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Johnson stood on a podium in front of the ranks of recruits. She wore her newly-designed dress uniform; light grey, with black stripes down the side, her Prefect’s lightning bolts picked out in gold on her cuffs.
“Firstly,” she said, her voice carrying clearly across the square. “I’d like to congratulate all of you on your achievements. You have worked hard, fought adversity, and grown together with your teammates. Each and every one of you deserves to stand here, head held high, a member of Legion Libertus.”
She glanced to her right, where Issawi stood, beaming with obvious pride.
“Secondly,” she continued. “I’d like to thank the training staff for using their expertise to give you the skills you have now.”
She turned to applaud the training staff arrayed behind her. The recruits joined in, just a smattering at first, but then the rest joined in wholeheartedly.
Johnson turned back to the recruits and they fell silent.
“Some of you have found that you can best employ your talents through excellence in a single field. We have data analysts, cooks, engineers, naval weapons operators, scientists, medics, programmers, and many others. All are vital to our efforts.”
Many would still be smarting from dropping out of the recruit training programme. She wanted it to be clear that they were just as important as those who’d made it through. After all, none of the soldiers, sailors and marines she’d served with had been through that kind of training, and that hadn’t stopped them achieving great things.
“You are hereby granted the title ‘Specialists’,” she announced.
The entire body of forty Specialists came to attention together, without an order being spoken. Even knowing how it was done, it was an impressive sight. Johnson made a note to compliment the optio who’d had the idea to coordinate the ceremony by EIS comms.
The Specialists marched out smartly, in groups of ten, and came to a halt in a line facing the podium. Johnson and Issawi walked along the row each time, shaking hands, exchanging a few words, and attaching the appropriate Specialist pin to each person’s collar.
Once the Specialists had returned to their ranks and stood at ease, Johnson continued her address.
“The rest of you standing before me have become adept at a wide range of disciplines. You are resilient, strong, and adaptable ... Today, you become Legionaries.”
Like the Specialists, the Legionaries crashed to attention without a spoken word. They too marched out in groups of ten. Johnson and Issawi presented them with their Legionary pin, a gunmetal grey gladius surrounded by an ellipse.
“We have studied you throughout your training. We have pushed you, often beyond what you thought possible. Some of you have shown yourselves to be ready to lead.”
She paused to let that sink in. The bit that came next was her favourite part of command.
“Legionary Canetti, Specialist Enquist, Optio Khan, Optio Malinowski, Specialist Olbrich, Specialist Yang. Front and centre.”
They marched out. Johnson smiled as Canetti mounted the steps. She’d had a hard time convincing the rest of the panel that he was ready; the other candidates had already served with distinction in their previous lives.
“You are hereby promoted to the rank of centurion. Khan will take responsibility for the Search and Rescue detachment. Canetti and Malinowski will lead the two line centuries, under the direct command of Centurion Anson. The rest of you will take charge in your respective specialisms.”
After the presentation of rank slides bearing crimson semi-circular icons, and the exchange of salutes, Johnson called out another list of names.
“You are hereby promoted to the rank of decurion. Your postings will be announced shortly.”
For the last time that day, Johnson and Issawi went down a line, shaking hands and awarding badges. This time, the recipients were given rank slides bearing an upright red rectangle.
Johnson retook the podium and surveyed her cohort. Pride swelled her chest.
“Tomorrow, you start working on explosive demolition,” she said. “But for the rest of today, I want everyone to let their hair down. Relax, and enjoy the party.”
She smiled, then came to attention.
“Parade!”
The ranks stiffened.
“Parade, ‘hun!”
A crash, as several hundred men and women stamped their feet.
“Officer on parade. Diiiismiss!”
Johnson returned their salute, then the Legionaries and Specialists turned to their right and marched off. Three paces in, they broke step and cheered. They clapped each other on the shoulder, fist bumped and chest barged. Some groups lingered on the square, chatting. Others made a quick exit, heading, no doubt, for the bar set up for the occasion.
