Legion Of The Damned - 02 - The Final Battle (36 page)

Still, there was an almost palpable feeling of authority in the room, and Chrobuck felt tiny beads of sweat pop out on her forehead, and was about to wipe them away when St. James replaced the handset. He smiled. “Sorry about that, Lieutenant. I don’t know who frightens me the most, the homicidal Hudathans, or our own supply people. Lord knows both are out to get us.”

Chrobuck laughed in spite of herself. She knew St. James was putting her at ease and appreciated the effort. “Yes, sir. I know what you mean.”

St. James perched on a corner of his desk. His face grew serious. “I’m sorry about what happened on Jericho. We sent a relief force as soon as we could. It should have arrived by now. I hope it catches the bastards red-handed and erases them from the face of the cosmos. You’ll be interested to know that two of Worthington’s message torps made it through. The last one made mention of Hudathan cyborgs and the fact that you would be coming our way. Have you got something for me?”

Chrobuck nodded miserably and pulled a tiny data disk out of her belt pouch. It was just like her commanding officer to let St. James know that she was coming and thereby prevent any possibility that she would be treated as a deserter. She handed him the disk. “Yes, sir. The colonel sent you this.”

St. James took the disk, walked over to a wall-mounted holo player, and slipped it in. The room lights dimmed, colors chased each other through the air, and an image appeared. It was Colonel Wesley Worthington. He was on the edge of exhaustion but still managed a crooked smile. “Hello, Ian, you old bastard. If you’re watching this then Lieutenant Chrobuck made it through. Take care of her . . . she’s one helluva fine officer.”

It was then that Worthington consulted some handwritten notes and launched into his report. He narrated some video of the Hudathan cyborgs, provided an analysis of their strengths and weaknesses, and sketched in what he knew about the enemy task force.

It was a masterful briefing and during the last part of the report Chrobuck had the rather unsettling experience of watching herself retreat to the ridge, get hit, and fall. She was grateful when the holo collapsed and the lights came up. St. James looked grim.

“Hearing
about the Hudathan cyborgs and
seeing
them in action are two different things. No wonder the geeks have done so well. You did the Confederacy a great service, Lieutenant. This holo is just what we need to obtain more resources and kick certain programs into high gear. I’m just sorry that we paid such a high price to get it.”

Chrobuck nodded and stood. She fought to control the flood of tears that threatened to come. “Thank you, sir. Will there be anything else?”

St. James looked thoughtful. “I’m no shrink, but I’d say you need some time off, but not too much. Report to the BOQ. I’ll find you a slot. Lord knows it won’t be difficult. We need every officer we can get. Any requests?”

Chrobuck came to attention. Her salute was as crisp as she could make it. “Sir, yes, sir. I would prefer an infantry assignment if that’s possible.”

St. James nodded and returned her salute. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Chrobuck did an about-face and was halfway to the door when the general spoke again. “One more thing, Lieutenant . . .”

The younger officer turned. “Sir?”

“I’m putting you in for the Legion of Valor. It’s the least I can do after what you did on Jericho. The joint chiefs will have to pass on it but my recommendations are generally approved.”

Chrobuck swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. She knew the
real
heros lay dead on Jericho. And she knew that it would always be like this. The dead are dead; the living go on living. She forced a smile. “Thank you, sir.”

The horribly wounded sergeant major appeared out of nowhere, escorted her to the anteroom door, and called another name. A major stood, checked his uniform in the mirror, and entered behind her. The officers’ club was due for a party . . . and there were questions about the guest list.

 

They had climbed steadily upwards through another two-hour-and-forty-two-minute day. The ravine had played out long ago and given way to an ancient trail. It switchbacked endlessly upwards and vanished between two peaks. The sun had risen in the east and threw pink light across the mountains known as the Towers of Algeron. Some of the peaks reached more than eighty thousand feet into the sky, higher than Everest on Earth, or Olympic Mons on Mars.

In fact they were so massive that they would sink through Terra’s planetary crust. Except that Algeron was different from Earth. The centrifugal force created by the planet’s short rotation had created a larger-than-normal bulge at the equator. A bulge so huge that it had turned into a mountain range, which due to the gravity differential that existed between the two poles, weighed only half what it would on Terra.

