Andromeda's Fall (Legion of the Damned) (20 page)

And slowing progress even more was the need to stop for lunch, which they did right at the point where a poorly maintained track led off into a tangle of vegetation and disappeared. The Grays were ordered to establish a defensive perimeter, and rations were issued.

That was when Oxby, Jivv, the FTD, and three bio bods from the Echo Company’s third platoon followed the parallel ruts back into the bush. They were looking for Intel, but McKee figured it was going to be a waste of time, and said as much to Larkin.

Fifteen minutes later, she was forced to eat her words as the party returned with a wizened-looking human in tow. His head was surrounded by a halo of frizzy gray hair, and he was dressed in bush clothing. The man carried a scope-mounted rifle, suggesting that he was one of the hunters who eked out a living along the margins of the Big Green.

McKee wasn’t privy to the conversation that ensued between the local, Spurlock, Jivv, Oxby, and a gaggle of officers that included Captain Avery. But once the session was over, she saw Oxby give the hunter a case of rations, which he hoisted onto a shoulder and carried into the bush. “He’ll be sorry,” Chiba predicted, and the others laughed.

Later, as the scan percolated down through the ranks, McKee learned that a convoy consisting of four fancy off-road vehicles had passed through two and a half days earlier. The group didn’t stop, so the hunter hadn’t spoken to them, but there wasn’t much doubt as to who the “city folks” were. It appeared the battalion was on the right track.

The afternoon was a long, slow affair. But eventually the rain stopped, the sun came out, and McKee removed her slicker. That made the trek more pleasant, as did the knowledge that the battalion would be forced to stop pretty soon. Although it wasn’t until the orange-red sun was resting on the very edge of the western horizon that Spurlock finally called a halt next to a small stream.

But before anyone could plop down next to the stream and eat dinner, it was first necessary to establish a defensive perimeter. That was accomplished by using the trucks, the Scorpions, and the command car to create a laager. The Grays were ordered to dig defensive firing positions two hundred feet out from the vehicles, and with T-1s patrolling the area beyond, the battalion was ready for the night.

Thanks to the luck of the draw, McKee’s squad wasn’t due to walk the perimeter until 0300, which meant they could grab about six hours of uninterrupted sleep. Not ideal, but better than the poor slobs on the 1100 to 0100 watch, who would have to get up and pull a couple of hours of guard duty before hitting the sack.

So McKee crawled into her tent as soon as she could, got into the sleep sack with most of her clothes on, and checked to make sure that the AXE was within reach. Then she lay there for a minute or two, wondering if the screech produced by a cyber tech’s power wrench was going to be a problem, only to wake up five and a half hours later to the gentle
beep, beep, beep
of her wrist chrono. Then it was time to brush her teeth, take a pee at the female latrine, and grab a cup of glutinous coffee from the pot in the mess tent.

With those things accomplished, McKee walked over to the point where the squad was supposed to assemble, discovered that Larkin was MIA, and was forced to go looking for him. He was none too pleased when she pulled him away from a card game in the supply sergeant’s tent—and even less so when she informed him that he would be digging shit holes that evening.

After relieving a squad from the second platoon, McKee led her people out into the surrounding darkness. Their job was to detect potential enemies
before
they could attack the battalion, neutralize them or, failing that, slow them down.

She ordered the T-1s to crank their sensors up to max and began what promised to be a boring watch. Her squad had responsibility for half of the perimeter. That meant they ran into their counterparts occasionally. But with that exception, the next hour passed uneventfully. Then, as the second hour began, Chiba’s T-1 spotted something. “This is Echo-Four-Seven. I have three heat sigs north of my position at approximately two o’clock. Over.”

McKee had been daydreaming and felt guilty about it as the transmission cleared her mind. “Roger that . . . Hold your position and continue to track them.”

The call sign for the bat command post was Papa-Eight. So when she relayed the information, it was to whatever officer had the duty at that moment. “Echo-Four to Papa-Eight. We have three heat sigs in the northwest quadrant of the perimeter. Request permission to investigate. Over.”

It was Captain Avery’s voice that answered. “This is Papa-Eight . . . Permission granted. I’ll give you some light. Over.”

