The Last Legion: Book One of the Last Legion Series (22 page)

• • •

“What’s going on?” Loy Kouro demanded irritably of the soldier.

“Sorry, sir,
Caud
Williams’ orders,” Reb Gonzales said. “We’re commandeering this vehicle for the duration of the maneuvers.”

“Whaaat? You can’t do that! This is a
Matin
news lifter! You know what
Matin
is, don’t you?”

“ Yessir. A holo, sir. But I have my orders. Please step out of the vehicle.”

“But we’re covering your little games, dammit! If you grab this lifter, there won’t be any coverage from us!”

“Yessir,” Gonzales said. “A terrible pity, sir. Now if you’d step out of the lifter, sir?”

“The hell I will,” Kouro said. “Driver, take it up.”

The driver’s hand touched the controls, and Gonzales pulled the door open and yanked the man out.

“You son of a — ” The driver came up, fists ready, and Gonzales’ spear hand went forward into his gut, came back, slammed into the side of his neck.

“I saw that!” Kouro said.

“Saw your driver slip and fall?” Gonzales said. “Knocked himself out on a rock, he did. Half a dozen other people saw what happened, too, and will be happy to testify if you choose to press charges. Now, if you’ll unass the lifter … sir … we can go about our business.”

Kouro got out, and two strikers had him by the elbows. “Put him with the others,” Gonzales ordered. “And drag this poor stumbling lad over to see if he needs medical attention.”

There were seven other civilian lifters, private and commercial, pulled off the main road. Their drivers and passengers were guarded by half a dozen I&R troops.
Alt
Hedley came out of the brush.

“This is going to make a bit of a stink,” Gonzales observed.

“Probably,” Hedley said. “But if we’d let him go on by, he would’ve said something, and Swift Lance isn’t totally brainless. Pity about that journoh, though. Do you remember how they stand on pay raises for
alts!
”

“Dunno, sir. I only read
The Economist
,” Gonzales said.

“And aren’t you the high-class tart.” Hedley tapped fingernails against the side of the lifter, thinking. “On the other hand, this could make things very sneaky … Three, no four volunteers from, who’s in the barrel this week? Gamma.” He raised his voice. “Give me Kipchak, Dorwith with a Squad Support Weapon, Heckmyer and that new guy. Yoshitaro.”

The four came out of the brush. “Get your respective asses in this here journalistic vehicle and stand by. We’re gonna get real flipping dirty, stinky, illegal, and immoral.”

• • •

Simulated missiles launched as the first wave of Griersons swept in from the east, through drifting clouds of rain, and landed on the rising ground on one side of the knoll. It was spectacular, with preplanted demolition charges going off, smoke bombs arcing through the air, and the slam of practice charges from the Griersons and supporting Zhukovs.

If anyone noted the Griersons came in for rather gentle landings to avoid damage, no one commented, nor did anyone ask why Williams ordered a high casualty-producing frontal assault on the Blue lines rather than a flanking attack.

The Swift Lance soldiers, shouting aggressively as ordered, mucked their way toward the Blue positions.

Then the second wave struck, coming in from the west, landing closer to the Blue lines. The spectators were enthralled, battle on all sides.

• • •

“Hey, idiots,” the
dec
shouted. “Where the hell did you come from? The battle’s over there, you — ”

Jord’n Brooks shot him, and the woman beside him gunned down the noncom’s two flankers. A fourth soldier gaped at the gore, frozen by the dying gasps of his teammates. Brooks shot him before he could recover.

“Hurry,” he ordered. “We’re behind the soldiers’ assault lines.” The ’Raum pushed through the trees, paying no attention to the war cries to their right as the second wave attacked Mount Najim. Ahead was their target — the knoll with a brightly painted tent and bleachers beside it.

• • •

“Land the third element,”
Caud
Williams ordered, and his executive officer,
Mil
Rao, spoke into the com.

Five waves of Griersons — the Force’s First Regiment — lifted from concealed LZs and drove toward Mount Najim as the rain broke, and the sun blazed through for a perfect moment.
Caud
Williams looked around his command center, saw the smooth efficiency of his staff, heard the roar of the ACVs and thought with enormous pride,
This is all mine. I raised this unit and built it from nothing.

