“A what?” he demanded.

  “You know, to tell the girl I’d been sent on a private mission to deliver a message for you. Any chance you could do that for me?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  I managed to look forlorn, and Winslade gave up the pursuit in disgust. That was just as well. I might have been tempted to use such a recording against him later, and that might make me feel bad. It was never a good idea to tempt a man like me.

  Deech didn’t waste any time establishing her authority. She rushed all Turov’s staffers off Gold Deck and took over. Soon, she was on every wall screen and tapper, delivering the news.

  Harris walked up and thumped me on the shoulder while she gave us all a speech about twin legions, and cooperation, and all kinds of other malarkey.

  “Did you pull this shit?” Harris asked.

  I shrugged noncommittally.

  Harris laughed. “I was hoping Drusus himself would come out. But at least she brought a solid legion. Iron Eagles—that’s respectable. We should be able to push the Vulbites out now.”

  “You’re welcome,” I told him, and we watched Deech finish up her speech.

  “And now to our plan of action,” she said. “We’ll first deploy the troops then retake the ground lost on the station. Once that’s secure, we’ll assault the planet itself and wipe out these uppity insects. They’ll never stop attacking if we don’t carry the battle to their doorstep.”

  “She’s pretty self-confident,” Harris pointed out.

  “Yeah…” I agreed. “Maybe that’s because she hasn’t fought these creatures before.”

  Deech wrapped it up, and while she finished speaking she had the cameras switch over to a live feed of the way station.

  Ranks of troops were marching into our hold. Hundreds of units, all human, were proudly displaying the double-headed eagle on their pennants.

  “The Eagles are going to be insufferable,” Harris said, “but I’m still glad they’re here.”

  All the while Deech ordered people around, there wasn’t a peep out of Turov. She’d been buried in her office and essentially deposed. I could only imagine the fit she was throwing right about now.

  A few minutes after the feed cut out, Primus Graves came on the line.

  “All right, cohort. We’ve got our marching orders. We’re to hold our positions while the Iron Eagles attack.”

  Harris and I frowned at one another.

  “What’s this horse hockey?” I asked aloud. “We’re going to stay in the rear? Behind the lines?”

  Harris shushed me, but Graves seemed to hear my words—I’d forgotten to mute my line.

  “Is that—? Yes, it’s Adjunct McGill. The word from on high is that we’re tired and beaten. Accordingly, fresh troops will make the assault. We’re to support them if needed, but mostly, we’ve been ordered to stand aside. Graves out.”

  Grumbling ran all over our camp. We hadn’t stuck it out this long in Hell to have another legion waltz in and claim all the glory.

  Leeson and Harris were both bitching about this when I shushed them.

  “Listen,” I said, “are those Vulbites up there a bunch of weak-sisters?”

  “Hell no,” Harris said. “They’re killers.”

  “Right. So let the Eagles do what they want. We’ll cooperate fully by stepping aside. Then the Eagles can show us how to do things right.”

  Leeson caught on first, and he gave me a dirty laugh.

  “You bastard! You’re not going to lift a finger, are you?”

  “That’s not true! I said no such thing! What I’m going to do is admire their style from a safe distance. If they ask for help in an appropriate tone, I’ll give it.”

  Harris was grinning now. “That’s good. That’s real good. Let them march out there and die in waves. We’ll pick up the pieces.”

  Winslade came to talk to us. He was in as sour a mood as I could remember.

  “This is underhanded,” he said. “In the past, Deech has commanded both Varus and the Iron Eagles, but she clearly prefers the Eagles.”

  “You’ve got that right,” I said.

  “They’ll be here in a few minutes. We’re to make way—like peasants scattering from the boots of royalty.”

  “Hey,” Harris said, “McGill has an idea. He wants us to hold back support until they beg for it.”

  Winslade eyed us. His tongue slipped out, wet his lips then vanished again. It always gave me a chill of disgust when he did that.

