by B. V. Larson
Some kept coming, however. They fired as they ran, too. Jets of flame-like plasma lanced from them toward my cohort.
“Duck!” I screamed. “Put the men down in the trenches again!”
“That would be most—” Foam began.
I put the muzzle of my morph rifle into his face. His evil squid-eyes rolled over me, the gun in my hands, and the situational displays in our rearward trench line. I didn’t even have a command bunker, but I didn’t care. I hated dying in bunkers, anyway.
Foam wisely stopped arguing and relayed my orders faithfully. The heavy troopers hunkered down again.
For the most part the enemy fire rolled over them. Some were torched, and they ran around like headless chickens. Their brothers croaked in dismay—but they didn’t break and charge. Not yet.
“One hundred meters…” Foam said in an almost accusatory tone.
“Stand and fire again! Tell the men to fight at will, hand-to-hand if they want to!”
If it was possible, which I doubted, Foam’s eyes seemed to spread open even farther than before. He was clearly shocked by my unprecedented tactics. He passed on my commands, however, and every confused noncom squid in the trenches gave my orders to the men.
The heavy troopers stood, released another crashing volley, then at long last, they lost it. They’d already started getting pasted. Fifty or more were dead, another few dozen were burning alive—it was enough to put the fear of God into anyone.
As with all men of their simple kind, they didn’t react with fear and run away—far from it. They charged—eyes wild, blubbery lips parted and drooling. They used their heavy pistols and thick, single-edged cutlasses. The two lines met in the open dirt, and carnage erupted immediately.
The third rank of the enemy swept close, right on the heels of the first two, who were half dead or more at this point. They stopped racing toward us and stood tall. Their skinny arms lifted what looked like long-range flame throwers.
That’s what they were, essentially, according to reports from the field. They projected a tube of force down which a gush of flaming liquid was squirted. A fine line of flame, no thicker than a flashlight, shot down that narrow force field until it struck something. The target was instantly painted with a slurry of substances—something like burning napalm.
These weapons were nasty, but short-ranged and not terribly accurate. As a result, my heavy troopers and the bright-siders they struggled with were hit without distinction. Like a thousand candles on a birthday cake, they lit up in a hellish inferno.
“Release the giants!” I shouted. “Have them run to the right flank. We have to take down that rear line at all costs!”
Foam’s beak rattled, and I saw the giants behind me stir. They stood tall—impossibly tall. They were the most human-looking of all the Blood World soldiers, if the largest and dumbest. They had heads that were too small for their bodies, but they could fight with a savagery no human in history had ever possessed.
“Swing right! Swing right!”
The giants milled for a moment, confused by the flames and rising column of black smoke. The field of battle was almost obscured from view now.
Growling in frustration, I began to march in the direction I wanted them to go. Behind me, the giants took note and followed. There was only about fifty of them, but the ground shook with their collective heavy tread.
Coming around to the flank, we finally had a clear field of fire. The rear rank—the last of the bright-sider army—stood tall and beamed lines of heat into the flaming mass of struggling forms. They were killing their own men as often as they were mine—but they didn’t seem to care.
“Fire!” I shouted, and I mag-dumped my morph-rifle into the enemy line.
The giants, each activating their personal bubble-like shield, fired from the hip. Their projectors gushed, putting out energy akin to that of an 88 light artillery piece. Sweeping side to side, they destroyed the surprised bright-siders.
A few of the enemy turned and lit us up as well—but their weapons weren’t effective against the giants and their shields. They could only put a sea of rippling flame down, blistering my men’s feet. The napalm slid right off the protective bubbles of force without reaching the skin of my giants.
After less than a minute of exchanging fire, the bright-siders finally broke. My heavy troopers, undeterred by horrible wounds and high losses, charged out of the blackened smoke and ran after them. My giants thundered in pursuit as well, trumpeting and hooting with their bass voices. They sounded like a herd of charging mastodons.
“We should call them back, sir,” Foam advised me.
“No. Let them have their fun.”
In the unforgiving desert, where the sun was just a simmering gleam on the horizon, the giants and the heavies caught up with the bright-siders. They tore them apart, limb from limb. Swords hacked and flashed redly in the sunlight. The giants released horrible grunts of excitement and even ecstasy. They sounded like a herd of rutting bulls to me.
For us, the battle was over.
-64-
Later that day, Graves contacted me. He was all smiles.
“I’ve reviewed your cohort’s vids. That was impressive, McGill. Even Fike says you behaved competently—and he hates you.”
“He sure does,” I said, dumping a bottle of water over my head.
“I always thought you’d missed your calling. You should have accepted the job of sub-primus when Drusus offered it to you.”
“Why do you say that, sir?”
“Because you understand these apes. You get how their minds work.”
“It takes one to know one I guess.”
Graves laughed. “That’s right. Anyway, you held your position on one of the hardest hit flanks. You had no defensive terrain or infrastructure, other than a few trenches—but you held.”
“Permission to return to the Varus side, sir? I’d like to rejoin my unit.”
Graves hesitated, but then he nodded. “Permission granted. I’m rejecting Fike’s transfer request.”
