Andromeda's War

Book 3: Legion of the Damned: Before the Fall

by William C. Dietz

Genres: Action & Adventure; War & Military; Military Sci-Fi

Synopsis

The final novel in the Legion of the Damned prequel trilogy—from the national bestselling author of Andromeda’s Choice and Andromeda’s Fall
 
Now a platoon leader, Legionnaire Andromeda McKee seems to have successfully left behind her true identity of Lady Catherine “Cat” Carletto, one of the last two surviving members of her family targeted for death by Empress Ophelia.
 
After failing at her one shot at vengeance, Andromeda questioned her own resolve. But now her uncle has been killed in a government raid back on Earth, leaving her the last Carletto standing—and the family’s only chance for justice…
 
A chance that comes when the empress’s ship crashes on a hostile planet. As a legionnaire, Andromeda McKee has countless kills under her belt. But it will be Cat Carletto who has to pull the trigger on the one who really matters…

Release date: December 2, 2014

Publisher: Ace

Print pages: 368

Sample

CHAPTER: 1

When asked where his officers were, a British NCO replied, “When it comes time to die, they’ll be with us.”

RICHARD A. GABRIEL and PAUL L. SAVAGE
Crisis in Command: Mismanagement in the Army
Standard year 1978

PLANET ALGERON

Forward Operating Base Vickers sat atop a low mesa located just south of a mountain range called the Towers of Algeron. The FOB was named after a civilian who, according to official dispatches, “. . . Volunteered to fight—and gave her life to protect our legionnaires.”

The truth was quite different. Carly Vickers had been working for the Bureau of Missing Persons, which, in spite of the innocent-sounding name, had been created to find and eliminate anyone who might oppose Empress Ophelia. People like Andromeda McKee. The bitch.

Now, as McKee stood on the top deck of the newly reconstructed observation tower and looked out over a snow-dusted plain, her mind was filled with images of the final attack. Thousands upon thousands of Naa warriors had surrounded the mesa, all determined to kill every Human they could lay their hands on. McKee could “see” them coming, and when she closed her eyes, they were still there. “The CO is looking for you, Lieutenant.” McKee opened her eyes. “Lieutenant.” It sounded strange. But there it was. The Legion had been a place to hide from Ophelia’s synths at first. But now it was something more. The fact that she could become a soldier, and a good one, had been a revelation. Recruit, private, corporal, sergeant, and now lieutenant. She’d come a long way.

Most of her superiors thought she deserved the most recent promotion. McKee knew better. She’d been lucky, that’s all. Lucky enough to survive as others fell. She turned. Corporal Smith had dark skin, intelligent eyes, and an engaging grin. “I could tell the old man that you went AWOL.”

McKee smiled. “Thanks, Smith. Unfortunately there’s no place to go. Keep your eyes peeled. I saw a glint of light just to the right of Finger Rock. A scout probably. Shoot the bastard if he gets too close.”

The tower had four .50 cal sniper’s rifles dedicated to that very purpose. Smith nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

McKee walked over to the stairs and began to make her way down to the ground. Her right calf was still sore where a bullet fired from Vickers’s rifle had passed through it. She was lucky though . . . The bone was untouched, and she was alive.

FOB Vickers had undergone an amazing transformation during the last couple of months. Minefields ringed the bottom of the mesa now. Twenty-three autocannons were dug in on top . . . And the gaps between them were protected by heavy machine guns and mortars.

Two companies of legionnaires had been assigned to the mesa, including two platoons of cavalry, one of which belonged to her. McKee returned two salutes as she followed the path that led down into an underground bunker. It was a good deal larger than it had originally been, and that was a good thing.

A sentry snapped to attention as she entered. The ceiling was intentionally high so that Trooper Is could enter, and like the walls, it was made of duracrete slabs hooked together with rails and pins. The floor was covered with pea gravel. McKee’s boots made crunching sounds as she approached the front desk. It was a sheet of plywood laid across two upended mortar boxes. A sergeant named Nichols sat behind it. She had a mop of curly red hair and a spray of freckles across her nose. “Hey, Lieutenant . . . The major is looking for you.”

“That’s what I heard. Is he available?”

