When Duty Calls lotd-8

by William C. Dietz

  the clone explained. “Most can’t harm you directly, but the Nerovs can track them, and that’s a problem. It’s diffi?cult for low-power signals to reach the surface from down here, and we have scramblers, but it pays to be careful.”

  Mary was nearly naked by then—and Vanderveen could see why the fi?rst Yee had been chosen for her job. The prostitute had large breasts, a fl?at stomach, and a nicely rounded bottom. A female nurse entered the room, and Mary was quick to climb up on the examining table and spread her long slim legs. Then, as the diplomat began to remove her pantsuit, the cleaning process began. It consisted of examining the clone’s body through a pair of high-tech goggles, removing the tiny machines with a pair of tweezers, and dropping each of them into an acid bath.

  Ten minutes later it was Vanderveen’s turn. But at least the naked diplomat knew what to expect, even if the process was embarrassing, and seemed to last forever. Finally, having been declared “clean,” Vanderveen was free to get down off the table and put on a new set of clothes. They were at least one size too large and anything but fashionable. Alan and Mary were waiting outside. After the threesome were cleared through the second barrier, the diplomat was taken on a tour. Strangers were a rarity, so people had a tendency to stare. Vanderveen tried to ignore that, as she was led through a brightly painted cafeteria, family-style living quarters, and into a school full of free-breeder children. “This is what we’re fi?ghting for,”

  Mary said tightly, as the visitors looked in on a room full of preteen children. “It’s too late for people like Alan and me—

  but they will be able to lead normal lives.”

  “But only if we win,” Alan said harshly. “Otherwise, the death squads will fi?nd the children and kill them.”

  “So, you’ll do it?” Mary wanted to know. “You’ll take our message to your government?”

  Vanderveen eyed the room and the children before turning back to Alan and Mary. “Yes,” the diplomat assured them. “I will carry your message to my government. But, will they listen? That’s anybody’s guess.”

  6

  There is many a boy here today who looks on war as all glory, but, boys, it is all hell.

  —Union General William Tecumseh ShermanSpeech at Columbus, Ohio

  Standard year 1880

  PLANET GAMMA-014, THE CLONE HEGEMONY

  The assault boat shuddered as it bucked its way down through the atmosphere, and the men, women, and cyborgs of Alpha Company, 2nd Battalion, 1st REC waited to fi?nd out if they were going to live or die. Because in spite of the fact that the invasion of Gamma-014 was less than six hours old, the attack had already been described as a “fucking disaster” by General Kobbi, who was certainly in a position to know. The opinion had not been shared with the troops, lest it erode their morale, but Captain Antonio Santana was cognizant of it. All because Commanding General-453 was an idiot.

  The campaign to defeat the Ramanthian navy, or chase it away, had gone smoothly. Perhaps too smoothly in the opinion of some, who were aware of General Oro Akoto’s reputation, and wondered if the wily Ramanthian wanted the allies to land. But General-453 had been quick to categorize all such theories as “defeatist nonsense,” as he and his mostly clone staff hurried to harvest what they felt certain would be a quick and painless victory. The only problem was that most of the people in the fi?rst wave, which was almost entirely comprised of Jonathan Alan Seebos, were slaughtered as they landed—in large part because they put down in all of the most predictable places.

  And so, rather than the victorious battle footage that General-453 had been counting on for consumption back home, he was forced to watch video of his clone brothers being shot down as they stumbled out of burning assault boats, were blown to smithereens by Ramanthian artillery, and crushed by Ramanthian tanks.

  But rather than question his strategy, which would have been to admit that he’d been wrong, General-453 chose to throw more troops at the same objectives. Which meant that as the 1st Regiment Etranger de Cavalerie (1st REC), the 2nd Regiment Etranger d’Infanterie (2nd REI), and the 4th Regiment Etranger (4th RE) dropped into Gamma-014’s turbulent atmosphere, they were slated to land right in the middle of the same free-fi?re zones that the dead Seebos had. And Santana knew that Lieutenant Colonel Quinlan’s battalion, which was to say both Alpha and Bravo Companies, had been given a generous slice of a very ugly pie. Specifi?cally, a long, U-shaped valley that had a Class III hydroelectric plant sitting at its south end. Where, thanks to the ingenuity of General Akoto’s forces, the electricity intended for the city of Prosperity, which was located some thirty miles to the east, had been redirected to a battery of three surface-to-orbit (STO) energy cannons. These world-class weapons had already been responsible for the loss of a destroyer escort and numerous smaller ships. The assault boat rocked as an antiaircraft round exploded nearby and the pilot spoke over the intercom. “Sorry about the rough ride, folks. . . . But we’re fi?ve from dirt, so I’d like to be the fi?rst, and probably the only person to welcome you to Gamma-014! Don’t forget to take personal items with you, duck on the way out, and give my regards to the bugs.”

