Even Trask was impressed. “You never cease to amaze me,” he said as McKee took a place on the other side of a crackling fire. “To say that you’re resourceful would be an understatement. Who are you anyway?”
“She’s a corporal,” Avery put in as he materialized out of the gloom. “And all of our corporals are outstanding individuals. Please stand. From this point forward, you will be treated as a POW.”
As bio bods appeared next to him, Trask looked left and right but remained where he was. “That’s where you’re mistaken, Captain,” he said confidently. “The Droi won’t allow it.”
Avery smiled thinly. “Tell us, Insa . . . Will the Droi allow it?”
The Droi stepped into the circle of firelight. His eyes were on Trask. “Sorry . . . But Avery right. Hudathans bad. We kill.”
Trask stood. “I don’t make policy,” he said with a shrug. “The council does that. But, for whatever it’s worth, I agree with you.” The bio bods led him away.
McKee ate an MRE after that, then crawled into a shelter and one of the salvaged sleep sacks. She was asleep seconds later. No one had to wake her. Filtered sunlight and the pressure on her bladder took care of that. And as she lay there, looking up at the fabric above, McKee knew something was different. But what? Then she remembered. After days of captivity, she was free! Or as free as any legionnaire could be. And hungry.
McKee crawled out of the shelter to discover that the unit was much smaller than it had been. It consisted of the command car, a Scorpion, one 8 X 8 truck, and twenty-three bio bods. That was down from forty and reflected an overall casualty rate of roughly 50 percent. Much of which was due to Spurlock’s poor leadership. That was how McKee saw it—although she knew she was biased.
In any case, the feeling was different, and in spite of the heavy casualties, morale was up. And if any of McKee’s fellow legionnaires thought poorly of her because she had gone AWOL, there was no sign of it in the cheerful greetings that came her way. Perhaps that was due to her lifesaving efforts the night before—or maybe it had to do with the Legion’s culture. Because with only a few exceptions, all of the legionnaires were guilty of something.
McKee was one of the last people to eat breakfast. While she was at it, Larkin arrived with an armful of gear and an extra AXE dangling from one shoulder. “Here’s the smallest body armor I could find,” he said. “Plus an L-40 and a helmet.”
The two of them hadn’t had a chance to talk previously, and as Larkin dumped the load onto the ground, McKee met his eyes. “I’ll never forget the canteen . . . The one you tossed into the bunker that day.”
Larkin shrugged. “You’d do the same for me. We’re a team.”
Then, having looked around as if to make sure that no one could hear, he lowered his voice. “Going AWOL was a good idea . . . But don’t leave me behind next time. I’m ready when you are.”
McKee sighed. “I’ll keep that in mind. But, given the situation, I think we should stay. Echo Company needs us.”
“Okay,” Larkin said reluctantly. “But it’s been a long time since I had a cold beer.”
Once the company had broken camp and formed up on the road, it was time for another burial ceremony. All the Legion-issue markers had been used up by then, so pieces of scrap metal were employed instead. Given the demands of the war, McKee wondered if the graves-registration robots would make it to that lonely patch of road, or would the Big Green claim the bodies first?
The T-1s were at the back of the formation, towering over all the rest as Avery spoke. Most of his belongings were still at the bottom of the river, and that included the book by Kipling, so the words were his own. “These men and women were our comrades and friends. They died fighting for us and we will miss them greatly. And when we fall, they will be waiting for us beyond the gates of hell.”
The message was harsh, like the Legion itself, and judging from the expression on Trask’s face, different from what he had expected. But the legionnaires liked it and understood. Sergeant Boyce shouted, “Camerone!”
“CAMERONE,” came the reply, and McKee emptied her lungs with all the rest. Then the troops were dismissed. A bio bod named Katica was the XO and the platoon leader by virtue of being the only lieutenant who had survived. Boyce was acting as company sergeant, and the T-1s had been divided into three squads. McKee was put in charge of the third. And as she climbed up onto a ’borg named Eason, she was reminded of Weber. She missed him and still felt guilty about being AWOL when he died.
