When Duty Calls lotd-8

by William C. Dietz

  From where he was standing, just in front of the quad that had been positioned immediately behind the crawlers, Kobbi could see the shoulder-high pile of snow and debris that blocked the highway. Trees had been caught up in the avalanche, along with large boulders and a host of smaller rocks. A powerful engine rumbled as the surviving dozer attacked the blockage with a big shining blade. What originally had been isolated gunshots escalated into a full-scale fi?refi?ght as well-hidden Ramanthian soldiers fi?red down into the column, and legionnaires, marines, and Seebos fi?red up into the rocks. Slugs pinged off the dozer and made a mosquito-like whine as they angled away.

  The avalanche was bad luck, terrible luck, given what was at stake. The rescue fl?eet wasn’t on the way yet, but they would be soon, and it was imperative to get the column down out of the mountains quickly. Civilians would be taken off fi?rst, followed by support forces, meaning those units that hadn’t been sent up into the mountains. That was just the nature of things. But Kobbi was determined to evacuate combat troops as well. “Okay,” the little general said grimly.

  “We’ll work with what we have. . . . Keep the dozer going. I’ll round up a couple hundred CVAs and arm them with shovels. They can pitch in and help clear the slide.”

  Perko nodded, opened his mouth to reply, and jerked spastically as a bullet smashed through the bridge of his nose. That was when a corporal threw Kobbi facedown on the highway and took the follow-up shot right between the shoulder blades. His body armor was suffi?cient to stop the slug, but it left a bruise the legionnaire would remember for days to come. Assuming he lived that long.

  “Thanks,” Kobbi said, as he rolled out from under the corporal. “I owe you a beer. Let me jack into your radio. Those bastards need to die.”

  Ten minutes later Second Lieutenant Eyeblink Thinkfast and a team of Naa warriors drawn from a dozen units started up the mountainside. It was a development the Ramanthian snipers should have been worried about but weren’t. Mainly because the rank-and-fi?le bugs were completely ignorant of the physiological and cultural attributes associated with their enemies.

  So they were unaware of the fact that the fur-clad legionnaires considered anything above ten below to be balmy, preferred to fi?ght barefoot because they could sense heat differentials through the soles of their feet, and didn’t need to actually see their opponents because they could smell chitin polish, wing wax, and gun oil from a hundred feet away. Nor were the insectoid Ramanthians aware of the speed with which the lightly armed Naa could climb, the almost total silence with which they moved, or the mind-numbing ferocity that they brought with them.

  Some of the legionnaires fell, plucked off the steep slope by well-aimed bullets, but not many. Because as Thinkfast and half a dozen others came upslope, they were also moving from side to side, utilizing every bit of cover that was available.

  Then they were there, on the same level as the Ramanthian sharpshooters, and that was when the real bloodletting began. It was knife and pistol work for the most part, carried out by warriors who had not only been raised to kill, but had grudges to settle on behalf of all the legionnaires killed on Gamma-014. They were like ghosts as they slipped between the rocks, slitting throats, and fi?ring from point-blank range. No quarter was asked, and no quarter was given, as more than thirty Ramanthians were systematically put to death. Finally, with his uniform soaked in gore, it was Thinkfast who put in the call to Kobbi. “The heights are ours, sir. . . . We will hold them until relieved. Over.”

  “Well done, Lieutenant,” Kobbi said, as he stared up at the tiny fi?gures above. “Once we get back to Algeron, I’m going to hang every medal I can think of on you and your warriors. Do you have prisoners? Over.”

  “No, sir,” came the answer. “We forgot to take any. Over.”

  “Well done,” the general replied. “Six-One out.”

