Legion Of The Damned - 06 - For Those Who Fell

by William C. Dietz

  “I ran into an overhang,” the tech replied. “I’m trying to get out from under it.”

  Santana answered with two clicks and saw a flash of green light followed by a loud explosion. Another RAV was history. The bugs had bought the charade so far, but for how long? All the officer could do was pray.

  There was a break in the overhang, a sort of chimney through which the spider form could pass, and he literally ran upward. Light flooded the cyborg’s sensors as he took a peek over the ledge. What he saw was so strange that he switched to daylight vision just to ensure that his vid pickups were working properly. “I’m at the ledge,” Poltero whispered, “looking over the edge. You won’t believe who’s standing there in front of me. Over.”

  Santana felt a sense of relief combined with annoyance. “This is no time for guessing games Poltero . . . What have you got? Over.”

  “It’s Gunnery Sergeant Kuga-Ka, sir,” the cyborg replied, “riding a T-2!”

  So that’s where you are, Santana thought to himself as he visualized the renegade. Just hang around. I have a present for you. “Thanks for the warning,” the officer replied. “Now get your head down, plant the winch, and let me know when you’re ready to set the bolts.”

  The missiles hit Hagala Nor one after another, four in all, and light strobed across the mountain. Kuga-Ka heard the weapons detonate and wondered what Kobbi was up to. A diversion perhaps? Designed to distract him while some sort of assault team made its final dash upslope? Fortunately, there was a way to check. Although the Hudathan hadn’t been able to lay his hands on enough sensors to monitor the entire length of the track, he had managed to scrounge half a dozen spy eyes and place them along the last two hundred feet of trail. He told Haaby what he wanted, and servos whirred as the T-2 clumped its way back to the mouth of the tunnel. That’s where the tech sat facing a row of small screens. There was nothing at first, but something lurched into view a few seconds later, and the renegade produced the Hudathan equivalent of a grin. A RAV! That made sense. Rather than send bio bods up the path, Kobbi had sent a column of robots instead. The real assault would follow. The wait continued.

  Having placed the winch against the face of the cliff and fired four bolts in to secure it, Poltero flipped a switch. Cable hummed onto the reel as the cell-powered device jerked Okuma off the ground and lifted the T-2 straight up the side of the mountain. Santana, who was strapped to the cyborg’s back, stared upward as the rock face flashed by.

  A real assault team had started up the trail by then, one led by Kobbi himself, which should be able to make good time along the path the RAVs had cleared. Until the group arrived on the ledge, that is, which was where they would run into whatever type of meat grinder Kuga-Ka had installed up there, and the attack could stall. Unless Okuma and Santana could tackle the defenders from behind and even the odds a bit.

  Okuma swore, and metal clanged as the cyborg bounced off the face of the cliff. Santana felt his heart sink, waited for the Ramanthians to fire down at him, and was pleasantly surprised when they didn’t.

  Then the winch stopped, the vertical ride ended with a jerk, and Okuma found himself dangling next to Poltero. The T-2 reached up to get a grip and performed a pull-up. Santana saw some slack come into the cable, freed the hook from a hard point located between Okuma’s shoulders, and was dumped sideways as the cyborg threw an enormous leg up over the edge of the ledge and slapped the flat surface, looking for another handhold.

  Kuga-Ka was back out on the ledge by that time, standing behind the barrier, when a Ramanthian shouted a warning. The Hudathan swiveled in his harness, saw a T-2 groping for a handhold, and opened the intercom. “Over there!” the renegade told Haaby. “A T-2! Kill the bastard!”

  Haaby turned and brought her energy cannon to bear, but stopped short of actually firing. “I said kill the bastard!” Kuga-Ka shouted, “or I’ll pull your brain box and toss it off the cliff!”

  “Do what he says,” Missy agreed, “or he’ll kill us!”

  “You’re already dead,” Haaby replied grimly. “I know because I killed you myself! And there’s no way in hell that I’m going to kill a T-2.”

  Kuga-Ka didn’t know who Haaby was talking to, but knew she wasn’t going to fire and freed himself from the harness.

  Haaby felt the Hudathan jump free, started to turn, and felt an explosion of pain at the very center of her brain. She tried to resist it, but felt her knees buckle, and wound up with her forehead resting on the ground. Darkness swallowed her mind.

