“Yes, sir. We’ll do our best.”
Kobbi grinned. “See that you do. . . . Dismissed.”
Once again Santana felt grateful for the heat that Deker gave off—even if it did leave his ass out in the cold. The two of them were standing next to the road as Alpha Company began the long journey to the west. Lieutenant Amoyo, Sergeant Matos, Sergeant Telveca, Corporal Han, and Private Xiong had all been killed in action during the assault on Yal-Am. In the wake of the battle, Hoyt-11,791 and fi?fteen of her thirty-one CVA conscripts had attached themselves to Alpha Company, along with a squad of stray marines, and a Seebo transportation platoon that still had two half-tracks. The vehicles would be extremely useful if the company was going to catch up with Colonel Six. Lieutenant Mitch Millar passed fi?rst, began to pick up speed, and disappeared beyond the veil of softly falling snow. His orders were to scout many miles ahead, keep his sensors peeled for any sign of Ramanthian troops, and fi?nd Six. It was something the recon ball was uniquely qualifi?ed to do. Next came Sergeant Suresee Fareye, and his T-2, Private Ka Nhan, who were also acting as scouts and would try to give advance warning of potential ambush sites, road damage, and anything else Santana would want to know about. The scouts were followed by Master Sergeant Dice Dietrich on Corporal Stacy Subee, and the fi?rst squad of the fi?rst platoon which, due to casualties, was the only squad in the fi?rst platoon. It consisted of four bio bods and fi?ve Trooper IIs in addition to Dietrich and Subee.
Then came the reassuring whine-thud of heavy footsteps as Private Lupo, the company’s sole remaining quad, lumbered up the road. The marines were safely tucked inside his cargo compartment, where Santana imagined some were starting to feel the fi?rst symptoms of motion sickness. But it beat the hell out of walking—and the offi? cer knew he wouldn’t hear any complaints.
The huge cyborg was followed by the half-tracks, loaded not only with supplies, but with Hoyt and her CVA troops. Lieutenant Gregory Zolkin and Sergeant Mark Tebo were right behind them, followed by what remained of the second platoon. Sergeant Jose Ramos was in charge of the rearguard, which included two bio bods, and three reasonably intact T-2s. That force should be strong enough to counter anything that could catch up with the fast- moving company from behind.
It wasn’t perfect. Santana knew that. But it was the best he could do. As Ramos marched past, the company commander sent Deker forward on the fi?rst of what would eventually be dozens of trips up and down the length of the column. Because that was the only way to enforce the proper intervals, make sure that people were alert, and keep morale up. Even though the company had traveled the wintry road before, it looked entirely different now, partly because they were going the other way and partly because of the additional snow. And as more of the white stuff continued to fall, visibility was limited to a hundred feet or so, and the monotony of it caused Santana’s thoughts to drift. First to Vanderveen, who might be anywhere, then to her mother, who was trapped on Earth. If Margaret Vanderveen was still alive—which seemed doubtful.
A couple of hours passed like that, with Santana battling to maintain his focus, while the company covered fi? fty miles or so. They were up off the fl?atland and well into the foothills, when the attack came. It was a crude affair, conceived by a group of desperate CVAs, who, lacking any sort of heavy weaponry, managed to roll half a dozen boulders down a steep embankment. The plan was to disable one or more of the vehicles in order to obtain food and ammo. The low-tech ambush had gone undetected because the clones were well hidden. The boulder barrage was followed by the insistent pop, pop, pop of small-arms fi?re as a fusillade of poorly aimed bullets swept the surface of the snow-covered road. But, crude or not, the attack was successful in that one of the bouncing rocks killed Private Sig Gomyo, and disabled T-2 Private Rin Ibo, before it jumped into the air and continued downslope.
The response was swift and uncompromising. A force of enraged T-2s ran uphill, located the CVA bandits in among the rocks, and put them down. Dietrich, who was right behind them, was forced to yell, “Cease fi?ring!” over and over in order to conserve ammunition as some of the legionnaires continued to fi?re on dead bodies. One of the bio bods pulled Ibo’s brain box, and carried it into Lupo’s cargo bay, where the cyborg was hooked up to the quad’s life-support system. The entire incident was not only stupid and unnecessary, but a measure of how desperate some of the allied forces were. It was another danger for Santana to worry about. There was darned little chance that anyone would collect Gomyo’s body, not in the midst of a full-scale retreat, so like thousands of legionnaires before him, the bio bod was lowered into a shallow, unmarked grave. The burial was followed by a quick prayer and a fl?urry of orders as the company resumed its journey. The other corpses, those belonging to the clones who had been so thoughtlessly sent to Gamma014, would soon be covered with a shroud of white snow. Two hours later the column had covered another fi?fty miles and it was getting late. Since it wouldn’t be prudent to travel at night, Santana wanted to set up a defensive perimeter while there was light left to see by. So when Fareye alerted him to a short side road that led out along the top of a ridge to a spacious lookout spot, the cavalry offi?cer seized on the opportunity. While it might be necessary to camp on the surface of the road before the journey was over, Santana had no desire to do so any earlier than was absolutely necessary. Such spots were hard to defend, and there was no way to know what might come down the road in the middle of the night.
The company followed Fareye and Nhan out along a snow-covered two-lane road onto the hilltop beyond. As Zolkin and Dietrich began to organize the unit’s defenses, Santana took a stroll around the perimeter. The snow was unmarked by footprints. That was good. But the slopes that fanned out away from the lookout point weren’t very steep, and that was bad. The legionnaire knew from previous expe- rience that the bugs could advance over that sort of terrain at night and were brave enough to do so. Lacking crab mines, all Santana could do was position T-2s around the perimeter, park the quad and the tracks in the middle of the turnaround, and establish an outpost (OP) at the point where the side road intersected the highway. Because the last thing they wanted was to be cut off from the main thoroughfare and isolated on a vulnerable hilltop. As the temperature continued to drop, and darkness crept in all around them, the men and women of Alpha Company prepared to eat, sleep, and carry out some much-needed maintenance. Given their circumstances it was all they could hope for.
Meanwhile, a hundred miles to the west, Lieutenant Millar was stalking his prey. It was something the cyborg was uniquely qualifi?ed to do because he could fl?y, “see” in the dark, and mask himself electronically. The capabilities that had already enabled the scout to spot three groups of Ramanthians, all hidden within striking distance of the highway, waiting for an opportunity to attack. That was interesting, and well worth reporting, but secondary to his primary mission to fi?nd Colonel Six and his band of renegades.
But the clones had a tremendous head start—and Millar had orders to stay within a hundred miles of Alpha Company. So, once darkness descended, and the cyborg found himself a hundred and twenty miles out, he was about to turn and head back when there was a brief burst of static, followed by a low-power radio transmission. The exchange was brief, but suffi?cient to pique the cyborg’s curiosity, and trigger a full spectrum sweep of all the possible frequencies. That effort revealed more activity, which the recon ball traced to what had been a power transfer station, but was now little more than a pile of bombed-out rubble. A useful pile of rubble, however, because as Millar got closer, it soon became clear that he was onto something. Even though it was dark, and the scout had to rely on infrared imaging, it quickly became apparent that the ruins were being used by a company-sized force of humans.
But were they the humans he was looking for? That was by no means certain given the fact that dozens of military units were strung out along the highway. In fact it was quite possible that this one had been on its way to join allied forces in Yal-Am when the Ramanthian poop hit the proverbial fan. In order to fi?nd out who he was dealing with, Millar began to work himself into the dimly lit ruins, being careful to remain in the shadows whenever possible. There were sentries, but none of them saw the recon ball as Millar passed over their heads.
