Andromeda's War (Legion of the Damned Book 3) (30 page)

“This is Six,” Remy said sternly. “Do
not
fire on that shuttle . . . I repeat, do
not
fire on the shuttle. Over.” And McKee understood. Now that the shuttle had landed, they had to assume that Ophelia was on board.

Meanwhile, Condor and two additional fighters had arrived and were fighting aerial duels. A Human ship took a hit and a chute appeared. Then the Tachyon rolled and burped fire. McKee didn’t get to watch the plane corkscrew into the desert floor because Remy had arrived. He was mounted on Private Kane. “It won’t get any better than this, McKee . . . Attack now.”

McKee nodded. “Roger that, sir.” Then she spoke to the platoon. “This is One. Stand by . . . We’re going in. Over.”

McKee stood, waved Bartov forward, and gave the order for the mortars to fire. Gray smoke billowed into the air as shells whistled over her head and exploded along the line of attack. McKee urged her people forward while Bartov carried her over to the point where Huzz and three hundred handpicked warriors were waiting. “Now!” McKee yelled into her translator. “We attack
now
!”

Huzz swung up onto his zurna and blew a note through his battle horn. His warriors surged around him. Then Huzz waved his rifle, and the combined force of Paguumis and legionnaires raced into the swirling smoke.

An order was given somewhere inside the fort, and the cannons began to fire. The Hudathan gunners couldn’t see but didn’t need to. The war cries and death cries were indistinguishable from each other. McKee shouted with all the rest and felt a strange joy as she led a mad dash through smoke and fire straight into the enemy cannons. Not because she believed in the cause but because she was riding with the Legion of the Damned, and they were charging the gates of hell.

—

Admiral Nola-Ba grabbed Ophelia’s arm and pulled her onto the lift. The sounds of battle grew steadily louder as it rose. Once the platform came to a halt, troopers were there to open the hatch. Ophelia was forced to squint as she stepped out onto the roof. It was hot, and a cloud of acrid smoke prevented her from seeing much, but she could hear the steady rattle of gunfire. Her forces had arrived! They were trying to rescue her!

Ophelia tried to jerk free of Nola-Ba’s steely grip at that point. He responded by letting go of her arm and grabbing her collar. Ophelia tried to hit the Hudathan as he plucked her off the deck and carried her over to a slab-sided ship. Bullets pinged all around as Paguumi sharpshooters went to work with their long-barreled trade rifles. But there was a lot of smoke, and they were a long way off.

A door gunner was firing over Ophelia’s head, and hot casings bounced off her left shoulder as Nola-Ba grabbed the waistband of her baggy pants and threw her onto the ship. Then he and five of his troopers climbed aboard. Someone shouted an order, and the shuttle began to rise. It wobbled, steadied, and dived. That allowed the aircraft to pick up some additional airspeed but exposed it to ground fire. Bullets rattled against the ship’s belly—and one of the door gunners took a slug under the chin.

As the trooper slumped forward, Ophelia saw what might be her last chance and kicked off her oversized shoes. Then, after two stutter steps, she dived for the open door. A huge hand caught hold of an ankle. Ophelia fell forward with her head out in the slipstream. Hot air tugged at her hair as Nola-Ba dragged her inside.

—

Pa Wuk and fifteen members of his extended family were standing on a rise surrounded by thousands of warriors, all of whom were waiting for the signal to attack the change-skin fortress. But before that could happen Chief Huzz and a force of handpicked warriors were to clear a path for the rest of them to follow. So all the Wuk clan could do was to yell insults at the change skins and watch the more fortunate warriors charge into the clouds of billowing smoke. It was frustrating, not to mention humiliating, to hear the sounds of battle but not be allowed to fight.

Still, there was plenty to see as a machine landed on the fort and took off again. Then, much to Wuk’s surprise, it flew straight at him! That was an obvious provocation as well as the perfect excuse to use the Human boom tube on something more dangerous than a pile of rocks. Having found the launcher and three rockets in the wrecked starship Wuk had fired two of them while learning to use the weapon. Now, with one missile left, he wanted to kill something.

