Marine Cadet (The Human Legion Book 1) (55 page)

Where once they had set their rockets to low yield to avoid damaging their vital equipment, now they were cornered and desperate to take as much human life as they could.

Where was his carbine?

Arun tried to remember what had happened to it but the corridor was a mess of debris and blinding flashes.

The Hardit titans had nearly turned around.

Arun picked up Springer to carry her to safety.

But after he’d lifted her only a few inches, his vision swam so furiously that he had to set her back down.

How did she get to be so heavy?

The officer’s voice came loud into his helmet. “Curse you, human.”

Arun looked behind at the Jotun. Thunderclaws was ten meters away, in a small group of Marines in open order. He watched as the seven-foot tall hexaped dropped his weapon and closed the gap between them in an astonishing burst of speed.

A quick bunching of six limbs and Thunderclaws was tumbling up through the air, but he’d overshot — aiming for a bruising impact against the ceiling. When the officer slammed into the roof, Arun saw that this was all part of his maneuver, two limbs pushing gracefully against the ceiling and sending the bulky armored alien down to land… directly on top of Arun!

In the moment before the Jotun thumped down on top of him, Arun got on all fours over Springer, trying to shield her with his body.

A crushing weight fell over Arun, leaving him spread-eagled over his wounded buddy.

He found he was still alive, though, still breathing because the officer had extended all six limbs, using them like pillars to support the shield that was the Jotun’s body.

Hardit explosions engulfed them.

Arun felt them as a white flare that seared every molecule in his body.

He should have died. He would have, a dozen times over today, if he had been a mere human. The White Knights, or their bio-engineers, had made him something far stronger than human, but Arun could push his battered body no further.

Barney could, though.

Now that the corrupting combat drugs had largely been scoured from Arun’s body, Barney could implement the standing order to keep badly wounded Marines conscious. The suit AI refused to allow Arun the easy escape of slipping into blackness.

This wasn’t kindness. A conscious Marine had a higher chance of staying alive long enough for a medic to reach him.

Around him, the battle raged on.

Arun’s body persisted. His visor was smeared in blood. He was crushed under the bulk of Ensign Thunderclaws, unable to move his suit. The only movement from Thunderclaws was his alien blood flowing over Arun like a crimson waterfall.

Barney tried to show him a zoomed-out tactical display but Arun’s mind had been beaten up even more than his body and his thoughts shied away from the fighting.

Arun was alive and conscious, but his battle was finally over.

His comrades would have to handle the rest without him.

A
Promise
Made Good

Key concepts

–The regimental system

The earliest regimental system originated in the Earth continent of Europe a development of that continent’s first nation states: France and England. An English regiment of the 18th century British Army, for example, would typically have three battalions. A 1st battalion of the best men and equipment would fight overseas in the continental European wars. The 2nd battalion remained in England to defend the home country. A further depot battalion billeted at the home base would train and equip new recruits, sending a stream of replacements out to the main two battalions and possibly perform garrison duties. The depot battalion would often be little more than an administrative concept, manned by a scattering of accountants, invalided veterans, and the idle rich masquerading as officers.

When the army needed to be expanded rapidly to meet the demands of a new war, all the government needed to do was raise additional battalions for the existing regiments.

The regimental system set up for the Human Marine Corps had to cope with completely different needs.

The Human Marine Corps was mostly employed in the Eighth Frontier War, a series of fluid probes and parries by the Muryani and Amilx around lightly held, minor systems situated 10-40 light years from Tranquility.

When the depot battalion in France or England sent out replacements, they would reach the front line battalion within a few weeks. But if the two depots on the planet of Tranquility sent out similar streams of replacements to frontline battalions, the journey would be not weeks but decades. European replacements could sometimes take months chasing down their battalions in a fast-moving campaign. At modern distances of light-years, and transportation cruising speed typically half the speed of light, the problem of straggling replacements looking for their unit would make the whole depot system a joke.

