Legion Of The Damned - 06 - For Those Who Fell

by William C. Dietz

  But old though most of his ships were, every single one of them was crewed by living, thinking, feeling beings, any or all of whom might be killed as the result of decisions that he made. That’s why Posson wished he could somehow delay the moment when everything was at risk, the responsibility for hundreds of lives fell on him, and there was no going back. But he’d been chosen to lead the task force because he’d been to Savas, because he had a relationship with Teeg Jackson, and because the navy was short of qualified officers. Why else would they choose someone who had been passed over for promotion twice? Because I’m expendable, Posson thought to himself, and grinned.

  Wells had black hair, which she parted up the middle. It fell in two wings, each marked by matching streaks of white, and swung freely as she turned to look over her shoulder. “All right . . . Mr. Jackson’s decoys should have entered the system some eight hours ago . . . Plenty of time to pull any Ramanthian naval units in the vicinity away from Savas.”

  “They aren’t my decoys,” Jackson said defensively. “The idea was mine, but if something goes wrong with the electronics, that’s the navy’s fault.”

  “So noted,” Wells replied darkly, “realizing that you’re still going to die along with the rest of us if they don’t work.” There was no love lost between the two, and a smile tugged at the corners of Posson’s mouth as the captain turned her back to Jackson.

  Wells focused on the screens in front of her and dug her fingernails into the padding of the chair’s armrests. Worber’s World had barely returned from her shakedown cruise when she was given her first mission and designated as Posson’s flagship. There were technical bugs to work out, the crew hadn’t had time to gel, and the commodore had never been responsible for a group of ships before. Throw in a surly smuggler, plus the possibility of some bloodthirsty Ramanthians, and there were plenty of things for the naval officer to worry about. She felt the familiar lurch, knew her ship had entered the contested zone, and kept her eyes glued to the screens. The entire bridge crew held their collective breaths as the ship made the transition from one reality to the next, data began to flood the screens, and their brains raced to interpret it.

  “There are the decoys!” someone exclaimed.

  “And there are the bugs,” Wells added thankfully. “Clear on the other side of the system from where we are! Congratulations, Mr. Jackson—your plan was a success.”

  Posson looked for the rest of his task force on the screens, saw that all of them were present, and gave silent thanks. “Well done. Signal the task force to form on Worber’s World and call for maximum speed. I intend to have control Savas, plus any ships that happen to be in orbit, by the time the Ramanthians return.

  “And Captain Wells . . .”

  The officer looked back over her shoulder. “Sir?”

  “Tell the com section to try to contact Colonel Kobbi. I imagine he’ll be happy to hear from us.”

  HAGALA NOR, PLANET SAVAS

  For some reason there hadn’t been any further air attacks on the battalion, and Kobbi was determined to take advantage of that fact. The colonel knew that his troops were exhausted and that the volcano would be a bitch to take, but he couldn’t afford to wait the bugs out. First, because the Ramanthian fighters could return at any moment. Second, because Kobbi was pretty sure that a goodly portion of the hypercom had already been removed from the crater, and third, because it went against the jacker’s nature to sit around and wait for things to happen.

  Kobbi’s T-2 had been specially modified so he could stand a little taller and see a little better. He took advantage of the additional height to examine the formation arrayed to either side of him. By rotating the cyborgs that had previously been at the rear of the formation to the front, the pugnacious officer had put a new edge to his blade. Farther back, trailing along as best they could, veterans of the first assault could be seen. Included among them was the three-legged quad now known as “Hopalong,” a one-armed T-2, and half a dozen other units that were damaged but still capable of fighting.

  Behind them, armed with whatever Calvo and her techs had been able to cobble together, were all of the battalion’s support quads. Some carried civilians who had volunteered to fight as infantry. It was a ragtag force, but it was all he had, and that would have to do. Kobbi stood on tiptoes in the hopes that at least some of the legionnaires could see him. “This is Nomad Six . . . There’s only one way off this piece of shit—and that’s through the frigging bugs! Battalionnnn, charge!”

  Santana saw Kobbi’s T-2 lurch toward Hagala Nor and shouted over the company push. “You heard the colonel! Let’s get the bastards!”

