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

by William C. Dietz

  “Yes, sir. I’ll pull a squad together. You’ll need the rest of the T-1s for force protection.”

  Remy nodded. “I had hoped to have some help from the jarheads by now. But it sounds like they’re ass deep in Hudathan tanks at the moment. So if you run into trouble, call on the zoomies. I’ll tell them to stay close.”

  McKee tossed Remy a salute, which he returned. Then it was time to build a squad out of her badly mauled platoon. Four of her bio bods and five cyborgs had been killed. That was a third of her unit. Even if the mission was a success, the price would be high.

  McKee chose bio bods Juli Amdon and Aatawa Singh, along with T-1s Greg Gallo, Nick Riley, and Peter Popov. The latter was left unencumbered so he could carry Empress Ophelia should they manage to free her. “We’ll be wearing medals the day after we find the empress,” Popov predicted.

  “And digging latrines,” Chow countered cynically. That produced a round of laughter because all of them knew it was true.

  It took twenty minutes to rearm and prepare for what promised to be a wild ride. Then it was time for the cyborgs to carry their riders down onto the flat ground below. McKee saw Avery wave, and she waved back. What was he thinking? The same thing she was probably. It would be ironic if she was the one who rescued Ophelia.

  Once free of the compound and flying through the night, McKee’s darker thoughts were blown away by the cool night air and the sense of joy that often accompanied such moments. The speed with which the cyborgs could run, the freedom that gave her, and the power that went with it. Was that what Ophelia fed on? Writ large? Yes, McKee suspected that it was.

  Bartov and the rest of the borgs were running at about forty miles per hour, which meant they would be able to close on the slow-moving Hudathans rather quickly. McKee hoped to get in among the bastards before they had a chance to fort up. Or, maybe the ridgeheads would kill Ophelia rather than let her escape. That would be just fine with McKee.

  What McKee couldn’t do was shoot the bitch herself because if she did Bartov, Amdon, Singh, Gallo, Riley, and Popov would be punished, too. That’s what McKee was thinking about when Bartov spoke to her over the intercom. “I’ve got ’em,” he said. “They broke radio silence.”

  “How far?”

  “No more than three minutes.”

  McKee switched to IR. “This is One. We’re coming up on them. Don’t shoot any Humans. Over.”

  McKee received a series of clicks by way of a reply and spotted the enemy as Bartov topped a low rise. They were walking single file, and there was no mistaking the fact that the person halfway back from the head of the column was half the size of the rest. “You can see the prisoner,” McKee said. “I want Bartov and Popov to pass on either side, grab an arm, and keep on going.”

  The Hudathans had spotted the danger by then and were in the process of turning toward the charging legionnaires. But they were still raising their weapons when Gallo and Riley fired their fifties. A Hudathan went down as if poleaxed, and a second fired a burst toward the stars as he toppled over backwards.

  But McKee’s attention was centered on the small figure who turned away from the charging T-1s and attempted to run. Except that the prisoner couldn’t run. Not while wearing ankle chains. So the fugitive was hobbling south when Bartov reached down to grab one arm and Popov took hold of the other. Suddenly, the person was hoisted off the ground and held there as bolts of coherent energy stuttered past. But the attempt to kill the Human failed as Riley, Gallo, and their bio bods took the rest of the ridgeheads down.

  “Circle around behind those boulders,” McKee instructed. “Then you can put the prisoner down.”

  The cyborgs obeyed. Once behind the rocks, and therefore sheltered from incoming fire, they lowered their burden to the ground. That was when McKee freed herself from the harness and dropped to the ground. The Human was down on one knee. And as McKee’s helmet light speared her, she looked up. “A Human! Thank God.”

  McKee pushed her visor up out of the way before offering a hand. “You’re safe, Majesty . . . Well, reasonably safe anyway.”

  Ophelia frowned as she accepted the proffered hand. “Sergeant McKee? Is it really you?”

  “Yes, ma’am . . . It is. No offense, ma’am . . . But we need to get out of here. The Hudathans were talking to someone on the radio five minutes ago. Reinforcements could be on the way. Have you ridden a T-1 before?”

