by B. V. Larson
Winslade was out of his depth, I think. He hadn’t put forward any comprehensible plans of his own other than to guard the entrances and wait out the night.
Winslade and Turov conversed privately. He was the only one who could hear what she said. When Winslade closed the com channel, his face was even whiter than usual.
“They’re going to use the broadsides,” he told us with a flickering smile. “They’re going to smash these machines all at once!”
I knew right off why he was sweating. A murmur swept the room. Overhead, the ceiling sent spills of dust down into our faces. The machines, stirred up by his transmission, were rioting, tearing at the ground. I hoped they couldn’t get through, or at least that they would get bored and give up before they managed to dig deeply enough. There were, by reported count, more than a hundred of them hanging around today.
“The big guns?” asked Graves. “Fusion-powered shells landing right here, on top of us?”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Winslade said.
“Primus?” I said, speaking up in the stunned silence that followed Winslade’s announcement.
“What is it, McGill?” Winslade asked with a resigned voice. He was tapping at his tablet.
“Sir, such a move might well kill everyone in this room.”
Winslade’s eyeballs slid sideways from his tablet to look at me. “That is supposition, Veteran. This is an officer’s meeting, and I would appreciate it if—”
“Sir?” I asked, interrupting him again. I was going for broke, but hell, I figured we were all about to die anyway. “Can you and I have a private word, sir? I might be able to help.”
Winslade eyed me quietly. I stared back.
He had to know what I was thinking. I had a special connection with Turov. He knew that—everyone did.
“Dismissed!” he said, waving us away.
I hung around as the officers filtered out. Graves passed me and gave me a flat frown. He shook his head slightly, discouragingly. In return, I gave him a smile and a bright nod. Sighing, he left.
Winslade’s eyeballs slid to me again when the last man had vacated the chamber. “I meant you too, Veteran,” he said.
“Sorry Primus, I misunderstood. But can I say one thing?”
“If you must.”
“Those broadsides—have you seen them fire on a planet before, sir? I was in Minotaur’s tactical fire control center when we bombarded Tech World, and do you know what? If those shells come arcing down into this general vicinity, we’re all paste.”
“You may be correct, but that’s not our decision to make.”
“Oh sure,” I said, “the fleet people might get around to reviving all of us eventually. But what do you think will happen to your auxiliary cohort if all the dragons are destroyed? Do you think they’ll give you a budget to buy a hundred new ones? Might it not be easier—and much cheaper—to disband your command and call it a bad idea?”
Winslade grimly watched me as I mouthed these damning words. He’d never been a man with a pleasant expression, but if looks could kill, I would have been struck dead.
“Don’t you think I know that, McGill?” he hissed. “Is this private discussion just an excuse for you to gloat before we’re all blown to atoms?”
“No sir, I’m trying to solve our mutual problem.”
“Which is?”
“Turov, of course. Are you aware I have a special relationship with her? I might be able to put in a good word.”
He chewed his lower lip for a second. It was an ugly thing to watch a man do.
“Why not?” he said. “It will stir up the machines, but they’re tearing up the landscape anyway. Let’s call her.”
He used his private com unit to contact Turov, then handed me the headset.
She didn’t answer right off—but I let the channel request continue beeping in her ear. If any other noncom had pulled this stunt, they’d have been up for a court martial by the end of the day. But Turov and I had a connection that I was willing to gamble on.
“What is it, Winslade?” she answered finally. “I have command preparations to make. You can’t simply contact me whenever you wish—it’s unseemly.”
“Uh…yes, Imperator. This is Veteran James McGill, sir. I apologize, sir, but this is quite literally a matter of life and death.”
“McGill?” she asked incredulously. “What are you talking about?”
“Have you ever seen the impact point of a barrage from one of these warships, Imperator? Well I have—three times in fact, if you include the bombardment of the squid moon base in this system. In fact, I’ve aimed and fired them myself more than once. I think I’m the only human in existence who can make that claim.”
She was silent for a second. I figured she was probably seething.
“That’s not officially acceptable information, Veteran,” she said. It sounded like her words were coming out between clenched teeth.
The “officially acceptable information” she was referring to was a lie she and I had cooked up back on Tech World. It was generally known I’d been involved in the firing of Minotaur’s broadsides—but Turov’s official story to the brass had left my significant role out. She liked to pretend it was all her idea to fire the big guns.
Actually, our arrangement had been more of a mutually beneficial bargain than a plan. A plan, to my way of thinking, required forethought and…well, planning. We’d made our deal in the heat of desperation.
For all it’s flaws, the arrangement had kept me from being permed for misconduct while it gave her the Galactic key. Almost as important, it misled everyone who cared into believing I’d fired Minotaur’s big guns under her orders.
It was a fiction that had benefited us both for over a year now. If it ever got out that a minor subordinate under her command had changed the course of a battle—and possibly all human history—her career would’ve been toast. She and I had always pretended my firing of the broadsides at the squid ship was part of her grand scheme—part of her innovative boldness.
“How did you get Winslade’s com-set, anyway?” she demanded.
