"Nice to see you, Teex. It feels good to be dirtside again. That ship is like a coffin, a big coffin, but a coffin nevertheless."
Heek sniffed the air and made a face. "What the hell is that anyway? It smells like shit."
"It is shit," Teex answered grimly. "Or something similar. They spread it on the fields."
Heek looked around. His eyes took in the weapons positions, the way rubble had been used to reinforce the perimeter, the readiness of the troops, everything. Fire Base One looked good but Heek would be damned if he'd tell Teex that. The praise might go to his head.
"You let them farm? After raising six kinds of hell?"
"I let them farm under guard," Teex replied. "It's either that, or start hauling food in by this time next year."
The older officer signaled understanding with his tail. "Well, let's get on with it. I know the drill. You drag me around, the troops act surprised, and I lift."
Teex held a hand up in protest. "Sir…"
"Save it for someone younger and more gullible," Heek interrupted, "just promise me one thing."
Was that a smile? Or just another version of Heek's perpetual scowl? Teex did his best to look innocent. "Sir?"
"Promise me that you took steps to keep our itinerary secret."
"Yes, sir. I…"
"That includes the geek computer."
"Of course, sir. We…"
"Because Ceeq will take over if I get killed."
Teex felt a tightness in chest. "Excuse me, sir?"
"You heard me," Heek answered gruffly. "Ceeq received his commission a full seven months before you received yours. So, unless you would like Ceeq to write your next fitness report, it would be a good idea to keep me alive."
Heek was joking, Teex realized that now, but it was too late to laugh. He signaled appreciation with his tail instead. "Thank you for sharing that, sir. May you live to be at least five hundred years old."
Heek made a coughing sound that might have been laughter.
The first part of the tour went well. It started with an inspection of Fire Base One. Heek saw the comm center, the personnel bunkers, the ammo dumps, the missile launchers, the perimeter defenses, and more.
He also saw the solar-powered placards that Teex had mounted all around the fire base. Each one bore the holographic likeness of a black disk sitting alongside a pocket stylus to provide scale.
The text said, "If you find a small black disk, turn it in. Do not say or do anything around these devices that would be of value to the enemy. Each disk is worth fifty rang."
Heek nodded to himself. Most of the troopers would murder their own egg mothers for fifty rang.
Then came lunch with the troops, a nervous affair, with everyone on their best behavior, and Heek playing his role to the hilt. Teex watched in amusement as the senior officer made his way through the mess tent, tail locked in the "it is good to see you, faithful subordinate" position, stopping at each table to speak with the troops.
It was simple "How is the food?" "Is your equipment okay?" "Are you ready to kill some geeks?" kind of stuff, but the troopers loved it. For reasons that Teex couldn't quite fathom they actually liked Heek. The universe, he decided, was a mysterious place.
Shortly after lunch they climbed aboard a helicopter, and with an escort of four heavily armed air cars swept out across the valley for a lightning-fast tour of the outlying fire bases.
The pilots flew fast and low making it difficult for nonexistent enemy radars to pick them up.
Both side hatches were open. That provided the door gunners with a good field of fire and scooped great draughts of air into the passenger compartment. Teex felt it press against his face and blinked his eyes in order to keep them moist.
The aircraft swerved slightly to avoid a hill and the devastated village that sat on top of it. Heek leaned forward until the safety harness stopped him. He had to yell over the engine noise. "Is that typical?"
Teex signaled "yes" with his tail. "Yes, Sir. We are more than a little shorthanded as you know. We have an entire planet to occupy and about a quarter of the troops required to do it. If the geeks were armed, and a bit more aggressive, they would push us off-world in no time at all. It is clear that they have the necessary technology to manufacture weapons equivalent to ours. So, in order to prevent them from doing so, we have cleared the villages and destroyed them. Manufacturing plants too. Those we can find anyway."
"What about the humans?"
