if that meant allowing some civilian vessels to escape. The problem, to the extent that there was one, had to do with the question of accuracy. Because based on data provided by Subcommander Nubb, there was very little distance between his troops and enemy forces. Which meant even a small error could have tragic results. So great care was taken while calculating all of the many variables involved. But fi?nally, on an order from Nubb, one of the destroyer’s big guns spoke. An artifi?cial comet was born and slashed down through the atmosphere toward the surface below. Santana recognized the freight-train rumble the moment he heard it. But it was Dietrich who shouted, “Incoming!” and beat the offi?cer into one of the recently improved bunkers. The blue lightning bolt fell on a half-track, blew the vehicle apart, and killed the Seebos who had been stationed at the vehicle’s machine guns. The second bolt punched a hole in the ice-covered lake, brought the surrounding water to a momentary boil, and sent a geyser of steam fi?fty feet into the air. The third impact opened a gap in the southern portion of the defensive wall, erased a Hoyt, and opened a grave in which to bury her remains. Dirt and rocks fell like rain. Then while the allies were still taking shelter in their various holes, the Ramanthians attacked. Fortunately, Sergeant Suresee Fareye, who had been sent to scout the enemy, gave the warning.
“This is Alpha Six-Four. . . . Here they come! Over.”
That brought all the troops back up and most were in place by the time the tsunami of chitin and fl?esh struck. There was no opportunity to think about tactics or give orders because Santana was fi?ghting for his life. A hellish symphony of explosions, gunfi?re, and alien bugle calls were heard as fl?ares threw a ghastly glow over the scene and began their slow descent. The cavalry offi?cer could see hundreds of bugs, all shuffl?ing forward as quickly as they could, determined to roll over the encampment and kill everyone within.
But if the bugs were a wave, the allies were a rock, and the volume of outgoing fi?re was stupendous. Between the cyborgs, each of whom packed fi?repower equivalent to a squad of regular troops, and the newly reinforced bio bods, Alpha Company was an immovable object. And with no soldiers left in reserve, there was nothing Nubb could do, but throw himself at the wall of dead bodies. A valiant thing to do, but largely meaningless, because he was killed within seconds. The assault came to an end fi?ve minutes later, when the heretofore stationary Lupo lurched to his feet, stepped over the grisly barricade, and went on the offensive. With a pack of agile T-2s to protect his fl? anks, the cyborg went bug hunting. The surviving Ramanthians ran. And the results, as summarized by Master Sergeant Dietrich, were nothing less than: “Goddamned wonderful!” Which, all things considered, was pretty good. General Mortimer Kobbi had two recon balls left—and made good use of both as the nine-mile-long column snaked its way toward the west. By plugging into what the airborne cyborgs could see, Kobbi could monitor what was happening from his place near the front of the formation. The good news, if one could call it that, was that because the allied force was 10 percent smaller as it left Yal-Am, it was that much speedier. Or would have been, if it hadn’t been for a long series of Ramanthian-triggered avalanches, well-conceived ambushes, and cleverly hidden mines. As the allies waited for the latest rockslide to be cleared, Kobbi raised his binos. Hundreds of Ramanthian troops could be seen streaming along the tops of ridges to the north and south. The bugs were paralleling the allies, waiting for the chance to close in, and that opportunity was coming. Fifteen miles ahead, at a place called the Ordo gorge, the bugs would have the perfect opportunity to converge on the column as it was forced to cross a narrow two-lane bridge. That was bad enough. But even worse from Kobbi’s point of view was the fact that if the span were blown, the allies would be trapped in the mountains, and cut off from the lowlands to the west. That was where Maylo Chien-Chu and her ragtag fl?eet of yachts, freighters, and other civilian vessels were supposed to pick the soldiers up. But only if the bridge was still in place when the column arrived at the Ordo gorge.
And that was a problem because the little general lacked the fl?y-forms necessary to airlift troops to the span. All of his attempts to send infantry forward had been blocked by a sequence of well-executed ambushes. So the offi?cer felt a sudden sense of jubilation when a familiar voice was heard on the command push. “Alpha Six to Six- One. Over.”
“This is Six-One,” Kobbi replied. “Go. Over.”
“We have him,” Santana said meaningfully. “And the hostages. Over.”
“That’s wonderful,” Kobbi enthused, as he lowered his visor. A series of eye blinks summoned the map he was looking for, the blue “snake” that represented the column, and Alpha Company’s pulsing triangle. Kobbi was thrilled to see that Santana’s company was on the highway ahead, only six miles from the Ordo bridge!
It was impossible to conceal the excitement Kobbi felt as he gave his orders. “I’m sure you’ve been through a lot—but we could use Alpha Company’s help. Proceed six miles due west, take the bridge over the Ordo River, and secure it. We will get there as soon as we can. Over.”
There was a pause as Santana eyed the map projected on the inside surface of his visor, followed by a laconic, “Yes, sir. Alpha Six out.”
Kobbi, who could hardly believe his good luck, removed his helmet and looked up into the lead gray sky. “Thank you, God,” the general said humbly. “Thank you for one more chance.”
Sergeant Suresee Fareye was on point with Private Ka Nhan. Santana, Deker, and three additional T-2s were half a mile back, closely followed by the quad, two surviving half- tracks, and Lieutenant Zolkin’s platoon, a confi?guration that ensured both halves of the company would have leadership if the formation were cut in two.
Having won the battle at the lake and having covered the four miles back to the highway without encountering any Ramanthians, Santana had been hoping to rejoin the main column. But now, as Alpha Company followed the highway west, he understood the dilemma Kobbi faced. The bridge at Ordo gorge was both a choke point and the critical link to the section of the highway that would carry the allies down to the fl?atlands beyond.
The question, to the cavalry offi?cer’s mind at least, was whether the bridge was still in place. And if so, why? General Akoto was a smart old bug—and not the sort of offi?cer to forget a strategic choke point. So if the bridge had been left standing, there was a reason. Or reasons. One of those could be that having been able to defeat the allies, the Ramanthians might want to preserve the bridge, rather than being forced to construct a new one.
But whatever the truth, Santana knew he would fi?nd out soon enough. Meanwhile, of more immediate concern were the Ramanthian troops clearly visible to the north and south. They were traveling along the ridgetops, which, according to the topo map projected onto the cavalry offi?cer’s HUD, were going to converge a half mile east of the bridge!
Which meant the bugs were going where he was going. A very unpleasant prospect indeed. Especially if the chits got there fi?rst. Which, had more of them been able to fl?y, they almost certainly would have. “This is Alpha Six,” Santana said, over the company push. “Let’s pick up the pace. Out.”
There was snow and ice to contend with, plus burned-out wrecks that had to be pushed out of the way so the half-tracks could squeeze through, but the weary troops did their best. Most were operating on no more than three hours’ sleep, hadn’t had a proper meal in two days, and many had wounds sustained during the battle by the lake.
The legionnaire’s thoughts were interrupted by Fareye’s voice on the radio. “The bridge is intact, sir,” the Naa said as he examined the surrounding bluffs. “But I’m not sure why. Over.”
