“In position? In position to me means standing victorious over a freshly slaughtered human corpse. To you it apparently means cowering in a hole. Who is the company commander of your janissaries?”
“Commander-3 Lozwegg, Supreme Commander.”
“Thank you Commander-11 Benner. No, make that Commander-9. A demotion will do you good until you learn to handle your command without expecting your superiors to do your work for you.”
Benner didn’t reply, not that Tawfiq cared. She cut the link and ordered Zwiline to contact Lozwegg.
“C-3 Lozwegg here,” the sub-commander responded.
“This is the Supreme Commander. Take six squads up the ramp in good order and march on the humans in the blockhouse.”
“March, Supreme Commander?”
“Yes, march. As if on parade.”
“But… that seems wasteful of our soldiers’ lives.”
“Am I surrounded by fools?” Tawfiq snapped her jaws, wishing she had the neck of one of these idiots clamped between her teeth. “We do not know the extent of these human reinforcements, Lozwegg. You will obey my orders because I see the context of the war, while you struggle to see the nose on the end of your snout. The humans will observe that janissaries are fearless under fire. And that our numbers are endless.”
“But they are not endless, Supreme Commander.” Even across the distorted radio link, Tawfiq could smell the junior commander’s fear.
“Of course they aren’t endless! But if we expend our soldiers’ lives so freely, the humans will believe they are, and soon they will conclude they cannot win. If we break their morale here, it matters not how many heavy weapons they have hidden away, because as soon as they lose their belief in themselves, their insurrection will be over.”
“Your understanding of alien psychology is an inspiration, Supreme Commander.”
“I was forced to work amongst humans for years,” Tawfiq said bitterly. “I was also forced to live among liars and delinquents of our own race, and I am well practiced at smelling out sycophancy…”
“I shall order the attack,” said Lozwegg hurriedly.
“Yes, you do that.”
After cutting off Lozwegg, Tawfiq turned to her most trusted lieutenant, standing alongside on the vehicle’s command deck. “I can sniff out doubt too, Zwiline. What is it?”
“With our hidden forces, we could crush the human scum before heading on to the capital. This could be our greatest chance to catch them before they realize our strength.”
“The human rebels matter little, Zwiline. When our army is triumphant in taking the capital, it will open up to me an intelligence source that will let me outwit the humans at every turn. As it will all my enemies, in and on this planet, and beyond.”
Tawfiq sensed Zwiline’s hesitation. “Let me phrase your concern into words…” she said. “If this intelligence source is so good, why have our enemies in this power struggle not used it to prevail over us?”
“Those are my doubts. Yes.”
“Don’t you see, Zwiline? Our enemies’ failure to use this tool is a perfect vindication of our great struggle. The fools who oppose us are too closed in their minds to see the potential of this intelligence tool. Even if they did, they lack the stomach to employ it.”
“While we of the New Order are not so limited.”
“Precisely,” snarled Tawfiq. She exuded so much dominance scent in the close confines of the command vehicle that Zwiline gagged.
“Soon,” crowed Tawfiq, “I shall have the power of a goddess. I will be able to hold the threads of fate in my hands.”
“Supreme Commander, I do not understand.”
“The future, dolt. I will be able to see the future.”
— Chapter 29 —
Arun connected to Hecht, who was down below in the camp, with 1st Section in the western blockhouse. “Still no visual confirmation of enemy activity,” he told the NCO. “Corporal Narciso’s sensor is reporting movement underground about one half klick northeast of you. That’s outside of the camp perimeter.”
“Massing for an attack or escape?”
“Assume the former.” Arun took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he needed to say next. “If it is an attack, and you judge your situation has become untenable... I want you to abandon your position.”
“Understood, Major. We’ve still no contact with Sergeant Gupta or 2nd Section. It’s been six minutes since they dropped off WBNet. Shall I send down a party to re-establish contact?”
“Negative. We don’t know how deep they’ve gone.”
“But they were dropping comm-repeaters.”
