Legion Of The Damned - 06 - For Those Who Fell (31 page)

Meanwhile, not far away, a civilian named Rockfeel Wallstack wheeled a cart of refreshments into the back of the room and removed the sheet that co
vered the food. Like all true bloods, he believed that the Naa should push the aliens off-world rather than join them in oppressing others and was willing to sacrifice his life to the cause.

It was nearly impossible for a day worker to smuggle a firearm into Fort Camerone, or to steal one from a legionnaire, but there was plenty of cutlery in the huge kitchen. He had chosen a knife with a long narrow blade for the task at hand, believing that it would penetrate Truespeak's leather body armor and find a path between the bones in his back. The aliens would kill him after that, but not his name, which would live forever in the hearts of his people. The thought of it caused Wallstack's chest to tighten with emotion. He
checked to make sure the weapon was where it was supposed to be
, took comfort from the sight of it, and set to work clearing the ravaged buffet table.

Being the president of a major corporation, Maylo was interested in the tax debate and was seated toward the back of the room. She turned to look as Lieutenant Thinklong led the Naa delegation into the room. The human recognized Truespeak from the visit to her husband's ancestral village. Though officially neutral on the subject, she knew that Booly favored direct representation for his grandmother's people and hoped Truespeak's efforts would succeed. That was why the military officer had used his influence, not to mention her uncle's, to push for a hearing. The timing was right, that'
s what he believed at any rate, and she agreed.
If
Truespeak did well,
if
the naysayers could be countered, the Naa would take their rightful place within a government of equals. Something Maylo wanted for her husband, and for her as-yet-unborn baby, who would share some of his father's genetic heritage.

The executive turned back toward the stage as the allotted time for debate regarding the controversial value-added tax expired, and a final vote was scheduled for later that day. “Now,” President Nankool said, as he eyed that day's agenda, “we have one more item to take up prior to lunch. Specifically I'm referring to SR-5706 which proposes that the Naa be given direct representation in the Senate, that the planet Algeron revert to Naa control, and that their status as a protectorate be lifted. Senator Pama? You wanted to say a few words, I believe?”

The senator from Earth stood and made his way up onto the stage. He was tall, slender, and wore a formal, ankle-length robe. He had dark skin, serious eyes, and high cheekbones. “Thank you, Mr. President. In a moment you will have an opportunity to hear from Nodoubt Truespeak regarding the merits of this proposal. In the meantime I would like to remind you that more than 30,000 Naa have given
their lives for the Confederacy—and more than 250,000 Naa presently serve in the Legion. A large number given their relatively small population—and a strong testament to their support for a governme
nt that has thus far denied them direct representation. We, the people of Earth, have been partially responsible for that injustice and hope to address it.

“Nodoubt Truespeak holds the title Chief of Chiefs, and as such, has been authorized to speak on behalf of his people. Please join me and SR-5706's four cosponsors in making him feel welcome.”

There was scattered applause as Truespeak rose, stepped out into the aisle, and started toward the stage. Booly, who was seated toward the front of the room turned to look, and saw that his wife was clapping loudly enough for both of them. He grinned, saw a white-jacketed waiter start down the aisle behind the Naa chieftain, and wondered what he was up to. That was when Wallstack produced the long, glittering blade, raised it high into the air, and charged.

Maylo saw the knife, understood the Naa's intent, and came up out of her chair. She wasn't as fast as she might have been, not given the weight of her pregnancy, but all she had to do was get in the way.

Wallstack saw a human female lurch out in front of him, slashed at her with the knife, and heard a cry of pain as the blade sliced through flesh. The Naa tripped over the alien as she fell, but was able to recover and stagger down the aisle.

Truespeak was turning, preparing to defend himself, when Lieutenant Thinklong fired. It was a tricky shot, since a bullet meant for the assassin could easily strike the chieftain or one of the senators beyond, but the officer was extremely good. The slug hit Wallstack between the shoulder blades and threw him forward, where Truespeak struck the already-dead body a mighty blow. The corpse was still in the process of falling when Booly yelled, “Maylo!” sprang out of his chair, and charged down the aisle.