So instead of sending small streams of replacements to the front, fully formed companies or battalions were sent instead. As the strength of frontline units depleted due to losses, they merged and merged again. Veterans with leadership capability were sent back to leaven the green cadet battalions with a few experienced Marines.

As for the problem of how to expand the army in the face of a crisis, the Human Marine Corps solved this by constructing reservoirs of cryogenically frozen Marines to be thawed out when needed. Indeed it has often been speculated that the only purpose of sending the Tranquility battalions to the frontier was to experiment with human military units under battlefield conditions. Any military contribution to the Eighth Frontier War was coincidental. The main purpose of Tranquility was really to breed and freeze huge armies of loyal Marines who would be thawed and retrained to the latest standards when a major war sprang up.

Detroit alone was thought by some authorities to store over four million frozen Marines, each in a cryo box designed to be shielded from cosmic rays and micrometeorites and magnetized so the boxes would clamp together.

Transport ships would have towed these boxes in their millions between the stars.

It would have been an astonishing sight, like city-sized reefs of frogspawn glittering occasionally in the dark of space.

This topic entry has mentioned the Human Marine Corps, but what about the Human Legion? At this stage in the Human Legion’s development, the administrative policies for battlefield replacements are something for the future, but for our human warriors, at least, no one has suggested a better approach than that used at Tranquility.

Until someone devises a better system, it looks as if the regimental system, originating from Earth’s ancient history, will spread through the galaxy for millennia to come.

As soon as Staff Sergeant Bryant strapped himself into his harness he gave a thumbs up to the camera. The shuttle eased away from the orbital elevator dock without delay. Destination: the as-yet unnamed human-Trog base under construction on Antilles.

Arun and two former Gold Squad cadets were sitting on the bench set against the opposite bulkhead. The cadets had all been wounded in the attack on Antilles, and were hitching a ride back there, back to their new posting on the moon.

Bryant took his time to size up the cadets.

“You did well, Cascella,” said the NCO. “You too, Abramovski. I read how you were quite the marksman, picking off enemy leaders rallying their troops to counter-attack through the bridgehead. I expect every Marine to be an expert with the SA-71, but it takes special aptitude to be a sniper. If we weren’t dumping you on this frakking moon, I’d put you in for sniper assessment. I haven’t the authority to get you back to Detroit, but I’ve made a note on your record recommending you for assessment if you do return.”

“Thank you, Staff,” said Abramovski coldly. Arun had liked the pale-haired girl back in novice school. She had a big heart and warm eyes, but the instant she was in the presence of a superior, her face became as unyielding as ceramalloy.

“You keep your thanks in reserve, cadet. A sniper’s role is not easy.” Bryant paused. “I’ll say it once more. I’m proud of you two.” He didn’t just say the words, he glowed with so much pleasure that enemy targeting systems would mark the shuttle out as having a hot payload.

To their credit, Arun’s two new cadet squadmates – even Abramovski – glanced at him with embarrassment on their faces when Bryant proceeded to ask them about their injuries and treatment. Arun didn’t exist for Bryant. The senior NCO utterly blanked him, which wounded Arun deeply. After risking his life to save Springer, having put himself in the line of fire alongside his comrades, hadn’t he earned enough respect to be acknowledged as existing?

Clearly not to Bryant.

Waiting for Arun on Antilles was a place in the new Indigo Squad, formed from the survivors of Blue and Gold. Would they treat him any better?

Arun turned his head away from Bryant and set his mind back to earlier that day when the medics had let him look in on Springer. She was still in an induced coma, looking scarred but peaceful, wrapped in clear sheeting like a logistics package. He’d found it difficult to believe but they’d told him she would follow in a few weeks.

Springer would never blank him. He’d done right by his buddy.

That was good enough for him.

Frakk the rest of them.

——

An hour later, Arun was on the parade deck, looking for his place in Indigo Squad’s lineup. Not an easy task, because other than electric lamps directed at the front of the deck, where the officers would stand, the only illuminations was a dim bio-lume red oozing up from the floor. The
parade deck
was actually a cavern literally chewed out from under Antilles’ rocky crust.

