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

by William C. Dietz

  Avery looked down and back up again. “Thank God for that.”

  McKee took another look around. “That will have to hold us for now. It’s too dangerous to talk for very long.”

  “You’re right,” Avery agreed. Then he leaned in to kiss her lips. The contact was extremely brief but enough to remind McKee of precious moments on Orlo II. The MRE sat unopened as he vanished into the night.

  —

  Meanwhile, about two thousand feet away, Daska was reacting to the kiss as well. By that time, the robot had hacked into C-1’s command and control system. That meant Daska could use the device for private surveillance missions when it wasn’t under the direct control of a Human. And in this case, the robot had been monitoring the machine’s video feed as it overflew the area.

  After spotting two heat signatures which showed up as Avery and McKee on the company’s electronic roster, Daska ordered the drone to hover above them. The machine was too high to listen in, but the synth was programmed to interpret nonverbal communications and knew what a kiss signified.

  It appeared that the Humans had a sexual as well as professional relationship. Did that make either one of them a threat to Nicolai? No. But it meant they were worth watching. Daska broke contact with C-1 and went to prepare food for the boy. Just one of the many ways she was programmed to take care of him.

  —

  Once the break was over, the march resumed. The moon had set by then, and it would have been pitch-black without their night-vision equipment. Gradually, the ground began to level out, and they were able to travel more quickly as a result. Two drones led the way as they had before. And shortly after 0300, the one on the right flank detected two Paguumis and two zurnas camped within a half circle of boulders.

  McKee expected Remy to circle around them and was surprised when he sent the platoon’s third squad forward to capture the locals instead. The Paguumis were taken by surprise, forced to surrender their weapons, and brought in front of Remy. Then, with some help from Kambi, the officer was able to interrogate them.

  McKee wasn’t present for the interrogation so she had no way to know what was said. But shortly after the session, Remy gave orders to change course. Not much—just a couple of degrees. McKee took note of the new heading and led the way. Dawn found the team near a pinnacle of rock and the hand-dug well located below it. A scattering of boulders provided some cover, and orders were given to create earthworks between them. Then, as her cyborgs went to work, McKee saw the prisoners leave the compound. C-1 was flying fifty feet above them. What was Remy up to?

  The question went unanswered as the company set up camp around the well. And there was a lot of work to do since Remy insisted that the legionnaires take more precautions than usual. That made sense since McKee figured there was an excellent chance that the Paguumi warriors would return with a thousand of their friends.

  Once the compound was secure, half the legionnaires were allowed to get some sleep while the rest stood watch. McKee was assigned to the first group. So she used some well water to wet herself down prior to crawling into the shade provided by her two-person shelter. She hadn’t been asleep for more than a few minutes when the thunder woke her up.

  Except that it wasn’t thunder. Jolo appeared next to her shelter. “The major ordered everyone to stand to,” he said. “The Hudathans are coming this way.”

  That brought McKee out of the shelter in a hurry, with her body armor halfway on and AXE in hand. “Hudathans? Where?”

  “Look north,” Private Ree said. “The ridgeheads are hunting for us.”

  McKee looked and saw that Ree was correct. The Hudathan ship was about the size of a Human destroyer escort and shaped like a wedge. It was big, but not so big that it couldn’t operate inside the atmosphere. McKee guessed that it was at least five miles away but flying only a few hundred feet off the ground. She estimated that the ship’s ground speed was no more than fifty miles per hour, which amounted to a crawl for such a vessel. That meant its repellers were working extremely hard to keep it aloft.

  Thunder rolled as sticks of artificial lightning touched down all around the vessel. “They’re trying to flush us out,” Jolo said, and that made sense. Remy’s voice was unnaturally loud in her ear. “Maintain radio silence. Do not acknowledge this transmission. All T-1s will stand by to repel enemy aircraft. Over.”

  McKee swore. The fifties wouldn’t make much of an impression on the ship—and only two of her cyborgs were wearing cans. If the ship turned south, they were screwed. It would take twenty minutes minimum to remove additional launchers from the RAVs and mount them.

