Legion Lost (7 page)

The
dining hall must contain at least five hundred soldiers, and it sends a shiver
through me to imagine them all laughing at me at once. Can I do it? Can I put
myself through this kind of persecution to keep my cover? As my eyes continue
to take in the huge hall, I spot the sight of another apron in the same shade
of green as the big girl’s. This one is worn by a tall, thin young man with
cropped hair in a blazing shade of red. He’s near enough for me to see his blue-green
eyes flickering as he sweeps the crumbs from an empty table. Some burly girls
at the next table are jeering and shrieking at him, calling him all sorts of
foul names that I don’t really understand.

He
has his back to them, though, and they can’t see the wry smile that’s tugging
at the corners of his lips. He works slowly, almost lazily to clear the crumbs,
and I can tell by the shine in his ocean-like eyes that he doesn’t care at all
about being laughed at for being a reject. Far from it—he looks like he’s
laughing at the soldiers instead. Those eyes flicker upwards for a second,
locking with mine across the room. Something in his merry gaze changes for a
long, curious moment, and I find it impossible to pull myself away from his
questioning stare.

Until,
that is, a loud bang sounds from the exit, making me leap several inches from
the surface of my seat. It’s Briggs, slamming one mighty fist against the metal
door of the hall to get our attention. All eyes look to him, all lips locked in
a dutiful silence.

“New
recruits are to line up outside for your first trial.” The senior officer
doesn’t even need to shout to be heard by the silent mass. “The rest of you,
fall in on the sidelines for observation.”

Most
of the crowd rises as one. The red-haired teen is so tall that I can see him in
the mob, standing still as soldiers swerve around him on their way out. As I’m
carried down the stream of black-clad figures to the assessment, I have a
feeling that I’ll be seeing that reject boy again very soon.

I
found Senior Commander Briggs formidable enough when he was standing still. Put
into action, he’s a whole new level of demon to deal with. When he demonstrates
the first task that he wants us to perform, it’s like watching a hurricane of
shadows smash through the obstacle course ahead. There is a high brick wall to
test our agility, a rope net for strength and coordination, and a pit of deep,
thick mud to test our nerve. Briggs stampedes through it all in seconds,
emerging at the other end with smug satisfaction all over his grizzled jaw.

“Girls
first,” Briggs barks, and I catch myself just in time before I try to step
forward.

Of
the twenty newbies, there are only three girls in the mix if I don’t count
myself. One of them has dark, curly hair and purple bruises all over face,
which gives me the feeling that whatever brought her to the Legion was probably
far worse than the sight of an obstacle course. Briggs gives the girls ninety
seconds on the course, but only the first two complete it in time. The bruised
girl takes too long to struggle over the high wall, and I see tears streaming
down her face as she toils through the rest of the trial, falling at the
commander’s feet in a tired heap.

“Pathetic,”
is all Briggs says to her. “Get out of the way. Boys, three groups. First six
up here, now.”

I
don’t volunteer for the first six. I don’t want to seem too eager in my attempt
to fail the trial. The wall will be genuinely tough, since I’m so short and
skinny, but I know that traipsing through mud and navigating uneven surfaces
are things I won’t be too bad at. I watch the boys giving it everything they
have to vault the wall as I work out the best way to approach the task. If I
want to ensure my ticket to the South Tower, I’m going to have to make a total
fool of myself. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to visualise how someone
might run the course with their shoes on the wrong feet, or their laces tied
together. By the time my group is called forward, I’m ready to make this the
most embarrassing moment of my life.

I
see the high wall ahead, now caked with a sheen of dirt and mud from those who
have already scaled it. When Briggs sounds his whistle to start the trial, I
make a leap straight upward, which I know will be fruitless because of my
height. I let my knees give way when I land to make sure that I crash to the
ground, which has the added bonus effect of letting one of the other boys step
on my head to propel themselves up and over. When I crane my head to see whose
boot mark is on my neck, it’s Reece’s slight figure that’s climbing over the
top. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at my friend’s quick change of
attitude. It’s every man for himself whilst Briggs is calling the orders.

