The implication was obvious. Parts of the vessel had been used to create a fort similar to those once popular on Earth. The flat-topped mound was pierced with embrasures from which cannons could be fired. “What kind of artillery do they have?” McKee inquired.
“Naval energy cannons,” Avery said ominously. “Powered by fusion reactors.”
McKee winced. The cannons would be able to destroy anything short of shield-equipped tanks. That meant her T-1s wouldn’t stand a chance if they took a direct hit. “So what’s the plan?”
Remy pointed to a photo. “Because the fort is round, the weapons inside have a 360-degree field of fire. And that makes sense if you plan to defend it against mounted warriors. But the shape means that only two out of the six cannons can be brought to bear on any single quadrant.”
“So,” Avery said, as he picked up the narrative, “that’s how we’ll go at it. We’ll attack one side of the fortification and ignore the rest.”
“No offense,” McKee said, “but two cannons are more than enough. They’ll vaporize anything we send at them.”
“True,” Remy admitted. “But after they fire for one minute, they need a thirty-second cool down. So all we have to do is throw five hundred Paguumi warriors in after them, wait for the cannons to cool off, and off you go.”
McKee couldn’t believe what she had just heard. Remy intended to use five hundred sentient beings as cannon fodder. She looked at Avery and saw the caution in his eyes. Remy was in command, their goal was one every officer should support, and the Paguumis could hardly be described as allies. They were in it for loot.
Still, the plan was so cold-blooded that McKee felt she had to say something. “That sounds like a good plan, sir. But is there some other way to force that cooling cycle?”
Remy frowned. “What would you prefer, Lieutenant? Would you like me to march the team into those guns? Compassion has its place, McKee, but this is war. Our job is rescue the empress—not mollycoddle a bunch of savages. Besides, you would do well to remember all of the people who were alive after the Victorious crashed. The Paguumis slaughtered most of them.”
McKee opened her mouth to respond, but Avery cut her off. “That will be all, McKee . . . You have your orders. Carry them out. Dismissed.”
McKee knew Avery was trying to protect her from herself—but felt a surge of resentment anyway. She came to attention. “Sir, yes, sir.” Then, after a smart about-face, she marched outside.
—
SAVAS BASE 001
Paguumi scouts had been watching the base for days and occasionally taking potshots from the safety of a distant dune. Nola-Ba heard a clang, followed by a report. He decided to ignore it as he brought the glasses up to his eyes. The desert was empty for the most part, but that would soon change. In spite of the numerical advantage his ships had, they had been outmaneuvered and outfought. The loss of the cruiser Ember had been an especially devastating blow. A microjump! The Human admiral had taken a terrible chance and won.
Now, having received word that a nuclear torpedo had been used to obliterate the moon base, Nola-Ba knew that more Human troops would soon move against him. Fortunately, a battalion of Hudathan tanks were on the surface and ready to engage the animals.
Even so, a small but well-armed force of Humans was going to attack during the next few hours—and they would have thousands of Paguumi allies to help them. Not to mention air superiority. So what should he do? Remain where he was and try to fight them off, or take the empress and run?
In the end, the decision was no decision at all. It was imperative to put the empress aboard a ship and send her to Hudatha. The problem would be getting a shuttle down through a sky filled with Human fighters and back into space again. Still, what had to be done, would be done. Nola-Ba lowered the glasses, turned his back on the desert, and entered the fort.
—
By the time Remy, McKee, and her platoon arrived on the scene, the Hudathan base was surrounded by thousands of Paguumis. Most of the warriors raced each other, gathered in small groups, or sat in the shadows cast by their zurnas. The sun was up by then, and it was getting hot.
As Bartov came to a halt, McKee saw that most of the locals were well within range of the fort’s guns but remained safe so long as they didn’t charge the fortification. A scattering of bodies, all well short of the defensive berm, marked the path of a failed attack. Beyond the earthen barrier, steep slopes rose past a couple of gun ports to a flat area. For shuttles to land on? Yes, she thought so.