  Ophelia was on her feet by then. “Once. For a photo op.”

  “Okay . . . You know what they’re capable of then.”

  “I’m wearing ankle chains.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But we haven’t got the time or the tools to cut them off. With your permission, Bartov here will lift you onto Popov’s back. Then I’ll strap you in, and we’ll get out of here.”

  “Yes, of course,” Ophelia answered. “My son . . . Can you tell me anything about Nicolai?”

  McKee might have been impressed by a mother’s concern if Ophelia hadn’t murdered thousands of sons in order to take power and keep it. “Yes,” she answered. “Nicolai is aboard the cruiser Mars. He’ll be happy to see you. Bartov, please be so kind as to place the empress on Private Popov’s back. Gently now.”

  It took about three minutes to get Ophelia properly positioned and strapped in. Then, with her squad ready to fight if necessary, McKee made the call to Remy. “Charlie-One to Six. We have Gemstone. Over.”

  The response was immediate. “That’s outstanding! Bring her in. Over.”

  McKee was back on Bartov by then—and ordered the cyborg to join the rest of the squad. They were standing a short distance from the dead Hudathans. “One of them got away,” Singh said. “Should we chase him?”

  “Hell no,” McKee answered. “We got what we came for. Let’s go home.”

  —

  Nola-Ba was furious. The Human cyborgs had swept in, killed his troopers, and taken the prisoner with insulting ease. But it wasn’t over yet. He could still redeem himself—and still return to Hudatha victorious. All he had to do was recapture Empress Ordanus. And the means to do so were on the way. A battle was raging about thirty miles to the west. Once the Humans had neutralized the weapons on the moon, their tanks had been able to mass and engage his armor. That clash was still under way.

  But important though that battle was, it was meaningless compared to the opportunity, no the need, to secure the empress, and thereby maintain the upper hand. And that was why Nola-Ba had given orders for a detachment of combat sleds to meet him. It was too late to use them for protection—but Nola-Ba could use the sleds to get Ophelia back.

  Each highly maneuverable vehicle carried two troopers, a driver, and a gunner, and could achieve speeds of up to sixty miles per hour over flat desert terrain. Could they go one-on-one with the Human cyborgs? Nola-Ba was going to find out.

  A voice spoke through the plug in his right ear. The sleds were two minutes out. Nola-Ba left the protection of the rock formation where he’d been hiding and made his way out to a point where he’d be easy to see.

  Nola-Ba heard a growling sound and felt a sudden surge of hope as the first hovercraft appeared out of the gloom. In keeping with his earlier instructions, two gunners had been left behind in order to make room for him and his prisoner.

  Nola-Ba waited for a sled to stop, climbed up onto the raised gunner’s seat, and flipped a switch. The gauzy energy shield crackled and popped as it wrapped itself around him. The force field couldn’t stop the big stuff but would vaporize smaller projectiles. Then it was time to release the safety that kept the gun barrel from swinging back and forth. There was a harness, too . . . But many troopers, Nola-Ba included, preferred to be thrown free should the sled take a hit.

  Confident that everything was as it should be Nola-Ba leaned forward to slap the driver’s shoulder. The hovercraft seemed to leap forward. He felt a sense of anticipation and renewed hope. The Humans thought
they were safe from retribution. They would learn differently.

  —

  She was free! And it felt good. Better than anything else Ophelia had ever experienced. After being welcomed into a small compound by Avery, and introduced to Major Remy, Ophelia was shown into the largest shelter the soldiers had. Then came the reunion with Daska, who still looked the way she had prior to being captured.

  But Ophelia knew there was a lot to do before she could afford to worry about her appearance. Nicolai was safe, Major Remy assured her of that, but what about the rest of it? “So,” she inquired. “What’s going on up in space?”

  “The situation looks promising,” Daska answered. “Arrangements are being made to take you up to the Mars. Once you board, the ship will enter hyperspace.”

  Ophelia winced as a synth began to peel the bloody rags off her feet. Small combat boots, courtesy of a female legionnaire, stood waiting. “We’ll see about that,” Ophelia said. “Tempting though your proposal is, the sudden departure of the Mars could hand a victory to the Hudathans.”