  Other officers did likewise, and the entire battalion seemed to leap forward. The Ramanthians were waiting for them and unleashed every bit of firepower they had. A Ramanthian tank fired on a quad, scored a direct hit, and the cyborg exploded.

  But even as pieces of the quad tumbled out of the sky, Santana led a platoon of T-2s against the tank and circled it. Fareye’s borg carried the Naa in close, the warrior tossed a demolition pack under the monster’s belly, and barely managed to get clear before the charge went off. Santana heard a dull whump! followed by a horrible screeching sound as the beetle-shaped vehicle turned a full circle.

  That was when the top hatch opened and a bug appeared behind the big ring-mounted machine gun. The Ramanthian pulled the arming lever back, and was just about to open fire, when Santana shot him in the head. The dead body slumped into the compartment below as Dietrich fired a pair of grenades. The noncom swore as the first bounced off the edge of the hatch, but felt considerably better when the second dropped through and detonated within. The round cradled in the loader’s arms exploded, the ammo stored in the main magazine went up, and there was a tremendous boom! as the tank flew apart.

  But there was no time to celebrate, no time to gloat, as Santana rallied the platoon around him and urged them to catch up with the rest of the battalion. Okuma was running at about 50 mph by then, and raced by a scene that the company commander would never forget. Somehow, by a means that wasn’t clear, one of the quads had managed to close with a tank and placed both forelegs on the behemoth’s back. One of the enormous pods functioned to hold the tank in place while the other fell like a trip-hammer. Not just once, but over and over, until metal surrendered and finally gave way.

  The legionnaire wanted to see what would happen next, but the mad charge continued, and the tableau was left behind. Santana scanned the area ahead, looking for what he thought might to be Haaby with Kuga-Ka mounted on her back. But the renegade and his prisoner were nowhere to be seen, and the cavalry officer had other matters to attend to.

  Now, having dealt with most of the smaller tracked vehicles, more and more Trooper IIs moved to support the quads. Teams of Trooper IIs identified likely-looking targets, fired any missiles they had left, and opened up with their energy cannons. Thick though their armor was, the Ramanthian tank commanders couldn’t afford to ignore concentrated fire and were forced to respond. That took some of the pressure off the badly outnumbered quads, which continued to lumber forward even as the Trooper IIs used their superior maneuverability to run circles around the beetle-shaped fighting machines.

  But there were fewer and fewer tanks, and those that remained were suddenly isolated as Force Commander Dontha was forced to make a terrible decision. No longer certain of victory, and fearful lest the Legion enter Hagala Nor via one of the tunnels that provided access to the desert floor, the officer gave orders to blow them, thereby cutting off the Pincer of Steel’s only line of retreat.

  So, even as the battalion washed up against the foot of Hagala Nor, they were soon reminded of the fact that the battle was only half-won, since they had yet to enter the fortress itself. Kobbi’s bodyguards hurried to establish a protective cordon around the officer as the jacker dismounted and eyed the fortress ahead. He could see the track that zigzagged its way up the mountain’s flank, knew it was the only way in, and knew the Ramanthians would be w
aiting. Major Matala arrived right about then and followed the jacker’s gaze. “Damn . . . That looks bad.”

  “Yes, it will be,” Kobbi predicted soberly. “You’d better send for Lieutenant Santana.”

  ABOARD THE STAR RAVAGER IN ORBIT AROUND THE PLANET SAVAS, THE CONTESTED ZONE

  Naval Commander Jos Satto slip-slid down the main corridor of the Ramanthian ship Star Ravager. He was proud of the fact that both it and the rest of the interior spaces were spotless in spite of the damage to the ship’s bow. In fact, to the extent that such a thing was possible under the circumstances, Satto was happy for the first time in weeks. The newly arrived task force was under the command of Admiral Hos Hikko, which meant that Satto no longer had to bear the burden of responsibility where naval matters were concerned, and that included dealing with the enemy ships that had entered the system some nine units earlier. Hikko had taken all four of the warships under his command and gone after the intruders, leaving the Ravager to protect the transports until his return. Something that would be easy to do since there weren’t any other ships in the system.