  But the Hudathan vessel didn’t turn south. And as it disappeared to the east, McKee exhaled. She was surprised to learn that she’d been holding her breath. Would the DE turn and come back? Maybe. But running would be a mistake. That’s what the ridgeheads were counting on them to do.

  During the next half hour, cans were loaded onto two additional cyborgs, who joined the others on the ad hoc AA network. Then, having lost a significant chunk of her rest period, McKee was able to lie down again. Sleep came quickly, and she was deep in a dream when her chrono began to vibrate.

  The sun was still high in the sky as half the legionnaires returned to duty so the others could rest. McKee made a visit to the latrine followed by a trip to the well, where she filled her canteen. Then she stopped next to a RAV. A lot of MREs had been consumed by that time, and McKee was very conscious of that as she removed one from the dwindling supply.

  So McKee ate some of her lunch and stashed the rest in various cargo pockets for use later on. After spending some time with the second squad, she was about to visit the first when one of the sentries shouted a warning. Her helmet was perched on top of her gear some hundred yards away, and it was necessary to climb up onto a rock to see what was taking place.

  The sentries were looking north, so she did too. All she could see was a dust cloud at first. Then, after raising her binoculars, McKee spotted one of the company’s drones. Streaming long behind it were a dozen Paguumi warriors, all waving rifles and riding hell-bent for leather. Because someone was chasing them? No. McKee was reminded of the Naa. This was for show, to intimidate potential enemies, and for the pure joy of it. The fact that no one was shooting at the digs was a clear indication that Remy had ordered them not to.

  McKee had a pretty good idea of what had taken place at that point. By sending a drone with the freed prisoners, Remy had been able to impress their chief, communicate with him, and remain at a safe distance. And the plan had been at least partially successful since a band of warriors had been sent to do what? Time would tell.

  The legionnaires watched as the warriors skidded to a showy stop just outside the compound. Gravel sprayed, animals squealed, and one of the Paguumis fired a navy-issue pistol into the air. A healthy reminder that primitive though they were, the locals had been able to close in on what remained of the Victorious and kill most of the survivors. It would be a mistake to underestimate them.

  The sun rose high in the sky as Remy and Kambi went forward to welcome the visitors. McKee watched for a moment before turning away. There was work to do, and watching the Paguumis wouldn’t get it done.

  By 1730, McKee had her platoon ready for an evening departure and was stashing her belongings in a RAV when Remy spoke to her over the command channel. That allowed him to dispense with the normal protocols. “McKee . . . Come see me. I’ve got a job for you.”

  McKee said, “Yes, sir,” and wondered what sort of crap ball was rolling her way. A couple of legionnaires were busy taking the command shelter down when she arrived. Remy, Avery, and one of the digs were gathered off to one side. The Paguumi was wearing a necklace made out of #6 washers and was armed with a marine-issue shotgun. Remy waved her over.

  “There you are . . . I’d like you to meet Subchief Huzz. He’s going to introduce us to Chief Oppo. Let’s take a drone, Ka
mbi, a bio bod, and four T-1s . . . Including Bartov.”

  That would leave two of McKee’s bio bods without cyborgs and they were certain to bitch. It couldn’t be helped. “Yes, sir. When do we leave?”

  “As soon as you’re ready. The rest of the company will report to Major Avery while I’m gone. They should be able to catch up with us by midmorning, so we won’t need to carry a lot of supplies.”

  McKee hoped that was true, and she could feel Avery’s gaze as she saluted and did an about-face. It took thirty minutes to brief her squad leaders, choose which T-1s to take, and load them with extra ammo. Not because she was looking for trouble but in case it found her.

  Then it was time to mount up and leave. Huzz and his warriors led the way. In contrast to their flashy arrival, the southerners rode slowly, as if expecting the T-1s to lumber along.

  But once McKee was sure that Remy could handle it, McKee ordered Bartov to increase his speed, and it wasn’t long before the borgs were pulling ahead. That forced the Paguumis to go faster in order to keep up. It was a childish demonstration of superiority, and McKee half expected Remy to object, but he didn’t. So they rode together, all enjoying the wild freedom of the moment as milky moonlight lit the way.

