“Aye, sir!”
As he moved off to prepare, Penny Peabody spoke up. “Sergeant, there’s a call coming in on the Captain’s earpiece. He says he wants you to take it.” Hardesty tapped his own earpiece, switching to the captain’s channel. “Hardesty! What do you want?” The sergeant listened for a moment, then nodded. “Outstanding! Now – what?” He listen for another moment, then nodded. A smile began to creep across his face. “Well, I’ll be dipped in doo. Home in on this signal and get here on the double! Hardesty out.”
Struts McCaskey and his Diversion team loped out of the jungle and looked up at the smoldering remains of Pericu’s once-mighty main gate. There was no sign of the Armada attack force save the now silent 60mm mortars, but he’d run across their pack train in the rear. There was some extra ammunition and an extra rifle or two. He was considering teaching Prince Crazy Man how to operate a rifle, but he was afraid of what might happen if he did. The Prince had left the man he’d scalped alive for some reason. Guess he’d gotten it out of his system.
“Think they used enough dynamite?” asked a familiar voice. Struts gave a whoop of pure joy. Coming up the trail, with his machete slug across his back, was Travis Buckley. With him was Ressa, and bringing up the rear were a large number of grim looking warriors, the men of Copalta. The next few minutes were spent in glad reunion, with much embracing and back pounding on both sides, and a few kisses thrown in by the girl.
“Where the hell did you guys come from?” asked Struts.
“I’ll tell you everything after this is over,” said Travis. “I just want to know if it’s too late to join this party. I see they started without us.”
“It’s never too late for that kind of fun. Let’s go find out what trouble they’ve gotten themselves into. Let me ring up Hardesty on the com line. I bet he craps his pants.”
Chapter 23
The Prelate slammed the door to Arnac’s laboratory and looked around, wild eyed. One of the doctor’s assistants happened to be standing in his way, and was clubbed to the ground for his pains.
“Things not going well?” asked Arnac.
“Your friends from the Stellar Armada have proven to be a greater irritant than I thought possible. Nevertheless, they’ll not lay their hands on us or the Emperor’s prize.”
“So, you think the half billion lizard man eggs your men harvested from their nest is more valuable than my formula?”
“On the contrary, doctor. The lizard men should make excellent shock troops for the coming war, especially when our geneticists alter them somewhat. It is your formula to produce the unbeatable human soldier that will make the greatest difference. It’s time we put your subject to the test. Where is he?”
“Right here,” came the voice from he lab’s shadowy corners. It sounded only too eager.
“Warrior, the time has come to prove your worth to the Machai. Are you ready to serve the will of the Dark Master?”
“Command me, Prelate.” The thing looked down at the two men from a great height. A hideous grin stretched from ear to ear, revealing oversized teeth like stumps.
“The Emperor’s enemies are knocking at our very door. Even as we speak, they plan their final assault. Under this room are ancient passageways – sewers that lead under the streets to the place where they lie hidden. Use the tunnels to get behind them unawares.”
“And then?”
“Destroy them. Wipe them out. Leave none alive.”
“I will,” the thing that used to be Otto Speilman laughed, “with pleasure.”
Travis Buckley was glad to have a rifle in his hand again. He’d been taught since boot that a Marine and his rifle were the Stellar Armada’s greatest weapon, and when he woke up without his he’d felt like half a man. Josso, after recovering from his shock at seeing his daughter at the head of a Copaltan war party, was busy catching up on all the details of her adventures. He wanted to be part of the battle, insisting he was still strong enough to draw a bow. When he was not listening to Ressa’s explanations, he was busy consulting with the Copaltan war chief on their role in the final assault.
The Armada attack force had holed up in a building which served as a store front for a smaller warehouse opposite the bigger warehouse that contained the Machai. Fire from the big warehouse had been sporadic for the last hour – just potshots from both sides that hit very little. Each side was saving its strength and lying in wait. Sergeant Hardesty called a final meeting in the larger space at the back of their building.
