“We tried to blow the dam right after the navy withdrew,” Kinzo interjected. “A full platoon of commandos from the 2nd REP went in. Only one of them made it back.”
McKee looked at Insa, but the Droi appeared to be unfazed. And when it held out a hand, Rylund surrendered the remote. “Look,” Insa said. “Here and here. Forest all around. We come. We kill.”
Rylund smiled grimly as he lit his pipe. His words emerged with puffs of smoke. “That’s what I hoped you would say. And I believe such an attack will work providing that you have the right kind of support. That would be Captain Avery, Sergeant McKee, and what remains of Echo Company.”
Insa nodded. “That good. Like Avery. Like McKee.”
“Excellent. The trick will be to get all of you out of Riversplit without another cavalry charge. It worked once, but it won’t work twice. Captain Kinzo will find a place where you can grab some shut-eye. We’ll get to work on the necessary logistics.”
The meeting came to an end at that point, which was a considerable relief to McKee since she’d been terrified throughout. She had lied not once, but numerous times, and emerged unscathed. That was a miracle, or so it seemed to her.
A private gave each of them an MRE and led them out of the command center. A narrow staircase took them up to a warren of small offices that had been assigned to the governor’s staff. They had been repurposed in the wake of the Hudathan attack and now served as what the private referred to as “rack rooms.”
McKee was given a space of her own, but Larkin and Insa were assigned to the same space. Bunk beds had been installed, and Larkin wasted no time in claiming the lower slot for himself. McKee was too tired to intervene and left Insa to fend for himself as she entered the room assigned to her and locked the door. After stashing her helmet and AXE in a corner, she was thrilled to discover that the former office had a tiny bathroom, complete with a shower.
Having stripped off her body armor and filthy clothes, she stepped into the shower only to discover that the water was cold, and the previous occupant had left little more than a wafer of soap behind. But even that was heavenly.
Ten minutes later, having dried herself off with a scratchy towel, McKee did something she hadn’t done before. There was a mirror, a small one to be sure, but a mirror nonetheless. By turning her back to it and looking over her shoulder, she could see the damage inflicted there. The raised ridges made a crisscross pattern on her previously unblemished flesh. They were ugly, like snakes crawling under her skin, and she burst into tears. Unable to bear the sight anymore, she turned out the light, fell onto the bed, and hugged a pillow to her chest. Tears flowed, and sobs racked her body, until sleep bore her away.
* * *
The sun was up, and the sky was blue, but War Commander Ona-Ka didn’t care. He took no pleasure from sunny days—and never felt depressed when it rained. For him, weather was a variable and nothing more. And as the half-track bore him along the main highway that led to Riversplit, he was glad that his tanks wouldn’t have mud to cope with. For the most part he liked what he saw. The regiment’s vehicle parks were safely beyond the range of the Legion’s largest guns, its supplies were stored in well-constructed bunkers, and the troops marching along the side of the road were in good condition.
But for some unfathomable reason three of the Legion’s cyborgs had been allowed to run unopposed down the highway the night before. That was why he was on the ground a few miles south of Riversplit. He wanted to see the damage the humans had inflicted firsthand—and make sure such a travesty never happened again. Though not a crippling blow, the loss of personnel and materials was painful because of the long supply line he had to deal with. So as the half-track came to a stop near the remains of three burned-out transports, he was in a bad mood.
Commander Urlo-Ba was among those who were waiting for him along with Lance Commander Horba-Sa, who had responsibility for that sector. All of the officers came to attention and remained that way until Ona-Ka said, “At ease.”
“So,” Ona-Ka said without any preliminaries, “they broke through the roadblock south of here, ran up the highway, and destroyed all three of these vehicles. How is such a thing possible?”
“It was my understanding that the area to the rear had been secured,” Horba-Sa replied.
“Do you read the intelligence reports that come your way twice a day?”
The truth was that Horba-Sa was extremely busy, and one of his subordinates did that for him. But he couldn’t say so. “Yes, I do.”
