The solution was obvious. Work hard and long so that when she went to sleep, there were no dreams. Just a long fall into nothingness. And that was easy because there was so much to do. New squad members to deal with, lots of maintenance checks to carry out, and endless task orders from above. Some reasonable, like the need to schedule medical checkups, and some unreasonable, like Captain Heacox’s insistence on a full-kit inspection just prior to departure. The bastard.
And knowing that the officer would pay special attention to her squad, McKee had been forced to address even the slightest discrepancy during her preinspection inspection. A practice sufficient to elicit loud complaints from Larkin—the only member of the squad who thought he could get away with it. But thanks to McKee’s attention, not even Heacox was able to find fault with the squad. So in spite of her exhaustion, McKee was feeling pretty good when her comset buzzed. Then, as she checked the screen, her spirits fell. “Report to Captain Heacox at 1000.”
McKee felt a sense of dread as she entered officer country and made her way down a long hallway. The squad had passed inspection, so that meant MPs were waiting to arrest her. Why else would she be summoned? McKee wanted to run, but there was no place to run to. So she completed the trip, knocked three times, and announced herself. Heacox said, “Enter,” and she took three paces forward. But rather than the MPs she expected to see, Major Hasbro rose to greet her. He smiled. “Good morning, Sergeant. At ease.”
McKee responded accordingly. “Good morning, sir.”
Heacox was seated behind the desk. His face was blank, but he blinked rapidly when he spoke. “As you know, our battalion has been assigned to protect the main column as it heads south. Thanks to the agreement that Colonel Bodry negotiated with the local Naa, we shouldn’t run into any trouble from that quarter. But war parties from the south have been active—and are believed to have been responsible for the attacks on Major Hasbro’s party a few days ago.”
“Exactly,” Hasbro said. “And that’s why I’m here. My orders are to choose the best route and select the sites where bridges will be built. My team will consist of engineers, construction droids, and an armed escort.”
“And that’s where you come in,” Heacox interjected. “Lieutenant Dero will be in charge of security for the lead elements of the column, but Colonel Bodry gave orders that the major is to have his own bodyguard. And I was happy to oblige.”
Now that McKee understood the situation, she could imagine what was going on in Heacox’s mind. Here was an opportunity to suck up to Bodry and Hasbro while putting her in a position of considerable danger. A win-win from his perspective. “Sir, yes sir.”
“So, I’m assigning you a couple of RAVs,” Heacox said. “To carry supplies and provide you with some extra firepower.”
“Yes, sir.”
“My party is scheduled to depart at 0500 tomorrow morning,” Hasbro said. “I trust you can be ready by then.”
“We’ll be there.”
“Good,” Heacox said. “Dismissed.”
• • •
In spite of the fact that it was daytime as the first elements of the expedition departed Fort Camerone, the light was so dim it felt like evening. A thick layer of clouds hid the sun, a freezing rain was pelting McKee’s poncho, and the blast of hot air from the heater located in front of her never made it to her butt. Having been impressed by Sykes’s willingness to let Peeby use his war form as a biosupport system, McKee had chosen to partner with the T-1 in the wake of Ree-Ree’s death. And she was happy with that decision so far.
There had been other changes as well. A bio bod named Mary Quinn had replaced Emily Chang. According to the scan, she liked to gamble and was something of a slacker. Things McKee would be on the lookout for. A T-1 named Ray Clay had joined the squad as well. He had a good rep, and since Tanner and he were already acquainted, the cyborg seemed like a natural fit.
The other newcomers were a pair of RAVs dubbed Alpha and Bravo, both of which were loaded with supplies and ambling along behind her. Once the group cleared Naa Town, one of the robots would be sent forward to sniff out any mines that had been placed in the road.
McKee turned to peer over her shoulder. Farther back, behind both the RAVs and her squad, Major Hasbro could be seen. At his suggestion, the officer had been allowed to ride a T-1. His sappers were traveling in a multipurpose tracked vehicle, which left the tireless construction droids to march along behind. Besides aiding Hasbro with his work, McKee knew the robots would be very useful when it was time to fort-up for a Legion-standard night. Normally, her people would have to do all the work.
