Then the point came when neither one of them had anything to add, so they lapsed into silence for a while. Eventually, they spoke about other things, including their childhoods. Avery’s had been similar to McKee’s but different as well. She was an only child, but he had two brothers. There was Frank, who was in charge of the family’s pharmaceutical company, and George. Avery described George as a lost soul, but he sounded like a slacker, who had been openly critical of Empress Ophelia, thereby placing the entire family in jeopardy. “You chose the Legion,” McKee said once Avery had finished. “Why?”
Avery smiled. “There wasn’t any place for me in the family business—and I was looking for adventure. That sounds silly now—but I was seventeen when I applied to the academy.”
“I was kicked out of school when I was seventeen,” McKee observed. “For the third time. They wanted me to go to classes.”
Avery laughed. “And Corporal McKee is such a hard worker.”
“Are you referring to the Steel Bitch?”
“Yes, I am. The Steel Bitch is a good noncom. She gets things done.”
There were sporadic bouts of conversation after that, but even though McKee enjoyed talking to Avery, the reality of what lay ahead made it difficult to think about anything else. Meanwhile, the convoy continued to plow forward but slowly given the weather. The road hadn’t been much to begin with, and the torrential rain quickly turned it to a soupy mess. As the T-1s moved forward, big clods of mud clung to their foot pods, and even the 8 X 8 trucks had a tendency to bog down in the muck, which brought the entire battalion to a stop until they were freed. The result was slow progress at best.
Except for short breaks to relieve themselves, the prisoners were kept on the truck. Eventually, tedium took over, and they managed to doze for periods of time in spite of the jolting ride. As the light began to fade, the column came to a stop and formed a laager. McKee wondered if she and Avery were going to spend the night in a tent—but it soon became obvious that the prisoners and their guards were to remain on the truck.
Four outposts were established a hundred yards out to warn the unit if it was about to be attacked—but that was the extent of the defenses that Spurlock put in place. “The man’s an idiot,” Avery said bitterly, and McKee knew he was thinking about Echo Company’s safety. And the fact that he was willing to say as much to an enlisted person was a measure of something. But what? Trust? She hoped so.
In any case, Avery was correct. Spurlock’s failure to put more defensive measures in place was unforgivable, because if the enemy was shadowing the battalion, the results could be catastrophic. But maybe, just maybe, McKee could take advantage of the situation.
The opportunity to do so had to do with the bulkhead that separated the driver’s compartment from the cargo area where she was sitting. It was solid. But at the center of the divider, about a foot off the floor, a metal plate was visible. And it looked as though the panel could be removed so that personnel could move back and forth between the cab and the back of the truck should that be necessary.
Had the hatch been taken into consideration when the prisoners were ordered onto the truck? Or had the presence of the plate been overlooked? Because if it had, and McKee could access the cab, it would be relatively easy to slip out of the vehicle and vanish. The plan was chancy, to say the least, but she had nothing to lose.
But what about Avery? The charge against him was serious, and he could be court-martialed, but there was also the possibility that Rylund would refuse to prosecute one of his officers for defending a legionnaire. In that case, Avery might be better off staying behind. Or the officer could wind up in front of a hostile court. McKee figured it could break either way.
That was what she was thinking about when a couple of MREs were tossed toward the front of the cargo area. Avery was in the process of opening his when McKee spoke. “Sir, there’s something I need to tell you.”
What light there was emanated from a dangling glow strip. Avery looked up. “Shoot.”
McKee pointed to the panel. “I plan to remove that, enter the cab, and bail out.”
Avery frowned. “What if the driver is sleeping in the cab?”
“Then I’ll be SOL.”
Avery opened a container of mixed fruit and ate a spoonful. “Okay, count me in.”
McKee looked at him in surprise. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“I thought you were smarter than that. Sir.”
Avery chucked. “So much for that theory.”
