When Duty Calls lotd-8

by William C. Dietz

  Perko shrugged. “Here’s hoping. I’ll take care of the tour for you.”

  “Keep your head down,” Kobbi cautioned. “You’d look damned silly without it.”

  The makeup job was far from perfect, but by putting on three sets of General-453’s underwear in order to better fi?ll out one of his uniforms, and by inserting a couple of Kelly’s two-inchby-two-inch gauze pads in his cheeks to make his face look puffi?er, Colonel Six was able to approximate the other offi?cer’s appearance. Would any of Four-fi?fty-three’s subordinates notice discrepancies? Probably, especially where subtle mannerisms were concerned, but it wouldn’t make any difference unless they had the courage to challenge the supreme commander. And that was unlikely. So that was the man who entered the underground command bunker at 2100 hours. It was a long narrow space that had been scooped out of the ground with a tank-mounted dozer blade, tidied up by hand, and spray-sealed to keep moisture out. Self-adhesive strip lights had been attached to the ceiling, two folding worktables took up the center of the room, and folding chairs were slotted all around. The fl?oor consisted of locally produced wood planks that were painstakingly scrubbed each morning consistent with General-453’s standing orders.

  About half of the offi?cers who came to attention were Seebos, and the rest were free breeders, including Mortimer Kobbi. The clone’s face looked more bloated than usual, but that was of little interest to the legionnaire, who was hoping for some sort of breakthrough. Anything other than another suicidal attack against an entrenched enemy. And, much to Kobbi’s amazement, that was what he got! “At ease,” the imposter said, as he eyed those around him. “Please take your seats. Our present strategy isn’t working—so get ready to take notes. We’re going to try something new.”

  Though not identical to the way the legionnaire would have planned it, the strategy that Four-fi?fty-three presented was similar, especially where the use of armor was concerned. “As you know,” Six said, “the battlefi?eld is strewn with wrecked hover tanks. That’s because the Ramanthians knew we would use them—and knew they wouldn’t work very well over deep trenches.”

  Kobbi was amazed. As were the other Confederacy offi?cers seated around him. It was like listening to a different man!

  Or himself for that matter—because everything Four-fi?ftythree was saying could be found in the memos he’d sent in. “But, thanks to our brave allies, we have an answer!” Six proclaimed. “Because the Legion’s quads can walk, rather than fl?oat across the battlefi?eld, engaging multiple targets as they do so, thereby clearing the way for the Trooper IIs and bio bods who will follow.”

  Now it was the Seebos’ turn to look at each other in amazement. Because on all previous occasions, when no free breeders were present to hear, the supreme commander had consistently referred to the Legion’s cyborgs as “freaks, weirdos, and criminal scum.” Military curiosities at best who weren’t fi?t for serious combat. Which was why none of the cavalry units had seen any action yet—in spite of the fact that the Legion’s infantry had taken part in assault after assault. But such was their fear of the general, and his notoriously short temper, that none of the clone offi?cers wanted to challenge the apparent about-face. Especially with so many free breeders present.

  So the battle plan was fi?nalized, and all of the regimental commanders were sent out to prepare their troops, which were slated to attack the Ramanthian positions just before dawn. Not with the goal of taking a few trenches, but in an effort to wipe the bugs off the battlefi?eld, and capturing the town beyond! Kobbi was whistling by the time he made his way down the slippery ramp and entered his command bunker. And that, as all of his subordinates knew, was a very good sign.

  Rather than the chance to rest, which Santana and his company had been hoping for, they came down out of Tow-Tok Pass to discover that they would be at the forefront of an allout attack scheduled for 0500 the next morning. The cavalry offi?cer got the news in person, as people bustled about the 1st REC’s command bunker, clearly preparing for something.

  “I’m sorry,” General Kobbi said, once Santana had delivered his report. “But we’ve got to put the Colonel Six matter aside for the moment. I know you and your people deserve a break, but I can’t give you one. Finally, after all this time, General453 has come to his senses! We’re going to launch a major attack in the morning—I’m going to need every cyborg we’ve got. So rearm your people and get them ready. God willing, we’ll take Yal-Am in time for lunch!”

