Andromeda's War (Legion of the Damned Book 3)

by William C. Dietz

  “Yes, Colonel,” the android said obediently. “Your comment was deleted.”

  “I object,” Jivani said angrily.

  “So noted,” Cavenaugh replied. “Although Andy will delete that, too.” The avuncular manner was gone now. “Listen carefully young lady . . . You were brought here to facilitate negotiations. Not to set policy. So do what you’re being paid for—and keep your personal opinions to yourself.

  “Enough of that,” Cavenaugh said dismissively, as his gaze turned to McKee. “A contingent of Naa troops will arrive soon, and I trust that Major Gordon will provide you with some legionnaires. As for me, well, I have a three-hour flight to endure. Good hunting, Lieutenant. If anyone can complete this mission, you can.”

  He left, with Gordon in tow. McKee and Jivani looked at each other, and Andy stood. “Please pretend to speak with each other. I need a two shot.” The meeting was over.

  —

  The next few days were a whirlwind of activity as McKee went about the task of equipping her platoon for what was likely to be a long and arduous journey. Her force included a small headquarters group that consisted of Bindy Jivani, Sergeant Larkin, and the T-1s required to transport them. McKee also had three squads of legionnaires, each of which was made up of four bio bods and four T-1s. That brought the total force up to twenty-nine people. Not counting Andy, who didn’t qualify as a person.

  It was a deceptively small number since each cyborg could run at fifty miles per hour, could carry a rider while doing so, and was equal to a squad of bio bods. So judged by that standard, the borgs were the functional equivalent of 135 legionnaires.

  In addition, Major Gordon had allocated McKee to have three RAVs (Robotic All-Terrain Vehicles). Each unit consisted of two eight-foot-long sections hooked together by an accordion-style joint. Each RAV had four legs, two forward-facing machine guns, and a grenade launcher. Of more importance was their ability to transport up to four thousand pounds of food, ammo, and spare parts. All of which would be critical during the days ahead.

  So McKee was with her old friend Larkin, supervising loading, when the general alarm went off. McKee wasn’t wearing a helmet but had a radio clipped to her body armor. The Klaxon was still bleating as a private stationed in the observation tower spoke. “We have approximately fifty, that’s five-oh, Naa inbound from the northwest at two o’clock.”

  It wasn’t a large force but sufficient to send everyone to their defensive positions. That included McKee and Larkin. Their platoon had secondary responsibility for the so-called ramp on the west side of the mesa. The slide area originally had been the most hotly contested spot during the battle months earlier.

  Thanks to frequent drills, the last of McKee’s people arrived as she did and took up positions behind the infantry platoon on duty. The scene seemed to leap forward as McKee brought a pair of binos up to her eyes.

  The Naa warriors were heavily armed. Even from a distance, she could see that most of them carried Legion-issue weapons scrounged from battlefields or captured in battle. Their heads rose and fell in concert with the huge animals they rode. The dooths were hung with the trappings of war—and galloped along at a good thirty miles per hour. A pace they could maintain for thirty minutes at a time. All for effect? Or as part of an actual attack?

  McKee assumed the former, and Jivani arrived to confirm it. “They’re northerners,” the civilian said, as she studied the Naa through glasses of her own. “See the totem? The one that looks like a spear, with a crosspiece and a pair of animal skulls? That means they take orders from Chief Spearthrow Lifetaker.”

  McKee hadn’t met him but knew Lifetaker was supposed to be an ally. But, during the recent conflict with Truthsayer’s army, the northerner had proved himself to be less than entirely trustworthy. In fact, there were rumors that Lifetaker had played a role in Colonel Richard Bodry’s death. The upshot was that this particular group was unlikely to attack. “How do you know that stuff?” McKee inquired as she lowered the binoculars. “Especially since you arrived last week.”

  “I studied the Naa on Earth,” Jivani answered. “I have a masters in Naa studies.”

  “Naa studies? I didn’t know such a thing existed.”

  “I’m the first graduate,” Jivani said modestly. “I took the contract so I could come here and work on my doctorate. It’s impossible to travel here without some sort of connection to the Legion.”

