Capt Neslon led Mr. Johnson and sixteen students to the clearing that was the Northern Training Ground. Four hours ago, a helicopter had dropped them in a clearing and they had been forced to hike their way through the harsh jungle. Despite his high quality equipment, it had been a long time, if ever, since Mr. Johnson served in any true military environment. The camp (if one could call it that) was deserted. It was exactly as he had figured. This would be the nail in the major’s coffin, and Nelson was clearly the one who would have to step in to take his place. He hoped Mr. Johnson was getting an eyeful. Still he was worried to be in the middle of nowhere with limited options and night falling soon. Nelson wandered over to the run-down command hut. Inside was a pristine radio set. This made him feel a bit better. He was about to dial in the pre-agreed frequency when he saw it had already been set.
“Sir, this is Capt Nelson. We have arrived safely at the camp but it is deserted. Where is the training cadre?”
A familiar voice found its way through the crackling speakers, “Ah, Nelson! Glad to hear you made it. Don’t worry, they will be along shortly. I had wanted to have a word with you before they arrived.”
“Of course sir, what would that be?”
“The ancient Marines, not the criminals with guns we have now mind you, had certain principles by which they measured their subordinates.”
To Nelson, the major could have mentioned the Greeks or Romans. The history of an abandoned planet meant as much to him as yesterdays racing scores. Still, he was intrigued.
“Um, yes sir. Your point?”
“Oh nothing. Just that one of those principles was loyalty. Yours was sadly misplaced and will cost you. Goodby Nelson. When next we meet you will be in no condition for decent conversation.” The radio went dead.
“Major? Major!” Nelson screamed into the radio. He checked his weapon-fully loaded magazines. He had test-fired them himself. Whatever was waiting, he would not be taken unawares. Suddenly shots rang out from outside the hut. Nelson rushed out to find the men firing into the jungle around them. Mr. Johnson had dropped his weapon and was cowering under one of the huts.
”Form a perimeter on me!” Nelson screamed but the disorganized men did not heed him. One screamed “Cobraaaa!” and ran off into the darkening jungle. He screamed again, this time in terror then silence.
From the jungle stepped four humanoid figures. Nelson recognized the Centurions but the Razides were of a type unfamiliar to him. With a rush, he realized who the major’s mysterious backers really were, and what had happened to the missing teams. He opened fire. The Dark Legion made no attempt to capture prisoners. There orders had been clear; this batch was headed to the charnal pits to join the ranks of the undead.
To the south, Major Anderson was about to lean back in his chair when he felt a familiar presence and immediately knelt to the floor.
“Is my master pleased?” he asked, “I have fulfilled his requirements for Lord Algeroth and the Hoard.”
“Yessss, the Hoard is complete. But there is one minor addition to Algeroth’s forcesssss. Until then, hire some help.”
The presence faded and the major relaxed for the first time in long, long while.