“I borrowed it, sir. Anyway, back to the broadsides—I’m telling the truth, and we both know it. We’ve seen what these weapons can do. You have to know that the two surviving cohorts down here will die in the blast along with the enemy machines.”
“You’re correct,” she said after a quiet pause. “We’ll wait until tonight when all the machines show up. We’ll even send back and forth some radio signals to get them stirred up. I admit that some damage may be sustained due to friendly fire. The machines are so well stacked up, however, we can’t afford to miss this opportunity to wipe them all out.”
“But you can’t use those weapons here, sir. They’ll destroy everything. I don’t think Winslade’s cohort would even survive.”
“You’re wrong. Our techs have done the math. You’re sheltering at a considerable depth.”
“Sir, we’re underground. This land is highly metallic and will carry a seismic disturbance a long way. A cave-in is guaranteed. We’ll be crushed.”
She was silent again for a second. I had the feeling she was consulting with someone else. “Why are you bringing this to me now?” she demanded. “Is Winslade behind your complaints? Is he hiding in that hole with you?”
I glanced at Winslade. He slowly shook his head.
“This is all me, sir,” I told Turov. “Hold your fire. We think we can break out of this mess.”
“How?”
“Commit the lifters, sir. We only need three of them. Just think, if the dragons are all wiped out—damn, that’s a lot of expensive hardware destroyed. You’ll have to explain the loss to Hegemony. After losing Pegasus, the bill for this campaign must be pretty high already.”
“You want me to risk three lifters to save your sorry ass a death, is that it?”
“It would be the considerate thing to do, sir.”
“Do I hear a threat?” she asked suddenly. “You’re implyi
ng you’ll talk about our prior dealings if I don’t comply, correct?”
This turn in the conversation startled me. I hadn’t been implying anything of the kind. I’d been more hoping to persuade her to see reason than trying to apply pressure.
“No sir, I—”
“That won’t work, McGill. All I have to do is withhold your revival indefinitely. After a week, your data could be quietly lost. Regrettable, but it’s happened before.”
“Told you it wouldn’t work,” Winslade said quietly.
I glanced at him. He’d either been listening in on my conversation, or he was pretty good at reading my disappointed facial expressions.
I was finally getting mad at Turov. This woman suspected everyone of skullduggery just because she was so good at it herself.
“Listen Imperator,” I said, “I’m not threatening you with anything. Our secrets are safe. What I’m suggesting is a way out of this. Don’t risk the bombardment. Those broadsides will tear a hole in this planet’s crust. You might lose everything. What if the squids show up again after that?”
She was quiet again.
“I get it,” she said. “I understand your confidence now. You would not dare to threaten me if you didn’t have an ace in the hole, as they say. I haven’t forgotten your maneuvering during the elections last year. You must have friends in Varus and aboard my ships. People who will blackmail me to get you revived. I hadn’t thought you would—never mind.”
I hardly knew what she was talking about. People often attributed near god-like powers to me, but honestly, I only half knew what the heck I was doing most of the time.
But what I did glean from her little monologue was that she was nervous. People who have something to protect can be manipulated by threatening the precious thing they hold so dear. In Turov’s case, her downfall was her career. It had been put together on shaky ground, and I knew there were plenty of people who wanted to see her fall. If you were to ask me, I’d say she’d become a bit paranoid about it.
The opportunist in me moved quickly to capitalize on her state of mind. “Well sir, there’s an easy way out of all your worries. Just send us the three lifters.”
“You want me to risk more invaluable assets?” she demanded. “Fine. But you’ll get only one lifter, not three. And I’ll only wait four hours for you to complete the evacuation. Tell Winslade that—I can hear him shivering nearby. After four hours, I’m going to fire the big guns and obliterate the region!”
“Thank you, sir!” I said, but she’d already closed the channel.
I gave Winslade a big grin. “She went for it.”
“I heard. One lifter? That’s never going to be enough. We’ve got a full cohort of exhausted troops and a cohort of heavy cavalry.”
Blinking, I nodded. The sneaky bastard had been listening in. I had no idea how he’d done it.
“Well sir,” I said. “I’ll give up my jump seat to a Solstice man if you’ll give up yours. Sure, it’ll be a squeeze, but if we shove a few units into the top section and stack them up in the officers’ quarters, we’ll make out.”
Winslade looked put out but resigned. “More likely, we’ll lose half our men breaking out. That will solve all our weight problems.”
I nodded. I’d been thinking that too, but didn’t want to say it out loud.
As we prepared for our exodus, I wondered about the bargain I’d made with Turov. From her point of view, I’d blackmailed her. That would probably cost me later on.
Part of my private motivation was to save machine lives as well as human. I didn’t think they deserved mass extinction, and I still held out hope we could make friends with them at some point.
I hoped these frigging machines would appreciate the effort eventually, but I didn’t think they ever would.
