As the rest of them listened, Sureshot told the gods how Trickshot had been killed, how brave he was, and why they should welcome him. Then, as the blanket-wrapped body was lowered into the ground, Sureshot led the rest of the Naa in a chant that Jivani didn’t need to translate. The sadness and regret inherent in the rise and fall of the words was universal. The company had suffered its first casualty—and McKee was left to wonder how many would follow.
Twenty minutes after the ceremony, Sureshot and two of his warriors were armed and ready to ride. McKee was there to see them off. “I will carry my father’s totem,” Sureshot said solemnly. “Bigclub would be foolish to fire on it.”
“Good,” McKee replied. “If you run into trouble, use your radio. The third squad will come a-running.”
“That’s good to know,” Sureshot said. McKee saw the familiar look in the warrior’s eyes and knew he was thinking about something other than war. Males. They were so predictable.
McKee placed the entire company on standby as Sureshot rode out. By standing on a rocky outcropping, she could watch as Sureshot and his companions followed the road south and disappeared into a ground-hugging mist. There were no gunshots, and no calls for help, so it seemed safe to assume that Bigclub was willing to talk.
An hour passed. And as night began to fall, McKee was beginning to worry. What if Sureshot and his warriors were dead? All killed by arrows or some other means? At what point should she attack? Jivani believed that the warriors were having tea, a ritual that involved a good deal of socializing before either party could discuss the matter at hand. And McKee understood that. But an hour and a half?
That’s what she was thinking when Larkin’s voice came over the radio. “This is Alpha-One-Three . . . We have Sureshot on Drone 3. He’s on his way back. Over.”
McKee said, “Roger,” and climbed up onto the rock. The sun was an orange smear in the western sky, but there was still enough light to see by. And sure enough . . . Three riders were headed her way. The pace was deliberately slow, so as to signal nonchalance. It took every bit of McKee’s self-control to hide the impatience she felt as the negotiating team finally entered camp.
But once Sureshot dismounted and turned her way, she knew the negotiations had been successful. It was visible in the way he held his body. “I have good news,” Sureshot said confidently. “Bigclub will allow us to pass.”
“And the price?”
“A RAV, a construction droid, and a hundred thousand rounds of ammunition.”
McKee’s spirits fell. There was no way she could or would pay that price. But, before she could reply, Jivani spoke up. “That’s what he asked for . . . What price did you get him down to?”
Sureshot grinned. “One thousand rounds of ammo, ten grenades, and a case of MREs.”
McKee laughed. “Nice job. I hate to provide bandits with arms, but we’d be forced to use even more ordnance to launch an attack, and we would take casualties as well.”
McKee had no intention of taking the company through the pass at night. So the hours of darkness were used to eat another meal, review contingency plans, and break camp. By the time the sickly yellow sun was two fingers off the eastern horizon, they had cleared the rocks and were halfway to the hills.
Sureshot and his dooth led the way with a pack animal. It was loaded with the ammo, grenades, and food required to pay Bigclub. Sureshot was followed by alternating squads of Naa and legionnaires, with RAVs and construction droids behind them. The rear guard consisted of Larkin and the members of the third squad.
McKee noticed that a T-1 named Sal Toto was carrying two shoulder-mounted rocket launchers rather than Sergeant Rico Sager. He was sitting astride the last RAV. That was Larkin’s doing—and not in keeping with the order of march she had approved.
McKee thought about calling the arrangement into question and knew Larkin would lose face if she did. It was the sort of “I’ll do it my way” approach Sergeant McKee had been known for . . . And now it was coming back to bite her. McKee smiled. She would talk to Larkin later . . . After they cleared the pass.
Sureshot started upwards, and the rest followed. McKee rode at the head of squad one, behind the first group of Naa. Storytell, Jivani, and Andy were nearby. At the beginning, the road had been wide enough to accommodate two dooth-drawn carts. Now it was starting to narrow, and as that occurred, rocky hillsides rose to the right and left. And as McKee looked up, she saw ledges. Each occupied by at least one of Bigclub’s ragged-looking warriors, all of whom were staring down at the column.