Wuk looked through the sight, heard a tone, and pulled the trigger. The launcher jerked, and a missile raced away. Thanks to the fact that the Hudathan shuttle was not only low, but headed straight at the warrior, the heat-seeking warhead had no difficulty identifying two potential targets. Both were air intakes for the ship’s engines—but one was three degrees hotter than the other. And that was enough reason to choose it.

Wuk’s relatives watched in amazement as the shoulder-fired missile entered the intake and exploded. The shuttle staggered, and black smoke poured out of the exhaust located on that side of the ship as the aircraft struggled to stay aloft. Wuk and his companions watched the machine pass over their heads. Then, as they turned to follow the aircraft, they saw it fly away. But the sky machine was trailing smoke as it disappeared over the horizon. “Well, that was a waste of time,” Wuk’s uncle said disgustedly. “You’re an idiot.” The boom tube was useless. Wuk threw it down and kicked it.

—

Bolts of coherent energy sizzled through the hot air as the Hudathan gunners fired blindly into the smoke and dust. McKee could see blobs of heat, thanks to the technology in her helmet, but little more than that as the cannon fire cut her people down. Private Harley Ross was killed, along with his T-1, as was Cory Dugan, and a cyborg named Linda Mora.

McKee didn’t see them fall. But she heard a tone each time an icon disappeared off her HUD. And the deaths caused Bartov, who had a thing for Mora, to scream an incoherent war cry as he jumped over bodies to wreak revenge on the Hudathans. He fired upwards hoping to hit back and sparks flew from metal sheathing.

Paguumis were dying, too, and McKee was carried through a wild welter of blood as both warriors and their mounts were blown apart. And all the while the clock was running. How many lives could the gunners harvest before their cannons started to overheat? Fifty? A hundred? All McKee could do was hang on as blue bolts blipped past her helmet, and Bartov charged through the bloody rain.

Then, after what seemed like an eternity, the firing stopped. It was tempting to pause and enjoy the respite. But McKee knew that was the worst possible thing the survivors could do. Because in thirty seconds, the slaughter would start anew.

“Follow me!” McKee shouted, as she jumped to the ground in front of the berm. It would have been necessary to stop and blow a hole in the barrier had it not been for what the navy pilots had accomplished. But now, thanks to their efforts, the attackers had six gaps to choose from. And once inside, they would be able to get so close to the fort that the energy cannons couldn’t be depressed far enough to fire on them.

McKee entered the nearest gap, with Huzz at her side. He shouted something in his own language, and his warriors took up the cry. Not to be outdone, McKee yelled, “Camerone!” and heard the closest legionnaires shout the name at the top of their lungs. Some of Remy’s “hats” had arrived by that time and were mixed in with her people.

Moments later, they were through the gap and inside the perimeter. That was progress of a sort—but exposed the attackers to a withering fire from above. Not cannons this time but automatic weapons, held by Hudathans who were determined to keep the invaders at bay. “T-1s!” McKee shouted. “Kill those bastards! Use your fifties.”

If the Hudathans were big—the cyborgs were even bigger. And as the groups collided halfway up the steeply slanted wall, the T-1s gave a good account of themselves. First with weapons fired at point-blank range—then via grasper-to-hand combat.

Though unusual, such fights were not unknown, and the legionnaires were trained to cope with them. Whenever possible, a cyborg would engage a Hudathan while his or her bio bod would circle around and attack the enemy soldier from behind. Some of the Hudathans chose to ignore the puny warriors but did so at their peril. Especially since there were weak points in their armor, like the spot right behind their knees, where a well-aimed stab could cut tendons.

Meanwhile, with Huzz still at her side, McKee led a phalanx of Paguumis and Humans up onto the landing pad. Others had reached the flat area first, and their bodies were mixed with those of the defenders they had killed. McKee had to step over Lieutenant Sokov on her way to the open hatch. His eyes were open, and he was staring up into the relentless sun.

