“Yes,” Qwis replied, “I’m sure he would.” She reached out to squeeze the officer’s hand, and said, “Thanks,” as one of the children started to cry.
Santana was about to reply when the hand was withdrawn, and she disappeared.
FIRE BASE ALPHA, THE GREAT PANDU DESERT, PLANET SAVAS
The column had been marching at night to avoid the heat of the day, but when dawn came, Kobbi made the decision to complete the journey in the daylight rather than bivouac less than ten miles away. The long line of soldiers and civilians wound past a flat-topped rock formation, struggled up a long sandy slope, and emerged onto the flat area east of the wreck. “My God,” Major Matala said, eyeing the expanse ahead. “What happened here?”
Kobbi found himself staring at a sea of sand-drifted bones. Some were large, and might have belonged to zurnas, while the rest were smaller and consistent with what the officer imagined Paguumi bone structure might be like. Some of the sun-whitened sticks still bore pieces of sun-dried gristle, but the rest had been picked clean and would eventually be buried by the wind. Bits of brightly colored cloth could be seen in among the bones, half-buried by the sand, but still willing to flap if a breeze came along. “A battle was fought here,” Kobbi answered simply. “Our people took on what must have looked like an ocean of Paguumi warriors and fought them to a standstill. Not line troops, mind you, but support staff, many of whom normally fire a weapon once or twice a year. Captain Danjou would be proud.”
“Proud? Hell, he’d be amazed,” Matala said, as the column picked its way through the field of bones.
Once clear of the battlefield the column followed the deep ditch the ship had plowed into the planet’s surface up to a blast-blackened berm and the formation that stood arrayed in front of it. There were six war forms, all the group could muster at the moment, and a small group of bio bods. They were at rigid attention, eyes front, as Captain Calvo took two steps forward and delivered her best salute. Her skin was a deep brown color and looked as though it had been stretched over the bones of her face. “Welcome to Fire Base Alpha, sir. It’s damned good to see you.”
Kobbi returned the salute, and said, “At ease. You and your people did one helluva job, Captain. And that’s the best-looking wreck I’ve ever seen.”
There was a cheer as both groups broke ranks, and the battalion was reborn.
THE GREAT PANDU DESERT, PLANET SAVAS
After nine hours of walking Santana had fallen into a sort of ambulatory stupor. His body continued to place one foot in front of the other, but his senses were dulled, and his mind was adrift. That was why the legionnaire didn’t realize that the Paguum had stopped until he was about to walk past them and Guppa reached out to grab his arm. “Lieutenant? We’re there.”
Santana came to a halt and blinked repeatedly. A wash of pink light heralded the reappearance of the sun, the air was cold, and the officer could see his breath. “There? Where?”
“At the well,” the warrior replied patiently.
The interaction served to clear his mind, and Santana looked around. The ground around them was featureless. Surely there had been a mistake. “No offense, my friend, but I don’t see a well.”
“That’s because you are standing on top of it,” Saddo said mischievously. “If the lieutenant would be so kind as to back away, we could remove the lid.”
The legionnaire looked down and saw nothing but his boots and the sand beneath them. Surely Saddo was wrong. Only someone who had access to modern technology could pinpoint one square foot of sand in a trackless desert. But there was only one way to find out. “Sorry,” Santana said, and took a full step backward.
The rest of the column had caught up by then, and there was a considerable ruckus as zurnas squalled, children demanded the right to get down, and exhausted adults worked to sort things out.
Meanwhile the Paguum were down on hands and knees, digging with their hands. Sand flew, and it wasn’t long before a flat piece of rock appeared and gradually grew larger. Santana’s eyebrows rose as he saw that a series of pictographs had been revealed. “What does it say?”
“It says that that the well belongs to the dawn people,” Saddo replied, “and that those who use it without permission will be cursed.”