  Satisfied that the cyborg was down, Kuga-Ka aimed the zapper at Okuma and shouted to his troops. “Fire, damn you! Shoot the bastard before he shoots you!”

  The words served to reanimate the Ramanthians, all of whom had been frozen in place, watching the unexpected drama. They aimed their weapons at Okuma and hosed the cyborg with bullets even as the Hudathan pressed the button. The T-2 felt the projectiles shatter his right hand, felt pain lance the center of his brain, and managed to shout “I can’t hang on, sir!” before he fell straight down onto the rocks below.

  Having barely made the transfer in time, Santana hung from the spider form’s neck as the cyborg spidered up and over the ledge.

  Kuga-Ka stared in disbelief as another cyborg appeared and a bio bod leaped free. Though unarmed, Poltero charged the renegade and staggered as the Ramanthians opened fire. Legs crumpled, bits of metal flew off his body, and the cyborg collapsed.

  Kuga-Ka raised his arms. “Cease fire! Stop, dammit!” and the Ramanthians obeyed. That left Santana standing all alone, weapon out of position, with the abyss at his back. “Well, well, well,” Kuga-Ka said. “Look what we have here. . . Mr. High-and-Mighty Santana. Planned to play the hero did you? Well, not today, asshole.”

  There was a roar of machine-gun fire as the forgotten RAV opened up on the barricade, followed by the crack! of an exploding grenade. Kuga-Ka glanced toward the sound, realized his mistake, and turned back just in time to see Santana fire a three-round burst. The bullets struck with the force of a sledgehammer, rocked the Hudathan back onto his heels, but left him standing.

  The volume of fire increased as Kobbi and his assault team arrived at the barricade, the energy cannon began to pump bolts of lethal energy down into the tightly packed legionnaires, and Santana charged in hopes of knocking the renegade off his feet. It felt like hitting a brick wall. The Hudathan dropped the zapper, uttered a roar of primordial joy, and snatched the human off his feet. Then, holding the officer over his head, Kuga-Ka waddled toward the edge of the cliff.

  Then, just as the ex-legionnaire prepared to hurl Santana over the edge, something took hold of the renegade’s combat harness and jerked him back from the abyss. Santana fell free, Kuga-Ka managed to turn, and Haaby was there to greet him. The cyborg couldn’t smile, not anymore, but tried. “You are about to die.”

  Kuga-Ka looked up at the cyborg and felt utterly defenseless for the first time in many years. He raised his hands defensively. “Wait! Think about . . .”

  Haaby brought her gigantic fist down on the top of the Hudathan’s skull, felt bone give way, and heard Santana shout. “The gun! Kill the gun!”

  Kuga-Ka’s dead body thumped to the ground as Haaby turned, raised her weapons, and fired. Machine-gun bullets tore the Ramanthian soldiers to bloody shreds even as an energy bolt hit the gun and it exploded.

  There was a pause, followed by a hundred voices shouting “Camerone!” as Kobbi and his assault team stormed up onto the ledge. The legionnaires barely paused before turning into the tunnel and the fortress beyond. The walls had been breached.

  15

  * * *

  War is always a matter of doing evil in the hope that good may come of it.

  —B. H. Liddell Hart

  Defense of the West

  Standard year 1950

  * * *

  ABOARD THE LIGHT CRUISER WORBER’S WORLD, OFF THE PLANET SAVAS

  The atmosphere in the control room was understandably tense as the warship slowed
, and Wells launched a third of her fighters. The rest would remain on standby but could follow within a matter of minutes if required. Savas hung huge in the viewscreens. It was tan, marbled by white clouds, and frosted at the poles. Of more interest was the Ramanthian warship that had broken orbit and was coming out to meet them. “They can’t be serious!” the nav officer exclaimed. “Look at that thing . . . The bow’s missing!”

  “You can thank Lieutenant Commander Amy Exton for that,” Commodore Posson said grimly. “She rammed them and was killed in the process.”

  “Their commanding officer certainly has balls,” Jackson commented admiringly. “You’ve got to give him that.”

  “I don’t believe that Ramanthian males have balls,” Captain Wells said primly, “but I agree with the sentiment. Put in a call to him . . . let’s see if he’ll listen to reason.”

