and Colonel Six was in custody. The bad news was that, based on the most recent scouting report from Lieutenant Millar, it appeared as though the previous evening’s fi?refi?ght had been heard or seen because a large force of Ramanthians had infi?ltrated the area between Alpha Company and the main highway. So what to do? Santana could marshal his forces, such as they were, and attempt to break out. Or, remain where he was, and let the chits come to him. But one thing was for sure. . . . Kobbi’s convoy was busy fi?ghting for its life—so there wouldn’t be any help from that quarter. And Santana knew the clock was ticking. Any group that failed to exit the mountains along with the main column ran the risk of being left on Gamma-014. That, given the way Ramanthians treated their prisoners, was tantamount to a death sentence.
Such were Santana’s thoughts as he noticed something strange, swallowed the last of his caf, and made his way out to the perimeter. Marine Sergeant Pimm saw the offi?cer coming. He had come to respect Santana over the last few days, which was nothing short of a frigging miracle, since everybody knew the Legion was nothing more than a collection of criminals, wackos, and freaks. Pimm nodded politely. “Good morning, sir.”
Santana’s eyes were fi?xed on a point beyond the log barricade. He said, “Good morning, Sergeant,” drew his sidearm, and vaulted over the logs. Then, as the mystifi?ed noncom looked on, the legionnaire took four paces forward and aimed his weapon at a spiral of wispy vapor. There was a loud blam, blam, blam as the offi?cer fi?red his pistol. Brass casings arced away from the weapon, something heaved under the snow, and blood colored it red.
And that was when all hell broke loose as thirty or forty Ramanthian commandos threw off thermal blankets and rose from the ground. Having concealed their heat signatures with the blankets, the bugs had been able to sneak up on the encampment during the night. Then, once they were within grenade-throwing range of the encampment, the Ramanthians allowed the snow to cover them over. But they had to breathe, and that was what had given them away. Two commandos were within six feet of Santana. The cavalry offi?cer shot one of the Ramanthians in the face, whirled, and shot the other. Then, as he backed his way toward the barricade, Santana emptied his pistol at a fourth commando. That was when Sergeant Pimm grabbed onto the offi?cer’s battle harness from behind and jerked him over the barricade. There was a loud carump as the fi?rst mortar round hit, killed one of the CVAs, and sent a column of blood, mud, and snow up into the air.
The marines were fi?ring by then, as were the legionnaires, but the surviving commandos were only yards away. Grenades sailed though the air, landed, and went off one after another. A Seebo was decapitated by fl?ying shrapnel, a legionnaire went down with a shard of metal in his thigh, and fl?ying fragments clanged as they hit the half-tracks. Somewhere off in the distance, shrill whistles could be heard, along with an alien bugling sound, as Ramanthian regulars rushed to join the fray. Daylight attacks were rare, but with the commandos to lead the way, the bugs had been about to launch one. Santana was back on his feet by then— the decision having been made for him. There was no avenue of escape. Alpha Company would stay and fi?ght. So as Lupo’s onboard computer calculated trajectories for the incoming mortar shells, and the quad sent a volley of short-range missiles racing toward the enemy tubes, Santana offered words of encouragement as the company prepared to defend itself. The legionnaires and their allies had camped inside the perimeter that Colonel Six had established for his troops, and thanks to the fact that the cavalry offi?cer had been able to bring the rest of his command around the south end of the lake during the hours of darkness, all of them were in one place. Which was fortunate indeed. Since two separate groups would have been hard-pressed to defend themselves.
Having located Corporal Thain, the offi?cer gave the cyborg a concise set of orders, before turning back toward the center of camp. Millar was there, half-hidden by a track, fi?ring his energy cannon at the enemy. Another defender would have been useful, but Santana had something more important for the recon ball to do, and gave the cyborg new orders. Then, having called upon Dietrich to fi?re some smoke grenades toward the north, the scout vanished into the resulting fog.
