one side. All of the soldiers took cover as Yanty fl?ipped a safety switch and thumbed the remote. There was a fl? ash of light as the charge went off, followed by a cloud of dust, as air was expelled and an equivalent amount of Oron IV’s atmosphere rushed in to replace it. That was Private Oneeye Knifeplay’s cue to fi?re six grenades into the black hole in an effort to kill any chits that were waiting within. Santana couldn’t hear the explosions, but he could see flashes as the grenades went off, and sent pieces of razor-sharp shrapnel fl?ying in every direction. And even though the wait was only a few seconds long, there was still enough time to feel the fear seep into his belly. Matal and Bisby died the fi?rst time they went into combat, the soldier told himself. But even though you’ve been in combat dozens of times, you’re still alive. Why is that? And how many more doors can you walk through before your luck runs out?
There was no answer, just as Santana knew there wouldn’t be, and for some reason it was an image of Christine Vanderveen’s face that the cavalry offi?cer saw as he entered the swirling smoke. It might have been Camerone, in 1863, or Dien Bien Phu in 1953, or any of a thousand actions since, as the company commander waved his legionnaires forward.
“What the hell are you waiting for?” Sergeant Yanty wanted to know, as the remainder of her squad stood frozen in place. “A frigging invitation? Let’s kill some bugs!”
Four bio bods and four T-2s entered the mine, and followed the gradually sloping shaft downwards, as their lights played across the rough-hewn rock walls. And that, according to File Leader Beeb Nohar’s way of thinking, was just fi?ne. It was a long way from the control cavern to the escape hatch located on the other side of the hills above, so Byap and the twelve troopers who accompanied him still had a ways to go, when they received word that the aliens had entered the mine. A price had been paid, however, a bloody price, and that gave the Ramanthian pleasure as he urged his soldiers forward. Blobs of light swung back and forth across rocky walls, and badly faded alien hieroglyphics could be seen here and there, as the Ramanthians shuffl?ed past a side gallery crammed fl?oor to ceiling with army rations. Finally, after fi?ve minutes of additional travel, the fi?le was forced to a stop in front of the emergency exit. Having checked to ensure that the lock’s surcam was operational, Byap took the time necessary to scan the external environment before proceeding any farther. Because once out in the open, the subcommander knew that his tiny force would be vulnerable to enemy cyborgs and the Confederacy’s aerospace fi? ghters. But the surcam revealed nothing other than a cloudless sky and the steep scree-covered slope that led to the iron-oxide-stained plain below.
Confi?dent that the immediate area was safe, Byap led his troopers into the lock and tapped a series of numbers into the human-style keypad. Sunlight splashed the lock’s interior and threw shadows against the back wall as the hatch cycled open. As Byap led the fi?le out onto the treacherous hillside, he knew speed was of the essence if he and his troops were to circle around and take the enemy by surprise. The Ramanthian knew that the ensuing battle would constitute little more than a gesture, but he wanted to die with honor. Such were Subcommander Byap’s thoughts as a .50-caliber bullet left the barrel of Private Mary Volin’s sniper rifl?e, sped through the air, and snatched a trooper off his feet. “That was a good one,” Dietrich commented, as he stood. The noncom’s face shield made the binos more diffi?cult to use, but the dappled body armor that the chits wore was easy to spot against the light gray scree.
Byap saw the trooper spin away, knew the bullet had originated from somewhere below, and spotted movement as a tiny fi?gure rose to look up at him. “There!” the offi?cer said, as he pointed at the alien below. “Kill him!”
And the Ramanthian troopers tried, but the second squad was more than a thousand yards away, which put the legionnaires well beyond the effective range of the Ramanthian Negar assault weapons. That left Volin free to peer into the 10X scope, pick her next target, and send a second armorpiercing slug spinning upslope. Byap swore as another trooper went down. Then, knowing that he had no choice but retreat, the subcommander turned and began to scramble uphill. The movement brought the offi?cer to Dietrich’s attention. “See the bug who’s leading the rest of them uphill?” the noncom inquired conversationally.
“Kill him.”
And Volin tried. But a sudden breeze came in from the west and gave the speeding bullet a tiny nudge. Not much, but enough to knock the slug off course, and momentarily save Byap’s life. But the 706.7-grain projectile still took the subcommander’s left arm off, turned him around, and dumped him onto the scree. And it was then, while staring up into an alien sky, that Byap remembered the remote. Time seemed to slow as the Ramanthian fumbled for the object and fi?nally found it.
The suit had sealed itself by that time, cauterized the terrible wound that he had suffered, and was busy pumping drugs into the offi?cer’s circulatory system. That made it hard to think, but the offi?cer forced himself to focus, as he struggled to break the remote’s safety tab. A simple task given two pincers, but diffi?cult with only one, especially when the enemy was shooting at you. Finally, having made use of a neighboring rock to break the tab off, Byap gave the device a squeeze.
There was no response at fi?rst, or that was the way it seemed to the Ramanthian, as troopers continued to fall all around him. But then the earth shook, the entire air lock was blown out of the hillside, and the scree began to move. That was when Byap knew his efforts had been successful—
and that the gates of paradise would open before him. Having forced his way into the mine, Santana expected to encounter stiff resistance from the Ramanthians and was surprised when nothing of that sort occurred. There was something oppressive about the rock walls that closed in around the legionnaires as the throatlike passageway took them deeper underground. What little bit of comfort there was stemmed from the fact that while small, his force packed plenty of fi?repower. Occasional lights cast an ominous greenish glow over tool-ripped walls as the fl? oor sloped steadily downwards.
As the squad pushed deeper into the mine, and his T-2’s powerful headlamp pushed its way into various nooks and crannies, Santana was careful to record everything his suitcam “saw.” That included the Ramanthian-made vehicles that were parked in turnouts, “bug” script that had been spray-painted onto the walls, and occasional sorties into side caverns stuffed with supplies. All of which would be of interest to Intel. But all the while the company commander couldn’t escape the feeling that he and his companions were under surveillance as the T-2s monitored their sensors and their lights probed the murk ahead. But there was nothing to see until the trap closed around them. The mine was a maze of cross tunnels and vertical access shafts. So by hiding two levels above the main tunnel, and dropping spiderlike into the main passageway, the Ramanthians were able to land behind the legionnaires and thereby block their escape route. That was the plan anyway, and it would have been successful, had it not been for Lieutenant Zolkin. Having been assigned the drag position, and given strict orders to “. . . Watch our six,” the offi?cer’s T-2 had been forced to walk backwards much of the time.
Even so, if the offi?cer hadn’t been so clumsy as to drop a bag of grenades, which he was then forced to jump down and retrieve, Nohar might have been able to land his fi?le undetected. But such was not the case as Zolkin lifted the sack, saw a space-armored Ramanthian appear out of nowhere, and threw a grenade up corridor. All without pausing to think about it. The enemy trooper was blown to smithereens, and Zolkin was back on Tebo before the rest of the squad could respond. The sequence of actions earned the platoon leader a precious “well done” from Santana.
Thanks to the early warning, the legionnaires were able to fi?ght their way back toward the main lock even as a dozen heavily armed troopers fell on them, and the interior of the mine shaft was transformed into a hellish
