Andromeda's War (Legion of the Damned Book 3)

by William C. Dietz

  Still, after days spent crossing an arid wasteland, a little bit of precipitation would feel good. But that was to come. The immediate challenge was to make sure that the company didn’t walk into an ambush. “See anything?” McKee said from the corner of her mouth.

  “Nope,” Feng replied as he peered through the scope on his weapon. “Nada.”

  “Okay, send the drone in for a look-see.”

  Charlie Company had three drones—one for each platoon. McKee’s was affectionately known as Can-Three, or C-3, because of its shape and the “3s” painted on both flanks.

  C-3 hummed as it passed over their heads and made straight for the jungle beyond, where it passed between two trees and disappeared. McKee brought the drone’s video up on her HUD—and found herself flying through the sun-dappled forest. A Paguumi subrace called the Jithi represented the immediate threat. According to the briefing materials, the Jithi had split away from the nomadic Paguumis thousands of years earlier—and taken up residence in the planet’s equatorial rain forests. In contrast to their desert-dwelling cousins, the Jithi had light green skin, their hair resembled dreadlocklike fronds, and they had prehensile tail-tentacles. That’s what they were supposed to look like anyway—although the off-worlders had yet to see any of them.

  Not having spotted any Jithi, Paguumis, or Hudathans, McKee stood and called for the second squad to come forward. Rather than reclaim her perch on Bartov’s back, she ordered the other bio bods to dismount and cross the intervening patch of ground on foot. If the legionnaires didn’t like it, they would soon change their minds as they entered an environment where anyone riding a T-1 would be forced to battle low-hanging branches all day.

  The other option was to find a trail, assuming that such a thing existed. Then the bio bods would be able to ride. But, since an established path was the perfect place to set an ambush, the soldiers would have to be extremely vigilant. “Stay within sight of each other,” McKee advised, as vines brushed past her face, and a thick carpet of detritus gave under her boots. “And remember . . . The Jithi can travel through the treetops.”

  Something screamed as if to emphasize that point, and some foliage shook violently as whatever the creature was fled the monsters below. But there were no signs of threats, so McKee called a momentary halt. “Charlie-One to Charlie-Nine. Over.”

  Remy was quick to respond. “Nine here . . . Over.”

  “We’re thirty yards into the green and haven’t seen any hostiles yet. Over.”

  “Roger that. Look for a spot where we can spend the night. Over.”

  McKee chinned her mike button two times. Now it was up to her to find a place where there was access to water, and the company could defend itself. Given what the Jithi were capable of, that seemed to suggest a clearing. So C-3 was sent forward to search for an opening in the jungle—and McKee instructed the squad to proceed single file. That was all she said, leaving it to Feng to assign people to the point and drag positions. A decision that would signal her confidence in Feng’s leadership.

  C-3 offered up a number of potential camping spots before McKee saw one that she liked. A stand of dead trees marked the spot where some sort of disease had left its mark. By cutting those down, the legionnaires could clear a site large enough to accommodate the entire company, and the logs could be used to construct a palisade. And there was a rock formation off to one side. It rose thirty feet into the air. That made it the perfect place for a lookout.

  So McKee sent a bio bod named Perodi up to the top with orders to keep her head on a swivel. Then she sent C-3 out to patrol what would become the perimeter at treetop level. Once those precautions were in place, work began.

  The first step was to clear the dead trees, a task made easier by the use of the multifunction plasma torch that each squad carried. Feng made the cuts himself, dropped the trees in quick succession, and went to work trimming the branches off. Once that task was accomplished, it was a simple matter to chop the trunks into eight-foot lengths and plant them in the three-foot-deep trenches that two of her cyborgs were digging. The work would have gone even faster had McKee assigned all of her cyborgs to the task—but she wanted to keep at least half the squad ready to fight should the need arise.

  The rest of the team arrived fifteen minutes later. The green hats were good—McKee had to give them that. In fact, had it not been for a call letting her know that they were closing in on her location, she would never have known that they were in the vicinity. The legionnaires seemed to materialize around the clearing. But rather than order them to pitch in, Olson put the troops on standby while she took a tour of the area.

