Throne World (Undying Mercenaries Book 21) by B. V. Larson

Author:B. V. Larson [Larson, B. V.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Iron Tower Press
Published: 2024-04-27T00:00:00+00:00

-22-

I might have arrived at Gold Bunker on Nebra as a pariah—at least in Primus Gilbert’s wet eyes—but I left with the status of a hero.

Winslade made a special effort, contacting the Mogwa garrison commander to sell him on a reassignment. I was thusly elevated from the status of a pathetic wall-duty guardsman to the head personal bodyguard for a planned planetary tour.

Apparently, Sateekas hadn’t bothered to land with the rest of us grunts. I could hardly blame him, what with how dirty these skunk-people were. Today, however, was the big day—the official arrival of the new Mogwa overlords who’d so recently annexed this miserable planet.

There were a few details involved that I didn’t like. For one thing, I wasn’t going to be allowed to bring my entire unit along. A single platoon was all that was required, I was told by a stern-faced Mogwa soldier. He was obviously jealous of my status and probably didn’t want me along for the ride at all.

But Winslade had some pull. He convinced the garrison commander that I should be included to ensure the safety and well-being of Sateekas and his consort, Governess Nox.

Whatever the case, I got the assignment, and I handpicked a platoon of men to go with me. I chose mostly heavies with a few specialists to round out the team.

Both Harris and Leeson were incredibly relieved they weren’t expected to go on this tour of Nebra. They’d already wisely concluded that the locals were not apt to give the warmest welcome to Sateekas or anyone who dared to escort him.

We polished the last scuffs out of our armor. Eventually air transport showed up. We boarded at a trot and were whisked away to the city center to meet the Mogwa VIPs.

The transport ship settled down into the grass near our encampment on three heavy skids. The rearmost of these crushed a tent.

Fortunately, only two light troopers were crushed—no big loss. The others had been able to scramble out in time, cutting and crawling their way out of the plastic before they were killed.

There was a lot of whining about this on my unit’s tactical chat channel. To me, it was a shrug of the shoulders situation. Of course, the Mogwa air transport pilot gave less than zero shits about endangering humans. Indeed, the only remark he made was to complain that we’d placed our tents too close to the northern wall.

I wasn’t exactly sure where else we were supposed to set up camp, but I didn’t argue. For one thing, I knew there was no point.

I also knew the proper response to this grave insult. Few men of Earth did. Accordingly, I went out to greet the smug alien bastards.

Two Mogwa were on the ramp leading into their ship, blocking our way. They were carefully stalking around in their little walking tanks. The metal spider-feet clicked on the ramp furtively.

“I’m so sorry, sirs,” I said, bowing at the waist and making a big sweep of my hand. If I’d had a cap to pull off and wave around, I would have done that, too.

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