The flares shot up into the inky blackness, popped, and threw dark shadows as they drifted down. McKee felt her heart pound as Weber followed Chiba and his T-1 into the bush. Branches whipped past her shoulders, and she was forced to duck lest some low-hanging limb smash into her visor. “This is Echo-Four-Seven. The heat signatures are fading. Wait a minute . . . What’s
this
?”

As McKee rode Weber into the small clearing where Chiba and his cyborg were standing, she could see what they saw, thanks to the wash of light from the flares and helmets. A sapling had been cut off shoulder high so that the human head could be placed on it. There was no mistaking the halo of gray hair or the leathery face. McKee was looking at the hunter who had spoken to Spurlock, Oxby, and Jivv the day before. The sight turned her stomach.

Suddenly, Avery and his T-1 were there to add even more illumination to the scene. “So somebody’s watching us,” Avery said reflectively. “The question is who? The rebs or the Droi?”

The FTD was summoned. It sniffed the head, scanned the ground, and took minute samples. But when the process was over, the machine wasn’t able to tell the humans anything they didn’t already know.

As the sun rose, the head was given a burial next to the road, a metal marker was driven into the ground, and the battalion departed. The marching order was the same, it was a nice day, and it wasn’t long before McKee had adjusted to the now-familiar rhythm of Weber’s movements.

Because there were some false alarms during the first few hours, everyone was on edge. But the fears began to fade as miles passed and the sun rose higher in the sky. Drones passed over occasionally but had nothing of substance to report.

Then, after a brief stop for lunch, the battalion ran into the first problem of the day. A river designated as 6452 flowed west to east, was at least three feet deep, and running along at a very good clip. That was the bad news. The good news was that a sturdy-looking wooden bridge offered an easy way to cross it. But was it safe to do so? The battalion came to a halt as the brass discussed the situation. The first platoon was on point again, which meant McKee was close enough to hear some of the conversation.

Spurlock was in favor of sending a Scorpion over. Then, if it survived, the rest of the battalion would follow. Avery thought the plan was too risky and pointed out that if they lost an armored car, they would be losing its offensive/defensive capabilities as well, making the entire unit more vulnerable. McKee had the feeling that Spurlock would have rolled right over him had the legionnaire been a Gray. But the militia officer knew Colonel Rylund was likely to side with one of his own—so he let Avery have his way. Even if the decision was delivered with a grudging, “All right get on with it then . . . But remember. Time is of the essence.”

A few moments later Kaylor and her T-1 appeared at McKee’s side. The platoon leader’s visor was raised, and she was smiling. “Can you swim?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Captain Avery thinks it would be a good idea to take a look at the underside of the bridge before we cross it. And I told him that you were expendable. Keep an eye out for explosives—and watch the current. Oh, and one other thing, Captain Avery will be riding shotgun via your helmet cam.”

Why us?
McKee wondered. The expendable thing was a joke. Or so she assumed. Had Avery requested her? Or had the choice been Kaylor’s? She would never know. All she could do was say, “Yes, ma’am.”

Weber gave his fifty to another ’borg in order to keep his graspers free. The T-1 followed a gently sloping beach down to the fast-flowing river. The water broke white around the beams that held the bridge up. And as Weber waded out into the flow, McKee stared up into a maze of crisscrossing supports. Captain Avery’s voice sounded in her helmet. “Be on the lookout for command-detonated explosives, a mine hooked to a pressure plate on the bridge deck, or something more primitive. Like partially sawed through timbers for example. Stay sharp. Over.”

“Roger that, sir. Nothing so far.”

The next voice she heard was Weber’s. He was speaking over their intercom rather than the squad push. “The current is pretty strong. Be ready to bail if I go down.”

The water was up to McKee’s knees by then, and it was
cold
. Weber was correct. It wouldn’t feel very good if the cyborg fell on top of her. But the alternative wasn’t all that attractive either. Once free of the harness, and in the frigid water, she would be swept downstream into the rock garden below. “Thanks, but no thanks,” McKee replied. “Stay vertical please.”

