And that was a problem because the little general lacked the fl?y-forms necessary to airlift troops to the span. All of his attempts to send infantry forward had been blocked by a sequence of well-executed ambushes. So the offi?cer felt a sudden sense of jubilation when a familiar voice was heard on the command push. “Alpha Six to Six-One. Over.”
“This is Six-One,” Kobbi replied. “Go. Over.”
“We have him,” Santana said meaningfully. “And the hostages. Over.”
“That’s wonderful,” Kobbi enthused, as he lowered his visor. A series of eye blinks summoned the map he was looking for, the blue “snake” that represented the column, and Alpha Company’s pulsing triangle. Kobbi was thrilled to see that Santana’s company was on the highway ahead, only six miles from the Ordo bridge!
It was impossible to conceal the excitement Kobbi felt as he gave his orders. “I’m sure you’ve been through a lot—but we could use Alpha Company’s help. Proceed six miles due west, take the bridge over the Ordo River, and secure it. We will get there as soon as we can. Over.”
There was a pause as Santana eyed the map projected on the inside surface of his visor, followed by a laconic, “Yes, sir. Alpha Six out.”
Kobbi, who could hardly believe his good luck, removed his helmet and looked up into the lead gray sky. “Thank you, God,” the general said humbly. “Thank you for one more chance.”
Sergeant Suresee Fareye was on point with Private Ka Nhan. Santana, Deker, and three additional T-2s were half a mile back, closely followed by the quad, two surviving half- tracks, and Lieutenant Zolkin’s platoon, a confi?guration that ensured both halves of the company would have leadership if the formation were cut in two.
Having won the battle at the lake and having covered the four miles back to the highway without encountering any Ramanthians, Santana had been hoping to rejoin the main column. But now, as Alpha Company followed the highway west, he understood the dilemma Kobbi faced. The bridge at Ordo gorge was both a choke point and the critical link to the section of the highway that would carry the allies down to the fl?atlands beyond.
The question, to the cavalry offi?cer’s mind at least, was whether the bridge was still in place. And if so, why? General Akoto was a smart old bug—and not the sort of offi?cer to forget a strategic choke point. So if the bridge had been left standing, there was a reason. Or reasons. One of those could be that having been able to defeat the allies, the Ramanthians might want to preserve the bridge, rather than being forced to construct a new one.
But whatever the truth, Santana knew he would fi?nd out soon enough. Meanwhile, of more immediate concern were the Ramanthian troops clearly visible to the north and south. They were traveling along the ridgetops, which, according to the topo map projected onto the cavalry offi?cer’s HUD, were going to converge a half mile east of the bridge!
Which meant the bugs were going where he was going. A very unpleasant prospect indeed. Especially if the chits got there fi?rst. Which, had more of them been able to fl?y, they almost certainly would have. “This is Alpha Six,” Santana said, over the company push. “Let’s pick up the pace. Out.”
There was snow and ice to contend with, plus burned-out wrecks that had to be pushed out of the way so the half-tracks could squeeze through, but the weary troops did their best. Most were operating on no more than three hours’ sleep, hadn’t had a proper meal in two days, and many had wounds sustained during the battle by the lake.
The legionnaire’s thoughts were interrupted by Fareye’s voice on the radio. “The bridge is intact, sir,” the Naa said as he examined the surrounding bluffs. “But I’m not sure why. Over.”
“Maybe the Ramanthians have plans for it,” Santana replied. “We’ll be there shortly. Cross over, push two miles down the highway, and settle in. If bugs come in from the west, I want as much warning as possible. Out.”
Fareye replied with the traditional double click and ordered Nhan forward. He felt exposed on the bridge, knew someone was watching him, and wondered if he would hear the shot that killed him.
As Deker rounded a corner, and began to make his way down a 10-percent grade, Santana saw the span up ahead. It was a well-maintained steel-arch bridge. According to the data fi?le that was associated with those coordinates, it was about 3,250 feet long. The structure was two lanes wide, had been constructed twenty-eight years earlier, and was 610 feet high. “Okay,” Santana said, as Deker arrived at the east end of the span. “I need a volunteer. . . . Someone with a head for heights. Over.”