  Although that was consistent with the XO’s responsibilities, it also signaled a lack of faith in McKee’s judgment. Was that intentional? McKee assumed that it was—but knew she should expect some sort of retaliation after the confrontation on the ship.

  So McKee kept her mouth shut as Olson paused to sample water from the stream that flowed through the area, tested a freshly cut log to make sure that it was solid, and eyed the beginnings of a latrine. Finally, having found no faults of the sort that would disqualify the site, the XO was forced to issue a terse, “Carry on.”

  The work went quickly after that and was completed well before sundown. As the sun went down, and diurnal creatures began to give way to their nocturnal counterparts, a different set of sounds could be heard. The night creatures were a noisy bunch that liked to gibber, screech, and howl while they looked for food. McKee had been through it before and preferred the peace and quiet of the desert to the cacophony of jungle noises.

  Olson had assigned McKee to the 1200–0200 watch for three nights running by then. A form of harassment that forced her to sleep, get up, and try to sleep again. A practice so obvious that it had been the subject of commentary from her peers. “What’s with the XO?” Ellis inquired at one point. “I get the feeling she’d have you dig latrines if she could.”

  “Been there, done that,” McKee replied. “I was a private once.” And that, McKee knew, lay at the heart of the problem. Olson didn’t approve of jackers and never would.

  Noisy though it was, the night passed without incident and, consistent with Remy’s orders, the company was ready to depart by 0700. As before, McKee’s people were on point except that she was traveling with Sergeant Mo Hiller and the third squad this time. The second had been rotated back to the drag position, with the first serving as a fast-reaction force that was positioned halfway down the column.

  The sun was still in the process of climbing up off the eastern horizon, so it was murky on the jungle floor. The minimum goal was fifteen miles per day and, in order to achieve it, McKee had to push hard. Even though moving faster increased the possibility of walking into an ambush.

  A front moved through at 1136. It dumped half an inch of rain onto the jungle in half an hour and left it steaming. The humidity was terrible, and since every leaf was laden with moisture, the bio bods were soaked in minutes.

  McKee was splashing through a puddle when C-3 made its report. The drone was flying at treetop level about half a mile ahead. Its voice had a harsh, mechanical quality. “Three targets are headed your way. They are a 97.6-percent match with the indigenous species called the Jithi. Fifteen, that is one-five, targets are pursuing them. They are a 98.6-percent match to the Paguumi profile. Estimated time to first contact is approximately two minutes. Over.”

  McKee had to take action and do it fast because if she took the time required to ask Olson or Remy for orders, the incoming targets would be practically in her lap. All she could do was make some decisions and hope they were the right ones.

  “This is Charlie-One,” McKee said. “You heard C-3. Take up defensive positions in a line abreast. Allow targets one, two, and three to pass through. If they open fire, then smoke ’em.

  “Fire warning shots over the pursuers and try to stop them. If that doesn’t work, then grease ’
em. Charlie-Five and I will hang back and try to intercept targets one through three. Over.”

  There were lots of clicks as the first Jithi appeared. He or she charged out of the underbrush, spotted a T-1, and skidded to a halt. That was when McKee activated her translator and overrode the PA systems on all of the cyborgs. “Keep coming . . . We won’t harm you. And we won’t let the Paguumis harm you either.”

  The words boomed through five speakers and were followed by a flurry of gunshots as the Paguumis fired. The Jithi surged forward, and McKee was waiting as they passed through the line. They had shaggy green hair, prominent cheekbones, and none of them were more than six feet tall. The shimmery scales on the leather jerkins they wore seemed to blend with the background. “Halt!” McKee said. “Place your weapons on the ground and step back.”

  The Jithis stopped and turned to look at each other. One of them spoke emphatically. Then, with considerable care, the Jithis laid their long, beautifully crafted rifles on the ground. McKee made eye contact with Bartov. “Guard them.”