By that time, McKee could feel the hostility they projected and realized that she’d been stupid. Very stupid. They were riding into a trap. Bigclub had lied to Sureshot who, being young and relatively inexperienced, believed the bandit.
McKee chinned her mike and opened her mouth but never got the opportunity to speak. Because that was when one of the bandits fired a rifle, and Sureshot toppled out of the saddle. All hell broke loose immediately thereafter. Both hillsides sparkled as dozens of bandits opened fire. Bigclub wasn’t about to settle for a pittance. He planned to take everything.
It seemed to occur in slow motion. There was only one way to go, and that was straight ahead. So McKee shouted, “Fire at will! Charge!”
It was impossible to know if Sureshot’s warriors were following her order or their own instincts as they kicked their dooths into a trot. They were firing back and doing so with deadly accuracy.
Bullets pinged against Vella’s armor as the T-1 raised his fifty. The short, three-round bursts were computer-controlled—and nearly every slug found a target. McKee was firing, too. Her 4.7 mm Axer Arms L-40 Assault Weapon could fire two thousand rounds per minute in the three-round-burst mode. Her job was to keep the Naa from closing in on Vella.
As McKee looked up, dark bodies were silhouetted against the gray sky. She fired, and fired again. A body landed in the center of the road and popped when Vella stepped on it. McKee knew she should be monitoring what was taking place behind her—but was forced to fight for her life as they passed a hidden alcove, and bandits surged out to attack them. Even though they were on foot, the bandits managed to pull two warriors off their dooths. There were screams as knives flashed, and McKee fired at them. But it wasn’t enough.
A Naa had hold of Vella’s machine gun and was heavy enough to weigh it down. McKee could hear Jivani firing her pistol and sensed that Storytell was fighting back as well. She triggered a burst, heard her AXE click empty, and was reaching for a magazine when something unexpected occurred.
Andy surged into the mob, put a Naa down with a perfectly timed head butt, and snatched the bandit’s rifle. Then the robot began to kill with the ruthless efficiency of what it was . . . A machine. And not a moment too soon because the column had bunched up behind the first squad by that time and was taking casualties. “Keep moving!” McKee shouted. “Up the hill! Kill the bastards!”
Only three of the ten Naa who had been leading the way were still alive. But they and the legionnaires in the first squad continued to battle their way up the hill. At least two dozen bandits had been killed by then, and the incoming fire had begun to slacken. For one brief moment, McKee thought the worst of it was over. Then a heavy machine gun began to fire at them. The Naa were torn to shreds and a T-1 named Gan went down with his bio bod on board.
McKee swore and waited to die. Bigclub shouldn’t have a heavy machine gun. Couldn’t have one unless . . . Yes! As McKee looked upslope, she could see a turret poking up out of the soil and knew what was underneath. A combat car had been lost to the enemy during the battle for the mesa, and there it was, half-buried at the top of the pass. “Grenades!” McKee shouted, as she fumbled for one. “Destroy that gun!”
But the range was too great, and the grenades fell short. Geysers of dirt flew up where they landed and did no harm. Meanwhile, the big gun continued to chug as Vella fired, and a curtain of dirt rose
around the armored turret.
Then a whoosh was heard, and the combat car took a direct hit from a rocket. The first explosion was followed by a second. It produced a flash of light and a resounding boom. The turret shot fifty feet straight up into the air and seemed to pause there for a moment before crashing down. A column of fire rose from what remained of the combat car, and McKee heard a series of loud bangs as stray rounds of .50 caliber ammo cooked off.
Her head swiveled left and right as Vella carried her upwards, and the company’s remaining drones appeared. Energy beams sizzled as the flying robots entered the fray. That was when McKee remembered that Sal Toto was carrying shoulder-mounted rocket launchers. Why? Because Larkin didn’t trust fur balls, that’s why. Thank God for that. Thank God for him.