The ceiling was too low to employ fly-forms, but a couple of drones were probing the route ahead, and McKee could monitor the video feeds they sent back on her HUD. The problem was that the airborne machines were flying so low that all they could provide was a shot of the road and a swath to either side. That was helpful but still left a lot of territory for hostiles to hide in.
Time passed, day turned to night, and the road began to steam as the sun rose. They had made good time so far, but that was to be expected. Now, as the tip of the Legion’s spear left the hundred-mile-deep defensive zone that surrounded the fort, they were in what Larkin liked to refer to as “the freak farm.”
“This is Bravo-Eight,” McKee said, as she chinned her mike. “Stay alert . . . Watch those sensors. We could make contact with the enemy at any time. Over.”
But they didn’t make contact. Not directly. The clouds seemed to melt away, the temperature rose by eight degrees, and visibility improved. What had been a road was a track by then. But that didn’t mean the area was deserted. McKee saw what might have been Naa warriors on two different occasions. Both were positioned on hilltops well away from the track. But they were close enough to count heads, eyeball equipment, and measure progress. And as the team passed through tiny hamlets, the villagers came out to stare.
That meant the wild Naa knew the Legion was on the move. So why hadn’t they attacked? Where were the snipers? And the land mines? Not one had been detected so far. Maybe Bodry had an agreement with the tribes just as Heacox claimed he did. Or maybe they’d been lucky. All McKee could do was follow the RAV up the path and hope for the best.
• • •
Private Sykes was not a happy cyborg. First because he was walking point, second because he was part of a squad led by a gung ho noncom called the Steel Bitch, and third because Travers was dead. And not just dead but murdered. The question being by whom. Andromeda McKee? If so, he was well and truly screwed. Because if she knew about Travers, she might know about him as well. And it would be easy for her to send him into a situation where he would get killed.
So what to do? The plan to get himself assigned to her squad and to insinuate himself into her good graces was working perfectly. Even if he had been forced to temporarily surrender his war form to a worthless fly borg. So the obvious course was to keep going and complete his mission. But one thing had changed. He couldn’t give his report to a dead man. So he would have to contact Max himself by sending a message to an address on Earth. A message which, along with thousands of others, would be uploaded to whatever message torp was in orbit at the time. Then a week or more would pass while the robotic vehicle traveled through hyperspace. A long and rather clumsy way to communicate. Assuming he had anything to communicate, which he didn’t. Not so far, anyway. The whole thing pissed him off. The sun fell out of the sky, darkness descended, and the stars came out.
• • •
The first day’s march came to an end when a river blocked the way. The scouting party had been on the move for nine hours by then and covered more than 250 miles. So Hasbro declared himself satisfied and ordered the detachment to make camp.
A green-as-grass second lieutenant named Cathy Royce was in command of the engineers and made a point out of consulting with McKee before putting her construction droids to work on some defen
ses. McKee, who had taken part in the construction of numerous camps on Orlo II, was happy to share her expertise. The most important things were to establish overlapping fields of fire, some sort of defensive barrier, and well-positioned fighting positions. Concealment, camouflage, and communications were considerations as well.
So the T-1s, RAVs, and bio bods took up defensive positions all around as an engineer made use of the crawler’s dozer blade to create a square-shaped berm. Meanwhile, Royce put the droids to work digging firing positions, a command bunker, and two latrines.
While that was taking place, Hasbro had already chosen the type of bridge he thought to be most appropriate—and was using the drones plus range finders to take measurements. It took less than half an hour to establish the fact that a 150-foot-long prefab bridge would take care of the crossing. That information was sent via satellite relay to the fort, where Brody’s engineers went to work loading 50-foot spans onto a flatbed truck. Then, along with an armed escort, the shipment was on its way. It was all part of a carefully choreographed flow of personnel and equipment that would end on the day that the tunneling machines arrived at the foot of Mount Skybreaker.