With the added altitude the air had grown steadily colder, and Booly, only half-warmed by his proximity to the Trooper II’s body, wished he had thought to bring a parka. But the temperature, and the fact that his platoon was bone tired, was nothing compared to the worry. What was happening? And why hadn’t he heard from Parker by now? He knew this trail, knew that it would lead him up through the same pass that had witnessed countless ambushes during the last five hundred years, and had no wish to add to the makeshift graveyard that had long been established there. Booly remembered the patches
of snow that never melted, the green-yellow lichen that grew on the heavily weathered stones, and felt a shiver run down his spine. Should he continue? Or turn back? The wind whistled down off the glaciers and knifed through his clothes.

 

Thanks to the fact that the officer thought he was in pursuit of everyday bandits, and had no idea that he had been selected
the
target, his efforts to defend against a full-scale ambush would be wasted. All Nightkiller needed was one clean shot and the whole thing would be over. The officer would collapse, his platoon would fire in every direction, collect the body, and withdraw. Nice, clean, and straightforward. The way all murders
should
be handled but seldom were. Yes, the bandit thought to himself as he withdrew the specially crafted rifle from the carefully greased scabbard, bra
ins over brawn. It works every time.

With his cohorts placed to provide supporting fire should it become necessary, Nightkiller placed the rifle across his back, and climbed up through the jumble of rocks. Once near the top, he slowed rather than break the skyline, moved sideways until he found a gap between two boulders, and pulled the weapon into position.

It was chambered for hand-loaded 7.62-millimeter ammunition. The clip held twenty rounds but one would be enough. The rifle had a custom-shaped butt, an adjustable trigger mechanism, and a high-quality 1.5 X 6 day/night scope.

The bandit snuggled against the cold brown wood, peered into the scope, found the point where the trail made a long, slanty line against the opposite slope, and traced it back to a stand of wind-twisted trees. A scout stepped out in front of Nightkiller’s cross hairs, scanned the surrounding slopes through a pair of olive drab binoculars, and stopped.

The would-be assassin felt his heart skip a beat as the other Naa looked directly into his scope. Then, after ten or fifteen seconds, the scout turned away. What, if anything, had he seen? Nightkiller held his breath as the legionnaire said something into his boom mike and another figure appeared. The all-clear! Good. The waiting was nearly over. The bandit pulled the sling around his elbow for additional stability, locked his cross hairs onto a spot just beyond the trees, and settled down to wait. It wouldn’t be long.

 

Parker, now known as
Gunnery Sergeant
Parker, leaned backwards to the point where the swivel chair threatened to topple over, smiled, and opened the com link. “Delta Base to Honcho One. Over.” A bevy of technicians, all privy to what was going on, gathered behind him. They had worked hard to prepare a surprise party for the bandits and wanted to be there for the climax.

Booly, squinting up into momentary sunshine, answered. “Honcho One here . . . go.”

Parker scanned the monitors in front of him. Only one of the images mattered and that was the one that showed Easytalk Nightkiller from behind. The minisat, on temporary loan from the Navy, would soon be out of position. Another tac-eye would be along in about five minutes, but a lot could happen in five minutes, and Parker wanted closure now.

“We have a hole in the cloud cover. The subjects are in sight. They are approximately one mile southeast of your position. One bandit appears ready to fire on your column. He has eight bio bods in reserve. Request permission to fire.”

Booly frowned. One bandit positioned to fire? With eight in reserve? It didn’t make sense. An ambush would require all eight of them, and more, if they hoped to win. So what was going on? A hunting party, perhaps? Traders crossing the pass? A mistake would be horrible. He imagined pencil-thin energy beams slicing down out of the sky, the smell of singed fur, and bodies burned beyond all recognition. Bodies like his mother’s, his uncle’s, or any number of other relatives’.