Maylo lay on the floor, blood running down her arm to stain the carpet, her body curled up into the fetal position. Booly shouted for a medic and knelt at her side. She saw his face and attempted a smile. “I'm sorry, honey. The baby . . . something hurts.”

Booly said something, but words sounded distorted, and she couldn't make them out. Maylo felt darkness gather around her, tried to push it back, but felt it roll back in. A shaft seemed to open beneath her, she fell into the blackness, and heard herself scream.

Many people think it is impossible for guerrillas to exist for long in the enemy's rear. Such a belief reveals lack of comprehension of the relationship that should exist between the people and the troops. The former may be likened to water and the latter to the fish who inhabit it.

—Mao Tse-tung

Strategic problems in the anti-Japanese guerrilla war

Standard year 1939

The boxy Ramanthian troop transport lost altitude as it approached Hagala Nor from the south, Sawicki's ears popped, and the deserter made a face. That was about all he
could
do since restraints had been attached to the human's wrists and ankles, his body was strapped to a bulkhead, and a battle dressing had been shoved into his mouth. The gag was dry,
very
dry, but a piece of tape kept him from spitting it out.

Knifethrow had been treated in a similar fashion, as had Kuga-Ka, who was beginning to question his decision to surrender. Rather than the warm welcome he had envisioned, the officer in charge of the Ramanthian scouts had refused to listen to the Hudathan's story, placed
three
pairs of restraints on his massive wrists, and chained him to D-rings that were welded to the deck.

Now, as the transport touched down at the bottom of the volcano's crater, Kuga-Ka wondered if he and his companions would be interrogated or simply taken out and shot. He hoped for the first, but feared that the second was more likely.

Not surprisingly, the prisoners were separated shortly after they were removed from the transport and locked in separate cells, where they wouldn't be able to communicate with each other.

Now, as Force Commander Ignatho Dontha made his way down into the holding cells originally intended to house military prisoners, the Ramanthian knew that standard interrogation protocols called for him to ignore the Confederacy soldiers for at least a day. The problem was that he couldn'
t muster the self-discipline required to carry the strategy out. According to the report that had been submitted by the officer in charge of the scouting party, the prisoners lit a grass fire in order to draw attention to themselves. And that was what stimulated Dontha's curiosity. Why would Confederacy troops signal their presence, throw down their weapons, and allow themselves to be captured?

There were no obvious answers, so rather than let the enemy soldiers sweat for a while, the Ramanthian officer decided to interrogate them right away. So, given the fact that the humans were known to dominate the Legion, Dontha figured that the individual named Kras Sawicki was most likely in command.

Metal groaned as a Ramanthian trooper pulled the durasteel door open, and the human got to his feet. It was an extremely small space, so when Dontha entered, the two of them were nearly face-to-face. Though humans weren't especially attractive even at the best of times, Dontha couldn't help but notice that this particular specimen was especially scabrous. He had a filthy bandage wound around his head, and his clothes hung in tatters. Not only that, but he smelled, his face
twitched uncontrollably, and words spewed out of his mouth like water from a hose.

Not being bilingual like some of his peers were, Dontha had chosen to wear a translator, and wondered if it was functioning properly as Sawicki launched into a nearly incoherent list of complaints and demands.

About thirty seconds into the human's rant, Dontha grew tired of the prisoner's rantings and closed his right pincer. Then, using the chitinous member like a club, the officer backhanded the deserter across the face. Sawicki's head jerked around, he stumbled, and fell. Then, sitting on the floor, the human felt his jaw. “Hey! That hurt. What's the problem?”

Dontha made no answer—but turned and shuffled out of the cell instead. The door crashed shut a moment later. The guard heard a series of muffled thumps and incomprehensible shouts as the human beat his fists on steel and begged the officer to return.

