When Duty Calls lotd-8

by William C. Dietz

  “Sir, yes sir,” Millar answered affi?rmatively. “Alpha SixSix out.”

  “Alpha Six-Five will prepare to fi?re two fl?ares, and the second platoon will prepare to charge,” Santana continued.

  “Readddy, fi?re! Readddy, charge!”

  Deker was up and out of the gully before the additional fl?ares went off. Real cavalry charges were a rarity given the way most high-tech battles were fought, but the sudden attack out of the surrounding darkness could have taken place on the plains of Mongolia, in the Crimea, or at Gettysburg. Except that these steeds were sentient, could see in the dark, and were armed with weapons that would have been unimaginable two thousand years earlier. Someone yelled, “Camerone!” over the company push, and all hell broke loose. Having been caught by surprise, the bugs were forced to turn their backs on the pile of wreckage as the cyborgs swept toward them. Now, as Deker opened fi?re with both his fi?fty and his energy cannon, Santana realized there were more Ramanthians than he had bargained for. In addition to the enemy soldiers that had been visible before, more of the aliens came swarming up out of shell holes, emerged from hiding places in the surrounding wreckage, and returned fi?re. All of which caused the offi?cer to wonder if he should call upon Amoyo for reinforcements. But the quads would take a long time to arrive—and were too big to operate effectively within the confi?nes of the metal maze. Plus, were he to strip the big walkers of the protection offered by the fi?rst platoon’s T-2s, it would make the cyborgs vulnerable to an infantry attack. So, having considered the alternatives, the offi?cer decided to leave the fi?rst platoon where it was. Even though it was the offi?cer’s job to lead the legionnaires, that became impossible as the cyborgs passed through the enemy’s ranks, and the members of the second platoon found themselves inside a nightmarish world of speeding bodies, stuttering weapons, and shrill command whistles. Because of the chaos, and the speed with which the battle was being fought, all of the tactical decisions had to be made by the T-2s regardless of whatever rank the bio bod they were carrying might hold. There simply wasn’t enough time for the process to work any other way.

  That meant that as Deker circled a burned-out APC in an attempt to get the drop on a Ramanthian rocket team—it was Santana’s responsibility to provide the cyborg with security. So when a Ramanthian fi?red at Deker from the right, the offi?cer was there to gun the bug down, even as the borg ran over an alien soldier. Chitin crackled as it shattered, and the alien uttered a nearly human scream, as Deker kept going. Though busy trying to protect Deker’s six, Santana noticed that the volume of fi?re coming out of the pile of wreckage had fallen off, suggesting that Millar had made contact with the people within. But if that was good, other things weren’t so good, as a shoulder-launched missile struck Private Mary Volin between the shoulder blades and blew up. Her body must have shielded Private Shalo Shaley to some extent, because the T-2 survived the hit, even if the cyborg didn’t want to. Because Shaley had been in love with Volin, and the bio bod’s death spurred the Trooper II into a frenzy of killing.

  With the bio bod’s grisly remains still fl?apping around on her blood-spattered back, Shaley went looking for any Ramanthian she could fi?nd, killing each with the ruthless effi?ciency of an avenging angel. Most of the alien soldiers were already dead by that time. In fact, so many of them had been killed that their bodies lay in drifts, like the snow that was already beginning to cover them, as the raging T-2

  ran out of ammo and stomped a wounded Ramanthian to death.

  Sergeant Ramos had a zapper in hand as he went to intervene. None of the other legionnaires knew what he said to the cyborg, since it was off the push, but whatever it was worked because the noncom was able to lead Shaley away without having to zap her. Which was the only way a bio bod could bring an intransigent cyborg under control. Meanwhile, as bio bods dismounted to search the dead for anything that might be of interest to the intelligence people, they also collected anything that might be of use to the company in the future. Not the Ramanthian assault rifles, because they were awkward to fi?re, but energy grenades, which were better than CSB issue in certain situations, plus the highly prized grain bars that many of the bugs carried in their packs, and which tasted like honey. Their helmet lights bobbed and swayed as they probed the battlefi?eld for loot, adding yet another otherworldly element to an alreadysurreal scene. And that was the situation that Santana was presiding over as an additional light appeared and Millar emerged from the surrounding murk with a woman in tow. A knit cap covered her hair. She had a softly rounded face, a snub nose, and generous lips. The clothing the woman wore con- sisted of a mishmash of Hegemony-issue items that had been altered as necessary and layered to create the semblance of a winter uniform. That was overlaid by a combat vest at least one size too big for her, and the whole outfi?t was dusted with snow. But there was nothing amateurish about the Marine-Corps-issue carbine cradled in her arms or the look in her brown eyes. It was hard and calculating.

