Chapter Eighteen

A lot of youngsters feel that by joining the Legion they become men—but you don’t become a man overnight.

—Corporal-chief James Campbell,
French Foreign Legion, 1984

“Ten-HUT!”

Wolf drew himself to attention as the door to the tiny classroom opened to admit Commandant Akiyama and his aide. The officer had been appointed to investigate the battle in the Archipel d’Aurore, and Wolf had already had several interviews with him over the course of the past two weeks. But this was the first time all of the survivors of the fighting at Savary’s plantation had been assembled together to meet with the commandant. Rumor had it that today’s session would be the last.

Even the battle hadn’t been enough to halt the juggernaut of Legion training. The survivors of the battle at Savary’s had been granted a day off to rest after their ordeal, but after that it was back to the regular grind. The investigation into the night’s events proceeded, but it wasn’t allowed to interfere with the ongoing classes at Fort Marchand. In due course the jungle warfare/reconnaissance course was wrapped up, and Training Company Odintsev moved on to the desert warfare training center at Fort Souriban, located deep in the Great Desert that covered half of Devereaux’s primary continent. Akiyama’s inquiry went on after they settled in to the new post, with hearings squeezed in to free periods or arranged to fit in with the platoon’s training schedule.

Wolf hadn’t been surprised to see this further proof of the Legion’s single-minded determination. Nothing about the Fifth Foreign Legion surprised him anymore.

“At ease,” Akiyama said.

“Take your seats so we can get this thing started,” Sergeant Baram growled. He waited as the recruits found places near the front of the classroom, then limped slowly to find a seat off to one side. His kneecap had been shattered in the battle, but after two days in Fort Marchand’s hospital he had been returned to limited duty, his leg encased in a regen cast that supported the limb while regeneration stimulators encouraged the regrowth of bone and tissue. Wolf couldn’t tell if the irritated expression on the sergeant’s face arose from the continuing pain in his leg, or from the prospect of the hearing itself.

At least Baram was back on full duty. Volunteer Yeh Chen had lost an arm in the battle, and that was something the ordinary regeneration process couldn’t cope with. He was slated for a medical discharge as soon as the investigation was closed out. The recruit hadn’t said much about it, but Wolf knew he must feel cheated. The Legion hadn’t even offered to fit him for an artificial limb. His enlistment would be marked as satisfactorily completed and given the customary H&F stamp, which would grant the wounded man the full privileges of Commonwealth Citizenship, but that was all. No accumulated bonus for years of service, and no help to a man who had sacrificed so much to the cause of the Legion. Just a Citizen’s dole for the rest of his life … and the knowledge that he had been all but abandoned.

Commandant Akiyama and his aide sat at a desk at the front of the room. The investigating officer had a compboard, which he consulted at length before finally beginning to speak. “This inquiry has been convened to consider the events of the past 23 November, standard calendar,” he said, matter-of-factly. “The fighting at Savary’s in the Archipel d’Aurore, to be specific. It is based principally on the reports each of you has filed, in combination with findings made by other Legion troops on the scene after your patrol was relieved.” He looked up from the compboard in front of him to study the recruits. “For the benefit of you trainees, we call an inquiry of this kind any time a Legion unit loses personnel in combat. It is not to be considered a military court … although it would be within my power to recommend a full court martial if I felt that events warranted one. As it happens, this matter has proven fairly straightforward, and all questions of punishment can be handled through ordinary administrative disciplinary channels.”

Akiyama looked down at the compboard again. “Sergeant Menachem Baram…?”

“Sir!” the sergeant responded crisply. He rose awkwardly and stood at attention.

“Sergeant, I find that you showed poor judgment in your precautions against a possible night attack by the Wynsarrysa at Savary’s. You should have been aware of the fact that the rebels frequently double back on targets they have previously attacked for the express purpose of ambushing our forces. Our records show that you chipped the appropriate intel bulletins prior to being authorized to lead recruit patrols in the field. Do you deny this?”

“No, sir,” Baram said flatly.

“Are there any mitigating circumstances you feel should be taken into account in connection with this finding?”

“No, sir,” the sergeant repeated. “I should have posted more guards and kept someone in the APC. I badly underestimated the threat from the rebels, and accept full responsibility for the mistake.”

“Very well.” Akiyama made a note on the computer’s screen. “Sergeant, you are sentenced to a reduction in grade and relief as a recruit instructor. You will be transferred to a line unit as soon as you are certified for a return to unrestricted duty and a vacancy becomes available. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Baram said.

“Legionnaire Myaighee!”