  Santana had known the diminutive general for quite a while by then and couldn’t recall seeing him quite so enthusiastic before. “That sounds good, sir,” Santana replied. “I’d better get back to my company.”

  “One thing before you go,” Kobbi said thoughtfully. “I was going to assign this task to someone else, but you have more combat experience, and you know what that means.”

  Santana made a face. “Is this some sort of shit detail, sir?”

  “Yes, it is!” Kobbi replied cheerfully. “Much to everyone’s surprise General-453 wants to lead this assault from the front. But given the speed with which we’re going to advance, the only way he can possibly keep up is to ride a T-2. Which he’s never done before.”

  Santana groaned. “So you want me to babysit him.”

  “No,” Kobbi countered. “I want you and your company to guard him. But I won’t insist. Colonel Quinlan misses you terribly—and will be quite happy to bring Alpha Company back into the fold.”

  There was a moment of silence as the men stared at each other. It was Santana who spoke fi?rst. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

  “Granted.”

  “You are one rotten bastard. Sir.”

  Kobbi grinned from ear to ear. “That’s what they tell me. So, we have a deal?”

  “Yes, sir,” Santana agreed grimly. “We have a deal.”

  “Good. I’ll send word to the general. Which cyborg will you partner him with?”

  “Private Shalo Shaley, sir. We lost her bio bod up in TowTok Pass.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Kobbi replied soberly. “Well, tell the private she’s about to become a corporal if she can get Four-fi?fty-three into Yal-Am with his clone ass intact.”

  Santana came to attention. The salute was smart and crisp.

  “Sir, yes sir.”

  Kobbi returned the salute. “Dismissed.”

  The senior offi?cer’s face was impassive, but as Santana turned, and made his way up the ramp Kobbi sent a thought after him. Take care of yourself, Captain. . . . Your father would be proud.

  The entire front line seemed to hold its collective breath as the fi?nal seconds ticked away, and General-453 yelled

  “Charge!” over the division-level push. Except that it wasn’t Four-fi?fty-three, because he was still being held under Dr. Kira Kelly’s supervision, as dozens of simultaneously launched fl?ares transformed night into day, artillery shells screamed downrange, and the huge quads lumbered out onto the battlefi?eld.

  The fi?fty-ton cyborgs were big targets, and therefore almost impossible to miss, but they could take a lot of punishment, and did, as the Ramanthians opened up with everything they had. The legionnaires fought back as missiles raced off their rails, energy cannons sent pulses of blue death stuttering across no-man’s-land, and powerful legs tore through coils of barbed wire. And there were others besides Lupo and Xiong, sixteen quads altogether sweeping across the icy moonscape.

  The big monsters weren’t alone. The smaller, more agile T-2s were all around them. Jumping over trenches, fl?aming machine-gun nests, and fi?ring shoulder-launched missiles. The rockets sleeted across the cratered landscape to strike at enemy artillery positions. Some were neutralized, while others continued to fi?re, their barrels nearly parallel to the ground.

  That was when Colonel Six, AKA General-453, realized his mistake. Rather than lead allied forces, the way the renegade had imagined that he would, the clone had been re- duced to little more than a piece of living luggage strapped to a T-2’s back! And not
very skilled baggage, because if it hadn’t been for the harness that held him in place, Six knew he would have been thrown clear by then. So all the imposter could do was hold on, fi?re his pistol at targets of opportunity, and hope things were going well. And things were going well, or so it seemed to Santana, who was advancing parallel to General-453, roughly fi?fteen feet away. Even though he understood the theoretical advantage that the big walkers had when fi?ghting on broken terrain, Santana had never been exposed to trench warfare before, and was proud to see how easily the quads could advance across a battlefi?eld littered with burned-out hover tanks. And not just advance, but destroy the enemy with overlapping fi?elds of fi?re, as the seemingly unstoppable behemoths continued to plod forward. Unfortunately, the big cyborgs could be stopped, and even though they hadn’t had any practice, the Ramanthian offi?cers understood the theory. Every weapon system involves a series of trade-offs. One of which is the ratio of weight to speed. And speed was very important. So rather than use the same thickness of armor underneath the quads, as they had everywhere else, the cybernetic engineers put less metal there. That meant the way to kill a quad was to send infantry in under it, fi?nd a way to attach a demolition pack to the cyborg’s belly, and run like hell! Or, if that wasn’t possible, then attack a spindly leg. Of course the Legion’s tacticians understood how vulnerable the big machines were, which was why a platoon of T-2s was typically assigned to guard each quad against infantry attacks.