“We don’t think there’s a very large force left in there,” said the sergeant, who now stood shoulder to shoulder with Prince Nahuatl and the Copaltan chief as he addressed the men, “but they’ve desperate and they’re cornered and they’ve got energy weapons.” Ressa and Josso stood on either side, translating. “If we charge, or even move into the open without cover, we risk being barbecued. We’ve got to flank them on either side, then attack from both directions. When I give the order, we’ll open up from the front with everything we’ve got. This will give the flanking teams a chance to get to either side of the warehouse and use their grenades. Once the flanking maneuver is successful, we will go across that street and bust down those doors and end this fight quickly. Take anyone who surrenders prisoner. The Armada will want a chance to speak to any Machai survivors personally.”
Struts raised his hand. “Top, what if they don’t surrender?”
“As long as they keep fighting, you keep shooting.”
“That works.”
“Has anybody got any other questions? Then let’s get ready. I want to end this thing before the sun goes down.” The meeting broke up as men moved off to prepare.
Travis, Struts, and Numbnuts went to stand for a moment with Ressa and Josso. “Tommy and I will be with Team Driveway. Struts is going with Team Guererro. You and Penny Peabody will be in the rear taking care of Captain Bainbridge. Penny’s got her pistol, and Josso here is going to make sure nothing happens to any of you, right señor?”
“Por supuesto, mi hijo. Mi familia owes you a great debt.”
“Thank the Prince, too, when you get a chance,” answered Travis, smiling.
“That guy has issues,” said Struts. “Come on. We gotta help move the Captain to a safer position in the back. Andy and Jenna have him under sedation.”
“What happened to him?” asked Travis.
“A wall fell on him,” said Josso. “One of the retreating Machai shot at him and missed, and the wall he was standing next to collapsed. We had to dig him out, but he should live.”
“Yeah, we’ll fix him up good as new. Come on,” said Struts.
Ressa was left standing alone for a moment. She was glad she had a job to do to keep her mind off Travis during the coming battle. She was just about to follow the men when a tiny sound caught her attention.
Standing in the open doorway was a calico cat, who called to her again in earnest. She smiled. She loved cats. “Aquí, gatito,” she whispered, motioning for it to come. As she approached, the little cat backed away. “Oh, no, baby! I won’t hurt you,” she told the kitten, following it into the alley behind the warehouse. The cat fled around the corner. Ressa followed, looking for her little friend. What she saw blocking out the setting sun froze her with terror.
“Hello again, pretty,” said Otto.
Ressa screamed and screamed.
When Travis, Numbnuts, and Josso burst into the alleyway, they did a double take at the nightmare figure that greeted their disbelieving eyes. The misshapen monstrosity was well over seven feet tall, and seemed almost that wide. The tiny head sat on roof beam shoulders. The long, simian arms ended in fists the size of hams. Its barrel chest gave way to a distended and sway-backed abdomen that sat atop sturdy, but impossibly short legs. It wore no shirt, for none would fit, but the ripped remnants of trousers still clung to its hips. The broad toes gripped the pavestones so it could pull itself to its full height. Ressa lay unconscious on the pavestones behind it. When it saw Travis Buckley, th
e thing gave a short, barking laugh.
“Travis!” it cried. “Did you bring a gun to a fistfight?”
Travis’s mouth dropped open as recognition hit him. His face darkened with fury. “‘Gun to a fistfight?’ You flaming idiot!” His weapon was in his hand, and he used it. His cry of anger mirrored the roar of the M1B on full automatic. He emptied his clip on the thing. Then his cry of anger turned to one of disbelief.
“No!”
The thing laughed with a sound like boulders grinding together. It stood unharmed, save for the massive red welts caused by the impact of the jacketless rounds.
“I told you it was a fistfight,” gloated the thing as it knocked Travis fifteen feet down the alley with a swat of its paw. It went after him, only to find Private Numbnuts blocking his path.
“Insect!” it cried. It unleashed a blow that would have squashed Numbnuts had it landed. Instead, the lanky farm boy slipped aside with preternatural ease. The massive fist thudded into the ground inches away, shattering the pavestones. Despite all his special talents, Numbnuts had miscalculated the inhuman speed of the backswing, and was knocked senseless against the alley wall.