The hannie stood and saluted smartly, none the worse for wear despite his injuries in the battle. A short set of regen treatments had been sufficient to deal with the wounds. “Sir!” Although Myaighee looked efficient enough, Wolf thought he could detect a note of concern in the alien’s voice. The quills of the hannie’s neck ruff were twitching.

“Myaighee, we expected good things from you as a recruit lance leader. After the death of Corporal Yancey, you were the most experienced legionnaire under Sergeant Baram’s command and had the responsibility of taking command of the entire unit when your superior was incapacitated. The evidence we have gathered shows that you did not, and your own report indicates that you failed to live up to your responsibilities. Do you dispute these findings?”

“No, sir,” the hannie replied. “I … allowed myself to become too involved in hand-to-hand fighting and was not fully aware of what was happening on the rest of the battlefield.”

Akiyama nodded and jotted down another note. “The fact that you were engaged in combat at the time is certainly a mitigating circumstance. But you have demonstrated that you are ill-suited to a leadership position, and I will be recommending that you be relieved from your current position as Recruit Lance Leader.”

“Yes, sir.” The hannie didn’t betray any more emotion in his voice, but the neck ruff remained in constant motion. Myaighee sat down again, and Akiyama consulted his notes once more.

“Now … Volunteer Mario Antonelli.”

The Italian stood up slowly. “S-sir,” he stammered.

“The reports filed by Sergeant Baram and Volunteer Wolf made it clear that you must bear much of the responsibility for the loss of life in the battle. The attack began as you were in the process of turning over your watch to Volunteer Wolf, but the proximity and number of the attackers suggests that they were able to get into position largely as a result of inattention on your part. Moreover, it is evident that you took no noticeable part in the actual fighting.”

Antonelli was pale. “I … I …”

“Go ahead, Volunteer. What did you wish to say?”

He shook his head. “N-nothing, sir.”

The captain regarded him for a long moment before continuing. “Your record has been rather spotty throughout training, Volunteer. Any form of poor performance or misconduct is certainly enough to justify terminating your service with the Legion … which could cause you to revert to the penal battalions for the duration of your enlistment, that being your only other option under the terms of your original court sentence. But I am recommending a further investigation of this case, specifically to discover if you might be guilty of gross negligence. If the deaths of your comrades are directly attributable to some failure on your part … sleeping on guard, for instance, or being unfit for duty as a result of intoxicant use … then you can expect to be sentenced to the penal battalions for an additional period of time to be determined by a court martial board.”

The Italian recruit looked stricken. He turned a mournful glance on Wolf, then stood straighter and met Akiyama’s piercing stare. “I understand, Commandant,” he said softly.

Wolf looked away from the tableau. He had been honest in his report regarding Antonelli’s failure to join in the fighting, but had said nothing about finding him asleep. That had been a hard decision to make. His first impulse had been to bury the young Italian. It had been Antonelli’s fault … and Robert Bruce MacDuff and the other casualties had paid the price for his lapse. But he had given his word of honor not to say anything about finding the kid asleep … and when the time came he hadn’t been able to go back on that word. But now Antonelli would probably think he had been betrayed.

“Pending further investigation, you are relieved of all duties and placed on administrative restriction. That means you will drop out of your lance. Transient quarters will be provided. You have the run of the fort, but you will not leave without my express permission or orders from a higher authority. And you will make yourself available for detailed questioning until I am satisfied that I have reached the truth in this matter. Should I find sufficient evidence of negligence, I will order court martial proceedings. Is that clear to you, Mr. Antonelli?”

“Yes, sir,” Antonelli said again. He sat down, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He was no longer Volunteer Antonelli … and because the courts had taken away his citizenship and wouldn’t restore it unless he completed honorable service, he wasn’t even Citizen Antonelli anymore. Wolf had never given the matter much thought before, but now he could see how much the honorific might mean to someone like the Italian.

“Now … last on the list. Volunteer Karl Wolf.”

Wolf stood reluctantly, wondering why Akiyama was singling him out. Would he be held jointly responsible, with Antonelli, for failing to spot the rebels before the attack? Or had Antonelli lied about Wolf’s part in the fighting in an effort to save his own skin?

“Volunteer Wolf, the attack began at a time when you were officially on guard duty, but it is the opinion of this investigation that you could not have issued a warning any earlier than you actually did. Therefore, you are exonerated of any responsibility for the attack itself.”

“Thank you, sir,” Wolf said, relieved.

“All reports agree that it was your initiative and steady performance which was largely responsible for the retreat of the enemy force. The Legion demands obedience, but we also encourage initiative. You have been recommended for an Award of Valor, Second Class, and a copy of that recommendation has been placed in your permanent service file. If a Review Board finds in your favor, you will receive the decoration and a twenty-point boost in your recruit standings, which in your case, I believe, would place you near the top of your class.”