  ABOARD THE FREIGHTER XINGLONG , OFF PLANET GAMMA-014,THE CLONE REPUBLIC

  Maylo Chien-Chu felt a brief moment of nausea as the sturdy Xinglong (Star Dragon) exited hyperspace and entered enemy-held space. Unlike most of the more than six thousand vessels that were systematically fl?ooding the local system, the boxy Xinglong was ideal for the rescue mission, because she had been built for the purpose of transporting cargo to and from Class III planets like Gamma-014. That was just one of the many lines of business Chien-Chu Enterprises was engaged in. Owing to the sometimes lawless conditions out along the rim, the freighter was armed. However, four medium-duty energy cannons and two missile launchers weren’t going to make much of an impression on anything larger than a military gunboat. Maylo had long been a pilot, and a good one, so rather than take up space that a civilian or soldier might otherwise use, she was conning the ship herself. The rest of the skeleton crew consisted of Angie Brisco, her somewhat cantankerous middle-aged copilot, Hal Nortero, the ship’s cigar-chomping engineer, and Koso Orlo-Ka, the Xinglong’s Hudathan loadmaster, all of whom had volunteered for the mission even if Brisco liked to complain a lot. “Damn,” the narrow-faced copilot exclaimed sarcastically, as the freighter emerged from hyperspace one planetary diameter off Gamma-014’s surface.

  “Couldn’t you cut it any closer?”

  Brisco’s lack of tact was the main reason why she had been let go by a dozen companies before fi?nally fi?nding a home within Chien-Chu Enterprises—a company where skill was valued over and above political acumen, not to mention the fact that her shipmates had plenty of quirks themselves. So even though Maylo was president of the company, she responded with a grin. “I would if I could, Angie. Now hang on, we’re going in.”

  The Ramanthians were beginning to respond by then, but not fast enough to stop the steady stream of incoming vessels, most of which were clearly civilian. That didn’t make sense to them—and was the source of considerable confusion. That wouldn’t last, of course, but Maylo intended to take advantage of the situation while it was possible. The plan was to take clone civilians off Gamma-014 fi?rst, ferry them back to Nav Point CSM-9703, and off-load them to the big liners that were waiting there.

  Those ships that could would return to Gamma-014 to take military personnel off. Many of whom were still fi?ghting their way down out of the mountains. The whole process was going to take days, and the bugs would be expecting the second, third, and fourth waves, so casualties would be high.

  “So, what the hell are you waiting for?” Brisco demanded impatiently. “Let’s put this rust bucket down. We’ve got people to load.”

  The Xinglong bucked madly as she entered the atmosphere. “Yes, ma’am,” Maylo said agreeably. “We do indeed.”

  The refugee camp was a huge, sprawling affair, that had originally been a sports complex, before the Ramanthians took control of Gamma-014 and converted the facility into a prisoner of war internment camp. That was where Mama Dee and what remained of her scruffy “family” had been forced to go. Having been locked inside, the POWs were left to fi?nd a place for themselves in the muddy fi?eld, where thousands of displaced civilians were forced to eat, sleep, and shit within a few inches of each other. A miserable existence but one that most of the so-called accidental people had been able to survive largely because they were used to extreme privation.

  Then came what seemed like a miracle at fi?rst, as allied forces landed on Gamma-014, and the POW camp was “liberated.” The only problem was that while some of the Ramanthians were forced back into space, the victorious Seebos had no use for the Children of Nature, and largely ignored them. Fortunately, the Confederacy’s troops, all of whom were free breeders, offered what assistance they could. So, with no home to return to, Mama Dee and her clan had been forced to remain in what was now a refugee camp. A less-crowded place to be sure—but still just as miserable. Then came the news that the Alpha Clones had been overthrown, which gave the accidental people something to celebrate, until the Ramanthians suddenly reappeared! The bugs hadn’t landed in force yet, but clearly had control of the skies, and were said to be winning the ground war over toward Yal-Am.
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  Now, as the big rawboned Ortov-Chan “mix” and seven members of her “family” stood outside the clan’s shabby longhouse, and stared upwards, still another shift was under way. Hundreds of contrails were crisscrossing the sky. And it wasn’t long before spaceships appeared over the city. These were not the military vessels that the refugees expected to see, but a wild menagerie of yachts, freighters, and other craft, some of which were very alien in appearance. There was a momentary fl?ash of light, followed by a clap of what sounded like thunder, as one of the ships ceased to exist. Pieces of smoking wreckage were still raining down on a spot two miles away when a man in a ten-foot-tall orange exoskeleton approached them. The machine made intermittent whining noises as the petty offi?cer who was at the controls weaved his way between makeshift hovels. The noncom’s voice boomed out over the speakers above his head. “Make a hole!” the sailor demanded. “A big hole! A ship is about to land. . . . I repeat, a ship is about to land. Gamma-014 is being evacuated. You will board in an orderly fashion. Leave all personal items behind. . . . I repeat, leave all personal items behind.”