#
The woods were quiet. A couple of birds sang to each other, an insect buzzed from flower to flower, but otherwise nothing. A damp, mossy smell pervaded the clearing. From her perch on a fallen log, the only movement Johnson could see was that of a small mammal foraging for nuts. That morning she had finished the first of Indie’s book suggestions, and now half-expected Ratty to stand up and address her.
A gunship crested the treeline and flared to a hover ten metres from her. Ten armoured humans and a combat unit dropped from the aircraft. On hitting the ground they crouched, absorbing the impact, then sprang up into a run. As each human reached the edge of the clearing, they dropped into cover, training their weapon into the wood; the combat unit loitered where it could react to an attack in any direction. The moment the last Legionary was in position, the gunship spun, put its nose down and accelerated away.
Johnson peered down at the Legionary who had taken cover by her log. He steadfastly ignored her, keeping his eyes on his allotted arc. She lifted her head and pulled up the IFF overlay; red icons appeared in the distance, showing her the locations of the enemy forces. Issawi had positioned them to simulate a guerrilla camp.
^Route’s on your maps. Charlie take point,^ sent the decurion in charge of the section. ^Move out.^
One by one, the soldiers stood and filed into the woods. They moved carefully, without even breaking a twig; weapons up and sweeping. The combat unit slunk off by itself, covering their right flank. The last man out of the clearing swung round to check the rear, giving a slight nod to Johnson as he scanned past her.
This was the sixth deployment she had observed today. The Legionaries were settling quickly into their new teams; where possible, Issawi had kept successful groups together from the training platoons. Johnson was more and more aware of each passing day; the twelve-month deadline from Vice-Admiral Koblensk’s message would run out in seven weeks. She didn’t know how long it would take for the Red Fleet to deploy once that time passed, but she would have to get her forces moving in the next three weeks so they could be sure of being at Concorde before them. The Indescribable Joy of Destruction was out, collecting the data from the probes that it had left monitoring radio signals. Perhaps that would bring a more concrete D-Day, but she doubted it.
#
Centurion Khan walked Johnson through the training village. The streets were filled with rubble and pieces of metal sheet, though the buildings still stood.
They passed a section of Legionaries part-way up a tumble-down pile of bricks, trying to stabilise it. Lower down, another section pulled a dummy from the ruin. On the opposite side of the street, individuals worked with combat units to search for ‘survivors’.
“This is what I wanted you to see,” said Khan as they turned a corner.
Johnson stopped, taking in the scene. Rows of survival shelters filled the plaza. Specialists and Legionaries were busy triaging ‘casualties’, serving from a cookhouse, and recording everyone who arrived. The makeshift hospital was surrounded by defensive positions manned by Legionaries and combat units. Johnson dared to hope that perhaps they could do it. Just maybe they could save the people of Concorde.
“We can set one of these aid centres up in half an hour,” Khan said. “They will act as the kernel of a safe zone, a focus for the surviving community.”
“How many can you staff?” asked Johnson.
He grimaced. “Only five. But we have the resources for twenty. If we can get survivors to help, we could stretch our staff out.”
“Very good,” Johnson said. “I take it you’re working on plans to induct locals into the scheme?”
“Naturally. My wife trains civilian first responders back on Gliese 832c, I’ve already written a first draft of a crash course based on her programme.” He paused, his face taking on the slightly vacant look people tended to adopt when receiving an EIS message.
“Sorry, Ma’am. Got a real shout.” He broke into a run. “Indie’ll fill you in,” he called, before rounding a corner and leaving her sight.
^Indie?^ she sent, strolling along the central street in the tented hospital.
^A couple of Legionaries didn’t return from their morning run, and no-one could connect a channel to their EIS. The initial sweeps found nothing, so their decurion passed it up the line. Centurion Canetti requested Search and Rescue Detachment involvement a minute ago.^
Johnson ducked inside a tent. Screens filled three walls; faces of imaginary survivors scrolled across, updating as new ones were logged into the system.