Once inside, it became apparent that the fighting had been intense. The Paguumis were looting the place, and Huzz, who was waving a Hudathan sword, made no attempt to stop them. By working quickly and coordinating their movements via radio, the legionnaires were able to clear room after room and level after level before arriving on the lowest floor, where two gaunt-looking sailors were freed. They believed that the empress had been there but couldn’t say how recently, or where she had been taken. McKee figured Ophelia was on a Hudathan ship bound for Hudatha. A fate that served her right.

Radio communications were sketchy deep inside the fortress—so McKee made her way up to the landing pad before reporting in. And as she looked down, she saw that thousands of Paguumis were streaming in through the gaps in the berm. There was no need for them to enter, but they were looking for loot. “Charlie-One to Six. Over.” By looking at her HUD McKee could see that Remy was just inside the berm near one of the passages.

The response was immediate. “This is Six,” Remy said. “Go. Over.”

“I checked every room. Gemstone isn’t here. Over.”

“She was probably on the shuttle,” Remy replied sourly. “But we have a more pressing problem to deal with. Over.”

“Which is? Over.”

Remy broke protocol by using her name. “Look at the horizon, McKee . . . Tell me what you see. Over.”

McKee’s binoculars were in the front pocket of her chest protector. She took them out and brought them up to her eyes. And there, as she swept the glasses from left to right, McKee saw the “problem” Remy had referred to. There was a dust cloud. And there, riding in front of it, was what looked like
thousands
of mounted warriors. Maybe tens of thousands. All closing on the fort. “I see Paguumis. Too damned many of them. Over.”

“That’s right,” Remy agreed. “Now we know where the northern tribe is,” he added dryly. “So get to work. Since we now own the fort we’ll have to defend it.”

—

THE GREAT PANDU DESERT

With only one engine to rely on, the heavily loaded shuttle had been losing altitude ever since it had been hit. The remaining power plant was cutting in and out as the ship skimmed the surface of the desert. Ophelia had been strapped into an oversized seat by then, but both of the side doors were open, and she caught a brief glimpse of a barren hillside as the shuttle whipped past it. “Get ready!” the pilot shouted over the intercom. “We’re going in.”

Ophelia thought she
was
ready, but soon discovered that she wasn’t, as the aircraft hit the ground and bounced into the air. She felt the force of the landing all the way up through her spine and closed her eyes as metal shrieked, and all manner of loose items flew through the air. The fuselage bucked wildly as it slid over some sort of obstacle and pancaked in for a final slide. Finally, having spent all of its energy, the shuttle ground to a halt.

“Out!” the crew chief said. “This thing could explode.”

So they released Ophelia and forced her out through the door. The sand felt hot under her bare feet, and the air was thick with smoke that continued to pour out of the badly damaged engine. In spite of the danger, troopers were hard at work trying to salvage what they could.

Ophelia’s knees felt weak, so she sat down. Then, as Nola-Ba looked down at her, she began to giggle. Then the giggle turned to laughter. The Hudathan knew Humans well enough to understand what that meant. “What’s so funny?”

“You are . . . You have me, but you’d be better off if you didn’t! We own the sky, Admiral . . . That much is obvious. And the search is on.”

Nola-Ba looked up. Contrails cut back and forth across the sky. The Human was right. If the search wasn’t already under way, it would begin soon. It was time to hide.

Maneuvering with an army is advantageous; with an undisciplined multitude, most dangerous.

SUN TZU
The Art of War
Standard year circa 500
B.C.

PLANET SAVAS

McKee was standing on the fort’s landing pad, looking out over the desert. The sun had set, and some early stars could be seen. But they were outnumbered by the glittering campfires that surrounded the fort. Most were fueled by dried katha droppings, and therefore small, but there were thousands of them. It was a disheartening sight. And that, she supposed, was the point. The northerners had spent the better part of the afternoon closing in. And now that they were in place, the very sight of them was enough to scare the crap out of anyone with half a brain. She heard the scrape of a boot and turned to find Avery standing next to her. “It’s quite a sight, isn’t it?” he asked rhetorically.

