Now that he had it in front of him, Santana could see that the other list, the one that laid out what Six could have absconded with, included six 60mm mortars, which would be perfect for guerrilla fi?ghting, a generous quantity of high explosives that would be just right for blowing bridges, and four surface-to-air missile launchers with heat-seeking rockets. Weapons that would have given the Seebos the theoretical capacity to knock fi?ghters out of the sky. But rather than select any of those items, Six chose ten SMAWs. It soon became apparent that having reviewed both lists, and having given the matter some thought, Suki was thinking along similar lines. “I never thought about it before,” the senior offi?cer admitted reluctantly, “but why steal so many shoulder tubes? Unless the bastard plans to go tank hunting.”
“I think that’s exactly what he has in mind,” Santana responded grimly. “Though not in the way you mean. Sergeant Diker . . . Please pull up all of the holding areas or similar facilities where Colonel Six could potentially lay his hands on allied armor. That includes tanks, APCs (armored personnel carriers), and anything else you can think of.”
“How far, sir?” the noncom wanted to know, his fi?ngers already tapping away.
“One hundred miles around this fi?rebase,” the legionnaire answered. “Prioritize those facilities located to the east of us—and those that have the smallest footprint. After all,”
Santana observed thoughtfully. “Why attack a big base, if you can get what you need from a small one?”
There was barely enough time to take another sip of coffee before the answer came back. The light from the computer screen gave Diker’s face a bluish tint. “Using those parameters the most likely location would be Refueling Station 32, which belongs to the 3rd Force Support Group. It’s located about sixty-four miles east of here—at the point where the road starts up toward Tow-Tok Pass. There aren’t any armored units based at RS-32, but plenty of tanks and APCs stop for fuel there, before heading up over the hump. Both the second and third hits are relatively large battalionstrength repair and maintenance outfi?ts.”
There was a loud thump as Santana’s fi?st hit the surface of the table. “Yes! That’s exactly the kind of place Six would choose! Especially now that everyone is on the lookout for him. Assuming RS-32 is the same one that I’m thinking of, we passed it a few days ago, and a squad of half-drunk store clerks could take it!
“All Six would have to do is sneak up on RS-32 with his SMAWs at the ready, wait until the depot was empty, and put the fi?rst rocket into the com mast. The second, third, and fourth rounds would be used to neutralize weapons emplacements if necessary. Otherwise, he would simply walk in!
What would a refueling depot have?” the legionnaire wondered. “Six bio bods and an equal number of robots? They wouldn’t stand a chance. The next vehicles to arrive might, or might not, be to his liking. If not, he would let them go. But if they met his requirement, Colonel Six would commandeer them, top off their tanks, and drive them up over the pass. Because that would not only get his Seebos into combat sooner—but give his troops an edge once they arrive!”
Suki was clearly impressed. “Not bad, Captain, not bad at all. . . . Of course there are some big ifs in your plan, but assuming the bastard wants to kill bugs, then that’s where he would go.”
“Let’s get Station 32 on the horn,” Santana suggested.
“So we can warn them.”
Five long minutes passed while a com tech repeatedly sought to make contact with the tiny base. But there was no response. “I think you’d better get ahold of Regimental Command,” Santana said as he came to his feet. “Tell them to send a rapid-response force to RS-32. . . . And tell them to be very careful once they arrive.”
Then, having tossed a salute toward Colonel Suki, Santana made for the surface. Millar was right behind him. And, because the cyborg had already been in radio communication with the fl?y-form, the other legionnaire’s engines were beginning to spool up as Santana entered the passenger compartment. The boxy transport was airborne four minutes later and headed southeast. Millar was strapped in by that time. “You nailed that one, sir,” the recon ball said. “But I have a question. . . .”
Santana’s thoughts were miles away, and he had forgotten all about Millar. “Yes? What’s that?”
“Well, sir,” Millar said hesitantly. “What if we arrive before the rapid-response team? And Colonel Six is still there?”
It was something Santana should have considered but hadn’t. He smiled. “Then we’ll land and order the sonofabitch to surrender!”