Thanks to the way McKee had brought the T-1s back to life, she was very popular with the ’borgs, and Eason was no exception. His voice boomed over the speakers in her helmet. “Welcome aboard, Corp . . . I’ll take good care of you.”
McKee thanked him, leaned back into the harness, and was pleased to discover that there wasn’t any pain. Her back had healed, but there was no telling what it looked like.
The company left shortly thereafter with a squad of T-1s out front followed by the command car, the Scorpion, and the truck that was carrying both the wounded and most of the company’s remaining supplies. The second squad came next, followed by the third, which brought up the rear. It wasn’t until they were under way that McKee realized that she didn’t know where the company was going.
The relationship with Avery had been close when they were prisoners, but he was an officer, and more than that, her commanding officer, and not likely to consult corporals. That made sense even if it rankled a bit, and served to point out a strange irony.
The truth was that McKee had enjoyed the freedom she had experienced when she was AWOL—even if she had been on the run most of the time. The absurdity of that brought a wry smile to her lips as she swayed back and forth in the harness.
Old habits soon took over, and it wasn’t long before she was putting her newly formed squad through the usual evolutions. Typically, they would march for a while, closed up behind the others, only to let the column get ahead. The best place to do that was around a blind curve, so that if they were being followed, the enemy would run into a trap.
And so it went until the sun was high in the sky and the column turned off the road onto a track just wide enough to accommodate the big 8 X 8 truck. Then, once the company was well within the jungle’s humid embrace, Avery called a halt. Lookouts were posted and rotated so that everyone could eat.
The company got under way again half an hour later. McKee’s squad was on point this time, with Insa and a party of Droi riding in the command car. It was a sturdy vehicle, and had to be, since the legionnaire behind the wheel used it to knock saplings over, drove through streams, and sent the car up hillsides. They were headed west, but why? Avery still hadn’t chosen to share that information. One thing was for sure, however—they couldn’t go very far. Because the tanker had been destroyed. And if they ventured too far into the Big Green, the company would be stranded there.
True to McKee’s prediction, the company arrived at its destination one hour later. The sprawling encampment was extremely large, and as the off-worlders arrived, hundreds of Droi came out to gape at the T-1s. The village was located in a canyon that, judging from the marks on the rock walls, had been home to a mighty river thousands of years before.
During that time, the force of the water had removed most of the softer material, leaving mushroom-shaped pillars that stood at least a hundred feet high and were festooned with greenery. There was a commotion as Avery told Insa what the unit needed, and the local issued a series of orders in his native tongue. A space was cleared under one of the umbrella-shaped towers, and as the company took up residence there, McKee was struck by the extent to which the formation would protect them from orbital surveillance. A good thing given that the Hudathans owned the sky.
The next couple of hours were spent getting settled. McKee made use of the time to run routine maintenance checks on all of her T-1s. She had just co
mpleted the last one when Private Caskin appeared. There was a white bandage wrapped around his head, and it made his hair stand up. Like so many legionnaires, his face was young and old at the same time. He nodded. “Hey, McKee, the old man wants to see you.”
McKee wiped some grease off her hands with a rag. “Okay, where is he?”
“The Droi forgot to put up street signs,” Caskin said. “I’ll take you there.”
McKee told Larkin and the rest of the squad to take a break and followed Caskin through a maze of shelters, cooking fires, and animal pens to the foot of a rock tower. They had attracted a retinue of juveniles by then. They stared at the off-worlders and chattered among themselves. “They’re up top,” Caskin said, and pointed.
McKee looked, saw that a spiral pathway had been hacked out of solid rock, and realized that the locals had been using the canyon for a long time. She said, “Thanks,” and began to climb. The path was about two feet wide, and tool marks were still visible where material had been cut away. There was no handrail or rope. Just a sudden drop off to the right and tiny shelters below. She did her best to ignore that as she climbed steadily higher and emerged onto a flat area. It was covered with lush greenery, flowering plants, and a tangle of vines.
