Andromeda’s Choice

by William C. Dietz

  McKee felt a sense of relief. The pilot had seen smoke but nothing more. “This is Eight. Charlie-Eight-Four stepped on a mine. I have the box and plan to hike out. Over.”

  “Roger that, Eight. Paddy will buy you a beer if you make it, and so will I. But I’m down to fifteen minutes’ worth of fuel. At that point, I’ll have just enough to reach the fort. Over.”

  “Understood,” McKee replied. “Keep ’em off me as long as you can. Over.”

  Having slung the AXE over her shoulder, McKee began the long journey to the mesa. It wasn’t the first time she’d been forced to lug a brain box across a battlefield, and she knew what to expect. That didn’t make it any easier, though. The box was heavy, for one thing, the ground was uneven, and the Naa were all over the place. McKee climbed up out of the gully, took two steps, and tripped. She went down and, without being able to extend her arms, wasn’t able to break the fall.

  Somewhere off to the south, she heard an ominous roar and knew the fly-form was making a gun run. She swore, struggled to her feet, and hoisted the box. McKee could see the mesa and it was impossibly far away. It shimmered like a mirage and seemed to float inches above the ground. Still, there was nothing to do but stagger forward. She tried to run, but the box was too heavy for that, and the effort left her winded.

  Then she heard a familiar voice and saw a dust plume up ahead. “Stay where you are,” Larkin said. “We’ll be there in a minute.”

  McKee stopped, looked up, and wondered why the sky was rotating above her. Then the combat car appeared, braked, and sprayed her legs with loose gravel. Moments later, Larkin was there to support her as Kyle took the box.

  Once McKee was in the front passenger seat and strapped in, Larkin hit the gas. The car leaped forward and skittered away. She was feeling better by then and looked at Larkin. “I’m surprised that Hasbro allowed you to come.”

  “He didn’t,” Larkin replied, and grinned. Kyle laughed, the car bounced, and McKee wanted to cry.

  The combat car only made it halfway up the slide area before it bogged down in loose soil and was unable to go any farther. So the legionnaires were forced to get out and scramble up to the top of the mesa. A group of people was gathered there, and they cheered as Kyle handed the brain box to a tech.

  That was when Hasbro spoke to Hammer-Four-Niner-Three for the last time. “Thanks for everything. We’ll take care of your buddy as best we can. And do me a favor on your way home. Over.”

  “I’m sorry about Eight-Four,” came the reply. “Many thanks to Eight. Your wish is my command. Over.”

  “Destroy the combat car. We can’t use it, and I don’t want it to fall into enemy hands.”

  “Roger that. Scratch one car. Over.”

  And with that, the fly-form waggled his wings before making a run from east to west. The combat car shook violently and burst into flames as hundreds of bullets swept over it. Then the fly-form made a beeline for the Towers of Algeron and a high mountain pass ten miles away. The sun was low in the sky by that time, and the temperature had started to drop. “Well, Corporal,” Hasbro said, as he turned to Larkin. “That car cost fifty thousand credits. Once we get to Fort Camerone, I’m going to write you up for destroying government property, disobeying an order, and pissing me off. Then I’ll submit a request for some sort of commendation. Who knows? Maybe they’ll cancel each other out.”

  Larkin’s countenance was professionally blank. “Sir, yes, sir.”

  Hasbro turned his gaze to McKee. “You’re bleeding. Plug the leaks, get something to eat, and grab a nap. It will take some time for the Naa to regroup. And when they do, I’ll need you.”

  That was when McKee realized that she had at least a dozen cuts and scratches, some of which were oozing blood. “Yes, sir.”

  “And McKee . . .”

  “Sir?”

  “About twenty Naa managed to climb the cliff up north. Bo took a squad up to stop them. He was killed in action.”

  The news hit McKee with the force of a physical blow. She hadn’t known the lieutenant for long, but liked him, and remembered what he’d said. “If I fall.” So many people dead. And for what? She looked away in hopes that Hasbro wouldn’t see how she felt. “That sucks, sir.”

  “Yes,” Hasbro agreed. “It does. But that’s how it is. I’m bumping you to second lieutenant. I don’t know if it will stick when we get back, but I’ll do my best.”