  “We’ll have to be subtle…” he said, thinking hard. “Slow to react, slow to follow…”

  Harris grinned wider. “Are you in on this, Centurion?”

  “Yes… but not officially.”

  “Of course not,” I said. “Here they come.”

  Not thirty seconds later, the lead elements of the Iron Eagles showed up.

  They looked good. Not even on our best day, not even while we were in parade dress, were our uniforms, armor and weapons so shiny and perfect-looking.

  The Iron Eagles were elite. They marched as one, in lock-step. It was almost like they were an army of clones.

  Varus, on the other hand, was an outfit made up of people who slouched, who skipped showers. There wasn’t a solider in my unit that didn’t have a visible ding or a scratch on every inch of their kits.

  Trotting in a bouncy, null-G way, the Eagles raced right through the middle of us. Their column was two abreast, and they glanced at us like we were some kind of zoo exhibit. At least they didn’t throw any insults our way—but they were thinking them.

  An Iron Eagles primus walked up to Winslade, and they briefly saluted one another. The Eagles officer looked pretty snooty, but Winslade was good at that game as well.

  “Varus?” the primus asked. “I’m Primus Fike. Is our path clear ahead?”

  Winslade made a vague gesture to our half-melted blast-doors. “The enemy is on the far side of that barricade, Primus.”

  “What do you estimate their strength is?” Fike asked.

  “In the sector immediately beyond, no more than a few hundred. It’s the thousands on the level above and the outer hull that should concern you more.”

  Primus Fike blinked at that.

  “Thousands?”

  “That’s our best guess, yes.”

  “In that case, why haven’t you used Nostrum’s broadsides for support?”

  Winslade shrugged and languidly draped an arm over a broken girder. “That’s not my decision, is it?”

  The primus looked him up and down, and he nodded. “All right. We’ll advance and meet the enemy. When we make contact, do not follow us. You’re to hold here in case the attack fails.”

  “As you command, Primus,” Winslade said.

  Was that a hint of amusement in his voice? I thought it was, and so did the primus from the Eagles. Fike frowned at Winslade—but he didn’t start yelling at him.

  “Open the barrier!” he commanded. “Point unit, advance by squads. Maintain overwatch and keep your eyes peeled!”

  It was about then I realized that Fike was leading four full units right through our humble stronghold. That meant about five hundred troops altogether. A serious force.

  I signaled four of our hulking heavy troopers. They hunched over the blast doors, bulging their massive musculature. Damaged by combat over the last week, the doors no longer operated automatically. They groaned and squealed with the shriek of metal on metal as the three meter tall men slid them open.

  Beyond, a stygian pit of darkness met our eyes.

  Primus Fike started by sending in a full unit of troops. The ruined passage was immediately illuminated by their suit lights.

  It was a large area, about ten meters across and a thousand long. The deck gently curved, as the space complex was shaped to fit like a belt over the planet. You couldn’t see all the way to the end of it.

  What was visible included countless side passages, open chambers and blown-open holes in the deck and ceiling.

  Here and there scorched metal could be seen. Big curls of steel resembling flowers had been created by the drilling and blasting the Vulbites had done.

  Fike didn’t march into that passage himself, I noticed. He sent a full unit ahead first and readied a second one. He lingered in our strongpoint, eyeing the passage and the Varus garrison with equal distaste.

  Most of the time, however, he kept casting worried glances after his troops.

  “This has been a hard slog, hasn’t it?” Fike asked us.

  We nodded in response. Winslade didn’t say anymore, so we didn’t upstage him.

  “I’ve been briefed…” Fike said, “but judging by the level of damage, it looks like serious fighting. I see bodies everywhere. Haven’t you Varus-types the decency to clear your dead?”

  “We haven’t opened this door for days,” Winslade said, shrugging.

  “It’s turned into a siege then, has it?”

  “That’s right,” I said, “and we’re glad you’re here to break us out.”

  Fike eyed me coldly. There was no love lost between our outfits. Not today.

