Soldier of the Legion Read online

  This book and parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by the United States of America copyright law.

  Ridan and its logo are copyrighted and trademarked by Ridan Publishing. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual persons, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  A Ridan Publication

  www.ridanpublishing.com

  www.soldierofthelegion.com

  Copyright © 2010 by Marshall S. Thomas

  Cover Art by Michael J. Sullivan

  Starcharts by Hatton Slayden

  Editing by Carol Woods

  Layout Design by Michael J. Sullivan

  ISBN: 978-0-9825145-6-6

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES

  First Printing: June 2010

  Dedicated to my family:

  Kim Lien, Christopher, Alexander

  Praise for Marshall's Soldier of the Legion Series

  “Soldier of the Legion draws on a rich tradition of military science fiction—from Heinlein to Haldeman to Epic Comics’ Alien Legion... Thomas has put a lot of consideration into the technology, weaponry, and tactics of his futuristic Legion and it pays off in what is an epic testosterone-driven military adventure.”

  — Review from the Nth Degree, the Fiction and Fandom ‘Zine, September 2004.

  “Exciting read... Heart pounding action. Mind blowing battles... Adrenalin pumping encounters with alien life... futuristic sci fi masterpiece... Marshall Thomas should soon be a major name in futuristic sci fi. I enthusiastically recommend this book.”

  — Laurel Johnson, Midwest Book Review.

  “...a deep, rich story that captures the heart of Sci-fi... a perfect story... captivating... moving. I highly recommend SOLDIER OF THE LEGION, one the best books I’ve read this year!”

  — Nancy Mehl, MyShelf.com.

  2003 Benjamin Franklin Award Finalist in the “Popular Fiction” category.

  2002 ForeWord Magazine Book of the Year Award Finalist in two categories: Science Fiction and Audio Fiction.

  Books in the Soldier of the Legion Series

  Soldier of the Legion

  March of the Legion

  Slave of the Legion

  Secret of the Legion

  Cross of the Legion

  Curse of the Legion

  An Introductory Note from the Author

  I have been gratified by the popularity of the Soldier of the Legion series since the publication of the first book, Soldier of the Legion, in 2002. Now the series is complete, in 2010, with the recent publication of the sixth and final book in the Series, Curse of the Legion.

  Why, then, am I republishing the second book, The Black March, as a new volume, March of the Legion: The Author’s Cut? Two reasons: first, my new publisher, Ridan, is re-releasing all my previous books with attractive new covers and artwork. Second, this gives me a chance to fix a historical problem with my first two books. What happened is that my first publisher decided that Soldier of the Legion was too long and so I was forced to cut the story back and repackage the last part of it as The Black March. That wasn’t a problem, but the cut was made at an awkward point in the story. I didn’t like it much, but as a new author at the time, I had no choice.

  With this edition of Soldier of the Legion: The Author’s Cut, the problem is fixed. The last part of Soldier of the Legion now has been moved into The Black March, where it belongs. The result is that both stories are stronger.

  I look at The Black March/March of the Legion as Soldier of the Legion’s little brother. Please also see the new release of March of the Legion: The Author’s Cut. This is the new version of The Black March, and it too now appears as it was originally created.

  My thanks to my new publisher, Ridan Publishing, for all their work. I am thrilled to see my creations reflected accurately as they were first written.