“Yes. They could take us right now if they wanted to.”

“But they don’t,” Avery said quietly. His voice was pitched low. “Kambi says that their leader is a crafty old coot named Pudu. Rather than cut us off, he let us attack the Hudathans, knowing that the victor would be weakened and therefore vulnerable. And we won. Now he expects us to take one look at his warriors and give up.”

“And will we?”

Avery looked around as if checking to make sure that no one else could hear before turning his gaze back to McKee. “We aren’t here to defend Hudathan forts. We’re here to find the empress. And she’s gone.”

“So?”

“So we promised Huzz and his people that they could have the fort if they helped us. And Remy plans to keep his word.”

“Uh, oh . . . I think I see where this is headed.”

“I’m sure you do,” Avery said bleakly. “We’re going to leave and let Huzz deal with Pudu. It’s cold-blooded, but if we stay, we’re going to die. And that includes everyone in your platoon. Yes, we can call in air strikes, and beat back an assault or two . . . But the northerners will win in the end. So Remy’s cutting a deal.”

McKee didn’t like it but knew Avery was right. “How? Huzz won’t let him go out and meet with Pudu.”

“Kambi knows Pudu. So he slipped out of the fort at sundown. He took C-3 with him, and once he was able to make contact, Remy had a chance to talk with the old bastard. They cut a deal twenty minutes ago. There’s a gap in the southern part of the berm. We’re going to pass through it at 2200 hours. The northerners will provide cover fire if necessary.”

“It
sounds
good,” McKee replied. “But will the northerners keep their word? Or will they take the opportunity to crush us?”

Avery made a face. “I don’t know . . . So we should be ready for every possibility. Brief your people over the platoon freq and order them to keep their mouths shut. If Huzz and his warriors get wind of what we’re going to do, we’ll be fighting for our lives
before
we leave the fort.”

McKee looked down. Huzz and most of his warriors were camped between the fort and the berm. They were thick on the ground, and hundreds of fires could be seen. “How are we going to get through the southerners to the hole in the berm?”

“Chief Pudu will launch a feint against the
north
side of the berm,” Avery replied. “As a result, most of the southerners will surge in that direction. We’ll cut through those that remain. The hats are on foot, so they will depart first. Your platoon will guard the gap in the berm until the rest of the company is clear. I plan to stay with you.”

McKee saw the look in his eyes. The message was clear. If they died, they would do so together. She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

—

It had been a long, tense afternoon. Immediately after the crash landing, Nola-Ba, the pilots, five troopers, and Empress Ophelia put as much distance between themselves and the wreck as they could. But the group would be easy to spot from above. And it was too hot for the Human to travel very far. So the Hudathans had to hole up. A cluster of rocks offered scraps of shade and some cover should they have to defend themselves.

Nola-Ba had been tired to begin with, and the hot sun made him sleepy. So he ordered half his soldiers to keep a sharp lookout while the rest took a nap. That included him. He awoke an hour later, feeling thirsty and groggy. A swig of warm water solved the first problem—and the memory of the crash served to sharpen his senses.

The sun was lower in the sky by then—and that meant the party would be able to leave soon. The plan was to hike west and link up with the battalion of armor led by War Commander Ru-Ba. Then, with tanks to keep the Humans and the Paguumis at bay, Nola-Ba would be able to wait for reinforcements.

Could things go wrong? Yes, of course. All he could do was try.

—

Ophelia felt better than she had in weeks. By some miracle, the shuttle had been damaged but not destroyed. And as long as she remained on Savas, there was a chance that friendly forces would find her. The locator beacon would have made that more likely, of course—but the odds of a rescue were still better than they had been. That’s what Ophelia was thinking about as she rewrapped the rags around her right foot and secured them in place with a length of cord.