  We’d all pulled together back when we’d fought to defend Earth, but the troops in most legions are usually an unforgiving lot. You don’t just walk in and start throwing insults around—not if you know what’s good for you.

  “Don’t worry,” Fike said, lifting his chin. “My boys will show you how it’s done.”

  So saying, he marched at the head of the third unit, vanishing into the dark. Two hundred more troops followed in his wake.

  Harris dared to flash me a grin, but I didn’t return it. I was kind of pissed off.

  Four full units had marched into that passage. There were no lights or power from the station itself. Nothing other than what they had on their suits. But we could see them, splashing beams on every wall and surface.

  The Vulbites let them get farther in than I’d expected. Maybe they had some idea we’d been reinforced. I wasn’t sure.

  But when the attack finally did come, it was all-out.

  -32-

  A firefight erupted when the last Eagle trooper was a hundred meters in. Seemingly without warning and with perfect coordination, everyone began blazing away at once.

  The ambush was well-executed. I was impressed. Say what you will about these centipedes, they knew how to time things.

  They came at the humans from all along the passage, from every side-route, breach and popped-opened hatch.

  Men returned fire in every direction, but Vulbites were in close within seconds. I saw flashes of shimmering cloaks—they’d used their stealth tech in some cases. Clearly, the Eagles had never dealt with that sort of thing before.

  The battle was chaos, and I had trouble watching it as a bystander. I lunged forward, but a thin arm snapped up to hold me back.

  “Let them show us how it’s done,” Winslade told me in a reasonable voice. “Those were Primus Fike’s orders.”

  My teeth were bared in a snarl, but I nodded, and I held myself back.

  It was a hard thing to watch. The Eagles were good—but they had their limits. They’d been ambushed, and they were unfamiliar with this enemy.

  They held out, shooting and struggling, for perhaps a full minute. Then, inevitably, the retreat began.

  “Set up for supporting fire!” I ordered.

  Winslade frowned, but he didn’t countermand my order.

  I set up my recruits all around the opening. They shot the Vulbites that raced along the ceiling, sniping at them whenever they could get a clear shot.

  The aliens fell, but more kept coming. They launched themselves onto the backs of the retreating humans. Two or three squirming insects would lash and sting wildly at the legionnaire underneath them as he desperately slashed back with his combat knife. But usually, the fallen trooper didn’t get up.

  The Vulbites were strong and they outnumbered Fike’s men. They levered open faceplates, chewing through air hoses and polymer joints in the pressure suits. They seemed to know just how to penetrate standard-issue human armor this time around.

  Surprisingly, Fike himself almost made it back to safety. He was a tough man, and despite having lost a foot, he was able to drag himself along, hopping stubbornly.

  His face—I saw it in the glare of our lights as we shined them into the dark passage to illuminate targets. It was a rictus of pain and determination.

  Were those wrinkles and lines I saw on his twisted-up cheeks? Yes, I do believe that’s what I saw. Fike had the look of a man who hadn’t died in years.

  When two Vulbites leapt and rode him down, he flopped and struggled, but I knew he wasn’t going to get up.

  All in all, only fifty-odd troops made it back to our stronghold.

  “McGill!” Winslade called. “Have your apes close those doors!”

  “Sir, we’ve got live legionnaires out there!” I shouted back.

  “Well then—take care of that.”

  We exchanged glances. Winslade’s face was as cold and heartless as space itself.

  Grabbing a belcher, I turned it toward the slaughter which was still ongoing in the passage. Sargon and several other weaponeers joined me.

  We blazed gouts of energy, burning Vulbites, troopers, and the walls themselves. For good measure, we tossed a handful of grav-grenades into the mess as well.

  Silent, blue-white flashes went off, killing dozens more.

  “Close it!” I roared at the heavy troops.

  Stoically, they lifted and heaved. Even in the low gravity, the blast doors were heavy beyond belief. They were solid metal and as thick as a man’s chest.

  When it was closed, we all leaned our backs against it, panting and sweating.

  “Do you think…?” Harris breathed. “Do you think Fike will give us a medal?”