“Then you noticed that during the day prior to the attack a drone spotted three cyborgs traveling north—and a gunship was sent to intercept them.”
It was a trap, but Horba-Sa had read the Intel summary prepared by his subordinate. “That’s true,” he replied, “and the gunship reported that the targets were destroyed.”
“The gunship’s crew was wrong,” Ona-Ka replied coldly. “Of course, you had no way to know that. But surely you wondered where the cyborgs had come from—and why they were headed north. So you sent a team to recover the bodies on the chance that we could learn something from them. Correct?”
That wasn’t correct. Horba-Sa had assumed the cyborgs were stragglers who hoped to rejoin Legion forces. The possibility that they might be on a mission of some sort had never occurred to him. So there had been no reason to retrieve the bodies. He forced himself to meet Ona-Ka’s implacable gaze. “No, I didn’t.”
Ona-Ka nodded. “That’s what I thought. I’m relieving you of command. Which would you prefer? A court-martial or a voluntary reduction in rank to file leader?”
Horba-Sa knew that a court-martial might clear him, but the chances were slim. And if the decision went against him, the outcome could be far worse than a loss of rank. He swallowed. “I request a reduction in rank to file leader.”
Ona-Ka held out a hand. Horba-Sa removed the glowing command stone from the center of his combat harness and gave it over. The jewel felt cold in Ona-Ka’s hand. Ona-Ka took no pleasure in bringing the other officer down. What he wanted was information. Why would three cyborgs and their riders risk their lives to enter Riversplit? The answer could mean something or nothing at all.
* * *
After six hours of sleep, McKee was woken by someone pounding on the door and the news that she was scheduled to attend a briefing in half an hour. She took another cold shower, put on the same filthy uniform, and collected her gear. Larkin was waiting in the hall. Even though his face was bruised, he was trying to look nonchalant. A square-jawed MP was standing next to him. “Sergeant McKee?”
“Yes?”
“Private Larkin found his way into a private club a mile from here, had too much to drink, and started a fight.”
“I won,” Larkin said proudly.
“Under normal conditions, we would lock his ass up,” the MP said. “But we were told to hand him over to you.”
McKee nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”
Larkin made a face and grinned.
The MP scowled and left. McKee turned to Larkin. “Where’s your gear?”
“In my room.”
“Get it. We’re supposed to be in a briefing right now.”
“What? No lecture?”
“Would it do any good?”
“No.”
“That’s what I thought. Move.”
Ten minutes later, they arrived in the command center, where Insa and Kinzo were waiting for them. McKee apologized for being late but got the impression that the officer knew all about Larkin’s late-night adventures and was content to leave the matter in her hands. “We recruited some specialists for you,” Kinzo said. “People who are good at blowing things up. This will be an opportunity to meet them, study the dam, and lay some initial plans. Then we’ll load your team onto the last assault boat we have and fly you back to Avery. He’ll be in c
ommand of the mission, but you’ll provide advice where the bridge is concerned. So pay attention. Any questions?”
“Yes, sir. How about our ’borgs? Are they coming with us?”
“That’s affirmative. You’ll need them.”
“And Eason, sir? How’s he doing?”
“Raring to go,” Kinzo said with a grin. “We gave him a reconditioned war form, and he claims that you would be helpless without him.”
McKee felt a tremendous sense of relief. “Thank you, sir.”
Kinzo nodded and led them into a conference room already full of legionnaires. The same aerial photo she’d seen before was up on a screen. The mission had begun.
* * *
Shortly after overwhelming the city, the Legion had taken over the rebel air base that was located deep inside the hill that Riversplit was built on. Now, after weeks of fighting, there was only one airworthy ship left—and that was a fly-form named Kris Kelly.
