by B. V. Larson
“I must have killed thirty squids in that last battle. All while I was on my knees!”
“Thirty?” I asked as if scandalized. “You wiped out seventy or I’m a liar!”
“You are a liar, McGill.”
“It’s one of my best skills,” I admitted.
He was suddenly quiet, but not for long. Carlos was never quiet for long. Even when he died, it seemed like he popped back out of the revival machine with his mouth wide open.
“What’s with Winslade?” he asked. “Am I blind, or is he marching at the back of the line in a dragon?”
“You are blind, but you’re right, he’s driving a dragon like he knows how to do it.”
“I bet he got private lessons from Della. Just like you did last night. Hey, I just thought of something! Why doesn’t he give me that dragon? He’s not going to fight if there’s another battle. He’ll hang back and do nothing. You watch.”
“Why don’t you ask him about it? I’ll patch you right through to his private chat line.”
“No thanks. Asshole,” he said. I thought he might shut up then, but no dice.
“Hey,” he piped up a moment later, “that last fight was pretty cool, wasn’t it? We charged right up there and smoked those squids. They probably didn’t even know what was coming. I think the ones I killed inked themselves at the end.”
“That’s their blood,” I said. “It’s darker and thicker than ours. Almost black.”
“I say it was ink.”
“Fine, it was ink.”
He was quiet again for a minute. “You know I’m going to die in this infantry unit, don’t you?” he asked. “Belter’s crazy, and her Solstice troops are looking at me like they want to pop me right now and get it over with.”
I frowned. “Maybe you’ll live, maybe not. Centurion Belter has gotten her troops this far. You’re exposed, but the cavalry is the top-priority target by now.”
“Belter is a real ball-buster. She loves death almost as much as Graves does. I know I’m a dead man. I can feel it.”
“So what else is new? Time to shut up, now, okay? I’m trying to listen in on the planning session.”
I closed the line with Carlos and tuned into the command chat line. Graves and his officers were discussing our next move. We were advancing now, but not directly upslope. We were spiraling around the mountain, trying to avoid their concentrations while gaining altitude.
The squids, for their part, seemed to be playing a waiting game. We passed camps that showed they’d been here in force but had retreated. They didn’t seem eager to face us head-to-head. I couldn’t blame them for that. So far, they’d lost every pitched battle. But why were they playing for time by retreating? Did they have a surprise waiting for us? We had no way of knowing.
“I’ve got Turov looking for enemy concentrations and dumping on them when she finds them,” Graves said into my ear. “But there’s suddenly a big lack of squids out in the open since we bombarded their mini-missile brigade. Either we got them all or they went underground.”
That thought made me frown. I’d seen more than just squid camps on the way upward. I’d seen evidence of native machine life as well. Big divots in the land that left shiny marks of the kind a backhoe might have left in rocky soil at home. We hadn’t seen any native machines, though. Only squid infantry. Of course, the big machines might very well be in tunnels in the regions of pure ore higher up.
I wondered if the native machines could digest titanium and what it tasted like if they did. Probably, it was something akin to steak with a fine wine for them.
We trudged upslope for about three solid hours before we reached a good sheltered spot and let the troops rest. The dragons needed to recharge as well.
When we got started again, more than half the daylight had gone by. Nearly half the mountain had been climbed, too.
I have to admit that by the time darkness began to fall, I’d been lulled into thinking this march was pointless. That we’d hurt the squids so badly the last survivors would be hunkering down somewhere, scared and hoping we didn’t find them.
Such fantasies were ripped apart just as the sun began to set. The big white ball of heat known as Gamma Pavonis had actually peeked out through the clouds now and then, dazzling our eyes and glaring blindingly on the snow—which was melting in the slight warmth the star provided.
That was when I realized something about this planet. It had big mountains down where we were now, around the equator. There were no real seas, but there were spiky mountains, and where they rose up into the sky enough to pierce the clouds, they revealed their frozen methane to the sun now and then. At that point, the white star melted the frozen methane, transforming it into the thick mists that coated the planet. Everything in the mist froze again, and the cycle was repeated.
All around us, as the frost melted, sheets of hanging white mist rose up. It was like walking in a sauna. At first, I could see every trooper and dragon on the slopes around me. But after half an hour of sunshine, they were vanishing one by one.
When darkness finally came, the enemy attacked.
They came out of nowhere. That’s how I remember it. Looking back, I’d have to say they were in tunnels that had been buried by snow. Maybe they’d purposefully buried themselves, I was never sure afterward.
The squids themselves, in close, weren’t that much of a problem for our cavalry. The real problem was presented by the native machines that joined their attack.
There had to be at least fifty of the big machines. They rose up from under the ice where they’d lain in wait in our path, like landmines the size of buildings. They heaved up, tossing men and dragons aside, sending them tumbling downhill in an unstoppable avalanche.
One minute we were marching along, minding our own business. The next, we were in the middle of dozens of heaving hills of frosty machines. In between these, we were faced with armed and armored squid troops.