  Then she turned and ran a few feet to the moss-covered log where Hiller and his squad were waiting to confront the Paguumis. No more than a couple of seconds passed before the Paguumis emerged from the jungle undergrowth with their weapons raised. That was when they spotted the T-1s and fired. It was a serious mistake. The cyborgs triggered their fifties, and the desert tribesmen were swept away by a hail of bullets. Hiller, conscious of the need to conserve ammo, shouted “Cease fire!” He had to repeat the order three times before the last T-1 obeyed.

  “Chow!” McKee yelled. “Count the bodies and do it fast. Popov . . . Watch her six.”

  Gun smoke hung heavy in the air as McKee went back to speak with the Jithi. They were right where they had been, eyes wide with what might have been apprehension, waiting to find out what fate held in store for them. McKee wanted to say something reassuring but didn’t have enough time. “How many?” she demanded. “How many were there?”

  “Fifteen,” the Jithi in the middle said.

  McKee was on the squad freq. She chinned her mike. “Chow . . . What have you got?”

  “Twelve bodies, Lieutenant.”

  “Shit! Three got away. Hiller, take over here. Bartov, let’s go. If those bastards get away, we’ll be ass deep in indigs by this time tomorrow.”

  Bartov waited for McKee to climb aboard and strap in. A slap on the right shoulder sent the cyborg running toward a moss-covered log. He jumped over it and kept going. McKee had to duck lest the tree branches take her head off. She chinned her mike. “Charlie-One to C-3 . . . Three locals are headed east. Find and report. Over.”

  “This is Three,” the drone replied emotionlessly. “Understood. Over.”

  Water flew as Bartov pounded through a stream, the sun played hide-and-seek up above the treetops, and a flock of fliers exploded into the air as they hurried to escape the monster below. “This is Three,” the drone said. “I have them.”

  McKee took the feed up on her HUD and found herself looking down on the forest canopy. She could see C-3’s shadow blipping over the jungle and could make out some movement down below. According to the data that was crawling across the bottom of the image, the fugitives were half a mile ahead, and Bartov was closing fast.

  So everything was looking good until something landed on McKee’s back, sank its claws into her flesh, and screeched in her ear. It wasn’t that heavy but she could feel it nudging her helmet, looking for a way in. So she let the AXE dangle in order to reach back and grab the creature. Her reward was a painful bite. And when McKee brought her hand back it was bleeding from two tiny puncture wounds. Poison? She hoped not as she made a grab for the pistol. It was holstered on the left side of her combat vest. After pulling the weapon free, she pointed the barrel back over her right shoulder and pulled the trigger. Whatever the thing was made a screeching sound and fell away as Bartov tripped on a thick root and fell forward.

  The T-1 took McKee down with him. They hit hard, and her visor bounced off the back of Bartov’s head. Fortunately, the helmet protected her from injury so that McKee could hit the harness release and roll free. The cyborg was still struggling to stand when the Paguumis emerged from the brush. Rather than let the aliens run them to death, they were going to fight.

  McKee heard the reports and saw a geyser of dirt jump up in front of her as the warriors fired. The AXE seemed to fire itself in short, efficient bursts. Two indigs were dead by the time Bartov killed the third. And that’s where she was, swaying slightly on her feet, as Major Remy appeared. McKee was about to greet him when she fainted.

  —

  Prince Nicolai was crying—and Avery didn’t know what to do. Days had passed since the attack on the wreck, the desperate escape in the pod, and the hard landing that followed. Fortunately, the sphere-shaped container had been thrown well clear of the animals used to overrun the crash site. Then the pod hit, bounced, and hit again. All three of the passengers were thrown about. But, thanks to the way their seats clutched them, none were injured. The moment they came to a stop, Avery triggered the charge that blew the hatch open, and Daska ventured out with its machine pistol at the ready. Avery hated synths, but it was nice to have one of the machines on his side for a change.

