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Seivers paced the anteroom, waiting for everyone to assemble in the lecture theatre next door. She had given briefings before, but never on this scale. Seventy new members of her unit would be staring back at her when she walked out, listening to her every word.
She ran through her speech in her head one more time. It was one of those rare moments when she wished she had an EIS and could scroll the script in her inner vision. She remembered Johnson’s advice on making a first impression as a commander. Her existing team had got their first feel for her in combat, which suited her just fine. But this was different. She was a Centurion now, still expected to lead from the front but also to remain a step apart from the rankers. She had her reputation going for her, but little else.
Stopping in front of a full-length mirror, she examined her working greys. The red semicircle of her new rank seemed out of place, but she wore it with pride. She’d always taken care to be smart when she could. Despite rebelling against most of the things her parents had tried to instil in her, attention to looks when making an impression had stuck with her. Even at school, wearing a uniform had given her a sense of belonging that she wasn’t going to insult.
One part remained. She opened a matt gunmetal box on the bureau beside the mirror and lifted out a small rectangle of fabric, stroking it reverently. As the first commanding officer of a new unit, they’d given her the honour of designing the unit flash. She had passed that honour on to her team and they’d unanimously demanded horizontal bands of red, white and blue.
She peeled the backing off and held the patch against her upper arm as it heated and fused with the fabric of her tunic. Finally, it felt real.
Janson eased himself through the door and reported all present. “They look a tough bunch.”
“I got my pick of who to invite and I chose people with useful pre-Legion backgrounds. Not all accepted, out of loyalty to their current units, but we got a good mix from former undercover cops to sig int.” Seivers paused and tried to read Janson’s face. “You don’t mind Franks being brought in over you?”
He snorted. “I’m not Optio material. Stepping into your shoes as a Decurion is good enough for me. Besides, Franks worked with the Primus back in the day. He’s good. I’m just sorry he can’t transfer until his latest batch of recruits pass out.”
‘Be memorable’ had been Johnson’s final comment. She tugged her tunic straight and checked her reflection again. With a nod to Janson, she strode to the door.
Oh yeah. They’ll remember this.
The friendly murmurings in the lecture theatre died with the rustle of everyone bracing up. Seivers walked purposefully to the lectern and eyed the room, drawing out the survey as Johnson had taught her. “At ease.”
She waited until everyone relaxed and the room grew silent again, never having noticed before how much noise just shifting position in a seat made. “You’ve all heard of me. Great tales of Tricolore and her Tigers. Some of what you’ve heard might even be true.”
That only got a few laughs, but some of the tension had dissipated.
“I’m not one for making people sit around listening to me. However, today there are a few things that need saying.”
She looked around the tiered seating, picking out faces she remembered from going through the files. “You have joined a new kind of unit for the Legion. Officially, we are the Third Century of the First Auxiliary Cohort. Technically, we and the other auxiliary centuries come under the command of Prefect Anson. However, we have a significant degree of independence and our ties to the cohort are primarily logistical.”
The Legion’s grown so much in the last year! How can there be enough ships and Legionaries to form sixteen line cohorts, let alone the auxiliary units?
“Once we see how you work together, we’ll be grouping you into teams under Decurions. Most of the time, those teams will deploy individually or in pairs. There will be great opportunity to shine, but no room for stupidity. Heroism at the cost of the mission or your teammates will not be tolerated.”
She took a breath, letting it sink in. One big worry about the kind of people attracted to this line of work was showboating.
I can talk!
“I’m sure you’ve seen something about the snazzy kit we get, which you’ll be introduced to soon. For now, though, I’ll just let you drool over our new ride.” She tapped a button on the lectern and a holographic projection of a Razor held in its jump cradle emerged from the wall. After a few seconds there was a thud from somewhere in the wings and the lights cut out. The projection died a fraction of a second later, plunging the lecture theatre into darkness. People shuffled in their seats, and she imagined them querying the net to check they weren’t under attack.
Janson came across the stage towards Seivers, a torch creating a pool of light in front of his feet. He leant forward to whisper. “It’s all set.”
She cleared her throat. “Temporary glitch with the power. If you could all make your way out of the door you came in and head down the corridor to the next lecture room, we’ll be able to carry on.”
Seivers followed them out to find them pressed together in the corridor. Ahead, the way was blocked by Legionaries in black firmsuits and brandishing shocksticks. “Oh. Did I forget to mention you had to get through them?”
A few looked at her questioningly. She grinned back at them. “Whichever side loses buys the drinks tonight.”
Some exchanged glances and nods. Others jostled for position. No doubt the EIS channel was alive with their discussion. They charged.
Fists and feet flew as the first rank hit the Legionary line. In seconds it became a shoving match, the corridor giving no room for flanking. Her guys had the numbers, but the Legionaries had the armour and weapons.
Janson sidled up beside her. “Looks like we got a good bunch.”
“Yep.”
She kept her eyes fixed on the melee. The Auxiliaries had pushed a few paces forward, but a dozen lay incapacitated on the floor.
