“Damn,” Fareye complained, dipping into the haversack. “This bastard is starting to piss me off! Let’s see how the sonofabitch likes these babies .. .”
Just as the name would suggest the rollerballs were spherical in shape. The Naa felt for the thumb-sized depression, pressed three times in quick succession, and tossed the weapon around the comer. It bounced off the opposite wall and caromed down the hallway. Three more followed. The explosions shook the walls.
The legionnaires waited for a full thirty seconds before risking a peek. The rollerballs had accomplished their purpose. The attack robot was down. That’s when the newly liberated SeebaKa arrived, eyed the mass of twisted metal, and frowned. “So what the hell are you waiting for? A thank you note from General Booly? Let’s move out.”
Ice crackled, snow crunched, treads clattered, engines roared, and explosions pushed fountains of soil high into the air as a pair of Hudathan cyborgs advanced toward the end of the canyon. They operated side by side, tracks pushing them forward, white arm-mounted rollers applied pressure to the half frozen ground. Mines blew in response, a path was cleared, and the rest of Blue Team followed behind. Captain McGowan stood atop the second quad back, braced herself against the side-to-side motion, and checked her wrist term. Blue Team was still on schedule, but just barely, and the hard part lay ahead.
Staff Sergeant Kreshnekov materialized at her side. He was a little man, no more than five-foot-five, but nobody thought about him that way. His face, sorrowful even during the best of times, looked positively funereal now. “No offense ma’am, but if you park your butt up here, the Thraki will blow it off.”
McGowan laughed. “What are you trying to say, Sergeant? That the target’s so big they couldn’t miss?”
Kreshnekov shook his head. His expression remained the same. “No, ma’am. I’m saying that we’re coming up on those automated weapons positions, and the moment you die Lieutenant Seebo will assume command.”
The comment, which bordered on disrespectful, would have been cause for rebuke had it originated from another NCO. But McGowan had known Kreshnekov for a long time, and that made a difference. Neither put much trust in Seebo. She grimaced. “Point taken. Sergeant. Button it up.”
Weapons Emplacement 14 took its orders from the Command and Control computer located deep within the Thraki complex, but had its own localized intelligence as well, to lighten Central’s load and provide tactical redundancy. Sensors registered heat and movement. Scanners checked the atmosphere and detected no signs of incoming aircraft. Convinced that it was safe to engage surface targets, the computer brought 14’s weapons on line, and ordered the target lasers, energy cannon, and launch racks to tilt downward. The computer confirmed a lock, checked with Central, and opened fire. Emplacements 12, 13, and 15 did likewise.
Energy beams stuttered toward the ground, missiles raced to their targets, and the valley seemed to explode.
Sheltered as his brain tissue was by layers of steel armor, the heavy known as Bak BorioBa took note of the incoming ordinance but was more annoyed than frightened. That kind of fear, the type associated with the possibility of physical harm, had been left with his biological body. The sense of invulnerability was deceptive—he knew that—and had been warned to be on the lookout for it, but felt it anyway. Columns of snow-tinged dirt soared into the air. A quad exploded, killing all of those within. Steel fell like rain. BorloBa thought death toward those who sought to harm him. Servos whined as a pair of tubes rose and spun to the right. The Hudathan’s energy cannon burped coherent light, pulverized rock squirted away from the canyon wall, and pebbles clattered across the top of the hull. The attack, which had been coordinated by Central, met with a well-orchestrated response. By using hardware and software developed for that very purpose, the borgs were able to construct a temporary or “flying” parallel processor that divided the overall problem into subtasks and worked them simultaneously.
Return fire was prioritized, coordinated, and adjusted. Emplacement 12 was the first to go offline, quickly followed by 14, which took two missiles in quick succession. It opened like an orange-yellow flower. The sound of the explosion was still bouncing back and forth between the canyon walls when the surviving cyborgs entered the maze of obstacles.
Corporal Norly Snyder found the first tank trap the hard way by guiding her enormous body out onto what looked like solid ground, only to have it give way beneath her. The pit, which had been dug based on intelligence obtained from the Hegemony during the early days of the clone-Thraki alliance, was a perfect fit. Though only ten feet deep, it was sufficient to prevent Snyder from climbing out without assistance.
The mine, which exploded the moment she landed on it, settled the matter. Her armor held, protecting the troops riding in her belly, but the cyborg’s right rear leg was damaged beyond repair. McGowan, who along with Staff Sergeant Kreshnekov, was among those riding in Snyder’s cargo compartment, felt the bottom fall out of her stomach, swore when the barrel of her assault rifle tagged her chin, and knew something was wrong. The explosion, which she experienced as a dull thump, served to confirm that impression. She activated the intercom. “Snyder? What the hell happened?”
“Sorry, ma’am,” the cyborg replied sheepishly, “but I fell into some sort of pit. A mine blew one of my legs off.”
“Any tissue damage?”
“No, ma’am. I feel stupid that’s all.”
“Could happen to anyone,” the officer replied. “How ‘bout the Galling gun? Is it still operational?”
“Green to go,” Snyder replied eagerly. “It will clear the edge of the pit if I push it all the way up.”