“Yes, ma’am. But watch out . . . He’s pissed about something.”

McKee nodded. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

As she made her way past the com section, logistics, and Intel, McKee caught glimpses of the video being provided by half a dozen surveillance drones. The ops center and the CO’s “office” came next. If a desk surrounded by makeshift partitions could be dignified as such. McKee paused to knock. “Lieutenant McKee reporting as . . .”

“Cut the crap and come on in,” Major Gordon said from the other side of the thin wall.

As McKee entered, she saw that Gordon was stripped to the waist and standing in front of a small wall-mounted mirror. There was white shaving gel on his face, and he was working with a straight razor. “Take a load off McKee . . . We’re about to have company—so it’s time to make myself presentable.”

Gordon was small but muscular, like the bantam-weight boxer he’d once been. His black hair was combed straight back, and for some reason, he had chosen to grow a pencil-thin mustache. McKee sat on an empty cable spool and watched him work. “Company, sir? What kind of company?”

“The worst kind,” Gordon replied gloomily. “A REMF (rear echelon mother fucker), a civilian, and a combot.”

“A what?”

“A combot. Meaning an android equipped to make vids.”

McKee felt a rising sense of apprehension. During a recent visit to Earth, she’d been forced to make numerous public appearances, all calculated to benefit the person she hated most . . . Empress Ophelia. No one had recognized her as Lady Catherine Carletto because of the scar that ran from just above her right eye down onto her left cheek. But that didn’t mean she was safe. There was no such thing. She cleared her throat. “So, what’s up? A training vid?”

“Hell no,” Gordon replied, as he wiped the remaining gel off his face. “It’s going to be a McKee vid. Yeah, yeah, I know. You don’t want to do it. Well, let me tell you something . . . There aren’t many people of any rank who have the right to wear the Imperial Order of Merit. And now, having added a Star Cluster to that, you’re a big deal on Earth. So the government sent a combot to make a documentary about you. And yes, you have to put up with it. The brass sees you as their number one recruiter.”

McKee was about to object when Nichols stepped into the room. “They’re here, sir. On pad two.”

“We’ll be right there,” Gordon said as he buttoned his shirt. Then he turned to McKee. “I’m sorry . . . I really am. But there’s nothing you can do. Just grit your teeth, let the combot do its thing, and the whole thing will be over before you know it. Come on . . . We wouldn’t want to keep our visitors waiting, now would we?”

Apprehension had morphed to fear by that time. And what felt like a rock occupied the pit of McKee’s stomach as she followed Gordon up the back ramp and onto the surface. Clusters of floodlights came on as another two-hour-and-forty-two-minute day came to an abrupt end. That was the result of a rotation so fast that it created a bulge at the planet’s equator. In fact, some of the higher peaks soared eighty thousand feet up into the sky and dwarfed both Everest on Earth and Olympic Mons on Mars.

A fly-form was sitting on the pad, and like all such aircraft, it was piloted by a cyborg rather than a bio bod. Just one of the many things that made the Legion different from the rest of the armed services. Some of the Legion’s borgs were criminals who, having been executed for capital crimes, had chosen life in a brain box over the big nothing. Others were legionnaires who had been wounded so badly that they were left with no choice but to pilot a fly-form, quad, or T-1.

Three figures appeared at the top of the ramp as it was lowered to the ground. The first person to make his way down was a portly colonel dressed in starched camos and wearing a sidearm with ivory grips. Rather than the rough-outs real soldiers wore in the field, he sported mirror-bright barracks boots. A REMF for sure. Gordon and McKee saluted the officer as he arrived on the ground. The response was so crisp, McKee suspected that the gesture had been perfected in front of a mirror. “As you were,” the colonel said. “My name is Cavenaugh.”

Before Gordon could speak, Cavenaugh turned to introduce his companion. The civilian had shoulder-length black hair, big brown eyes, and olive-colored skin. She was dressed in khakis and desert boots. McKee figured she might weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet. “This is Bindali Jivani,” Cavenaugh said. “She’s a civilian contractor—and we’ll discuss her role shortly.”

That was Gordon’s opportunity to step forward and introduce McKee. “I’ve heard about you,” Cavenaugh said. “Order of Merit and all that. Well done.”