  Or so Satto assumed until the ship’s battle Klaxons sounded, and the destroyer’s crew were forced to rush to their battle stations. A false alarm? Satto certainly hoped so as he made his way into the ship’s control room and took up a position behind Olthobo and the rest of the command crew. The executive officer pointed up at one of the screens. His voice was concerned. “It looks like the Confederacy sent a second battle group to support the first.”

  Satto eyed the symbols on the screen and saw that his executive officer was correct. While the warships under Hikko’s command headed out to intercept one group of enemy ships, a second cluster of symbols had appeared, and they were very close to the planet itself. So close that they would be able to reach Savas before the admiral could even if he started immediately.

  The officer felt something cold and clammy wrap itself around his stomach. The Ramanthian warships wouldn’t stand a chance against two battle groups unless . . . “Contact the admiral,” Satto snapped. “Ask him if there’s any chance that the force he’s about to close with consists of decoys rather than actual ships.”

  A full fifteen units passed before the reply came back. Rather than send word through the communications personnel, Admiral Hikko chose to deliver the message personally. The com screen shivered and locked up. The Ramanthian who appeared there was old, some said too old, and his chitin had started to lose its luster. Though impeccably clean, Hikko’s uniform appeared to be one size too large for him and hung in generous folds. His eyes were bright, however—and looked like a pair of large-caliber gun barrels. “You are correct, Satto. They are decoys. It’s up to the Ravager now. Do what you can to delay them. It would be a disaster if the Confederacy was allowed to capture the transports.”

  Satto knew that the admiral was correct. More than 70 percent of the supersecret communications equipment that Hikko had been sent to remove from Savas had already been uploaded. His throat felt dry, and it required a conscious effort to swallow. “Yes sir.”

  “I’m glad you understand,” Hikko said flatly. “We will return as quickly as possible, but if it looks like the transports are going to be captured, then destroy them.”

  The entire command crew were shocked by the admiral’s orders, including Satto himself. The entire notion of firing on their own transports was repugnant, but Hikko had already considered that, and made the necessary decision. The hypercom was important, vitally so, and could not be allowed to fall into enemy hands. Satto bowed his head. “Yes, Excellency, I understand.” The video snapped to black, Satto was left on his own, and the distance between the enemy and his ship continued to diminish.

  The track that zigzagged its way up Hagala Nor’s steep southern flank ended on the broad ledge that had been carved out of the mountainside. It had been a hard climb, especially for Haaby, since she had done all of the work. But Kuga-Ka insisted on inspecting the entire length of the path before taking up a position behind the barricade at the top. Force Commander Dontha’s plan was quite simple. Nearly all of the Legion’s fly-forms had been destroyed during the first assault. That meant that Ramanthian shuttles could still come and go with relative impunity. Yes, there were missiles to dodge, but chaff and ECM would probably be sufficient to deal with them.

  That meant the bugs could continue to upload the hypercom even as the Legion tried to find a way into Hagala Nor. So, with the ground-level tunnels blown and no capability to attack by air, Kobbi was bound to send troops up the track in hopes of accessing the passageway that led to the mountain’s core. Not that they would get very far. The Hudathan would see to that.

  Here, after all the disappointments of the past few weeks, was the opportunity to get even with Kobbi, Matala, and Santana. A chance to stop them, piss on their dead bodies, and secure a place with the bugs. The renegade’s dream of going into business for himself, of building a private empire on Savas, had been a casualty of the disastrous battle in the desert. Srebo Riff was sworn to kill him now, which meant that it would not only be a good idea to leave the planet, but to do so quickly.

  That’s why the ex-legionnaire had volunteered to fight a delaying action, and by doing so to win a seat on the last shuttle out. It was a good plan, and the renegade was in an ebullient mood when he opened the intercom to Haaby. “Hey, freak, are you awake?”

  The answer was obvious, but the cyborg knew better than to say so. “Yes, gunny, I’m awake.”

