No, Molly realized, they couldn't. The fact that they served while she did nothing had blinded them to the way things really were. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the girls left the room.
"And so," Pong said, plucking a grape and popping it into his mouth, "that completes our review. The government's forces are strong, but so are yours, and with the addition of my troops the advantage is ours."
Marsha Harrington nodded agreeably. Pong's presentation had compared favorably with the reports of her own intelligence apparatus. Not only that, but the mercenary had kept self-serving exaggeration to a minimum. She liked that. There was only one question left.
"An excellent presentation. Thank you, General. One more question before we leave. Can you tell us anything about my father? With hostilities only hours away, and his home almost completely unprotected, we can't help but worry."
Pong did his best to look appropriately concerned. He searched his memory and came up empty. Damn. There were so many things to track. The mind slug filled the gap. Pong seized the information and put it to use.
"Of course. I'm pleased to report that a special operations team under the command of Captain Roland Blake has landed on Drang and is en route to your father's home. They should reach the mansion within the next few hours."
Marsha Harrington beamed, while her brother nodded dutifully, and her cousin examined perfect nails. "Thank you, General Pong. I can tell we are in good hands. To a successful campaign." She raised her wine glass.
Pong smiled and raised his wine glass in return. "Yes. To a successful campaign."
Twenty-One
McCade and the rest of his team were spread out along the edge of a dry riverbank. Five miles of reddish desert stretched away in front of them, the last five miles before their objective, and the most dangerous of all.
The problem was that they were quickly running out of time. They'd been forced to hide twice, once when the soft rumble of engines filled the air, and again when spotlights made tunnels through the night. They'd escaped on both occasions but paid a price in time.
Now a jagged line of light had crept its way across the horizon and separated earth from sky. The bushlike plants that dotted the desert had begun to stir, waking from night-long hibernation, to creep up and out of the river bottoms.
Within an hour or so they would line the top of the riverbanks like a silver hedge, soaking up energy with their shiny leaves and storing it against the cold of night.
Later, when temperatures started to soar, they would retreat to the river bottoms and the shade cast by high-cut banks. From there the plants would sink tap roots down toward the water hidden deep below.
Which is line for the plants, McCade reflected, but doesn't help us at all. When the sun comes up we're dead.
McCade flipped up his visor and took a look through the binoculars. He panned from left to right. Nothing. It made him nervous. Where were the robo sentries they'd briefed him on? There weren't many, that was true. Maybe four or five in the entire Zephyr defense zone. But given the fact that they stood nearly three stories tall, and carried enough armament to destroy a light tank, how many did the government need? One would be enough.
Well, robo sentries or no, they couldn't wait any longer. McCade stashed the binoculars and activated the team freq.
"Okay, listen up. We've been lucky so far, but don't get overconfident. There could be all sorts of stuff up ahead. Keep your eyes open and pay attention. And if you notice something that stands about thirty feet tall, and has lots of weapons sticking out of it, don't hesitate to let me know."
There were chuckles followed by some rude comments.
McCade grinned. "Okay, let's hit it. Maintain your spacing, and watch where you put your feet."
"Yeah," Martino added wryly, "you could step in some deep doo-doo."
Nobody laughed.
McCade waved Evans and Kirchoff forward, gave them a few seconds to take the lead, and followed. After hours of running it was easy to slip into a ground-eating jog.
The desert was deceptively beautiful in the early morning light. A soft inviting palette of earth tones that gave no hint of the searing heat yet to come.
The ground was treacherous however, full of holes that could turn an ankle, and loose gravel that skittered underfoot.
But time passed and McCade began to relax. The town of Zephyr was clearly visible from every rise, a cluster of twinkling lights, shimmering in the distance. A peaceful sight reminiscent of small towns everywhere.
Then came a cracking sound. The force of the explosion threw Evans ten feet into the air. Her body cartwheeled and landed with a heavy thump.
Phil yelled, "Land mine!" over the team freq and everyone came to a sudden halt. A quick check confirmed that Evans was dead.
McCade swore under his breath. Another casualty. Another life gone in defense of what? Of the combine's right to line its pockets? What a waste.
The team hurried to pile loose rocks on top of Evans' body. She'd get a formal burial after the main force landed if things went well.
A trooper named Slotman carried their only mine detector. He took the point and waved the wandlike device in front of him like a shaman seeking water. The rest followed, careful to stay in line behind him, slowed to little more than a fast walk.
McCade wanted Slotman to move faster but resisted the urge to tell him so. He scanned the horizon instead. Surely someone had seen or heard the explosion. What would they do? Send a patrol to investigate? Assume that a wild animal had set it off? All he could do was wait and see.
The first sign of trouble was a shard of reflected light. It came in low and from the left. McCade stopped and brought his binoculars to his eyes. What he saw scared hell out of him.