  Table of Contents

  PART I—NEW WORLDS

  Chapter 1: Fortune’s All-Sub Crimson Souls

  Chapter 2: Year Zero

  Chapter 3: Grim Reaper

  Chapter 4: Slave of the Future

  Chapter 5: Gravelight

  Chapter 6: Dancing in the Dark

  PART II—STRANGE SKIES

  Chapter 7: The Mark of the Beast

  Chapter 8: Island in the Sun

  Chapter 9: Food of the Gods

  Chapter 10: The Eyes of the Dead

  Chapter 11: The Delegate from the Past

  PART III—AVOIDING INTERSTELLAR WAR

  Chapter 12: Atom’s Fist

  Chapter 13: In the Eye of the Hole

  Chapter 14: Coldmark

  Chapter 15: Something Evil

  Chapter 16: Dead and Gone

  Chapter 17: The Space Between the Stars

  Chapter 18: Worshipping Red Gods

  Chapter 19: Blood of the Legion

  Chapter 20: Motes of Dust

  GLOSSARIES

  Crista Cluster, 1,400 light years from Sol

  When the first Outworlder refugees approached the Outvac fleeing System oppression, the Crista Cluster beckoned them onwards with a view that appeared to form a starry cross in the vac. ConFree's ancestors settled those worlds as a free people and vowed in a Constitution written in blood to uphold liberty, justice and freedom, no matter what the cost, and to remain eternally vigilant against all forms of tyranny and slavery. The ConFree Legion was formed to accomplish those objectives.

  Chapter 1:

  Fortune’s All-Sub Crimson Souls

  “Stand by. Redhawk is on the way.” Snow Leopard’s icy whisper hissed in my ears, though he was nowhere in sight.

  A muted red glow bathed the interior of my helmet and the darksight built into my faceplate lit up the black forest better than daylight. It was the dead pit of the night on this obscure world. Merlin and I crouched in our A-suit battle armor in a tangle of undergrowth, surrounded by tall, spooky trees. The silent forest was calm and serene. All appeared to be well.

  But it wasn’t.

  For what seemed like the thousandth time, I checked my E. The E Mark 1 Multi-Ordnance Battlefield Superiority Rifle was a compact, general-purpose electronic weapon that never malfunctioned and never missed. I raised it and slid the stock against my armored shoulder. Biostats blinked in the upper left corner of my faceplate. My heartbeat had just sped up. I swear I could taste the adrenalin on my tongue. Deadman! I would probably start shaking soon.

  I was completely protected inside my A-suit, with its powered, lightweight, superdense, self-sealing cenite armor. According to our instructors, it was the most effective personnel armor yet devised. In fact, I had yet to take a single breath of air from this planet’s atmosphere—I was still on suit-air. Suddenly, though, I felt naked.

  This was insane! I was insane! Joining the Legion had seemed like a good idea at the time, and now, here I was, about to get killed on our first real action. My past was gone forever and now I was Beta Three. They called me Thinker because I had a tendency to over-think things. I was convinced I should have been re-named Psycho for even being here, but Beta Five had me beat, hands-down. The numbers were our official designations: Snow Leopard was Beta One, our leader; I was Beta Three, and Merlin was Beta Four.

  The night was spectacular. I glanced up at stars beyond the treetops. Velvet hush, I thought. It won’t last long.

  “You know, Thinker,” Merlin remarked thoughtfully, “When they told us the Final Problem was a live fire exe
rcise I kind of thought it would consist of us shooting up lots of targets with live ammo while they shot over our heads. I never suspected the targets would be trying to kill…us, that it was a combat mission.” He sounded a little worried. Merlin was a tech’s tech, our own lab rat, an absolute genius. He had headed his own research effort before deciding to join the Legion as a common soldier and sure didn’t belong in an A-suit, but there he was, right beside me, peering into the dark.

  “Getting scared?” I asked. My heart pounded. It promised to be one hell of a final exam. Planet Hell had been bad enough, but that had all been training. We hadn’t known about the Final Problem until the last moment. The problem would be different for every squad, of course—a whole lot of opportunities existed out there, a whole galaxy of problems.

  “I’ve been scared since I walked through the Legion gate!” Merlin confessed.

  A titanic blast lit up the night, casting an eerie electric green flash over the night sky. Blazing phospho gold tracers ripped over the forest, crackling and screeching. A series of deafening secondaries savaged the earth. Multiple micro-nuke tacstar clouds writhed into the heavens, glittering crimson and gold. Redhawk, Beta Ten, had just arrived in the aircar and made a good hit on the Ain’t No Lady. Scratch one slaver starship! The fools had softlanded it downside, but I guess it wouldn’t have lasted long in orbit, either.

  Legion training took over. “That’s it!” I shouted.