  McKee frowned. “If you go south with us, there’s an excellent chance that the people you came here to study will kill you.”

  Jivani nodded soberly. “I’ll have to take that chance.”

  Major Gordon arrived at that point, and the all clear signal was heard. “We made radio contact with them,” he explained. “Remember the Naa warriors Cavenaugh promised you? Well, here they are. Come on . . . It’s time to introduce ourselves.”

  Gordon, McKee, and Jivani picked their way down past the defensive positions to the bottom of the slope. The Naa were milling around. A warrior slid down off his dooth. He had variegated white and gray fur. The ears that stuck up from his skull gave him a vaguely feline appearance.

  McKee knew that the Naa had four fingers and opposable thumbs just like Humans did. But their feet were wider and lacked toes. This male was about six and a half feet tall and dressed in a vest and trousers. A fully loaded cartridge belt circled his waist, and he had a Legion-issue sniper’s rifle slung across his back. As what? An insult? Or simply the best weapon for a sharpshooter to own? Not that both couldn’t be true at the same time.

  As soon as the Naa’s feet touched the ground, he made straight for Gordon. Once they were close enough, he offered the forearm-to-forearm grip employed by warriors of roughly equal status. His standard was stiff but serviceable. “I am Longsee Sureshot. First son to Spearthrow Lifetaker.”

  McKee swore silently. Lifetaker’s son! That would make an already-challenging mission that much more difficult. Everyone knew that Lifetaker and Truthsayer hated each other. So if they managed to catch up with the chief of chiefs, Sureshot’s presence would be like salt in an open wound. And who was responsible for that? Cavenaugh, of course. Because he was stupid? Or as an insurance policy? Knowing that if she failed to kill Truthsayer, Sureshot would do the job. Yes, that made sense.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Gordon replied. “I’m Major Gordon, and this is Lieutenant McKee. She will be in command of the expedition.”

  Sureshot looked at McKee and back again. “The lieutenant is female.”

  “That’s true,” Gordon acknowledged. “But it doesn’t matter. She will be in command.”

  Sureshot was about to object when Jivani intervened. “Lieutenant McKee has a Naa name. It is Nofear Deathgiver.”

  Sureshot’s expression changed. He turned to McKee and offered the forearm-to-forearm grip previously shared with Gordon. “I know of the battle for Doothdown. Everyone does. I thank you on behalf of my people.”

  McKee accepted the grip and thought she saw something other than gratitude in the Naa’s gray eyes. Admiration? Yes, but of the sort Human males directed her way. Or had before the disfiguring scar. “You’re welcome,” McKee said. “But the females of Doothdown fought like true warriors. They are the ones who deserve the credit.”

  Sureshot stared at her for a moment as if considering a truly novel idea. He knew, as his entire tribe did, that Doothdown’s males had been elsewhere, thus opening the village to possibility of an attack. But viewing female Naa as warriors? That was something new. Sureshot nodded. “What you say is true . . . Although none can doubt what you accomplished. We will follow you.”

  Gordon looked from one to the other. “Good. That’s settled then. Let’s bring your warriors and animals up onto the mesa. There’s plenty of room north of the observation tower.”

  —

  During the next two days, McKee repeatedly took her combined force down onto the pla
in, where she put them through every sort of evolution she could think of. And there were plenty of problems. The Naa had radios now, but no notion of radio discipline, and frequently spoke over each other. However, Naa, all Naa, put the need for personal glory ahead of unit objectives. That meant they were reluctant to follow orders. Especially slick-skin orders. The fact that the Naa didn’t have a formal chain of command made things worse.

  Fortunately, Sureshot had trained under the tutelage of his father up north and seen how effective the Legion’s methods could be. So in response to McKee’s urgings, he divided his force into five subgroups, each led by the equivalent of a noncom. Then he told them to do whatever Lieutenant McKee and Company Sergeant Larkin said. And that was where the problem came in.

  McKee’s reputation was such that the warriors were willing to submit. But even though Larkin had fought in Doothdown, he wasn’t known to them. So it was just a matter of time before he gave an order that one of them didn’t like.