When
I’m the last one left at the wall, the commander comes nearer to shout specifically
at me. The anger in his voice spurs an adrenaline burst within me that I can’t
control, and the next time I leap for the wall, my toes and fingertips find
purchase among the bricks. It turns out that I’m a pretty good climber when I
try. I don’t mean to scramble up the sheer wall so quickly, but my body is
trying its best to get away from Briggs’s abusive chants. Ahead of me, the other
boys are already most of the way over the rope net, but I know that being last
won’t be good enough to ensure that I fail this challenge totally. I have to
block Briggs out. I have to be utterly useless.

I
fall on purpose as soon as I hit the net, jamming my arm through a tight knot
in the ropework so that my sleeve and wrist are caught. I work so frantically
to free myself that I can’t see what I’m doing, flailing like a fish that can’t
unhook itself from the line. Beyond Briggs’s shouts, I can hear the jeers and
laughter beginning among my peers. My face burns with humiliation, but I grit
my teeth and continue to flail. I’ll have to get used to the mocking laughter
if I want to survive here.

Once
free from the knot, I scramble over the net with my eyes half closed, just to
make sure that I keep missing my footings and grips. It’s surprising to me that
struggling to fail the tasks is actually harder than the tasks themselves, so
by the time I reach the mud-trench, I don’t need to fake exhaustion. I sink
into the thick, gelatinous pit, holding my breath as I wade wearily through the
mire. At the course’s end, at least a dozen faces are jeering and pointing at
me, but my eyes find the one that isn’t.

The
girl with the bruised face is watching me. Her skin is a caramel colour where
the purple marks end, and she clasps her bandaged fingers together, as if in
some kind of prayer. Her expression is neutral, but I know by the look in her
puffy, dark eyes that she isn’t taking any pleasure in seeing me struggle. At
least my feigned failure has taken the attention away from her for a while. I
climb out of the mud-trench, standing before Briggs with that thought keeping
my heart content.

“You
call yourself a man?” Briggs jeers. “I have never seen such a feeble display in
all my life. You had better be a driver or a damned good shot, son, or you’ll
be fit for nothing in
my
Legion.”

I
am not a driver. I wouldn’t have a clue what to do at the controls of those
massive hovercraft things. Those youngsters that claim to be able to drive,
Reece among them, are taken away to test their skills, leaving a half dozen of
us to face the artillery range. We have to pair up, and when I deliberately put
myself beside the bruised girl, the tiniest shadow of a smile crosses her lips.
Briggs narrows his eyes, looking us over before barking out a derisive laugh.

“Little
boy, if you think I’m not going to notice how incompetent you are, just because
you’re next to
her
, then think again.”

He
thinks I’m cowardly now too—a very promising sign. When the commander runs
through the process of how to load our automatic guns, I ask him to stop and
repeat even the simplest parts of the instructions. I can see the strain in his
steely eyes, like he’s resisting the urge to just get up and smack me for
interrupting him. On the outside, the others are still looking at me like I’m
defective in some way, but, on the inside, I’m starting to enjoy winding Briggs
up by playing the fool.

We
have limited time to practise setting up the guns in our pairs. The bruised
girl is surprisingly good at locking the pieces into the right places, and I
learn more from watching her than I did from Briggs’s brisk display.

“What’s
your name?” I ask her, once I’m sure the commander is busy helping someone
else.

“Lucrece,”
she replies.

I
am taken aback by the broken quality to her voice. She sounds as though someone
has forced her to gargle with glass.

“I’m
Raja,” I tell her, and she lets that little smile slip out again.

“You’re
all right, Raja,” Lucrece says. “The first friendly-looking face I’ve seen
around here. Pity
friendly
isn’t in Briggs’s assessment criteria.”