  Later, rather than have the digs run their animals to death, McKee reduced speed. But the point had been made. Strange though the off-worlders were, they could ride.

  The journey lasted a couple of hours, and McKee knew it was almost over when they topped a rise and saw thousands of twinkling lights in the valley ahead. Some of the southerners had come north to gather metal, while others remained behind to watch over the grazing katha.

  That situation couldn’t continue for very long, however, because the vast herd of katha would run out of grass before long. When that occurred, Chief Oppo would have to lead his people east along the grass path. And so it had been for more than a thousand years.

  But that day hadn’t arrived yet. For the moment, the southerners were still engaged in harvesting the sky metal. Groups of mounted warriors had been assigned to guard the encampment—so it wasn’t surprising when a dozen of them came charging out of the gloom. Greetings were shouted, and Huzz spurred ahead to announce his presence and avoid bloodshed.

  The legionnaires were surrounded by a mob of excited warriors as they thundered down a slope and into the vast encampment. Flaps were thrown aside as people came out to look at the strange apparitions who had appeared among them. McKee could feel their stares as she and her companions were escorted down the main street. There were lots of fires, and McKee could see an extra large hoga up ahead.

  As the entire group came to a halt, Huzz slid down off his mount. Remy did likewise as McKee issued a series of orders. “I don’t know what will happen next,” she said over the squad freq. “But chances are that the major, Kambi, and I will be invited to enter that hab. Maintain a high level of situational awareness—and come a-running if I call for you. Copy? Over.”

  McKee heard a flurry of clicks as her boots hit the ground. C-1 was hovering over their heads and played the role of translator. So when Huzz spoke, there was some overlap between the Paguumi and standard versions of what he said. “Come . . . Chief Oppo is waiting.”

  The Humans followed as the Paguumi led them to the hoga. It was at least twice the circumference of those around it. Two guards stepped forward as if to block access. One of them spoke, and McKee heard him say something about “off-world freaks” and “weapons.”

  Huzz replied in rapid-fire Paguumi, and even though McKee couldn’t hear the translation from where she was, the meaning was clear. Shut up and stand aside. They did.

  A slender female was there to pull the katha-hide flap out of the way. Huzz entered first, followed by the drone, Remy, Kambi, and McKee. The dome had been blackened by years of cook smoke, but murals circled the lower walls, and McKee was impressed by how well executed they were.

  The hoga’s interior was taken up by a communal sleeping area, a kitchen, and what appeared to be a ceremonial space directly opposite the main entrance. A Paguumi was seated on a seat that had clearly been taken from the Victorious. There were at least a dozen notches in his head crest, a leather patch covered his left eye, and there were some holes where teeth should have been. “My name is Imeer Oppo,” he proclaimed importantly. “And you are welcome here.” Armed guards stood to either side of him and stared at the aliens with what McKee took to be open animosity.

  “Thank you,” Remy said, as he took several steps forward. “We are strangers here, but I was told that it is acceptable for visitors to give gifts, and I hope you will accept this pair of binoculars with my compliments. May you always see your enemies before they see you.”

  Oppo accepted the glasses, and after turning them every which way, brought them to his eyes. Then he uttered what McKee assumed to be a cackle of delight before lowering them in order to look at Remy. “I am very pleased with your gift and insist that you accept one in return.”

  With that, Oppo turned to signal one of two guards stationed at the hoga’s back entrance. The Paguumi pulled a flap aside to admit a second warrior who had an animal on a leash. Or what looked like an animal on a leash. But as the creature came closer, McKee realized that she was looking at a Human who had been forced to crawl on hands and knees.

  McKee dropped to one knee next to the man. His hair was a tangled mess and a foul smell surrounded him. As their eyes met, McKee saw a look of surprise on his face. “You’re Human!” he croaked.

  “Yes,” McKee answered gently. “Who are you?”

  A look of profound sadness appeared on the man’s face. “I was captain of the Victorious. I am nothing now.” And then he began to cry.

