When All Seems Los lotd-7

by William C. Dietz

  “What do you see?” Footfast wanted to know, as he thought about his family. His father had been killed during the initial attack. He knew that because he’d seen the body. But what about his mother? And his sister? The bandits did horrible things to females—and there was a profound emptiness at the pit of the youngster’s stomach as he looked out over the valley.

  “The village looks normal,” Santana answered honestly, as he panned the binos from left to right. “Except for the fact that the streets are virtually empty, new stone walls have been constructed, and the holding pens are jampacked with dooths.”

  “We must attack,” Footfast said fi?rmly. “Give me a weapon. . . . I will go fi?rst.”

  Santana lowered the binos as another two-hour-andforty-two-minute day started to fade. “You are very brave,” the legionnaire said soberly. “But it will take more than bravery to win. We must be smart as well.”

  The Naa had silvery fur with horizontal streaks of black on his cheeks. His pupils were yellow. “You have a plan?”

  “Yes,” Santana answered. “I have a plan.”

  The council room where the village chieftain and the elders met to resolve disputes, plan for the future, and bemoan the taxes that the new government had started to impose had been transformed into a chamber of horrors. The air stank of alcohol, vomit, and urine. Large sections of the wooden fl?oor were sticky with congealed blood, and nit bugs were feeding on it.

  The bandit leader was seated at the west end of the room, in the large almost thronelike wooden chair normally reserved for the village chief. A rather unfortunate old geezer, who along with the rest of his council, was suspended along the hall’s northern wall. It was an excellent vantage point from which to watch the eight females who hung spreadeagled along the south wall, where they had been systematically gang-raped. Two of them were unconscious, and most had had been cut, burned, or beaten. Eventually, when his warriors began to complain, Throatcut would order up a new batch of playthings. But the dozen or so warriors who were currently pleasuring themselves with the females seemed happy enough, so there was no need to summon additional villagers as yet.

  The thronelike chair, as well as its position on a raised platform, provided Throatcut with an unobstructed view of the head-high pile of loot stacked in front of him. Some of it wasn’t all that valuable. The brass incense burners and copper cookware were good examples. But there was plenty of silver, too, the Naa thought to himself, as he took another swig of beer. Not to mention some gold, and lots of Legionissued coinage, which could be exchanged for the new money that the government had promised to release. Much of the loot had been taken from unsuspecting caravans that continued to enter Throatcut’s trap.

  But nothing lasts forever. The bandit leader knew that and was already working on a new plan. His original gang of desperados had been so successful that entire bands of brigands had requested permission to join up, thereby swelling his overall force to about a 170 warriors. Approximately twenty of whom had been killed during the assault on Deepwell. That left Throatcut with a force of about 150, which seemed like a good thing at fi?rst, but was actually something of a two-edged sword. Because while the bigger force enabled Throatcut to tackle large settlements like Deepwell, it also meant a lot of mouths to feed, and it was bound to attract unwanted attention. So, rather than keep the entire force together, the bandit was contemplating the possibility of splitting it into three fi?fty-warrior units when a breathless Salwa Obobwa passed through the door at the far end of the long rectangular room and hurried forward. “Hey, boss,” the human said, as he stopped just short of the platform. “Doothman says a caravan is coming in from the north. We’re talking six heavily loaded wagons, maybe fi?fty dooths, and a Legionsurplus RAV (Robotic All-terrain Vehicle).”

  Throatcut frowned. “What about guards?”

  Obobwa shrugged. “The usual. About twelve warriors, all armed with rifl?es, plus half a dozen females.”

  The fact that the wagons were heavily loaded struck Throatcut as promising, but not as interesting as the wagons themselves, which were still something of a rarity on Algeron. Because it was only recently, during the last fi?ve years or so, that the main caravan routes had been improved to the point where dooth-drawn conveyances were practical. And Throatcut could make use of the wagons to transport his loot to a safer location. As for the RAV, well, that would constitute something of a bonus, since the four-legged robot could handle rough terrain and transport up to four thousand pounds’ worth of freight while doing so. His freight, since the notion of separating his share of the loot from all the rest appealed to Throatcut, who had very little reason to trust his subordinates.