  Merlin and I bolted forward toward Slavebloc 1, smashing our way through the forest like a couple of human tanks. Xmax, explosive high velocity rounds set on maximum-yield, suddenly opened up ahead of us. That would be Coolhand, Beta Two and Warhound, Beta Six, hosing down Barracks 2 with their E’s. I saw them on my faceplate tacmap, riddling the building from outside, taking their time. Ironman, Beta Seven, and Dragon, Beta Eight, approached Slavebloc 2 from the North, opposite us. They held their fire. The tacmap also showed Beta Nine, Priestess, springing to her position where she could cover Barracks 1 when the slavers came tumbling out the doors.

  A tacstar flashed and boomed to our left, that terrifying silken rip that always raised the hairs on the back of my neck, followed by an elemental blast from the gates of Hell. Snow Leopard and Beta Five, Psycho, attacked the Headquarters building in the center of the sprawling complex.

  Slavebloc 1 stared out of the dark, brilliantly illuminated in green by my darksight. The luxurious prefab with four interlocking two-story residential blocs contained a central rec area. Painstaking recon showed that it held both female slaves and their male captors.

  “Thinker and Merlin entering Slavebloc 1,” I announced, blasting the door to fragments with a burst of auto xmax. Merlin fired a starflash grenade into the doorway and it spewed about a million glittering white phospho tracers back out the door towards us. We jogged straight into it and I felt the debris ping harmlessly against my armor. The starflash would blind everyone unarmored inside.

  “Slave!” Sweety announced, as a scantily-clad female stumbled out of the glittering white smoke, blinded and lost. I had been just about to blast her. Sweety was my suit tacmod. She had proven most useful on Planet Hell, saving my butt more than once.

  Merlin crouched beside me, E up and scanning. We knew exactly how to clean this place—one slaver at a time. It was just like our training sims. Except that these were real people in front of us.

  “Target!” I fired standard-yield x, and Merlin lased it just as glowing green x tracks flashed over our heads. A gory specter appeared out of the smoke, wide-open chest spraying black blood, forehead squirting a thin stream of blood from a single hole. He collapsed to the deck, dropping his DefCorps StarGuard rifle. He wore only shorts. Prominent cheekbones, sparse whiskers, slit eyes and long dark hair. An Assidic. The SG was functionally equivalent to our E, though it was more compact. It was an ugly reminder of System tolerance for the slave trade.

  “Target!” Sweety announced again. I’m not sure if I fired or Sweety fired but the round took off the second enemy’s head. He had been stocky and powerful—evidently an Outworlder. He, too, wore only shorts.

  Merlin forced a laugh. “We caught them with their pants down.”

  “Targets in red!” Sweety colored them on my faceplate. The thick carpet beneath our armored boots probably cost more per square mike than a year’s earnings back in my civilian life. We barely noticed the luxurious surroundings, the carpet, rich tapestries, couches, canopied beds and abundant bowls of exotic fruits, all looted from countless worlds, along with the abundance of nubile slaves.

  I shouted at the slaves and my suit amplified my voice to godlike proportions, “Get down!”

  We advanced into a confusing tangle of female slaves and hostiles armed with SGs—they couldn’t see a thing, but the slavers fired x blindly, on full auto. Merlin and I shot short bursts of x, laser, x, laser, each round downing a target.

  I remembered my weapons instructor: The A-suit tacmod assures one-round hits for all ordnance. Until now it had all been training. A grueling abstraction. Now real people were dying.

  Sweety’s color scheme enabled us to pick the bad guys right out of the crowd, though even inside the protection of our armor, the racket deafened us. Blood splattered up the walls and girls shrieked. We kept firing, trudging through bodies and exotic debris down one corridor after another, shrapnel pinging on our A-suits, firing more starflash for luck and leaving a trail of corpses in our wake.

  “Targets!” Xmax burst all around us, the walls erupting with hits, lasers flashing. Two, three, no, four hostiles, coming right at us! I fired blindly and Sweety did it all, controlling angles and trajectories. The hostiles went down.

