Throatcut is careful, Santana thought to himself. You have to give the bastard that.
But Santana had no intention of leading the fi?rst platoon into a free-fi?re zone. So as his dooth drew level with the fi?rst east–west side street, the legionnaire issued orders. “Alpha Six to Alpha Two-Six, and Alpha Three-Six. Plan A. Streets left and right. Execute. Over.”
There was a series of clicks as Sergeants Maria Gomez and Husulu Ibo-Da acknowledged the order. The fi?rst wagon followed Santana as he turned left. The second went right, and so forth, until the entire caravan had disappeared off Deepwell’s main street. That was when more orders were issued, and the heavy tarpaulins were thrown aside as the T-2s rolled off the transports and activated their weapons.
There were seven cyborgs in all, three to a squad, plus Santana’s mount. Her name was Norly Snyder. She had been a corporal back when the two fi?rst met on LaNor. Running into her at Fort Camerone had been the result of good luck. But removing the borg from the outfi?t to which she’d been assigned had taken pull. The kind of high-gee pull that only someone like General Bill Booly could exert.
So as Santana slid down off the big dooth and handed the reins to Footfast, the big Trooper II was ready and waiting. The offi?cer was in a hurry as he took his place behind the cyborg’s big blocky head and plugged into the T-2’s com system. “Alpha Six to Alpha Two-Six and Alpha Three-Six,” the offi?cer said. “Let’s stick to the plan. Over.”
“Roger that,” Gomez responded. “Two-Six out.”
“I copy,” Ibo-Da added. “Three-Six out.”
And with that simple acknowledgment a unit that consisted of a crooked gambler, a convicted murderer, a sexual psychopath, a raving man-hater, a suicidal cyborg, and a woman who had tortured two Ramanthian prisoners to death swung into action. Meanwhile, a group of Naa volunteers gathered the fi?rst squad’s dooths together and prepared to defend themselves if attacked.
Throatcut knew something was wrong by that time and had already begun to respond. “It’s a trick!” the onearmed Naa shouted over his handheld com set. “Close with them! Kill them now!”
But the invading T-2s were already in motion by then. Santana led the fi?rst squad east, and Snyder had already turned the corner of the last building, when a group of bio bods boiled out of a side street. Rather than pause, as the hostiles might have expected her to, Snyder ran straight at them. The distance closed with surprising speed as the cyborg brought an arm up and began to fi?re her .50-caliber machine gun. The entire front rank went down like wheat to a thresher. That caused the second rank to break and scatter.
“Pull up,” Santana ordered, as Snyder placed her right foot pod on a wounded Naa and crushed the life out of him. “Give the rest of the squad a chance to catch up with us.” Then on the radio: “Three-Six? This is Alpha Six. . . . Give me a sitrep.”
“We’re in position,” Ibo-Da replied laconically. “Over.”
“Okay. . . . Let’s squeeze them. Six out.”
By prior agreement, the fi?rst squad turned toward the west, the second squad pivoted east, and they began to close in on each other. The whole idea was to squeeze the bandits into an increasingly compact mass. Fifty-caliber machine guns thumped in the distance, assault weapons chattered, and Santana heard a metallic ping as an enemy slug fl?attened itself against Snyder’s chest armor. “They’re up on the roofs!” the cyborg warned. “Hold on!”
Santana felt Snyder start to sprint, and because the cavalry offi?cer knew what to expect, he bent his knees to absorb some of the shock as the T-2 jumped fi?fteen feet into the air and landed on a fl?at roof. The sniper had begun to backpedal by then, but barely managed to fi?re a single shot before a bolt of blue energy burned a fi?st- sized hole through his chest.
That was the good news. The bad news was that a human holding a shoulder-launched missile (SLM) had just popped up out of a stairway and was preparing to fi?re his weapon. Snyder had started to turn, but knew she would never make it in time, which left Santana to deal with the threat. He stuck a hand into the bag that hung at his side, felt for a grenade, and pulled it free. What felt like an hour passed as the offi?cer pulled the pin, threw the bomb, and ducked.
There was a loud bang, followed by an even louder secondary explosion, as the missile blew. Flying shrapnel made a rattling sound as it struck the T-2’s armored body. “Good one, sir,” Snyder commented mildly. “But you might want to warn me next time. . . . That stuff stings!”
“Sorry, Sergeant,” Santana replied. “I’ll try to do better. . . . How ’bout the next roof? Can you make it?”
“Let’s fi?nd out,” Snyder replied, as she took six giant strides and launched herself into the air. But rather than land on the roof as she had the time before, the big cyborg crashed through it, and into the room below. Six bandits, all of whom were busy fi?ring at Alpha TwoOne through the store’s slit-style windows, were caught by surprise as the T-2 and its rider fell through the roof and landed immediately behind them. Dust billowed, and loose debris continued to fall, as one of the bandits said,
“Oh, shit,” and tried to bring his weapon to bear. What followed was a murderous frenzy of closequarters mayhem as both Snyder and Santana opened fi?re, and the bandits fought back. But the bio bods couldn’t see through the swirling dust, and the cyborg could, since the enemy heat signatures were plain as day. The entire exchange of gunfi?re was over within fi?ve seconds. But short though the unexpected engagement was, Santana had been fi?ghting rather than leading. It was a loss of situational awareness that could cost the company dearly. Especially when battling a numerically superior force armed with SLMs. “Get me out of here,” Santana ordered, as he fi?red at a fi?gure in the surrounding gloom.
“Your wish is my command,” the cyborg replied cheerfully, as she kicked a hole in the stone wall. “Watch your head!”
Santana ducked as the T-2 stepped through the newly made door and out into the rubble-strewn street. Two bandits lay dead where they had fallen, their bodies surrounded by a halo of spent brass.
Without benefi?t of the usual helmet, and heads-up display (HUD), the company commander couldn’t access an electronic display showing the way in which his troops were deployed. That meant Santana had to rely on what he could actually see, hear, and to some extent feel as the battle progressed. And not all of the news was good. Three explosions shook the ground as a voice spoke in Santana’s ear. “Alpha Three-Six to Alpha Six. Over.”
“This is Six,” Santana replied. “Go.”
“I have a problem,” the Hudathan replied. “Alpha Three-Five committed suicide. Over.”
Despite the fact that Husulu Ibo-Da had been courtmartialed for killing a cowardly offi?cer, Santana had put the