  “This is Hoyt-11,791,” Millar announced. “She’s in command of the CVA company that the bugs were working so hard to eradicate.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Santana said as he jumped to the ground. “My name is Santana. I’m in command of Alpha Company, 2nd Battalion, 1st REC.”

  “Thank you for coming to our rescue,” Seven-ninety-one said soberly. “We wouldn’t have been able to hold out much longer.” Her voice had a husky quality that Santana found attractive.

  “At some point our forces tried to clear the area of wreckage by making a big pile,” Millar explained. “Having been ambushed as they passed through the battlefi?eld, the Hoyts crawled inside and fought back. It made a pretty good fort.”

  “I’m sorry we didn’t arrive earlier,” Santana said. “How many of you are there?”

  “Fifty-seven when the battle began,” the clone answered succinctly, “and thirty-one now.”

  “I’m sorry,” Santana said sympathetically. “But you were right to put up a fi?ght. They would have slaughtered you otherwise. Where were you headed? And what were you supposed to do?”

  “We have orders to join the 181st Labor Battalion,” Sevenninety-one answered. “As for what we’re supposed to do, well, no one told us that. We’re offi?ce administrators from Alpha-002. So it’s hard to imagine what they had in mind for us.”

  Santana swore, then caught himself. “Sorry, ma’am, but sending offi?ce workers into a combat zone has got to be one of the stupidest things I ever heard of. Have you got any transportation?”

  “No,” the woman replied. “Our truck was destroyed in the ambush.”

  That was a problem because Santana knew the bio bods wouldn’t be able to keep up with the cyborgs and would be extremely vulnerable if left on their own.

  “Some of them could ride in the quads,” Millar put in helpfully.

  “I suppose,” the cavalry offi?cer allowed. “But what about the rest?”

  “They could ride on top of the quads, and jump off if we take fi?re,” Millar answered.

  The legionnaire eyed the Hoyt. Snowfl?akes caught in her eyelashes and forced her to blink. “You and your people would be exposed to both the weather and enemy fi?re up there,” Santana cautioned.

  Seven-ninety-one shrugged. “We were exposed in the truck,” she said fatalistically. “And riding beats walking.”

  “Okay,” Santana agreed. “Do you have any objections to taking orders from Lieutenant Millar here for the duration of your stay with us?”

  The Hoyt looked at the hovering recon ball and back again. If the prospect of reporting to a cyborg bothered the woman, she gave no sign of it. “No, sir,” she said formally.

  “That’s fi?ne with me.”

  The cavalry offi?cer nodded. “All right, Lieutenant, take care of your people. Make sure they scrounge all the good stuff they can fi?nd. I have a feeling everything is going to be in short supply up ahead. Perhaps Seven-ninety-one would be good enough to help identify the dead. And let’s lay them out where the graves registratio
n people will be able to fi?nd them. Dismissed.”

  By the time the second platoon, and the newly designated third platoon pulled back into the relative security of the encampment that Amoyo and her people had prepared, a full-fl?edged blizzard was under way. Weather so cold it was necessary for sentries to work the actions on their weapons every two to three minutes or risk having them freeze up. But there was one good thing about the storm however. . . . And that was the fact it would be just as hard on the enemy. Because no matter how many battles the two sides fought— winter would always win.

  13.

  Tragedy is by no means the exclusive province of the lowly.

  —Paguumi proverb

  Author unknown

  Standard year circa 120 B.C.