  That produced a chorus of chuckles, as the platoon leaders ordered their people to, “lock and load.” The ship lurched as the wash from an exploding rocket hit the hull, sideslipped toward the ground, and seemed to fall the last few feet. There was a solid jolt as the skids hit hard and bullets began to rattle against the armored hull as the stern ramp made contact with the ground.

  Privates Ivan Lupo and Simy Xiong were slated to exit the ship fi?rst and knew how important the next ten minutes would be. Because it was their job to suppress the incoming fi?re and provide the other legionnaires with an opportunity to exit the ship unharmed. So the hulking cyborgs lumbered down onto the ground, turned in opposite directions, and took up positions to either side of the slab-sided ship. Targeting data was acquired, prioritized, and acted on as both war forms opened fi?re. And, because each fi?fty-ton behemoth mounted dual autoloading missile launchers, four gang-mounted energy cannons, and an electronically driven Gatling gun, that was a sight to see! Especially as the cyborgs settled in over their vulnerable legs and transformed themselves into low-profi?le pillboxes.

  As Santana rode Deker out of the ship’s cargo bay, he saw that the assault boat had put down next to a burned-out hulk. Judging from the still-steaming bodies that lay scattered about, all of the Seebos on that fi?rst ill-fated boat had clearly been killed. However, based on the fact that a platoon of clones had taken cover in a fi?re-blackened crater and were fi?ring on targets to the east, it appeared that a subsequent landing had been more successful. The entire area was littered with half-empty ammo boxes, packaging for battle dressings, and cast-off equipment.

  As the Seebos continued to huddle in their shell crater, the quads targeted Ramanthian mortars, artillery pieces, and the deadly multiple-launch rocket systems located on both sides of the valley. Outgoing missiles roared off their rails, bolts of coherent energy stuttered across the battlefi?eld, and dark columns of soil were thrown high into the air as secondary explosions echoed between the valley walls. Shortly after that, Santana saw the volume of incoming fi?re begin to dwindle and knew that Alpha Company was making progress. Meanwhile the Seebos came boiling up out of the crater, or tried to, but were driven back when Santana ordered Deker to open fi?re. Three bursts from the T-2’s armmounted fi?fty were suffi?cient to push the clones back. “Take me down into that hole,” Santana said over the intercom, and switched to the company push. “This is Alpha Six. . . . Let’s get the wounded out of that crater and onto the ship. Watch for fakers though. . . . It looks like some of those guys would like to take the rest of the day off. Alpha OneFour and Bravo One-Four will prepare to board troops. Both platoons will orient on target Alpha and prepare to advance. The fi?rst platoon will protect the company’s left fl?ank and the second will cover the right. Out.”

  The entire battalion had been assigned to attack the STO

  battery,
but having seen no sign of either Colonel Quinlan or Bravo Company, Santana knew his unit might have to tackle the objective alone. A scary thought indeed. The wounded clones had been carried aboard the assault boat by that time and engines screamed as the ship began to lift. “Hey, you!” one of the Seebos said angrily, as Deker carried him down into the body-strewn crater. “How dare you fi?re on us! Bring the assault boat back. . . . The navy is supposed to extract us!”

  There was a resounding boom as a shoulder-launched missile hit the ship’s port engine, blew a hole in it, and caused the boat to roll. It landed upside down, skidded for about fi?fty feet, and burst into fl?ames. Santana was pleased to see two fi?gures crawl out of the inverted cockpit and scurry away. But the wounded weren’t so lucky. The company commander’s voice boomed through speakers built into the war form’s body as he turned back toward the clone. “And you are?”

  “Lieutenant Jonathan Alan Seebo-179,620,” the clone offi?cer answered haughtily, as a spent round hit Deker’s chest. It made a pinging sound as it bounced off.

