But Master Sergeant Dice Dietrich had a solution for that and was busy supervising repairs. Having decided that there wasn’t enough time to fell more trees and drag them into po- sition, the noncom was making use of dead Ramanthians instead. There were hundreds of them, most of whom were rockhard, and made excellent building blocks. The trick was to alternate the way the corpses were stacked to add stability. Of course every now and then the master sergeant’s work detail would come across a bug who was badly wounded, and unconscious, or not so badly wounded and hoping to escape notice. The solution was the same in either case. Such individuals were shot before being added to the steadily growing defensive wall, where some of them seemed to stare out at the world through frosty cataracts. Dietrich was helping one of the CVAs hoist a Ramanthian noncom onto the north section of the barricade when Santana arrived. “There,” Dietrich said, as he stepped back to admire his work. “The wall is a lot thicker—and I like a tidy battlefi?eld.”
Santana couldn’t help but grin. “I’ll make a note in your next performance review. ‘While often drunk, and frequently disrespectful, Master Sergeant Dietrich insists on a tidy battlefi?eld.’ ”
“That’s a fair assessment,” the legionnaire agreed cheerfully. “I’ll take it!”
Santana felt a snowfl?ake kiss his nose and shoved his hands farther into his pockets. “They’re going to hit us hard.”
The noncom nodded soberly. “I know.”
“If I fall, give Lieutenant Zolkin all the support you can. And if he falls, then save as many people as possible.”
The possibility that he could wind up in command hadn’t occurred to Dietrich until then. It was a depressing prospect.
“Don’t be silly, sir,” the noncom replied lightly. “You’re too mean to die! The lieutenant and I will have to get our promotions the hard way.”
The conversation was interrupted as Private Kay Kaimo arrived on the scene. She had been assigned to guard the Seebos and was coming off duty. “Excuse me, sir,” the legionnaire said politely. “But Colonel Six would like a word with you.”
Santana raised an eyebrow. “Really? About what?”
Kaimo shook her head. “I don’t know, sir. The colonel didn’t say.”
“Okay,” Santana replied. “Thanks.”
“Keep up the good work,” Santana said, as he turned back to Dietrich. “Although I would prefer to have the enemy bodies stacked according to regiment next time.”
“Screw you, sir,” the noncom replied. “And the cyborg you rode in on.”
Santana laughed and made his way over to one of four well-screened campfi?res. That’s where Colonel Six and his Seebos sat huddled around a crackling blaze. It was dark by then, which meant that more than thirty nearly identical faces were all lit by the same fl?ickering glow. Two legionnaires were present as well—their assault weapons at the ready. One of the clones stood expectantly—and Santana motioned him forward. Six was badly in need of a shave—
and snowfl?akes had started to accumulate on his shoulders. The offi?cer’s tone was humble. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”
Santana shrugged. “You’re welcome. . . . What’s on your mind?”
Six stared into the legionnaire’s eyes. “The Ramanthians will attack tonight.”
“That possibility had occurred to me,” Santana replied dryly.
“And they’re going to win,” Six predicted. “Unless you get reinforcements—which both of us know you won’t. So turn us loose!” he said hurriedly. “We’ll fi?ght beside you. And I think you’ll agree that thirty-six additional soldiers could make a big difference.”
“Yes, they could,” Santana agreed soberly. “But what happens later on? When the battle is over?”
“We’ll lay down our arms,” Six promised. “Or keep them if need be—under your command.”
“It sounds good,” Santana admitted. “But no thanks. . . . I wouldn’t trust you farther than I could throw a half- track.”
“You don’t have to trust me,” the other man replied earnestly. His voice was pitched so low that the other Seebos couldn’t hear. “You have someone that means a lot to me and I wouldn’t leave here without.”
“Dr. Kelly?”
“Exactly,” the clone agreed defi?antly.
The offer was tempting. Very tempting. Because thirtysix additional defenders would make an important difference. Especially given the fact that the Seebos were crack troops. Literally bred to fi?ght—and tough as nails. But the colonel was accused of murder.
Still, the Legion had the means to keep potentially rebellious cyborgs under control, so why not use a similar technique on Six? Not too surprisingly the clone objected to the concept Santana put forward. But, if the Seebo wanted to live, he had very little choice. Sergeant Jose Ramos was something of a genius where explosives were concerned, and it was he who came up with the combination leg shackle and bomb. A tidy little device that Santana, Zolkin, or Dietrich could trigger remotely anytime one of them chose to do so. It wouldn’t kill Six, not immediately, but it would blow his right foot off. Suddenly, what had been a seemingly hopeless situation, was just a little bit better.
The animals had been weakened during the previous day. Subcommander Jaos Nubb knew that. So rather than take the more measured approach that his dead predecessor had—Nubb had chosen to send all his troops in at once. The majority of them were members of the much vaunted Death Hammer Regiment and therefore among the most valiant soldiers the empire had to offer. So it was with a sense of confi?dence that the offi?cer led his troops into battle. And simultaneously called upon his secret weapon, which was in orbit one thousand three hundred miles above the planet’s surface.
The Star Taker had been busy of late, chasing dozens of little ships and snuffi?ng them out of existence, so the ship’s crew welcomed the opportunity to settle into orbit and fi?re on some ground coordinates for a change—even