McKee’s thoughts were interrupted as Huzz and his bodyguards came galloping out, banners flying and weapons gleaming in the sun. The Paguumi chief offered Remy something resembling a salute as he and his party skidded to a showy halt. “You grow more handsome with each rising sun,” Huzz said grandly.
Remy, who had grown accustomed to over-the-top greetings, took the compliment in stride. “Thank you, Chief. And you look so fierce that the Hudathans will quake with fear.”
Huzz nodded as if the statement was fact rather than outrageous flattery. “They are cowards. Why else would they hide under the dirt? You must drive the change skins out into the open, so we can slaughter them.”
“That’s one possibility,” Remy agreed mildly. “But here’s a plan that might work better. As you can see, the big guns can only fire at a single line of attack. And after they fire, they must rest before they fire again. So I suggest that you send a group to attack—and have another ready to follow up.”
Huzz was no fool. He looked from Remy to McKee and back again. “All of the warriors in the first group will die.”
McKee wasn’t planning to speak—but did so anyway. “No,” she said, “they won’t. We will fire smoke bombs from a distance. Once they fall, the smoke will hide your warriors. Yes, the Hudathans will fire, but they won’t be able to aim. So most of us will make it through.” Remy looked at her, opened his mouth as if to speak, and closed it again.
Huzz produced the Paguumi equivalent of a frown. “Us? You will come?”
“Yes,” McKee answered. “I will fight beside you.”
Remy cleared his throat. “Well, then,” he said. “The matter is settled.”
—
SAVAS BASE 001
Empress Ophelia Ordanus was wearing clothes that smelled like the man who had died in them. And, judging from the odor, he’d been very dirty at the time. But baggy though the shirt and pants were, they were better than the blanket she’d been wrapped in earlier. Her thoughts were interrupted by a muffled thump. She felt something akin to a minor earthquake and saw dust trickle down from above. A bomb! The first explosion was followed by a second and a third.
Her mind raced. The navy couldn’t drop bombs on the fortress itself without fear of killing her. But it could prepare the area around the stronghold for an infantry assault. Would the Hudathans kill her if they were about to lose? Possibly. But death would be better than a one-way trip to Hudatha.
Ophelia heard a rattling noise as the door to her cell swung open, and Admiral Nola-Ba appeared. He was dressed in full combat gear, including a sword that was strapped to his back. His voice was reminiscent of a rock crusher in low gear. “Come here.”
There was no point in trying to resist. Ophelia’s shoes were way too large but better than nothing. They made slapping sounds as she crossed the cell. “We’re going up to level two,” Nola-Ba informed her. “We will wait for the shuttle there.”
“So you’re going to take me off-planet.” The words were in Hudathan.
“Your efforts to learn our language are going well,” Nola-Ba said as he ushered her into the hall.
Ophelia shrugged. “I have nothing else to do.”
“Still, it’s a significant achievement,” Nola-Ba observed. “Yes. A shuttle and six escorts are on their way down to the surface. Then, once we’re on one of my ships, we will depart for Hudatha.”
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“I hope my forces shoot the shuttle down,” Ophelia said flatly.
“They won’t,” Nola-Ba assured her. “We sent them a message . . . They know that you’ll be on the shuttle.”
Ophelia felt her spirits plummet. Nola-Ba was correct. If her forces believed she was on the shuttle, they would have no choice but to spare it. A bomb exploded outside, the fortress shook, and more dust fell as they followed the main corridor to the fort’s core, where the elevators were located. The future of the Human race was at stake—but all the empress could do was hope.
—
A bomb tumbled to earth, bounced, and hit the berm, where it exploded. A column of mixed dirt and sand soared up into the air and came raining down. As McKee peered through her binoculars, she was pleased to see another gap in the defensive barrier. The entry points would be critical once the ground assault began.
“This is Condor-One calling Charlie-Six,” a male voice said in her ear. “We’re chasing a shuttle and six escorts, all of which are headed your way. Put some fire on the shuttle if you can. There’s a strong possibility that the ridgeheads plan to put Gemstone aboard it. Over.”
“Here they come,” Bartov said over the platoon freq. “They’re at four o’clock and coming fast.”