The confusion was overwhelming. Every channel was full of shouting troops and the sounds of panicked, dying men.
I muted the general command channel and switched to squad chat. That way, I’d only be dealing with my own group. In this kind of mess, there was no front line. There were no formational tactics. We were in a pitched battle at close range. I knew that if Graves really wanted to get a hold of me, he could do so on the unit channel.
“Squad, don’t panic. Here’s what we’re going to do. I want you to pull in tight and put Della’s group in the center. Her heavy mounts are the only ones carrying spinal cannons in our squad. Della, link up, focus fire, and take out one machine at a time. Dragons with grenades, keep firing on the squids. You know the drill.”
Indeed, Della and the rest did know the drill. She marked her targets and called her shots. The machines began to blow up around us, one at a time.
The process seemed slow and imperfect, but it was working. The machines themselves were undisciplined, as usual. They humped over the ice, gobbling up running heavy troops one at a time and munching on the metal. When they took down a dragon, that took them longer, but they still rasped and churned until the job was done. This gave us the time we needed to take them out.
“McGill?” Graves said in my ear after we blew up our fourth target and were maneuvering to hit the fifth.
“Sir?”
“Are you listening to command chat?”
“No sir, I’m destroying the enemy.”
“Normally, I wouldn’t complain about that, but Winslade’s calling for you. He’s in trouble, and wants you to save his ass.”
I didn’t roll my eyes, but I wanted to. “On my way to his position—sir? I don’t see him on my display.”
“That’s because a machine ate him. He was all alone in his dragon suit, and apparently he tempted the wrong machine.”
“Heading to his last known location, sir. Permission to take Belter with me for support.”
“Granted.”
I relayed the situation to my cavalry squad and to Belter,
who loosed an impressive stream of profanity.
“Not only do we have to march up this icy rock in our underwear, now we have to save Winslade’s butt too?”
“That’s about right. Let’s move out.”
“Wait. We’ll go in first.”
This puzzled me for a second. “What?”
“You heard me, Specialist. Stand your post. My infantry will save the worthless Primus Winslade.”
“But sir, how will you deal with the machine?”
“We’ll roll under that thing’s skirt and light up plasma grenades. You’ve seen us do it before. If you punch a hole in that machine upper armor and pound shells inside, you’ll only kill Winslade anyway.”
“Right, okay. We’ll back you up.”
I watched Belter’s infantry rush the machine, and I had to admit, it was just as impressive a sight as it had been the first time. Carlos tried to connect with me, but I was too busy to listen to his complaints. His light went out about thirty seconds before the machine heaved up and died. I grimaced. He’d bought the farm for sure.
Reflecting afterward, as the enemy broke and fled with us peppering their backsides with our guns, I realized Carlos had been right. Belter was a real death-dealer. She liked to get into it, and she was more than willing to lay down the lives of her people, as long as the mission was accomplished.
When we dug Winslade out of the debris, he was still alive. He looked frightened, but he pulled it together when he saw who we were. I ordered my squad to encircle his position while he climbed out of his wrecked dragon and dusted himself off.
“That was excellent work, McGill,” he said. “I knew you could pull off this rescue.”
“Uh…” I looked around for Centurion Belter, but didn’t see her. “The infantry really did it, sir,” I said. “They came in under the machine’s skirts and took out the guts of it.”
“Really? Where is Centurion Belter?”
We both looked around then checked our tappers. She was on the dead list, waiting for revival back at base camp at the bottom of the hill. Carlos’ name was just two slots below hers.
“Looks like this unit needs a new commander, sir,” I said. “You could appoint Adjunct Leeson.”
“What? Leeson? Nonsense. That man is more than unimaginative. He’s downright slow. Turov has said it herself.”
I looked around, hoping Leeson wasn’t hearing this. Fortunately, I didn’t see him.
“I’m taking command of this unit personally,” Winslade said.
Rotating my chassis, I looked him full in the face.
“You sir? An infantry unit?”
“Yes. I’ll have to have a dragon of course. I’d take yours, but you’re too damned good at fighting in that thing. Which of your squad members is the least effective?”
Blinking, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You want to take another one of our last fighting dragons and use it for a jeep, sir?”
“That’s not how I would describe it,” Winslade said with his eyes narrowing.
Trying to think fast, I came up with a dodge. “I’ll come up with a name, sure. But I’m surprised you’re missing out on an opportunity like this.”
“What do you mean?”
“Chances to stand out in front of brass and garner medals for action don’t come every day for a new primus. But you know how to handle your career better than I do.”
“Yes, I do. But wait a moment—are you suggesting I’d do better on foot?”
“Well, not everyone is a glory hound. Not everyone wants to showcase their versatility in combat, either. No, you’re probably better off staying in a dragon, sir. You just got to the rank of primus, anyway. This auxiliary cohort will probably be rebuilt to full strength when we get back home. No need to show anyone you can lead infantry as well. The conclusion will be obvious to anyone back on Earth that you can.”
“Hmm,” Winslade said, looking around doubtfully. A few of Belter’s hard-bitten group were leaning on their rifles, crouching in the snow and staring at us. They didn’t say a word, but I had to wonder if a few of them might not end up hating me for this.