-21-
It all went down fast and furious once the lifter gave us the go-code. The lifter pilot hadn’t landed yet, mind you, he was letting his clumsy craft drift down toward the LZ, checking out every inch of ground for machines. Watching the operation unfold on the command screens, I could tell the crew wasn’t keen on landing in the middle of a pile of giant hungry machines, any one of which was a quarter the size of the lifter itself. That would have been akin to ringing the dinner bell again, and I couldn’t blame them for being worried. All that refined metal in one digestible package? They’d be eaten alive—literally.
Winslade began quietly filtering troops out onto the valley floor. For about five minutes, we got away with it. By that time, two full units were out there, one of cavalry and one Solstice unit of infantry. I wasn’t sure exactly what the infantry was supposed to do, but I hoped their weaponeers could put some hurt downrange with their belchers if the machines charged us.
For once, I wasn’t in the front-line formation. My squad, along with the rest of Graves’ unit, was queued up to come out next. We were supposed to sneak out there quietly and hide in a fold of the land, out of sight from the machines—but we never got to that point.
The sneaking ended when somebody transmitted something. We’d all been told to silence our transmissions, of course. We were to run silent, keeping every signal muted. We weren’t even supposed to use our suit-to-suit intercoms. But somebody, out of the hundreds, had screwed up. It was bound to happen in a large nervous formation of troops. Hell, some of us couldn’t remember to silence our tappers when we went to the movies.
The machines froze. All across the valley, they’d been scooting randomly over the walls between us and the badlands. They all stopped moving for about a second, then reversed themselves. My squad was next in line to come out of our particular hole at that point, and I was provided a front-row seat on the action.
“That’s it!” Graves shouted. “Calvary, forward! We’ll take up the left flank, right where that big one is bearing down on the infantry. I want each squad to pick a target and take it down. Move!”
We thundered out of the tunnels. Finding themselves underfoot, the Solstice infantry scattered, throwing themselves out of the way of our grinding rush. One down-stroke from my dragon’s legs would squash an unarmored trooper as flat as a flapjack.
We couldn’t afford to pussy-foot around and make the infantry feel good about themselves this time. They were secondary, and everyone knew it.
My squad followed right behind me. We thundered up to the top of a small fold in the land, lining up on top of it. The formation was a strange one as we were operating under the assumption the enemy had no ballistic weaponry of their own. Instead of taking cover and choosing firing positions we knew were safe, we’d opted for maximum viewing range. I felt exposed, and I hoped it wouldn’t matter. All Graves’ cared about was providing every dragon with a clear line of sight to the approaching enemy.
It was uncanny to watch the machines decide as a single mass to charge our position. The machines didn’t spin around—instead they sort of reshaped themselves into metal mounds that leaned in our direction rather than away from us. Like teardrops of mercury, they shunted and shivered their way down the walls of the canyon with new purpose. They came from every direction, and they looked determined.
Graves’ sudden move placed us in the middle of the action with startling speed. The other cavalry unit that had already been deployed took their time adjusting themselves. They took aim and let loose. They fired first, but they only beat us by about ten seconds.
My squad had been given leave to engage, so I did wait for the entire unit to line up next to us.
“Squad, I’m marking our target. Use your computer-aided sights. Follow my lead—and don’t miss!”
When the target reticle changed from red to green, I squeezed the triggers in my gauntlets. The air cracked, and I could feel the vibration of the big cannon’s recoil throughout my machine. Dragons unloaded their spinal cannons on every side of me moments later, and minor secondary shockwaves set my machine swaying. Being on two legs, dragons weren’t as stable as wheeled or tracked vehicles, but the gyros whined and motors foug
ht to compensate automatically. My aim would have been spoiled if it wasn’t for these computer-guided adjustments.
The opening shells hammered the outer hull of my chosen target machine, punching through that first critical hole. The rest of my squad piled on, nailing the machine I’d painted with plenty more explosive power. The machine was gutted and went into an odd spin for a few seconds before it went down.
More and more were coming, however. We’d waited too long, I realized. It was close to dark, and the lifter should have landed at high noon. The main herd of machines was coming back to feed, and the commotion of battle would surely bring more of them. They didn’t seem to have much in the way of fear circuitry. The only time I’d witnessed hesitation in one of them was when we’d met up with the mama machine back near the river. Maybe they behaved differently when protecting young. Other than in that instance, the machines were always eager to feed on fresh metals.
Before the third unit of cavalry was in position to join the fight, our unit had taken out three machines. The other deployed unit had only nailed one. I knew that Graves had told his fellow centurions about focusing all their fire on a single spot on a single machine, but it looked like his peers hadn’t taken the suggestion to heart. They were spamming all the machines with fire. Anyone who had a good shot took it. As a result, there were a number of machines approaching us that were damaged and smoking, but they were still in the fight.
I did note a new behavior among the damaged machines, the ones that were still approaching—they were spinning. Going around and around like wheels on a tram. They were becoming flatter, too. That was a puzzle, but there wasn’t really any time to worry about it. We had our own problems.
We’d knocked out a number of the enemy, but we weren’t doing it fast enough. About ten of them were getting too close.
That’s when I heard a whistle and the Solstice infantry around me surged forward. I’d pretty much ignored them up until now. They were helpless in my opinion—but I soon found out I was wrong.
