Read Online Legion Of The Damned - 02 - The Final Battle by William C. Dietz - Free Book Online
Authors: William C. Dietz
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Riley, Harris, and Lopez. . . . Hey, Booly, good going on the pennant thing, vive la légion, and that sort of rubbish. May we join you?”
None of the foursome wanted to play host to Kadien and his toadies, also known as numbers 503, 608, and 621, but good manners dictated that they do so. Kadien had worked especially hard at making Booly’s life miserable over the last six years, so alarm bells went off in a distant and still-sober portion of the officer’s mind, but were muted by excessive amounts of alcohol and a naive desire for acceptance.
More drinks arrived and were consumed. In spite of the fact that they had less than twelve hours of seniority and, with the single exception of Booly, had never heard a shot fired in anger, the newly made lieutenants had opinions on everything from their superior officers’ sexual proclivities to the use of robo artillery as a means of night harassment.
Though he was often less knowledgeable than those around him, Kadien made up for average intelligence with the same sort of tenacity that had allowed him to outlast other more capable cadets, and might or might not win a battle someday. He liked to keep score and declared himself the winner in no less than three hotly contested arguments.
An hour had passed by the time Kadien looked at his watch, turned to the toady on his right, and said, “Well, old weasel, the night is young, and other, more sophisticated pleasures await. Anyone care to join us?”
Booly was surprised to discover that the question was directed to him. He searched Kadien’s face for the usual signs of contempt and came up empty. Was this a peace offering? An attempt to make up for the racial slurs, the badgering, and the harassment of the last six years? He smiled and had the uncomfortable feeling that it looked like a silly grin. “Sure . . . what did you have in mind?”
Riley signaled “no” with subtle shakes of his head, Harris looked doubtful, and Lopez kept his face intentionally blank.
Kadien made a production of looking around, as if checking to make sure no one could hear. “Ever heard of a nightclub called the Cess Pool? No? Well, friends tell me they have a floor show that will put hair on your chest. Ooops! Sorry, Booly, no pun intended.”
Not entirely sure whether Kadien had made fun of him or uttered an unintentional faux pas, Booly smiled and waved the comment away. Kadien surveyed the table. “So how ’bout it? You want to see some real honest-to-God action? Or sit around the Blanc pounding your puds? Except for Harris, that is, who doesn’t have a pud, but would if she could. Isn’t that right, Harris?”
Harris and Lopez wasted little time begging off, but Riley was concerned for Booly’s safety, and agreed to go. It seemed like little more than moments later when the five of them piled into an auto cab. Someone had barfed on the floor, and even though a robot had removed the mess two hours before, the smell remained. Kadien issued the instructions. “Take us to the Cess Pool . . . and step on it.”
The on-board computer analyzed the words, acted on those that were consistent with its programming, and discarded the rest. Booly stared out a window as the vehicle jerked into motion, attained maximum economical speed, and headed south towards old Mexico, the very country in which Danjou and his men had fought their much-celebrated battle in the tiny village of Camerone.
Persistent seediness quickly gave way to full-fledged urban blight as the taxi carried them deep into the famed DMZ, which was officially off limits to all military personnel, including newly commissioned lieutenants. Windows gaped like blinded eyes, doors swung in the breeze, and vandalized streetlights stood guard duty on every corner.
Rectangles of light showed here and there. Were they clues to the location of hardy souls who lived there? Or bait set by one predator for another? Booly shivered and felt his head start to clear. Riley sat across from him.
None of the foursome wanted to play host to Kadien and his toadies, also known as numbers 503, 608, and 621, but good manners dictated that they do so. Kadien had worked especially hard at making Booly’s life miserable over the last six years, so alarm bells went off in a distant and still-sober portion of the officer’s mind, but were muted by excessive amounts of alcohol and a naive desire for acceptance.
More drinks arrived and were consumed. In spite of the fact that they had less than twelve hours of seniority and, with the single exception of Booly, had never heard a shot fired in anger, the newly made lieutenants had opinions on everything from their superior officers’ sexual proclivities to the use of robo artillery as a means of night harassment.
Though he was often less knowledgeable than those around him, Kadien made up for average intelligence with the same sort of tenacity that had allowed him to outlast other more capable cadets, and might or might not win a battle someday. He liked to keep score and declared himself the winner in no less than three hotly contested arguments.
An hour had passed by the time Kadien looked at his watch, turned to the toady on his right, and said, “Well, old weasel, the night is young, and other, more sophisticated pleasures await. Anyone care to join us?”
Booly was surprised to discover that the question was directed to him. He searched Kadien’s face for the usual signs of contempt and came up empty. Was this a peace offering? An attempt to make up for the racial slurs, the badgering, and the harassment of the last six years? He smiled and had the uncomfortable feeling that it looked like a silly grin. “Sure . . . what did you have in mind?”
Riley signaled “no” with subtle shakes of his head, Harris looked doubtful, and Lopez kept his face intentionally blank.
Kadien made a production of looking around, as if checking to make sure no one could hear. “Ever heard of a nightclub called the Cess Pool? No? Well, friends tell me they have a floor show that will put hair on your chest. Ooops! Sorry, Booly, no pun intended.”
Not entirely sure whether Kadien had made fun of him or uttered an unintentional faux pas, Booly smiled and waved the comment away. Kadien surveyed the table. “So how ’bout it? You want to see some real honest-to-God action? Or sit around the Blanc pounding your puds? Except for Harris, that is, who doesn’t have a pud, but would if she could. Isn’t that right, Harris?”
Harris and Lopez wasted little time begging off, but Riley was concerned for Booly’s safety, and agreed to go. It seemed like little more than moments later when the five of them piled into an auto cab. Someone had barfed on the floor, and even though a robot had removed the mess two hours before, the smell remained. Kadien issued the instructions. “Take us to the Cess Pool . . . and step on it.”
The on-board computer analyzed the words, acted on those that were consistent with its programming, and discarded the rest. Booly stared out a window as the vehicle jerked into motion, attained maximum economical speed, and headed south towards old Mexico, the very country in which Danjou and his men had fought their much-celebrated battle in the tiny village of Camerone.
Persistent seediness quickly gave way to full-fledged urban blight as the taxi carried them deep into the famed DMZ, which was officially off limits to all military personnel, including newly commissioned lieutenants. Windows gaped like blinded eyes, doors swung in the breeze, and vandalized streetlights stood guard duty on every corner.
Rectangles of light showed here and there. Were they clues to the location of hardy souls who lived there? Or bait set by one predator for another? Booly shivered and felt his head start to clear. Riley sat across from him.
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