  “That’s good, real good,” the Hudathan said conversationally, “because the Legion is going to attack, and it’s our job to stop them. Now, I know you haven’t been very happy, but if you take good care of me, I’ll take good care of you. Hell, I’ll even turn you loose! How does that strike you?”

  “Don’t trust him,” Missy cautioned from her hideout deep within the cyborg’s tortured mind. “It’s a trick.”

  “I’d like that,” Haaby replied, knowing full well that Missy was probably right but hoping to humor him. “What about Oko?” she asked, referring to the borg that had originally been assigned to that particular war from. “What happens to him?”

  “I’ll leave him here with you,” Kuga-Ka lied. “The two of you can fight over who gets the war form. But remember, if you try anything funny, I’ll zap you. Understood?”

  “Understood,” Haaby confirmed.

  “Good,” the Hudathan said, as a missile hit a weapons emplacement two thousand yards away. “This should be fun.”

  Night had finally fallen, throwing a black cloak over the corpse-strewn battlefield, thereby creating the illusion of peace. There was an audible pop as a Ramanthian flare went off high over Hagala Nor. It bathed the mountain’s flanks in a gruesome green light, swung back and forth, and drifted down toward the ground below.

  As Santana waited for the light to fade he looked straight up the sheer mountainside and wondered if the plan would work. But it was too late to have doubts, too late to throw up, and too late to run. “Okay,” Santana whispered to the support crew clustered around him, “send the RAVs.”

  Oblivious to the dangers that would face them, the first of twelve Robotic All-terrain Vehicles began to plod up the trail some one thousand yards to the north. Each unit consisted of two eight-foot-long sections linked together by a single pleated, accordion-style joint located at the center of their long, ovoid-shaped bodies. Four articulated legs enabled the robots to negotiate even the most difficult terrain. Though not intended for offensive purposes, each RAV was equipped with two forward-facing machine guns and a grenade launcher.

  Everything looked phosphorescent green through Santana’s night-vision goggles. The officer waited for the robots to get fifty feet up the trail before opening the com. “All right, Poltero, are you ready?”

  The technician wasn’t ready, not for something like climbing the side of an extinct volcano in near-total darkness, but couldn’t say that. “Yes sir.”

  “Good,” Santana replied. “And rememb
er to give us a holler when it’s time to set those bolts. We’ll make some noise.”

  Poltero nodded wordlessly, checked to make sure that the pack was securely strapped to his skeletal torso, and started up the wall. A T-2 could never have accomplished it, not given the awkward hands or graspers that they had, but the spider form was equipped with tool hands. Not only that, but the volcanic rock was coarse and lumpy, which made it easy to find hand- and toeholds. As a result, the cyborg discovered that he could climb at twice the rate of speed that Santana had estimated in spite of the pack and the steadily increasing weight of the steel cable that dangled below him.

  Meanwhile, as the technician-cum-commando scaled the mountain, Santana and his support team waited for the inevitable explosion. It came when the lead RAV stepped on a mine. The resulting boom! rolled across the land and let everyone know that an attack was under way.

  “Here they come!” Kuga-Ka announced via the translator strapped to his chest. “Look sharp now, it will take them a while to reach the top, but they’ll be here soon enough.”

  The Ramanthians were ready by that time and had been for quite a while. Most of the troops resented the fact that Dontha had placed the barbaric alien over them, but there were a few who respected the Hudathan’s prowess as warrior, and they nodded agreeably as the first of the renegade’s predictions came true. There was only one way up, and they had it blocked, so it seemed logical to assume that the rest would be easy.

  Poltero had been told to expect a series of such explosions and knew that they were intended as a diversion. So long as the bugs believed that the Legion was coming up the trail, they wouldn’t be looking for him, and the technician was grateful.

  Then, just when it seemed that the cyborg would be able to complete the climb without running into any obstacles, Poltero was forced to stop just below a substantial overhang. If the legionnaire was to proceed, he’d have to do so upside down, and the legionnaire doubted his ability to hang on. Swearing silently, the borg spidered sideways, causing the cable that hung below him to do likewise. Santana followed the line toward the south and opened the com. “Pol? What are you doing?”