  Leeson released dirty laugh. “Maybe we’ll get an Iron Eagle.”

  “Shut up,” I said. “A lot of good men died out there. They didn’t deserve that.”

  “It was your frigging idea!” Harris shouted at me, suddenly angry.

  “All we did was follow orders,” I said. “But now, after seeing how it ended, I wish we hadn’t.”

  They stopped laughing and moved away, muttering and sulking.

  No one was in a good mood today.

  Carlos was helping with the wounded. He came at me when I went to check on their status.

  “McGill, you did this, didn’t you?”

  “Huh?”

  He came right up to me, and I could see he was really angry. His hands were out of his gauntlets, and he’d pulled on blue nano-fiber gloves instead. They were slick with blood all the way to his elbows.

  He held his hands out in front of me in an accusatory fashion. Gore was smeared everywhere.

  “This!” he said. “You didn’t like their snooty primus, so you marched them into an ambush. That’s the word—and I believe it. The whole idea is so petty, so merciless—so McGill.”

  “That’s not right, Specialist. That’s not what happened.”

  Disgusted, he turned away. “Yeah, sure. Right. You warned them. You did everything you could to stop that slaughter. I believe you. You always tell the truth.”

  He stalked off, and I let him go.

  Bio people had it rough in Legion Varus. There were a lot of wounded, and it was true that our officers didn’t much care about the troops.

  They got to see all the pain, all the dying—they even got the unenviable task of sorting out the weak from the strong, recycling those that would be better off dead and reprinted. They were the clean-up crews of the legion, while the officers got to have all the fun ordering people to fight and die.

  Winslade was the next guy in line to get a reaming over the disaster with Primus Fike. Being a cagey man, he quickly invited me into the conversation.

  “McGill,” he said in my ear, “I’m patching you in. This is Imperator Deech. She has certain… questions.”

  “McGill?” Deech said. “Are you telling me he’s involved in this disaster?”

  “Hello Imperator,” I said, “good to hear your voice again, sir.”

  “Shut up,” Deech said. “Centurion Winslade, why are you merging this channel and adding lower level officers to the feed?”

  Looking at displays that overlaid my lower visual area inside my helmet, I saw Harris and Leeson had been invited to the party as well.

  “Imperator?” Winslade said, sounding confused. “I thought you wanted to get to the bottom of our interchange with Fike. All of us were present, therefore—”

  “No,” Deech said firmly. “I won’t have you wriggling off the hook and spreading the blame so easily.”

  As she said this, I saw the printed blocks representing Harris and Leeson go dark and then vanish entirely. She’d kicked them out of our private chat-channel.

  Winslade cleared his throat. “Perhaps you could state your wishes more clearly next time, hmm?”

  “It’s my most sincere wish that the man who makes a mistake owns up to it,” she said sternly.

  “Oh really? Who was it, then, who ordered the Iron Eagles to make a blind attack? Was that Primus Fike? Or just possibly, was it someone more highly placed?”

  Whoa… Winslade was really treading on some thin ice. Some might even say he’d painted his butt red and mooned the bull.

  He was right, of course. Deech was famous for passing the buck. Whenever she screwed up—or even when she sensed something bad might happen in the near future—she lined up an underling to take the blame.

  But today, Winslade wasn’t having any of that. I wasn’t sure why he was fighting back so hard. It could have been one of several things. After all, Deech and Winslade had apparently enjoyed a sordid affair of their own.

  That relationship had gotten Winslade precisely diddly-squat when the reshuffle in ranks came. Deech had moved up, and he’d moved down.

  That had to be it. The more I thought about it, the more clear it became to me.

  Deech, for her part, seemed stunned. She sputtered for a moment then regained her composure.

  “Very well,” she said in a coldly angry tone. “You do not have to accept the blame—but the situation, as you’re the only unit left on the spot, is your baby now. Your unit—in fact, Graves entire cohort—will continue to press the attack. Show the Iron Eagles how Varus does things right!”