^I take it you’ll keep me up to speed?^ she sent.
^ You know me well enough by now to know the answer to that.^
^Yes, I guess I do,^ she sent. ^And I don’t suppose I need to tell you I’ll be in my office, either.^
Johnson stared at the screen in front of her. The Legionaries couldn’t have just got lost, and it took a lot to block a comms signal.
She minimised the unfinished policy document. ^Specialist Smith?^
There was a delay of a few seconds, and Johnson checked up on his status. She cringed when she realised it was the middle of his night rotation.
^Yes, Prefect?^
^I was wondering if your surveys had identified any signs of large predators on this landmass?^
^No, Ma’am,^ he replied. ^You would have been informed had we done so.^
^None of those giant carnivorous plants in the western sector?^
^None. They appear to be confined to the former farmland.^
She sighed, mentally crossing off those possibilities.
^Thank you,^ she sent. ^Sorry for waking you. I assume you heard about the missing Legionaries?^
^Yes, I had heard, Ma’am. And don’t worry about waking me. We’re all worried about them too.^
Johnson tried to read the next report in her queue, an analysis of the dietary needs for extended training duties. Her eyes glazed, and she couldn’t make out the letters.
She placed her hands on her desk and pushed. Her chair slid backwards as she straightened her arms. Her fingers drummed on the work surface a couple of times, then she stood and headed for the door.
^I’m fed up with flying a desk,^ she sent to Indie. ^I’m going to join the search.^
^Thought you would. I have a transport waiting for you at the mouth of Alpha tunnel.^
After a quick stop to stuff some warm clothes, food and water into a rucksack, Johnson jogged up the long curve of the tunnel. The colour-shifting form of one of Orion’s dropships rested on the grass outside, lit by sunlight that appeared almost electric. Dark clouds loomed behind the small vessel.
It felt odd, stepping into the craft without a combat drone at her side. Unit 01 and the others were practising anti-looting operations with Anson, and couldn’t be spared to help search for a couple of lost Legionaries.
As they lifted off, the first large raindrops hit the hull. Johnson pulled up a satellite image, and replayed the feed to judge the speed of the approaching storm.
We’ve got to find them soon. Searching’s going to be a lot harder once that hits.
The dropship bucked in the strong turbulence, and Johnson’s stomach was left behind for a moment. A series of flashes of bright white light flooded the cabin, casting stark shadows. Then the pitch of the engine noise increased as the craft fought against a downdraft.
“Prefect,” said Orion, materialising in the seat beside Johnson with none of her trademark dramatics. “I detected something unusual in that last lightning strike.”
Johnson shifted in her seat, pleased with herself for not jumping when Orion appeared.
“Define unusual,” she said.
“Something I can’t identify. It was only there for a fraction of a second; some sort of frequency-shifted reflection of the lightning.”
Johnson raised an eyebrow. “A sensor glitch? A spoof signal from all the EM?”
“No, I’ve checked and...”
^Centurion Khan just put in a call for armed backup,^ interrupted Indie.
Orion pretended to study the flight controls.
^Thank you,^ Johnson replied, then opened a channel to Khan. ^Centurion, update?^
^We found blood, and cases from one of our issued sidearms,^ he replied. ^Not sure what happened yet.^
Johnson pulled up a map in her head and inserted the dropship’s performance data into it.
^OK. I’ll be at your position in three minutes.^
She spun the seat around, rose, and strode purposefully into the hold.
“Orion? Do you have any personal weapons or armour in here? I only have my stun pistol.”
Orion appeared beside a floor-to-ceiling locker.
“Here, in the crash cupboard,” she said, pointing. “There are some armoured vests and some pulse carbines.”