The civilian offered her hand, and McKee shook it. “My friends call me Bindy,” Jivani said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Jivani was so open, it was impossible not to like her. McKee smiled. “Likewise, ma’am. Welcome to Forward Operating Base Vickers.”

“And this is Andy,” Cavenaugh said, as the combot arrived. Like most machines that were designed to interact with Humans, Andy was an android. Meaning a robot made to look like a Human being. In this case a thirtysomething male with light brown hair, beige skin, and a perpetual smile. It didn’t need clothes but wore some anyway. They were made of leatherlike tufskin and were too fashionable for Algeron. “I’m glad to meet you,” Andy said brightly. “Please stand closer together. I need a three shot.”

That was when McKee realized that one if not both of Andy’s “eyes” were cameras. She had no choice but to comply and wondered how long Andy would hang around. A couple of days? A week? Hopefully no more than that.

Gordon led the way back to the bunker, with Cavenaugh at his side. That left McKee to walk with Jivani. Andy followed along behind. “It’s very beautiful, isn’t it?” the civilian said, as she looked out over the desertlike wasteland. And it was beautiful. Or had been. Back before McKee had seen thousands of people die on it.

“Yes,” McKee answered. “That’s how the whole planet is. Or the parts I’ve seen anyway. Beautiful but dangerous.”

Jivani nodded and said something in a language that McKee knew to be Naa. A Human who spoke Naa! That was rare indeed. Most people relied on computerized translators. “The words you spoke . . . What did they mean?”

“It’s an old folk saying. ‘The blade that gleams can also cut deep.’”

“So you live here?”

Jivani smiled and shook her head. “No . . . I arrived last week.”

McKee wanted to ask more questions, but they were belowground by then. Gordon apologized for the lack of a meeting room as they entered his office. Cavenaugh sat in Gordon’s chair. That left the rest of them to perch on cable spools. “So,” he said. “Let’s get to it . . . I’d like to stay and get a feel for the area—but I promised General Vale that I would join her for dinner at 1800 hours. Annoying, but that’s life.”

McKee got the feeling that Cavenaugh was anything but annoyed by the obligation and looking forward to dinner. Any dinner. But especially one that might help to advance his career.

“Yes, of course,” Gordon responded. “It’s my understanding that Andy is supposed to make a vid about Lieutenant McKee.”

“That’s one aspect of the situation,” Cavenaugh agreed judiciously. “But not the most important part of what we need to accomplish. I have a mission for Lieutenant McKee. A tricky mission, which, if successful, will help us to fully secure the planet. I trust both of you know who Chief of Chiefs Truthsayer is.”

“Yes,” McKee answered. Momentarily forgetting to say, “sir.” “He’s the one who sent warriors north to fight Chief Lifetaker’s alliance. They also attacked the village of Doothdown and the legionnaires stationed on this mesa.”

“That’s correct,” Cavenaugh agreed. “And you beat him fair and square.”

“No, sir. I wasn’t in command.”

“Ah, but according to official records, the strategy employed to beat him was yours. So you beat him fair and square. And that, according to Ms. Jivani here, means that you are qualified to negotiate with him. A lesser warrior couldn’t. Not according to Naa traditions.”

“I was given access to some relevant intelligence reports,” Jivani said. “The villagers who lived in Doothdown gave you the name Nofear Deathgiver. And it’s safe to assume that Truthsayer has heard of you by now.”

“Precisely,” Cavenaugh said. “So, here are your orders. You will take a mixed force of legionnaires and Naa south, find the chief of chiefs, and give him some gifts. Then you will invite the son of a bitch to come up and negotiate with us.”

McKee knew the mission was next to impossible. In order to carry out Cavenaugh’s orders, she’d have to enter territory that no legionnaire had visited before—and try to find a Naa who hated slick skins in general and her in particular. A suicide mission for sure. But she couldn’t say that. No legionnaire could. So McKee gave voice to the obvious question. “And if Truthsayer says, ‘No’?”

Cavenaugh had bushy eyebrows. They rose slightly. “In that case, it will be your duty to shoot him.”

