Legion Of The Damned - 02 - The Final Battle by William C. Dietz
Authors: William C. Dietz
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presence on this field is proof of that. Therefore it is my honor, no, my privilege, to grant you commissions in Confederacy’s Armed Forces. Vive la Legion!”
The answering shout was so loud that it scared birds from the trees. “Vive la Legion!”
There were more speeches after that, including one from Anguar’s secretary of defense, but they were more the benefit of the spectators and news media than the cadets themselves. Like his peers, Booly felt a sense of relief and anticipation when General St. James returned to the podium.
St. James took one last look at the cadets, the field, and the campus beyond. A robotic news cam floated in for a better shot. No one else knew it yet, but this was his final year in the Legion and his last appearance before a graduating class. He had given the Legion thirty-nine years of his life and that was enough. His wife would be pleased. He smiled and hundreds of upturned faces smiled back. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, all good things must come to an end, and that includes congratulatory speeches.”
The words echoed off distant buildings, laughter rippled through the ranks, and St. James nodded sympathetically. “Yes, the time has come to leave the Academy and apply the knowledge gained here.” His face grew serious. The laughter died away. “Cadet battalion, atten-hut!”
Six hundred forty-three men and women crashed to attention. A hush settled over the field. St. James paused, took a deep breath, and released it with two words: “Battalion . . . dismissed!”
A cheer went up, along with a blizzard of snowy white hats. Booly caught one, clapped it on his head, and exchanged high-fives with Riley. “Congratulations, Tom!”
“You too, Bill!”
“See you tonight?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Twenty hundred hours at the Képi Blanc.”
Booly nodded, waved, and allowed the crowd to carry him toward the stands. He saw his mother first, partly because she was beautiful, and partly because she the only full-blooded Naa among the spectators. Booly found himself checking to see if his classmates were staring at her, felt ashamed of himself, and kept his eyes straight ahead. He loved his mother, and if the other cadets had a problem with that, then tough shit. He waved and forced his way through the crowd.
Windsweet waved back and swallowed the lump that filled her throat. Memories flooded back. She remembered how her father had ambushed a Legion patrol, how she had nursed a legionnaire back to health, how she had slowly but surely fallen in love with him, how he had fought a duel for the right to court her, how he had deserted to be with her, and how they had fled into the snow-capped mountains. And it was there, in the ruins of a long-abandoned Naa settlement, that her son had been conceived. A conception that some claimed was scientifically impossible, unless humans and Naa were related somehow, or a miracle had occurred.
But Windsweet cared about none of that, for the young man with the big grin owned every bit of her heart not already given to his father, and nothing else mattered. She opened her arms and was swept away as Bill Booly, Jr., grabbed his mother and whirled her around. She laughed. “Stop that! Put me down!”
The cadet did as he was told. He held his mother at arm’s length. Her short, downy fur might have darkened a little, but the delicately shaped face, charcoal gray eyes, and the full, sensitive lips were just as he remembered them. She smelled like her name. Windsweet. Her voice was gentle and the words were Naa. Although the language seemed simple, different pitches could be employed to embellish or change meanings, making it quite complex. “Greetings, my son. I see you are a warrior now.”
Booly felt his heart swell with pride, for in the Naa culture the words “warrior” and “man” were synonymous. His father stepped forward. He spoke Naa like a native but his words were in Standard. “Your mother is correct, son, you look like a
The answering shout was so loud that it scared birds from the trees. “Vive la Legion!”
There were more speeches after that, including one from Anguar’s secretary of defense, but they were more the benefit of the spectators and news media than the cadets themselves. Like his peers, Booly felt a sense of relief and anticipation when General St. James returned to the podium.
St. James took one last look at the cadets, the field, and the campus beyond. A robotic news cam floated in for a better shot. No one else knew it yet, but this was his final year in the Legion and his last appearance before a graduating class. He had given the Legion thirty-nine years of his life and that was enough. His wife would be pleased. He smiled and hundreds of upturned faces smiled back. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, all good things must come to an end, and that includes congratulatory speeches.”
The words echoed off distant buildings, laughter rippled through the ranks, and St. James nodded sympathetically. “Yes, the time has come to leave the Academy and apply the knowledge gained here.” His face grew serious. The laughter died away. “Cadet battalion, atten-hut!”
Six hundred forty-three men and women crashed to attention. A hush settled over the field. St. James paused, took a deep breath, and released it with two words: “Battalion . . . dismissed!”
A cheer went up, along with a blizzard of snowy white hats. Booly caught one, clapped it on his head, and exchanged high-fives with Riley. “Congratulations, Tom!”
“You too, Bill!”
“See you tonight?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Twenty hundred hours at the Képi Blanc.”
Booly nodded, waved, and allowed the crowd to carry him toward the stands. He saw his mother first, partly because she was beautiful, and partly because she the only full-blooded Naa among the spectators. Booly found himself checking to see if his classmates were staring at her, felt ashamed of himself, and kept his eyes straight ahead. He loved his mother, and if the other cadets had a problem with that, then tough shit. He waved and forced his way through the crowd.
Windsweet waved back and swallowed the lump that filled her throat. Memories flooded back. She remembered how her father had ambushed a Legion patrol, how she had nursed a legionnaire back to health, how she had slowly but surely fallen in love with him, how he had fought a duel for the right to court her, how he had deserted to be with her, and how they had fled into the snow-capped mountains. And it was there, in the ruins of a long-abandoned Naa settlement, that her son had been conceived. A conception that some claimed was scientifically impossible, unless humans and Naa were related somehow, or a miracle had occurred.
But Windsweet cared about none of that, for the young man with the big grin owned every bit of her heart not already given to his father, and nothing else mattered. She opened her arms and was swept away as Bill Booly, Jr., grabbed his mother and whirled her around. She laughed. “Stop that! Put me down!”
The cadet did as he was told. He held his mother at arm’s length. Her short, downy fur might have darkened a little, but the delicately shaped face, charcoal gray eyes, and the full, sensitive lips were just as he remembered them. She smelled like her name. Windsweet. Her voice was gentle and the words were Naa. Although the language seemed simple, different pitches could be employed to embellish or change meanings, making it quite complex. “Greetings, my son. I see you are a warrior now.”
Booly felt his heart swell with pride, for in the Naa culture the words “warrior” and “man” were synonymous. His father stepped forward. He spoke Naa like a native but his words were in Standard. “Your mother is correct, son, you look like a
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