The First Regiment would overfly this knoll, and land just behind the Blue Lines, and the war … the battle game, he corrected himself, would be over, and a triumph.

Williams saw a small news lifter, with the logo
Matin
on it, dart across the battlefield’s rear, in front of the onrushing Griersons.
If that idiot gets in the way of my people and there’s a collision …
Then he relaxed, seeing it level out well below the Griersons’ flight pattern.
Must be that young firebrand Kouro. His father told me he’d be covering this for his holo. Good footage he must be getting, thrilling for Cumbrians to watch, make any real Confederation citizen’s heart pound. Must remember to get a copy of the disc.
Williams put the matter out of his mind, turned back to his conquest.

The lifter banked and drove directly for Williams’ command center. From the jungle to the east, seven other lifters joined it.

• • •

Jasith Mellusin peered about, trying to see where her … well, not really, at least not yet,
her
Garvin might be. She wished she’d asked just what kind of a job he did, for she didn’t know where to look.

• • •

Garvin Jaansma boredly put the touchup sprayer to a scratch on his gleaming Grierson. He wondered if he could ghost out and chance a call to Jasith’s com number, decided it wasn’t a good idea. Ben Dill had assigned him this job, not Senior
Tweg
Ric or somebody not worth obeying if you could get away with it. He went back to his work, wondering if this secret mission they’d been pulled out of the field for would be interesting, and if it’d keep him from being able to get a pass into Leggett.

• • •

An MP, elegant in dress uniform, held up his hand. “Hold on, troops. This is the VIP area, and you can’t — ”

One of Brooks’ men shot him in the head, and he spasmed back and down. Brooks heard alarmed shouts, paid no mind. The bleachers full of the enemies of his people were just two hundred meters away. He was ready for his Task.

• • •

The news-lifter grounded outside the command center, and two of Williams security men came toward it as the hatch opened. Five bearded, dirty men wearing Blue armbands tumbled out. Dorwith fired a burst of blanks, and Njangu shouted, “You’re dead,” and the five crashed into the command center.

“Hedley!”
Caud
Williams sputtered. “What in the name of — ”

Hedley thumbed a blue smoke grenade, tossed it toward Williams. “We’re brave idiots on a suicide mission, sir,” he said. “I’m afraid you’re dead!”

“You can’t — ”

“I did, sir,” and the command center swirled into a chaos of rattling blanks, varicolored smoke grenades and shouting, screaming staff officers. Outside was the drive-whine as the other commandeered lifters landed, and the shouts of the company as they rolled out and began “slaughtering” Strike Force Swift Lance’s command elements.

Over all was
Caud
Williams’ parade-ground roar: “You’re doomed, Hedley, you bastard! I’ll have you court-martialed! Your career — ”

Then Njangu heard the hard blast of
real
gunfire.

• • •

Three ’Raum knelt, sprayed the bleachers, and then the blaster explosions were drowned by the screams.

• • •

Gonzales was bellowing: “Come on, you stupid bastards! Get rid of those frigging blanks! This is for real!”

• • •

Jasith Mellusin stood, trying to see what was going on, saw a man suddenly without his head fall two meters away in the bleachers, blood spraying. Her mouth opened to scream, then her father knocked her down and threw himself on top of her.

• • •

A man in civilian clothes, with a pistol in his hand, ducked around the side of a lifter, hastily shot at Brooks, missed. Before Brooks could react, the man shot the woman next to Brooks, then Brooks fired two rounds, and the man fell. Brooks’ teeth were skinned back in a silent snarl as he ran closer to the bleachers.

A ’Raum beside him pulled the trigger on his blaster, gun set on automatic. Rounds yammered away into emptiness and the blaster was silent. He stood, stupidly staring at the empty weapon, finger moving on the trigger, then he was gone, and Brooks didn’t see who killed him.

• • •

Njangu ran out of the Command Center, finger pushing the magazine release, blank magazine dropping away, left hand reaching into his combat vest, finding the heavy magazine with real rounds, pushing it home in his blaster’s receiver, somehow remembering to tap the magazine base to make sure it was seated, then he was going forward, and heard, for the first time in his life, the slam of blaster explosions around him.