“Charlie-One to all rocket-equipped T-1s,” McKee said. “You heard Condor-One. Shoot that shuttle down.”
As before, the T-1s were tied together via a shared targeting system. They fired their rockets in salvos of six. The results fell short of what McKee had been hoping for. The first fighter took a dozen hits and blew up. But the shuttle remained untouched, as did the other escorts all of which fired decoy flares. The second flight of missiles “spotted” the flares and went after them. The result was some harmless puffs of smoke and a lost opportunity as bio bods hurried to reload the empty “cans.” McKee knew the shuttle would have time to land before the job was complete.
“Use your fifties!” McKee shouted, but the words were lost in a roar of incoming cannon fire as the Hudathan fighters broke formation and began a series of highly effective gun runs. Legionnaires and Paguumi warriors dived for cover as explosive rounds plowed furrows in the desert. The enemy ships were armed with rockets as well. One of them struck a zurna and blew up. That triggered a wild stampede as hundreds of zurnas ran in every direction.
“This is Six,” Remy said sternly. “Do not fire on that shuttle . . . I repeat, do not fire on the shuttle. Over.” And McKee understood. Now that the shuttle had landed, they had to assume that Ophelia was on board.
Meanwhile, Condor and two additional fighters had arrived and were fighting aerial duels. A Human ship took a hit and a chute appeared. Then the Tachyon rolled and burped fire. McKee didn’t get to watch the plane corkscrew into the desert floor because Remy had arrived. He was mounted on Private Kane. “It won’t get any better than this, McKee . . . Attack now.”
McKee nodded. “Roger that, sir.” Then she spoke to the platoon. “This is One. Stand by . . . We’re going in. Over.”
McKee stood, waved Bartov forward, and gave the order for the mortars to fire. Gray smoke billowed into the air as shells whistled over her head and exploded along the line of attack. McKee urged her people forward while Bartov carried her over to the point where Huzz and three hundred handpicked warriors were waiting. “Now!” McKee yelled into her translator. “We attack now!”
Huzz swung up onto his zurna and blew a note through his battle horn. His warriors surged around him. Then Huzz waved his rifle, and the combined force of Paguumis and legionnaires raced into the swirling smoke.
An order was given somewhere inside the fort, and the cannons began to fire. The Hudathan gunners couldn’t see but didn’t need to. The war cries and death cries were indistinguishable from each other. McKee shouted with all the rest and felt a strange joy as she led a mad dash through smoke and fire straight into the enemy cannons. Not because she believed in the cause but because she was riding with the Legion of the Damned, and they were charging the gates of hell.
—
Admiral Nola-Ba grabbed Ophelia’s arm and pulled her onto the lift. The sounds of battle grew steadily louder as it rose. Once the platform came to a halt, troopers were there to open the hatch. Ophelia was forced to squint as she stepped out onto the roof. It was hot, and a cloud of acrid smoke prevented her from seeing much, but she could hear the steady rattle of gunfire. Her forces had arrived! They were trying to rescue her!
Ophelia tried to jerk free of Nola-Ba’s steely grip at that point. He responded by letting go of her arm and grabbing her collar. Ophelia tried to hit the Hudathan as he plucked her off the deck and carried her over to a slab-sided ship. Bullets pinged all around as Paguumi sharpshooters went to work with their long-barreled trade rifles. But there was a lot of smoke, and they were a long way off.
A door gunner was firing over Ophelia’s head, and hot casings bounced off her left shoulder as Nola-Ba grabbed the waistband of her baggy pants and threw her onto the ship. Then he and five of his troopers climbed aboard. Someone shouted an order, and the shuttle began to rise. It wobbled, steadied, and dived. That allowed the aircraft to pick up some additional airspeed but exposed it to ground fire. Bullets rattled against the ship’s belly—and one of the door gunners took a slug under the chin.
As the trooper slumped forward, Ophelia saw what might be her last chance and kicked off her oversized shoes. Then, after two stutter steps, she dived for the open door. A huge hand caught hold of an ankle. Ophelia fell forward with her head out in the slipstream. Hot air tugged at her hair as Nola-Ba dragged her inside.
