Operation Breakout (The Sleeping Legion Book 3), page 13
And so, not even two weeks after surrendering at the Nicum Isthmus, he was flying in a Stork Shuttle with a company of Human Legion Marines, in support of his mission of peace and mercy. The ride was uneventful, though to get him into the shuttle, the nefnasts had to inject him with strong sedatives. He didn’t remember much after the needle was jabbed into his neck, just extreme pain and then darkness.
Fenzar awoke to the bright Tranquility sun. One of the humans handed him a set of captured Hardit stealth armor and weapons. His fur stood up on his back as his tail caressed the first weapon he’d touched since his surrender. He wasn’t naïve enough to think they trusted him; there was surely a kill switch of some kind built into the armor and weapons. But at least if he died now, he’d met the ancestors on his terms.
Never being one of the shy members of his pack, Fenzar stripped down to his fur and donned the armor. He walked down the ramp of the Stork, waved his tail at the assembled escort, and started toward the militia camp. His Legion handler assured him that he would be able to sneak into the militia camp unnoticed.
It would be a long run to the camp, through some rolling woods. Fenzar smiled as he frolicked on all fours, bounding through the trees and leaves and grass. For a moment, he was a younger Hardit again, a life of discovery, procreation, and human slaves ahead of him.
“You! Don’t run off too far,” one of the Marines shouted. It was odd to hear the robotic voice of a Hardit speaking for a human in his ear.
Fenzar sighed as he trotted back over to the Legion detail. Now he was working with Legion, and the slavers were other Hardits. He needed to focus his mind on the work ahead.
His mission was to stir up rebellion among the Hardit militia, convincing them that overthrowing their Janissary officers and joining the Legion would ensure the survival of the species. Once the Janissaries were dead or detained, the Legion would drop a battalion of Marines to secure the camp and process the Hardit militia. The choice the Marines would give them would be to defect to the Legion or die. As far as Fenzar knew, there was no other option.
After an overly tactical movement, the Legion handlers released him. The target camp was spread out ahead, on the top of a large hill. The Marines faded back into the shadows behind him as Fenzar looked up and gulped.
Everything made sense up to this point, but standing there in an ill-fitting uniform and casually strolling up to this camp, Fenzar felt terror. A thousand thoughts bounced through his furry head.
What if the guards are Janissaries? What if there is a password of some kind? What if they stop me and start asking questions?
His worries were wasted energy. Nothing happened as he walked through the “entrance” of the camp. It wasn’t really an entrance because there wasn’t a perimeter. In fact, there were no visible guards, just a gaggle of lounging militia packmates sitting on their haunches in the shade. Clearly, discipline wasn’t a priority for their officers.
Not knowing what else to do, Fenzar went to the one place where he knew others would be talking: the feasting hall. Walking there on all fours, Fenzar noted the similarities between this camp and the ones the Legion employed. They both had the same sort of atmospheric tents and buildings. They also used the same sort of layout, clustering pack dens close together. This was where the likeness ended, though.
Unlike the nefnasts, Hardits dug their dens out a few feet under the ground. This made their tents and structures feel taller and more expansive. It also helped with reducing heat and light. Not to mention the tactical advantage of being in a pre-dug hole if nefnasts advanced on their position.
Fenzar pushed the flap leading into the feasting hall out of his way and walked down the sloping dirt path until the tent opened into a large rectangular shape. Hardits sat on the dirt floor together in clustered groups, gorging themselves on meat. As Fenzar descended, he noted many scarred backs and snouts, evidence of New Order abuse.
Once he had reached flat dirt, he used his tail to remove his helmet and hooked it onto his chest piece. The smell in the feasting hall was glorious, and Fenzar’s mouth filled with drool, spilling out over his teeth onto the floor. Ignoring everything, he approached the slowly rotating bird that was twice the length of his body.
Ooooh, it’s been too long since I had a proper morsel, Fenzar thought hungrily. Those nefnasts and their infernal synthetic protein bars. How do they survive?