  PLANET EARTH, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE

  It was raining as the Ramanthian task force swept in over Seattle. What had once been a discrete city was now part of the sprawling metroplex that began in the old nation-state of Canada, and ran all the way down to Baja, California. For reasons not entirely clear, the Seattle area had been especially hard to pacify. This meant it had been necessary to repeatedly punish the animals who lived there. A process that eventually turned what had been gleaming high-rises, fl?oating sea habs, and carefully manicured streetscapes into a cratered wasteland. The destruction was plain to see as the Queen watched the vid screen on the bulkhead before her. Though capable of in-system spacefl?ight, the Reaper was classifi?ed as a combat assault platform, and intended for use inside planetary atmospheres. As such the fl?ying fortress was heavily armed and, thanks to a spacious fl?ight deck, could launch and retrieve smaller vessels at the same time. As the airborne fortress approached the city from the south it was traveling at a scant twenty miles per hour, a fact that somehow made its presence over the city that much more ominous.

  As the monarch looked down onto the surface, she saw an arrow-straight line of craters, each measuring exactly one hundred feet across, which had been etched into the planet’s surface by OTS (orbit-to-surface) cannons fi?ring from outside the exosphere. Thousand-foot-high skyscrapers had been cut down like trees. So what remained looked like a thicket of fi?re-blackened stumps, many of which were still smoking, because of fi?res that continued to burn below street level.

  What resembled old lava fl?ows were actually rivers of previously molten metal and glass, which followed streets down to a large bay, where cold water transformed them into something resembling stone. Everything else was a sea of fi?re-blackened wreckage occasionally interrupted by islands of miraculously untouched buildings. As the Reaper began to slow, the royal spotted tiny pinpricks of light down below, followed by an occasional spurt of light-colored smoke. “What,” the monarch wanted to know, “are the animals doing?”

  Captain Ji-Jua was standing at the royal’s side. He was a serious-looking offi?cer with a reputation for probity. “The humans are fi?ring at us, Majesty,” the naval offi?cer replied gravely. “They have a quantity of shoulder-launched missiles looted from human military bases—and it may have been a lucky shot from such a weapon that brought the transport down.”

  “I fi?nd it strange that when we manage to destroy an enemy ship it’s always ascribed to skill—but when they do it we refer to it as ‘luck,’ ” the Queen observed tartly. “And where is the transport? I expected to see it by now.”

  “It’s diffi?cult to see because of the rain,” Ji-Jua replied tactfully. “The stern is half-submerged in that lake—but the bow is resting on dry land.”

  The Reaper shuddered gently as a surface-to-air missile exploded against her screens. The ship’s combat computer ran a lightning-fast series of calculations and fi?red an energy cannon in response. The blue bolt slagged everything within twenty feet of the point from which the rocket had been launched.

  But the royal was oblivious to such details as the crash site came into full view. There were hills to the left and right as the task force slowed and hovered above the wreck. The Queen knew, as did everyone else, that roughly half of the three hundred troops traveling on board the transport had been killed on impact. The survivors were not only alive, but still fi?ghting, as wave after wave of murderous humans attacked them. And, as smaller ships spread out to suppress enemy fi?re, a task force led by the Queen herself was about to rescue the beleaguered troopers. Video of that was sure to raise morale throughout the empire. Pictures that would look even better if taken on the ground rather than inside a warship. The Queen stood. “I will lead the rescue party myself,” she announced. “I’ll need my armor and a rifl?e.”

  Captain Ji-Jua reacted to the statement with undisguised alarm. “Majesty!” the offi?cer said. “Please reconsider! The situation on the ground is extremely unstable. . . . I could never allow you to risk your life in such a manner!”

  “You not only can, you will,” the royal responded sternly.

  “Or I can replace you here and now. . . . Which will it be?”

  Ji-Jua wanted to resist what he believed to be an extremely poor decision, but the force of the monarch’s personality combined with a sudden fl?ood of pheromones, was more than the offi?cer could overcome. “I’m sorry, Majesty,” he said contritely. “It shall be as you say.”