Wolf didn’t respond. He had been treated like a hero ever since the battle, but he still didn’t feel much like a hero. He had done what he’d been trained to do, no more. And luck more than courage had carried him through the battle.

The real heroes were the ones who had died. Like Robert Bruce MacDuff, killed trying to reach the Sandray at the height of the fighting. MacDuff, who had been his first friend among the cadets.

“Additionally, Volunteer Wolf,” Akiyama continued. “I am recommending that you be awarded the Lance Leader position which Legionnaire Third Class Myaighee previously held. Although Volunteer Kern’s combat proficiency scores are higher than yours, your academic standings put you at the head of your lance … and I believe your performance at Savary’s indicates that you have leadership potential we would be well advised to tap. Your platoon leader will have the final say, of course.” The officer gave him a thin smile. “But it is very rare for a noncommissioned drill instructor to ignore the recommendations of an Investigating Officer.”

“Y-yes … sir. Thank you.” Wolf could hardly choke the words out. He had always hoped, secretly, that Myaighee would be relieved of the lance leader’s position, but he had never thought they would give it to him instead. It should have been Kern.…

“Very good. This inquiry is adjourned. Carry out your orders.”

Kern slapped Wolf on the back, grinning, and Lisa Scott pumped his hand, but he hardly heard their words of congratulation. His eyes were on Antonelli as the young Italian walked out of the room, no longer cocky or confident.

He had been angry at the kid for surviving when MacDuff died in the battle. His friend’s bravery had stood out in sharp contrast to Antonelli’s paralysis, and it just hadn’t seemed right that the hero should die while the coward lived on. But this was no fair trade. Antonelli had tried hard and just couldn’t measure up … but did he deserve an even longer stay than he was already guaranteed with the Colonial Army’s infamous penal battalions?

Wolf was the only one who had seen Antonelli asleep that night. His word could condemn the Italian youth to an extra term of hard labor … at the cost of Karl Wolf’s honor.

He shook his head slowly. Punishing Antonelli further wouldn’t bring MacDuff or the others back. The best thing he could do, now, was to let Antonelli know that Akiyama had no evidence of negligence to go on, and wouldn’t get any from Karl Wolf. It wouldn’t save the kid’s Legion career—that was gone, one way or another—and it wouldn’t even save him from the penal battalions, since whatever original crime he had committed back on Terra had warranted the choice between the Legion or prison service. But at least Wolf’s forbearance would leave him with a shred of dignity.

That was little enough, but it was all Wolf could give him.

* * *

The Great Desert was bleak, a seemingly unending expanse of rock and sand where Beau Soleil, the system’s primary, beat down without mercy. Legionnaire Third Class Myaighee didn’t mind the heat—the temperatures in the jungles of Hanuman soared higher even on a cool day. But ky wasn’t accustomed to the parched atmosphere, the dryness so completely unlike anything ky had seen before. The fatigues ky wore, specially tailored for the hannie’s small frame, contained climate control settings that adjusted to almost any extremes of temperature, but they weren’t designed to deal with different levels of humidity. Myaighee felt the effects of the desert much more than kys comrades, and needed to drink frequently to replenish precious body fluids.

The whole platoon was on the march, another exercise in desert warfare operations contrived by Platoon Sergeant Konrad less than an hour after the end of the hearing back at Fort Souriban. When they had mustered on the parade ground outside the block of classrooms where Akiyama had passed judgment on them, Konrad had already known the results. He had curtly informed Mario Antonelli that all his effects had been moved to transients’ quarters during the hearing, and he had sent the young male-human away without a further word or thought. Katrina Voskovich, the only survivor of Charlie Lance able to return to duty, had been reassigned to Delta Lance in Antonelli’s place.

And Karl Wolf had been confirmed as the new lance leader. Myaighee wasn’t sure how to take that part of the hearing. Ky had never been happy at being a leader. On Hanuman, kys caste had been everything, and ky had always been a servant. In the Legion ky had found a measure of respect, but as junior member of a lance. The leadership role hadn’t come naturally, and ky was relieved not to have to face the responsibility.

But to have Wolf in charge …

The male-human from Laut Besar hadn’t displayed his contempt for Myaighee openly for a long time, but ky knew it was still lurking under the man’s polished veneer. It rankled ky to have the male-human promoted in Myaighee’s place … as if in confirmation of the man’s arrogant claims of superiority.