  “Okay,” the bandit leader responded. “Assign someone to sort this pile of loot. The cheap stuff stays here. Everything else will go onto the wagons once we capture them. Confi?scate all the booze. I want our people sober when the fi?ghting starts. Check every warrior and every weapon. Fill their bellies with a hot meal and position them the same way you did last time. And tell Deaver to load Lindo’s missiles. You never know when one of the Legion’s fl?yforms might happen by.”

  That was a lot to accomplish in a relatively short period of time, but Obobwa knew better than to complain. “Okay, boss,” the human replied obediently. “I’m on it.”

  *

  *

  *

  In spite of the fact that he was a cavalry offi?cer, Santana had never ridden a dooth before and was extremely conscious of the fact that the big woolly beast was in charge as it carried him south. Fortunately, the animal was relatively docile and capable of navigating the road on its own. That left the heavily swathed human to rock back and forth in concert with the dooth’s movements while he eyed the countryside ahead, terrain he had already seen and memorized thanks to the satellite imagery provided by Madame X. The fi?rst obstacles to overcome were a pair of stone fortresses located to either side of the road just north of the village. The “twins,” as they were known, were three stories high, and served to anchor the thick stone walls that extended both east and west. The fortifi?cations had originally been constructed to protect Deepwell’s residents from neighbors to the north. But those days were largely over, which meant that the big iron-strapped gates remained open most of the time, allowing caravans to pass through. Real caravans, unlike the procession of six wagons and a single RAV that were strung out behind Santana. There were no signs of activity on or around the blocky fortifi?cations as the legionnaires drew closer. But the offi?cer could feel the weight of bandit eyes as they scrutinized every detail of the approaching caravan. And even though Santana and his bio bods were bundled up Naa style, their faces being concealed by the long scarves that the locals typically wore, the legionnaire continued to worry that some detail of equipage would give his troops away. An assault weapon that was too new, the way the wagons were sprung, or any of a thousand other details. Because even though Santana was confi?dent that he and his troops could fi?ght their way into Deepwell, he wanted to avoid that if at all possible. First, because the element of surprise was more likely to deliver a quick and decisive victory. Secondly, because the people of Deepwell had already suffered greatly, and the legionnaire hoped to retake their village without leveling the community in the process. And third, because the offi?cer wanted Team Zebra to understand the importance of fi?nesse. A quality that would be critical on Jericho.

  And so it was that dooths snorted, wagons creaked, and RAV servos whined as the caravan passed between the twin towers and followed the gently curving road down the center of the valley toward the apparently peaceful village beyond. Except that it wasn’t peaceful—as the scrambled transmission made clear. “X-Ray Two to Alpha Six,”

  a female voice said casually. “I have you on LW-6 almost directly overhead. Hostiles fi?ve-fi?ve, repeat fi?ve-fi?ve, are assembled on the right side of the main road as it passes through the village. An unknown number of hostiles are hidden inside structures as well. The rest of bandit force Delta is located at the s
outh end of the village facing north. Over.”

  Santana clicked his transmit button twice by way of an acknowledgment. By lining up along one side of the road, the bandits hoped to kill the incoming bio bods without fi?ring on their own people. And, if he and his companions were lucky enough to survive that assault, another trap was waiting at the south end of the valley. Throatcut is careful, Santana thought to himself. You have to give the bastard that.

  But Santana had no intention of leading the fi?rst platoon into a free-fi?re zone. So as his dooth drew level with the fi?rst east–west side street, the legionnaire issued orders. “Alpha Six to Alpha Two-Six, and Alpha Three-Six. Plan A. Streets left and right. Execute. Over.”

  There was a series of clicks as Sergeants Maria Gomez and Husulu Ibo-Da acknowledged the order. The fi?rst wagon followed Santana as he turned left. The second went right, and so forth, until the entire caravan had disappeared off Deepwell’s main street. That was when more orders were issued, and the heavy tarpaulins were thrown aside as the T-2s rolled off the transports and activated their weapons.