“That would be any one of us,” Colonel Six said, from the passenger seat in the fi?rst half-track. “Take your pick. Over.”
The clones had been allowed to keep their weapons, thanks to the fact that Dr. Kelly was locked up inside Lupo, and Santana had Six on a short leash. “Good enough,” the cavalry offi?cer replied. “If you would be so good as to select a couple of your men, and send them down to inspect the underbelly of this bridge, I would be most appreciative. Over.”
“So we’re looking for explosives? Over.”
“Exactly,” Santana said succinctly. “Alpha Six out.”
Having dispatched Dietrich to help lower the Seebos over the edge, and keep an eye on them, Santana turned his attention back to what he saw as the most pressing issue. And that was the defense of the bridge.
But what if that was where Akoto wanted the allies to focus their attention? What if the real attack came from the west?
Santana lacked suffi?cient resources to put a large force on the far side of the span, but Lupo couldn’t climb the surrounding slopes, so it made sense to send him across. The cavalry offi?cer gave the necessary orders and held his breath as the huge cyborg began the 3,250-foot-long journey. Lupo was at risk, as were all of those within his cargo compartment, including Kelly and her patients. Thankfully, the trip went off without a hitch, and it was only a matter of minutes before the big cyborg was on the far side of gorge, and marching down the highway.
Having secured the other end of the bridge to the extent he could, it was time for Santana to address the surrounding heights. Rather than wait for the bugs to occupy them, and come swarming down, the legionnaire was determined to cut the insectoid aliens off on the ridgetops, where the fl?ow of enemy soldiers would be severely restricted. It was a madeto-order situation for his T-2s, any one of whom could single-handedly stop such an advance, so long as he or she had adequate cover and plenty of ammo. To avoid any such calamity, Santana planned to place two cyborgs on each ridge. That would allow them to rotate in and out of combat while hardworking CVAs humped ammo to them from below. No sooner had the T-2s been sent on their way than Colonel Six appeared at his side. Santana was standing on the bridge deck by then—having sent Deker up onto the south ridge. So the men were eye to eye as the clone delivered his report. “You were correct,” the Seebo confi?rmed. “Explosives are hidden under both ends of the bridge. That’s why the bugs left the span in place. They can blow it anytime they want to.”
Santana felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise. Somewhere, within direct line of sight, a Ramanthian was watching them through a pair of Y-shaped bug binos. Lupo was a high-priority target, but the bugs had allowed the quad to cross in spite of that fact, which seemed to suggest that the chits had an even bigger payoff in mind. So what were they trying to accomplish? Stall the allied column and destroy it just short of the span? And thereby preserve the bridge? Or wait until the allies were streaming across and blow the structure at that point to infl?ict the maximum number of casualties? There was no way to be sure. “Can we disarm the explosives?” the cavalry offi?cer inquired mildly.
“I don’t know,” Six said honestly. “They’re probably booby-trapped.”
“Yeah, that would make sense,” Santana agreed.
“But there might be another way to deal with the problem,” the Seebo put in.
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“We could screen the explosives off, so the bugs can’t see what we’re
up to,” Six replied. “Then, rather than disarm the explosives, we’ll remove the steel beams they’re attached to. There’s a cutting torch on each half-track.”
Santana frowned. “That’s a clever idea, but won’t it weaken the bridge? Each quad weighs fi?fty tons.”
“There’s a lot of structural redundancy in any well-built bridge,” Six insisted confi?dently. “And we won’t remove any more steel than we absolutely have to.”
Not being an engineer, the cavalry offi?cer wasn’t so sure, but couldn’t see any alternatives, and knew the main column would arrive soon. “Okay, Colonel,” Santana said. “Make it happen.”