It looked like an insect at first, a metallic beetle, on long skinny legs. Slowly but surely it got to its feet, rising up from the hollow where it had been hidden, to turn in their direction. Light glinted off its shiny skin.
A robo sentry! Lying in ambush! McCade spoke into his mic. "We've got a robo sentry two thousand yards to the left! Stay behind Slotman and we'll run for the next riverbed!"
Blue light slashed past them and hit a large boulder. It exploded throwing superheated chunks of rock in every direction. Something stung McCade's cheek.
Slotman stashed the detector wand. He was running too fast for it to function effectively. He glanced back over his shoulder. The next member of the team was a full hundred feet behind him. It confirmed what Slotman already knew. He was the mine detector now. If he lived, the way was clear, and if he died, it wasn't. Simple but effective.
It got so that Slotman dreaded the impact of his boot hitting the ground, the necessity of lifting it up and putting the other one down. Would this be the one? The final footfall? A sudden flash of light followed by eternal darkness?
Blue fire ripped the ground ahead and something exploded. A mine! The robo sentry had triggered a mine! A mine he might have stepped on.
Slotman ran straight toward the patch of smoldering ground and pounded his way through it. The riverbed was just ahead. Slotman knew because the silvery bushes had aligned themselves along its edges and spread their leaves to catch the morning sun. Just a few more yards, a few more feet, and he'd be there.
Slotman dived through the plants and tumbled into the riverbed below. The rest of the team were right behind him. They half jumped, half fell into the bottom of the cut, and scrambled to find defensive positions.
What was the robo sentry up to? A bend in the riverbed blocked the view. McCade was in the process of scrambling back up the bank when a shaft of blue light hit the bushes. They absorbed part of the blast and reflected the rest, sending shafts of coherent energy in every direction. One skimmed the length of McCade's left arm and left a black scorch mark on his body armor.
Straining to keep his balance on the steep bank, McCade fumbled the binoculars to his eyes. The robo sentry was closer now, using the riverbed as a highway, its four podlike feet
kicking up clouds of dust each time they hit. No wonder the machine hid. Otherwise people would see it coming from miles away.
All sorts of energy projectors, gun barrels, and launch tubes stuck out of the robot's shiny torso. One moved slightly and burped light. The section of riverbank in front of McCade became a thick liquid and dribbled downward.
McCade took the slope in a series of small jumps. "Martino! As soon as that monster comes around the bend nail it with your launch tube! And don't forget to move afterward!"
"That's a rog, Cap," Martino said, already hidden behind a large rock.
"Spread out," Phil ordered, "and fire thermal grenades when it comes into view."
The ground shook as metal pods hit one after the other and the robo sentry came into full view. A lot of things happened all at once.
Martino fired all five of his launcher's mini-missiles and sprinted for another boulder knowing that the robo sentry's tac comp would compute a reciprocal course and fire on his last position. He'd barely dived behind another rock when an auto cannon turned the first one into gravel.
Those armed with grenade launchers fired thermal rounds, not at the robo sentry itself, but out and away from the team. They made a gentle pop and burned white-hot as they fell toward the ground. The thermals pulled two of the robo sentry's heat-seeking missiles away from the ops team and disappeared inside fiery explosions.
Meanwhile, boulders popped like party balloons as the robot's energy weapons probed among the rocks searching for life. Rock shrapnel screeched through the air and McCade heard someone scream.
Ignoring the danger, Abu Rami rested his long-barreled rifle on its custom-designed tripod, removed a magazine of hollow points, and inserted one filled with armor-piercing rounds. Rami looked through the electronic sight. The robot was huge and menacing. The sniper felt a sudden need to relieve himself. He struggled to remember the machine's weak points.
The robo sentry's ECM gear fooled three of Martino's five mini-missiles but couldn't confuse the other two. They were dummies, with no more intelligence than bullets have, flying where the launch tube had directed them to go. They exploded against the robot's belly.
The robo sentry's designers had anticipated such a possibility and armored the underside of the robot's torso. But while the missiles were unable to penetrate the robot's armor, they did spray chunks of hot metal in every direction.
One piece penetrated a joint, sliced through a cable, and cut power to both rear legs. Undeterred, the machine used its front legs to pull itself forward. There was a horrible screeching noise as metal was dragged over rock. Meanwhile the robot sentry continued to fire in every direction.
McCade was scared. It seemed as if nothing could stop the metal monster. Explosions rippled across its top surface as Martino fired another salvo of missiles. They didn't even slow the robot down. It just kept coming, dragging its useless legs behind it, a mindless killer.
Knowing it was a waste of time McCade fired his blast rifle and waited to die.
Abu Rami made a fine adjustment to his scope. Then, wrapping a finger around the trigger, he took a deep breath. Somewhere in the back of his mind Rami heard the hunting prayer his father had taught him. He let out half the breath, squeezed the trigger, and absorbed the recoil with his shoulder.