Millar laughed, but when Santana didn’t, the junior offi?cer wondered if the cavalry offi?cer was serious! And that was scary, because the special ops offi?cer had been killed in action once, and had no desire to repeat the experience. But Millar needn’t have worried, because by the time the fl?y-form arrived over Refueling Station 32, an armed shuttle and rapid-response team were on the ground. And, judging from all of the troops that were milling around, and the smoke still pouring out of what remained of the depot’s com hut, some sort of action had already taken place. “Put us down,” Santana ordered grimly, and the fl?y-form hurried to obey. The station wasn’t much to look at. Just a mound inside a defensive berm, two opposing gates so that vehicles could pull through without backing, and what was left of the smoking hab. Half of the com mast was missing, which was why the com tech at MF-356 had been unable to get through. A lieutenant from the 13th DBLE’s recon squadron was there to greet the cavalry offi?cer as his boots hit the frozen ground. She had brown skin, wide-set eyes, and a scar that ran diagonally down across her face. “Lieutenant Bamik, sir,” the woman said, as she tossed Santana a salute. “I have orders to provide you with whatever assistance I can. But we arrived too late to stop him.”
Santana swore. “How many people did the bastard kill?”
“One, sir, when the HEDP round hit the com shack. A company of Seebos stormed the place immediately after that.”
“What about the hostages?” Santana wanted to know.
“Colonel Six has them,” Bamik answered glumly. “A navy doctor and a navy medic. Both appeared to be in good condition. The doctor dropped this on the ground.”
Santana accepted the small piece of paper. Judging from how wrinkled it was, the note had been wadded up into a ball. “To whom it may concern,” the message began. “I have reason to believe that Colonel Six plans to take us over TowTok Pass.” It was signed, “Lt. Kira Kelly, Medical Offi?cer, CSB Navy.” That was promising. Not only did it serve to confi?rm the cavalry offi?cer’s hypothesis, it meant the doctor had her wits about her.
Santana looked out toward the highway as two heavily loaded trucks growled past. Both were loaded with glumlooking CVA conscripts. The offi?cer was struck by how empty the two-lane road was compared to the bumper-to-bumper traffi?c that he and his company had been forced to deal with as they entered the mountains. That seemed to imply a breakthrough of some sort, a victory that had allowed allied forces to cross Tow-Tok Pass and head for the town of Yal-Am beyond. So maybe General-453 had been right all along. Maybe the bugs were on the run.
Not that it made much difference to Santana. What mattered to him was that the highway was open. Which meant that the renegade and his Seebos would be able to make good time. “So what kind of vehicles did they steal?” Santana wanted to know as he turned back toward Bamik. The junior offi?cer consulted a scrap of paper. “Two Hegemony hover tanks, fi?ve half-tracks, a six-by-six, and a fueler. All taken from a company of Seebos. All the colonel had to do was order them to exit the vehicles, and they obeyed,” the legionnaire said disgustedly. “That’s the clones for you!”
“So he’s got plenty of go-juice,” Santana commented.
“Okay, let’s see if we can cut the bastard off. I need a com link.”
“I can take care of that,” Millar said, thereby reminding Santana of his presence. “Right,” Santana replied. “Thank you. See if you can raise First Lieutenant Lucy Amoyo for me. . . . Call sign, Alp
ha One-Six. My company is on hold at Waypoint 27. Maybe, just maybe, they can block the road and cut Six off. Assuming you can raise Amoyo, tell her what to look for, and tell her I’m on my way.”
Millar bobbed up and down by way of an acknowledgment, attempted to make contact, and failed. That wasn’t unusual in and around the mountains, so the recon ball shot straight up, and leveled off at one hundred fi?fty feet. And from that altitude the cyborg had better luck. He was able to make contact with Alpha Company within a matter of minutes, introduce himself to Lieutenant Amoyo, and relay Santana’s message.
Having accomplished his mission, the scout dropped to a point only four feet off the surface, where it was necessary to hurry over to the fl?y-form, which was preparing for takeoff. The transport fl?ew only one hundred feet off the highway as it followed the ribbon of concrete up into the mountains. The cyborg kept a sharp “eye” out for the fugitive vehicles but saw no sign of them. Even though it had taken Alpha Company days to make their way up to Waypoint 27—it took the cybernetically controlled aircraft less than fi?fteen minutes to make the same trip.