"They are a problem, sir. They have captured weapons and seem intent on leading some sort of resistance movement. One of them is operating as a sniper. He has killed three officers in five days. We are searching for him but there are thousands of places to hide."
Heek signaled his understanding. "Yes, the Council demands a miracle each and every day. What about the rest of the planet? Are there signs of resistance?"
Teex glanced toward the starboard hatch. Fields flashed by below. It was a difficult question. How to answer? Should he tell the truth? That he really didn't know? That he suspected the worst? Or what the older officer wanted to hear? That everything was fine. He chose a middle course.
"Yes, sir… there are some signs of resistance. Or 'avoidance' might be a better word. Our spy sats and recon patrols report the same thing. It seems word has spread and the geeks are disappearing into the countryside. Usually at night. We can follow a lot of their activities from orbit but don't have the troops to track them down."
Heek smiled grimly. "All the more reason to find that computer and find it quickly. An artifact like that would go a long way toward convincing the Council to put a full sept on the ground."
Teex signaled assent and leaned back in his chair. Good. If he had accomplished nothing else today he had given Heek a feel for the size and scope of the problem.
The rest of the morning passed with a series of laser-quick visits to the fire bases that Teex had established throughout that part of the countryside. All were built on hilltops, and like Fire Base One, many of them sat on sites previously occupied by buildings or villages.
The drill was always the same. Land, receive a formal greeting from the officer or noncom in charge, tour the defenses, talk to the troops, and take off again. The midday meal consisted of field rations at Fire Base Seven.
After that it was time to get back into the air and follow a long curving course that would touch on three additional outposts and eventually take them home.
They had been in the air for only a brief time when Teex heard a buzzing sound in his left ear. He activated the tiny throat mike. "Yes?"
The voice belonged to his pilot, Deeo. "Holding Area Two is under attack by a large force of hostiles. They have automatic weapons… repeat… automatic weapons. The NCOIC requests an air strike plus reinforcements. Fast response force two is en route. They are twenty from ground."
Teex swore under his breath. Damn. It was just as he'd feared. The geeks were manufacturing weapons. His efforts to prevent them from doing so had not only failed, but failed in a rather visible manner, with Heek looking on. Well, there was very little he could do but make the best of it. He kept his voice low and even.
"What kind of air support is available?"
Deeo's voice was calm, professional. "We are five from ground. The navy has three fighters inbound. They will arrive fifteen from now."
Teex didn't hesitate. "We will respond. Send the air cars ahead. Let the navy know. Those fighter pilots have a tendency to shoot anything that moves. Notify Fire Base One."
"Yes, sir."
The air cars shot ahead as the helicopter banked to the right. Heek gave the younger officer a questioning look and Teex filled him in. If the Half Sept commander was surprised, or disturbed, he gave no sign of it. He signaled understanding with his tail and looked out through the hatch.
Rola-4 heard the chatter of automatic weapons and saw the crowd turn. They moved in her direction. It was pointless, since they were already as far away from the fighting as the surrounding
force field would allow them to be, but panic is a stupid thing. She looked for a place to hide and couldn't find one.
The valley was long and narrow with steep scree-covered slopes on three sides. But the bottom, the part that the Il Ronnians had designated as "Holding Area Two," was as smooth and flat as her kitchen table back home.
Rola-4 moved toward the right. That took her out of the crowd's path and put them between her and the fighting. Some extra protection for Neder-33. He showed his appreciation by crying and trying to wiggle out of her arms.
Thanks to God, and the warning he had given her the evening before, the females had known about the attack before it came. Known, but been helpless to do anything about it.
The mob thundered toward her, females screaming, babies crying. To retreat meant running the risk of being pushed into the force field and it had the power to deliver a high-voltage shock. Rola-4 turned her back to the crowd and braced her feet. Bodies bumped into hers. Somebody shoved her. She held fast. The mob moved past.