As Johnson jumped down from the hatch, she was hit by a wall of rain. She ducked low and ran towards the edge of the clearing. A shadow moved, and coalesced into the shape of a man. Centurion Khan beckoned Johnson over. He guided her deeper into the sparse woodland, running hunched over alongside her. After about thirty metres, he indicated a large fallen trunk, and they dropped down beside it. A couple of Khan’s men glanced over at them from their own positions, before returning to their watch.
“We tracked them to a cave five hundred metres that way,” he shouted in her ear. The hammering of the rain precluded all other vocal communication. “It looks like they have company.”
Johnson was sure she must have misheard. Other humans on the planet hadn’t figured in any of her theories of what had happened.
“Who?”
“Unknown. There were definitely four sets of footprints, but we don’t yet know anything else.”
^All personnel, apart from the two we knew were missing, are accounted for,^ sent Indie. ^And before you ask, Orion, Seren and myself are the only ships up here.^
“We’d normally send a micro-drone to go and take a peep, but it can’t fly in this weather,” shouted Khan. “We’re going to have to do it the old-fashioned way.”
As if to emphasise his point, a gust of wind broke a branch and flung it down beside him. Sodden leaves slapped Johnson on the cheek.
The little daemon of failure poked its beak in. She had failed to keep her people safe, failed to predict an attack like this.
She squeezed her fists tight, nails pressing hard into the flesh of her palms. They had to save them, but she would have to stay focused.
“You’re sure the approach is clear?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Right, let’s get going then,” she shouted, and made to get up.
Khan caught her by the arm. Her biceps twitched in response to the deep ache the contact triggered. She managed to keep it from her face, refusing to acknowledge that the bullet wound was still raw.
“You can’t get involved,” he protested. “You’re too valuable, and you aren’t even in proper armour.”
She fixed him a stern glare. No way was she hanging back; she couldn’t forgive herself if anything went wrong.
“Backup’s quarter of an hour away. I’m all you’ve got,” she replied.
Johnson crawled forwards, inch by inch. To left and right Khan’s men kept low and crept silently up the slope. Soon they’d surround the cave entrance.
She peered through a crack between the slimy boulders. The two Legionaries lay propped up against the wall of the cave. Johnson could just make out cord binding their ankles; presumably their wrists too, but they were behind their backs. She tried again to connect to their EIS, but couldn’t.
Two men sat on rocks nearby, talking. They wore dark blue uniforms, with red and white patches on the upper arms. Each cradled what was clearly a weapon, but not a kind Johnson had encountered before. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but from the occasional glances towards the cave mouth, and their sodden clothes, she guessed it was about the storm.
^Charlie in position,^ sent Khan.
^Delta in position,^ sent his optio.
Johnson pressed herself against the ground, muddy water soaking through her clothes to the last dry patches of her skin.
^We’ve got two hostiles, armed with weapons of an unknown type, no armour, sitting in the open. Two hostages, low, against the right wall,^ she sent.
^I’ll have combat units with you in three minutes,^ sent Indie.
^Tell the pilot to stand off,^ sent Khan. ^We can’t risk alerting the hostiles. Drop the drones where Johnson landed and have them tab in.^
^Understood,^ replied Indie.
One man stood, rubbed his blond beard, then clapped his colleague on the shoulder. The seated man laughed, and waved in Johnson’s direction. The bearded man came towards her, looking around.
^One coming my way,^ she sent. ^Stand by.^
He stopped on the other side of the rock she lay behind. Her heart rate slowed as she found the calm place that allowed her to concentrate on the coming fight.
She fingered the trigger on her pulse carbine. His chest and head were visible above the rock, but she would have to move to line up her shot.
The enemy soldier turned back and called to his friend, receiving another laugh in return.
He turned back towards Johnson’s hiding place. She tensed, ready to strike.
The man shuffled, then bowed his head. A new splashing noise joined the rain, and a steaming rivulet crept its way between the rocks towards her.