  There were seven cyborgs in all, three to a squad, plus Santana’s mount. Her name was Norly Snyder. She had been a corporal back when the two fi?rst met on LaNor. Running into her at Fort Camerone had been the result of good luck. But removing the borg from the outfi?t to which she’d been assigned had taken pull. The kind of high-gee pull that only someone like General Bill Booly could exert.

  So as Santana slid down off the big dooth and handed the reins to Footfast, the big Trooper II was ready and waiting. The offi?cer was in a hurry as he took his place behind the cyborg’s big blocky head and plugged into the T-2’s com system. “Alpha Six to Alpha Two-Six and Alpha Three-Six,” the offi?cer said. “Let’s stick to the plan. Over.”

  “Roger that,” Gomez responded. “Two-Six out.”

  “I copy,” Ibo-Da added. “Three-Six out.”

  And with that simple acknowledgment a unit that consisted of a crooked gambler, a convicted murderer, a sexual psychopath, a raving man-hater, a suicidal cyborg, and a woman who had tortured two Ramanthian prisoners to death swung into action. Meanwhile, a group of Naa volunteers gathered the fi?rst squad’s dooths together and prepared to defend themselves if attacked.

  Throatcut knew something was wrong by that time and had already begun to respond. “It’s a trick!” the onearmed Naa shouted over his handheld com set. “Close with them! Kill them now!”

  But the invading T-2s were already in motion by then. Santana led the fi?rst squad east, and Snyder had already turned the corner of the last building, when a group of bio bods boiled out of a side street. Rather than pause, as the hostiles might have expected her to, Snyder ran straight at them. The distance closed with surprising speed as the cyborg brought an arm up and began to fi?re her .50-caliber machine gun. The entire front rank went down like wheat to a thresher. That caused the second rank to break and scatter.

  “Pull up,” Santana ordered, as Snyder placed her right foot pod on a wounded Naa and crushed the life out of him. “Give the rest of the squad a chance to catch up with us.” Then on the radio: “Three-Six? This is Alpha Six. . . . Give me a sitrep.”

  “We’re in position,” Ibo-Da replied laconically. “Over.”

  “Okay. . . . Let’s squeeze them. Six out.”

  By prior agreement, the fi?rst squad turned toward the west, the second squad pivoted east, and they began to close in on each other. The whole idea was to squeeze the bandits into an increasingly compact mass. Fifty-caliber machine guns thumped in the distance, assault weapons chattered, and Santana heard a metallic ping as an enemy slug fl?attened itself against Snyder’s chest armor. “They’re up on the roofs!” the cyborg warned. “Hold on!”

  Santana felt Snyder start to sprint, and because the cavalry offi?cer knew what to expect, he bent his knees to absorb some of the shock as the T-2 jumped fi?fteen feet into the air and landed on a fl?at roof. The sniper had begun to backpedal by then, but barely managed to fi?re a single shot before a bolt of blue energy burned a fi?st-sized hole through his chest.

  That was the good news. The bad news was that a human holding a shoulder-launched missile (SLM) had just popped up out of a stairway and was preparing to fi?re his weapon. Snyder had started to turn, but knew she would never make it in time, which left Santana to deal with the threat. He stuck a hand into the bag that hung at his side, felt for a grenade, and pulled it free. What felt like an hour passed as the offi?cer pulled the pin, threw the bomb, and ducked.

  There was a loud bang, followed by an even louder secondary explosion, as the missile blew. Flying shrapnel made a rattling sound as it struck the T-2’s armored body. “Good one, sir,” Snyder commented mildly. “But you might want to warn me next time. . . . That stuff stings!”

  “Sorry, Sergeant,” Santana replied. “I’ll try to do better. . . . How ’bout the next roof? Can you make it?”