The armor-piercing bullet ran straight and true. It sped across the intervening distance, smashed through a thin-skinned sensor housing, and tunneled its way through the robot's tac comp. Denied all control the robot's weapons fell suddenly silent.
This didn't stop the machine from dragging itself forward however, metal screeching against rock, like a wounded beast returning to its lair.
One by one the team came out from their hiding places, some with bloodstained battle dressings, all with shell-shocked expressions. For a moment everyone just stood there, staring at the wounded machine, amazed at how harmless it had suddenly become.
McCade felt something warm touch his cheek and realized that the sun had topped the edge of the riverbank. All around them the silvery bushes were root-walking to the edge of the bank and sliding downward. It was time to go and then some.
A quick check turned up the fact that while no one had been killed, a trooper named Banks was badly wounded.
Because the energy beam had cauterized the wound on its way through Banks' thigh there was very little bleeding, but it hurt like hell just the same. Phil gave him an injection. Banks was smiling sixty seconds later.
McCade found Abu Rami and thanked him for making the critical shot.
Rami listened politely, acknowledged the compliment with a nod, and turned his attention to the rifle. A thin layer of dust covered its outer surface. That would never do.
A stretcher was assembled from the pieces some of them carried and Banks was strapped onto it. It was difficult getting the stretcher up and over the lip of the bank but they made it.
They formed a column of twos and ran toward Zephyr. It was only two miles away. McCade could see the whitewashed buildings shimmering in the sun. With the enemy warned, and the sun up, there was no time for mine detectors or other niceties. McCade was gambling that the robo sentry worked along the inside edge of the mine field. If so, this area should be clear. If not, it was just too bad.
And now there was another danger as well, a danger they couldn't do a damned thing about. It lurked above them in the clear blue sky, or could, and might descend at any moment. A fighter, a chopper, an armed aircar, any and all of them could, and would, turn the team into chopped liver.
But when danger came it was on the ground. The first sign of it was a dust cloud coming straight toward them from Zephyr. Someone had noticed their run-in with the robo sentry and was coming to investigate. That pretty much ripped it, but if they were forced to surrender, McCade wanted to do it from a position of relative strength. Assuming that the government was willing to take prisoners, a proposition that was far from certain.
"There's company coming," Phil said laconically, the words jerking out with each breath.
"Yeah," McCade replied, "I see 'em."
Still running, the world rose and fell around him as McCade looked around. Outside of the oil pump off to the left there was no place to hide. "Okay, everyone, head for the oil pump, it's the only cover around."
They swerved and jogged toward the oil rig. A glance toward the growing dust cloud assured McCade that they'd make it in time. There was only one vehicle as far as McCade could tell, a troop carrier perhaps, or a military truck. Something big anyway, big enough to carry plenty of troops and a lot of weapons.
There wasn't much to the oil pump. Just a vertical mount, a steel cross-piece, and some shiny pipe that disappeared into the reddish soil. It went up and down, up and down, like a bird pecking at the ground. Standing next to it was an equipment shed and some empty oil drums.
The team spread out, found what cover they could, and got ready for their final battle.
The dust cloud was bigger now, much bigger, and McCade could see the vehicle that caused it. First he frowned. Then he brought the binoculars to his eyes, looked, and looked again. Then McCade recognized the conveyance for what it was and laughed.
A bus! A school bus, or crew bus, with a white flag flying from its antenna! It was big, lime green in color, and equipped with huge desert tires.
McCade triggered the team freq. "Hold your fire and stand by. This could be a friendly."
It could also be a trick, McCade thought to himself, and watched as the bus approached, then skidded to a stop. The enormous tires sprayed gravel in every direction. Now McCade could see the words "Harrington Industries" printed along the vehicle's dented flank.
A door hissed open and a man stepped out. He had white hair, a deeply tanned face, and an athletic body. The man was dressed in short-sleeved white shirt, khaki shorts, and a pair of beat-up desert boots. He summoned them with a wave.
"My name's Harrington. You folks look like you could use a lift. Climb aboard, and let's get the hell
out of here. We can expect a flight of T-40 fighters in about twelve minutes. Their base is a couple hundred miles away so it's taking them a while to get here."
McCade knew that it could still be some sort of an elaborate trick, but didn't think it was, and decided to take the chance. "All right, everybody . . . you heard the man . . . let's get aboard!"
Phil entered first, his ugly-looking submachine gun at the ready, making sure the bus was empty. It was, and he waved the rest of them forward.
Once the team was aboard, Harrington wasted little time in closing the door and accelerating away. McCade noticed the older man was wearing a headset, and from the speed with which they were traveling, McCade suspected that he had a means of tracking the T-40s. If so, they were coming on strong.
McCade's Bounty Page 17