  So much was left unsaid. If I survive. If you survive. If we get back. “Thank you, sir, but I don’t . . .”

  “Shut up, Lieutenant. Dismissed.”

  McKee left with Larkin on one side and Kyle on the other. “An officer?” Larkin said disgustedly. “What a suck-up.”

  “I think that’s ‘what a suck-up, ma’am,’” Kyle interjected.

  “We should have left her out in the desert.”

  “You’re the one who stole the car.”

  “And you’re the one who’s going to wind up with my boot up his ass.”

  McKee couldn’t help but grin. “Thank you, both. I’ll never forget what you did for me.”

  “Too bad about Sykes,” Larkin observed. “He liked you. Used to talk about you all the time.”

  “Yeah,” McKee agreed, as they entered the FOB. “Too bad about Sykes.”

  And that was when she remembered Vickers. Did she know what Sykes knew? Of course she did. Sykes had been talking to her. McKee felt a chill run down her spine. It wasn’t over. It couldn’t be. Not so long as Vickers was alive.

  The first-aid station was filled with wounded. The light was dim, those who could were leaning against the walls, while others lay sprawled on the floor. A soldier whimpered as the medical officer removed what remained of his left leg, and a medic sought to comfort him. “Don’t worry, buddy . . . Your new leg will be better than the old one. Bulletproof, too!”

  McKee backed out and made her way past a row of fighting positions to the informal squad bay where her gear was stored. After searching for and finding her personal first-aid kit, she put disinfectant on all of the open cuts before spraying them with sealer.

  Once that chore was out of the way, she ate part of an MRE and lay down with the intention of taking a nap. It was completely dark by then and cold. Snow had begun to fall outside the shelter and served to dampen the sounds around her. So McKee should have been able to sleep but couldn’t. Not so soon after the rescue mission, Sykes’s death, and the depressing update from Hasbro. Plus there was Vickers to worry about as well.

  So after twenty minutes, McKee freed herself from the sleep sack, washed her face, and left the FOB. It seemed natural to make her way to the top of the slide area, where she could look out over the desert below. Two squads of infantry were on duty along with a couple of Bo’s T-1s. All waiting for the inevitable. A sergeant nodded and blew on his hands. “Cold enough for you?”

  “My butt is so cold I think it’s bulletproof.” It was a lame joke but sufficient to draw laughter from those who could hear.

  The desert was black, or would have been, if it hadn’t been for thousands of campfires. They flickered as the snow fell in front of them, and they stretched for as far as the eye could see. And as McKee looked at them, she knew the Naa would take the mesa within a matter of hours once they brought their forces back together. That was certain. In fact the only thing that had prevented them from doing so earlier was the sudden arrival of air support. And the weather was so bad that fly-forms wouldn’t be able to make the trip even if the brass could spare them.

  So, barring a miracle, what could they do? The initial answer was nothing. But then McKee had an idea. A horrible, terrible idea, but one that might work nevertheless. But could she sell it? The logical person to start with was Dero. She had always been open to suggestions from the ranks, and Hasbro was likely to defer to her in any case.

  McKee lowered her visor, activated the HUD, and cho
se MAP. That was followed by PERSONNEL. An outline of the mesa as viewed from above appeared. McKee said, “Lieutenant Dero,” and a dot started to glow. It was only a short distance away from the east–west trench designed to keep the Naa from attacking the FOB.

  On an impulse, McKee said, “Carly Vickers.” There was no response. And couldn’t be because the civilian didn’t have a Legion helmet. That meant Vickers could be anywhere. Or, maybe the bitch was dead. That would solve the problem.

  As McKee made her way toward the trench, she found Dero sitting behind a screen of rocks. The officer was heating a mug of water over a heat tab, and the glow lit her face from below. It was drawn, and she looked tired. “Hey, McKee . . . Pull up a rock. I’m glad you made it back in one piece.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. Have you got a minute?”

  The water started to boil. Dero ripped a foil packet open with her teeth and dumped instant caf into the mug. “Sure . . . What’s on your mind?”