Again the thing turned to pursue Travis Buckley when it was brought up short. It cried out in surprise and pain and stared at the bodkin-tipped shaft, unlooked-for, that had buried itself halfway into his bulging, oversized trapezoid. The bloody point stood clearly out the back. Josso had a second arrow nocked and aimed right at the thing’s forehead. The look in the old man’s eyes gave the hulking creature pause.
“Come for me, monster.”
The thing’s full-throated scream ruffled Josso’s hair just a bit, but he didn’t back up. Otto wheeled, snatched up the senseless Ressa in one simian arm, and bounded down the alleyway.
Travis came running up. “That was a hell of a shot!”
“Why did your bullets bounce off him and my arrow punch right through?”
“His skin must be like our body armor,” said Travis. “It blocked the high velocity rounds from my rifle, but your bodkin point, a low velocity projectile, was able to penetrate. What in God’s name did they do to him?”
“Whoever they are, they’re not on the side of God,” said the old man. “And he has my daughter.” The two men heard a groan as Numbnuts sat up, rubbing his head.
“Tommy, you okay?”
“The man’s strong,” muttered Numbnuts.
“Hurry! We mustn’t lose him!” cried Josso. Travis snatched his rifle off the ground, checked his clip, and together the three men took off in pursuit.
Chapter 24
Travis flipped up the plastic cap on his rifle lamp and surveyed what the beam revealed. He stood knee deep in water, looking down the shaft of an underground sewer tunnel whose entire inner surface was paved in cobblestone. Even though the tunnel branched off to the right and left, it also continued straight as far as the light could project. The smell that reached his nostrils was dank and swampy, more like a tidal flat than an actual sewer. It must have been many years since the tunnels were used for that particular purpose.
The faint sound of splashing reached his straining ears. “This way,” he told Josso and Numbnuts, who trailed him. They moved tunnel towards what they hoped was a fleeing Otto. “He’s probably taking her back to his masters across the street. If we hurry we can catch him.”
Travis stopped as the gun lamp revealed something new.
“Company.”
Dozens of lizard men swarmed down the tunnel, crawling and swimming. After a momentary flashback to his subterranean adventures, Travis started shooting. Numbnuts, who had also snatched up his rifle like a good Marine, joined him. Their muzzle flashes lit up the darkness as they picked off targets in controlled, three-round bursts. He even felt the rush of air next to his ear as Josso skewered a reptile with one of his bodkin shafts. “Save your arrows for Otto,” Travis told him. “We’ll handle this.”
The noise and mayhem were terrific. Travis and Numbnuts didn’t dare use full automatic down here. The curved sides of the tunnel created enough deadly ricochets as it were. ‘It’s not the number of shots,’ their instructors had taught them, ‘it’s the hits that count.’ Nevertheless, the three advanced yard by yard, filling the tunnel with bodies as they went. After a time, the lizards stopped coming. They reached the access shaft, which was ringed with outcropping bricks to provide ladder handholds.
“Fire, fire, fire!” bawled Hardesty, and the Armada shooters filled the street with the hammering of their guns. The bowmen sent a hail of shafts through every window opening they could see. The Machai responded with their energy weapons. Stone chips, shrapnel, and dust flew up on both sides.
The flanking teams deployed. They lacked the smoothness that comes from training together, but each made it across the street without major casualties. Team Driveway was two men light, and Josso was nowhere to be found. Emil Hardesty made a mental note to have Buckley and Numbnuts court martialed if they lived. Reaching the sides of the long, low building, Derek Driveway spread his remaining soldiers and bowmen down the sides, ducking under and around the open windows. The Asilyans drew their macahuitls. The Copaltans readied their axes and short swords. Grenades were uncapped and tossed. The muffled explosions sent more dust out. Howling, Team Driveway dove inside.
