Yet, fear that they were walking into a slaughterhouse at the asylum wouldn't leave him. Ross needed all his attention for operational matters now, and he tried to force his mind to work as it always had on the nuts and bolts of the coming mission, but worry was paralyzing parts of his willpower. He stared at Debbi studying maps, her skin unmarred by any scar or mark left by the horrible wounds she suffered at her death. It was as if it never happened, but Ross couldn't help but picture that torn and battered body lying on the jagged tannis at Castle Rock. And worse, the unwilling vision kept passing through his mind of it happening again in the stinking stone corridors of the Sanitarium.
Ross had never labored under this burden before. How could he do his job if he suddenly had something to live for?
"I believe General Quantrill is there," Martool said simply.
Debbi slapped her hands together. "Good enough for me."
Ross's heart sank a little. "Are you sure, Martool? You haven't moved out of that yard in three days. How can you sit there and tell me for sure that Quantrill is in the Lupinz Sanitarium?"
Martool replied, "I cannot. But I can tell you he has been there. Recently. And most likely he is there now. I can sense the decay around the Sanitarium. It is horrible."
"How do you know that?" Ross argued.
Martool's face was a like stone. "I have, as you may recall, native juju."
Debbi laughed at the shaman's sarcasm and only earned herself a scathing glare from Ross.
Stew flipped through aerial photographs of the Sanitarium taken during a recent fly-by. "Just to make a suggestion. But why do we have to send people in. Can't we just bomb it? There are no air defenses of any sort. Or, for that matter, why can't Martool demolish it like she did at Castle Rock?"
Debbi blurted out, "There are still patients in there. We're not here to kill innocent people."
The aged anouk shaman added, "My powers were severely weakened by the stress of my actions at Castle Rock. In addition, I had painstakingly cleansed the ground there. The region you are entering is corrupted. The dead rock holds sway. My powers are worthless there."
Debbi held out her hand like a magician. "Well, I'll be there. I mean, I hate to brag, but I did push one of those automatons right into the tannis. That was pretty cool."
Martool looked pointedly at Debbi. "The blind luck you experienced with your powers, though impressive for a foolish novice, will also be worthless."
"What?"
Martool pursed her lips like a long-suffering mother watching her beloved child on the verge of a rash and dangerous decision. "The tannis surrounding the Sanitarium is rotten. It will not respond to you."
"Oh." Debbi dropped her hand. "Shoot."
Ross spoke up eagerly, "Then maybe you ought to stay here. You won't have your weird powers, whatever they are. And frankly, you were a few steps slow against the automatons. I'd rather not risk it."
Debbi cocked her head in defiance. "What the hell do you mean?"
"I just don't fancy starting a game when I know Quantrill's holding the best cards."
"Since when?" Debbi argued. "From what I hear, you'd have gone in alone guns drawn if Sharif hadn't stopped you."
Ross glared at her, red-faced. "That was then. This is now."
"You agreed we needed to get Quantrill. I've already sent Hickok to get Hallow and Sharif. So look, we've got the manpower and the firepower. Let's take it to him before he digs up another army. It's that simple."
Ross slammed his fists on his desk. "You think you can just waltz into Quantrill's house? I've been inside that hellhole! There are powerful sykers inside that asylum, plus God knows what kind of monsters waiting for us! Excuse me for thinking first! I just don't like the odds!"
"They aren't getting any better sitting here doing nothing!" Debbi yelled back. "And I don't want to hear any crap about me being a step slow!"
Stew held up his hands. "Hey hey hey. Calm down. We're all on the same team."
"Yeah, I thought we were too!" Debbi snarled.
Ross cooled, retreating behind the cold eyes of the commander. "Take it down a notch, Dallas. I still make the call on who has what duty." Then a sudden wash of excitement slipped over him. It hadn't occurred to Ross until this minute that he had it in his power to keep Debbi safe. He ran this outfit; he could order her to stay behind and he had valid reasons. She was not up to speed yet. She had been a step slow against the HI automatons. If he hadn't pulled her out of the line of fire, she'd be dead. If she could die.
