Kobbi returned the salute. “Dismissed.”
The senior offi?cer’s face was impassive, but as Santana turned, and made his way up the ramp Kobbi sent a thought after him. Take care of yourself, Captain. . . . Your father would be proud.
The entire front line seemed to hold its collective breath as the fi?nal seconds ticked away, and General-453 yelled
“Charge!” over the division-level push. Except that it wasn’t Four-fi?fty-three, because he was still being held under Dr. Kira Kelly’s supervision, as dozens of simultaneously launched fl?ares transformed night into day, artillery shells screamed downrange, and the huge quads lumbered out onto the battlefi?eld.
The fi?fty-ton cyborgs were big targets, and therefore almost impossible to miss, but they could take a lot of punishment, and did, as the Ramanthians opened up with everything they had. The legionnaires fought back as missiles raced off their rails, energy cannons sent pulses of blue death stuttering across no-man’s-land, and powerful legs tore through coils of barbed wire. And there were others besides Lupo and Xiong, sixteen quads altogether sweeping across the icy moonscape.
The big monsters weren’t alone. The smaller, more agile T-2s were all around them. Jumping over trenches, fl?aming machine-gun nests, and fi?ring shoulder-launched missiles. The rockets sleeted across the cratered landscape to strike at enemy artillery positions. Some were neutralized, while others continued to fi?re, their barrels nearly parallel to the ground.
That was when Colonel Six, AKA General-453, realized his mistake. Rather than lead allied forces, the way the renegade had imagined that he would, the clone had been re- duced to little more than a piece of living luggage strapped to a T-2’s back! And not very skilled baggage, because if it hadn’t been for the harness that held him in place, Six knew he would have been thrown clear by then. So all the imposter could do was hold on, fi?re his pistol at targets of opportunity, and hope things were going well. And things were going well, or so it seemed to Santana, who was advancing parallel to General-453, roughly fi?fteen feet away. Even though he understood the theoretical advantage that the big walkers had when fi?ghting on broken terrain, Santana had never been exposed to trench warfare before, and was proud to see how easily the quads could advance across a battlefi?eld littered with burned-out hover tanks. And not just advance, but destroy the enemy with overlapping fi? elds of fi?re, as the seemingly unstoppable behemoths continued to plod forward. Unfortunately, the big cyborgs could be stopped, and even though they hadn’t had any practice, the Ramanthian offi?cers understood the theory. Every weapon system involves a series of trade-offs. One of which is the ratio of weight to speed. And speed was very important. So rather than use the same thickness of armor underneath the quads, as they had everywhere else, the cybernetic engineers put less metal there. That meant the way to kill a quad was to send infantry in under it, fi?nd a way to attach a demolition pack to the cyborg’s belly, and run like hell! Or, if that wasn’t possible, then attack a spindly leg. Of course the Legion’s tacticians understood how vulnerable the big machines were, which was why a platoon of T-2s was typically assigned to guard each quad against infantry attacks.
But where there’s a will, there’s a way, and as Xiong moved forward her “torso” passed over a group of dead Ramanthians. Except one of them wasn’t dead. His name was Koga Noo, he was a member of the fanatical Nira cult, and eager to sacrifi?ce himself to the cause. Especially if he could take one of the big walkers with him!
War involves luck, both good and bad, and as luck would have it a demo pack lay four feet away. It had been brought onto the battlefi?eld for the purpose of blowing a hole in the allied wire, but the engineers assigned to place it had been killed. So it was a simple matter for Noo to grab hold of the container and leap into the air as the quad passed over him. The cyborg’s thinly armored belly was too high for the soldier to touch, but the Ramanthian had wings and was quick to deploy them. Seconds later, before the deadly T-2s could intervene, Noo was hovering just below Xiong’s closely packed cargo bay. That was when the enemy soldier pinched the switch.
There was a brilliant fl?ash of light, followed by a resounding boom, as the charge went off and Noo was vaporized. Less than half the force generated by the explosion was directed up and into the cyborg’s belly, but it was suffi?cient to burn a hole through the relatively thin armor, and send a jet of superheated gases into the compartment above. That triggered a series of secondary explosions, which not only killed the twelve Seebos seated in the cargo bay but ripped Xiong apart. Santana swore, and attempted to contact the cyborg via the company push, but there was no answer, as what remained of the legionnaire toppled onto one of Bravo Company’s T-2s, thereby raising the death toll to fi?fteen. However, there was no time to stop and grieve as the rest of the allied line continued to surge forward. Colonel Six had grown somewhat used to the violent rocking motion by that time, and could be seen at the very front of the allied army, shouting encouragement to every unit he passed. This came as something of a surprise from an offi?cer better known for his cutting criticisms than unreserved praise. The allied formation had cleared no-man’s-land by that time, and was well within Ramanthian lines, which had broken before the onslaught. Santana, who was busy guarding General-453’s right fl?ank, saw what was taking place and urged Alpha Company forward. “Run the bastards down!” he shouted. “Remember Xiong!”
There were shouts of “Camerone!” and “Blood!” as the Hu- dathan legionnaires uttered their traditional war cry. Then they were through to the Ramanthian rear lines, where the enemy tanks and artillery pieces were trapped in their own revetments, as the alien soldiers continued to pull back into the devastated city of Yal-Am.
Rather than remain where he was, and die an ignominious death at the hands of the animals, one of the tank commanders sent his beetle-shaped Gantha straight at Deker and Santana. The cavalry offi?cer saw a fl?ash of light as the big 120mm gun went off, followed by a potentially deafening boom, as the big shell roared past him. Then the T-2 was in the air! Metal clanged on metal as Deker landed on the Gantha’s lower deck. Santana looked up to see that the helmeted tank commander was trying to bring a heavy machine gun to bear on the threat below him. Santana brought his CA-10 up, pulled the trigger, and felt a sinking sensation when nothing happened! The goddamned piece of crap had frozen up!
The machine gun continued to swing around as Santana worked the action, brought the weapon up for a second time, and pulled the trigger again. The Ramanthian’s head jerked backwards as two of the slugs smashed through his face shield, pulped his brains, and blew what was left out through the back of his fi?ber-composite helmet.
“Good one, sir!” Deker said approvingly, as he began to climb higher. “Got any grenades?”
“Two,” Santana replied, fumbling for them.
“That should do it,” Deker said cheerfully, as he arrived next to the turret. “But mind the chit, sir. . . . He’s in the way!”
The two of them were so close that Santana was able to reach out, grab the dead Ramanthian’s harness, and pull him to one side. That opened a hole large enough to accept both grenades. They were still falling into the compartment below, when Deker took to the air, hoping to put as much distance between himself and the Gantha as he could. The ensuing explosion lifted the turret off the top of the tank, sent a gout of fl?ames into the air, and produced a wave of hot air that washed around both legionnaires. Deker made a perfect landing, absorbed most of the impact with his mechanical knees, and was about to reenter the fray when a frantic call was heard.
“Alpha Six! This is Bravo Three-Three! The general is missing! I can’t fi?nd him anywhere. Over.”
