Kobbi had access to the company push, so he understood as well. “The bastard has us by the balls,” the little offi?cer said, as he dropped to the ground. His breath fogged the ozone-tinged air and ice crunched under his boots. Santana resisted the impulse to salute, knew that could identify the general to any snipers lurking about, and nodded instead as Fareye called in. “Yes, sir. Hold one. I read you, Six-Four. Maintain visual contact but pull back.” There was a double click by way of a reply.
“Don’t tell me. Let me guess,” Kobbi put in. The bugs have explosives on the bridge.”
“Yes, sir,” Santana agreed. “Except that—” The sentence was interrupted by a resounding boom, quickly followed by a second, equally loud explosion, and numerous echoes. Both men turned to look at the bridge, but it was still there and apparently undamaged. That was when a dirty, unshaven Seebo hoisted himself up over the rail, spotted the offi?cers, and made his way over. The clone had a big grin on his face. “It worked like a charm!” he said enthusiastically. “We cut both packages free at the same time, the bugs saw them fall, and blooey! The charges went off about halfway down.”
Both of Kobbi’s bushy eyebrows rose. “And you are?”
“This is Colonel Six,” Santana put in. “Colonel Six—this is General Kobbi.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Kobbi said, as he turned to Santana. “The last time we met he was a general! You let him run around loose?”
The last was directed at Santana, who smiled grimly. “So long as he behaves himself. And, truth be told, the colonel and his Seebos fought bravely over the last couple of days.”
“I’m gratifi?ed to hear it,” Kobbi said gravely. “And I’m sure that will be taken into consideration during the courtmartial. But this is now. Can we cross the bridge?”
“Yes, sir,” Six said defi?nitively. “It will hold.”
“It better,” the little general growled. “I’m sending another quad across. Plus two squads of T-2s. Together they should be able to make short work of the battalion that’s coming up from the west. Alpha Company will remain in place until everyone is across. At that point you can bring those T-2s down off the ridges and cross the bridge. Once you’re on the west side, my people will blow the span. Any questions? No? Well done, Captain. . . . Thank you, Colonel. Let’s get to work.”
Having been ordered to remain in place until the entire column passed over the bridge, most of Alpha Company played no part in the ensuing battle, as General Kobbi’s column went head-to-head with four Gantha tanks and a battalion of Ramanthian regulars. Their job was to keep the bugs from coming down off the ridges, which the T-2s managed to do, until Santana ordered them down onto the highway. Then, with Ramanthians right behind them, it was time for the legionnaires to withdraw to the far side of the span. A team of demolition experts from the 2nd REI had been left behind to drop the bridge into the river below, which the le- gionnaires did the moment some overeager chits attempted to cross.
With that accomplished Santana led his company down the twisting, turning highway, and it wasn’t long before they began to see evidence of what had been a bloody battle. As expected, the Gantha tanks had been no match for two quads and a pack of voracious T-2s. Santana smiled grimly as Deker carried him past the partially slagged wrecks, one of which was topped by a Ramanthian tank commander who had been cooked in place. A wisp of smoke issued from his hooked beak as the company commander rode past. What lay beyond was even more gruesome. Because without any armor to protect them from the oncoming cyborgs, and with no avenue of escape, the Ramanthian infantry had been slaughtered. Those warriors who had been killed along the edges of the road lay where they had fallen, their bodies piled in drifts, but all facing the enemy. A testimony to their courage. The rest of the bugs, those who went down toward the center of the highway, weren’t recognizable anymore. Not after being crushed by quads and chopped to bits by a succession of tracked vehicles. The result was a bloody porridge made of equal parts blood, chitin, and snow. It was dark red at fi?rst, and thick with body parts, but began to thin somewhat as Alpha Company followed the road through a curve. The muck was merely pink by that time, and remained so as they passed through what had been a roadblock but was little more than scattered rubble by then.
The highway turned white after that, as it entered a long series of switchbacks, leading down to the partially forested fl?atlands below. All of the allies were exhausted, most having fought for days with only hours of sleep, but Santana heard no complaints. The word was out by then. Ships were landing, and everyone who could walk, hop, or crawl to the LZ would be pulled out. And none of the soldiers wanted to be left behind.
So the main column traveled day and night, and Alpha Company did likewise, until fi?nally, after seventeen hours of nearly nonstop travel, Santana led his road-weary troops into what had already been dubbed “the doughnut,” by the mixed force of CVAs, legionnaires, and marines who were responsible for the facility.
The doughnut, or landing zone (LZ), was located on mostly level ground and was approximately one mile across. Heavy equipment had been used to dig a deep ditch around the outer perimeter, intended to keep Ganthas out, and slow the Ramanthian infantry. Consideration had been given to building a berm along the circular ditch, which would have been relatively easy to do, given all the dirt removed from what some of the allies called “the moat.”
But Kobbi nixed that idea, pointing out that once the allies were forced to fall back, the bugs would cross the ditch, and take cover behind the raised earthworks. So the dirt had been trucked into the landing zone’s interior, where a berm made sense, so the troops would have something to hide behind as the size of the overall force continued to shrink. And the evacuation process was already under way as a marine guide led Alpha Company across acres of heavily churned muck. “Look at that, sir!” Dietrich exclaimed, as repellers roared and a tramp freighter lowered itself into the so-called doughnut hole. “That ain’t no assault boat. . . . It’s an intersystem rust bucket!”
“Who cares?” Santana countered, raising his voice so others could hear. “So long as it can fl?y. And you’ve been on our troopships. . . . I’ll take the freighter!”
That got a laugh, and the comment soon made the rounds. But Santana was concerned. As the civilian ships continued to arrive, he saw that many of them were so old, or so small, that they made the fi?rst freighter look like a passenger liner. Still, something was better than nothing, or so the cavalry offi?cer told himself as he was forced to confront the latest challenge. Alpha Company had been ordered to plug a hole on the east side of the doughnut between elements of the 13th DBLE
and the 1st Marine Division, both of which had suffered heavy casualties in Yal-Am. In fact, most of their neighbors looked like hollow-cheeked scarecrows as they interrupted their work long enough to wave at the newcomers and shout friendly insults. There was plenty of work to do, because like the outfi?ts to either side of it, the company was responsible for its own defenses. So with only a few hours of daylight left to them, it was important to dig fi?ring pits, excavate communicating trenches, and fi?ll newly created bunkers with ammo. Fortunately, the legionnaires could speed the process by replacing the graspers that the T-2s normally wore with
“shovel hands” that enabled the cyborgs to dig trenches in a fraction of the time that a team of bio bods would