Dontha didn't know much about the Naa, only that they served the humans and that some of them had enlisted in the Legion. That was why he chose to visit Knifethrow next. Once inside the legionnaire's cell, the Ramanthian discovered that rather than being voluble like the human, the fur-covered prisoner was completely silent. Almost ominously so. Questions were met with terse replies. “Who are you?”

The Naa's catlike eyes blinked once. “My name is Knifethrow.”

“And your rank?”

“Ex-Private.”

“
Ex
-Private?”

“We're deserters.”

Dontha tried to hide his surprise, realized the Naa couldn't possibly read his nonverbal expressions, and let the reaction show. He felt both disappointed and elated at the same time. Disappointed because he'd been hoping for a higher caliber of prisoner, yet elated because deserters could
be useful, especially if one knew how to employ them. “So, you're the leader?”

“No sir. That would be the gunny.”

“The ‘gunny?' ”

“Gunnery Sergeant Kuga-Ka.”

“The Hudathan.”

“Yes sir.”

“Thank you, Private, you've been most helpful,” Dontha said, and backed out of the cell.

Kuga-Ka heard a series of muffled pops and clicks as the Ramanthians spoke with each other, followed by a whir as someone passed a key card through the reader on the lock, and the squeal of unoiled metal as the door swung open. A new bug appeared, and this one wore the tabs of an officer. The Hudathan came to attention, his eyes focused on a point over Dontha's head. “Sir! Gunnery Sergeant Kuga-Ka, at your service, sir!”

Though their military traditions were different, there was no mistaking the gesture of respect or the message that it was intended to convey. The Hudathan was not only willing to cooperate, but
eager
to cooperate, which made perfect sense given his situation. Dontha didn't know what form of punishment awaited the renegade if he were caught, but it seemed safe to assume that it would be far from pleasant. That meant the Ramanthian had the upper pincer already, and there was no need to be intimidating. “At ease, Sergeant. Follow me. Let's find a more comfortable place to talk.”

The Ramanthian turned and shuffled out of the cell. The guards watched in amazement as Dontha led the seemingly passive Hudathan down the corridor and into a vacant squad room. Once inside the Ramanthian slippe
d over a saddle-style seat and pointed at another. “I don't know how comfortable you'll be, but you're welcome to sit down.”

Kuga-Ka had already positioned himself with his back to
a wall. He eyed the chair and shook his head. “I think I'll stand if it's all the same to you, sir.”

“It is,” Dontha, assured him. “Now, let's talk about the unit that you were formerly part of and why it was sent to Savas.”

This was the opportunity that Kuga-Ka had been waiting for, and he was ready. The Hudathan began with a detailed readout on the battalion's capabilities and followed up with an almost word-for-word rendition of the orders he'd seen.

Dontha was shocked. The situation was much worse than he had imagined. Rather than protect Savas Prime, or capture Hagala Nor as he had assumed, the Legion had been sent to take the hypercom! Still, it seemed likely that their capability to do so had been destroyed when the transports crashed, and he said as much. Kuga-Ka nodded. “Sir, yes sir. But it isn't over yet. Colonel Kobbi is a stubborn man. The reason he's marching up from the south is to link up with the legionnaires stranded out in the desert. They're guarding most of the battalion's hardware. Begging your excellency's pardon, bu
t if Kobbi manages to marry those brain boxes with the war forms stored in that transport, then it's going to be damned hard to stop them.”

Dontha remembered the so-called brain box that had been confiscated along with the Hudathan's weapons and wondered why the renegade bothered to haul it around. Was the cyborg a friend perhaps? Not that it made any difference. “I have a battalion of armor at my command,” the Ramanthian countered calmly, “but your point is well-taken. Why fight this Colonel Kobbi head-to-head if I don't have to?

“Unfortunately the second group, the ones with the war forms, fortified the wreck. We launched repeated attempts to neutralize it, but none of them succeeded. Now I fear
that I would have to throw armor at them in order to get the job done.”

“Which you don't want to do, because if you pull your armor out of Hagala Nor, the hypercom would be vulnerable,” Kuga-Ka put in.

