Dammo was silent for a moment. He was seated on a saddle chair. The officer’s scarlet uniform fit just so, his leather cross belts were polished, and everything about him conveyed a sense of controlled power. And when he spoke, his standard was so good that Temo suspected that he had spent time on one of the Confederacy’s planets prior to the war. A military attache perhaps-or something similar. “I suspect those words cost you dearly,” he said. “But you were able to utter them nevertheless. Many of my peers would judge you harshly for that. Especially those who are members of the Nira cult.
“But I have no time for such nonsense. I, like citizen Rhaki here, am a pragmatist-a person more interested in results than process. And based on what I’ve heard about you, as well as what I’ve seen so far, it appears that you and I may be similar in that regard.”
Temo was impressed with what the Ramanthian had to say and the way in which it was said. “Yes, sir.”
Dammo nodded. A nonverbal gesture that the two races had in common. “Good. You humans have a saying. One I learned while stationed on Earth. ‘Talk is cheap.’ So I’m going to give you an opportunity to prove yourself.”
Temo looked at Rhaki and saw the concern in his eyes. The Thraki was worried. Everything was on the line. Her eyes swung back. “Thank you, sir. What do you have in mind?”
Dammo’s artificial eye whirred softly. “We’re going to attack the town you call Baynor’s Bay. And you will lead the way.”
THE TOWN OF BAYNOR’S BAY, PLANET O-CHI 4, THE CONFEDERACY OF SENTIENT BEINGS
It was a beautiful day, which made it perfect for flying. But as the transport skimmed the leafy treetops and the noise of its engines sent flocks of blue flits into the air, Temo barely noticed them. Her thoughts were elsewhere as she stood in the open hatch and allowed the slipstream to tear at her clothes. If she was willing to sacrifice herself, she could turn and open fire on the Ramanthian soldiers seated in the cargo bay. Then it would be a simple matter to go forward and shoot the pilots.
But it wouldn’t make any difference. Not according to Rhaki. Because the chits would still win the war. So focus, she told herself. Make the best of a bad situation. Members of the Temo family have been killed, she reminded herself. And now it’s payback time.
That thought generated a fierce sense of anticipation as the transports flashed past Signal Hill, flew out over the bay, and circled back. The TACBASE that sat atop the ruins of her grandmother’s house had opened fire by then. But it, along with all of the legionnaires within, were about to die.
Corporal Durkee was off duty, watching one of the vids stored in his onboard computer, when the shit hit the fan. Because most of the battalion was in the jungle, playing war games, only six people had been left behind to defend the TACBASE. That number was deceptive, however. Especially since the computer-controlled fortress could fend off minor attacks on its own. But it couldn’t cope with three loads of Ramanthian troops plus two Ramanthian aerospace fighters without support.
Still, the TACBASE had already begun to fire surface-to-air missiles (SAMs) at the enemy ships by the time Staff Sergeant Nello’s voice came over the intercom. “Look alive, people-the bugs want to play. Let’s blow their pointy asses out of the sky.”
Durkee could fire while parked in the bay-but only at a limited array of targets. Ideally, had the other quads been present, all four quadrants would have been covered. But his peers were out in the jungle somewhere, which left Durkee to do the job alone. He opened a com link. “Roger that, Sarge… How’bout I go out and teach ’em a lesson?”
“I dunno,” Nello replied doubtfully, as a missile hit the TACBASE and exploded. “We call you ‘gimpy’ for a reason.”
“All I have to do is get clear of the base, divide their fire, and let ’em have it,” Durkee countered. “Besides, I promised the major I would take care of things.”
The TACBASE shuddered as more missiles hit, 25 percent of the computer-controlled AA batteries went off- line, and Nello’s voice grew tighter. “Okay, Corporal… Feed the bastards a SAM for me.”
Having ordered his onboard computer to disengage from the TACBASE, Durkee crab-walked out into the roiling smoke. The enemy transports were busy landing troops, but the top of Signal Hill was taking a pounding from the Ramanthian fighters.
Durkee put an electronic tag on one of them, sent two fire-and-forget SAMs after it. He was about to fire on the second aircraft when a remotely piloted bunker-buster missile arrived from a base located more than three hundred miles away and scored a direct hit. The TACBASE and everyone inside of it ceased to exist. The resulting shock wave picked Durkee up and threw him off the hill. His fifty-ton body cartwheeled down the slope, skidded to a stop, and blew up.
But even as the legionnaire was dying, his missiles hit a Ramanthian fighter and exploded. The fighter vanished in a flash and puff of smoke. Had he known, the ex-murderer, legionnaire, and cyborg would have been pleased.
After landing, the Ramanthian soldiers split into smaller teams and shuffled their way through the streets, intent on razing the community of south bay so that the humans couldn’t use it as a staging area. And, based on the deal struck with Commander Dammo, Temo was in charge of a squad-sized group of them.
Temo heard the boom, felt the ground shake, and smiled approvingly as she turned to watch a column of black smoke rise from the top of Signal Hill. Her grandmother’s death had been avenged. Now with a half file of troopers to do her bidding, she was about to settle another score. Resistance had been lighter than expected. That meant the legionnaires and Antov’s Rifles were elsewhere. Out on a training exercise? Or marching toward Headstone? One of the two. It didn’t matter. Antov wasn’t in the field. Not with his leg. That was all she cared about. Weapons rattled, people screamed, and the slaughter began.
Behind Antov’s waterfront home, and on the other side of Bay Road, a steep trail switchbacked up a slope to the spot where he and his wife had enjoyed occasional picnics. He hadn’t gone up there in years. Not since her death.
But the hill would give him the advantage of height and a place from which he could harvest as many Ramanthian lives as possible. Maybe he would stuff one of the bastards and put him next to the fireplace!
First, however, he had to drag his ass up the hill, which was hard to do on crutches, and get into position. Santana would return, of course. And bring the newly formed battalion back with him. But it would be too late by then. The TACBASE was gone, along with all of the supplies stored inside. The three-legged quad had given a good account of himself, though-before being blown off the hilltop. All of which had been reported to CENTCOM using one of only four hypercom sets on O-Chi 4.
Antov looked back over his shoulder as the remaining aerospace fighter circled above. Heedu was about fifty feet to the rear, carrying two heavy rifles plus a backpack filled with ammo and other supplies. “Pick up the pace,” Antov ordered. “I’m on crutches, for God’s sake. You should have passed me by now.”
Heedu made no reply as Antov turned back and redoubled his efforts. He arrived at the picnic spot three minutes later. Someone else might have been tempted to pause and look out over the destruction, but Antov wanted to kill some bugs. Sightseeing could wait.
So he chose his spot, flopped onto his belly, and called for the Hawking. Having just arrived, Heedu knelt, gave the long-barreled rifle over, and began to load the second weapon.
Antov felt a grim sense of satisfaction as he put his cheek to the rifle and looked through the telescopic sight. Houses were on fire, and smoke was drifting across the scene below, but at least half a dozen targets were shuffling south.
Rather than alert the entire file by shooting their leader, Antov guided the crosshairs onto the spot where the last bug was about to be and squeezed the trigger. The stock slammed into his shoulder, and the Ramanthian went down as if poleaxed. Antov smiled as he worked a second cartridge into the chamber. The report had been loud, but thanks to the incessant chatter of Negar assault rifles all around, it had gone unnoticed.
So Antov killed the next trooper, and the next, until a trail of five bodies lay in the road. All head shots. Then, with a single bullet remaining, Antov prepared to take the leader down. But, as he made the necessary adjustment