  “As you wish,” the robot replied. “There is however a more pressing matter. One that could represent a more immediate threat.”

  “The Hudathans?”

  “No. I refer to the relationship between Major Avery and Lieutenant McKee.”

  Ophelia had been happy to learn of McKee’s promotion and fully intended to give her another one soon. “A relationship? What sort of relationship?”

  “They’re lovers,” Daska replied matter-of-factly. “But that’s the least of it. They plan to kill you.”

  The robot had Ophelia’s full attention now, and she barely noticed as the rest of the rags came off her feet. “McKee? Kill me? I don’t believe it.”

  Daska pointed a finger and a holo appeared in front of it. The video had been shot from above, and the lighting was so poor that the people below were unrecognizable, but there was no mistaking their voices. Ophelia listened with a growing sense of outrage as McKee described her role in the Mason assassination and her desire to kill the empress. By the time the recording came to an end, Ophelia was furious. “Kill them,” she said. “Kill them now.”

  “That could be a mistake,” Daska cautioned. “They are legionnaires, and we are surrounded by legionnaires, most of whom are ex-criminals. And they are loyal to each other rather than to you. So were we to attack their officers, they would probably shoot first and ask questions later. And effective though we are, the cyborgs, all of whom report to McKee, would destroy us and leave you vulnerable.”

  “So what would you suggest?”

  “The traitors want to kill you and they want to survive,” Daska replied. “Were it otherwise, you would be dead now. So I recommend that you wait for a shuttle to arrive. Once it does, and you’re safely in orbit, it will be a simple matter to eradicate the entire company.”

  Ophelia frowned. “The entire company? Why?”

  “The rest of the legionnaires have been exposed to a dangerous infection,” Daska answered. “And protocol 478.12 specifies that ‘. . . all contaminated beings will be destroyed to ensure that antisocial ideas, philosophies, and values are not allowed to spread.’ A Hudathan attack could be used to explain what happened.”

  Ophelia was pulling a boot on by then. It hurt, but she did it anyway. “I like it. But stay close . . . And keep the other synths close as well.”

  “All of the synths have been briefed,” Daska assured her. “McKee and Avery will die. The only question is when.”

  —

  The sun was about to clear the eastern horizon as Avery crossed the compound. The empress had taken up residence in what had been the operations tent, thereby forcing Remy and his staff into a smaller shelter. Once Avery entered, it became even more crowded. Remy looked up from a flat screen. His expression was grim. “The folks in orbit tell me there are a dozen combat sleds coming our way. Maybe they see us as a target of opportunity—or maybe they’re after the empress. Either way, we’re going to have a fight on our hands.”

  Avery shrugged. “The navy should be able to handle them.”

  “That’s the problem,” Remy replied. “In spite of the fact that the Hudathans lost most of their aerospace fighters in earlier battles, they’re throwing what they have left at us. They’re mixing it up with our people right now. So unless the swabbies put them away quickly, we’ll have to fight the sleds by ourselves.”

  “So it sounds like they are after Ophelia,” Avery concluded.

  “Yeah, it’s a very real possibility,” Remy agreed. “She’s been warned. Make the rounds. Let our people know what to expect. Tell them we need one last effort from everyone on the team. Do you read me?”

  Avery nodded soberly. “I read you. We’ll be ready.”

  As Avery left the tent, he looked up into the morning sky, and sure enough, he could see a complex tracery of contrails. A sure sign that people were fighting and dying thousands of feet above. Gravel crunched beneath his boots as Avery made his way out to the perimeter. All of the company’s remaining personnel were on duty, regardless of how tired they might be, and that included McKee, who was running on two hours’ sleep.

  She had a roll of tools spread out next to her and was working on Kane’s knee actuator. Three bio bods were nearby. Avery addressed all of them at the same time. “A bunch of ridgeheads are coming our way . . . Take a pee if you need to and check your weapons. McKee . . . I suggest that you close that housing and give Kane a crutch. She can club the Hudathans with it.”