  “My name is Santana,” the legionnaire replied evenly.

  “And I command Alpha Company, 2nd Battalion, 1st REC.

  You and your men can help us take that power plant or die in this crater. Which would you prefer?”

  The clone heard a bullet zing over his head and scowled resentfully. “We’ll come with you.”

  “Good choice,” Santana replied. “Your call sign will be Alpha Two-Zero. Split your men between the quads—and let’s get the hell out of here.”

  The Ramanthian in command of the powerful STO battery at the south end of the valley chose that moment to fi?re a salvo. The energy cannons were so powerful that the energy bolts they fi?red broke the sound barrier before they disappeared into space. The recoil caused the ground to shake. The better part of fi?fteen minutes would pass before the gun emplacement’s huge accumulators could store enough power to fi?re again. “Damn!” Deker exclaimed, as he carried the company commander up out of the crater. “Why don’t the swabbies bomb those things?”

  “The Intel people say the bugs have more than a thousand civilians locked up under that gun emplacement,” Santana replied grimly. “So it’s up to us.”

  Deker chose to accept the explanation, but both legionnaires knew that the bugs might very well execute the POWs, especially if it looked like the STO weapons were about to be captured. As the Seebos scurried aboard the quads, and Deker found level ground, Sergeant Suresee Fareye made his report. Like Dietrich, the Naa had served with Santana before, and had an almost supernatural ability to fi?nd his way through any terrain. He was mounted on Private Ka Nhan, and the two legionnaires were concealed in a farm building approximately one mile south of the burnedout crater. “Alpha Six-Four to Alpha Six. Over.”

  “This is Six,” Santana replied, as he glanced at the data projected onto his HUD. “Go.”

  “Four, repeat four, Gantha II tanks are coming out to play,” Fareye said, as he peered out through a hole in the south wall of a barn. Six genetically perfect cattle had been left in the building, and they bawled miserably as the Naa continued his report. “The Ganthas are supported by a couple dozen armored personnel carriers all loaded with troops. Estimated time to fi?rst contact fi?ve minutes. Over.”

  Santana swore silently. Even though he’d been aware that the Ramanthians would probably throw some tanks at him the legionnaire had been hoping for more time. A quick look at the HUD confi?rmed that the wind was blowing up the valley toward the dam. “Roger that,” he replied. “Pull back, Six-Four. . . . Alpha Six to Alpha One-Six. Send the fi?rst squad forward to lay smoke east to west. . . . But I don’t want them sucked into a fi?refi?ght. Out.”

  “This is Alpha One-Six,” Lieutenant Lucy Amoyo replied.

  “Smoke but don’t engage. We’re going in. Out.”

  The last sentence seemed to indicate that Amoyo was planning to lead the evolution personally in spite of Santana’s instructions to “. . . send the fi?rst squad up.” And a quick check of the ITC confi?rmed that impression. A fraction of a second passed while the company commander considered the pros and cons of pulling the platoon leader back. Then, having decided that no great harm was likely to come of Amoyo’s decision, Santana let the matter go. Alpha Company was up to full speed by that time, closing with the enemy at a combined speed of thirty miles per hour as chits on both sides of the valley continued to fi?re on them. Having called for air support, Dietrich gave a grunt of approval as a pair of navy Daggers roared overhead, and banked over the dam. Triple A burst all around the fi?ghters. One of them lost a wing and tumbled into a cliff, where it exploded. Consistent with their instructions, the second fi?ghter made a run at the tanks. A stick of bombs fell, explosions blossomed, and one of the beetle-shaped monsters took a direct hit. “This is Rover Four-Zero,” the pilot said laconically, as she passed over the company. “I’m running on fumes—sorry we couldn’t do more. Over.”

  Dietrich thought about the pilot who had just lost his or her life. “You did good, Four-Zero, real good. Thanks. Over.”

  Meanwhile, having arrived at a point halfway between the Ramanthians and Alpha Company, Amoyo took a sharp right-hand turn and led the fi?rst squad toward the west side of the valley. That was more diffi?cult than it sounded because there were irrigation ditches, dry-fi?tted stone walls, and other obstacles to leap over. Not to mention the Cyon River, which was a good six feet deep at that point, and moving at a steady fi?ve miles per hour.