  We advanced, stepping over body parts amid surprisingly intact corpses—some with their skin shredded away and some with blood still squirting from arteries. We marched through pools of blood, leaving behind trembling young girls huddled against the walls, gasping and splattered with blood. Too scared to shake, I moved in icy shock, an automaton, doing whatever Sweety ordered.

  I noticed Merlin hadn’t made any more bad jokes, or spoken at all, for that matter. I didn’t feel much like conversation, either.

  A hostile lay twitching on the deck. I shot him through the head with a laser burst and felt only cold horror. A Cyrillian, with black satin skin, tribal scars and sharpened white teeth. The slavers had given their group a name, Fortune’s All-Sub Crimson Souls. They were a diverse bunch. Assidics, Outworlders, Cyrillians, even a few outlaw Mocains and Ormans—the Crimson Souls welcomed all. Being a merciless homicidal maniac was the only qualification. They had found a nice hideout here on Alshana 4, but their good times were ending fast.

  The Legion didn’t negotiate with slavers, and we didn’t arrest them. We killed them. According to our initial estimate there were more than two hundred fifty of the bastards in the complex. With only ten of us, including Redhawk in the aircar, we had strong motivation to terminate the engagement as rapidly as possible.

  “Damn it,” someone said on the net. “DefCorps armor!”

  Merlin and I were vaguely aware of an intense firefight raging outside.

  “Snow Leopard, Psycho, Dragon. They’ve got some kind of reaction team. Looks like a whole squad in armor. Get ‘em, Priestess.” The voice belonged to Dragon, our most experienced soldier. I could hardly believe how calm he sounded. A squad in armor! Bad news, very bad news.

  “Dragon, Snow Leopard. Responding. Thinker, Merlin, break off your target and engage their armored squad.”

  “Snow Leopard, Thinker, tenners!” I replied. The rest of our assigned Slavebloc would have to wait. Merlin and I shot our way out of a door on the east side and ran along the wall toward Barracks 1.

  “We’re entering Priestess’s line of fire!” Merlin and Sweety exclaimed in unison. We skidded to a halt amid dead and dying slavers littering the plaza in front of the barracks. Two more slavers with SGs charged out and ran right into Priestess’s precision xmax, one round apiece. Unarmored, they were torn to piec
es instantly, going down spraying blood. Damned good shooting by our medic, Priestess. A very talented little girl.

  We converged on the enemy squad through the dense white smoke drifting through the plaza. The armored slavers could see through it as well. Five—no, six DefCorps A-suits bounded towards Slavebloc 2. They opened fire on Ironman and Dragon with x as I raised my E and fired auto xmax. Snow Leopard and Psycho moved up on my left as Ironman and Dragon returned fire from the north side of Slavebloc 2.

  “Targets!” I watched one of the armored slavers go down in a blinding flash of hits as I walked the xmax down his chest. Another went down as well—an obscene tracery of xmax and laser crisscrossed their path.

  “Relax, gals, we can handle this bunch!” I recognized Psycho’s obnoxious whine. Then his Manlink spoke, auto tacstar, ripping open the world. Most of the armored slavers vanished, replaced by dazzling brilliant white hot cores, screeching gibbering actinic gold tracers, precision nuclear flowers writhing upward, with blinding lightning strikes flashing down all around them. Tacstar Goddess, Flower of the Legion, annihilating our enemies. The Manlink was effective tactical, shoulder-fired artillery. Merlin and I fired at the stragglers nonstop, xmax and laser. Priestess, Ironman and Dragon laid down a deadly crossfire of xmax while Snow Leopard switched to laser as the last of those A-suited bastards went down.

  The firing stopped, and I got my first look at what a tacstar can do to armored troops. Cenite was supposed to be just about indestructible; however, a direct tacstar hit was beyond the limit. What remained of the enemy squad glowed like a junkyard of fused, blasted, cenite armor. My weapons instructor’s intonations suddenly had real-world meaning. The tacstar is a micronuke designed for shock troops to rapidly impose tactical superiority over the enemy. I guess if anyone qualified as shock troops, we did.