as the sun sent hesitant rays of pale yellow light slanting down through what remained of the forest canopy, the evidence was clear to see.
Each hole was seven feet long, six feet deep, and four feet wide. They were spaced exactly two feet apart and laid out on a grid. Bodies and parts of bodies had already been placed in the graves. And with the exception of those assigned to guard the perimeter, the rest of the battalion stood at attention as soil was shoveled into the neatly excavated holes.
Captain Zarrella occupied one of the graves as did the mysterious Mr. Smith. But missing, and still unaccounted for, was Colonel Max Farber, who had last been seen running into the jungle as the fighting began. Dietrich had gone into the forest looking for the officer and returned with Farber’s still-functional helmet. But there had been no trace of the man himself. Dead probably. Killed by the O-Chies. Santana’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Dietrich’s voice. “The battalion is ready, sir.”
The holes had been filled in, laser-inscribed metal markers had been placed at the head of each grave, and the troops were waiting for him to say something. Santana knew that some of them believed in God and some didn’t. But all of them believed in each other and those who had gone before. So Santana read the words that Legionnaire Alan Seeger had written before his death in World War I on Earth. It began: I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.
And ended: But I’ve a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.
“It is,” Santana finished solemnly, “our way. The way of the Legion. And it has been for more than a thousand years.”
Ponco, who like others present had already died in battle, felt a special kinship with Seeger. And a sad longing as she looked at Santana. Because even though both of them were alive, it was in very different ways, and what her heart wanted could never be.
Santana allowed a moment of silence. Then, conscious of what had to be done, he spoke again. “As is so often the case in war, there is no time to grieve. And won’t be until our mission has been accomplished. After discussing the matter with Captains Rona-Sa, Kimbo, and Ryley, I have come to the conclusion that the only way we can realistically hope to accomplish our objective is to divide the battalion into two groups.
“The first section under the command of Captain Rona-Sa will include the tractors, quads, and those bio bods who were severely wounded during the ambush. They will be accompanied by two platoons of troops who will provide security. Once group one arrives in Baynor’s Bay, they will seek additional medical attention for the wounded and establish a firebase.
“The second section, under my command, will consist of Captain Ryley, Lieutenant Ponco, and a force of thirty-four people. Half of them will be T-2s. This team, which will operate as two platoons, will be able to move quickly and take the bugs by surprise. And, even if we fail to accomplish that, the presence of seventeen T-2s will provide the company with overwhelming firepower. Thank you for your bravery and constancy. That will be all.”
The troops were dismissed a few seconds later. And as they took their places in their newly re-formed squads and platoons, Santana made his way over to the place where Rona-Sa was talking to Kimbo. Both officers had been wounded. They came to attention as Santana arrived. “As you were, gentlemen. I’m sorry to say that both of you look like hell warmed over.”
Rona-Sa was leaning on a homemade crutch. He had been hit by three darts during the ambush. But thanks to both his size and Hudathan physiology, he had survived. Kimbo had a bloodstained bandage wrapped around his head. “There’s no need to add insult to injury, sir,” he said with a grin. “Haven’t we suffered enough?”
“Sorry,” Santana replied contritely. “Now remember… I want you to maintain a high profile as you withdraw. We know the bugs supplied the O-Chies with weapons, so it’s logical to suppose that the indigs will be watching. And while the Ramanthians track you back to Baynor’s Bay, we’ll run straight down their throats.”
Rona-Sa was anything but happy with the assignment. “If you say so, sir. But I can still ride and respectfully request permission to accompany group two.”
“Permission denied, Captain. Your job is to get well-and get the rest of the battalion back safely. There is a very good chance that your column will be attacked by the O-Chies or Ramanthian aircraft, or both. So it’s very important that the group has an experienced officer to provide leadership.”
Rona-Sa’s face was expressionless, but Santana could tell that he was somewhat mollified. “Sir, yes sir.”
Confident that group one was in good hands, it was time for Santana to turn his attention to group two. Preparations were already under way. The first step was to repair all of the T-2s that could be repaired, a process that often involved using parts salvaged from cyborgs killed in action. So that in some cases the neatly mounded graves held little more than a badly mangled brain box.
Then, once the T-2s were fully operational, it was necessary to perform preventive maintenance on them. That included replenishing their ammo bins and mounting missile launchers on every other unit. There wouldn’t be any reloads. But the SAMs would give the company a limited ability to engage enemy aircraft. Meanwhile, those T- 2s not encumbered by missiles were equipped with backpacks. That didn’t leave much room for the flesh-and-blood riders, but it couldn’t be helped.
The company’s bio bods were equipped with helmets, body armor, and a variety of weapons. More than half of them were legionnaires who were not only combat veterans-but had the technical skills required to keep the cyborgs up and running. Ryley came forward to meet Santana as he approached the column. The former militia officer still had a supercilious air, but the legionnaire had come to trust him. “We’re ready, sir.”
“Excellent. Let’s mount up. I’ll take the point, and you ride drag. We’ll switch places in two hours. Remember… If I fall, carry on. The Confederacy will be counting on you.”
Ryley nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Keep it closed up back there.”
Five minutes later, both officers were mounted, strapped in, and all of the radio checks were complete. A new reporting structure had been put into place. That meant new call signs and the need to memorize them. “This is Alpha One,” Santana announced. “Alpha One-Three will provide our eye in the sky-and Alpha One-Four has the lead on the ground. Maintain visual contact with the team in front of you at all times. Let’s move out. Over.”
And with that, Dietrich and his T-2 went into motion. They could see Ponco’s alphanumeric symbol on their HUDs as well as those of the people behind them. So their job was to follow the recon ball while keeping a sharp eye out for obstacles on the ground and any threats the Intel officer might have missed.
Ponco was flying about fifty feet off the ground as she wound her way in and out of the trees. The task was to stay ahead of the column but not too far ahead, and monitor the level of the forest that the O-Chies liked to use as their arboreal highway. Because it was important to not only prevent another ambush but kill any scouts before they could get back to the Ramanthians and report the truth: Part of the battalion was in retreat, but the rest was coming on fast. And Santana was counting on her.
The first couple of hours were exhilarating. Having been freed from the constraints imposed on them by the slow-moving column, the cyborgs were free to run. Once the correct intervals were locked in and a suitable rhythm had been established, the T-2s were able to make a steady twenty-five to thirty miles per hour. That pace couldn’t be sustained, of course, since there were rivers to cross and other obstacles to deal with, but the average speed was still much higher than anything the battalion had been able to manage during the previous week. So Santana