Debbi looked at Ross with a growing sense of outrage and terror. She knew him well and while to most he seemed virtually emotionless, to her Ross was an open book. The simplest change of expression revealed his thoughts. Her voice was a serrated whisper. "Don't do this."
Ross met Debbi's desperate yet forceful eyes. He knew her. She would never accept being ordered off the mission. For Debbi, this wasn't a simple matter of revenge. This involved a call to duty in her that Ross appreciated, even if he didn't understand its full implications. It didn't matter that by stopping her, he was saving her life; she would never forgive him. And she didn't have to make a show about threatening to quit the Rangers. Ross felt it. Debbi would walk out of this office and never look back. He knew she believed that if Ross didn't trust her to be at his side now, she had no part in the Colonial Rangers.
The worst part was she was right.
Ross knew he could preserve her life with a word and save himself from the crushing guilt if he lost her again. It was the smart and right thing to do. But just as certainly he knew he wouldn't order her to stay behind.
Debbi could read through his hooded eyes and she relaxed. Ross accepted her victory. The final domino had fallen and, for all intents and purposes, this was her outfit now.
For a brief second, he felt a heavy weight lift now that he'd surrendered to her. Ross felt like he was the one who had lost a step.
But then a vision of her mutilated body appeared. Ross felt like a coward.
Chapter 13
Stew, Miller, and Ringo squatted in the cold. Their old thermal vests kept them slightly above freezing. The sun was still two hours from rising. All three Rangers stared through the darkness and kept completely silent. Their ears were attuned to any sound that might penetrate the howling winds.
Beyond the rise where they hid, a sudden ripple of rocks shifting sent them into tense alertness. The sounds may have been the result of careless footfalls of intruders. The Rangers grasped their weapons although shooting was a last resort. They were under communications and weapons silence except for extreme emergencies. Their breathing grew heavy as they waited.
The sound did not reoccur. A false alarm. Simply a loose stone tumbling from its own weight or dislodged by a passing small animal.
Stew had to be sure. He grasped binoculars and slowly crawled to the top of the rise. He inched to the crest and peered over, bracing for a sudden claw or gaping snout surging at him. He saw nothing but rocky ground and scraggly, water-starved scrub. The sandy haired Ranger settled on his elbows with the wind blasting him in the face. He stared through the glasses across two miles of rocky terrain at the Sanitarium. The starlite filter highlighted the eerie mansion in ghostly green.
Green blurs stood around the yard inside the high wire fence. Some were human-sized. Others were larger. Switching to IR, Stew noted that none of the human blurs gave off heat. Legionnaires. They stood motionless in groups of ten to twenty, and he could make out maybe a hundred of them total from this vantage point. On the other hand, the big blobs glowed hot and they were uncountable because they prowled in and out of sight around the asylum without stopping. Cats. Big ones.
The situation at the Sanitarium hadn't changed appreciably since the Rangers had been camped out there watching for three days. Stew and his group had this position two miles south of the mansion. Fitz, Ngoma, and Curtiz were about two miles east. Chennault and Tsukino were two miles west. Debbi's crew roved in uncertain positions. Stew didn't know
where they were at any time, but one of them would show every night to receive reports, usually Debbi accompanied by Hallow.
The first night Stew had watched a group of forty Legionnaires march into the gates of the Sanitarium, but that had been the last major reinforcements from outside. The large cat creatures were a constant presence around the house. Debbi and Ross had briefed them all on those monsters that they had encountered along the Red River. They were smart and aggressive, and hard to kill. So what else was new on Banshee?
As Stew continued to spy, two human shapes shambled out the asylum's main gate into the dark badlands. They were inmates from the Sanitarium, now twisted to Lupinz's service, just like the ones Debbi and Ross had encountered during their first trip to the Red River. The figures wandered off and vanished into the landscape. This was the fourth pair to venture out that night, which had been standard operating procedure every night the Rangers had been watching. Stew itched to hit the mysterious night stalkers and eliminate them one by one, but he was under orders to stay put and avoid contact. These night patrols seemed to show that those inside the Sanitarium, whether Quantrill or just Lupinz, were aware that an attack of some kind might come at some time. However, Stew had observed no frantic activity or preparation that demonstrated they knew the Rangers had them surrounded.