Back before the invasion, Waypoint 27 had been little more than a wide spot in the highway. A place where civilian truckers could pull out to let faster vehicles pass, take a bio break, or make some minor repairs. But during the long, hard-fought push up toward Tow-Tok Pass, the fl?at area had been used as the site for everything from a fi?eld hospital to a forward repair-and-maintenance company. Of course, those units were gone, leaving the piece of godforsaken real estate to some forlorn wrecks, and the legionnaires of Alpha Company. The fl?y-form’s repellers generated a cloud of steam and blew a layer of powdery snow sideways as the cyborg came in for a perfect landing on the big red X that Master Sergeant Dietrich had spray-painted onto the ice-encrusted ground. By the time the engines began to spool down, and the fl?yform’s steps had been deployed, Santana’s T-2 was there to meet him. Ten minutes later, the two of them were out on the surface of the much-abused road, where the company’s quads were half-blocking the highway. Which should be enough force to stop Six given that he wouldn’t be able to deploy more than two hover tanks side by side or run any fl?anking maneuvers. Millar followed ten feet behind them. The moment Santana saw Amoyo’s force he knew something was wrong. The platoon leader’s face shield was up, her cheeks were ruddy from the cold, and the set of her mouth was grim. Both legionnaires were mounted and therefore eye to eye. “Welcome back, sir. . . . I wish I had better news to report.”
Santana felt his spirits fall but was careful to keep his expression neutral. “They got by?”
“Sir, yes sir,” Amoyo said miserably. “It was my fault, sir. . . . I gave orders to watch for two tanks, fi?ve tracks, a truck, and a tanker.”
There was a brief pause while Santana considered the way the report had been phrased. Then he understood. “But you didn’t give orders to be on the lookout for a tank, two halftracks, and a six-by, or some other combination of vehicles.”
“Eventually, I did,” Amoyo added apologetically. “But it was too late by then. They had already passed in three seemingly discrete groups. And the unit designators on the vehicles had been changed.”
“That’s too bad,” Santana allowed sympathetically. “But don’t let it get you down. . . . Colonel Six is one smart bastard! That’s why they chose us to catch him! Come on, let’s pull the company together, and give chase. Maybe one of his vehicles will break down or something. We’ll catch up with him eventually.”
And they tried. But there was no sign of the renegade or the stolen vehicles as the company topped Tow-Tok Pass four hours later and started down the other side. It became increasingly diffi?cult to see because a winter storm had blown in from the west and was about to dump a foot of fresh snow onto eastern slopes of the Hebron mountain range. So it wasn’t long before visibility was reduced to fi?fty or sixty feet. That was when Santana sent Lieutenant Millar forward to scout the road ahead and provide advance warning if something was blocking the highway. But it wasn’t long before the recon ball came across something a lot more serious than a stalled APC blocking the road. The ground was fairly level at that point, forming a broad shelf in the mountainside, where the ice-encrusted concrete disappeared into a nightmarish landscape of wrecked vehicles. There were hundreds of them, both Ramanthian and allied, all mixed up with each other in a way that suggested a close-quarters battle between two armored units. It would be easy to lose one’s way inside the steel maze, especially given the gathering gloom, and Millar was about to call that in when a fl?are lit the sky ahead. A lacy curtain of gently falling snow caused the light to fl?icker, as it threw ghostly shadows toward the west, and the steady pop, pop, pop of rifl?e fi?re was heard intermixed with the cloth-ripping sound of automatic weapons. “Alpha Six, this is Alpha SixSix,” the cyborg said, as he hovered next to an overturned truck. “There’s a huge junkyard directly in your path—and the snow is making it very diffi?cult to follow the road. Based on that, plus the fi?refi?ght under way up ahead, I recommend that the company stop short of the battlefi?eld and wait for morning. Over.”
“Roger that,” Santana replied. “Can you give me any additional intel on the fi?refi?ght? Over.”
“Negative,” Millar answered. “Not without going forward. Over.”
“Hold your position,” the company commander ordered. “I’ll bring the second platoon up to join you in a few minutes. Out.”
“Roger,” Millar confi?rmed. “Alpha Six-Six out.”