McKee wanted to laugh or cry. She wasn’t sure which. If she caught up with Truthsayer, and that was a huge if, the Naa leader would be surrounded by bodyguards. And were she to so much as lift a finger against Truthsayer, she’d be dead within seconds. A possibility that didn’t seem to trouble Cavenaugh at all.

Then McKee realized that the government would score a propaganda coup either way. If she brought Truthsayer to the negotiating table, then so much the better. That’s the sort of thing heroes were supposed to do. And if she gave her life in an attempt to kill him, that would suit their purposes equally well. She could imagine the headline. “War hero dies in a valiant attempt to kill rebel leader.” With any luck, Andy would have time to upload video of the assassination attempt just before the machine was beaten to death. “I see, sir,” McKee said. “I like the first option better.”

Both men chuckled, but Jivani frowned. “With all due respect, Colonel . . . That’s a bad idea. If the lieutenant assassinates Truthsayer, that could start a war and make negotiations impossible.”

Cavenaugh frowned. “We are at war because Truthsayer decided to bring all of the southern tribes together under his totem. If we manage to kill him, the savages will turn on each other, and the alliance will disintegrate like wet cardboard. At that point, we can slice and dice the tribes as we see fit. Andy . . . Delete what I said.”

“Yes, Colonel,” the android said obediently. “Your comment was deleted.”

“I object,” Jivani said angrily.

“So noted,” Cavenaugh replied. “Although Andy will delete that, too.” The avuncular manner was gone now. “Listen carefully young lady . . . You were brought here to facilitate negotiations. Not to set policy. So do what you’re being paid for—and keep your personal opinions to yourself.

“Enough of that,” Cavenaugh said dismissively, as his gaze turned to McKee. “A contingent of Naa troops will arrive soon, and I trust that Major Gordon will provide you with some legionnaires. As for me, well, I have a three-hour flight to endure. Good hunting, Lieutenant. If anyone can complete this mission, you can.”

He left, with Gordon in tow. McKee and Jivani looked at each other, and Andy stood. “Please pretend to speak with each other. I need a two shot.” The meeting was over.

—

The next few days were a whirlwind of activity as McKee went about the task of equipping her platoon for what was likely to be a long and arduous journey. Her force included a small headquarters group that consisted of Bindy Jivani, Sergeant Larkin, and the T-1s required to transport them. McKee also had three squads of legionnaires, each of which was made up of four bio bods and four T-1s. That brought the total force up to twenty-nine people. Not counting Andy, who didn’t qualify as a person.

It was a deceptively small number since each cyborg could run at fifty miles per hour, could carry a rider while doing so, and was equal to a squad of bio bods. So judged by that standard, the borgs were the functional equivalent of 135 legionnaires.

In addition, Major Gordon had allocated McKee to have three RAVs (Robotic All-Terrain Vehicles). Each unit consisted of two eight-foot-long sections hooked together by an accordion-style joint. Each RAV had four legs, two forward-facing machine guns, and a grenade launcher. Of more importance was their ability to transport up to four thousand pounds of food, ammo, and spare parts. All of which would be critical during the days ahead.

So McKee was with her old friend Larkin, supervising loading, when the general alarm went off. McKee wasn’t wearing a helmet but had a radio clipped to her body armor. The Klaxon was still bleating as a private stationed in the observation tower spoke. “We have approximately fifty, that’s five-oh, Naa inbound from the northwest at two o’clock.”

It wasn’t a large force but sufficient to send everyone to their defensive positions. That included McKee and Larkin. Their platoon had secondary responsibility for the so-called ramp on the west side of the mesa. The slide area originally had been the most hotly contested spot during the battle months earlier.

Thanks to frequent drills, the last of McKee’s people arrived as she did and took up positions behind the infantry platoon on duty. The scene seemed to leap forward as McKee brought a pair of binos up to her eyes.

The Naa warriors were heavily armed. Even from a distance, she could see that most of them carried Legion-issue weapons scrounged from battlefields or captured in battle. Their heads rose and fell in concert with the huge animals they rode. The dooths were hung with the trappings of war—and galloped along at a good thirty miles per hour. A pace they could maintain for thirty minutes at a time. All for effect? Or as part of an actual attack?