“Perhaps they’ve run out. We don’t know the layout of these tunnels. They could be too extensive or too twisting.”
Hecht’s silence sounded unconvinced.
Arun called on a higher authority to convince the section leader. “Remind me, Lance Sergeant. What did Senior Sergeant Gupta have to say about tasking Marines with maintaining a line-of-sight comms link between the two sections?”
“Only a frakking moron would divide up his force into tiny packets so that it was weak everywhere, strong nowhere.”
“Heed the sergeant’s sage advice, Hecht. Position your unit and your resistance allies to counter an attack from the northeast or up the stairs that 2nd Section used. We’ll keep observing the area from here.”
“Yes, sir.”
Arun sighed. He didn’t believe his own words, and that wasn’t a clever way to win trust. A more likely explanation for 2nd Section going off net was that the enemy was jamming radio comms. But that in itself meant nothing; it could be an automatic defense. It didn’t necessarily mean Springer, Zug, and the rest of the section had been surrounded and every last one of them wiped out.
Springer’s face appeared in his mind’s eye. He saw that dimpled smile she gave before acting on some crazy impulse that made no sense to anyone but her. And those eyes that spoke of complexity and tragedy — had done so even before her body had been blasted and scarred by the wounds she took on Antilles.
“... Springer...”
Puja’s voice drifted into his head.
“... Springer sent them.”
Arun shook his head until he was back and focused. “Say again, Narciso.”
“Visitors,” said Puja.
“Who?”
“See for yourself!”
Mader Zagh! What Arun saw emerging from cover was like an illustration in a history article about early hominids: two young human women were carrying tiny babies swaddled in rags cut from slave clothing. The naked flesh of the mothers glistened with the protective film sprayed by the Hardits, which made the scene appear even more surreal.
The babies started bawling. And kept on crying. How could such small creatures possibly be so loud?
“What’s wrong?” Arun asked one of the mothers. “Why is it making a noise like that?”
“He has just woken,” said the woman, as her baby stopped crying and started making a fish-like sucking motion with its mouth. Arun tried to make sense of this bizarre behavior.
“Is he trying to speak?” he asked.
“No, Major. He wants a feed.” She squashed the infant against one breast.
“You’ll have to excuse Major McEwan,” said Puja who blanked her visor to look less threatening. She was beaming. “He’s led a sheltered life. What’s your name?”
“Rohanna.” She nodded at the other mother. “And she’s Shelby.”
Following Puja’s lead, Arun blanked his visor too. Perhaps that would quieten the infants.
“This boy,” Rohanna asked Puja, “is he really a major? Major McEwan?”
Puja laughed. “He is. What about your own boys? What are their names?”
Rohanna and Shelby looked mournfully at each other. “No,” said Shelby, her voice as devoid of hope as land parched by drought. “It felt too cruel to give them names. Not until we could first give them hope, a chance to have a future.”
“And the
ir fathers?” said Arun. “Are they down there in the camp?”
Rohanna nodded. “Under the southern watchtower. Both of them. We helped to bury them.”
“I’m sorry,” mumbled Arun, but he lost his train of thought, distracted by the sight of Rohanna’s baby suckling at her breast. Of course, he knew in theory that young infants could be fed this primeval way rather than through an incubator. But then he also knew that Marines possessed a revised and updated appendix that could digest most vegetation, given the right enzymes. That didn’t mean he expected to see a field of Marines grazing the grass.
Peace descended for a few moments. Then Arun came to his senses. He had no time for this.
“You must keep your infants quiet,” he told Rohanna, who seemed to be the more confident of the two mothers. “Their cries could attract the wrong attention.”
“You should try giving my son your orders directly,” she replied. “He doesn’t always obey his mother’s commands, but coming from an officer, I’m sure he’ll listen to you.”