  So McKee told her. It took about two minutes. And when she was done, Dero winced. “It’s been done before, but rarely, and for good reason. Everyone is likely to die.”

  “Everyone is likely to die anyway.”

  “True,” Dero said, stirring the contents of her mug.

  “And if we put the robots to work now, we’ll stand a better chance of success,” McKee put in. “Every minute counts.”

  Dero blew steam off her mug. “You’re crazy. You know that?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Okay, Lieutenant, I’ll take your idea to Major Hasbro.”

  McKee heard the “Lieutenant,” and felt an unexpected sense of pride. And that was stupid. The Legion was a place to hide. Or had been. But now, much to her surprise, it was something more. It was a profession, a family, and a country. Legio Patria Nostra. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “One more thing,” Dero said as she took a sip. “There are just three of us now. Sergeant Major Jenkins has responsibility for the north end of the mesa. He has a single squad, and their job is to ensure that the fur balls don’t scale one of the cliffs again.

  “I plan to handle this stretch. The enemy is sure to mass south of here and push this way. I want you to take command of the platoon at the slide area. Hold out as long as you can. Then, when the time comes, we’ll pull back to the FOB.”

  “Yes, ma’am. A question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “What happened to the civilian? What’s her name?”

  “Vickers’s fine,” Dero replied. “She volunteered to fight, and she’s up north with Jenkins.”

  “Glad to hear it,” McKee lied. “We can use the help.” And with that, she left.

  The sun was starting to rise by the time McKee returned to the slide area. But it was little more than a yellow stain on the otherwise gray sky—and the rapidly falling snow had reduced visibility to half a mile or so. What were the Naa doing? she wondered. Licking their wounds? Or prepping for battle?

  The questions went unanswered as she made the rounds, introduced herself to the ground pounders, and did what she could to reassure them. The position at the top of the slope consisted of three lateral trenches, each separated by thirty yards of open ground. The plan was to surrender the first ditch if necessary, pull back, and wait for it to fill up with Naa. That was when the electronically detonated mines would go off, slaughtering most, if not all of them.

  It was a good plan, but it would only work once, then the Naa would advance on the second trench. Or would they? The Naa were smart, so if they had Legion-issue grenades, they would throw them into the second ditch in an effort to detonate the mines. That left the third trench, which the legionnaires would hold just long enough to prepare a coordinated withdrawal. Because they needed to work in concert with Jenkins and Dero.

  Once inside the FOB, they would fight until the last legionnaire fell or, if Major Hasbro approved her plan, they triggered something that might save them. There was no way to know in advance.

  McKee’s thoughts were interrupted as what remained of her squad arrived. That gave her eighteen bio bods plus four T-1s with which to stop what? Five thousand Naa? Ten thousand? Too damned many. That was for sure. “Larkin, I’m putting you in charge of the cavalry. With the sole exception of you, I’d like to put the rest of the bio bods on the ground. But let’s keep them together in case they need to mount up. We’ll use the T-1s to protect our flanks. While we’re focused on the slide area, the Naa could send climbers up the cliffs. Don’t let that happen.”

  Larkin looked surprised but hurried to cover up. “Got it . . . I mean, Yes, ma’am.”

  Suddenly, there was a roar as a fireball arced out of the thickly falling snow and exploded on the ground below. A cloud of steam rose, but the flames soon disappeared. The infantry sergeant was named Hollister. He spoke over the squad push. “Stand to, here they come.”

  McKee gave the enemy credit. They had used the snowstorm to move at least one catapult in close. And that wasn’t all. As she looked downslope, warriors materialized out of the whiteness, uttered war cries, and charged uphill. “Hold your fire,” McKee ordered, as another fireball fell. “Let them get closer.”

  McKee knew her troops were getting low on ammo and didn’t want to waste any. More than that, she wanted to make an impression on the Naa. The kind they wouldn’t forget.

  Meanwhile, as the bravest of the brave stormed up the hill, a line of skirmishers appeared at the bottom of the slope. McKee saw that they were armed with rifles. Then, as a warrior shouted a command, they brought the weapons up to their shoulders. The movements were ragged, and would never get the nod from the likes of Sergeant Major Jenkins, but the rudiments of discipline were there. The Naa were learning.