How had the Trogs managed to construct all this? Just three weeks earlier, Arun had been fighting a battle about a klick from here. The dead moon of Antilles had no plant roots, water, rotting vegetation or even weather — none of the things that would produce soil on a living planet. Under a layer of powdery dust, the moon was made of cold, hard rock. But the floors and walls looked the same as the packed soil tunnels of the Troggie nest where Arun’s adventures had begun. He looked again. Perhaps the walls were a slightly grayer color, and the caverns in Tranquility hadn’t had those stone columns supporting the vaulted roof. It was difficult to say in the ruddy gloom that rose from the floor, transforming a parade of human cadets into something that looked more like a demonic horde assembling in the fiery depths of hell.

But his eyes soon recalibrated for the light conditions and he found his place in the line. Madge was now leading a new Delta Section. Zug, Del and Umarov were still there, along with two survivors from Gold Squad: a stocky girl called Azinza Sadri, and Kolenja Abramovski whom Bryant had recommended for sniper training.

There was a space left for Springer.

He thought of Cristina and Osman. There were no spaces left for them. They would never be coming back.

“Welcome back, friend,” whispered Zug as Arun pushed past.

Madge ignored Zug’s infraction of speaking while on parade. “Park yourself at the end of the line, McEwan,” she ordered. “And for frakk’s sake, try to keep out of trouble.”

By the time Arun had taken his place, the two senior figures inspecting the parade were taking theirs.

Bryant was there wearing an expression like a plasma bomb two seconds from going off. He trailed half a pace behind the commanding officer. Arun didn’t blame Bryant because the new ruler of all personnel on Antilles — including Hardits and humans — was a Trog!

For a moment, his heart leaped when something about the way the insect-like creature curled his antennae in faint amusement made him think it was Pedro. It couldn’t be, though. Surely not. Because this was a Trog at a different stage of their weird lifecycle.

He missed Pedro’s excitable nature, his playfulness. This Trog commander was very different. For a start it was much larger, almost struggling with the weight of its body. Unlike Pedro’s gleaming carapace the commander’s abdomen was like a barrel of blisters. Dead skin — or chitin, or whatever the big aliens were made from — sloughed off as the commander walked, leaving a scabrous trail on the floor.

The alien reared up on its hind legs and surveyed the paraded humans through eyes that were milky and red-lined where Pedro’s had been gleaming black jewels. .

It spoke through a voicebox device that hung loosely from its neck. “Humans need ritual,” it said in that familiar approximation of human speech. “I give you a ritual of welcome. And a token of our thanks.”

Something made Arun snap a glance at the ceiling, noticing that half of Indigo Squad was doing the same. He started, the roof was about to collapse, crushing the life from them. But instead of death from above came… scents! Pleasant odors. Evocative ones all mixed together in a way that made no sense at all but were astonishingly beautiful. Taking a deep breath, and closing his eyes, the smells transported Arun to ripe topside fields bathed in golden sunshine. At the same time he imagined the rich security and comfort of warm blanket on a cold night. His blanket was shared with the spicy scent of a lover impatient for his touch.

He knew the Trogs experienced the universe through smell, but Pedro had never hinted that they could do this. Arun didn’t have the words to describe what the aliens were doing, and frankly he didn’t want them. The experience was magic. And magic was a treasure better experienced than explained.

All too quickly, the smells dissipated. Arun opened his eyes, and once more they were an underground assembly of 34 cadets, with Sergeant Gupta lined up beside the front rank.

“I see from your facial expression that our gift was well received,” said the Trog commander. “We are pleased. In time we will grow nest warriors of our own, but that is many years away. Until then, this moon will be garrisoned by humans. You are the first human warriors to take on that responsibility. As of this moment you are designated soldiers of the 1st Antilles Brigade.”