Rohanna’s advice sounded a good idea, and so Arun leaned over the squirming little bundle of bones to repeat his instructions. He stopped when he saw the baby properly for the first time. It was such a strange-looking creature, that he could scarcely credit it as being human. Its head and eyes were overly large, and when Barney added an outline of a tiny body inside its swaddling rags, the legs were bent inward, as if the baby was evolved to climb, not walk.
Arun had the sickening thought that this baby carried Hardit blood.
But when he looked deeper into those big, curious brown eyes, he knew at a deep level that this baby was one of his kind, a precious innocent who must be protected at all costs.
He also knew that he’d just made a fool of himself,
Arun looked up at Rohanna. “Keep us in your sight but stay at least 30 meters away and under cover. We might attract incoming fire.”
It was Shelby who nodded first and hurried away, clutching her son in front of her as she ran. Rohanna took a moment to look into Arun’s eyes. He had the impression she was judging him. Then she too nodded and disappeared into cover.
Arun struggled to understand his feelings. The lives of these babies were worth no more than anyone else here. Less really, according to logic. Infants were untrained, incapable, a 100% combat liability. Someone who could shoot a rifle was worth far more.
Damn them. He wasn’t their frakking father. So why was he so adamant that the children must come to no harm?
As if he didn’t have enough to worry about already.
“Are you all right, sir?” asked Puja, an impish grin on her face. “You look a little pale…”
Her sweet smile vanished instantly when Hecht came over WBNet from down in the blockhouse. “We’ve had contact from 2nd Section.”
“Thank the fates,” sighed Arun. “What’s their status?”
“They’ve detected tanks ascending the main ramp.”
“ETA?” asked Arun, but even as he said the words, he felt the ground throb with the characteristic pulsing rhythm of heavy gravitic engines.
“About thirty seconds,” replied Hecht. “Oh, crap,” he added weakly.
Arun could see why. Emerging from the ramp in the center of the camp came squad after squad of infantry galloping on all fours.
And this time they weren’t facing militia.
— Chapter 30 —
With the underground rumble of the tanks growing louder all the time, Arun observed the uniformed Hardit infantry emerging from the main ramp down in the camp.
Unlike the Hardits they had encountered before, these new opponents looked like proper soldiers. They wore uniforms in a dull silver color that gave the appearance of a real military unit. Or they would if not for the oval disks that these uniforms projected over their heads. Rather than the disorganized Hardit mobs they had met earlier, these soldiers were organized into squads, with shouting unit commanders clearly marked by colored lightning bolts down the sleeves. 1st Section would love those target markers.
They might look like proper soldiers, but they sure didn’t act like them. Led by their clearly marked officers, they blindly advanced in parade ground order into the waiting arms of Hecht’s 1st Section.
As they came out of the ground, they wheeled left into a three-rank line. They actually seemed to be forming up in readiness to assault the human-held blockhouse over open ground.
And that worried Arun.
The enemy’s deployment was pure idiocy, but it was an impressively disciplined form of idiocy. Soldiering skills could be learned, if you were prepared to pay the price of lessons. Fighting spirit could not.
Arun grew impatient to see how these new troops would perform under fire.
Before the line was fully assembled, consternation broke out in its northernmost section. The Hardits had sniffed out the forward post Hecht had established in the rubble of the northern watchtower.
Carbine darts flew out from the western blockhouse and the forward post to the north.
The Hardit officers with their bright markings fell first. All of them.
It suddenly occurred to Arun that he might have misinterpreted the uniform markings. Maybe the markings were nothing to do with rank. Zug was always warning him not to use human norms to interpret alien actions.
Arun smiled at the thought of his intellectual friend. When they had reconquered Tranquility, and the Legion began spreading its influence to the stars, he was counting on Zug to be at his side to help him make sense of the galaxy.
But the Hardits really were as dumb as he’d assumed. Leaderless, they closed up the gaping holes in their ranks before marching at the double toward the blockhouse.
“I’ve seen enough,” Arun told Chung and Cusato, who had moved the GX-cannon to a new firing position twenty meters along the ridge from Arun and Puja. They had a perfect field of fire down onto the ramp. “Show the enemy how we feel about caging our people in labor camps.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Chung.
