14
They died hard-these savage men-not gently like a stricken dove folding its wings in peaceful passing, but like a wounded wolf at bay, with lips curled back in sneering menace, and always a nerveless hand reaching for that long sharp machete…
PLANET O-CHI 4, THE CONFEDERACY OF SENTIENT BEINGS
The Ramanthian transport was badly overloaded. Engines strained as they struggled to lift twenty-eight bio bods and cyborgs off the power plant’s roof. Lieutenant Ponco was at the controls, and Santana was standing in the doorway behind and to the left of her. “You’re sure you can fly this thing?” he inquired doubtfully.
“I can’t, but my computer can,” Ponco replied confidently. And, as if to prove it, the transport staggered into the air.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Santana said dryly, as the aircraft banked to starboard and began to spiral upwards. “Keep up the good work.”
Santana turned and made his way into the crowded cargo compartment. Captain Ryley was on his feet. Their eyes met. “Go ahead,” Santana said. “Blow it.”
Ryley grinned. “Yes, sir!” The remote was already in his hand. He flipped a cover out of the way and thumbed a button. The charges in the geo tap’s control room went off one after the other. While the ship continued to climb, Santana caught a glimpse of three secondary explosions followed by a tongue of fire that shot straight up. Then a thick cloud of black smoke closed in around the site as if to conceal it.
“Nice work, Captain. My compliments to the second platoon,” Santana said. He intentionally put the comment out over the company push, so that Ryley’s people would be able to hear it. The bio bods grinned proudly.
Satisfied that the power plant was off-line for good, Santana turned his attention to Major Temo. The renegade had received some first aid by that time and sat with her injured leg resting on a Ramanthian ammo box. Santana went over to stand in front of her. “It’s time for you to earn your keep. I want you to go forward and get on the radio. Who was the bug in charge of the power station?”
“Sub Commander Remwyr,” she answered sullenly.
“Okay. Tell Commander Dammo that Remwyr was badly wounded during a surprise attack on the power station-and that you’re bringing him to Headstone for medical treatment. If you say anything else, Sergeant Major Dietrich will show you to the door. And the first step is a lulu.”
“It won’t work,” Temo replied stubbornly.
“You said the attack on the G-tap wouldn’t work,” Santana observed. “Yet here we are. Now get your ass up to the cockpit-or start flapping your wings. Which is it going to be?”
Temo stared up at him. Her hatred was plain to see. Then, with some difficulty, she stood. Santana helped her forward and into the cockpit. “Sit there,” he said, and pointed to a Ramanthian-style saddle chair. “Do you know how to use the radio?”
“Yes,” Temo said, as she pushed her leg out in front of her.
“All right. Make the call. I’ll be listening.”
So Temo took hold of the cylindrical mike, squeezed the handle to activate it, and identified herself. It took less than a minute for a com tech to summon Dammo. It quickly became clear that the officer knew that power had been cut. So he was pissed, and what Temo had to say did nothing to improve the officer’s mood. He was still ranting and raving when Headstone appeared in the distance, and Santana drew a line across his throat. Temo mumbled something about giving Dammo a full report and broke the connection.
“Okay,” Santana said. “I think he bought it. Return to your seat.”
Once Temo was back in the cargo compartment and had been secured to a seat, it was time for the rest of them to get ready. “Listen up,” Santana said over the company push. “The landing pad is about a hundred feet below our objective. But if we work things correctly, we’ll be able to ride an elevator up to the cannon. Of course, the bugs won’t like that, so you’ll have to kick their pointy asses. Any questions?”
“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Grisso said. “Once the cannon has been destroyed, how do we get off the mountain?”
“I’d like to say that we’ll be able to board the transport and fly off,” Santana replied. “But the odds are against that. So the simplest thing to do is kill all of the chits and move in.”
That got some chuckles but not very many. Santana saw their expressions and smiled grimly. “Those of you who served in the Legion will remember that Captain Danjou and a company of sixty-two men were attacked by two thousand Mexican soldiers in the village of Camerone and fought ’em to a standstill.”
It was true, and the legionnaires gave the traditional shout of “CAMERONE,” thereby lifting the spirits of the ex-militiamen and — women as well. Santana smiled approvingly but felt guilty. Because he knew that only a handful of legionnaires had survived the fateful battle on April 30, 1863.
The transport had to climb in order to reach the landing pad located a hundred feet below the summit. Santana had seen a model of Headstone in Colonel Antov’s study. And that had been impressive enough. But as the slipstream buffeted his face and he looked out at the mountain’s sheer cliffs, he realized that any attempt to scale Headstone under fire would be a waste of lives. Even with a thousand troops and air support. Which was why the first attempt to do so had failed.
Now, as the ship gained altitude, all of the missile batteries continued to track it. Was that because they were programmed to follow movement? Or because Dammo was aware of the ruse and about to blow the transport out of the sky? What felt like a steel fist took hold of Santana’s stomach and refused to let go as the landing pad appeared. “Get ready!” Santana shouted, as a crosswind hit the transport and caused it to wobble. “T-2s first. There aren’t any friendlies on this mountain. Kill anything that moves.”
The tension in the cargo compartment was palpable as bio bods checked their weapons, and the transport touched down. “Now!” Dietrich shouted from his place next to the door. “Go! Go! Go!”
The cyborgs hit the ground first. A stretcher party had been sent to fetch Remwyr. Half a dozen troopers were lounging next to a double-barreled antiaircraft weapon. And the ground crew was waiting to refuel the aircraft as the engines spooled down. All of them were swept away as the T-2s leveled their weapons and opened fire.
The result was a bloody mist as the Ramanthians ceased to exist, and what looked like pink confetti fell onto the landing pad. The surprise was complete. And by the time the bio bods jumped out of the transport, all the enemy troopers were dead.
But the advantage wouldn’t last for long, and Santana knew that as he waved the troops forward. “This way! Follow Lieutenant Ponco. The cannon is above us.”
Temo had been forced to sketch the complex. So Santana, his officers, and their NCOs knew that a tunnel led from the landing pad back into the heart of the mountain. That was where they hoped to seize control of a lift that would take them straight up and into the STS battery. By doing so, they could avoid the need to climb a very steep slope while being fired on from above. But as with everything else, the plan required speed, overwhelming firepower, and a measure of good luck.
So time was critical as the troops surged off the pad, entered the mouth of a dimly lit tunnel, and followed a row of ceiling-mounted lights toward the back. When they were fifty feet in, double doors parted at the other end of the passageway to reveal a group of Ramanthian troopers. But rather than standard infantry, these bugs were members of an armored unit. Their helmets had side-mounted bubbles through which they could see, hook-shaped protrusions to accommodate their beaks, and chin flares designed to protect their neck seals. Their bodies were protected by what looked like high-tech chain mail. It shimmered and flared as energy bolts struck it.
Santana knew that, while the Ramanthian warriors might lose a toe-to-toe contest with a T-2, their power- assisted armor could rip a bio bod apart. Never mind the offensive capability resident in the Negar IV assault rifles