McKee assumed the former, and Jivani arrived to confirm it. “They’re northerners,” the civilian said, as she studied the Naa through glasses of her own. “See the totem? The one that looks like a spear, with a crosspiece and a pair of animal skulls? That means they take orders from Chief Spearthrow Lifetaker.”

McKee hadn’t met him but knew Lifetaker was supposed to be an ally. But, during the recent conflict with Truthsayer’s army, the northerner had proved himself to be less than entirely trustworthy. In fact, there were rumors that Lifetaker had played a role in Colonel Richard Bodry’s death. The upshot was that this particular group was unlikely to attack. “How do you know that stuff?” McKee inquired as she lowered the binoculars. “Especially since you arrived last week.”

“I studied the Naa on Earth,” Jivani answered. “I have a masters in Naa studies.”

“Naa studies? I didn’t know such a thing existed.”

“I’m the first graduate,” Jivani said modestly. “I took the contract so I could come here and work on my doctorate. It’s impossible to travel here without some sort of connection to the Legion.”

McKee frowned. “If you go south with us, there’s an excellent chance that the people you came here to study will kill you.”

Jivani nodded soberly. “I’ll have to take that chance.”

Major Gordon arrived at that point, and the all clear signal was heard. “We made radio contact with them,” he explained. “Remember the Naa warriors Cavenaugh promised you? Well, here they are. Come on . . . It’s time to introduce ourselves.”

Gordon, McKee, and Jivani picked their way down past the defensive positions to the bottom of the slope. The Naa were milling around. A warrior slid down off his dooth. He had variegated white and gray fur. The ears that stuck up from his skull gave him a vaguely feline appearance.

McKee knew that the Naa had four fingers and opposable thumbs just like Humans did. But their feet were wider and lacked toes. This male was about six and a half feet tall and dressed in a vest and trousers. A fully loaded cartridge belt circled his waist, and he had a Legion-issue sniper’s rifle slung across his back. As what? An insult? Or simply the best weapon for a sharpshooter to own? Not that both couldn’t be true at the same time.

As soon as the Naa’s feet touched the ground, he made straight for Gordon. Once they were close enough, he offered the forearm-to-forearm grip employed by warriors of roughly equal status. His standard was stiff but serviceable. “I am Longsee Sureshot. First son to Spearthrow Lifetaker.”

McKee swore silently. Lifetaker’s son! That would make an already-challenging mission that much more difficult. Everyone knew that Lifetaker and Truthsayer hated each other. So if they managed to catch up with the chief of chiefs, Sureshot’s presence would be like salt in an open wound. And who was responsible for that? Cavenaugh, of course. Because he was stupid? Or as an insurance policy? Knowing that if she failed to kill Truthsayer, Sureshot would do the job. Yes, that made sense.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Gordon replied. “I’m Major Gordon, and this is Lieutenant McKee. She will be in command of the expedition.”

Sureshot looked at McKee and back again. “The lieutenant is female.”

“That’s true,” Gordon acknowledged. “But it doesn’t matter. She will be in command.”

Sureshot was about to object when Jivani intervened. “Lieutenant McKee has a Naa name. It is Nofear Deathgiver.”

Sureshot’s expression changed. He turned to McKee and offered the forearm-to-forearm grip previously shared with Gordon. “I know of the battle for Doothdown. Everyone does. I thank you on behalf of my people.”

McKee accepted the grip and thought she saw something other than gratitude in the Naa’s gray eyes. Admiration? Yes, but of the sort Human males directed her way. Or had before the disfiguring scar. “You’re welcome,” McKee said. “But the females of Doothdown fought like true warriors. They are the ones who deserve the credit.”

Sureshot stared at her for a moment as if considering a truly novel idea. He knew, as his entire tribe did, that Doothdown’s males had been elsewhere, thus opening the village to possibility of an attack. But viewing female Naa as warriors? That was something new. Sureshot nodded. “What you say is true . . . Although none can doubt what you accomplished. We will follow you.”

Gordon looked from one to the other. “Good. That’s settled then. Let’s bring your warriors and animals up onto the mesa. There’s plenty of room north of the observation tower.”