  Thirty minutes later the Queen was aboard an assault boat headed for the surface. The plan was to secure a landing zone, hold it long enough to load the beleaguered soldiers, and take off as soon as possible. Which, given total command of the air, should be relatively easy to do. Thanks to the monarch’s reassuring presence, plus their natural feelings of superiority, morale was high as the boat put down three hundred feet west of the wreck. The stern ramp made a loud thud as it hit the ground. A trio of fl?ying vid cams went off fi?rst, followed by the Queen and four members of the Imperial Guard. As the Ramanthians shuffl?ed out into a cold rain, the lake was only twenty-fi?ve feet to their left, which should have been a good thing. Except that sixteen SCUBA-equipped freedom fi?ghters chose that moment to surface and open fi?re! Half of the humans had never fi?red a weapon in anger, and their bullets kicked up spurts of dirt and rainwater, as they held their triggers down. The original plan had been to attack the downed transport from the water side, but with a group of Ramanthian soldiers directly in front of them, the humans had no choice but to attack or be attacked. The Queen was wearing body armor, but one of the fi?rst bullets the animals fi?red found the seam between the stiff collar that protected her neck, and the material that cloaked the rest of her elongated body. The projectile punched a hole through the royal’s chitin and nicked her posterior nerve bundle before exiting through the other side of her body, where it slammed into her armor. The whole thing came as a complete surprise to the Queen, who being all-powerful in every other respect, believed herself to be invulnerable on the battlefi?eld as well. There was no pain, just a sense of disbelief, as she collapsed and lay helpless in a large puddle of muddy water. There was a great deal of shouting, pincer clacking, and confusion as the royal’s bodyguards grabbed what they feared was a dead body, and attempted to carry the limp burden toward the assault boat. But they were under fi?re the entire time, and two of them fell, thereby dumping the alreadywounded monarch onto hard ground. So two of the rank-andfi?le soldiers stepped in to help, got hold of the inert body, and helped drag it up the ramp.

  Once the royal was on board, the pilot lifted, thereby leaving the rest of the fi?le to be slaughtered, as those on the Reaper subjected the aviator to a nonstop fl?ow of frantic orders. Ten minutes later the assault boat and its special cargo were safe inside the warship’s launch bay, where a team of medical personnel was waiting. They rushed on board and, having made an initial assessment, delivered the good news:

  “The Queen lives!”

  That was true, but it quickly became apparent that while conscious, the royal was paralyzed from the neck down. The effort to rescue those trapped on the surface continued as a despondent Captain Ji-Jua took the actions necessary to transfer the royal to the battleship Regulus, where a team of medical spec
ialists would be waiting to receive her. Chancellor Ubatha was present as the Queen was brought aboard the battleship some three hours after the injury. He shuffl?ed alongside the high-tech gurney as the monarch was wheeled into a waiting operating room. A consensus had emerged by then. All of the doctors agreed that initial efforts should focus on stabilizing the monarch, so they could evacuate her to Hive, where the empire’s foremost surgeons would be brought in to evaluate her condition. For that reason, the initial operation was mostly exploratory in nature and didn’t last long. It took the Queen half an hour to recover from the effects of the general anesthetic, but once she did, Ubatha was summoned to her side. Although the royal lacked the ability to move her body, she could talk, albeit with some diffi?culty.

  Ubatha felt a genuine sense of affection for the warrior queen, and that, plus the chemical cocktail that permeated the air around her, caused a genuine upwelling of sympathetic emotions as the offi?cial looked down on her. “I’m sorry,” the Queen croaked. “But it looks like I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But even that can serve our purposes. . . . Make sure video of what took place is seen throughout the empire. Along with assurances that I’m still alive. I think I can assure you that the Ramanthian people will fi?ght even harder after what happened to their Queen!”

  “Yes, Majesty,” Ubatha said gently. “The people love you. . . . And your sacrifi?ce will show them the way.”

  “And that brings us to you,” the monarch put in.

  “Me, Majesty? How so?”

  “Until such time as I regain the full use of my body, you will serve as my surrogate. That will be diffi?cult for both of us—but we have no other choice.”

  “Yes, Majesty,” Ubatha said obediently.

  “We can discuss all of the procedural diffi?culties during the trip to Hive,” the Queen added. “But, fi?rst I want you to fi?nd Captain Ji-Jua, and check on his mental state. He attempted to dissuade me from participating in the rescue, but I overrode him, and I’m afraid he will blame himself.”