The meal of the day was rotisserie-roasted guinshrike. Multiple birds were being roasted, and the smell of fat hung in his long furry snout. Closing on the nearest of the giant birds of prey, Fenzar could see it had been plucked and stretched out. Thermal heaters made the meat sweat its wonderful juices into the trough below, where you could dip a cup to drink.
Fenzar whimpered with joy as he ripped off a sizeable hunk of meat and took it with him. Making a few circles, he plopped onto his hindquarters and started shoving meat into his maw, chewing noisily. While he digested, he listened keenly to those around him.
It was obvious that the militia weren’t happy. The officers complained about barely being able to control their forces. The Janissaries had set up a camp within a camp, seeking to defend themselves from the militia rather than establish good order and discipline. Rumors were rampant about a rogue signal from a Hardit named Thann, who spoke of freedom from the New Order.
This will be easier than I thought, Fenzar mused, swallowing the last of the guinshrike meat.
Not wanting to become overconfident, he circulated the room. At each new spot, he sampled more meat and listened to those around him. Once his belly was fit to burst, and he knew where the discontented congregated, the next phase of his plan came into play. Stalking up to those clustered groups of malcontents, he began speaking in earnest.
To gauge willingness, Fenzar used if statements: If the New Order was gone. If there was another option. If you could fight, would you? If Thann’s message was real and not a nefnast trick, would you join the resistance?
He kept his voice low but firm as he probed their allegiance to the New Order. Once he was sure they wouldn’t kill him for being a traitor, he presented himself as a member of the resistance. Fenzar told them this information as if he was a member of a secret and elite group, fighting for the Hardit culture, working in the shadows.
The militia ate it up like the guinshrike stuck in their teeth. When Fenzar believed they were close to agreeing, he produced a small data recorder and hit play.
The words of Thann, spoken during the Battle for Fortress Beta City, were broadcast. It had the desired effect. The militia members in the feasting hall howled and barked. Their stomachs were full of meat, and their hearts swelled with hope. Before departing, Fenzar passed out more small recorders with the message and asked them to spread the word. He reminded them help was coming, and it would be coming quickly.
He continued circling the camp, passing on more recorders and building unrest. Soon, the militia were howling and roaring, wanting the blood of the Janissary abominations. The pack mentality heaped on itself, turning the broken militia into a wall of fur, teeth, and hatred.
Gripping weapons, the rabble of Hardits approached the Janissary compound centered in their encampment. Unlike in the surrounding area, here the New Order elite had built walls and fortifications. The Janissaries didn’t bother to ask what the commotion was about. Instead, they began firing into the mob of militia from the sentry tower next to the closed entrance gate.
Knowing time was of the essence, Fenzar aimed a small laser at the tower from which the Janissaries were firing. Without warning, a mortar round from the waiting Legion Marines came whistling in and turned the tower into a pile of rubble. With the fence and gate now breached, the militia rushed inside to deal death to the New Order perversion.
Fenzar didn’t get the opportunity to watch the militia continue their rampage. He was busy running back toward the tree line and the waiting Stork. Holding his stomach as the Stork lifted off, Fenzar watched the militia cheer as they dragged the bodies of the dead Janissaries out and ripped them into pieces. After strapping in and being injected with sleeping drugs, Fenzar looked at the smoke rising from the camp below.
I caused this, thought Fenzar, burping loudly as the Stork shuttled low across the ground. I just hope this Human Legion is true to their word, and I’m not leading my packmates into a life worse than the New Order.
— CHAPTER 39 —
Early Afternoon, Post-Revival Day 61
Communications Cavern, Hardit Incubation Station, Serendine
Incubation Station Commander, Tranquility New Order Army
Everything was in order, though Sub-Commander Thebellen still looked for any last-minute detail she missed as she inspected her defensive positions. She also knew her troops needed to see her confidence in their eventual victory. Ultimately, her troops’ actions reflected her ability to lead.