Wexel-15 felt a hard knot in the pit of his stomach. Not at the thought of dying, but at the thought of making a mistake and causing others to die. A glance to the right and left showed him that his squad members were still there, weapons at their shoulders, delivering methodical three-round bursts into the Il Ronnian command post.
It wasn't much, just a pit dug into the top of a slight rise, with earthworks all around. He grinned. The force field prevented them from rushing the Il Ronnians but did nothing to stop their bullets. He counted four alien bodies on the ground and knew there were two more inside. The construct felt a sense of pride. That would teach them!
An Il Ronnian stuck his assault rifle up over the earthworks, ripped off fifteen or twenty rounds without looking, and pulled the weapon down again.
The human female's voice was a calm presence in Wexel-15's ear, put there by some sort of electronic magic devised by the person-machine that called itself "Cy Borg," and some of Dru-21's technicians.
"Okay, Wex. Mission accomplished. We inflicted some casualties, provided the prisoners with a psychological boost, and gave the Il Ronnians a choice: They can tie up more troops guarding camps like this one… or turn the prisoners loose. So pull back. Their air support will arrive at any moment… and we're not equipped to deal with that."
Wexel-15 heard the words, processed them, and gave the proper orders. "All right… time to pull out. Doma-7 and Jubo-10, you first, then in pairs. I'll come last."
The volume of fire fell off as the heavies obeyed his orders and pulled back. Their escape route led up through a gully and into one of the ancient drain pipes that ran down out of the mountains. They moved slowly, methodically, just as Della had taught them.
The plan called for them to follow the drain upward for fifteen or twenty minutes until they reached the point where the pipe split right and left. Fortifications had been placed there, and if the Il Ronnians were foolish enough to follow them underground, the constructs would be waiting.
Della's voice was urgent now. "Move it, Wex! Here comes the air support!"
Wexel-15 checked to make sure that the last pair of heavies were headed up the gully, loosed one last burst, and rolled left. Dirt fountained where he had been, followed by the thump! thump! thump! of an auto cannon and the flicker of a passing shadow.
The air car was so low that Wexel-15 could see individual scratches where the aircraft's pilot had carelessly scraped some treetops two days before. Wexel-15 knew he should be thinking about other things, should be concentrating on the gully, but couldn't help himself. His mind noticed that the scratches were brighter than the surrounding metal and ran forward and back rather than from side to side.
Air slapped Wexel-15's face as the air car pulled up and around. The pipe was just ahead, a gaping black maw, just waiting to swallow him. Two figures popped out of it, Doma-7 and Jubo-10, both raising their assault rifles to fire. Their weapons made a sound like ripping cloth.
Wexel-15 felt a combination of anger and pride. What they were doing was brave but stupid. He stumbled, fell, and rolled over.
The air car dived straight down, firing as it came. The auto cannons winked at him as they fired. The shells made a thumping sound as they exploded. He could see them hit, walking their way up the slope, heading for him. The construct waited for a shell to hit him, waited for the pain, and was surprised when it never came.
A bullet, one of the hundreds sprayed upward by Doma-7 and Jubo-10, hit the metal support that curved up and over the passenger compartment, and shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. One of those pieces, a chunk of metal so small that it would take a microscope to adequately see it, struck the pilot in the cheek.
The pilot had already removed his hand from the stick and touched his cheek before his brain found time to tell him that it was a stupid thing to do. The air car exploded as it hit the ground. Pieces of metal and plastic flew in every direction.
"Run, Wexel, run!"
The construct scrambled to his feet. He ran forward, felt hands grab his arms, and was jerked into the pipe. It felt cool and safe.
Della pulled her eye away from the scope. The air car had hit the ground about five hundred yards east of the pipe. A column of dark black smoke spiraled up to stain the sky. She shook her head in amazement. Once their training was complete the heavies would make some damned fine troops. A little light on the command and control side, but what the heck, you gotta start somewhere.
The three surviving air cars circled like vultures, pouring fire down toward the drain pipe, all of it wasted.