  “Let’s fi?nd out,” Snyder replied, as she took six giant strides and launched herself into the air. But rather than land on the roof as she had the time before, the big cyborg crashed through it, and into the room below. Six bandits, all of whom were busy fi?ring at Alpha TwoOne through the store’s slit-style windows, were caught by surprise as the T-2 and its rider fell through the roof and landed immediately behind them. Dust billowed, and loose debris continued to fall, as one of the bandits said,

  “Oh, shit,” and tried to bring his weapon to bear. What followed was a murderous frenzy of closequarters mayhem as both Snyder and Santana opened fi?re, and the bandits fought back. But the bio bods couldn’t see through the swirling dust, and the cyborg could, since the enemy heat signatures were plain as day. The entire exchange of gunfi?re was over within fi?ve seconds. But short though the unexpected engagement was, Santana had been fi?ghting rather than leading. It was a loss of situational awareness that could cost the company dearly. Especially when battling a numerically superior force armed with SLMs. “Get me out of here,” Santana ordered, as he fi?red at a fi?gure in the surrounding gloom.

  “Your wish is my command,” the cyborg replied cheerfully, as she kicked a hole in the stone wall. “Watch your head!”

  Santana ducked as the T-2 stepped through the newly made door and out into the rubble-strewn street. Two bandits lay dead where they had fallen, their bodies surrounded by a halo of spent brass.

  Without benefi?t of the usual helmet, and heads-up display (HUD), the company commander couldn’t access an electronic display showing the way in which his troops were deployed. That meant Santana had to rely on what he could actually see, hear, and to some extent feel as the battle progressed. And not all of the news was good. Three explosions shook the ground as a voice spoke in Santana’s ear. “Alpha Three-Six to Alpha Six. Over.”

  “This is Six,” Santana replied. “Go.”

  “I have a problem,” the Hudathan replied. “Alpha Three-Five committed suicide. Over.”

  Despite the fact that Husulu Ibo-Da had been courtmartialed for killing a cowardly offi?cer, Santana had put the big noncom in charge of the fi?rst platoon’s second squad, knowing that if anyone could keep the convicts in line, Ibo-Da could. And now, assuming that the Hudathan was telling the truth, his T-2, a head case named Lazlo Kappa, was dead. Why was anybody’s guess. Although it was common knowledge that the cyborg had been convicted of negligence where a friendly-fi?re incident was concerned. “What the hell happened? Over.”

  “I was forced to dismount in order to retrieve an enemy com set, and the minute my back was turned, Five took off down the main street. He was yelling, ‘Shoot me!’ and they did. Three times. The last SLM took his head off. Over.”

  Santana remembered the explosions he’d heard earlier and swore. Because as a result of Kappa’s death he was one T-2 short, one of his squad leaders was on foot, and valuable time had been lost. “Okay, keep up as best you can. . . . First platoon, form on me, we’re going to take this party downtown. Over.”

  Snyder turned left onto the
main street, and units from both squads followed. The wreckage of Kappa’s war form was scattered far and wide. “This is X-ray Two,” the female voice said. “There are approximately three-zero, repeat three-zero, XL heat sigs moving north toward your position. Over.”

  Santana said, “Roger that,” and was just about to issue orders when the ground began to shake, and a swirling mass of fear-crazed dooths appeared to the south. The stampeding animals fi?lled the street from side to side as they sought to escape the spear-brandishing bandits who pursued them from behind. It was a clever strategy on Throatcut’s part and a very real threat. Because if the dooths could knock the T-2s down, the bandits could attack the cyborgs with SLMs, grenades, and rifl?e fi?re. But there wasn’t enough time to retreat. That left the cavalry offi?cer with a single choice.

  “Stand fast!” Santana ordered, as rifl?e shots were heard, and a wall of fl?esh and bone thundered toward them. “First rank, kneel! Prepare to fi?re! Fire! Second rank, prepare to fi?re. . . . Fire!”

  Even though there hadn’t been much time in which to prepare, the net effect was to focus the combined fi?repower of six Trooper IIs and seven bio bods on the charging animals. The results were horrendous. The front rank of dooths seemed to falter as the full weight of the fi?re swept across them. Their heads went down, and some of the big beasts completed full somersaults, as a blood mist rose to envelope the oncoming herd.