They were out in the middle of the river by then, with Weber leaning into the current, as McKee studied the beams above. They were clear insofar as she could see—but what about the topmost surfaces? They were invisible. She chinned her mike. “Echo-Four to Echo-Nine . . . Over.”

Avery was quick to respond. “This is Nine. Go. Over.”

“I know the FTD wasn’t designed to provide surveillance,” McKee replied, “but maybe you could use it to get a top-down look at those beams. Over.”

There was a pause, as if Avery and the other officers were discussing the idea, followed by a burp of static. “This is Nine. Good idea. Over.”

McKee felt a momentary sense of pleasure, but it was short-lived as Weber put his left foot into the crevice between two rocks and fell sideways. She had her hand on the harness release when the T-1 slammed into a vertical support. Fortunately, he was able to grab hold of it and keep from falling farther. Then, when he had regained his footing, they were able to continue.

Meanwhile, the FTD was flying above them and darting in and out as Avery and the others monitored what it “saw.” Five minutes later, McKee and Weber emerged from the river and made their way up onto the south bank. She knew people could see her but felt obliged to make a final report. “This is Echo-Four. I saw no explosives or signs of sabotage. Over.”

McKee heard a
click
, as if Avery had opened his mike with Spurlock talking in the background. “I hope you’re satisfied, Captain. We would be ten or fifteen miles down the road by now if it weren’t for this nonsense.”

Then Avery spoke. His voice was empty of emotion. “This is Nine. Copy that Four. Over.”

McKee felt sorry for Avery. Checking the bridge had been the right thing to do. She felt certain of it. But Spurlock was in command, so it was
his
opinion that mattered.

It was only a matter of minutes before the first platoon crossed the bridge, followed by the command car, and the first Scorpion. Then, with no warning other than a muted
crump
, the second armored car took a direct hit and blew up. Fortunately, the intervals were such that the vehicles ahead of and behind the Scorpion suffered only minor damage.

McKee was still trying to understand it, still wondering how she had missed seeing the explosive charge, when Kaylor shouted “Mortar!” over the platoon push, and Avery called for counterfire. Each cyborg was equipped with a variety of sensors plus an onboard computer that could be networked with all the rest. So what one of their processors knew,
all
of them knew. Lighting-fast calculations took place, targeting data was uploaded to four shoulder-mounted SLMs, and the rockets sleeted into the air a few seconds later.

The explosions overlapped each other to create a muted roar, smoke billowed up into the sky about half a mile to the south, and the incoming fire stopped as suddenly as it had begun. But the damage had been done. A Scorpion had been destroyed, four marines were dead, and one was wounded. McKee watched with a heavy heart as the second armored car pushed what remained of the first off the bridge so that the rest of the battalion could get through.

“The bastards had the bridge preregistered,” Kaylor said bitterly as she and her cyborg stopped next to McKee and Weber. “All they had to do was wait for a juicy target. And, so long as there were only two or three of them, the drones wouldn’t be able to pick their heat signatures out from the surrounding clutter.” McKee, who was still learning tactics and strategy, took the comment for what it was: a lesson.

There were questions, however, including who had fired the mortar, and why. The answers came half an hour later when the FTD returned from the point where the SLMs had landed to report that human remains were scattered about the site. The robot estimated that there had been three of them—but wasn’t absolutely sure given the extent of the carnage.

That suggested that, after Naoto Jones passed through, a trap had been laid for the purpose of delaying any pursuit. And it worked. Because by the time the marines were buried, and some minor repairs were made to the bridge, half a day had been lost.

The good news, if any, was that Avery had been correct about the bridge. Not the exact nature of the threat. But right nevertheless. That was cold comfort however.

The rest of the day went well until one of the trucks broke down. After some diagnostic work, the techs announced that they could fix the problem in two hours. But having been subject to so much delay, Spurlock refused to wait. So Avery was forced to leave the third squad, second platoon, to defend the truck while the rest of the battalion continued south. “Well, we ducked that shit detail,” Weber said as the first platoon fell in behind the last truck.

“Yeah,” McKee agreed. “Now we get to walk drag. We’re the lucky ones.”