The cyborg’s combat-scarred body was crouched under a battery of bright lights as McKee, Insa, Larkin, and the rest of the team made their way up a steep ramp and into Kelly’s cargo compartment. Eason and the other T-1s were present, as were the demolition experts Rylund had selected for the mission. They included Staff Sergeant Randy Petit, Corporal Mary Muncy, and Private Christian Yamada. All were traveling with crates full of explosives. But if they were nervous about riding a target loaded with HE, they showed no signs of it.
And that, McKee knew, was the way she should appear. Calm, cool, and collected. The problem was that she was scared—and for good reason. The Hudathans owned the air over and around Riversplit. So once the bombproof door opened, and Kelly shot out over the plain, all sorts of hell was going to break loose. And every shovel head who could would open fire.
Rylund and his people knew that, of course. So they were going to launch drones that were rigged to broadcast electronic signatures identical to Kelly’s. The hope was that the decoys would draw most of the fire.
That was good. But would it be enough? Noll, dour as usual, had referred to the escape plan as “a glorified crapshoot.” And for once he was right. No matter how many decoys they launched, and no matter how skilled Kelly was, survival would be a matter of luck.
And pointless though it might seem, she didn’t want to embarrass herself moments before she died. So she took refuge inside her noncom persona and pretended to fall asleep. Sergeant Petit was seated directly across from her. If she looked at him, McKee was afraid that he would see the fear in her eyes. Plus, if she survived somehow, people would think she was cool under fire. A definite advantage for a sergeant known as the Steel Bitch.
Servos whined as the hatch closed, and Kelly’s voice came over the intercom. It was surprisingly cheerful. “Strap in, and if you know some good prayers, this would be the time to say them.”
Then, without further ado, the cyborg fired her repellers. McKee felt the fly-form lift off, turn toward the door that was already sliding open, and start to accelerate. What followed was like a very violent amusement-park ride. There were no viewports, so she wouldn’t have been able to see had her eyes been open. But she could feel. And that was bad enough.
G-forces threw her sideways as Kelly shot out of the hill and into the darkness beyond. That was followed by a momentary drop as the cyborg entered a steep dive. Then, just when it seemed as if they would crash, the pilot pulled up. She was flying fifty feet above the ground at that point, an altitude so low that it would prevent the Hudathans from launching SAMs or employing their AA batteries. But there was nothing to stop the enemy from firing small arms. And as the fly-form passed over them, they opened up with rocket launchers, RPGs, and automatic weapons.
McKee could hear clanging sounds as projectiles hit the hull, and felt the ship slew from side to side as Kelly pursued a zigzag course toward the south, strafing the Hudathans as she went. “Take that!” the pilot shouted over the intercom, and McKee felt the airframe shudder as a flight of six rockets sped toward whatever target Kelly had chosen.
Then the ship flipped sideways, and Kelly produced a whoop of joy as she sped past the same hill that McKee and Larkin had climbed two nights earlier. A few moments later the fly-form leveled out and rose slightly as a two-thousand-pound bomb fell away and tumbled toward the ground.
McKee knew the purpose of the ensuing explosion was to trick the Hudathans into believing that the ship had been destroyed. An impression Kelly would reinforce by engaging a pair of jury-rigged suppressors, which, if they worked, would conceal the heat produced by her engines.
But because the suppressors were designed for use by a smaller aircraft, they were sure to blow before very long—making it imperative to land as quickly as possible. Fortunately, the Droi encampment was only minutes from Riversplit by air. And as Sergeant McKee peered out through slitted eyes, she could feel the fly-form sinking as Kelly prepared to land. That was when she realized she was not only alive but likely to stay that way for a while.
Confident that she wasn’t about to reveal how frightened she had been, she opened her eyes, produced an elaborate yawn, and stretched her arms. Petit nodded. “Have a nice nap?”
McKee offered what she hoped was a nonchalant grin. “Hell, no. I dreamed I was on an assault boat piloted by a maniac.”
Those close enough to hear laughed as Kelly’s voice came over the intercom. “I heard that . . . Ten to dirt.”