There was a companionable silence while they ate. Then, once they were finished, McKee explained her plan. Her voice was pitched low. “The guards will expect us to lie down. Once we do so, it will difficult for them to see what we’re doing. That’s when we’ll open the panel. It shouldn’t be difficult. Six toggle-style latches are holding it in place.”
“Roger that,” Avery said. “But let’s wait until most of the battalion is asleep.”
“Absolutely . . . I agree.”
“Then what?” Avery wanted to know. “Let’s say we make it into the forest. How will we survive?”
“I don’t know,” McKee admitted. “But at least we’ll be free.”
“All right. Let’s get some sleep. We’re going to need it.”
She tried to sleep but couldn’t. Fears about what would happen if the escape attempt failed kept her awake—as did the possibility that it would succeed. Because, in Avery’s words, “Then what?”
Time seemed to crawl by, and she was grateful when 0100, a time when all but those who had guard duty would be asleep, finally arrived. Apparently Avery had been awake, too, because as she stirred, so did he. It was difficult to see what the guards were doing. But that cut both ways, or McKee hoped that was the case as she went to work on the latches. The first four turned easily. But the fifth refused to budge. Perhaps it had always been tighter than the rest—or maybe it was rusted in place. In either case, the latch refused to give.
Avery whispered, “Let me give it a try.”
McKee squirmed out of the way so he could move in. The panel was free seconds later. Perhaps his fingers were stronger, or maybe it was simply a matter of luck, but whatever the reason, they were ready for the next step. And that was for Avery to press an ear against the plate and listen. McKee waited impatiently for his report.
Finally, after thirty seconds or so, Avery turned her way. “I can’t hear anything,” he whispered. “But that doesn’t mean the cab is empty.”
“True,” McKee replied. “So we’ll have to take a chance.”
Avery nodded. And since he was already in position, he lifted the panel out of the way. There was a pause while they waited to see if there would be a reaction. But nothing happened. It appeared that the cab was empty.
“I’ll go first,” McKee said. “I’m smaller.” That was true, but there was something else on her mind as well. Perhaps, if they caught her right away, Avery could escape blame. It wasn’t much, but his predicament was her fault, and she owed him.
McKee wriggled through the hole without difficulty and emerged between the two high-backed seats. Her back hurt because of the contact with the top edge of the aperture—and it took some effort to maneuver around the floor shift and slide into the driver’s seat. Rain rattled on the windshield, and it was almost pitch-black outside.
She heard a rustling sound and a muted swearword as Avery pushed his larger body into the cab and had to go through a number of contortions before taking his place in the passenger seat. It was tempting just to sit there for a while, savoring the moment and preparing for what lay ahead. But McKee knew time was of the essence. The guards in the back of the truck could check on them at any moment. So the sooner they slipped into the night, the better. She turned to Avery. “When we open the doors, the cab light will come on.”
“Not no
w,” Avery replied, as he reached up to flip a switch. “I’ll come around and meet you on your side.”
“Roger that. Let’s do it.”
The driver’s-side door opened smoothly, and because the 8 X 8 had a lot of ground clearance, it was necessary to jump. Cold raindrops hit McKee’s skin, water splashed away from her boots, and she could feel the adrenaline as it trickled into her bloodstream. Avery arrived moments later. “Ready? Let’s move.”
The officer took the lead, and McKee was happy to let him do so. There was no light to speak of. Just the glow from inside the mess tent, a momentary blip from a distant flashlight, and eerie blobs of phosphorescence that she knew to be nocturnal insects. So it was important to stay close as Avery pursued a zigzag path between vehicles and dimly seen shelters. McKee missed her helmet and the night-vision technology built into it. But any soldiers who happened to be in the area had theirs and could see the escaping prisoners if they were looking in the right direction. Luck, that’s what they needed, and lots of it.
Such were McKee’s thoughts as a beam of excruciatingly white light hit them, and an amplified voice said, “Hold it right there.”
McKee said, “Larkin? Is that you?”