When Hardesty heard the grenades go off and saw the energy bolts had stopped coming momentarily, it was time. Leaping to his feet, he yelled, “Follow me, men!” and took off. The remaining Armada forces followed him, continuing to lay down fire and arrows as they ran through the haze and smoke. At his side was Michael Franks, the demolition expert. As the two reached the warehouse’s main double door, Franks slapped a final adhesive breaching charge to the middle. Hardesty yelled, “Fire in the hole!” and they both dove clear. The charge detonated, sending shattered planks and shrapnel slivers everywhere. Then Hardesty leaped into the smoke-filled interior, aiming to sell himself dearly.
Despite training, close quarters combat is rarely well organized. The Marines of the Stellar Armada and their Liberan allies drove into the remaining Machai and went toe-to-toe in desperate battle. Cornered, the grim centurions in black leather and black helmets gave as good as they got. Jimmy McCaskill went down to an energy bolt, and Hardesty saw Zellene Robinson take a vicious blow to the head that stretched her senseless on the deck. The sergeant shot the man dead, then whirled to block a bayonet slash at his unprotected back. Despite their desperate efforts, the Machai were driven towards the rear of the building. The ominous, thudding sounds of giant footsteps was audible even over the din of battle. Something big was coming up from below to join the party.
Otto loped into Dr. Arnac’s lab room with the unconscious form of Ressa draped over his shoulder. He threw her to the floor like a discarded doll. “Watch her,” he said. He tested the arrow that still protruded from his shoulder. The bodkin point was not barbed, so he was able to pull it free with the barest grimace. He cast it away absently, where it rolled to the cages of the imprisoned lizard men. They scrambled to get at its blood smeared tip.
“What’s this?” cried the Prelate, astonished. “A hostage? Did I order you to take hostages? You pea-brained baboon!” The Prelate trained his hand blaster at a spot on Otto’s forehead. “I told you to go kill a handful of Armada lackeys and some headhunting savages, and you bring back a hostage?”
Otto’s brow furled and he cocked his head at the Prelate’s threat. There was a dangerous glint in his muddy eyes.
“I am not finished yet,” he said.
The mountainous thing roared its challenge and charged into the midst of the Armada advance. They gave ground before it and brought their weapons to bear. Hardesty spat a sulfurous oath as he saw the jacketless rounds bounce harmlessly off its massive chest. Moving with deceptive speed, Otto swatted a soldier out of the way and scooped up one of the Copaltans, breaking his back like a twig in those impossibly large fists. He laughed as he heaved the body into his attacker’s midst, bowling them over l
ike ninepins. The obsidian clubs could do no damage, splintering their edges on his elephantine hide. Otto twisted and flailed, a lion amongst sheep, smashing and crushing whoever came into his reach. He saved his special ministrations for his former Armada comrades, pounding them into the dust whenever he could catch them. He laughed, reveling in his unstoppable might.
Just when it looked like the Armada party would be utterly routed, Otto’s gloating ended with a startled grunt. His eyes went wide as he stared down at the feathered shaft protruding from his stomach. One of the Copaltan axe men had decided to go back to his bow. The grunt turned to a ululating scream as a second arrow socked home into his gut right on top of the first. A howl went up among the Libera as they scrambled for their own bows. His lust for battle suddenly quenched, Otto turned, left the doorway, and vanished from sight.
“We’ve got to get out of here!” hissed Dr. Arnac. “They’ll be here in seconds!”
“Perhaps you’re right, Doctor,” replied the Prelate. “Prepare to – ,“ Otto limped in, blood spattered and perforated. The feathered ends of the two arrow shafts protruded from his grotesque abdomen.
“Dios mío!” said Ressa, sitting up. She had come to while Otto was upstairs, but had sat silent while the Prelate raved.
Otto wrapped his ham fists around the shafts and with a great gurgling cry, wrenched them free. He dropped to his knees, groaning as the blood flowed between his fingers. There are few things more excruciating than abdominal perforations, and despite his enhanced abilities, his nerve endings were unimpaired.
“Our enemies – have they been dealt with?” asked the Prelate. Otto didn’t answer, except to groan some more, but he managed to get to his feet.
Rear Echelon Page 11