  When the conflict arose, it was the result of Larkin’s ordering a squad of Naa to ride drag. That, it seemed, was the position normally assigned to inexperienced males when the Naa went to war. So to tell any of Sureshot’s handpicked veterans to ride at the end of the column constituted an unbearable insult. A problem made clear when their leader, a ruffian named Largemouth Eatbig, refused to fall back and called Larkin a long list of insulting names. The result was a fight, which a couple of T-1s managed to break up.

  McKee was riding at the head of the column at the time. Immediately after receiving word of the dustup via radio, she ordered her T-1 to turn around. Sureshot accompanied her. They arrived to find a standoff at the point where the trail dipped into a bowl-like depression. Patches of snow were hiding where the pale yellow sun hadn’t been able to find them, and there were lots of hoofprints in the mud.

  The adversaries had dismounted and were facing each other from ten paces away. Both had backers, some of whom were fingering their weapons. It was a critical moment. If McKee backed Larkin, which was the obvious thing to do, the Naa would see it as favoritism. And when the chips were down, they might leave the Humans in the lurch.

  On the other hand, if McKee couldn’t find a way to back her company sergeant, it would have a disastrous effect on Human morale. That left her with a very fine line to walk.

  McKee dropped to the ground and made her way over to a point between the combatants, where she paused to look around. “Post some pickets, Sergeant Payton . . . Human and Naa. Once they are in place, the rest of the company can gather around.”

  As Payton went to work, McKee addressed herself to those who were still present. She was wearing a translator, which meant the Naa could understand her. “This company will have to fight during the days ahead. And when it does, there is no way to know what the circumstances will be. We may engage the enemy at a distance—or we may be forced to battle them hand-to-hand.”

  “So,” McKee continued, “Company Sergeant Larkin and Lead Warrior Eatbig are going to put on a demonstration of hand-to-hand-combat techniques. No weapons will be permitted.” It was a thin fiction but a necessary one in order to maintain some semblance of military discipline. Cheers went up from both camps, the combatants began to shed weapons, and more people arrived.

  McKee had already begun to experience doubts, but it was too late to change her mind. She looked at Larkin, saw him wink, and felt a little better. He understood. But could he deliver? Eatbig was shorter, but thicker, and very confident. Still, Larkin had been raised in the slums of Esparto . . . And spent a good deal of the last year fighting on Orlo II and Algeron. That meant there was reason to hope.

  Payton arrived with a large group of Humans and Naa. They flooded in to surround the combatants. “All right,” McKee announced, as Larkin and Eatbig stepped forward to face each other. “You can begin the demonstration.”

  The Human danced, threw a punch, and saw it connect. Eatbig flinched as the legionnaires cheered. But the moment of victory was short-lived.

  As Eatbig bored in, Larkin launched a kick. The Naa grabbed the Human’s boot and gave it a twist. The legionnaires uttered a common groan as their champion went down.

  Larkin hit, rolled to his knees, and was trying to rise when Eatbig kicked him in the side. McKee heard Larkin grunt and saw him fall over. He rolled over onto his knees but was struggling to breathe. “Stand!” someone shouted. “Get up!”

  It did no good. Larkin remained where he was, head down, with one knee on the ground. “That didn’t take long,” Sureshot said, as Eatbig lumbered forward.

  “It isn’t over,” McKee predicted, as Larkin launched himself up off the ground. The top of his head hit the Naa’s midriff and Eatbig fell over backwards. Now it was time for the Naa warriors to groan as Larkin straddled Eatbig and went to work with his bony fists. Left right, left right, the blows fell until the Naa gave a mighty heave and threw Larkin off. Then he rolled to his feet and stood with blood running out his nose.

  Larkin circled the Naa, looking for an opening, saw one, and sidled forward. That was when Eatbig threw a fistful of dirt at the Human’s eyes and went in swinging. Larkin staggered as the blows landed, lost his balance, and fell. Eatbig uttered a Naa war cry and took to the air. But rather than land on top of the noncom, the warrior slammed into solid ground. Mud splattered away from his body.