Lucrece
is a remarkably intelligent girl. Though her hands shake with nerves, she
understands the mechanics of the gun far better than I do, and she explains the
principles of distance, perception, and air resistance with confidence. From
her, I learn that the guns have two settings: single shot and continuous fire.
She finds the switch to change between the modes with ease. It pleases me to
know that she has so much skill, but a little part of me is sad when I realise
that she won’t be coming to the South Tower with me after all. Once today is
over, we might never speak to one another again.

“Time’s
up,” Briggs snarls. “You, you, and you, with me up here.”

Lucrece
is one of the three people that Briggs’s pointing finger finds. She hands me
her gun and stumbles nervously to the commander’s side with the two tall boys
the commander has picked. Briggs uncovers something huge and lumpy from beside
the gun stores, throwing it at Lucrece. She misses the catch as the heavy
object thumps her hard in the chest, but when she manages to lift it again, the
object takes shape. It is a thick, padded jacket, which appears to be full of
small, frayed holes.

“Put
these on,” Briggs barks, handing a jacket to each of the boys too, “and go and
stand in front of the targets.”

He
can’t be doing what I think he’s doing, and yet I watch in horror as Lucrece
pads up and walks a few metres away. She heads toward the spiral-shaped targets
that I’d assumed we would be aiming at. Briggs gives the three teens a shout
when he’s satisfied with their distance, then turns back to us with a
self-satisfied smirk.

“Set
your weapons to fire single shots,” he instructs. “Let’s make some holes in
those dummies, recruits.”

They
aren’t dummies. They’re people. Real people. My fellow soldiers are adjusting
their guns, but I can’t stand to even touch mine now.

“What
if we miss, sir?” I interject. “We could kill them.”

Briggs
leans close to my face, his bared teeth glowing white against his dark lips.

“You’d
better not miss then, had you son?” he purrs.

My
throat tightens at the sound of the first shot being fired. I scan the targets
quickly, realising it’s Lucrece who’s been hit. Another shot rings out, and
this time I see it sink into the padding over her right shoulder. Through her
violet bruises, Lucrece’s eyes shine wide and white with fear. She doesn’t
move, presumably terrified of shifting in the wrong direction as the recruits
take aim once more. It doesn’t take me long to fathom that she’s the only one
they’re shooting at.

I
meet Briggs’s steely gaze again, and he’s still wearing that stupid, smug grin.
He knew that this would happen. He could have put me out there to be a target,
but perhaps he’s already worked out that I’ll suffer so much more seeing
someone like Lucrece in the firing line. He doesn’t care about her skills or
her intellect; all he sees is a victim to toy with. The commander folds his
massive arms expectantly, looking at me and then at my discarded gun.

One
of the great advantages of growing up in the darkness of the Underground is
that my eyesight and focus have become very, very accurate. A merry irony
strikes me as I take up my gun, remembering a few of the valuable pointers that
Lucrece gave me moments ago. I pretend to take aim at one of the target boys,
who is nearest to Briggs at the left side of the field. Then, as I shift my
arms for a more comfortable grip, I quickly swing the gun a little farther
over, squeezing the trigger with all I’ve got.

“Holy
hell!” Briggs exclaims.

I
only meant to glance Briggs’s boot with a single bullet, but in my rage, I’d
forgotten to switch modes on the gun. A spray of six or seven shots fire out
before I can release my hold on the trigger, making the senior commander leap
out of the way as they chip into the dirt beneath his feet. The impact of
firing the gun makes my whole body shake, and I drop the weapon with shock. My
hands tremble wildly as the huge army man stomps toward me.

“What
were you trying to do?” Briggs demands, screaming in my face with the ferocity
of a wild beast.

“I . . . ”
I stammer, trying not to look into his impossibly close features. “It was an
accident… coordination . . . I didn’t mean to . . . ”

When
he digs his fingers into my shoulder, I can’t help the weak cry that escapes my
lips at the pain of his grip. Briggs drags me up the field to Lucrece, whom he takes
by the wrist with his other hand. I find myself looking back at the gobsmacked
expressions of the other recruits, who are all watching Briggs in a rapt
tableau of fear. When the commander speaks, his voice is strained by rage and
there is foam on his furious, snarling lips.