And, of course, only a Colonial Ranger would think that a force of less than fifteen could possibly have over one hundred enemy troops surrounded.
Stew turned to slide back down the hill and saw two lunatics behind Ringo and Miller. They wore simple dark clothing that blended with the night. Their eyes were wide and devoid of reason, almost devoid of awareness. The abominations were only thirty feet from the two unsuspecting Rangers. Stew waved frantically.
Miller waved back, but Ringo turned and saw the approaching inmates. He tugged on his sidearm, but it stuck in his holster.
The two intruders made ready to pounce. Their bony fingers outstretched; their champing teeth, filed sharp, showed in the darkness.
Stew pulled his Dragoon and fired in one swift motion. The first shell splattered an inmate's chest. The second caught the other in the shoulder and sent him cartwheeling down the slope. Ringo freed his weapon and shot the closest inmate three times as he continued to struggle with unnatural stamina. Stew skidded down the loose shale, leveled his arm, and blasted the lunatic at the bottom of the hill as he started mindlessly to regain his feet. The lunatic's head exploded and he fell still.
Miller jumped to his feet and searched wildly for more targets. There were no more intruders to be seen.
"Well, I guess we got 'em." Miller twirled his heavy Dragoon awkwardly and slid it back in its holster.
"Thanks, Deadeye," Stew muttered. "Dammit. Those shots will give us away."
"Maybe not," Ringo suggested. "We're downwind. I'll bet you couldn't hear those shots at a hundred yards."
Stew hesitated. His boyish good looks were frozen and ashen. "I should alert Debbi and Ross."
Miller said, "That's breaking radio silence."
The fair-haired Ranger glared at Miller. "I know. But if we don't and the enemy tumbles to us, they're all sitting ducks." He kicked the inmate at his feet and the body rolled down the hill.
Miller and Ringo watched Stew. Finally, the former priest cursed lightly to himself and scrambled back up to the ridgeline. Once on the crest, he clicked in the special emergency frequency.
"Base. Stallion One. Come in."
The static broke with Ross's tight voice. "Yeah?"
"We just contacted a night patrol. Shots fired."
"Casualties?"
"No."
He heard Ross conversing with someone else, no doubt Debbi. Then Ross said, "Go."
"Roger that," Stew replied and clicked his stopwatch. He slid down the hill between the waiting Ringo and Miller. His eyes were focused in the distance as he told them, "We're going in."
Ringo and Miller exchanged glances and followed. This was it. There was no more waiting and watching for the best opportunity to strike. It was go now. At the bottom of the slope, Stew stepped over the two inmates and raced several yards along the wadi. He stopped and reached out for what looked to be nothing but air. He yanked a large camo net to reveal the nose of a Stallion. Miller and Ringo joined him in wrestling with the net and soon the battered, old craft was uncovered and glistening in the starlight.
Stew strapped into the pilot's seat as Ringo stepped wordlessly into the passenger's side. Miller climbed into the rear compartment and began to double-check several Hellrazor pulse rifles. Stew primed the cannons while Ringo went through a secondary checklist with a small flashlight clamped in his teeth. When Ringo gave his partner a thumbs up, Stew fired the ship's engines. The cab vibrated hard.
The Stallion rose straight up into the night air. Stew took a moment to stabilize the Hoss against the wind. Within thirty seconds, a Stallion appeared a mile to the east and then another in the west. Although they were running without lights, Stew's trained eye picked them out as their distant, dark shapes moved up across the stars.
Stew checked his watch. Two minutes to go. Ringo slid the targeting headset on and oriented his eye to the lens. From the dash, he took the makeshift trigger cord for the black needle Gatling and kept it in his left hand.
Stew fought to keep the hovering Hoss stable in the wind as the gunship hummed and shivered. It was poised like an attack dog in a cage, waiting for the telltale clank of the gate opening.