  The robot gave the all clear moments later. So Avery sent Nicolai out while he searched for the pod’s emergency supplies. They consisted of a good first-aid kit, five days of rations for four people, and a built-in tank filled with twenty gallons of water. The bad news was that he couldn’t take it with him. Still, the other stuff was better than nothing, and Avery hurried to toss it out through the hatch.

  Once outside, Avery could see the flicker of a fire off in the distance. A dull boom marked a secondary explosion as something blew up deep inside the wreck. There was enough starlight to see by, and that was good, since they needed to clear the area before the sun rose. Once that occurred, more locals would flood the area searching for loot. Even so, it was necessary to pause and try to comfort Nicolai. Avery knelt next to him. “I want my mommy,” the youngster said, “and I want her now.”

  It was a royal command but one Avery couldn’t comply with. Ironically enough, Daska was the spitting image of Ophelia, but that didn’t help. “I’m sorry, Nicolai . . . But your mother isn’t here—and I don’t know where she is. But there’s one thing I do know. Some bad people are looking for us, and we need to hide.”

  There wasn’t much light, but Avery had been able to see the youngster’s frown. “Kill the bad people. That’s what Mommy does.”

  Avery looked at Daska and back again. The boy had that right. His mother would kill anyone she considered to be “bad.” He cleared his throat. “Yes,” he agreed. “That’s true. But there are more bad people than Daska and I can kill by ourselves. So we have to retreat and live to fight another day.”

  Nicolai was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. “General Crowley says that you are correct.”

  Avery knew the general pretty well by then, having played war games with him aboard the Victorious. And now, as one of the so-called “advisors” Ophelia had downloaded into her child’s brain, Crowley could help or hinder. “Good,” Avery said. “Hop up onto Daska’s back. It will carry you. I’ll bring the supplies.”

  It was obvious that the problems presented by the current situation had never occurred to the designers of the escape pod. And why would they? The vehicle was made for use in space. So there were no carrying straps on the bags containing the emergency supplies. Just handles. That forced Avery to sling the AXE and carry them like a pair of suitcases as he led the others in a southwesterly direction. Not because he truly believed that they could hike to Savas Prime but because they had to go somewhere.

  They had some food, and the fact that Daska didn’t need any would make what they had last that much longer. Water was the most pressing necessity. That and a place to hide during the day. The time when the
digs would be most likely to spot them.

  As time passed, and a violet glow appeared along the eastern horizon, Avery became increasingly concerned. Now he realized that he could have, and should have, had the boy drink as much water as possible before parting company with the pod. But it was too late for could-haves. Daska’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “There’s some vegetation up ahead. That would suggest the presence of water.”

  Avery peered into the early-morning gloom. He couldn’t see anything beyond a hundred feet or so. “Really? How can you tell?”

  “I’m looking at it via a satellite,” the robot answered evenly. “It was damaged somehow . . . So most of its functionalities are off-line, but the infrared sensors still work, and I can see patches of bright red where vegetation exists.”

  Avery knew synths had all sorts of capabilities, so the fact that Daska could uplink to a satellite and hack into it wasn’t too surprising. And, like most officers, he’d been trained to interpret various types of sat scans. That included Color Infrared Imagery (CIR). So he knew that Daska’s readout made sense. Even though it was counterintuitive, vegetation would appear to be red. So there was reason to hope. If they could reach the vegetation in the next couple of hours, they might find some water . . . Or a dozen warriors camped around a well! But all they could do was try. “Okay, well done. Who does the satellite belong to?”

  “The Savas Prime Business Association,” Daska replied.

  “Can you communicate with them?”

  There was a pause. “No. Like I said, it was damaged, and my radio isn’t powerful enough to reach them without a relay.”

  Avery swore. It would have been nice to call for help. But that wasn’t going to happen. So all they could do was put one foot in front of the other. Progress was steady, however. After two-plus hours, they arrived at an oasis. Avery was relieved to find that it was unoccupied at the moment. Only for the moment, though, since three fire pits could be seen along with hundreds of overlapping animal tracks.