—
Pa Wuk and fifteen members of his extended family were standing on a rise surrounded by thousands of warriors, all of whom were waiting for the signal to attack the change-skin fortress. But before that could happen Chief Huzz and a force of handpicked warriors were to clear a path for the rest of them to follow. So all the Wuk clan could do was to yell insults at the change skins and watch the more fortunate warriors charge into the clouds of billowing smoke. It was frustrating, not to mention humiliating, to hear the sounds of battle but not be allowed to fight.
Still, there was plenty to see as a machine landed on the fort and took off again. Then, much to Wuk’s surprise, it flew straight at him! That was an obvious provocation as well as the perfect excuse to use the Human boom tube on something more dangerous than a pile of rocks. Having found the launcher and three rockets in the wrecked starship Wuk had fired two of them while learning to use the weapon. Now, with one missile left, he wanted to kill something.
Wuk looked through the sight, heard a tone, and pulled the trigger. The launcher jerked, and a missile raced away. Thanks to the fact that the Hudathan shuttle was not only low, but headed straight at the warrior, the heat-seeking warhead had no difficulty identifying two potential targets. Both were air intakes for the ship’s engines—but one was three degrees hotter than the other. And that was enough reason to choose it.
Wuk’s relatives watched in amazement as the shoulder-fired missile entered the intake and exploded. The shuttle staggered, and black smoke poured out of the exhaust located on that side of the ship as the aircraft struggled to stay aloft. Wuk and his companions watched the machine pass over their heads. Then, as they turned to follow the aircraft, they saw it fly away. But the sky machine was trailing smoke as it disappeared over the horizon. “Well, that was a waste of time,” Wuk’s uncle said disgustedly. “You’re an idiot.” The boom tube was useless. Wuk threw it down and kicked it.
—
Bolts of coherent energy sizzled through the hot air as the Hudathan gunners fired blindly into the smoke and dust. McKee could see blobs of heat, thanks to the technology in her helmet, but little more than that as the cannon fire cut her people down. Private Harley Ross was killed, along with his T-1, as was Cory Dugan, and a cyborg named Linda Mora.
McKee didn’t see them f
all. But she heard a tone each time an icon disappeared off her HUD. And the deaths caused Bartov, who had a thing for Mora, to scream an incoherent war cry as he jumped over bodies to wreak revenge on the Hudathans. He fired upwards hoping to hit back and sparks flew from metal sheathing.
Paguumis were dying, too, and McKee was carried through a wild welter of blood as both warriors and their mounts were blown apart. And all the while the clock was running. How many lives could the gunners harvest before their cannons started to overheat? Fifty? A hundred? All McKee could do was hang on as blue bolts blipped past her helmet, and Bartov charged through the bloody rain.
Then, after what seemed like an eternity, the firing stopped. It was tempting to pause and enjoy the respite. But McKee knew that was the worst possible thing the survivors could do. Because in thirty seconds, the slaughter would start anew.
“Follow me!” McKee shouted, as she jumped to the ground in front of the berm. It would have been necessary to stop and blow a hole in the barrier had it not been for what the navy pilots had accomplished. But now, thanks to their efforts, the attackers had six gaps to choose from. And once inside, they would be able to get so close to the fort that the energy cannons couldn’t be depressed far enough to fire on them.
McKee entered the nearest gap, with Huzz at her side. He shouted something in his own language, and his warriors took up the cry. Not to be outdone, McKee yelled, “Camerone!” and heard the closest legionnaires shout the name at the top of their lungs. Some of Remy’s “hats” had arrived by that time and were mixed in with her people.
Moments later, they were through the gap and inside the perimeter. That was progress of a sort—but exposed the attackers to a withering fire from above. Not cannons this time but automatic weapons, held by Hudathans who were determined to keep the invaders at bay. “T-1s!” McKee shouted. “Kill those bastards! Use your fifties.”
Andromeda's War (Legion of the Damned Book 3) Page 29