Santana ordered the company to halt, told Deker to fi?nd Amoyo, and was soon close enough to open his visor and talk to her off-line. Cold snow fl?akes began to kiss his face.
“Let’s circle the wagons, Lieutenant. . . . You can use both of the quads in the perimeter—but keep all your people combat-ready until the fi?refi?ght is over. I’ll take the second platoon forward to see what’s going on.”
Having allowed Colonel Six to get past her, Amoyo was feeling down, and would have welcomed an opportunity to redeem herself. More than that, she wondered whether Santana had lost faith in her—or was simply exercising his right to carry out the mission himself. Not that it made much difference, because all she could say was, “Yes, sir.”
Confi?dent that Amoyo would do a good job, and worried lest Second Lieutenant Zolkin blunder into a situation he wasn’t prepared to handle, Santana went looking for the other platoon leader and found the young man raring to go. Even if his tired legionnaires would have preferred to stay back. “We’re ready, sir,” Zolkin said enthusiastically. “Just say the word.”
Santana grinned behind his visor. “Thank you, Lieutenant. . . . I’m glad to hear it. Please put Staff Sergeant Pool and Corporal Torrez on drag. . . . And tell them to stay sharp. It would be easy for someone to get in behind us on a night like this.”
Because the orders had been delivered face-to-face rather than by radio, the instructions would seem to originate from the platoon leader thereby strengthening Zolkin’s position with the troops. Santana knew squad leader Pool wouldn’t like walking drag, but it was a very important slot, and would become even more so if both offi?cers were killed. In that situation, it would be her responsibility to assume command. With the second platoon strung out behind them, Santana and Deker followed Fareye and Ka Nahn into the maze of wrecked vehicles. Another fl?are went off, and cast an eerie glow across the battlefi?eld, as the muted thump, thump, thump of a heavy machine gun was heard. “Try all of the allied frequencies,” Santana ordered. “We need to warn those people that we’re coming in. It would be a shame to get shot by someone on our side.”
Deker was well aware of the dangers involved. He said,
“Yes, sir. I already have. Twice. But I’ll keep trying.”
It would have been nice to turn on their helmet lights in order to see where they were going, but that would be suicidal. So Santana was thankful for the steady succession of fl?ares that kept the area at least half-lit as Fareye led the column forward. They passed between a half-sla
gged hover tank and a burned-out truck, made their way down into a trash-strewn gully, and up the other side. A frozen human, his weapon still aimed at an invisible enemy, marked the edge of the fl?at area beyond. There was no way to know if he had been killed by a bullet or frozen to death.
“Alpha Six-Four to Alpha Six,” Fareye said, as he and his T-2 paused. “I see heat signatures up ahead. Lots of heat signatures. All of which appear to be Ramanthian. They seem completely unaware of our presence. Probably because they’re busy assaulting a big pile of wreckage. Over.”
“Roger that,” Santana answered, as Deker carried him down into the gully. “Hold your position. Bravo One-Six. Position your platoon in a line abreast. Use Alpha Six-Four as your center marker. Prepare for a sweep of the area ahead—
but caution your troops to keep their fi?re off the pile of wreckage where the friendlies are holed up. Over.”
“This is Bravo One-Six,” Zolkin replied. His voice was tight with either excitement or fear. “I read you. . . . Out.”
Santana eyed the display on his HUD, waited for the second platoon to swing into position, and was pleased to see the speed with which the evolution was executed. Zolkin had come a long way since the landing on Oron IV and was shaping up to be a good offi?cer. “Still no response on any of the allied frequencies, sir,” Deker put in over the intercom.
“Either they don’t have a com set, or they aren’t listening.”
“Thanks,” Santana said, as he eyed the constantly shifting blobs of heat in front of them. “Alpha Six to Alpha Six-Six. We’ve been unable to make radio contact with the allied unit up ahead. . . . Once we engage the enemy, I want you to go forward, and get in touch with the people in that pile of wreckage. Tell them who we are, take command if they will allow you to do so, and serve as liaison offi?cer if they won’t. Your fi?rst responsibility is keep them from fi?ring on us. Do you read me? Over.”
When Duty Calls lotd-8 Page 22