  A second order produced jets of smoke and a ragged volley. It was intended to provide cover for the warriors who were struggling up the hill. Bullets kicked up dirt all around the trench and a legionnaire swore as a projectile nipped her arm. “Steadddy . . .” Hollister said. “You heard the lieutenant. Wait for it.”

  A fireball soared over McKee’s head to land uphill of her. She ignored it. “All right, people. Prepare to fire . . . Fire!”

  The centerpiece of their defenses was a .50-caliber machine gun. It began to chug as two 60mm mortars opened fire, and legionnaires not otherwise occupied cut loose with their assault weapons. The results were horrific. Bravery was no match for modern weapons fired at point-blank range. The Naa went down in clusters, and their bodies were an impediment to those coming up from below.

  Then a horn sounded. And as the survivors pulled back, some carrying wounded, the skirmishers fired a final volley. McKee shouted, “Cease fire!” as the enemy retreated behind a curtain of snow.

  “Well, that was easy,” a private remarked.

  “The Naa were testing us,” McKee said grimly. “They wanted to know how strong our defenses are. Hear that?”

  The legionnaire listened. “Firing from the south.”

  “Yes. They’re probing the east–west trench line. Looking for weak spots. Then they’ll make tea, talk things over, and come for us.”

  The soldier looked alarmed. “So we’re screwed?”

  McKee realized how stupid she’d been. Thinking out loud in front of an eighteen-year-old kid. She forced a smile. “No, of course not . . . You saw what happened yesterday. The enemy took a royal ass kicking. And if they want some more, we’ll dish it out.” The legionnaire was clearly relieved.

  But they were meaningless words. McKee believed that the real hope, if there was one, lay in the plan she had offered to Dero. And she had no way of knowing what Hasbro’s response had been. But if he was working on it, the more time the better—so she hoped the Naa would take a long break. And they did.

  What ensued was a period of boredom interspersed with occasional fireballs, long-range rifle shots, and attempts to scale the neighboring cliffs. McKee kne
w the activity was meant to keep her people on edge, and it was effective. So she rotated legionnaires out for thirty-minute breaks, allowed her troops to brew caf in the trench, and let them sing drinking songs. Anything to provide a distraction.

  McKee figured the attack would come when night fell, but it didn’t. Maybe the Naa were planning. Or maybe they were squabbling. But by the time the sun finally rose, she was so tired she wanted the battle to begin. And she got her wish.

  The rate of snowfall had slowed by then, the ceiling had lifted, and visibility had improved. That meant the legionnaires could see the tightly focused column that was marching straight at them. It was fifty warriors wide and at least half a mile long. And, much to McKee’s amazement, they were marching in step! Most of the time, anyway—with drums to keep time. A formation Napoleon had used. The steady boom, boom, boom had an ominous quality and seemed to match the beating of her heart.

  McKee guessed that the oncoming warriors were grouped by village, or by chief, which meant they were shoulder to shoulder with people they knew. That suggested they would not only feel more confident but would fight to protect or in some cases make their reputations.

  Then, as the Naa came closer, McKee saw that the first rank of warriors was wearing Legion-issue body armor! All taken from dead legionnaires over the last few days, weeks, and months. But that wasn’t all. There were catapults as well, plus two light field guns, which were being towed into position on both sides of the column. Easy meat for artillery or T-1-launched rockets. The problem being that she didn’t have any.

  Farther out, beyond the column, she could see massed cavalry. All waiting for the column to open the door. Then they would rush in, dismount, and swarm the mesa. Still another sign that the Naa were learning fast.

  As the field guns opened fire, and fireballs began to fly, there was no further opportunity for analysis. All McKee could do was order her troops to fire. And fire they did. Most of the first row went down in spite of the body armor they wore. But there were more, and more after that, and the relatively small number of legionnaires couldn’t keep up as the column began to climb the hill. Chillingly, they made no attempt to stop and fight as they stepped on dead or dying warriors. The Naa in the front rank were looking upwards, paying the price, hoping to be among those who would reach the top of the slope. McKee fired, emptied a magazine, and went to work with a new one. The column kept coming.