With all routes to her mountain fortress accounted for, Thebellen could finally relax and prepare for the slaughter. She was confident in all facets of her defensive position. Vendar and his forces had been killed by the nefnasts because he had lost comms, the single most important tool in a commander’s arsenal. Thebellen, on the other hand, didn’t just have her own secure comms; she’d procured her enemies comms as well.
Knowing this, she finished her quick inspection of the lines. It was a formality anyway. Returning to the mouth of the mountain, she turned and tapped into the armor and speakers of every Hardit and Janissary under her command.
“Listen, and listen well. When the human scum approach, you do nothing. Only once the nefnasts have come fully into range do we shower them with sabots. Only then will we feed the soil their blood, washing away those who defile land claimed by the New Order.”
Thebellen stopped for a moment and gazed out over the trenches and hills stretching out before her. Never had she commanded a force so large; the power was intoxicating. Pushing forward, hoping to create frenzy, Thebellen raised her voice higher.
“The nefnasts laughed when they butchered our packmates at their cursed elevator. Right now, they think they’ve already won. They think we’re just a paltry force of militia and skirmishers. Indeed, the great Death Bringer will rejoice after we bring their force low and drag them into our tunnels for the feast! One scent! One people! One galaxy!”
The hair around Thebellen’s neck raised at the sound of thousands of Hardits and Janissaries howling and barking for vengeance. This battle would cement her name in New Order history. This would be the battle where the Great Mother protected the mountain and birthed the new generations of Janissaries. Thebellen smiled and snapped her jaws.
— CHAPTER 40 —
Pre-Dawn, Post-Revival Day 62
Air Above Mount Durior, Serendine
Commander, 1st TAW, Human Legion
Newly promoted, Commander Mawr Bryn supervised a combined species squadron of fighter pilots. It was exceedingly odd. The humans and Jotun had been at war with the Hardits mere weeks ago, and now they flew side-by-side. The brotherhood of the wing, indeed.
As Mawr contemplated the strange state of Tranquility’s political entanglements, she was continually surprised that the Hardits made such good pilots. They were more dedicated than her former Auxies and zealous in their desire to destroy the New Order.
She had trouble separating these Hardits from the ones who ruined her orderly life, but countless hours in the training simulators designed by Lieutenant Commander Chase Arbor made it easier. Apparently even Chase, the new Hanger Boss, had a Hardit master chief working with him. It truly was a strange new world.
Just moments after her squadron climbed into the training simulators for an impromptu night exercise, the alert sounded again, and an excited squadron rushed from the classroom to the hangar bay. The technicians, who’d been swarming the fighters in their routine hourly checks, suddenly stood, too. They would help the pilots climb into their birds and guide them to their departure lanes. As Mawr joined the queue, she couldn’t help but feel that the technicians viewed the aircraft as theirs, and that the pilots were merely the stewards. She didn’t mind, though, since it had ever been so in the brotherhood of pilots. Any veteran of aerial combat knew that their ground crew were part of the family, too.
I really should do something to include the unnamed and unrecognized crew members so they get recognition for their part, Mawr thought as she taxied to her spot in the queue.
Then, as quickly as the thought came, it was gone in a flurry of forward motion. Her Vengeance fighter rocketed down the runway. She couldn’t wait to use her Vengeance fighter’s VTOL feature, but the outpost hangar area wasn’t set up for it. Vertical take-off and landing: such a feature was a dream for the newly qualified Vengeance pilots. Mawr loved it, wishing the Legion would include it in their designs going forward.
Once airborne, the time for idle musings was over. With her mind on the mission at hand, she cut into the air wing’s battle network and spoke to all three squadrons.
“1st TAW, we’ve been called to support Task Force Keita. We will assist in the assault on the main objective. There are zero, I repeat zero, air units in the vicinity. If the New Order scrambles their Conquest squadrons, we’ll have plenty of time to react.”
Some whoops sounded over the radio as the pilots heard they would be flying unopposed. Mawr growled into the comms line as she continued.