—

During the next two days, McKee repeatedly took her combined force down onto the plain, where she put them through every sort of evolution she could think of. And there were plenty of problems. The Naa had radios now, but no notion of radio discipline, and frequently spoke over each other. However, Naa, all Naa, put the need for personal glory ahead of unit objectives. That meant they were reluctant to follow orders. Especially slick-skin orders. The fact that the Naa didn’t have a formal chain of command made things worse.

Fortunately, Sureshot had trained under the tutelage of his father up north and seen how effective the Legion’s methods could be. So in response to McKee’s urgings, he divided his force into five subgroups, each led by the equivalent of a noncom. Then he told them to do whatever Lieutenant McKee and Company Sergeant Larkin said. And that was where the problem came in.

McKee’s reputation was such that the warriors were willing to submit. But even though Larkin had fought in Doothdown, he wasn’t known to them. So it was just a matter of time before he gave an order that one of them didn’t like.

When the conflict arose, it was the result of Larkin’s ordering a squad of Naa to ride drag. That, it seemed, was the position normally assigned to inexperienced males when the Naa went to war. So to tell any of Sureshot’s handpicked veterans to ride at the end of the column constituted an unbearable insult. A problem made clear when their leader, a ruffian named Largemouth Eatbig, refused to fall back and called Larkin a long list of insulting names. The result was a fight, which a couple of T-1s managed to break up.

McKee was riding at the head of the column at the time. Immediately after receiving word of the dustup via radio, she ordered her T-1 to turn around. Sureshot accompanied her. They arrived to find a standoff at the point where the trail dipped into a bowl-like depression. Patches of snow were hiding where the pale yellow sun hadn’t been able to find them, and there were lots of hoofprints in the mud.

The adversaries had dismounted and were facing each other from ten paces away. Both had backers, some of whom were fingering their weapons. It was a critical moment. If McKee backed Larkin, which was the obvious thing to do, the Naa would see it as favoritism. And when the chips were down, they might leave the Humans in the lurch.

On the other hand, if McKee couldn’t find a way to back her company sergeant, it would have a disastrous effect on Human morale. That left her with a very fine line to walk.

McKee dropped to the ground and made her way over to a point between the combatants, where she paused to look around. “Post some pickets, Sergeant Payton . . . Human and Naa. Once they are in place, the rest of the company can gather around.”

As Payton went to work, McKee addressed herself to those who were still present. She was wearing a translator, which meant the Naa could understand her. “This company will have to fight during the days ahead. And when it does, there is no way to know what the circumstances will be. We may engage the enemy at a distance—or we may be forced to battle them hand-to-hand.”

“So,” McKee continued, “Company Sergeant Larkin and Lead Warrior Eatbig are going to put on a demonstration of hand-to-hand-combat techniques. No weapons will be permitted.” It was a thin fiction but a necessary one in order to maintain some semblance of military discipline. Cheers went up from both camps, the combatants began to shed weapons, and more people arrived.

McKee had already begun to experience doubts, but it was too late to change her mind. She looked at Larkin, saw him wink, and felt a little better. He understood. But could he deliver? Eatbig was shorter, but thicker, and very confident. Still, Larkin had been raised in the slums of Esparto . . . And spent a good deal of the last year fighting on Orlo II and Algeron. That meant there was reason to hope.

Payton arrived with a large group of Humans and Naa. They flooded in to surround the combatants. “All right,” McKee announced, as Larkin and Eatbig stepped forward to face each other. “You can begin the demonstration.”

The Human danced, threw a punch, and saw it connect. Eatbig flinched as the legionnaires cheered. But the moment of victory was short-lived.

As Eatbig bored in, Larkin launched a kick. The Naa grabbed the Human’s boot and gave it a twist. The legionnaires uttered a common groan as their champion went down.

Larkin hit, rolled to his knees, and was trying to rise when Eatbig kicked him in the side. McKee heard Larkin grunt and saw him fall over. He rolled over onto his knees but was struggling to breathe. “Stand!” someone shouted. “Get up!”

It did no good. Larkin remained where he was, head down, with one knee on the ground. “That didn’t take long,” Sureshot said, as Eatbig lumbered