If only ky had been able to stay in control during the battle at Savary’s. In previous fights ky had seen some desperate moments, and the battle madness had helped ky survive. But this time had been different. Ky had paid the price for ignoring the rest of the battle.

It was a price ky was determined never to pay again.

* * *

Lisa Scott was grateful for the climate-control features of her uniform coverall. The heat of the Great Desert seemed to suck up every vestige of moisture, but the cooling coils woven into the fabric made it almost comfortable … which meant she could focus on a dozen other hardships instead. Her aching feet, for instance, sore after the long route march through the rocky desert. Or the outcome of the hearing, the end of Antonelli’s long struggle to make good.

She had no high regard for Antonelli, but Scott couldn’t help feeling disturbed by the whole thing. It was all so impersonal, not at all the way she had pictured the life of ordinary soldiers. There was the gigantic military bureaucracy at the top, of course, cold, heartless … all the things she associated with her father and his cronies. But she had imagined more sentiment, more of a feeling of fellowship, among the ordinary fighting men and women.

At least the inquiry was over. Now maybe they could put the past behind them. She hadn’t known any of the dead recruits very well, but she knew MacDuff had been a good friend of Karl Wolf’s. He had been distracted and withdrawn ever since the battle, and his mood had infected her of late. Today, though, Wolf had seemed more concerned with Antonelli’s fate, and she didn’t know what to make of that. There had been little love lost between the street kid and the aristocrat.…

Wolf still looked glum, plodding through the desert sands just ahead of her with his eyes fixed on some unknown point beyond the horizon. She’d expected him to be more pleased at his promotion—after all, he’d never been very happy at taking orders from Myaighee, Legion toleration lectures or no—and at the possibility of a medal. The recruit had certainly earned it, that night at Savary’s. But he seemed equally oblivious to both … and indeed to the whole world around him.

The slightest of motions made her look down at Wolf’s feet. She shouted a warning and lunged forward to push him out of the way.…

And felt a searing fire coil around her left ankle.

* * *

Wolf stumbled, barely keeping his balance after the unexpected shove from behind. A curse sprang to his lips, but died as he turned to see Lisa Scott falling heavily to the ground. She screamed once, a sound of sheer agony, as the muscles of her leg spasmed uncontrollably and she thrashed on the ground like a woman possessed.

He rushed to her side and started to kneel, one hand reaching for the first aid kit on his web gear. But Kern loomed up beside him and grabbed his shoulder roughly, pushing him back.

“Hold on, boyo,” the redhead ordered, his voice harsh. “Sandray …”

The Devereaux sandray, which had lent its name to the Legion’s primary APC, resembled nothing so much as a Terran manta ray adapted to the environment of the Great Desert. A burrowing predator, it hid under a thin layer of sand with only the tip of its long, flexible tail showing. The appendage contained a breathing tube, a motion-sensitive organ that detected the approach of prey, and a poison stinger. Any of the large animals that lived along the fringes of the Great Desert were prey for the sandray.

They didn’t hunt Man by choice, but anyone foolish enough to wander the desert without precautions was likely to make a meal for one of them.

Kern rolled the stricken recruit clear of the sandray’s hole with the butt of his FEK, and Myaighee, his own weapon unslung, fired a long, full-auto burst into the ground. The hannie only stopped when dark red blood soaked through the sand layer.

They didn’t have much time. Sandray poison spread fast, causing the muscles to convulse and then go rigid. Already she was curling into a tight fetal position, arms wrapped around her stomach, still twitching horribly. Wolf knew that the sandray venom would stop her breathing and her heart within a minute unless she was given prompt first aid.…

Then Corporal Vanyek pushed past Wolf, his own first aid kit ready in his hand. “Take it easy, Scott,” he said. “This is the antivenom patch.” He was already positioning the adhesive pad over her carotid artery as he spoke. Then he produced a knife to cut away the leg of her coverall to put another patch over the wound itself.

The convulsions seemed to ease somewhat, but she was still curled up, her breathing shallow and ragged. She didn’t seem aware of any of them.

Vanyek, though, appeared satisfied. “Wolf, Kern, monitor her vitals. I’ll call for medevac. The rest of you straks keep your eyes open! This ain’t some goddamned walk in the park!”

Wolf bent over her, shaken. It had all happened so quickly, but one fact stood out. She must have seen the questing tail as it moved to strike him, and in pushing him out of the way had taken the attack in his place.

She had saved his life.

“Thanks … no thanks are enough,” he said quietly, not sure if she could even hear him. He produced his own medical kit and found a sedative patch to position on her wrist. “This’ll relax you. Put you to sleep, maybe. You hang in there, Scott. Do you hear me? Hang in there.…”