Kelly heard a whirring sound as the scout’s spherical body extruded a skeletal tool arm. The disk that was held in his grasper was about a quarter of an inch thick and two inches across. “It’s a tracker,” the cyborg explained, as the woman took the device. “Keep it on your body at all times.”
“I will,” Kelly promised, as she tucked the disk away.
“Thank you.”
“Keep my visit to yourself,” the scout instructed. “We’ll catch up as quickly as we can.” Then, having generated no more than a gentle humming sound, the recon ball disappeared. It was pitch-black inside the tiny observation post (OP), the temperature was a face-numbing ten degrees below zero, and more than a thousand Ramanthians were marching along the highway headed east, toward the fl?eeing allies and Yal-Am beyond. The nearest aliens were no more than fi?fteen feet away, so close Santana could hear the ominous scrape-thump of their perfectly synchronized footsteps, the rattle of unsecured equipment, and occasional bursts of click-speech as the evervigilant noncoms worked to keep the weary soldiers on the move.
More than that, the legionnaire could smell the unmistakable mixture of wing wax, chitin polish, and gun oil that was the olfactory hallmark of Ramanthian soldiers everywhere. And by peering out through a hole in the makeshift barricade his company had erected the evening before, the offi?cer could see the enemy formation on his HUD— thanks to the night-vision capability that was built into his helmet. The column was four troopers across and very tight. Tighter than a human formation would be under similar circumstances. But could the bugs see him? Apparently not, given the way they continued to stream past the OP, on their way to a certain confrontation with the lead elements of Kobbi’s column. That could be attributed to Santana’s having chosen to staff the OP with bio bods, while keeping a quick-reaction force comprised of relatively “hot” cyborgs out on the hilltop, where they could be called upon if necessary. The legionnaire had been summoned by Sergeant Pimm, and the tough no-nonsense marine sergeant had the good sense to keep his jarheads hidden as lead elements of the enemy force trudged past his position.
The question, to Santana’s mind at least, was why the bugs had been ordered to attack the allied column? Because even though General-453’s army had been badly mauled at YalAm, they were still capable of defeating a force such as the one in front of him, and rather decisively, too. Unless the real purpose of the impending confrontation was to stall the retreating column—which would make sense if Akoto’s forces had been unable to overtake the fugitives from the east. Yes, that was logical, and as the last of the bugs shuffl?ed past, Santana gave Pimm a pat on the back. “Well done, Sergeant. I’ll send a squad forward to relieve you in about thirty minutes or so. Unless we get new orders. Which wouldn’t surprise me.”
“We’ll be here,” the heavily swathed noncom said bleakly, wondering if he would ever be warm again. Private Ivan Lupo’s cargo bay was crammed with sleeping legionnaires, and the hot, muggy air was thick with the stench of unwashed socks, as Santana closed the hatch behind him. There was a communal groan as a blast of frigid air forced its way inside. That was followed by an apology when someone saw who it was, and the offi?cer said, “As you were.” It was diffi?cult for the legionnaire to fi?nd places to plant his feet without stepping on someone’s body as he made his way to the tiny cubicle that was supposed to function as the platoon leader’s offi?ce in the fi?eld. Except that Lieutenant Amoyo was dead and wouldn’t be needing it anymore.
The purpose of the unannounced visit was to get on the quad’s long-range com set and warn Kobbi. It took the better part of fi?fteen minutes to talk a succession of protective offi?cers into putting the call through. During that time, Santana was forced to remove layers of clothes in order to deal with what felt like a tropical environment but was actually chilly by normal standards. Finally, a clearly sleepy Kobbi was heard. “This is Six-One. . . . What have you got?”
So Santana told him, and as he did so, the company commander could imagine the look on the little general’s face. Because when Kobbi was working a problem, it was like a dog attacking a bone. And, by the time the cavalry offi?cer’s report was complete, the general knew what he wanted to do. Dawn was in the offi?ng as Force Commander Ofay led his troops up a long incline toward the certain glory that lay ahead. Yes, there was danger, and some would fall. But somehow, deep inside, Ofay knew he would be among those who would eventually go home to describe the battle to their admiring mates. Because, from his perspective, that was how life should be.
Such thoughts helped warm the soldier, who, being a member of a jungle-evolved species, was not as well equipped to deal with cold weather as a Naa, Hudathan, Thraki, or human would have been. And, Ofay knew that if it hadn’t been for the powered warm-suits his troopers wore, they would have been incapacitated within a matter of minutes. Just as so many of the largely improvident animals had been. Gradually, as daylight fi?ltered down through the clouds, Ofay began to have a better appreciation of the terrain around him. The highway had been engineered to follow the contour of the mountainsides, and having just emerged from a U-shaped curve, was headed higher on a ledge carved from solid rock. That put a cliff to the offi?cer’s right, and a drop-off on his left. From his vantage point, Ofay could see that the next right-pincer turn would take his unit around the end of a rocky promontory. The Ramanthian wished he knew what was on the other side of the point, but the cloud cover was blocking orbital surveillance, and his surviving spy-eye was on the blink.
Ofay had scouts, though, both of whom were young enough to fl?y, so long as they didn’t have to carry much gear. So the order went out, and two troopers took to the sky and fought to gain altitude. Lung-warmed air jetted away from their beaks, and their wings made a soft whuffi?ng sound as the soldiers spiraled steadily upwards. But Ofay, who was still caught up in visions of coming glory, was in too much of a hurry to wait for their reports. Soon, sometime later that day, the War Ofay would collide with animals and hold them. General Akoto would take care of the rest. The allied column was ten miles long and snaked back through a series of mountain curves, to the point where the rear guard was about to set off some explosives in an effort to block the road and slow their pursuers. The Ramanthians would clear the obstruction of course, but it would take them hours to do so, and hours were precious. Which made the fact that they were standing that much more frustrating. But General Kobbi was tired of getting his ass kicked. Even though the offi?cer knew the allies were losing the war, he was determined to win a battle. That was why both he and senior members of his staff were at the head of the column staring at two black dots as they topped the promontory ahead. “They sent scouts,” Colonel Quinlan commented, as he eyed the airborne Ramanthians. “They know we’re here.”
The two men were mounted on battle-scarred T-2s. The force around them consisted of thirty-six cyborgs in all, each carrying a heavily armed bio bod, all of whom were combatready. Steam rose around them as snowfl?akes hit warm metal. Half the group had been stripped out of the rear guard, which meant the column would be vulnerable if Akoto came up quickly, but Kobbi was betting on the Legion’s ability to engage the force ahead and defeat it quickly. “They know we’re here,” Kobbi admitted grimly. “But the ugly bastards are still going to die!”
So saying, Kobbi gave a preparatory order, followed by a single word: “Charge!” And, because the legionnaires had been ready for some time by then, they were quick to respond. The width of the highway would allow only fi?ve cyborgs to advance in a line abreast. Still, fi?ve T-2s supported by an equal number of bio bods represented a lot of fi?repower, especially when pitted against unsupported infantry. Ofay knew that, too, and was still in the process of trying to fi?gure out what to do, when a group of murderous cyborgs rounded the promontory ahead and opened fi? re. They were traveling at about thirty miles per hour by then, and fi?ring every weapon they had. The effect was devastating. Especially since only the fi?rst rank of Ofay’s troops could fi?re without hitting the ranks in front of them. Dozens of Ramanthians fell, cut down by the withering fi?re, and much to Ofay’s horror, the rest began to turn back!