  But the T-2s were more than up to the challenge and were moving so fast that, when the enemy tanks opened fi?re on them, the chits inside the big, beetle-shaped machines weren’t able to traverse their secondary weapons fast enough to catch up with the agile cyborgs.

  So as geysers of soil and rock followed the legionnaires across the valley, Amoyo and her bio bods were free to sow smoke grenades like seeds. Each bomb produced a cloud of dense black smoke that would not only prevent the bugs from seeing Alpha Company but block targeting lasers and enemy range fi?nders as well. And, thanks to the tiny bits of burning plastic that were ejected by the grenades, the screen was at least partially effective against thermal-imaging devices, too. Amoyo swore as her T-2 jumped into the ice-cold river. The water had risen all the way up to her waist before the cyborg made it to the other side, where he splashed up onto the bank. The good news was that her mission had been accomplished, but now she was on the west side of the valley, and cut off from the rest of her platoon. Suddenly she understood why Captain Santana wanted Staff Sergeant Briggs to take the fi?rst squad out. And, as if to reinforce the lesson just learned, the company commander put Dietrich in charge of the rest of her platoon. His voice fl?ooded the company push.

  “Alpha Six-Two will take command of the second squad, fi?rst platoon. Out.”

  Amoyo heard Master Sergeant Dietrich say, “This is SixTwo. Roger, that. Out.” That left her with no option but to wheel toward the enemy and thereby reinforce the company’s right fl?ank.

  Santana saw the change on the ITC and grinned as the wall of black smoke gradually blew toward the south. “This is Alpha Six. Let’s hook the bastards! Out.” Everyone in the company knew what Santana meant, because the “buffalo horns”

  formation dated back to the Zulu War of 1879, and involved the use of fl?anking elements or “horns” to at least partially encircle the enemy, while the “chest” or main force came up the middle. In this case, the main force consisted of two badly outgunned quads. Had Bravo Company been present there would have been four quads and something like parity. Still, it wasn’t as if Santana had a choice, given the fact that the bugs weren’t likely to surrender. As the Ramanthians rolled into the smoke, the fi?rst and second platoons circled around them, turned inwards, and immediately came into contact with the enemy’s APCs. The troops weren’t all that dangerous, not so long as they remained sealed inside their durasteel boxes, but the vehicles they were riding in carried grenade launchers and machine guns. The automatic weapons chatter
ed madly as the T-2s entered a hellish world of drifting smoke, blazing guns, and fi?ery explosions. A place where Santana, like the bio bods all around him, was reduced to little more than baggage as Deker went to work. The key to survival inside the war fog was speed and agility. Deker cut between two dimly seen APCs, fi?ring both his fi?fty and energy cannon as he ran. The bullets failed to penetrate Ramanthian armor, but one of his energy bolts scored a direct hit on a track, which brought one machine to a halt.

  In the meantime, even though Santana was being thrown back and forth like a sack of potatoes, it was his job to monitor the ITC and make sure that the melee didn’t get out of hand. “Watch for friendlies,” the company commander cautioned. “We have enough opposition without shooting at each other. Out.”

  But the cautionary advice came too late for Private Steelgrip Cutright, who was decapitated by an energy bolt fi?red by Corporal Bin Han. So that, as Cutright’s T-2 continued to fi?ght, his headless body fl?opped back and forth, spewing blood in every direction. Nor was Cutright the company’s only casualty. Because some of the enemy APCs had discharged their troops by then, and bio bod Kai Hayasaki and cyborg Bin Batain both lost their lives when a shoulderlaunched missile struck them. Fortunately such incidents were rare thanks to all the smoke and the speed with which the T-2s could move.

  But speedy or not, the smaller war forms had been unable to so much as scratch the Gantha tanks as the Ramanthians opened fi?re. The fi?rst rounds fell short of the quads but threw columns of dirt high into the air, which meant that the Seebos riding inside the quadrupeds could hear what sounded like a hailstorm as rocks and soil rained down on the metal above their heads. It didn’t take a genius to know that the big war form was being targeted, and that wasn’t fair. Not to Lieutenant-620’s way of thinking. Because having survived the horrors of the crater—the offi?cer felt that he and his men deserved something better than death in a metal box.