The garden was natural, or so it appeared, as McKee followed a footpath to a clearing where a thatched roof threw shade down onto Avery, Insa, and a pair of Droi she hadn’t met before. They were seated in a circle and rose when she appeared.
Insa nodded. “I see you, McKee.”
“And I you,” she replied.
“We meet,” the Droi explained. “This Ola and this Tran. They leaders.”
McKee greeted each Droi in turn, and once the introductions were complete, she was invited to sit down. Avery spoke first. “The council and I have been discussing what to do next. The Droi could attack the Hudathans on their own,” he said. “And that would be helpful. But all of us believe that a well-coordinated effort could inflict more damage. Unfortunately, the ridge heads are jamming the Legion’s communications, so we’ve been unable to reach Rylund by radio.”
There was nothing McKee could do but nod, and say, “Yes, sir.”
“So we’re going to send Rylund a message, letting him know about the alliance with the Droi,” Avery continued. “I would prefer to handle that myself—but I owe it to Echo Company and the Droi to remain here. Even though we don’t know what Rylund will ask us to do, this is the time to set up a chain of command and teach tactics.”
McKee knew all of those things were important and knew what was coming next. Avery saw her expression and nodded. “That’s right . . . I’m sending you, a bio bod from your squad, and three T-1s.”
McKee raised an eyebrow. “Three T-1s?”
“Me go, too,” Insa put in. “Tell Rylund. He believe.”
That made sense. A visit from a Droi leader would command attention that she couldn’t. And Insa’s knowledge of the terrain that lay between the encampment and Riversplit would be helpful as well. She nodded. “Copy that. When do we leave?”
“First thing in the morning,” Avery replied. “So get ready. Which bio bod will you take?”
McKee thought about it for a moment. “Larkin.”
Avery frowned. “Really? He’s got a bad rep. What’s to keep him from deserting once you arrive in Riversplit?”
“Me,” McKee said flatly. “Sir.”
Avery smiled. “Okay, Corporal . . . We’ll leave it at that. Now let’s go over the message.”
McKee left the meeting an hour later and made her way down to the ground. With no one to guide her, she got lost among the maze of Droi campsites but eventually found her way back to the area where the company was camped. Then it was time to notify the T-1s chosen to go north and hand off responsibility for the rest of the squad to Sergeant Boyce.
With that accomplished, she went looking for Larkin and found him teaching poker to half a dozen Droi. All sorts of items were piled up in front of the legionnaire, including what looked like a handful of uncut gemstones. Just part of the mineral wealth hidden in the Big Green.
Larkin complained loudly as McKee ordered him to leave the game, but stopped once the city of Riversplit was mentioned. He was busy stuffing loot into his pockets when she grabbed a wrist. “Give it back. Now.”
“Or what?” Larkin demanded hotly.
“Or I’ll take someone else,” McKee replied.
“Damn it, McKee . . . Why are you such a drag? First you go over the hill—then you get all uptight about a poker game. They’re sheep, and sheep are meant to be sheared.”
But he returned his winnings, promised the Droi that he would continue to mentor them once he returned, and followed McKee back to the company area, grumbling all the way. “Load up on food and ammo for your ’borg,” McKee said. “We’re still a hundred miles from Riversplit, and according to what I was told earlier this afternoon, there are at least ten thousand Hudathans on the ground.”
Larkin’s face lit up. “We get to grease some freaks?”
“It would be best if we could avoid them, but yes, odds are that we’ll have to grease some freaks.”
“I like it,” Larkin said enthusiastically. “I’ll get ready.”
It was dinnertime. So McKee took an MRE and went looking for a place to eat. And that, as it turned out, was a hundred yards away in a grove of trees. She saw signs that a shelter had been erected there in the recent past, but the spot was vacant at the moment and perfect for a peaceful dinner.