“The frakkers in the 1st Heavy have been placed on stand-by and await the merest hint of enemy fighters to scramble. Take out targets of opportunity and threats to our Marines, but use force judiciously. We want the militia to have every opportunity to revolt. Direct all questions to your squadron commanders. 1st TAW, out.”
After the rather uninspired pre-combat speech, the entire squadron raced toward the Nicum Peninsula. Their AIs began targeting emplaced guns and other high value targets. With everything ready, they were left with nothing to do but fly in silence to the fight.
It’s almost too easy. Where is the honor in slaughtering hapless ground forces? Mawr grumbled to herself. We deserve better.
The training regime in the simulators paid off. The squadron flew as one and swooped down out of the sky to strafe enemy artillery. After one pass, there was little left of the strange fixed guns left out by the enemy. The Hardit trenches, however, provided no targets. They were empty.
“Have they abandoned the facility?” Mawr inquired of her AI.
Commander, I have no sensor readings indicating life in the trenches, but the available sensors can’t penetrate the mountain structure. No further information is available.
With her AI’s succinct non-answer, Mawr knew that her only option was to return to base and stand by. There was a chance to return to action, but she wouldn’t bet her honor on it. Sighing in frustration at the lack of action, she ordered her squadron to return to Outpost Sierra 3.
— CHAPTER 41 —
Sunrise, Post-Revival Day 62
Outside Hardit Incubation Station, Serendine
Echo Co., 8th BN, 6907th TAC RGT, Task Force Keita, Human Legion
Adapting to being a kraken soldier, a Marine, had been difficult for Kaden Roy. Standing in the shadow of Mount Durior, the breeding mound for some useless alien he’d not heard of before, he waited for the advance to begin. It was a pain, having all these new names, ranks, and equipment to deal with.
Despite the barrier in language and attitude, he’d made a point of learning to communicate with his new comrades without relying on his AI, Valkyrie, or his blood-borne tölvur. He knew these kraken soldiers called tölvur nanites, but that name was harder to remember than many of the others he’d been studying on the hike across this alien planet.
Tranquility, they call it. Nothing tranquil about a planet that requires you to remain covered when enjoying the sun, said Valkyrie into his ear.
Kaden treasured the companionship Valkyrie provided, and the way she made life easier, but he wasn’t a big enough hálfviti to rely on her exclusively. Combat had taught him one thing: tools break, even digital ones. If he relied on AIs and tölvur for everything, it became a crutch, and he might as well clip his babymakers and join the women’s auxiliary phalanxes.
In this Legion, though, there were no all-women auxiliary phalanxes, and failure of duty didn’t mean you would have your babymakers cut off. Even the old slaves, the Aux, they retained their fertility. This world was truly maddening.
Standing in front of his company, with the objective in sight, he couldn’t help but wonder how his commander would react to this skirmish. Lance Scipio, whom he’d spent hours talking tactics with, seemed smart enough if he’d just grab his babymakers and decide to be a man. He couldn’t understand why he’d started acting like some pathetic half-knee. You honor those who died by doing better, not by running home to your woman in the breeding shacks. Scipio’s woman, she guarded him. In truth, Scipio would have his balls clipped for this, back on Beatro.
The sound of the weird monkey beasts’ heavy guns being destroyed drew Kaden’s gold-ringed pupils skyward. More of the kraken flyers destroyed targets in the distance. One of the flyers did a barrel roll and played around as they destroyed the entrenched guns. This destruction meant the next phase of the mission would begin. Unfortunately, Kaden was having trouble remembering all the steps.
“Right, okay. What have I missed? Renew me the battlefield, Valkyrie.”
Good, you remembered to mentally return to your duties as your father trained you, said Valkyrie. The Hardit militia units to the north of the mountain we will assault have already surrendered. They will be secured in place. These Legion Marines do not massacre those who surrender, so keep this in mind. They’ll either be detained at Outpost Sierra 1 or join the Legion.