  The joke produced some chuckles but no laughter. The company was at 60 percent of its original strength, tired after days of fighting, and running on empty. But Avery had no choice except to ignore that as he circled the encampment.

  The company was situated on a rise, but not much of one, which meant the enemy combat sleds could zip up and over the top if they managed to break through the perimeter. Making a bad situation worse was the fact that while about 30 percent of the encampment was protected by rocks, the rest was wide open. Fighting positions had been dug, and the dirt had been thrown forward to create a partial berm, but there were gaps that the enemy hovercraft might take advantage of.

  It would be up to McKee and her cavalry to try to stop the incoming vehicles before they could penetrate the center of the encampment. The thought of losing her frightened Avery—and there was no way to escape it.

  —

  McKee had seven units left. Eight, counting Bartov and herself. The Hudathans were sure to attack the open gaps. And if they managed to break through, they’d be able to ride their sleds all the way to the ops center. Would the synths and the legionnaires posted around it be able to stop the invaders? McKee feared that they wouldn’t.

  So she positioned the first squad on one side of the gap and the second on the other. The plan was to put the ridgeheads in a cross fire. The danger was that the legionnaires might fire on each other. “Remember,” McKee said over the squad frequency, “be careful who you shoot at. If you hit either Bartov or me, you’d better hope it’s fatal.”

  That produced some laughs, but they were cut off as Remy’s voice flooded the command channel. “This is Six. Here they come. Kill the bastards.”

  Engines roared as the sleds rounded a pinnacle of rock and came in fast. They were in a line abreast so as to divide the defenders’ fire and bring their own weapons to bear as quickly as possible. Each vehicle had a driver with a gunner in back. They sat on elevated seats, and the shimmery force fields that protected them sparkled as small-caliber projectiles were vaporized. “Hit them,” McKee ordered. “Hit them hard. Over.”

  The T-1s surged forward, firing as they ran—and what ensued was a whirling death dance. The cyborgs were extremely maneuverable, but so were the sleds. They could turn on a dime, slip sideways, and reverse direction. All while putting out heavy fire. Fixed weapons were mounted in the nose of each vehicle. Tha
t was bad enough. But, because the gunners could rotate their weapons through a complete circle, they were especially deadly. In fact, it was damned near impossible to get behind one of the sleds without taking fire from a pintle-mounted machine gun.

  That was a lesson McKee and Bartov learned the hard way as they circled one in hopes of sneaking up on it. The gunner tracked them all the way, scored a dozen hits on Bartov, and nearly blew McKee’s head off. She fired her AXE in return and swore as the Hudathan shield “ate” the 4.7 mm rounds.

  Bartov had a solution though . . . And that was the underbarrel grenade launcher attached to his fifty. He fired it, scored a hit, and was close enough to take some of his own shrapnel as the projectile exploded. McKee heard metal rattle against the cyborg’s armor while the Hudathan gunner was blown to rags and fell to the ground. The driver had survived, however, and as the sled slip-slid away, he continued to fire the hovercraft’s nose guns.

  Meanwhile Amdon and Gallo had gone down, Feng was flopping around in his harness as Chen continued to fight, and a T-1 named Cole was down on his knees. He was back-to-back with his bio bod at that point—and both continued to fire as the enemy sleds circled them like wolves. The end came quickly as Cole fell facedown in the sand and a hail of bullets ripped his partner apart.

  —

  Nola-Ba had kept his sled and two others back, firing at targets of opportunity, but avoiding the worst of the fighting. Not because he was afraid—but because he was waiting for the right opportunity. And when the cyborg fell facedown in the dirt, a path into the Human compound appeared. He leaned forward. “Now!” he shouted. “Take me straight in.”

  The driver opened the throttle, and the hovercraft surged forward. Other sleds were to his left and right. All of them fired their weapons as they ran at the gap between two machine-gun positions. Nola-Ba could see the automatic weapons winking at him, but none of the projectiles managed to penetrate the force field that protected him. That left Nola-Ba free to return fire, which wasn’t easy from a moving sled. But by swinging the barrel back and forth, he was able to suppress the enemy fire.