“Aw shit,” came the reply. “Goddamn it, McKee . . . Why did you decide to run in this direction?”
The question was left unanswered as the escapees were forced to stop, more lights came on, and red targeting lasers explored their bodies. That was the good part. The bad part came moments later, when a squad of Grays took the legionnaires into custody and beat the crap out of them. Then, having imposed some rough-and-ready justice on the prisoners, the Grays loaded them back onto the truck. This time they were cuffed with their hands in front of them and their ankles bound. And, just to make sure that they didn’t escape in spite of the restraints, a guard was stationed in the cab.
McKee’s face hurt, her back was on fire, and it felt as if the rest of her body had been stomped by a T-1. But she could still see thorough one eye and Avery was looking at her. There was a cut on his left cheek, his lips were puffy, and a crust of dried blood was visible under his nose. What’s he thinking? she wondered. Does he hate me? I wouldn’t blame him.
Then Avery winked at her. And the sense of relief she felt was almost overwhelming. And frightening as well. Because ever since the point when Andromeda McKee parted company with Catherine Carletto, it had been her goal to be self-sufficient. And here, in the wave of emotion she felt, was evidence that she had failed.
Three and a half very uncomfortable hours followed. It was impossible to sleep sitting up, bound hand and foot, while almost every square inch of her body ached. Finally, at about 0400, the guards escorted the prisoners to the latrines. With that out of the way, they were herded back onto the truck, where they were allowed to eat while the battalion broke camp. “It looks like I was wrong,” Avery observed. “The bastard got away with it.”
McKee knew that the “bastard” was Spurlock, and that “it” was the officer’s failure to adequately fortify the encampment. “He got lucky,” McKee replied. “We aren’t clear of the Big Green yet.”
The battalion got under way shortly thereafter. And, as if to emphasize how lucky Spurlock truly was, the rain stopped, and the sun appeared. It would take days for the mud to dry up, however, so the battle against the mud continued.
Once breakfast was over, McKee feared that her wrists and ankles would be secured once more—and was pleasantly surprised when they weren’t. That meant she could position herself in a way that minimized the pain. Thanks to the beating received the night before she hurt everywhere, so her back felt better by comparison.
Thus began another day. There wasn’t much McKee and Avery could say to each other, so they were mostly silent as the convoy pushed its way north at about 20 mph. And for the first couple of hours it seemed as if the battalion would be able to travel north completely unopposed. Then the sniper fire began.
Because she didn’t have a radio, McKee was unaware of it at first. But then she heard the sound of outgoing gunfire followed by a loud clang as a bullet smacked into the side of the truck. Avery said, “Hit the floor!” and quickly followed his own advice.
As she landed next to him a projectile hit the canopy, passed through the cargo compartment, and exited through the other side. “What do you think?” she inquired. “Droi? Or the rebels?”
“It could be either one or both,” Avery replied from inches away. “But they aren’t serious. Not yet anyway.”
McKee realized that Avery was correct. There had been no effort to block the convoy—and the incoming fire consisted of single shots. That suggested an effort to harass the battalion rather than stop it. Why? Because the people in the jungle lacked the means to engage such a heavily armored unit? Or were they shooting at the column in order to slow it down. And if so, what did they plan to do? Questions swirled through McKee’s mind, none of which could be answered by anyone other than the enemy.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the firing stopped. Two minutes later, the prisoners were back on their seats. They had no way to know if the battalion had suffered casualties. Nor could they see anything other than the truck behind theirs and a patch of road on either side. Not knowing was a special sort of torture—and McKee longed to be back on Weber once again. Then she remembered his shot-up war form and had to fight back what would have been a flood of tears.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, and water-saturated ground gave up its moisture, the humidity soared. So it wasn’t long before McKee, Avery, and the guards perched next to the tailgate were soaked with sweat. McKee, who hadn’t had a shower in days, could smell herself. Or was that Avery? Not that it mattered.