It took less than two hours to establish the camp. The crawler was positioned at the center of the compound, with RAVs and T-1s anchoring each corner. Bio bods occupied fighting positions located on all four sides of the square and would be rotated so that each one would be able to get some sleep.
After a final check of the perimeter, McKee slipped into her sleep sack, and for the first time in days, fell instantly asleep. Six short hours later it was time to get up and relieve Lieutenant Royce. More rest would have been nice. But McKee felt better than she had in days as she turned the alarm off, crawled out of the bag, and went looking for a mug of caf.
She found it at a carefully shielded “boil” sponsored by a couple of engineers. They were using a block of F-1 to keep a kettle of hot water bubbling away. That, plus a packet of instant coffee, was enough to get McKee started.
It was dark, and rather than show a light, McKee pulled her visor down. Royce was at the northwest corner of the compound, where she had paused to talk with the bio bods stationed there. “Good morning, Sergeant,” Royce said cheerfully. “You’re a welcome sight.”
McKee liked Royce, and the two of them chatted for a moment before the officer left to grab some sleep. Then it was time to make the rounds and make sure that all of the troops were awake. The next few hours passed without incident, and as luck would have it, the sun rose just as the eight-hour “night” came to an end.
McKee was hungry by then, and about to go looking for an MRE when the sound of engines was heard, and a fly-form appeared. It circled the area before landing on the west side of the compound about a hundred feet from the berm. McKee saw Hasbro exit the crawler and come her way. So she hurried to assemble a makeshift bodyguard consisting of Larkin, Jaggi, and herself.
They caught up with Hasbro as he passed through the opening the legionnaires jokingly referred to as “the main gate.” Colonel Bodry left the fly-form via the stern ramp a few moments later, closely followed by members of his bodyguard, and a Naa who was leading a dooth. The indig was armed with a Legion-issue rifle and crossed bandoliers of ammunition. Once the animal was on the ground, the warrior paused to take a long, slow look around. As if memorizing everything he saw. McKee felt the first stirrings of concern at that point and wondered why Bodry was traveling with a Naa.
The officers were face-to-face by then. Hasbro delivered a crisp salute, and Bodry responded with something akin to a wave. Hasbro was normally quite friendly and easygoing, so McKee couldn’t help but notice how stiff he was in Bodry’s presence. Why? Was that the understandable nervousness of a subordinate in the presence of his commanding officer? Or something more? Time would tell.
“Morning, George,” Bodry said. “You made good progress yesterday.”
“Thank you, sir. We’ll be pulling out in an hour or so.”
“Excellent. As we came in, I saw what looked like a shallow spot half a mile downriver. You might be able to cross there.”
Hasbro nodded. “Yes, sir. The drones spotted it, so I sent a party down to take a look while we were making camp. We can use it, but the trucks in the main column would never make it across. I have a bridge coming forward. It will be in place by 1200 hours tomorrow.”
“Well done,” Bodry said approvingly. “Now, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. His name is Longway Quickstep, and he will serve as your guide. He knows this area like the back of his hand and can act as a translator as well.”
The Naa was standing a few feet away with the dooth at his side. Hasbro looked at the scout and back again. “With all due respect, sir . . . I’m not sure that a Naa guide is a good idea.”
Bodry’s manner had been genial up until then. McKee saw his eyes narrow. “Perhaps I failed to make myself clear. I didn’t ask for your opinion. Quickstep will accompany you, and that’s an order.”
Hasbro’s face had turned to stone. “Sir, yes, sir.”
“Good. Let me know if you run into trouble.”