The legionnaire watched in amazement as even more sand was removed, the edges of the lid were revealed, and Guppa used a Jithi-forged blade to pry one side of the rock up out of its roughly circular bed. Then, with Saddo’s help, the officer managed to lift the cover up and out of the ground. It was heavy, had clearly been brought to the location from somewhere else, and threw sand into the air when they let it fall.
“I will need a rope plus one of those lamps that you wear on your head,” Guppa announced from behind them. Santana turned to discover that the warrior was perched on the edge of the newly created hole with his legs dangling inside.
“How deep is it? Santana inquired, shrugging the pack off his shoulders.
Guppa didn’t know how deep the hole was. But he was determined to lead rather than follow. “I don’t know how you measure things,” the warrior said, as Saddo positioned a recently acquired sword hilt up across the middle of his back. “But there could be snakes down there, so don’t let anyone enter until I give the all clear.”
“Here’s some rope,” Dietrich said, dropping a coil at Guppa’s side. “The other end is tied to a zurna. Give a holler, and he’ll pull you out.”
Santana rummaged through his pack until he came across the Legion-issue headband with lights attached to either side and gave it to Guppa. The warrior put the device on his head, fumbled with the switches, and gave a grunt of satisfaction when twin beams appeared. Then, having thrown the rope down into the hole, he went in after it.
Santana peered down into the hole, saw the lights play across ancient brick walls, and knew that he was looking at the remains of a town or a city rather than simply a well. Had the area been different back then? Before the desert took over? And the eternal migrations began? There was no way to be sure, but it certainly appeared so.
“Bravo Three Seven to Bravo Six,” Fareye said over the squad freq. “Company is on the way. Over.”
The civilians had gathered around the hold, and Santana pushed his way through them and out into the open. The officer saw that Fareye was standing on top of a Zurna peering toward the south. He raised his electrobinoculars, saw what looked like a dot, and touched the zoom control. The image grew larger as a rider topped a rise and went down the leading slope. That was when a second rider appeared, and a third, and so on until a total of sixty-three bandits had followed their leader down into a dip from which they would soon emerge.
“What have we got?” Dietrich inquired, having materialized at the officer’s side. “Sixty-three of the bastards,” Santana answered grimly. “And they’re coming fast.”
“Even if we may have water, there isn’t any cover,” the sergeant observed. “Not so much as a good-sized rock.”
“Yeah,” Santana agreed soberly, “and we don’t stand a chance out in the open. Send someone to assist Guppa whether he likes it or not. Tell Miss Qwan to organize the civilians. Lower the children into the hole the moment she’s ready. The zurnas will make a pretty good barricade.”
Dietrich looked at the nearest zurna and back again. The animals were obnoxious, but he had come to respect them. He hated to kill them, but the order made sense. “Sir, yes sir.”
The next few minutes were filled with frantic activity as the zurnas were stripped of their loads, children were lowered into the ground, and some of the legionnaires prepared what Fareye described as a “surprise” for the oncoming bandits.
Finally, when all of the civilians were safely below, the zurnas were pushed, pulled, and prodded into a circle. The animals squalled, snorted, and tried to balk as Saddo covered their eyes with blindfolds, and whispered words of comfort into their ears. Then, when everything was ready, the Paguum shot the first zurna in the temple. The huge two-thousand-pound bod
y went down hard, hit with a loud thump, and caused the other animals to stir uneasily. Then they went down as well, one after another, until the black hole was like a bull’s-eye at the very center of a target.
Saddo shot his own zurna last, and there was no mistaking the look of sorrow on the warrior’s face. The two of them had literally grown up together, and while far from equals, were bonded in a way that only a Paguum could understand.
Santana felt sorry for both the animals and their owners, but knew there was no other way to defend the underground sanctuary. The officer made his way over to the point where the squad’s com tech was busy scooping a firing position out of the sand, knelt next to the long-range set at her side, and removed the handset. “Bravo Six to Nomad Six . . . Over.”
There was a burst of static followed by a male voice. “This is Alpha Two Four . . . Hold on . . . Nomad Six will be with you in a moment. Over.”