As Vella passed the burning combat car, McKee saw the stone fortress off to the right. It was a one-story affair, with a flat roof and rifle slits all around. Puffs of smoke were visible as the surviving bandits fired from within. Was Bigclub in there? Bullets kicked up dirt all around, so McKee ordered Vella to back up a bit.
She hadn’t had time to tally the butcher’s bill but knew it was going to be extensive and didn’t want to lose more lives if that could be avoided. So she ordered the column to stop. And since the road led up through a ravine, the bandits inside the fort couldn’t see them. That left both the legionnaires and Naa free to help their wounded while McKee sent for Private Toto. The T-1 arrived a few minutes later. The so-called cans on the cyborg’s shoulders had been reloaded by then, so he was ready to fire twelve independently targeted rockets. “Take the fort out,” McKee ordered. “But don’t use any more ordnance than you have to.”
Toto nodded his huge head. “Yes, ma’am.”
Thanks to her HUD, McKee had a Toto-eye view as the T-1 topped the rise and went to work. He fired the rockets one at a time. Each was targeted on a rifle slit. And it wasn’t long before a large hole appeared in the fort’s east wall. Toto sent two missiles through the gap. One followed the other so closely, she heard what sounded like a single boom. The explosion was so powerful that a section of roof went airborne, and jets of fire shot out through the rifle slits. It appeared that the fort’s main magazine had gone up, and McKee ordered Toto to stop firing.
McKee waited to see what would happen next and felt relieved when there were no further signs of resistance. So she sent what remained of the first squad forward to clear the fort, ordered the column up onto the ridge, and began the process of assessing how badly the company had been mauled.
Thirteen Naa had been killed. Fourteen, counting Sureshot. And three legionnaires were dead, two of whom were T-1s. A serious blow indeed—and McKee blamed herself for it. Allowing Sureshot to handle the negotiations had been a serious error in judgment. And the realization made her sick to her stomach.
There were wounded, too . . . Seven in all. Two of whom were in critical condition, a Human and a Naa. So McKee sent for a com tech and told her to request a dustoff, plus replacements, and some more supplies.
Night was on the way. So McKee told Larkin to establish observation posts (OPs) on both slopes—and to set up a quick-reaction force comprised of both Humans and Naa. She had been afraid that the indigs would pack up and leave in the wake of Sureshot’s death. But Jivani had been talking to the Naa, who assured her that they planned to stay. “They know your reputation,” the civilian said simply. “And they want revenge.” That suited McKee just fine.
The fly-form arrived half an hour later. McKee half expected a senior officer to be aboard. Cavenaugh perhaps . . . Come to tell her how stupid she had been. However, when the cyborg landed, it was empty except for the flight crew and two medics. But, after giving the matter some additional thought, McKee realized that made sense. The situation would look innocent enough to a person who read her preliminary report but hadn’t been on the ground. Sureshot negotiated a deal, Bigclub went back on his word, and the company fought its way up onto the ridge. No big deal if you were sitting in a chair drinking coffee.
So there weren’t any senior officers, and no reinforcements, either. Fortunately, her request for supplies had been honored. Part of it anyway . . . And as a squad of legionnaires carried cases of ammo off the fly-form, another carried bodies onto it. Bodies plus two brain boxes. McKee wanted to cry but couldn’t allow herself to do so.
The casualties went aboard last. McKee said good-bye to them, thanked the crew, and left via the ramp. Grit flew in every direction as the fly-form lifted off. The people on board would arrive at Fort Camerone in less than an hour. Not just a place, but a whole different world, filled with luxuries like hot showers, palatable food, and real beds.
Finally, having met everyone else’s needs, McKee had a moment in which to reflect on everything that had occurred. The fort was little more than a pile of rubble, so she took an MRE and a mug of hot caf out to a point where she could lean on a rock and look out to the mountains beyond. The Towers of Algeron had a pink hue thanks to the quickly rising sun.