And with that, Bodry turned back to the fly-form. His bodyguards backed away as if they expected their fellow legionnaires to attack. That left Quickstep standing next to his pale-colored dooth. It was equipped with reins, a riding blanket, and saddlebags. Though no expert where dooths were concerned, McKee was impressed by the animal’s large stature, obvious muscularity, and long legs. Would such a creature be able to keep up with the T-1s? No, she didn’t think so. Not if they were running full out. But given their present situation, all the dooth would have to do was stay even with the crawler—and it averaged 25–30 mph.
Hasbro had gone by then, leaving McKee to deal with the Naa. “It will be an hour before we depart. Do you need anything?”
Quickstep’s eyes were dark and bottomless. “No,” he said emotionlessly. “I will wait.”
And wait he did, choosing to remain outside the compound while he did so, and McKee thought she knew why. Like the residents of Naa Town, Quickstep didn’t like the odors associated with her kind. That was understandable perhaps. But where did his true loyalties lay? Was he bound to Bodry in some manner? Or was he working for both sides? McKee would have been willing to bet on the second possibility.
Breaking camp took an hour and a half rather than the one hour Hasbro had envisioned. That was understandable early in the journey, but in the wake of his meeting with Colonel Brody, the engineering officer was in no mood to put up with the delay. He snapped at Royce and McKee, both of whom were already pushing their people hard.
Once everything was ready to go, Hasbro insisted that he and his T-1, a borg named Mombo, be allowed to join McKee on point. So that, in Hasbro’s words, “I can see what the hell is going on.” No one bothered to give any instructions to Quickstep, who was left to follow along behind. If that bothered him, there was no sign of it on the warrior’s impassive face.
Hasbro and McKee were virtually side by side as the T-1s splashed through the shallow river and climbed up the bank. McKee sent the drones south to function as scouts and assigned Larkin, Jaggi, Quinn, and Tanner to act as pickets. Because with half the column on the south side of the river and half on the north, it was vulnerable to attack.
Fortunately, the evolution went off without a hitch, and that put Hasbro in a better mood. “Well done!” he said jovially, as the crawler roared up the bank and bucked over the top. “Now we can burn some miles.”
And they did. As the sun came and went, the RAVs led the column down the center of a valley. The track followed the path of the same river they had crossed earlier. And that forced Hasbro to make another decision. Should he throw a series of bridges across the tributary in an effort to keep the improved road straight? Or follow the path of least resistance and stay with the existing track?
After giving the matter some thought, Hasbro c
hose the second option, one that would cost the main column some additional time but would conserve precious resources. Only so many spans were available, and should the Naa decide to attack, each bridge would become a target.
With that decision made, the next three hours were rather pleasant. It was cold but not unbearably so, and the snowy Towers of Algeron loomed in the distance. They were truly magnificent and so massive that it was hard to believe that Bodry was going to bore a tunnel through them.
The surrounding countryside was pretty as well. There were clumps of trees, low-lying hills, and occasional side valleys. All of which was covered with vanilla frosting. McKee saw fingers of smoke emanating from a distant hut at one point and what might have been a dooth-mounted rider off in the distance. But none of it seemed threatening.
The group had been on the road for more than three hours when a fly-form appeared from the north, circled the area, and put down. The only bio bods on board were the two-person flight crew, who hurried to deploy hoses so they could pump fuel into the crawler. They delivered some additional items as well, including two cases of MREs, and a hot lunch straight out of Fort Camerone. That was a real morale booster—and an opportunity to take a break.
Hasbro took advantage of the moment to convene an impromptu meeting with Royce and McKee. She noticed that Quickstep, who had chosen to eat upwind of the humans, wasn’t invited.
“So,” Hasbro began, as he spread a map out on the ground between them. “We’re here.” As his finger touched the map, it morphed into a satellite photo before zooming down to a point that looked as if it were two hundred feet in the air on a sunny day. “Once we get under way again, we will pass through a gorge here, and emerge into a two-hundred-square-mile swamp that the Naa call ‘the Big Misery.’ Finding our way through this mass of bogs, lakes, and islands may be the biggest challenge we face other than boring the tunnel itself.
Andromeda’s Choice Page 22
