as many people as possible. But even though the bugs wouldn’t destroy all of them, they would certainly nail some of them, and the Play Pretty was going in. Partly because Captain Carly Simmons was down on the planet’s surface—but mostly because it was the right thing to do.
“Here comes the feed,” Marsha said, as the snow on com channel 3 coalesced into a shot of Maylo Chien-Chu and locked up. “That’s a very nice jacket,” the society matron observed. “But she looks tired.”
And Maylo was tired. Her jet-black hair was perfect, as always, but there were dark circles under her large, almondshaped eyes, and she hadn’t been eating much of late. The resulting weight loss, plus her high cheekbones, made the businesswoman look gaunt. “First,” Maylo said as she looked into the camera, “I would like to thank each and every one of you on behalf of myself, my husband, General Bill Booly, President Marcott Nankool, the Senate, and the Confederacy’s citizens. Because the rescue attempt that you’re about to participate in will go down as one of the bravest, most selfl?ess acts of this very important war.
“Now, with that said, let’s run through the plan one last time. . . . Be sure to enter the exact sequence of numbers you were given into your NAVCOMP, because if you don’t, you may exit hyperspace right on top of another ship! And I don’t have to tell you how unpleasant that would be.
“Once in-system you’re on your own. There won’t be any traffi?c-control system, so watch out for other vessels! The key is to follow a beacon down to the surface as quickly as possible, load as many soldiers as you can, and lift. Once clear of Gamma-014, enter hyperspace as quickly as you can. . . . The bugs won’t know where you’re going, so they won’t be able to follow.”
Maylo paused at that point. Her gaze was level, and her voice was calm. “A lot of us won’t be coming back. Those who do will fi?nd liners and hospital ships waiting to take your passengers. May all of our various gods bless this fl?eet, for in this valiant effort, our hearts beat as one.” And with that the video snapped to black.
“That’s for damned sure,” Frank Simmons said approvingly, and his wife sighed. PLANET GAMMA-014, THE CLONE REPUBLIC
The allies had crossed Tow-Tok Pass, and were making their way down the other side, when charges that had been placed on slopes above them were detonated, sending an avalanche of snow down across the highway and into the gorge below. That brought the ten-mile-long column to an immediate halt, caused previously well-spaced vehicles to bunch up, and set the stage for the slaughter that General Akoto had in mind.
Upon hearing the initial explosion, followed by a groundshaking rumble, General Mortimer Kobbi swore bitterly. He was a third of the way back along the column at the time, giving one of a thousand pep talks, when the hammer fell. And it didn’t take a military genius to know what would happen next, as at least two dozen well-concealed snipers opened fi?re from the concealment of the snow-covered rocks high above, and Kobbi sent his T-2 racing toward the head of the column. Two crawlers, both equipped with dozer blades had been given the lead to deal with that sort of situation, but Major Perko was waiting with more bad news as the general arrived. “I’m sorry, sir,” Perko said, as Kobbi dismounted. “The blast was timed to hit the dozers. One survived—but the other was swept away.”
From where he was standing, just in front of the quad that had been positioned immediately behind the crawlers, Kobbi could see the shoulder-high pile of snow and debris that blocked the highway. Trees had been caught up in the avalanche, along with large boulders and a host of smaller rocks. A powerful engine rumbled as the surviving dozer attacked the blockage with a big shining blade. What originally had been isolated gunshots escalated into a full-scale fi?refi?ght as well-hidden Ramanthian soldiers fi?red down into the column, and legionnaires, marines, and Seebos fi?red up into the rocks. Slugs pinged off the dozer and made a mosquito-like whine as they angled away.
The avalanche was bad luck, terrible luck, given what was at stake. The rescue fl?eet wasn’t on the way yet, but they would be soon, and it was imperative to get the column down out of the mountains quickly. Civilians would be taken off fi?rst, followed by support forces, meaning those units that hadn’t been sent up into the mountains. That was just the nature of things. But Kobbi was determined to evacuate combat troops as well. “Okay,” the little general said grimly.
“We’ll work with what we have. . . . Keep the dozer going. I’ll round up a couple hundred CVAs and arm them with shovels. They can pitch in and help clear the slide.”
Perko nodded, opened his mouth to reply, and jerked spastically as a bullet smashed through the bridge of his nose. That was when a corporal threw Kobbi facedown on the highway and took the follow-up shot right between the shoulder blades. His body armor was suffi?cient to stop the slug, but it left a bruise the legionnaire would remember for days to come. Assuming he lived that long.
“Thanks,” Kobbi said, as he rolled out from under the corporal. “I owe you a beer. Let me jack into your radio. Those bastards need to die.”
Ten minutes later Second Lieutenant Eyeblink Thinkfast and a team of Naa warriors drawn from a dozen units started up the mountainside. It was a development the Ramanthian snipers should have been worried about but weren’t. Mainly because the rank-and-fi?le bugs were completely ignorant of the physiological and cultural attributes associated with their enemies.
So they were unaware of the fact that the fur-clad legionnaires considered anything above ten below to be balmy, preferred to fi?ght barefoot because they could sense heat differentials through the soles of their feet, and didn’t need to actually see their opponents because they could smell chitin polish, wing wax, and gun oil from a hundred feet away. Nor were the insectoid Ramanthians aware of the speed with which the lightly armed Naa could climb, the almost total silence with which they moved, or the mind-numbing ferocity that they brought with them.
Some of the legionnaires fell, plucked off the steep slope by well-aimed bullets, but not many. Because as Thinkfast and half a dozen others came upslope, they were also moving from side to side, utilizing every bit of cover that was available.
Then they were there, on the same level as the Ramanthian sharpshooters, and that was when the real bloodletting began. It was knife and pistol work for the most part, carried out by warriors who had not only been raised to kill, but had grudges to settle on behalf of all the legionnaires killed on Gamma-014. They were like ghosts as they slipped between the rocks, slitting throats, and fi?ring from point-blank range. No quarter was asked, and no quarter was given, as more than thirty Ramanthians were systematically put to death. Finally, with his uniform soaked in gore, it was Thinkfast who put in the call to Kobbi. “The heights are ours, sir. . . . We will hold them until relieved. Over.”
“Well done, Lieutenant,” Kobbi said, as he stared up at the tiny fi?gures above. “Once we get back to Algeron, I’m going to hang every medal I can think of on you and your warriors. Do you have prisoners? Over.”
“No, sir,” came the answer. “We forgot to take any. Over.”
“Well done,” the general replied. “Six-One out.”