His words came as a shock. I had no idea that prick Fike had tried to transfer me permanently. I supposed it was sort of a compliment—but still, you’d think the man would have at least asked my opinion.
I didn’t let any of these thoughts show on my face, which stayed slack and stupid. It’s been my longstanding opinion that overall, everyone prefers a dumbass to a smarty-pants type.
“That’s excellent, sir,” I said. “Thank you.”
Graves broke the connection, and I stood up wearily. “I’m moving on, Foam. You fought well today.”
He eyed me oddly for a moment before answering. “You are a good commander, Sub-Primus McGill. You kill the enemy with zeal.”
“Thanks, Foam. You were a good exec. Give my regards to your new sub-primus, whoever he might be.”
With that, I trudged my weary way back to Legion Varus and 3rd Unit. Along the way I met up with someone I didn’t expect to see outside her town walls.
It was Helsa. She was looking lean and fit. Her sheer robes flapped in a sudden hot breeze coming from the bright-side deserts. That wind… it pasted her clothes to her body. I could tell right off that she didn’t believe in any kind of undergarments. I doubted her people even knew what they were. As a result, every sweet curve and detail was outlined for the roving eyes of a man like me.
“Uh… hi there.”
“McGill…? You’re walking alone on a battlefield. Why?”
“Because the battle is over, darling.” I waved vaguely out sunward. The burning eye known as 91 Aquarii was threatening to peep over the horizon. Was there a slight change since yesterday? I thought that it was a smidgeon brighter. It had been around a hundred hours since we’d arrived here, and even on Edge World the morning sun had to rise eventually.
Helsa fell into step beside me as I continued walking toward Varus. I didn’t ask her what kind of skullduggery had led her to me. Clearly, she’d tracked me somehow. The Shadowlanders were six ki
nds of tricky, and they had tech all their own. It wasn’t surprising they could find one man out of twenty thousand, even on a confused battlefield like this one.
“I’ve come with an offer,” she said.
“How’s that?”
“We must strike our camp soon and move on. The dawn is coming. Have you seen the three banners that fly at different heights over our city?”
“Uh-huh, I guess I have.”
“When the sunlight touches the highest flying banner, it is time to begin our preparations. When the lowest is bathed in our sun’s light, we must move on. It is our way.”
“Even in the middle of a battle?”
She shrugged. “Our sun never stops creeping. It doesn’t rest for death, joy or sorrow. Neither do we.”
“Okay… Did you say something about an offer?”
“Yes. We would like to end this siege. We think you’re the man to do it.”
“Sure, right… but how?”
Helsa stopped walking and peered up at me. The lustful wind clawed and luffed at her clothes, and I enjoyed the view. She didn’t seem to notice the way an Earth-woman would have. I suspected her wimpy males weren’t into ogling women.
“We’ve been plotting. We believe we could do to Armel what we tried to do to your legion—that is, we could sabotage his revival machines.”
“Yeah…? Well, he’s got plenty of lizards. You might slow him down some with that tactic, but—”
“That is why you are important to this plan,” she said. She reached out a hand and tapped a finger on my standard-issue armor. “There are many saurians in his army, but only one commander. You will kill Armel after we’ve disabled his machines.”
“Ah…” I said thinking it over. “That might just work. Without Armel to lead them, those lizards won’t know which end of their own tails to suck on.”
Helsa blinked. “You describe an odd visual, but I think I understand your meaning. Will you do it?”
“Uh… do what?”
“Lead a teleport-strike on Armel, of course.”
“Oh… I could, I guess, but I’d need a harness.”
“We’ve got a set of them. A team of agents will go with you.”
I thought it over. “I wish I had my armor still. That would make this mission a lot more attractive.”
Helsa frowned and examined my breastplate. It was shiny metal, rather than the sleek black of the Glass World suit I’d worn the last time we’d met.
“Yes… this is different armor. How did you lose such an advantage?”
“Well, I died up there on that plateau. When I tried to get my armor back, I found out old Fike had snagged it.”
“He can do that?”
“He’s got the rank. He says he’ll give it back when Central finishes making his own set.”
“In other words, he’s a thief.”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“Thieves are dishonorable,” Helsa said, frowning.
I thought about mentioning that she was a self-described assassin—but I didn’t. Maybe assassins were honorable in her culture—in fact, I had a hunch that they were.
Helsa began to pace. I stared at her and even moved sideways a few steps now and then to improve the view. The wind kept fluffing and dragging her clothes around, and a man had to work to keep up with it. She didn’t seem to care at all. She didn’t even notice my fixation.
“We will take care of this,” she announced at last. “But you must commit to our strike on Armel’s camp if we succeed.”
I thought about it for half a second, then I grinned. I grinned big.
“Little lady, you’ve got a deal. Can we seal it with a kiss?”
She appeared quizzical. “A kiss? That is a gift for the dead and the dying.”
“It is?” I said, thinking of the kiss she’d given me days ago. I had indeed been flat on my back and in the throes of death at the time. “Well… I tend to die a lot. Why don’t you advance me one for the near future?”
Helsa smiled slightly. She stepped closer.