Della heard the familiar whop, whop, whop of chopper blades and looked to the right. The wall of carefully stacked stone blocked her view but the chopper was visible through one of the many chinks. The helicopter came in low and slow just as she had known it would. The aircraft was big, boxy, and heavily armored. Too heavily armored to be fitted with antigrav units like those used on the lighter and therefore faster air cars.
Della smiled. The same smile she had smiled after finding a fugitive with a price on his head. The helicopter would have at least one officer aboard. A soon-to-be-dead officer.
The bounty hunter looked around her blind. It would have to be good, very good, because from the moment she fired, the air cars, helicopter, and Sol knew what else would be all over the place.
Rather than run as she had in the past, Della planned to stay right where she was, and depend on her hiding place to protect her.
She and Wexel-15 had constructed the blind the night before. It had started as a small cave on the steep scree-covered hillside.
By cleaning out some of the bigger pieces of rock, and walling off the entrance, they had created a rather snug little hide.
Snug, but far from invulnerable. Della knew she would get one shot and one shot only. More than that and they would almost certainly spot her.
The helicopter disappeared as it dropped down below the view offered by that particular chink in the rocks.
Della raised the rifle and placed the butt against her shoulder. The weapon felt as if it had been custom-designed for her body, which it had. The butt snugged up against her shoulder just so, the grip molded itself to the shape of her hand, and the sight seemed to meld with the contours of her face.
Della slipped the barrel out through a hole created for that exact purpose. The barrel was equipped with a flash suppressor and a loose-fitting sleeve that had been dyed to match the color of the surrounding rock.
She touched the button mounted on the left side of the pistol-style grip. Video blossomed as the electronic sight came to life. Faces blurred as she swept across the prisoners and found the helicopter. Bushes danced and swayed as gigantic skids touched the ground.
Della moved the weapon a hair to the right so that the electronic cross hairs made an X right in the center of the door gunner's chest. The trooper wore body armor but it would be no match for the bounty hunter's high-velocity ammunition. But Della had other higher-ranking targets in min
d.
The gunner looked right and left checking for danger. Nothing. Another trooper appeared at his side. The second trooper handed the first trooper an assault rifle. Both of them jumped to the ground. Bodyguards. The big cheese would appear any second now.
Della sucked in a long slow breath. Ten seconds passed, twenty, and then thirty. She let the breath out. What the hell? Had the officer slipped out the other side of the chopper? Wait a minute….
Della moved her weapon to the left. She'd been had! The bodyguards were gone! At least one of them had been an officer. The bastards were getting smart. Remove your insignia, blend in, dump protocol. It was all SOP for the field. The only surprise was how long it had taken the Il Ronnians to implement it.
The three fighters made an earth-shaking roar as they swept in out of the sun. The centermost aircraft fired a pair of air-to-ground missiles toward the mouth of the drain pipe while the other two strafed the opposing hillsides. A surefire way to suppress sniper fire and anything else the constructs might have up their sleeves. The missiles hit and exploded with loud crumps.
Della jerked the barrel of her weapon back inside the cave and curled up in a little ball. All it would take would be one cannon shell to turn her cave into an instant tomb.
The cannon shells made a loud cracking sound as they hit the hillside above her, exploded, and sent miniature avalanches down toward the valley below.
Then, just as quickly as they had come, the fighters were gone. Recalled to fly high cover for the reaction team that had arrived from Fire Base One.
Della opened her eyes and looked around. The cave was completely dark. An avalanche of loose dirt and rock had sealed her in. She felt very, very frightened.
Teex placed hands on hips and looked out over the prisoners. Even though they were untouched by the initial firefight, and the subsequent counterattacks, the female constructs were shocked and dazed. Many cried, whimpered, or both. Taken together they made a low keening sound that got on his nerves. He spoke without looking at the noncom by his side, a rather average-sized trooper who towered over him nonetheless.
Drifter's War Page 16