The skids hit with a thud. The engines had begun to spool down as the hatch whirred open, allowing humid air to flood the cargo compartment. McKee released her harness and stood. The lights were dim, but there was no mistaking Avery’s countenance as he arrived at the top of the ramp and looked from face to face. She knew he was looking for her. A theory that was confirmed when he spotted her, and she saw the look of relief in his eyes.
But only for a moment. Then Avery was all business as McKee introduced the demolitions experts. Once that was accomplished, Avery thanked Insa and each member of the team before leading them off the fly-form.
Larkin and the T-1s were released at that point, but Avery asked Insa, McKee, and the demolition experts to join him around a small fire. The next couple of hours were spent bringing the officer up to speed and discussing the mission.
Finally, once the meeting was over, and the others were gone, McKee and Avery were alone. The sun was rising by then, and eyes were everywhere, so they couldn’t touch. But they could talk, and did. “What you did was crazy,” Avery began disapprovingly.
“I couldn’t figure out any other way to get the job done,” McKee replied simply.
“And now you’re a sergeant.”
“A very inexperienced one, but a sergeant, yes.”
“Well, Sergeant, I have news for you. Good news.”
“Which is?”
“Follow me. I’ll show you.”
The Droi had been working to camouflage Kelly’s fly-form for hours by then, and it was half-covered by a blanket of freshly cut vegetation. The greenery would turn brown within two rotations, however, which meant that it would have to be renewed, or the Droi would have to abandon their encampment. Having agreed to the second option, hundreds of indigs were already streaming into the forest as Avery led her into a small clearing. Two mounds of recently dug earth could be seen lying side by side. Only one of them was distinguished by a wooden marker. “There they are,” Avery said. “Spurlock and Jivv.”
It took McKee a moment to absorb the news. Spurlock and Jivv really were dead—just as she had hoped. “How did you find them?”
“I didn’t,” Avery replied. “A Droi hunting party brought them in. Spurlock was dead, having refused an opportunity to surrender, and Jivv was alive.”
She looked from Avery to the graves and back again. “Was?”
“I shot it,” Avery said simply. “Twice.”
McKee looked a
t him. What he felt was clear to see. He had a motive to kill Jivv just as she did. But he’d been trying to protect her as well. And that brought all sorts of emotions into play. Suddenly, she was in his arms, knowing that they shouldn’t kiss, and knowing that they would. As their bodies came together, and their lips met, a bird chattered somewhere up above. And for that brief moment in time, McKee was happy.
CHAPTER: 18
* * *
In battle, however, there are not more than two methods of attack—the direct and the indirect; yet these two in combination give rise to an endless series of maneuvers.
SUN TZU
The Art of War
Standard year circa 500 B.C.
PLANET ORLO II
Most Droi lived to be about seventy years of age unless disease or some other misfortune took them earlier. And Aba was sixty-five. An age when it was increasingly difficult to run, climb, or hunt. Because of that, Aba and the other elders were always the last to leave the current encampment and arrive at the next one. And old age had taught Aba to accept many things, including the role of guardian for its progeny’s progeny, a child named Ola. An energetic youngster who was hard to keep track of.
The warriors and the humans had left the day before, leaving the very old and the very young to follow along behind. Except that Aba couldn’t follow without Ola—and the little rascal was missing. That left Aba with no choice but to shoulder the animal-hide pack, sling its ancient rifle, and wander through the mostly deserted encampment calling the little one’s name. “Ola? Can you hear me? It’s time to leave.”
Finally, after ten minutes of searching, Aba heard a high-pitched voice. “I’m over here, Aba . . . Eating telsa berries.”
Telsa berries were sweet when ripe and a favorite among juveniles. Aba followed the voice into a clearing where it looked around. Ola was nowhere to be seen. “I’m up here!” Ola shouted. And sure enough, there it was, up in a Telsa tree.
“Come down,” Aba ordered sternly, “and I mean now.”
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