Dontha looked at the hulking Hudathan with a newfound respect. “That's correct, Sergeant. You're very perceptive.”

Kuga-Ka looked at a point over the Ramanthian's head. The interplay reminded him of his previous relationship with Captain Gaphy. It seemed t
hat officers, regardless of race, were always surprised to learn that their subordinates had the capacity to think. “Thank you, sir.”

“Fortunately,” the force commander continued thoughtfully, “there are other assets that we can call upon. Previous efforts to utilize them have met with mixed results. But who knows? A noncommissioned officer of your intelligence and experience may be just the thing to turn that situation around.”

Kuga-Ka brought his eyes down to make contact with the Ramanthian's. They bulged slightly and were black as space. “Are you offering me a job, sir?”

“Yes,” Dontha said, “I am.”

“And my troops?”

“Yes.”

“And pay?”

Dontha cocked his head to one side. “What do you want?”

“Five hundred credits per day for myself, three hundred credits a day for my troops, and transportation to a neutral planet after the battalion is destroyed.”

Dontha gave the Ramanthian equivalent of a smile. It would be a good deal less expensive to pay the renegades off with three rather inexpensive bullets, but who knew? Maybe they'd do a good job. And maybe he'd be in an expansive mood that day. “It's a deal,” the officer said evenly. “Welcome to the Ramanthian army, Unit Commander Kuga-Ka.”

Nis Noia moved the electrobinoculars a hair to the left, acquired the image he'd been searching for, and a took a moment to scan the column of legionnaires and civilians. They were well spaced, and well equipped, if a bit ragged. He handed the device to the person who lay at his side.

Nartha Omoni had looked through the off-world device before, but still regarded what she called the bring it closer with something akin to awe and handled the device with care. It took the chieftain a moment to find the image she was looking for, but then she did, and what had been little more than dots exploded into full-fledged beings. The Paguum scanned the column, then scanned it again, before handing the electrobinoculars back. “I'm sorry my friend, but I don't see how your warriors can help. Even all
owing for the power of their off-world weapons, such a small number of soldiers could never stand against the northern tribe. The night people would slaughter them.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Noia answered patiently, “but consider the hard skins. How many are helping Srebo Riff? One? Two? Three at the most? Yet they make a difference. Surely the dawn people could benefit from some off-world military advice as well. Why not talk to them? See what they have to say. Then, if you still feel that they have nothing to offer, you can ride away.”

Omoni lay there for a moment, considering the intelligence operative's words, before turning to look at him. “You have a way with words, human . . . but so do those who are completely mad.”

Noia grinned. “Is that a ‘yes?' ”

The Paguum sighed. “Yes, damn you, but beware . . . If I meet with your warriors, and they turn out to be fools,
you
will feel the full weight of my displeasure.”

The agent brought the electrobinoculars back up. The column leaped forward. The legionnaires were too far away to discern who was in command. But the hypercom was important, vitally so, and it seemed safe to assume that the officer in charge was someone reliable. As for why the Confed troops had decided to march north, rather than ride, that was something of a mystery. The intelligence officer had some com gear, but there hadn't been any reason to carry it around, and it was stashed with the rest of his supplies a couple of hundred miles to the west. That was why he hadn't been in contact wit
h the legionnaires before. “Yes ma'am,” Noia replied gravely. “I understand. Well, let's find out what we have here . . . Friend or fool.”

 

Having admonished the legionnaires in the drag position to keep a sharp eye out, Colonel Jon Kobbi set out to reach the front end of the column again and made it a point to chat with people along the way. Especially the civilians, some of whom were still having difficulty adjusting to military discipline and the aggressive pace. Soon, within a matter of days, the column would be forced to march at night in order to avoid the steadily increasing heat. Moving around in the darkness would add still more dangers to an already-long list. Ramanthian heat detectors would be able to pick t
hem out more easily, the possibility of an attack would increase, and people could get lost. Nothing for the officer to look forward to.