  And as the sailor continued to wade through the crowd, a massive shadow fell over the fi?eld, and repellers roared as Maylo Chien-Chu brought the Xinglong in for a landing.

  “Be careful!” Brisco cautioned unnecessarily. “There are people down there.”

  “Thanks,” Maylo said dryly, her fi?ngers dancing across the controls. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  The downdraft from the freighter’s repellers destroyed two of the fl?imsy huts, which were empty by then. That was followed by a noticeable jolt as the skids found solid ground beneath a six-inch layer of semiliquid brown muck. Down in the hold, Orlo-Ka fl?ipped a safety cover out of the way and stabbed a button with a sausage-sized index fi?nger. Metal groaned and servos whined as the much-dented belly ramp deployed. The big Hudathan was armed with an energy rifl?e as he stomped down the incline and onto the surface below. That, plus his size, was suffi?cient to prevent what might otherwise have been a stampede. Of course, some civilians were suspicious, fearing some sort of trick, and were quick to back away. But the vast majority, the Children of Nature included, fi?gured they had nothing to lose. So as her family surged up the ramp, Mama Dee led the way, her staff thumping on metal. Fifteen minutes later, a Klaxon began to bleat, the fi?lthy ramp came up, and repellers fi?red. Maylo had to rock the freighter from side to side in order to break the skids out of the mud, but eventually succeeded and accelerated away. There were still lots of people on the ground, but a beat-up ore carrier was circling the camp by then, and was soon on the ground.

  It took the Xinglong two seemingly endless hours to escape Gamma-014’s gravity well, dodge a Ramanthian de- stroyer, and go hyper. But she made it—and even Brisco was somewhat pleased. “Not bad for an amateur,” the crusty copilot allowed. “But the next trip will be harder.” And, even though Maylo wasn’t ready to think about that yet, she knew Brisco was correct.

  It was just after dawn. Santana stood with his back to one of the campfi?res drinking a cup of hot caf and looking out at the open area to the south of him. At least four or fi?ve inches of snow had fallen during the night, and the offi?cer was cold, tired, and dirty. Roughly half of Alpha Company was on high alert, manning the perimeter, while the rest of the outfi?t was getting ready to pull out. The good news was that the hostages had been rescued, and Colonel Six was in custody. The bad news was that, based on the most recent scouting report from Lieutenant Millar, it appeared as though the previous evening’s fi?refi?ght had been heard or seen because a large force of Ramanthians had infi?ltrated the area between Alpha Company and the main highway. So what to do? Santana could marshal his forces, such as they were, and attempt to break out. Or, remain where he was, and let the chits come to him. But one thing was for sure. . . . Kobbi’s convoy was busy fi?ghting for its life—so there wouldn’t be any help from that quarter. And Santana knew the clock was ticking. Any group that failed to exit the mountains along with the main column ran the risk of being left on Gamma-014. That, given the way Ramanthians treated their prisoners, was tantamount to a death sentence.

  Such were Santana’s thoughts as he noticed something strange, swallowed the last of his caf, and made his way out to the perimeter. Marine Sergeant Pimm saw the offi?cer coming. He had come to respect Santana over the last few days, which was nothing short of a frigging miracle, since everybody knew the Legion was nothing more than a collection of criminals, wackos, and freaks. Pimm nodded politely. “Good morning, sir.”

  Santana’s eyes were fi?xed on a point beyond the log barricade. He said, “Good morning, Sergeant,” drew his sidearm, and vaulted over the logs. Then, as the mystifi?ed noncom looked on, the legionnaire took four paces forward and aimed his weapon at a spiral of wispy vapor. There was a loud blam, blam, blam as the offi?cer fi?red his pistol. Brass casings arced away from the weapon, something heaved under the snow, and blood colored it red.

  And that was when all hell broke loose as thirty or forty Ramanthian commandos threw off thermal blankets and rose from the ground. Having concealed their heat signatures with the blankets, the bugs had been able to sneak up on the encampment during the night. Then, once they were within grenade-throwing range of the encampment, the Ramanthians allowed the snow to cover them over. But they had to breathe, and that was what had given them away. Two commandos were within six feet of Santana. The cavalry offi?cer shot one of the Ramanthians in the face, whirled, and shot the other. Then, as he backed his way toward the barricade, Santana emptied his pistol at a fourth commando. That was when Sergeant Pimm grabbed onto the offi?cer’s battle harness from behind and jerked him over the barricade. There was a loud carump as the fi?rst mortar round hit, killed one of the CVAs, and sent a column of blood, mud, and snow up into the air.