She heard movement and looked up to find Nola-Ba towering over her. “You are preparing to walk. That’s good. We will leave in fifteen minutes.”

Ophelia looked down. Her left foot was filthy and would have to remain that way until they found a dependable source of water. She started to wrap it. “Where are we going?”

“West. To join my ground forces.”

“And then?”

“Then we will wait for an opportunity to board a ship.”

“You won’t get it,” Ophelia predicted calmly as she stood and began to walk about. “The fact that we’re hiding in some rocks says it all. You’re losing assets every day.”

“There’s some truth to that,” Nola-Ba admitted. “But I still have
you
.”

—

SAVAS BASE 001

Stars glittered in the sky, and the light from many campfires lit the area inside the berm with a warm glow. In keeping with Major Remy’s orders, the legionnaires gradually drifted to the south side of the fort until all of them were there. And they weren’t alone. It seemed as if every square inch of the territory inside the berm was being used to cook on, camp on, or to stable animals. Because the southerners weren’t about to leave their zurnas out in the desert where the northerners could steal them.

So as the Humans infiltrated the area, they made an already crowded situation that much worse. But as Bartov carried McKee into the seething crowd, she knew that the diversion was about to start. And once it did, the fighting would pull a lot of the Paguumis around to the north side of the perimeter. Yet, as the minutes ticked down to 1100 hours, nothing happened.

Was Chief Pudu playing some sort of trick on them? Or were the northerners running late? And did they know what time it was?

There was a sudden disturbance as a phalanx of bodyguards pushed their way through the crowd, cursing those who moved too slowly, and clubbing anyone who objected. Then Huzz appeared. He was in a bad mood. “Where is the Remy Human?” he bellowed through a translator. “I will speak with him.”

Remy elbowed his way through the crowd and entered the open space created by the chief’s bodyguards. That was when Huzz demanded to know why the Humans were all in one place—and Remy answered with some nonsense about the need for an inspection.

Finally, just as the conversation grew heated, the crackle of rifle fire was heard from the north. Huzz ordered Remy to send some of his forces to the other end of the compound before hurrying off to take command. Warriors, all eager to be in on whatever was taking place, streamed after him.

Remy’s voice could be heard in every helmet. “This is Six. On my command, all special-operations troops will exit the fort. And remember . . . The northerners are supposed to let us through. If they don’t, kill them. Over.”

Warriors were still moving north, and Remy waited thirty seconds before he gave the order. “This is Six. Special-operations troops will follow me. Over.”

Avery had appeared by then. He was mounted on a cyborg and could have assumed command but didn’t. To do so would signal a lack of confidence in McKee’s leadership abilities. That left her free to position the T-1s as she thought best. She kept two squads inside the berm, in case Huzz sent warriors to attack them, and sent the remaining legionnaires out to provide covering fire if the hats had to retreat.

Everything went fine for the first minute or two. Then McKee saw muzzle flashes out in the darkness and heard the rattle of gunfire. “This is Six,” Remy said. “It’s a trap. Fire at will. Watch your HUDs and close it up. Over.”

McKee checked to make sure all of the hats had cleared the berm before speaking over the platoon freq. “This is Charlie-One. Split the first squad and send fire teams forward to protect both flanks. The second and third squads will form on me as we withdraw. Execute. Over.”

Avery followed along behind as McKee led her people out through the gap. Once they were clear, she led the second squad up the company’s left flank and sent the third to the right. At least a hundred mounted warriors thundered in, firing as they came. Something tugged at McKee’s shoulder as she fired. A Paguumi fell, followed by a second, as Bartov triggered the fifty. The closest warriors and their mounts were torn to pieces as the heavy slugs tore through them. And the rest of the platoon was firing as well—creating a corridor of fire through which the company could pass.