Time passed, albeit slowly, and McKee was daydreaming when a bullet smacked into one of the Grays. The report was like an afterthought, and because she happened to be looking in that direction, she witnessed the moment when the body fell out of the truck and onto the road.
The soldier part of McKee’s brain informed her that, because the bullet had passed through the canopy at an angle, it was unlikely that the sniper had been able to see his target. So the hit was more a matter of good luck rather than skill. As those calculations were going through her mind the next vehicle in line rolled over the dead man’s corpse, and Avery pulled her down.
The harassing fire lasted for two or three minutes, and there was nothing the battalion could do about it. Because to stop and try to engage the snipers would not only be a waste of time but might be exactly what they wanted. So the trucks continued to roll as the T-1s fired on anything with a heat signature. It wouldn’t make much difference, but it felt good.
Once they cleared the area, and the incoming fire stopped, the boredom returned. McKee sat, thoughts adrift, until an uneasy sleep pulled her down. The next thing she knew, Avery had hold of her arm. As she opened her eyes, his were waiting for her. “We’re on the bridge.”
The words were said with such intensity that she knew the message was important. But why? Then she remembered the wooden bridge, the effort to spot explosives from below, and the subsequent mortar attack. And a single glance out over the tailgate confirmed Avery’s statement. They were on the bridge. The frame shook, and tires made a rumbling sound, as the truck bumped across the span at a good 10 mph. It was as if Spurlock thought that safety lay in speed. And that was stupid.
A loud explosion served to punctuate her thoughts. It was followed by the roar of collapsing timbers and barely heard screams as the truck tilted backward and fell into a hole that hadn’t existed moments before. As the 8 X 8 landed in the river, tons of cargo came loose and fell on the remaining guard. Thanks to their position just behind the cab, the prisoners landed on top of the boxes of ammo and rations.
The impact knocked the air out of McKee’s lungs. And she was trying to suck air as the canopy surrendered to the river, and cold water flo
oded in around her. She told herself to stand, and was about to do so, when Avery scooped her up. That raised her head above the flow, which if it hadn’t been for the wreck, would have swept both of them downstream.
Long bursts of automatic fire could be heard by then, and McKee knew this was it—the moment that the Droi and/or rebels had been waiting for. She reached up to grab onto one of the tubes that were supposed to support the canopy. “Thanks . . . I’m okay.”
Avery let go, and she found herself standing waist-deep in the frigid flow. “Come on, Corporal . . . Let’s get out of here.” And with that, the officer led McKee out of the truck and into the rush of water beyond. Timbers from the collapsed bridge helped to moderate the force of the current and provided something to hang on to. Bit by bit they managed to work their way over to the north shore and a rock beach. And there, with weapons leveled at them, were three Droi. There was nothing McKee and Avery could do but raise their hands and allow themselves to be herded up toward the road.
Firing could still be heard. But it was sporadic and soon stopped altogether. The battalion, or what was left of it, had been captured. But how? Even if all of the bio bods were KIA or WIA, the T-1s could fight on. Unless the enemy had antitank weapons that is—but there had been no evidence of that.
The answer became clear as McKee and Avery arrived on the road. An enormous tree had been felled so that it lay across it. Two vehicles sat empty in front of it. The first was a Scorpion, and the second was Spurlock’s command car, although the officer was nowhere to be seen. Nor was there any sign of Jivv. But T-1s could be seen on both sides of the river. They stood frozen in place but appeared to be undamaged.
Had the legionnaires surrendered? No, that didn’t seem likely, so what then? The answer was more intuitive than logical. Being her father’s daughter, McKee was familiar with both the cyborgs’ strengths and weaknesses, one of which was a susceptibility to electromagnetic pulses delivered over certain frequencies. When she left Earth, her father had been hard at work trying to develop better shielding. But somehow the Droi had acquired, or been given, at least one EMP bomb, which they had used to good effect.
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