Free The Last Legion: Book One of the Last Legion Series by Chris Bunch Page B

everywhere. But so far Faull hadn’t proselytized, hadn’t said much outside duty requirements other than when he showed Yoshitaro how to pitch his shelter, and told him not to worry, that Lir would certainly kill them all in the next few days and they could relax while the last rites were being read. None of the body-wrenching workouts Lir put them through, from the calisthenics before the sun rose to the night cross-country runs seemed to bother him.
    Erik Penwyth must’ve been heavy before Lir got her hands on him, for his skin was a little loose around his gut. Now he was as skinny as everyone else. He spoke in an affected drawl, and Njangu gathered he came from one of D-Cumbre’s rich families. Njangu thought Penwyth must be the insane member of the family, for why else would he be eating mud here at Camp Mahan instead of lolling about with whatever and whoever richies on D-Cumbre lolled with.
    Angie Rada was short, small-breasted, and instantly made Njangu think of black silk restraints, scented candles, and sex wilder than anything he could dream of. He actually wondered what Lir would do if a little tent-swapping happened, but realized he was being really foolish, since he was too tired to raise even a smile.
    The last was Ton Milot. He was also small, but very solidly built, always laughing. Like Faull, he never seemed tired or sore, and had told Njangu that Lir was a foam-bubble. Nothing she could come up with was as much an ass-buster as fishing.
    “Plus,” he said, “she hasn’t figured out a way to drown us.”
    “Yet,” Penwyth added.
    The five stood by their log about fifty meters from the company mess hall. The sun was straight overhead, and soldiers were filing into the building.
    “Is everybody hungry?”
    “YES,
DEC
.”
    “No, you’re not. Are you?”
    “NO,
DEC
!”
    “We don’t want to eat, we want to run, don’t we?”
    “YES,
DEC.
” Njangu felt his stomach start gnawing on his lungs.
    “That wasn’t loud enough! Right … hace. Forward, harch! Double-time … HARCH! Straight down to the beach, people. Let’s see if we can run all the way to the swamp before anybody falls out! Maybe then we’ll have a nice, refreshing crawl for a few hundred meters.”
    • • •
    Garvin checked the torque setting once more, put a little extra muscle on the wrench, and the nut snapped cleanly in half.
    “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, remembering what Dill had said about the fate of those who were redlined. Would this take the Aerial Combat Vehicle off READY status? He pushed gingerly on the Grierson’s intake shield, and it wiggled visibly. No way around it … somebody’d notice the bare bolt sticking out of the Greierson’s roof and they’d be for the solvent tubs, great barrels cut in half, filled with corrosive muck used to clean weapons and parts. Jaansma climbed off the ACV’s roof and started out of the hangar toward the far-distant Supply.
    Half an hour later, he trailed disconsolately back. No such animal, the clerk had said snippily. Back-ordered. Sounds like you’re down, he’d said, malicious glee in his voice. Always need a good ‘cruit to polish some of the mung off these drive rollers, and maybe the rest of your crew’ll give you a hand. Tough titty.
    Garvin suddenly stopped. Were all those bolts holding the hangar’s door-slider in place really necessary? They certainly looked the right size. He got his wrench and buzzed one nut free. Perfect, he congratulated himself, tossing the nut in the air and catching it.
    “What the hell’re you doing?”
    Garvin jumped a meter, spun, and saw First
Tweg
Malagash, red face sculpted into a scowl.
    “Uh … nothing, top. Just took a break, and I’m going back to — ”
    “With what in your hand?”
    “Uh … nothing. Just this nut.”
    “Which you’re doing what with?”
    Garvin tried to look innocent.
    “You ever hear the word mil-spec, young soldier?” Malagash grated. “As in military specification? That nut you