But the effort to kill the Humans was only a minor and not very important element in Chief Pudu’s overall plan. The
real
objectives were to eliminate Huzz, inflict heavy casualties on the enemy’s best warriors, and capture a fortune in metal. Had it been otherwise, his vast horde of warriors would have closed in on the legionnaires and crushed them.

And as McKee glanced back over her shoulder, she could see rippling waves of gunfire as the southerners sought to defend their newfound riches and the northerners tried to take them. But there was no time for sightseeing, as warriors continued to attack the column from the east and west. It was a desperate moment because if the company was cut in two, and cut again, the legionnaires would die in clusters like the 7th Cavalry at the Battle of the Little Bighorn. Fortunately, Remy had something General Custer didn’t, and that was air support. And it was on the way. “This is Hawk One, Two, and Three rolling in with HE, rockets, and guns,” a female voice said. “Light those beacons. Over.”

Each legionnaire had a locator beacon built into his or her helmet, or in the case of the cyborgs, into the com package located deep inside their torsos. Once “lit,” the beacons would provide Hawk and her wingmen with an electronic map showing where the friendly forces were.

And that was good because as the navy fighters made passes down both sides of the column, the bombs and rockets were exploding extremely close to the legionnaires. As flashes of light strobed the darkness, McKee caught momentary glimpses of a neighboring hell in which warriors fired single-shot weapons at the invisible planes, animals pinwheeled through the air, and body parts rained down out of the sky.

But the battle was far from one-sided. The hats were running, and every now and then, one of them would fall. Most were rescued by companions, but a few were cut off, and quickly trampled to death. And McKee’s platoon suffered casualties, too. Cocco Ree took a bullet in the face. It went straight through her visor into her brain and left her lifeless body flopping around on Alex Kosta’s back. Then a couple of warriors managed to get ropes on the T-1 and jerked him off his feet. Once down, the combined efforts of two zurnas were sufficient to tow the cyborg away. He was never seen again.

Thanks to the fighters and the fact that Chief Pudu was primarily interested in the fort, Team One-Five managed to escape the area. And once they were clear, the legionnaires hurried to put ten miles between themselves and the battle before forting up on a rise. A scattering of rocks would provide some cover, but there was a need to dig a dozen fighting positions before the legionnaires could call it a day. McKee was looking forward to some sleep when a private tracked her down. “Major Remy wants to see you, ma’am.”

McKee sighed. “Got it. Thanks.”

McKee found Remy standing next to a RAV talking to Kambi. McKee was glad to see that the Jithi had been able to slip out of Chief Pudu’s camp and follow C-3 to the team’s current location. Both of them turned to greet McKee, and Remy was unexpectedly cheerful. “Sorry, McKee . . . I know you’re tired—but the navy located the shuttle. It crashed not far from here. And they have some heat signatures all walking west. There’s no way to be sure, but one of them is smaller than the rest and could be Human.”

McKee felt a profound sense of disappointment. So much for her hope that Ophelia was on her way to Planet Hudatha. “That’s good news, sir.”

Remy nodded. “This could be the opportunity we’ve been waiting for. Run those heat signatures down. And, if one of them belongs to Empress Ophelia, bring her back.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll pull a squad together. You’ll need the rest of the T-1s for force protection.”

Remy nodded. “I had hoped to have some help from the jarheads by now. But it sounds like they’re ass deep in Hudathan tanks at the moment. So if you run into trouble, call on the zoomies. I’ll tell them to stay close.”

McKee tossed Remy a salute, which he returned. Then it was time to build a squad out of her badly mauled platoon. Four of her bio bods and five cyborgs had been killed. That was a third of her unit. Even if the mission was a success, the price would be high.

McKee chose bio bods Juli Amdon and Aatawa Singh, along with T-1s Greg Gallo, Nick Riley, and Peter Popov. The latter was left unencumbered so he could carry Empress Ophelia should they manage to free her. “We’ll be wearing medals the day after we find the empress,” Popov predicted.

“
And
digging latrines,” Chow countered cynically. That produced a round of laughter because all of them knew it was true.