A few minutes later, McKee had settled in and was about to heat up her main course when she heard a rustling sound and drew her pistol. Avery saw the weapon and looked apologetic as he entered the tiny clearing. “Sorry about that . . . Can I join you? Boyce said you were headed in this direction.”
McKee wondered what Boyce would make of Avery’s looking for her with his MRE in hand and decided that she didn’t care. The chance to spend time with the one person who knew her better than all the rest was too good to pass up. “Of course . . . Make yourself to home. Sorry about the mess. The maid quit.”
Avery grinned and sat on the log next to her. “It’s so hard to find good help these days. Are you ready to go?”
McKee nodded. “Pretty much. I’ll run one last check on the ’borgs after dinner.”
“That’s good, real good,” Avery said awkwardly. “I wish I could go with you.”
“I know,” McKee said sympathetically. “But you’re right. Getting the Droi ready to fight is very important. And you’re the only person qualified to do it.”
“There’s something else,” Avery said. “Something I wanted to talk to you about alone. There is the distinct possibility that Spurlock and Jivv are in Riversplit by now. If so, you could run into some serious trouble. That’s one of the reasons why I want Insa to go along. Your relationship with the Droi will make it more difficult for Rylund to throw you in jail.
“Plus there’s this,” Avery said as he gave her a memory mod. “I recorded a full account of what took place—minus the Catherine Carletto stuff. So if you think my testimony might be helpful, please feel free to use it.”
“Thank you,” McKee said as she accepted the module. Jivv would shoot her on sight, but if the robot had been destroyed in the fighting, then Avery’s account could be useful. More important, however, was the fact that he was trying to take care of her. That meant a lot.
Avery looked into her eyes as if trying to see through them to whatever lay within. “Catherine . . .”
“Cat.”
“Cat . . . It isn’t right, I know that, but there’s something I want to say. A lot of things could happen over the next few weeks. Bad things. And well, if I don’t say something now, it might not get said. And that would be too bad because I . . .”
Avery’s words were cut off as she placed an index
finger on his lips and used her other hand to pull him closer. As their lips met, something flowed between them. The giving and taking was both tender and exciting. And, had the circumstances been different, McKee knew that the kiss would have been little more than a beginning. But that couldn’t be. Not a hundred yards away from Echo Company and their responsibilities.
And it was as if Avery knew that, too, because he made no attempt to follow up as their lips parted. “Wow,” he said. “That was good.”
McKee smiled. “What? You weren’t sure?”
“No, I wasn’t,” Avery said lightly. “Just because you can lead, fight, and repair cyborgs doesn’t mean you’d be any good in bed.”
“And you think you could get me there?”
“I’d sure like to try,” Avery said. “But not here. Not now.”
“No,” McKee agreed. “Not now.”
Avery broke the ensuing silence. “Now I have even more riding on this mission. I want both of you back.”
“Both?”
“Cat Carletto and Andromeda McKee.”
“I’m hard to kill.”
Avery nodded soberly. “But you aren’t bulletproof. Watch your six, Corporal. I’ll be waiting.”
* * *
The legionnaires and the Droi emissary departed the canyon without fanfare at exactly 0600 the following morning. The sun sent shafts of light down through holes in the canopy to form pools of gold on the forest floor. Birds chittered, insects buzzed, and the T-1s generated a steady whir-thump-whir sound as they followed the track back toward the main road.
With no infantry or heavy vehicles to slow her down, McKee hoped to travel fifty miles on the first day. Then, depending on conditions, they would either push on during the hours of darkness or hole up while she went forward to scout the way. That was the worst part. Not knowing how the enemy was deployed. It seemed safe to assume that the Hudathans were primarily focused on Riversplit and keeping the Legion penned in.
Andromeda's Fall (Legion of the Damned) Page 27