Before the GX operator had even finished speaking, the air was ripped apart by supersonic bolts lancing through the Hardit infantry. Arun watched, fascinated, as Cusato, the weapon’s server, pushed ammo boxes underneath to ensure the ammo spooler fed without interruption. Even though Chung was only firing short, controlled bursts, the rate of ammo consumption was astonishing.
The gun was in railgun mode, the ammo supply simple kinetic rounds; down in the camp, the impact of the heavy metal bolts tore meter-deep craters into the ground that churned up choking clouds of dust. If any of the Hardit infantry intercepted the railgun bolt, then the impact crater would be infinitesimally shallower, and the dust cloud would take on a reddish tint.
The dust rapidly obscured the target zone, but Chung didn’t seem bothered that he could no longer see the target. He had selected his firing pattern beforehand.
The cannon’s bark fell silent.
Cusato explained: “Switching to anti-armor rounds, sir.”
“Carry on,” said Arun. Grav-tanks were fearsome tools of war, but the best defense against them was right here: a GX-cannon with AP rounds. People grumbled about having to help Stopcock, Chung, and Cusato lug their equipment, but no one would moan at the Heavies after this.
Arggghh!
Arun collapsed to the undergrowth, clutching at his helmet, as the pain spiked through his brain. There was a characteristic electric buzzing to the agony.
He was getting the overspill from his AI’s torment. Barney was under cyber attack.
The disabling effect came and went in waves. When the brain torture ebbed enough, Arun looked around. Cyber attack was often an enemy’s way of softening you up before an assault. Half-expecting to see hordes of Hardit soldiers here to take out the GX-cannon, he saw nothing but a tranquil wooded ridge… and a handful of Marines picking themselves up from the ground.
Puja was nearest. She was on all fours saying something, pointing at her sensor device with an urgent finger. Arun co
uld see her lips move through her transparent visor but comms were out. He couldn’t hear.
Arun reached for his helmet seal releases, but before he snapped them open, the suit AIs beat off the cyberattack. Full awareness returned.
“Drones…” Puja was saying. “Drones. Incoming!”
Arun instantly took in the tactical situation.
Seven attack drones were in the sky, weapon ports hot, heading directly for Chung and Cusato. BattleNet reported that Stopcock’s missile launcher was offline being reloaded. He would be switching to SAMs, but even Stopcock wouldn’t be quick enough.
“Chung, Cusato,” he ordered. “Get out of there!”
“But our GX?” protested Cusato.
“Do it!”
Chung and Cusato grabbed their carbines and scrambled away.
Arun and Puja fled too.
“Get away from the cannon!” Puja shouted into the trees for the benefit of the refugee mothers. But if they weren’t far enough by now, it was too late, because moments later, a barrage of plasma bombs rained down, engulfing the cannon in purple-white fire. Attack drones screamed past, spitting out railgun darts that shredded foliage and splintered trees, before shooting overhead and spinning around ready for another run.
Arun had moved out of LBNet contact with Stopcock, so he activated the wide area broadcast of WBNet, quickly reacquiring the big guy, and his ammo status. The launcher was ready to swipe the drones out of the air.
“They’re mine,” snarled Stopcock. But before he could launch his surface-to-air missiles, fire bloomed on the underside of each drone. Barney reported two rockets launched at Arun and two at Stopcock.
The two Marines who had just switched to WBNet. Which meant…
“WBNet is compromised!” Arun screamed in the moments before the rockets hit.
But Stopcock’s SAMs had swerved from their initial targets. Instead of attacking the drones, they smashed into the rockets the drones had launched. Stopcock launched more SAMs, making the drones evade desperately.
The big guy had won Arun a few more seconds.
All through the battle with the drones, the rumble from the grav-tanks had grown louder. Now it changed pitch.
Renegade Legion (The Human Legion Book 3) Page 10