That was all the invitation I needed. I swept her up and laid a big one on her. She seemed to like it. When we parted and she stepped back, I looked around in surprise.
There was no one there. Nothing but the winds and the sifting sands. She’d teleported out on me. Damn, but the girl was a sneaky one.
-65-
Hours later, I was asleep in my bunk. My eyes opened when I heard something odd. Lurching to my feet, I reached for a blade, groping. My fingers found the hilt, but before I could draw it, I felt a much smaller hand wrap over mine.
“Shhh,” she said.
It was Helsa.
“Damn, girl. You shouldn’t go sneaking around in a Varus man’s bunker. I’ve killed for less, many times.”
“I believe you, but I have something for you.”
She opened a big bag, and a heavy suit flopped out. It took me a moment to realize it was an empty suit of fine Glass World armor.
“Hey! That was quick!”
“We saw no reason to delay. Dawn creeps closer every hour. We must strike camp soon.”
“Uh… yeah. This thing is all wet inside—is that blood?”
Helsa hesitated. “Possibly…”
I looked up. “I didn’t tell you to kill Fike!”
She shrugged. “You didn’t tell me not to.”
“Girl, you’re going to get me into trouble. I can’t go strutting around in this armor now. People will notice.”
“Excellent. In that case, there’s nothing to keep you here. Let’s strike now.”
She reached out a hand, and in it was a teleport harness. It was a wicked thing, with narrower straps and a lighter battery than Earth rigs usually had. I suspected it had a shorter range, no more than lightyear or so.
“Is it charged and targeted?”
“Of course.”
“If you guys know Armel’s address so well, why haven’t you taken him out yourselves before this?”
She smiled. “Who’s to say we haven’t tried? The trouble is his revival machines are under heavy guard. We can’t get to them—and he keeps returning to life.”
This was kind of funny to me. It had seemed to me that our side in this struggle had been taking all the punches. But if these agents had been plaguing good old Armel by killing him now and then, he couldn’t be enjoying the experience.
“You want me to bust in and finish his equipment, huh?”
“Think of it as a repossession. After all, we built his machines in the first place. That’s why we attacked your ship in an attempt to destroy your machines. If you read the licensing agreement carefully, your ownership is revoked if you use them to attack our planet.”
“Really? Huh… that’s downright diabolical. I like it.”
“Will you go with me then?”
“Right now? I need a shower and some breakfast to fight my best.”
She seemed a bit put out, but at last she agreed. We stuffed the bloody armor under my bunk like we were hiding a body, and we walked to the officer’s mess.
After a bit of arguing and a lot of cold looks from various ladies, I got Helsa into the place. She had her first-ever meal of eggs and bacon—and she loved it.
“This is the offspring of an animal?” she asked, poking at her third egg before scarfing it down. “I had no idea Earth animals were so flavorful.”
“They’re tasty, all right.”
We ate with gusto, but when we were just standing up to leave, a figure appeared in the doorway. It was a pissed-looking Sub-Primus Fike.
His hair was sticky, and at his back were a half-dozen heavy troopers. Nobody looked like they were in a laughing mood.
“There she is, having breakfast with McGill. I should have known. Arrest that woman!”
Fike pointed at Helsa, but she didn’t run off. Instead, she handed me that stringy teleport harness. “You know what to do,” she said, and she gave me another peck on the cheek.
Two massive paws rea
ched for her—but they closed on nothing. There was only a bluish swirl of light. She’d popped out again.
I was impressed. The Shadowlander teleport harnesses were more refined than ours. There was a lot less flashing and strobing—you just stepped in or stepped out of existence.
Fike had his hands on his hips. He glared at me and panted.
“Have you been running, Sub-Primus? You seem all out of breath.”
“It figures you were at the bottom of this, McGill. I should have known you’d be so petty as to hire alien assassins—”
“Now hold on a just minute, sir. I fought for you and held my position. After that, I trudged all the way back to my own outfit across the desert. You can check my tapper’s location services—I’ve been in bed all night.”
“I know all that. I’ve already checked. But some sneaky alien agents broke into my bunker and stole my armor. Now I come here and find one of their top people having breakfast with you. What are the odds that’s a coincidence?”
Throwing my hands up with my palms out, I shrugged. “I don’t rightly know, sir. But I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“I don’t either.”
Fike spent the next hour on his tapper, paging through my location data. Just like I’d said, he found I hadn’t been much of anywhere. I’d spent most of my time stretched out on my bunk.
“See? I wasn’t anywhere near your camp. Are you satisfied now, sir?”
He eyed me with vast distrust. I gave him my best dumbass stare in return. I really poured it on, doing my best to ooze ignorance.
Disgusted, Fike threw his hands up and marched out. At the door, he turned to regard me one more time.
“If I find out you’ve got my missing armor, McGill, I’ll have you flayed alive.”
“Been there and done that, sir,” I said, “but you have to believe me, I don’t know what happened. Maybe the aliens were curious about the armor and wanted to steal a sample to copy or something.”
Fike growled and marched out. His army of meatballs followed him. They knocked over a few tables, and people were left behind cursing in their wake.