“McGill, I’ve come to a decision,” Winslade said. “I’m marching with the infantry until Belter can be revived to relieve me.”
“I see sir, very well.”
I quickly trotted my dragon away from him before he could change his mind. I organized my cavalry squad and moved closer to Graves, fearing Belter’s troops might shoot me in the back.
-34-
The ambush attack turned out to be all the squids had left in them. They didn’t come at us again after that. We mopped up a few small concentrations of the enemy and chased off machines that became overly amorous toward our dragons and other equipment.
The mountain of pure titanium ore was ours for the taking—and we took it.
We found large mineshafts in the region where we’d fought the squids to a halt. The enemy had been hiding in these shafts that went deep into the mountain, and the clear evidence was that they’d been here for some time.
“This was their central encampment on the planet’s surface,” Graves said as he inspected the mining machines and piles of ore.
Small smelters were lined up for hundreds of meters. Perfectly stacked cubes of titanium stood next to every smelter. The squid miners themselves were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they’d joined the combat ranks of the infantry and died alongside their comrades when we hit them.
“This is excellent,” Winslade said, striding around the equipment and refined metals. “We’ve got a ready-built mine and it’s fully operational. The titanium stored in these stacks is enough to form the hull of at least two ships the size of Minotaur. What a find!”
Certain things were now clear to me as well. The baby machine I’d conversed with through pictures had told me the squids were already working with his kind. Now, I understood that reference. The tracks inside the mine weren’t all squid-tracks. They were the tracks of living machines as well. They’d mined and refined this metal together.
The relationship struck me as both strange and equitable at the same time. The squids had gained an excellent source of raw materials for building their ships. The machines, on the other hand, had been provided a source of gourmet sustenance. For them, this mine was like a winery that produced the finest of vintages. They’d probably been paid in metals, which helped explain how hard and light their bodily structures were. Titanium was a fantastic metal. It was both light and strong and resistant to corrosion.
Winslade contacted Turov with the good news. He insisted on a video connection. He reported in alone, with a huge pile of titanium ingots as a backdrop—but without any of the rest of us in view. He even had us add a few hundred blocks of metal to the top of the stack he strutted in front of, until it swayed and stood unevenly, just to sweeten the image.
Stepping aside, I chuckled while Winslade brayed of his accomplishments to Turov.
“He’s a regular chip off the old block,” I told Graves.
“He’s learned well from Turov, that’s for sure,” Graves said. “You know what’s funny about that? She’ll buy it. She’ll be behind him one hundred percent, believing his bullshit even though it sounds like an echo of her own.”
“Why’s that, sir?”
“Well, conmen are like that. A huckster is often a sucker for another huckster. I think they’re people who get swept up in the moment. People who can convince themselves their crap is reality are very persuasive. They’re also more likely to be swayed by the persuasiveness of another. They’re people who get excited about things, and when they meet another of their own kind they like it.”
His words didn’t make total sense to me, but I couldn’t deny what I was watching and hearing. Turov was praising him up and down for capturing the mine, as if he’d killed a couple of thousand squids solo and dug this shaft into the rock with his fingernails.
“Those two are a match made in heaven,” I said. “That’s for sure.”
“Uh…” I said, wondering what I’d stepped in this time. “Nothing special, sir. They just operate the same way and really seem to get each other.”
“You don’t know if they have an inappropriate relationship, do you?”
I stared at him for a second, then shook my head. “How would I know about that, sir?”
“You’re pretty close to both of them. I thought maybe…never mind.”
“Consider it forgotten, Centurion.”
But I found I couldn’t forget it. Could Winslade be more to Turov than a kiss-up? Even though she looked like she was about twenty now, she was really pushing forty. I knew that she liked younger men—from personal experience. Winslade was barely thirty himself, and that technically made him the younger of the two. He probably wasn’t that bad-looking of a guy, in a kind of skinny, slimy way. Of course, I was no judge of male attractiveness. Often in my life, I’d figured a man was an unfortunate troll, only to be told later by various ladies he was positively dreamy.
Turov and Winslade? Could it be? Stranger things had happened—in fact, they’d happened to me. I couldn’t discount anything, no matter how distasteful it might seem.
Over the next several hours we settled into the mines, making them our own. The first thing I did was work on my dragon, servicing it. The vehicle had fought well, but it had plenty of damage. There were pits and burns everywhere, and half the joints were squeaking and moving slowly due to heat-warping. Oil, nanite treatments and lots of elbow grease smoothed and resurfaced the fighting machine. I didn’t know how soon I’d need the dragon in top operating condition again.
All around me, my squaddies were doing the same as I was—because I’d ordered them to. Our first concern was our dragons. Everything else, even eating, was secondary.
“Hey, McGill—I’m back, and I’m here for revenge!” called a familiar voice behind me.
I turned in surprise. It was Carlos. I shook my head in bewilderment.
“How the hell did you catch a revive so fast?” I asked him.