  “Suzuki,” Remy said. “The captain of the Victorious was named Suzuki.”

  “Shoot me,” Suzuki begged. “Please kill me.”

  The chief thought that was funny and began to laugh. So his retainers laughed, too. And they were still laughing when Remy shot Oppo in the face.

  CHAPTER: 12

  Chiefs may plan—but the katha decide.

  AUTHOR UNKNOWN

  A Paguumi folk saying

  Standard year unknown

  PLANET SAVAS

  Remy’s pistol was equipped with a suppressor. So all McKee heard was a soft popping sound as the bullet punched a hole through Oppo’s good eye and blew a hole through the back of his skull. The Paguumi jerked, wobbled, and slumped sideways in his seat. Blood dripped onto the katha hide under his feet.

  McKee was still trying to absorb that when Remy turned and shot one of the chief’s bodyguards. The body was still falling as Huzz clubbed another retainer with his shotgun. Three warriors remained. They were bringing their weapons to bear when the drone fired its energy weapon, swiveled, and fired again. The guards positioned next to the back door crumpled. That left the warrior on the other end of Suzuki’s leash. McKee heard a pop and saw a third eye appear between the two the Paguumi already possessed. He went down as if poleaxed. Suzuki continued to rock back and forth and sob. “Well, don’t just stand there,” Remy said, as McKee turned to look at him. “Help drag the bodies into place.”

  With McKee’s help, Remy repositioned bodyguards one and two so they were in front of Oppo’s chair. One was armed with a navy pistol, which Remy placed next to his right hand.

  In the meantime, Huzz was hard at work making it look as if guards three and four had been moving toward the improvised throne when they were killed. By that time, McKee realized that the whole thing had been planned in advance. With Kambi’s help, Remy had been able to buy Huzz off. Or, more likely, the subchief had goals of his own. Not that it mattered. Oppo was dead either way.

  “Okay,” Remy said, as he surveyed the scene. “We’re ready. McKee, tell your people to expect some gunfire and to mill around when they hear it. But they are not, repeat not, to shoot anyone. Got it?”

  McK
ee nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Do it.”

  McKee did it. “Okay,” Remy said, “when I give the signal, shoot the assassin in the face. Use your AXE. I want it to look messy.”

  McKee looked at him. “What about the warriors by the back door?”

  “Chief Huzz will take care of that. Won’t you, Chief?”

  Huzz stood over a body. The shotgun produced a distinctive clacking sound as he worked the action.

  “You’ve done this sort of thing before,” McKee said accusingly.

  Remy’s expression was cold. “What? You thought it was all about wearing green berets? We’re special forces, Lieutenant. We do hard things. The things other people can’t or don’t want to do. Now get ready . . . Fire on my command.”

  McKee placed her finger on the trigger, and when Remy said, “Now!” she squeezed it. Half a dozen slugs smashed into the warrior’s face. While that was taking place, Huzz fired his shotgun. The result was instant pandemonium.

  More guards entered the hoga through both entrances. Their instincts were to attack the aliens—but Huzz was shouting at them in Paguumi. No, he insisted. The bodyguards were the ones who had attacked Oppo. But thanks to quick thinking on his part, and some help from the Humans, the plot failed.

  McKee thought it was a very unlikely scenario and fully expected somebody to call the subchief on it, but no one did. Maybe some members of the tribe were tired of Oppo and wanted Huzz to take over. Or maybe they were truly taken in. In any case, there was a great deal of shouting and gesticulating as the dead bodyguards were towed outside. A crowd gathered, Huzz told the story again, and a cry of outrage went up. Moments later, half the mob ran off to find relatives of the murdered warriors and punish them.

  As the hubbub started to die down, McKee heard a gunshot from inside the hoga. She rushed in with her AXE at the ready, but there was no need. A Legion handgun had been left on the ground as part of the staging. And having been left alone, Suzuki had been free to crawl over and make use of it. Now he lay near Oppo’s lifeless body. McKee heard movement and turned to see Remy enter the hab. He looked down at Suzuki. “I feel sorry for him . . . But he made a lot of mistakes. Maybe this is for the best.”