Six took note of the “Colonel,” an honorifi?c that had been noticeably absent up until that point, and knew it was Santana’s way of communicating respect. Not approval, but respect, which was more important to the Seebo’s way of thinking. He nodded. “Can I ask a favor?”
“That depends on what it is,” Santana replied cautiously.
“Look after Dr. Kelly. Get her off Gamma-014 if you can.”
“I’ll do my best to get both of you off the planet,” Santana promised. “So they can put you on trial.”
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’ ” Six replied, and did a neat aboutface. And with that, he was gone. Lead elements of Kobbi’s column arrived fi?fteen minutes later, but were forced to stop, or risk crossing the boobytrapped bridge. Right about the same time the insistent rattle of machine-gun fi?re was heard, as the Ramanthians attempted to push their way off the ridgetops, only to be met by a hail of bullets when the waiting legionnaires fi?red on them. Then, as General Kobbi and his T-2 arrived on the scene, Fareye called in. “Alpha Six-Four to Alpha Six. Four Gantha tanks are coming my way—followed by what looks like a battalion of troops. Over.”
Now Santana understood. Rather than simply cut the column off, Akoto planned to eradicate it, and the Ordo gorge crossing had been chosen as the place to accomplish that task. If the column remained where it was, the Ramanthian general would catch it from behind, and if his troops were able to break through, they would attack the allies from above. Meanwhile, if the fugitives attempted to advance, they would collide with the Gantha tanks. Or go down with the bridge. The bugs had all the cards.
Kobbi had access to the company push, so he understood as well. “The bastard has us by the balls,” the little offi?cer said, as he dropped to the ground. His breath fogged the ozone-tinged air and ice crunched under his boots. Santana resisted the impulse to salute, knew that could identify the general to any snipers lurking about, and nodded instead as Fareye called in. “Yes, sir. Hold one. I read you, Six-Four. Maintain visual contact but pull back.” There was a double click by way of a reply.
“Don’t tell me. Let me guess,” Kobbi put in. The bugs have explosives on the bridge.”
“Yes, sir,” Santana agreed. “Except that—” The sentence was interrupted by a resounding boom, quickly followed by a second, equally loud explosion, and numerous echoes. Both men turned to look at the bridge, but it was still there and apparently undamaged. That was when a dirty, unshaven Seebo hoisted himself up over the rail, spotted the offi?cers, and made his way over. The clone had a big grin on his face. “It worked like a charm!” he said enthusiastically. “We cut both packages free at the same time, the bugs saw them fall, and blooey! The charges went off about halfway down.”
Both of Kobbi’s bushy eyebrows rose. “And you are?”
“This is Colonel Six,” Santana put in. “Colonel Six—this is General Kobbi.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Kobbi said, as he turned to Santana. “The last time we met he was a general! You let him run around loose?”
The last was directed at Santana, who smiled grimly. “So long as he behaves himself. And, truth be told, the colonel and his Seebos fought bravely over the last couple of days.”
“I’m gratifi?ed to hear it,” Kobbi said gravely. “And I’m sure that will be taken into consideration during the courtmartial. But this is now. Can we cross the bridge?”
“Yes, sir,” Six said defi?nitively. “It will hold.”
“It better,” the little general growled. “I’m sending another quad across. Plus two squads of T-2s. Together they should be able to make short work of the battalion that’s coming up from the west. Alpha Company will remain in place until everyone is across. At that point you can bring those T-2s down off the ridges and cross the bridge. Once you’re on the west side, my people will blow the span. Any questions? No? Well done, Captain. . . . Thank you, Colonel. Let’s get to work.”
Having been ordered to remain in place until the entire column passed over the bridge, most of Alpha Company played no part in the ensuing battle, as General Kobbi’s column went head-to-head with four Gantha tanks and a battalion of Ramanthian regulars. Their job was to keep the bugs from coming down off the ridges, which the T-2s managed to do, until Santana ordered them down onto the highway. Then, with Ramanthians right behind them, it was time for the legionnaires to withdraw to the far side of the span. A team of demolition experts from the 2nd REI had been left behind to drop the bridge into the river below, which the le- gionnaires did the moment some overeager chits attempted to cross.