As Santana waited he watched Dietrich and another legionnaire wire the dead zurnas end to end to prevent the outcasts from swooping in, hooking on to one of the corpses, and towing it away. A tactic which, if successful, would open a hole in the defensive barricade.
“This is Nomad Six,” Kobbi said. “Go.”
Santana delivered a brief, emotionless sitrep, but Kobbi could imagine the hole, the corpses arrayed around it, and the battle to come. The odds didn’t sound good, but Santana already knew that, and there was no reason to state the obvious. And, making a bad situation even worse, was the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to help. Kobbi struggled to keep his voice level and matter-of-fact. “I wish I could send a fly-form, but we’re sitting in the middle of a hellacious sandstorm, and there’s no telling how long it will be until we can launch. Hang in there Bravo Six . . . we’ll get to you as soon as we can.”
Though heartened by the fact that Kobbi and his column had been able to reach Fire Base Alpha, the news that they couldn’t provide him with any air support left what felt like a rock riding low in Santana’s gut. “Roger that, Nomad Six. Let us know when the storm clears . . . and set some extra places for dinner. It’s been a long time since we had any home cooking.”
The voice sounded a lot like Top Santana’s, and it was just the sort of thing that the grizzled noncom might have said. “Will do,” Kobbi replied gruffly. “Over and out.” There was a click as Fire Base Alpha went off the air, leaving Santana and his charges on their own.
The legionnaire replaced the handset and stood. Fareye was just inside the fleshy barricade, staring through a pair of glasses. It was getting warm, and the Naa’s fur was matted with sweat. “How close are they?”
“Twenty minutes out, sir. Twenty-five at most.”
“Good,” the officer replied. “That means I have time to bleed my tanks, have breakfast, and check to see if this situation is covered in the manual.”
Those who were close enough to hear laughed and felt a little bit better. After all, if the loot wasn’t worried, then why should they be?
The sun inched higher in the sky, the bandits drew closer, and the seconds ticked away.
12
* * *
Few men are brave by nature, but good order and experience make many so. Good order and discipline in any army are more to be depended upon than courage alone.
—Niccolo Machiavelli
Art Of War
Standard year 1520
* * *
SAVAS PRIME, PLANET SAVAS
Having been bombed by the Ramanthians, then looted by the Jithi, the town of Savas Prime was little more than a collection of burned-out buildings that sat baking in the sun. There were exceptions, however, like the beautiful arbor that Lin Qwan had established behind her house. In spite of the damage done to the structure itself, the garden remained relatively untouched, which was why Force Commander Ignatho Dontha had chosen it as the venue for a very important meeting. Against all odds the Confederacy forces originally trapped in Savas Prime had been able to link up with the legionnaires in the desert. And, based on the information provided by the renegade Kuga-Ka, there was little doubt that they would march on Hagala Nor in an attempt to capture the hypercom.
Although the Ramanthian felt confident that his armor could defeat the Confederacy forces—he saw no reason to tackle them alone if others could be induced to help. Which was why Srebo Riff had been flown in, taken on a tour of the ravaged city, and hosted to lunch. Dontha needed some cannon fodder, and the northern tribe fit the bill. “So,” Dontha began at what he judged to be the right moment, “you’ve seen the city. Capable though they may be, you’ll notice that the Legion troops were unable to protect Savas Prime.”
“That’s true,” Riff allowed cautiously, “insofar as it goes. However, it should be pointed out that your people attacked the city from the air, and had it been otherwise, things might have gone differently. In fact, it’s my understanding that the Confederacy soldiers not only escaped into the jungle, but recently joined forces with their companions in the desert.”
Primitive though his people might be, Riff was no fool, a fact that Dontha had a tendency to forget. “Yes,” the Ramanthian admitted smoothly, “and that’s why it’s so important to destroy them now. Or would you like to wait until they control the entire planet?”