“Around here,” Hedley shouted, running toward a hasti-dome, and Njangu, Dorwith and a scattering of other I&R soldiers followed, running past an utterly motionless staff
haut
, mouth gaping open, shut, like a beached fish.

Njangu came into the open, into insanity. Confederation soldiers were systematically shooting into the VIP stands. What the hell was —

“Kill ‘em,” Hedley shouted. “They’re phonies! Kill ‘em all!”

Obediently Njangu knelt, pulled his blaster into his shoulder, put his sight’s dot on the center of one shooter, touched the trigger. He never saw the flame, never felt the recoil-tap, but saw the man convulse, flinging his weapon high into the air, and slump. Yoshitaro moved his aim to a woman reloading her blaster, fired again.

• • •

Dorwith’s SSW yammered, and blasts exploded across the ground, swept over the killers, then a bullet smashed his shoulder, and he rolled away, groaning. Njangu remembered his training, picked up the gun, and darted forward, hearing rounds slam in nearby. He crouched behind a wheeled transportall, used that for a rest, sprayed three attackers, saw them fall.

Someone was shouting, pulling at him, and the words came through: “Stop, dammit, you’re killing our men!” then a bullet took the fool, and Njangu found the shooter, killed him in turn.

• • •

A woman wearing a black dress stumbled toward Jord’n Brooks, bloody hands covering her face. She took them away, and there was nothing but gore and torn flesh. He shot her twice in the chest, looked for another target.

Two ’Raum beside him fell, and he twisted sideways, went down, gun turning, firing. His shot took
Dec
Alyce Quant in the side of her chest.

• • •

Njangu saw a man fumble a thick cylinder from his backpack, come to his knees, lean back for the throw. Njangu killed him. The explosives thudded next to his body, and another attacker rolled away, screaming. The charge exploded, red fire, black smoke, mud cascading, shrapnel hissing, and bodies pinwheeled away.

• • •

Brooks saw his grenadier die, saw the blast kill half a dozen or more ’Raum, saw there were only three of his team left. “Away,” he shouted. “Away,” and ran, zigzagging, for the distant jungle.

• • •

“That’s it,” Njangu heard. “That’s it! They’re all down. Cease firing!” He realized with some surprise he was the one shouting. The firing stopped for an instant, and he faintly heard screams, moans from the VIP bleachers, saw men and women wearing crosses on their sleeves running toward them. Ahead was a scatter of uniformed bodies, shredded and torn by gunfire and the bomb blast. He saw movement, and someone fired, and the body contorted, lay still.

There were still a dozen rounds in the belt of his SSW. Weapon ready, he walked toward the dead madmen, barrel sweeping back and forth. Petr Kipchak was beside him shaking his head, eyes glaring in rage and disbelief. “What a
hell
of a way to run a war.”

The Force buried its dead under a gray, lowering sky. The seven who’d died in war-games accidents were laid to rest with the same ceremony as the five men and women of Intelligence and Reconnaissance Company and the four other Force soldiers who’d been killed stopping the ’Raum attack. If anyone in I&R objected, they said nothing.

Nineteen civilians had been killed by the ’Raum, twice that number wounded. Six innocent ’Raum were murdered by roving gangs, and the Eckmuhl was put under a dawn-to-dusk curfew “for its own protection” by Governor General Haemer. The Rentiers suggested the ’Raum community have penalties levied against it, but Haemer refused to order this. The non-'Raum of Cumbre seethed —
something
must be done about this outrage.

• • •

“That was a damned-fool stunt,”
Caud
Williams told
Alt
Hedley. Hedley stayed at attention, and silent. He didn’t think Williams wanted either agreement or disagreement. “But you … and your men … must be commended for the swiftness you responded with when those traitorous backstabbers made their murderous assault,” he went on.

“Thank you, sir.”

“I have a question,” Williams said. “It appeared that all your men carried live ammunition, which you should certainly know is prohibited by regulations.”

Once more Hedley said nothing.

“If
I
were a fool … which I am not … I might ask why you allowed this, and where your men procured these rounds, when all our munitions are rigidly rationed. Would you care to volunteer any information?” He waited a bare second. “I thought not. Under normal circumstances, the heroism of your men would merit appropriate medals and promotion, just as your mischief requires punishment. It’s my thinking that the two even each other out. What’s your opinion?”