Thanks to Lieutenant Zolkin’s earlier efforts, ordnance of all kinds had been unloaded from the vehicles and divided between three widely spaced bunkers to avoid the possibility that a single explosion would destroy all their ammo. So, when the outgoing fi?re fell off, Hoyt-11,791 and her CVAs rushed to resupply the troops. Especially the T-2s, who couldn’t reload their own magazines. As Santana continued to make the rounds, the cavalry offi?cer realized that insofar as combat troops were concerned, he was down to eight of Alpha Company’s bio bods, half a dozen marines, four loyal Seebos from the transportation platoon, and fi?ve T-2s. The rest had departed with Thain. Unfortunately, some of his legionnaires were tied up guarding Six, the treacherous Dr. Kelly, and the thirty-six Seebos who remained loyal to the renegade. All of them were seated hip to hip in two rows behind one of their own half-tracks. But there was nothing Santana could do about that as more whistles were heard and the real infantry assault began. “Don’t let them reach the perimeter!” Santana shouted, as he brought his CA-10 up to his shoulder and began to fi?re. “Lupo! Everything outside of a hundred yards belongs to you!”
The quad heard the command via the company push and went to work with all four of his gang-mounted energy cannons. They fi?red in alternating sequence, but so rapidly that the fi?re appeared to be continuous, as iridescent energy bolts sleeted across the free-fi?re zone and carved black swaths through the snow. Dozens of Ramanthians simply ceased to exist, as their bodies were vaporized, and steam fogged the atmosphere.
Meanwhile, closer in, the bio bods, backed by the highly mobile T-2s, were giving a good account of themselves. The vehicle-mounted fi?fties continued to chug methodically, the lighter weapons chattered, and exploding grenades threw columns of dirty snow up into the air as clusters of bugs went down. But like the waves of an incoming tide, Santana saw that each drift of bodies was closer to the perimeter than the last had been, and wondered how much longer they would be able to hold.
Suddenly an airborne Ramanthian was there, descending from above to land directly on top of the log barricade, then the trooper was gone in a brilliant fl?ash of light. The payoff for the trooper’s act of self-sacrifi?ce was a dead legionnaire and a four-foot-wide hole in the camp’s defenses. Both Santana and a force of Ramanthians rushed toward the gap. “Torrez!’
the offi?cer shouted. “Hayashi! To me!”
Both T-2s responded, bringing their considerable fi?repower to bear on a point fi?fty feet out from the newly created hole, and that’s where the oncoming Ramanthians seemed to collide with an invisible wall. They staggered, and fell in heaps, which made it diffi?cult for those behind them to advance. But still the enemy came, wave after wave of them, as if willing to absorb every bullet the defenders had if that was the price of victory. Sergeant Pimm went down when a bullet smashed through his throat, and Hoyt11,791 stepped in to take his place on the fi?ring line. Death owned the valley—and the day had barely begun. Millar’s assignment was simple. He could remember Santana’s exact words: “Find the Ramanthian sonofabitch and kill him!” By which the cavalry offi?cer meant the bug who was directing the attack on the allied encampment. But that was easier said than done. Even though the recon ball had been able to exit the encampment under cover of Dietrich’s smoke screen, his presence had not gone unnoticed. Although the chits didn’t believe in cyborgs, they had robotic remotes, which could be used for reconnaissance missions. And the scout hadn’t traveled more than a thousand yards before one of the pesky machines locked on to his heat signature and began to follow him. That forced Millar to waste valuable time turning around and going after the machine, which—though lightly armed—was highly maneuverable and quite speedy. But, after a three-minute chase, Millar had been able to catch up with the robot and destroy it with a single bolt from his energy cannon. Having resumed his original mission, the cyborg was concealed within a grove of trees peering out into an open meadow located about a mile north of the allied encampment. And what he saw shocked him. Even more Ramanthians were streaming into the open area, where they were formed into the equivalent of platoons before being sent south into the fray! That made the task of killing their commanding offi?cer all the more important. But, while the grouping of what the scout assumed to be offi?cers was within range of his .50-caliber