  The opportunity for a devastating follow-up was there—but the legionnaire was still wiping dirt out of his eyes. That gave Eatbig the time he needed to stand and attack his opponent yet again. Strangely, the partisan cheering had given way to silence as the noncoms met face-to-face and began to trade powerful blows. There was no attempt to duck now . . . Just a brutal contest to see which person could take the most punishment. As Larkin took a blow, a mixture of spittle and blood flew from the side of his mouth, and McKee regretted authorizing the fight. But it was too late.

  Larkin turned a full circle, launched a kick that connected with Eatbig’s jaw, and sent his adversary flying. There was a thud as the warrior hit the ground and lay staring at the sky. Larkin staggered, found his balance, and paused to wipe the blood off his lips. “Damn . . . That bastard can take a punch.”

  It wasn’t planned, at least McKee didn’t think so, but the comment struck just the right note. There was laughter followed by applause from Humans and Naa alike. And it grew stronger as Larkin went forward to give his opponent a hand. McKee was happy to seize the opportunity. “Well, done! I think all of us learned something today . . . When the enemy has the upper hand, throw dirt in his eyes.”

  All of them laughed. McKee waited for it to die down. “Now listen, and listen good. The drag position is extremely important because the enemy may attack us from behind. So if a noncom assigns you to the rear guard, you will obey. And remember this . . . Everyone, Human and Naa alike, will rotate through that position, and everyone will walk point. Now mount up. We have work to do.”

  “You were lucky,” Sureshot said, as they returned to their mounts. “It could have gone the other way.”

  “The outcome was never in doubt,” McKee lied.

  Sureshot laughed as he walked away.

  —

  The company was assembled on the flat area in front of the ramp. McKee could feel the weight of Major Gordon’s gaze and knew he was up on the mesa watching through binoculars. Almost an entire day had passed since the fight between Larkin and Eatbig. The sun was little more than a yellow smear in a gray sky—and snowflakes were twirling down as McKee gave the order. “Move out!”

  Three can-shaped drones went first. As they sped away, the machines spread out to cover a mile-wide swath of ground with their sensors. A party of three Naa scouts went next. Sureshot was one of them, and McKee knew they would see and understand things that her legionnaires wouldn’t. It was their planet, and they had a visceral connection to it.

  Next came McKee on a T-1 named Sam Vella and Jivani on a cyb
org named Dor Cory. Each bipedal Trooper I was eight feet tall and weighed half a ton. They were equipped with three-fingered pincer hands, or interchangeable shovel hands, and could run at speeds up to thirty-five miles per hour. Each cyborg was armed with a Storm .50 caliber machine gun and underbarrel grenade launcher. And the RAVs were carrying the launchers and rockets required to equip four of the T-1s should that become necessary.

  Andy was traveling on its own. McKee had hoped that the robot would be unable to keep up and quickly learned that it could. Not only that, but the combot was fast enough to dash ahead in order to capture shots of the column coming straight at the camera or passing by it.

  Such jaunts were dangerous, but McKee never complained. It was her fervent hope that Andy would step on a mine, fall into a deep ravine, or run afoul of a Naa war party. Any of which would allow her to write the robot off.

  Most of the column consisted of alternating squads of legionnaires and Naa. They were followed by the RAVs, four construction droids that McKee had wheedled out of the FOB’s supply officer, and a rear guard presently under Larkin’s command. Under normal circumstances it would have been regarded as a substantial force—but the company was nothing compared to the tens of thousands of warriors that Truthsayer could send against it.

  McKee’s thoughts were interrupted by a voice in her helmet. “Charlie-Six to Alpha-One. Good hunting, over.” McKee tried to come up with something snappy to say, failed, and clicked her mike twice by way of an acknowledgment.

  Thanks to satellite imagery, the Legion knew where all of the villages in the southern hemisphere were, which meant McKee knew, too. And that would have been valuable intelligence if she had orders to attack one of them. But McKee wasn’t looking for a settlement . . . She was looking for a single individual. And Truthsayer could be anywhere. That’s why the Legion’s Intel people had agreed to provide her with a guide. A southerner named Longtalk Storytell, who, according to her orders, “. . . Will join the expedition at a point south of FOB Vickers.”