  But where there’s a will, there’s a way, and as Xiong moved forward her “torso” passed over a group of dead Ramanthians. Except one of them wasn’t dead. His name was Koga Noo, he was a member of the fanatical Nira cult, and eager to sacrifi?ce himself to the cause. Especially if he could take one of the big walkers with him!

  War involves luck, both good and bad, and as luck would have it a demo pack lay four feet away. It had been brought onto the battlefi?eld for the purpose of blowing a hole in the allied wire, but the engineers assigned to place it had been killed. So it was a simple matter for Noo to grab hold of the container and leap into the air as the quad passed over him. The cyborg’s thinly armored belly was too high for the soldier to touch, but the Ramanthian had wings and was quick to deploy them. Seconds later, before the deadly T-2s could intervene, Noo was hovering just below Xiong’s closely packed cargo bay. That was when the enemy soldier pinched the switch.

  There was a brilliant fl?ash of light, followed by a resounding boom, as the charge went off and Noo was vaporized. Less than half the force generated by the explosion was directed up and into the cyborg’s belly, but it was suffi?cient to burn a hole through the relatively thin armor, and send a jet of superheated gases into the compartment above. That triggered a series of secondary explosions, which not only killed the twelve Seebos seated in the cargo bay but ripped Xiong apart. Santana swore, and attempted to contact the cyborg via the company push, but there was no answer, as what remained of the legionnaire toppled onto one of Bravo Company’s T-2s, thereby raising the death toll to fi?fteen. However, there was no time to stop and grieve as the rest of the allied line continued to surge forward. Colonel Six had grown somewhat used to the violent rocking motion by that time, and could be seen at the very front of the allied army, shouting encouragement to every unit he passed. This came as something of a surprise from an offi?cer better known for his cutting criticisms than unreserved praise. The allied formation had cleared no-man’s-land by that time, and was well within Ramanthian lines, which had broken before the onslaught. Santana, who was busy guarding General-453’s right fl?ank, saw what was taking place and urged Alpha Company forward. “Run the bastards down!” he shouted. “Remember Xiong!”

  There were shouts of “Camerone!” and “Blood!” as the Hu- dathan legionnaires uttered their traditional war cry. Then they were through to the Ramanthian rear lines, where the enemy tanks and artillery pieces were trapped in their own revetments, as the alien soldiers continued to pull back into the devastated city of Yal-Am.

  Rather than remain where he was, and die an ignominious death at the hands of the animals, one of the tank commanders sent his beetle-shaped Gantha straight at Deker and Santana. The cavalry offi?cer saw a fl?ash of light as the big 120mm gun went off, followed by a potentially deafening boom, as the big shell roared past him. Then the T-2 was in the air! Metal clanged on metal as Deker landed on the Gantha’s lower deck. Santana looked up to see that the helmeted tank commander was trying to bring a heavy machine gun to bear on the threat below him. Santana brought his CA-10 up, pulled the trigger, and felt a sinking sensation when nothing happened! The goddamned piece of crap had frozen up!

  The machine gun continued to swing around as Santana worked the action, brought the weapon up for a second time, and pulled the trigger again. The Ramanthian’s head jerked backwards as two of the slugs smashed through his face shield, pulped his brains, and blew what was left out through the back of his fi?ber-composite helmet.

  “Good one, sir!” Deker said approvingly, as he began to climb higher. “Got any grenades?”

  “Two,” Santana replied, fumbling for them.

  “That should do it,” Deker said cheerfully, as he arrived next to the turret. “But mind the chit, sir. . . . He’s in the way!”