With that accomplished Santana led his company down the twisting, turning highway, and it wasn’t long before they began to see evidence of what had been a bloody battle. As expected, the Gantha tanks had been no match for two quads and a pack of voracious T-2s. Santana smiled grimly as Deker carried him past the partially slagged wrecks, one of which was topped by a Ramanthian tank commander who had been cooked in place. A wisp of smoke issued from his hooked beak as the company commander rode past. What lay beyond was even more gruesome. Because without any armor to protect them from the oncoming cyborgs, and with no avenue of escape, the Ramanthian infantry had been slaughtered. Those warriors who had been killed along the edges of the road lay where they had fallen, their bodies piled in drifts, but all facing the enemy. A testimony to their courage. The rest of the bugs, those who went down toward the center of the highway, weren’t recognizable anymore. Not after being crushed by quads and chopped to bits by a succession of tracked vehicles. The result was a bloody porridge made of equal parts blood, chitin, and snow. It was dark red at fi?rst, and thick with body parts, but began to thin somewhat as Alpha Company followed the road through a curve. The muck was merely pink by that time, and remained so as they passed through what had been a roadblock but was little more than scattered rubble by then.
The highway turned white after that, as it entered a long series of switchbacks, leading down to the partially forested fl?atlands below. All of the allies were exhausted, most having fought for days with only hours of sleep, but Santana heard no complaints. The word was out by then. Ships were landing, and everyone who could walk, hop, or crawl to the LZ would be pulled out. And none of the soldiers wanted to be left behind.
So the main column traveled day and night, and Alpha Company did likewise, until fi?nally, after seventeen hours of nearly nonstop travel, Santana led his road-weary troops into what had already been dubbed “the doughnut,” by the mixed force of CVAs, legionnaires, and marines who were responsible for the facility.
The doughnut, or landing zone (LZ), was located on mostly level ground and was approximately one mile across. Heavy equipment had been used to dig a deep ditch around the outer perimeter, intended to keep Ganthas out, and slow the Ramanthian infantry. Consideration had been given to building a berm along the circular ditch, which would have been relatively easy to do, given all the dirt removed from what some of the allies called “the moat.”
But Kobbi nixed that idea, pointing out that once the allies were forced to fall back, the bugs would cross the ditch, and take cover behind the raised earthworks. So the dirt had been trucked into the landing zone’s interior, where a berm made sense, so the troops would have something to hide behind as the size of the overall force continued to shrink. And the evacuation process was already under way as a marine guide l
ed Alpha Company across acres of heavily churned muck. “Look at that, sir!” Dietrich exclaimed, as repellers roared and a tramp freighter lowered itself into the so-called doughnut hole. “That ain’t no assault boat. . . . It’s an intersystem rust bucket!”
“Who cares?” Santana countered, raising his voice so others could hear. “So long as it can fl?y. And you’ve been on our troopships. . . . I’ll take the freighter!”
That got a laugh, and the comment soon made the rounds. But Santana was concerned. As the civilian ships continued to arrive, he saw that many of them were so old, or so small, that they made the fi?rst freighter look like a passenger liner. Still, something was better than nothing, or so the cavalry offi?cer told himself as he was forced to confront the latest challenge. Alpha Company had been ordered to plug a hole on the east side of the doughnut between elements of the 13th DBLE
and the 1st Marine Division, both of which had suffered heavy casualties in Yal-Am. In fact, most of their neighbors looked like hollow-cheeked scarecrows as they interrupted their work long enough to wave at the newcomers and shout friendly insults. There was plenty of work to do, because like the outfi?ts to either side of it, the company was responsible for its own defenses. So with only a few hours of daylight left to them, it was important to dig fi?ring pits, excavate communicating trenches, and fi?ll newly created bunkers with ammo. Fortunately, the legionnaires could speed the process by replacing the graspers that the T-2s normally wore with
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