It was a powerful argument, because unbeknownst to Dontha, Riff wanted to eliminate all aliens, including the Ramanthians. If he could play one group off against another, then so much the better. There were problems, however, not the least of which were the horrible death-spitting machines of the sort that he had faced near the wreck and the thing that Unit Commander Kuga-Ka rode as if it were a zurna. “No,” the Paguum said as he sipped from a glass of incredibly cold tea. “Nor do I want to lose thousands of warriors battling off-world machines. Have you ever faced them? No? Well, I have. Subcommander Pamee was at my side. He’s dead, and by some miracle I’m alive.”
“That was unfortunate,” Dontha acknowledged. “But, if you will agree to fight alongside us, we will neutralize the machines.”
“Truly?” Riff inquired. “You could do that?”
“Yes, we could,” Dontha answered truthfully, knowing full well he had no intention of actually doing so. “Not only that, but we know where the enemy will go next, and that means we can lay a trap for them.”
It was seductive stuff, and even though Dontha was still learning to read Paguumi facial expressions, he could see the conflict in Riff ’s eyes. Convinced that the moment was right, the Ramanthian went in for the kill. “You would need some modern weapons, of course, which is why we would give you a thousand Negar III assault rifles, plus a quarter million rounds of ammunition. And once we defeat the Legion, you could use your new weapons to defend yourselves from the southerners.”
That was the tipping point for Riff, the offer that countered all of the chieftain’s doubts and brought the internal debate to a close. “When would we receive the weapons?”
Dontha popped the last grub into his mouth, felt it wiggle, and bit down. “How does tomorrow strike you?”
“That would be fine,” the Paguum replied, and the deal was done.
THE GREAT PANDU DESERT, PLANET SAVAS
The sun was high in the sky by the time the battle started, which meant that the zurnas had already started to rot when the first bullets slammed into them, and the pop, pop, pop! of rifle shots was heard. “Hold your fire,” Santana cautioned, as the defenders peered over the corpses arrayed in front of them. “Make every bullet count.”
There was a pause while the outcasts steeled themselves against what was to come followed by a bloodcurdling scream as the outcasts urged their mounts forward, and sand spewed out from under their plate-sized hooves as they advanced. Dietrich went to work with his grenade launcher, and the lead rider and his mount quickly disappeared in a welter of blood and fractured bone.
“A cavalryman without a horse is afoot.” That was the old saying, and knowing the outlaws would be a lot less dangerous on foot, Santana aimed for a
broad, sweat-flecked chest. The rifle slammed into his shoulder, blood spurted, but the zurna kept on coming.
Desperate now, the officer shifted his aim to the animal’s head and saw it jerk as the first bullet struck. The zurna went nose down in the sand, skidded forward with its rider still in place, and hit the makeshift barricade. The warrior was catapulted into the air, flew over the legionnaire’s head, and landed on all fours.
Santana tried to turn but the outcast was on his feet by then with a sword held high over his head. Sunlight winked off the blade as the Paguum started to bring the weapon down. The legionnaire was still coming around when Qwis shot the warrior in the back. The bandit pitched forward and lay facedown in the sand. The officer thanked the colonist with a quick salute before turning back to the fray.
The outcasts were circling the defensive laager by then, firing their weapons at targets of opportunity, then dashing away to reload. There were five or six empty saddles and a couple of cases where warriors were riding double.
That was when Santana heard Dietrich yell, “Now!” and Fareye activated a handheld remote. The explosives hidden beneath the sand didn’t detonate all at once, but exploded in a continuous roll of thunder, as zurnas were heaved into the air, body parts cartwheeled across the sky, and blood fell like rain. It was a stunning blow and one that broke the attack. The surviving outcasts withdrew, galloped out of range, and circled their leader.
Meanwhile, Santana took advantage of the momentary break in hostilities to assess the situation. At least a third of the outlaws had been killed or wounded but the legionnaires had suffered casualties as well. Private Farrell had taken a bullet right between the eyes, Private Hulu was down with a chest wound, and a couple of others sported assorted bandages. Fareye interrupted the officer’s thoughts by touching his shoulder and pointing to the north. “Take a look at that, sir . . . What do you make of it?”
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