  The two of them were so close that Santana was able to reach out, grab the dead Ramanthian’s harness, and pull him to one side. That opened a hole large enough to accept both grenades. They were still falling into the compartment below, when Deker took to the air, hoping to put as much distance between himself and the Gantha as he could. The ensuing explosion lifted the turret off the top of the tank, sent a gout of fl?ames into the air, and produced a wave of hot air that washed around both legionnaires. Deker made a perfect landing, absorbed most of the impact with his mechanical knees, and was about to reenter the fray when a frantic call was heard.

  “Alpha Six! This is Bravo Three-Three! The general is missing! I can’t fi?nd him anywhere. Over.”

  “What?” Santana demanded, incredulously. “What do you mean you can’t fi?nd him? He was strapped to your back!

  Over.”

  “I mean the bastard bailed out,” Shaley answered angrily.

  “And I can’t fi?nd him. Over.”

  “Alpha Six to Alpha Company,” Santana said. “Form on me! Alpha One-Four will provide security while we search for the general. Execute. Out.”

  Meanwhile, as the surviving members of Alpha Company gathered to look for the allied commander, General Akoto was deep beneath the city of Yal-Am, preparing to deliver the Kiyo—the killing stroke. Because everything, including the retreat up over Tow-Tok Pass, and the way the ongoing battle was being fought had been leading up to this: the moment when the allies would enter the killing ground and give themselves over to the fi?nal slaughter. Thanks to massive incompetence on the part of their military leaders, the process had taken much longer than anticipated, thereby extending the amount of time available for the purpose of conquering Earth. Thus, the most important aspect of Akoto’s mission had already been accomplished.

  The general was too old for active service in the minds of many, as was apparent from the age spots on his chitin, and the many maladies for which the doctors were treating him. But there was nothing wrong with his mind, which was sword bright, and as keen as a thrice-honed blade. This was why he knew that, even as a seemingly unstoppable juggernaut rolled toward the depopulated city of Yal-Am, a unique opportunity lay before him. Rather than simply stalling the allies, as the old warrior had originally been ordered to do, it was his intention to defeat them! More than that, to drive the degenerates back into space—where others could deal with them.

  The navy would have to do its part, of course. But the hypercom call had been sent, and even as Akoto’s servant strapped his sword to the old warrior’s back, a battle group was emerging from hyperspace. Soon, within a matter of hours, all of the allied warships presently in orbit around Gamma-014 would be fi?ghting for their lives. While that battle took place, Ak
oto, plus ten thousand heavily armed Ramanthian regulars, were going to pour up out of the natural caverns located below the city of Yal-Am and consume the fi?ve thousand allied troops presently rushing to their deaths. Because exhausted from the battle just fought—the badly outnumbered humans would be easy meat. And Akoto was known for a hearty appetite. The warrior took pleasure in his joke—and that was the moment when the real battle began.

  Because the Ramanthians had been swept from the fi?eld of battle, Alpha Company was pretty much on its own, as the legionnaires completed the third, and what would have to be fi?nal, search for General-453. Or, failing that, what remained of his body. But there was no sign of the offi?cer so far, and Santana was just about to wrap up the effort, when a voice came over the division push—a rarely used com channel that was reserved for extreme emergencies since it had the effect of smothering communications at the battalion, company, and platoon level. “This is General-453,” the voice proclaimed. “I was held prisoner until fi?fteen minutes ago. . . . The man who led the assault is a renegade who calls himself Colonel Six. Seize the imposter and place him under arrest! I will arrive in Yal-Am shortly. Out.”

  The announcement was like a bolt out of the blue. It seemed that the Seebo who had reformulated allied strategy, and led the successful assault against the Ramanthians, had been none other than the clone Santana had been ordered to track down! Knowing that his impersonation would have to end, he had taken his leave just short of the fi?nal goal. That was shocking enough, but what took place over the next few minutes was even more so. It began with a sudden fl?urry of confused radio traffi?c, soon followed by frantic calls for help, and a storm of gunfi?re. Santana ordered his unit forward, but hadn’t traveled more than a hundred feet when Kobbi came over the regimental push. His voice was calm but urgent. “It was a trap! Thousands of Ramanthians were hiding underground. The 1st REC will fall back toward the west. Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, will escort the wounded. Alpha Company, 2nd Battalion, will provide covering fi?re—”