrier backed up to the ramp and towed the supply truck out of the way. Thus freed, the rest of the vehicles rolled off and took their assigned positions.

Baldwin took one last look around. The landing craft had a lot of firepower and he hated to part with it.

“Arrow Commander Tula-Ba?”

Tula-Ba was Baldwin’s second-in-command, a job he’d done his best to avoid, but wound up with anyway. Baldwin didn’t know it, but Tula-Ba had been issued a small remote and could activate his implant if that seemed appropriate. The Hudathan was thirty yards away checking the perimeter.

“The spy-eyes and scanners are clear, sir.”

“Good. Ships one, two, four, and five may lift. Thanks for the ride, and good luck.”

The landing-craft pilots didn’t believe in luck and made no reply. Repellers roared, the ships lifted, and the main drives were engaged. One minute they were there and the next minute they were gone.

Baldwin grinned. So far so good. The Legion had been kind enough to construct a road that passed within four miles of a cybernetic maintenance facility known as LS-2 and he wanted to thank them. He strode towards an armored command car.

“All right, Tula-Ba . . . load ’em up.”

 

The cavern’s interior was warm and cozy. Windsweet sat cross-legged before the fire. Aromatic incense burned in a bowl. Smoke wafted up around her head. Both Booly and her father had objected to her being alone, but Windsweet had insisted, pointing out that the villages would come under attack as soon as the Hudatha realized that the Naa were a threat.

But that wasn’t the
real
reason she had stayed; no, the
real
reason had to do with the life in her womb and a desire to spend some time by herself. Like all females of her race, Windsweet had known her baby’s sex from the start. The cub would be male, courageous like his father, strong like his mother. But what of his physical appearance? Would she give birth to a monster? Something so ugly no one could bear to look at it? There had been rumors of half-breeds born to the prostitutes of Naa town, but she’d never seen one. That was why she’d stayed: to pray for her loved ones and ca
st the Wula sticks.

The Wula sticks had been in Windsweet’s family for generations, wrapped in brightly decorated dooth hide, and handed down from mother to daughter. To one unschooled in the arts of divination they might have been taken for so many polished sticks, some longer than others, all of the same diameter.

Windsweet inhaled the rich aroma of incense and reached for the package at her feet. She opened it carefully, reverently, as her mother had taught her to do, and spread the hide on the floor. It bore a design and would provide the sticks with a safe landing place.