The beautiful sunrise and the hot meal combined to lift McKee’s spirits a bit. And as McKee spooned rice and beans into her mouth, she carried out a blow-by-blow review of the battle. Never mind the why of it . . . What had gone well? And what hadn’t? Larkin had stepped up—and so had the troops. And then there was Andy . . .
McKee’s spoon stopped halfway to her mouth. There hadn’t been time to think. But how had a combot been able to kick so much ass? As far as she knew, such machines weren’t programmed for combat—and if they weren’t programmed for something, they couldn’t do it. What did that suggest? What felt like an injection of ice water entered McKee’s veins. The answer was obvious. Andy wasn’t a combot—Andy was a synth. Sent to check on her. Sent to kill her if necessary.
McKee’s appetite had disappeared. She put the bowl down and stuck her spoon into the quickly congealing pile of rice and beans. It made sense. She’d been forced to kill three government operatives over the last few months. One had been assassinated, while the others had been neutralized in less obvious ways. So it seemed reasonable to believe that the people at the Bureau of Missing Persons didn’t know she was someone other than who she claimed to be . . . But they suspected as much. And, rather than send a synth that looked like what it was, they had chosen to send a synth disguised as a combot.
The substitution could have fooled her for a long time. But unlike combots, synths were programmed to defend themselves when attacked, so when the bandits charged out of their hiding place, Andy did what it was supposed to do. And that was a good thing. McKee knew the truth now. So, what to do? Find a way to terminate the robot? Or attempt to fool it?
McKee tried to remember anything she might have said or done that would give her identity away. She couldn’t. But there were other possibilities. After they murdered her parents, it was reasonable to suppose that government agents had orders to harvest DNA samples from their bodies. So what if Andy had taken samples of her DNA? It would be easy enough to do. All the machine had to do was swab her coffee mug or the equivalent thereof.
Where did that leave her? If Andy had a fatal accident, that would look suspicious. Especially in light of her recent history. And if she allowed the robot to deliver a DNA sample to the BMP she would wind up dead shortly thereafter. It was a lose-lose situation and one that would require additional thought.
After eight hours of rest and maintenance, the company was ready to head south. That meant McKee had to face a difficult decision. Should she leave enough troops to hold the pass? So as to secure her line of retreat? Or should she take everyone with her—and hope for a dustoff later? Both strategies had inherent advantages, but after giving the matter some thought, McKee decided to keep her force intact. She couldn’t afford to leave more than two squads behind and was painfully aware of the fact that such a small group wouldn’t be able to hold the pass against a force of fifty or sixty Naa. And because the company might have to
fight its way south, McKee wanted to keep as much firepower as she could.
So the column formed up and followed the drones down the south side of the pass into a rock-strewn valley. Trees grew in small clumps, streams tumbled down steep hillsides, and the road was a series of switchbacks. Eventually, the valley widened out, and a multitude of streams joined forces to create a river. It flowed through a succession of boulder gardens and accompanied the road south. Two miles later, they came to a campsite reminiscent of the one on the north side of the pass. It, too, had its own graveyard.
There were no signs of life other than a pair of long wings riding the thermals high above. And that was fine with McKee. As the short day wore on, the previously barren valley began to green up, and signs of habitation appeared. The first was a solitary finger of smoke signaling the presence of a distant hut. And that got McKee’s attention. They were likely to encounter a village soon. And when they did, the drones would scare the crap out of the locals. So she had the robots pull back and sent an advance party forward to replace them. It consisted of Storytell, Jivani, and a Naa warrior. Her hope was that the trio could gather Intel and prevent misunderstandings.
Storytell’s role was to let the locals know what was coming. Jivani was there to keep him honest, and the warrior’s job was to provide the others with security. Would it work? McKee hoped so . . . But she was ready to send the first squad forward if things got dicey.
Night came and went. The test came shortly after a nondescript dawn. The morning light found its way down through a thick layer of clouds to fill the valley with an uncertain glow. Columns of gray smoke could be seen up ahead and signaled the presence of a village. “Alpha-One-Five to Alpha-One. Over.”
Andromeda's War (Legion of the Damned Book 3) Page 6