  ABOARD THE DESTROYER STAR RAVAGER, OFF THE PLANET SAVAS

  Naval Commander Jos Satto was watching the Confederacy task force grow larger and trying to spot some sort of weakness, when a com tech spoke over the intercom. “I have a message from the enemy battle group, sir. They are calling upon us to cut power, take our weapons systems off-line, and await further orders.”

  Satto took one last look at the screens. Surrender was out of the question, but the Ravager wouldn’t last long against a cruiser and two destroyers, which meant that the transports were likely to be captured. Perhaps Admiral Hikko would be able to take them back once he returned, but there was no guarantee of that, which left the naval officer with no choice but to destroy both the ships and their highly valuable cargos. “Tell the barbarians that we agree to their terms. Request some additional time. Send a message to the transports. Tell the crews that they have five units in which to abandon their ships. All weapons systems will remain on-line and ready to fire.”

  ABOARD THE LIGHT CRUISER WORBER’S WORLD, OFF THE PLANET SAVAS

  “The Ramanthians have agreed,” the tech said evenly, “and they want more time.”

  “Look at that!” Jackson interrupted excitedly, as he pointed up at one of the screens. “It’s a trick!”

  “Look at what?” Wells demanded, unable to make out was the smuggler was so excited about.

  “The transports are launching lifeboats!” Jackson said urgently.

  Then Wells understood. The hypercom had already been loaded aboard the freighters, and now that it looked as if they were about to be captured, the Ramanthian warship was going to destroy them! She snapped a series of orders. “Put every weapon that will bear on the destroyer! Lock the transports out of the targeting system! Fire!”

  The cruiser lurched as dozens of missiles, torpedoes, and bolts of energy converged on the already-damaged destroyer. Its shields rippled with incandescent light as they managed to shrug some of the weapons off, but the area where the bow had been blown away was completely unprotected, and therefore vulnerable. There was just enough time for Commander Satto to feel a moment of regret before the flash of light consumed him. For one brief moment the Ravager challenged the sun’s brightness, as it threw off a constellation of fiery debris and snapped to black.

  “Good work,” Posson said from his position behind Wells. “I want prize crews on those transports yesterday. Order one destroyer to guard them and tell the other to form on us. We have what we came for . . . now let’s see if we can keep it.”

  HAGALA NOR, PLANET SAVAS

  Kobbi was working his way down through the maze of passageways and ramps that honeycombed the volcano’s interior when Major Matala delivered the news via the plug in the colonel’s right ear. He paused in front of a window that looked out into the crater. A shuttle sat at the center of the pad, and Ramanthians were hurrying to load it. “They’re here! The relief force is here! There are two Ramanthian transports in orbit, and the navy captured both of them! Over.”

  The battalion commander felt a tremendous sense of relief. “That’s good news Topper Five. Very good news. Did the bugs put up a fight? Over.”

  “They tried to,” the XO responded excitedly, “but most of their warships were decoyed to the far side of the system. Over.”

  Kobbi felt his formerly high spirits start to plummet. “Don’t tell me, let me guess . . . They’re on the way back Over.”

  “I’m afraid so,” Matala admitted soberly. “But Commodore Posson is going out to meet them.”

  Posson! A commodore. Things had changed. “And what are the odds?”

  “The bugs have three warships, and Posson has two, not counting the tin can that he left to guard the freighters. One of them is a new world-class cruiser, though. Over.”

  Kobbi sighed. If the Ramanthians won the coming battle, then everything would be right back where it had been. “Okay, nothing changes. The bugs are still in the process of loading a shuttle, so it’s my guess that at least some of what we’re after is still on the ground. That means we’ve got to stop them. Over and out.”

  ABOARD THE LIGHT CRUISER WORBER’S WORLD, OFF THE PLANET SAVAS

  As the cruiser and its lone escort turned away from Savas and went out to meet the enemy, Commodore Posson found himself in the very situation that he had feared most. He knew what to do, which was prevent the enemy from recapturing the transports, but didn’t have a clue as to how to accomplish it. Not against a cruiser and two destroyers. The situation was hopeless. Or so it seemed until Teeg Jackson nudged his arm. “Would the commodore mind a suggestion?”