  The marines were fi?ring by then, as were the legionnaires, but the surviving commandos were only yards away. Grenades sailed though the air, landed, and went off one after another. A Seebo was decapitated by fl?ying shrapnel, a legionnaire went down with a shard of metal in his thigh, and fl?ying fragments clanged as they hit the half-tracks. Somewhere off in the distance, shrill whistles could be heard, along with an alien bugling sound, as Ramanthian regulars rushed to join the fray. Daylight attacks were rare, but with the commandos to lead the way, the bugs had been about to launch one. Santana was back on his feet by then— the decision having been made for him. There was no avenue of escape. Alpha Company would stay and fi?ght. So as Lupo’s onboard computer calculated trajectories for the incoming mortar shells, and the quad sent a volley of short-range missiles racing toward the enemy tubes, Santana offered words of encouragement as the company prepared to defend itself. The legionnaires and their allies had camped inside the perimeter that Colonel Six had established for his troops, and thanks to the fact that the cavalry offi?cer had been able to bring the rest of his command around the south end of the lake during the hours of darkness, all of them were in one place. Which was fortunate indeed. Since two separate groups would have been hard-pressed to defend themselves.

  Having located Corporal Thain, the offi?cer gave the cyborg a concise set of orders, before turning back toward the center of camp. Millar was there, half-hidden by a track, fi?ring his energy cannon at the enemy. Another defender would have been useful, but Santana had something more important for the recon ball to do, and gave the cyborg new orders. Then, having called upon Dietrich to fi?re some smoke grenades toward the north, the scout vanished into the resulting fog.

  Thanks to Lieutenant Zolkin’s earlier efforts, ordnance of all kinds had been unloaded from the vehicles and divided between three widely spaced bunkers to avoid the possibility that a single explosion would destroy all their ammo. So, when the outgoing fi?re fell off, Hoyt-11,791 and her CVAs rushed to resupply the troops. Especially the T-2s, who couldn’t reload their own magazines. As Santana continued to make the rounds, the cavalry offi?cer realized that insofar as combat troops were concerned, he was down to
eight of Alpha Company’s bio bods, half a dozen marines, four loyal Seebos from the transportation platoon, and fi?ve T-2s. The rest had departed with Thain. Unfortunately, some of his legionnaires were tied up guarding Six, the treacherous Dr. Kelly, and the thirty-six Seebos who remained loyal to the renegade. All of them were seated hip to hip in two rows behind one of their own half-tracks. But there was nothing Santana could do about that as more whistles were heard and the real infantry assault began. “Don’t let them reach the perimeter!” Santana shouted, as he brought his CA-10 up to his shoulder and began to fi?re. “Lupo! Everything outside of a hundred yards belongs to you!”

  The quad heard the command via the company push and went to work with all four of his gang-mounted energy cannons. They fi?red in alternating sequence, but so rapidly that the fi?re appeared to be continuous, as iridescent energy bolts sleeted across the free-fi?re zone and carved black swaths through the snow. Dozens of Ramanthians simply ceased to exist, as their bodies were vaporized, and steam fogged the atmosphere.

  Meanwhile, closer in, the bio bods, backed by the highly mobile T-2s, were giving a good account of themselves. The vehicle-mounted fi?fties continued to chug methodically, the lighter weapons chattered, and exploding grenades threw columns of dirty snow up into the air as clusters of bugs went down. But like the waves of an incoming tide, Santana saw that each drift of bodies was closer to the perimeter than the last had been, and wondered how much longer they would be able to hold.

  Suddenly an airborne Ramanthian was there, descending from above to land directly on top of the log barricade, then the trooper was gone in a brilliant fl?ash of light. The payoff for the trooper’s act of self-sacrifi?ce was a dead legionnaire and a four-foot-wide hole in the camp’s defenses. Both Santana and a force of Ramanthians rushed toward the gap. “Torrez!’