Debbi touched her Dragoon in its holster. Then, for the hundredth time, she ran her hands over the extra black gun, four clips and grenades on her belt. When she reached up to adjust her goggles, the Deadwood II took a hard bank and Debbi stumbled against Ross. He was wedged tightly against the bulkhead. The veteran Ranger grabbed her around the waist and smiled briefly. Ross hadn't touched her since she had awakened in his room. The heat of his large hands seeped through her thick jacket, or maybe it was just her imagination. Either way, it sent a tendril of electricity through her. There was so much to say to him, but no time to say it. Life was like that on Banshee. Ross set her back on her feet and returned to checking his six-shooter. He holstered the pistol, looked at his watch, cradled the shotgun, and waited.
Debbi checked her own watch. Thirty seconds until Stew and the Stallions opened up on the front. Ninety seconds until Hickok set them down inside the Sanitarium grounds near the rear door. If all went well, within two minutes, she would be inside the Sanitarium facing . . . she didn't know what.
Debbi was carrying a fully loaded Dragoon and had a second strapped to her back. This was exactly the sort of operation these weapons were built for, heavy firepower in tight quarters. A Hellrazor pulse rifle was out of the question inside the cramped corridors of the asylum. Ross had his trusty pistol and sawed off shotgun.
Her "irregulars" who were gathered in the Deadwood were more peculiarly armed. Hallow sat next to the pilot Hickok to protect her from possible syker attack. He carried no weapons. He was clad in his desert robes, but had abandoned the turban which usually covered his bald head, the sign of a syker. For this mission he didn't want to hide his true self; he wanted to revel in it. Hallow stared unseeing straight ahead, rolling expertly with the ship's motion. It was as if it was ten years ago and he was back on an EXFOR dropship, moving in to attack an unwary enemy.
In the ship's main compartment, Sharif clutched onto the crash couch. He was not at home in a swerving ship. He carried a small autopistol in his belt and his powerful scimitar was sheathed at his waist. His eyes were closed and his lips moved. The Tuareg was praying.
The anouk warrior Fareel was praying too, but he was wide-eyed and rigid with terror as he muttered a feverish plea to his gods. It wasn't the prospect of coming battle that frightened him, but rather the slipping, turbulent flight. This transport was unnatural and horrifying for the anouk. He had wanted to storm the gate on chanoukback and face his enemies head on, like a true warrior, but Debbi needed his hand-to-hand power inside the
asylum. But for now, the fearsome Fareel rolled his head and gnashed his jagged teeth with every shudder of the ship.
Hickok was strapped in the pilot's seat. She ignored the irony of Debbi recruiting her back into her old livelihood of flying a swift vehicle into a battle zone and disgorging soldiers. If she was distressed by it, she locked the emotion behind a cold mask of efficiency as she drove the ship through the weather to the target area. Her job was to drop her passengers and dust off immediately, although she desperately wanted to go with them. However, the Deadwood had been fitted with a couple of heavy cannons and Hickok was best used standing off nearby and waiting to either reinforce Stew and the Stallions or move into close air support if something went badly wrong.
The fact was, Debbi knew, that if something went badly wrong, there likely wouldn't be anyone coming out of the Sanitarium for Hickok to support. This was an all or nothing mission. If Quantrill was inside, either he would die or Debbi's team would die.
Debbi heard Hickok's voice in her ear. "I see fire from the front. The attack has started."
Debbi felt a thrill as she pictured Stew's cold blue eyes guiding the trio of Stallion gunships at the Sanitarium, leading the attack out of the dark with no lights. Rocket salvos will blast holes in the Legionary squads to disorient them as the three Stallions roar in toward the fence perimeter. The second wave will knock out the lights on the fence and the house. The Hosses will then open up on the men and creatures in the yard with Gatling guns and the special heavy black needle shooters they rigged in Temptation. Hellrazor muzzles will extend from the Hoss' rear windows and pepper the ground below. The attack will draw the attention of all the Legionnaires and inmates and cat creatures to the front of the Sanitarium and soon the area will be a melee of destruction and distraction.
Banshee Screams Page 74