  Posson shrugged. “No, if you’ve got an idea, please share it.”

  Jackson nodded. “You’ve got four ships, right?”

  “Right,” Posson replied, “but two of them are transports. They have a few energy cannon, but I don’t see how . . .”

  “Slave one ship to the other and order the crew to bail out,” Jackson interrupted as he got up out of his seat. “The tin can pick them up. I’ll take the lead unit straight down their throats. That will divide their fire, plus who knows? Maybe I can bag one of the bastards for you. It isn’t perfect, but it could even the odds a bit.”

  “That would be certain death,” Posson objected. “I can’t let you do it.”

  “Those ships have escape pods in addition to their lifeboats. I plan to bail out at the last minute,” the smuggler replied. “Don’t forget to pick me up.”

  Wells couldn’t help but overhear and felt a surge of anger. She turned toward Posson. “Don’t listen to him, sir! He’s a coward and a deserter . . . If you put Jackson aboard one of those transports, he’ll be in hyperspace ten minutes later.”

  Posson hit his harness release and came to his feet. He looked Jackson in the eye. “Is that true, Teeg? Would you run?”

  “No sir,” the onetime mutineer said stolidly. “I’m tired of running.”

  Posson nodded. “Okay, take your best shot. And Teeg . . .”

  “Sir?”

  “Thanks.”

  Wells watched the smuggler leave the bridge and shook her head doubtfully. “People like him never change. I think you’re wrong about him, sir.”

  “You may be right,” Posson said wearily. “Time will tell. Set a course to intercept the Ramanthians. We have a battle to fight.”

  HAGALA NOR, PLANET SAVAS

  There was a seemingly endless labyrinth of passageways, galleries, and rooms inside the volcano’s walls, and the Ramanthians put up stiff resistance as the legionnaires forced their way down toward the bottom of the crater. What remained of B Company had been incorporated in Kobbi’s assault force and rallied around Santana once they arrived on the ledge. They had just checked a series of empty storerooms, and the cavalry officer was busy reloading his weapon, when Dietrich pushed a strange-looking apparition out of the drifting smoke. The Ramanthian was dressed in what Santana assumed to be filthy civilian attire since it didn’t look like a uniform. The bug stumbled, but the noncom held him up. “I brought you a present,” the noncom said conversationally. “His name is Eeno, or that’s what it sounds like.”

  “So?” the o
fficer inquired skeptically. “Put him in one of the storerooms and lock his ass up. The last thing we need is a prisoner to keep track of.”

  “Sir, yes sir,” Dietrich said patiently, “but I thought you might like to hear what our friend here has to say. He claims that the scientist who invented the hypercom is still dirtside—and that a bug named Dontha is out to kill him. Eeno works for the scientist, or did, and wants us to save him.”

  Santana’s eyebrows shot up. The opportunity to capture the Ramanthian responsible for developing the hypercom was a big deal indeed. “No kidding? Good work, Sergeant. Forget all the idiotic things I just said. Where is this propeller head?”

  The civilian had studied on Earth back before the war and spoke standard with a negligible accent. “Chief Scientific Investigator Tepho is in hiding. Follow me.”

  The civilian could be leading them into a trap, Santana knew that, but doubted that such was the case. It was hard to believe that the bugs still had sufficient command and control infrastructure to implement such a complicated scheme, plus the story made perfect sense. After all, anyone ruthless enough to blow all the exits and leave their tanks sitting out on the battlefield to be destroyed wouldn’t hesitate to grease a scientist.

  Eeno took off, followed by Dietrich, Santana, and the remnants of B Company. The strange column jogged along a passageway, paused to kill a trio of hard-core Ramanthian troops, and proceeded down a corpse-strewn ramp. It looked like a grenade had gone off right in the middle of a squad of legionnaires. Body parts and empty shell casings littered the floor, and the walls were drenched in blood. The sound of automatic fire could be heard up ahead, and Santana motioned for a T-2 to take the point. It wasn’t carrying a bio bod, and had to walk half–bent over, but still represented the most potent offense they had. “That’s it,” Eeno said, pointing up the hall. “Go around that corner. The third door to the left is the entrance to our lab. Chief Investigator Tepho is hiding in there.”