Legionnaire Eternal by Doc Spears

Author:Doc Spears [Spears, Doc]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Galaxy's Edge Press
Published: 2023-12-11T16:00:00+00:00

13

“They messed up, big time, Stomper,” Doc said, thuds of dead run footfalls punctuating his speech. “They used a harmonic tunneling frequency. Mimicked a burst of cosmic radiation filtered through an atmosphere. A millionth of a second’s worth. Damn near undetectable. With a time parameter to screen for of when the prisoners got murdered, it stood out like a kelhorned big red flashing arrow. Just before I lost the transmitting source, it was on the move. Wanna bet they’re beating feet for the capital to make orbit ASAP?”

Chappy’s voice vibrated like Doc’s. “We’re on the bounce for the Excalibur, Stomper. Meet us there. Wolfhound Six, we’re asking approval for all assets so we can make who killed these people pay.”

Doc said, “I need TARU, sir. I need them to get us a fix.”

“The word’s given,” General Airani said. “I’m spinning up the Wolfhounds. Go, Howler. We’ll take our cues from your team.”

Hartenstein barreled out of the wreck of the prison, inspired to make more of Ozydna look the same. “Make a hole,” he yelled to leejes manning the tunnel access through the containment field. The detail didn’t waste time checking the ident of the bulldozer headed straight for them. Leejes knew the sight of one of their own moving to purposeful homicide as well as they could read the signs of a blaster’s impeller chain overheating. The screen to the portal gate dropped so he never broke pace. The Excalibur’s tail pointed at him like a freeway off ramp with Doc and Chappy waving him ahead from the summit like coaches at the finish line.

“Are you limping, Stomper?” Chappy asked.

“No,” he said, limping up the last of the ramp.

The crew chief, Romper, was on the deck. “Howler’s on board, Slabside. Let’s fly.”

The Excalibur lifted and turned, providing his first daylight view of the site. Doc and Chappy said lightning operations was the Wolfhound’s thing. There was a timeless phrase that described combat operations as a “fog of war.”

It had never seemed more appropriate.

A pulse fence provided an expansive perimeter around the prison, extending all the way to the main road. A pair of Talons circled overhead. Of the many vehicles halted outside the control point, a luxury sedan stood out. Stepping out of it was a member of the Republic diplomatic mission, marked by his purple suit. Beneath the cluster of tents, the Wolfhound JAG and the regiment’s executive officer would be busy putting out fires with both the Protectorate and the embassy.

Pride and envy competed for his attention as the ramp sealed, signaling the end of this act of the play. Pride in the Wolfhounds and what was carried on out of sight. Envy at its commander. Topper had been his junior in Dark Ops. He’d become the head of a machine with a thousand living parts. It was the career that could have been. Then, a moment of relief came to him.

For a brief time, he was reliving how his life was when he was a sergeant. An operator, again.

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