Booly knew that most if not all of his brother and sister officers would presume that the Naa were guilty, would give the order without hesitation, and shrug helplessly if they were wrong. Because in spite of their valor during the first war, and in spite of their acceptance into the Legion since that time, the vast majority of humans saw the Naa as geeks. Parker sounded tense. “Delta Base to Honcho One. Cloud cover closing. Request permission to fire.”

Booly opened his mouth and found that the words came of their own volition. “Honcho One to Delta Base. Permission denied. Repeat . . . permission denied.”

Parker pulled his hand away from a button and leaned back in his chair. His face was expressionless. A tech said, “Aw, shit. We had the geeks right where we wanted them and the captain lets them go! Maybe what I heard was right . . . maybe he takes after his mother.”

The swivel chair squeaked as it turned. No one saw Parker pull the pistol, it just appeared in his hand. The tech looked down the barrel and straight into the jaws of hell. The gunnery sergeant smiled. It was not a pretty sight. “Yes, as a matter of fact the captain
does
take after his mother. Have you got a problem with that?”

 

The sunlight disappeared as the clouds closed in. In spite the fact that the Naa
might
be innocent hunters Booly doubted that they were. There were too many of them, for one thing, especially since there was damned little game at the
se elevations. No, they were up to something, all right, and he wanted to know what it was. The exchange with Parker had taken place on the command channel, which meant that his scouts were unaware of the danger. He switched to the team frequency. The platoon had continued uphill and he adjusted the range accordingly. “Honcho One to Honcho team . . . We have what might be hostiles three-quarters of a mile southeast of our position. Trooper Ils close on me . . . we’re going in.

“Squads Two and Three will take cover and fire on my command. Squad One will turn and guard our rear. Quad One will Support Squad One.”

Booly heard three acknowledgments as the squad leaders checked in, saw three Trooper Ils close in around him, and pointed upwards. “The trail switchbacks up ahead and curves to the right. The hostiles are on the other side of the valley about halfway up. They’ll have a clean shot at us the moment we clear those wind-bent trees. The faster we go the less bullets we take. Questions?”

There were no questions so Booly gave the order to move, and hung on for dear life. A Trooper II could achieve speeds of up to fifty miles per hour flat out, and even though she was moving uphill, Helmo was up to thirty-five miles per hour in no time at all. But the ride was far from smooth and it took strength, skill, and a harness to hang on.

Booly felt a strange sense of exhilaration as they left the shelter of the trees and broke into the open. Maybe this was the way ancient warriors had felt as they rode into battle. Their dooths thundering towards the enemy, their swords slicing through crisp mountain air, and their comrades to either side. Energy flowed through the legionnaire’s body as he moved to the rhythms of his cybernetic mount and a long, echoing war cry flowed from his lips.

 

The sudden appearance of the Trooper IIs caught Nightkiller by surprise. He had served in the Legion himself so it took little more than a second for the bandit to realize that he was under surveillance by a tac-eye. Maybe the breed was smarter than he seemed.

The bandit resisted the temptation to look up into the sky and hunched his shoulders against the energy beam that might or might not come. All he needed to do was stay calm, lead the first cyborg like so, take a deep breath, release it ever so slowly, and squeeze the trigger. The report and resulting recoil seemed like an afterthought. Nightkiller watched and waited for the officer to slump against his harness.

 

Booly felt tiny bits of hot metal pepper his face, heard a clang, followed by the sound of a distant rifle shot. Helmo’s brain case was dimpled where the slug had hit. He yelled into his mike. “Honcho One to Honcho team . . . We are taking fire from high to the right! Hose ’em down!”

Nightkiller threw himself backwards as the legionnaires opened fire. Their automatic weapons made a sound similar to ripping cloth, and rocket-propelled grenades thumped all around. The bandit abandoned all thoughts of completing his mission and concentrated on a successful escape instead. Speed was of the essence. A boot slipped on lichen-covered rock. He fell, landed wrong, and swore as pain lanced up through his leg, and called for help. “Rockthrow! Perkins! Give me a hand!”

Dooths grunted, gear clanked, and rocks flew away from hooves as his followers hauled themselves up onto their saddles and headed towards the pass. None would meet his eyes. Nightkiller hobbled after them. “Wait! Wait, damn it!”