^He’s taking a slash,^ she sent. ^Moving in three, two, one...^
She rolled up onto a knee and aimed at his chest. Legionaries popped up either side.
Johnson opened her mouth to demand the enemies’ surrender. The bearded one let go of his flies, and reached for his weapon.
Johnson squeezed the trigger, and a triplet of laser pulses burnt into his chest. Blood erupted from his head and back as the Legionaries opened up.
Dammit.
A series of bright flashes accompanied loud concussions that echoed around the chamber. Khan sprinted in and clubbed the second hostile with his rifle butt before he could retrieve his weapon from the floor. He went down, dazed but still conscious. A Legionary kicked the weapon away, and trained his rifle on him, while another knelt on his back and cuffed him.
Johnson stood and scanned the wood, noting the signals from four combat units sprinting her way, then stepped into the cave. The hostages had been cut free, and medics tended to their wounds. She studied their attackers from a distance, waiting for the Legionaries to check for booby traps before she approached. Their uniforms weren’t Congress or Republic, or any of the independents she knew, but the colour and cut suggested navy; certainly they weren’t designed for ground combat. Part of her wanted to lay into them for hurting her people; another part thought they deserved the chance to explain.
Movement deeper in the cave drew Johnson’s attention. The surviving enemy writhed on his back. Two Legionaries held him down, while another readied a hypogun. Before she could apply it to his arm, the man stopped thrashing. His body slumped to the floor.
Johnson sprinted the few metres over to him. Blood trickled from the enemy’s nose and ear; deep crimson, edged in straw. His open eyes were bloodshot and lifeless, the pupils both blown.
A clatter of metal on rock announced the arrival of the combat units. They stood alert at the entrance, awaiting further instructions now there were no hostiles to engage.
Johnson paced just inside the cave. The rain had eased off, but enough was still falling to keep her under shelter. The medics hadn’t been able to revive the enemy, and were at a loss as to the cause of death. The Legionaries who’d been captured would recover; one had a nasty chest wound, but the enemy had treated him, probably saved his life.
They should’ve been safe. And I couldn’t do anything to stop them being taken. I don’t even know how their attackers got here, or what they wanted.
Khan approached her, and waited patiently for her to stop pacing.
“Where did they come from?” asked Khan. “They looked more like shipwrecked sailors than a deep insertion team.”
Johnson’s head jerked up, and she stared at him. “Say that again.”
“They looked more like shipwrecked sailors than...”
Johnson turned and strode into the woods, back towards the dropship she’d arrived on. The combat units fell into step beside her. How could she have missed this?
“Come on,” she called. Khan hurried to catch up, beckoning for a couple of his Legionaries to follow.
^Issawi,^ she sent. ^I want everyone kitted up and armed. And I mean everyone; we might have more intruders.^
He sent a confirmation ping back and she broke into a jog.
“They came from one of those ships that attacked us a couple of weeks back,” Johnson said, as Khan drew level.
“We tracked all the debris,” Khan replied. “I personally oversaw the search, and there were no escape pods.”
^Indie, can you send Centurion Khan the recordings of that encounter you had in...^ Johnson searched her memory, for the first time conscious of the process of accessing the additional storage in her new EIS. “...Y6782a.”
Indie shared the feed with her. She had never actually watched it before; had only remembered it as a report he had uploaded on his return. The destroyer was very similar to the ships that had intruded on The Serendipity of Meeting’s shakedown trials. The recording stopped once the stealth shuttle had docked.
“So,” said Khan. “Any of those ships could have launched shuttles and, unless they happened to pass Indie when he was using his gravitational sensors, we wouldn’t have seen them.”
They arrived at the dropship. The hatch opened as soon as they stepped out into the clearing.
^Orion, can you take us to where you picked up that anomalous reflection?^ asked Johnson.
^Certainly,^ came the reply. ^Indie has taken the liberty of dispatching a flight of drones to escort us. They’ll be here by the time you strap in.^