“And the Primus signed off on this?”
I couldn’t believe it either. Guess some of his guys were getting antsy and needed to blow off steam.
“Yep.”
She studied the Legionaries, watching to see if her guys missed any opportunities. Both sides had lost people from the fight but it had gone harder on the Auxiliaries.
“You wanna play too, don’t you?” Janson shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“Yep.”
“What you waiting for?”
An olive-skinned man strode into the corridor behind the Legionary line. An air of calm purpose surrounded him. Her eyes were drawn to a green scarf poking out from below his bearded chin.
“Him.” Seivers sprinted forward, stepping on the back of a winded Legionary who’d been bypassed, to jump over the thin line of remaining Auxiliaries. She rolled under a Legionary’s baton swipe and kicked the legs out from the one behind him. Two more blocked her way and she rose to a crouch snarling at them.
A pair of black-gloved hands appeared on their shoulders and pushed them aside. “She’d tear you two apart.”
Behind her, the Legionaries had closed the gap she’d made, but not before losing several men knocked out cold by the Auxiliaries who’d tried to follow her.
Ahead, the green-scarfed man stepped forward. “You looking for me, Tricolore?”
She straightened and nodded.
“Let’s see what you’ve got.” No posturing, no ‘bring it’ moves. Just a measured invitation.
She approached cautiously, keeping her centre. A movement drew her attention, aware she was exposed to attack from the Legionaries behind. He struck, boot firmly landing on her chest and sending her back. She barely managed to roll out and get to her feet in time to avoid the follow-up.
He stepped forward, electricity arcing along his stick. Her uniform offered some protection, but a hit to a limb would still numb it for a few seconds. She knew her focus must be on disarming him.
Problem is, he knows that, too.
He thrust the stick at her torso, forcing her to react, and his knuckles swung round to connect with her biceps, pinching them against the bone. Sharp pain was replaced with numbness.
She stepped back, wiggling her fingers to try to get sensation back in her arm. She’d reacted by the book. The book he’d written. That was the problem going up against the person who’d trained you, they knew what you’d do in each situation and could use that to play you.
Well, I’ve been trained by others before him.
She stopped trying to plan. If she didn’t know what she was going to do, how could he?
She ran at him, dodged left, planted a foot on the wall and dived at his legs. Her shoulder took him in the side of the knee and he landed on top of her. She elbowed him in the kidney, rolling away before he could retaliate. He charged before she could get off her back. She got her legs up just in time and used his momentum to launch him over her and into a hatch frame. His head connected with the hatch, drawing blood. Triumph vied with concern, but he roused himself and came for her again, forcing her to block a series of punches.
Her chest burned, trying to draw in enough air to supply her overtaxed body. Despite her augmented muscles, he was just too big to keep throwing around. And with the firmsuit hardening at the site of each impact, she wasn’t getting too far with direct hits either.
Another exchange of punches and they stepped apart again, both moving more slowly now.
The tide turned against the Legionaries. She noticed them using their shock sticks like normal batons, their cells depleted.
A sweep took her legs out from under her. She rolled, but too slow to fully avoid a blow to her cheek. Reeling, she lashed out and squirmed away. Back to the wall, she forced herself upright. The metallic tang of blood filled her mouth and nose as she tried to clear her head.
Issawi came on slowly. He favoured his left leg, but that could easily be a trick.
All the Auxiliaries and Legionaries still conscious stood and watched. One blurted, “That’s the effing Primus,” before being hushed by his mates.
Seivers blinked, trying to get rid of the blurred vision. The aches and pains she could block out, but she was tiring. She was going to lose if she didn’t close it out soon.
She pushed off the wall and launched a flurry of feints and hits. Issawi blocked many, yet she landed some key ones. But her coordination was gone and her awareness was narrowing. A big kick, and she landed with a foot on a discarded baton and went down, ankle throbbing.
He pinned her to the deck, forearm against her throat. Leaning in to apply pressure, he whispered in her ear. “You’ve got even better since I finished training you. I’m impressed. But you didn’t think you could win, did you?”
His tone wasn’t mocking or gloating, more concerned. He’d always tried to instil in her the sense to pick the right fights.
“No,” she forced out though her bruised throat. “I needed a real challenge to prove to myself I was still me.”
“Yield,” he said aloud. Then in a whisper he continued, “Good answer. Now, you need to win this to give your guys an untainted victory to look back on.”
The pressure lifted from her throat just a fraction and she slid sideways, pushing his chest up with all the strength she had left in the right arm. Muscles tore, but she managed to put him over on his back.
A sweep kick to his face and she was crouched ready to spring again. He came at her, making an obvious left feint. Trusting he was throwing the fight rather than the feint being a double bluff, she threw her whole weight into a kick where she expected him to be. He swerved right and her feet connected with his chest. He went down hard. She moved in to follow up, but he tapped out.
She held her arm out to help Issawi up. He unfastened his chest plate, still clearly struggling to get air into his winded lungs. Cheers broke out. Her new unit had their first victory and bragging rights.
