Drifter's War (21 page)

Heek smiled grimly. "All the more reason to find that computer and find it quickly. An artifact like that would go a long way toward convincing the Council to put a full sept on the ground."

Teex signaled assent and leaned back in his chair. Good. If he had accomplished nothing else today he had given Heek a feel for the size and scope of the problem.

The rest of the morning passed with a series of laser-quick visits to the fire bases that Teex had established throughout that part of the countryside. All were built on hilltops, and like Fire Base One, many of them sat on sites previously occupied by buildings or villages.

The drill was always the same. Land, receive a formal greeting from the officer or noncom in charge, tour the defenses, talk to the troops, and take off again. The midday meal consisted of field rations at Fire Base Seven.

After that it was time to get back into the air and follow a long curving course that would touch on three additional outposts and eventually take them home.

They had been in the air for only a brief time when Teex heard a buzzing sound in his left ear. He activated the tiny throat mike. "Yes?"

The voice belonged to his pilot, Deeo. "Holding Area Two is under attack by a large force of hostiles. They have automatic weapons… repeat… automatic weapons. The NCOIC requests an air strike plus reinforcements. Fast response force two is en route. They are twenty from ground."

Teex swore under his breath. Damn. It was just as he'd feared. The geeks
were
manufacturing weapons. His efforts to prevent them from doing so had not only failed, but failed in a rather visible manner, with Heek looking on. Well, there was very little he could do but make the best of it. He kept his voice low and even.

"What kind of air support is available?"

Deeo's voice was calm, professional. "We are five from ground. The navy has three fighters inbound. They will arrive fifteen from now."

Teex didn't hesitate. "We will respond. Send the air cars ahead. Let the navy know. Those fighter pilots have a tendency to shoot anything that moves. Notify Fire Base One."

"Yes, sir."

The air cars shot ahead as the helicopter banked to the right. Heek gave the younger officer a questioning look and Teex filled him in. If the Half Sept commander was surprised, or disturbed, he gave no sign of it. He signaled understanding with his tail and looked out through the hatch.

Rola-4 heard the chatter of automatic weapons and saw the crowd turn. They moved in her direction. It was pointless, since they were already as far away from the fighting as the surrounding force field would allow them to be, but panic is a stupid thing. She looked for a place to hide and couldn't find one.

The valley was long and narrow with steep scree-covered slopes on three sides. But the bottom, the part that the Il Ronnians had designated as "Holding Area Two," was as smooth and flat as her kitchen table back home.

Rola-4 moved toward the right. That took her out of the crowd's path and put them between her and the fighting. Some extra protection for Neder-33. He showed his appreciation by crying and trying to wiggle out of her arms.

Thanks to God, and the warning he had given her the evening before, the females had known about the attack before it came. Known, but been helpless to do anything about it.

The mob thundered toward her, females screaming, babies crying. To retreat meant running the risk of being pushed into the force field and it had the power to deliver a high-voltage shock. Rola-4 turned her back to the crowd and braced her feet. Bodies bumped into hers. Somebody shoved her. She held fast. The mob moved past.

Wexel-15 felt a hard knot in the pit of his stomach. Not at the thought of dying, but at the thought of making a mistake and causing others to die. A glance to the right and left showed him that his squad members were still there, weapons at their shoulders, delivering methodical three-round bursts into the Il Ronnian command post.

It wasn't much, just a pit dug into the top of a slight rise, with earthworks all around. He grinned. The force field prevented them from rushing the Il Ronnians but did nothing to stop their bullets. He counted four alien bodies on the ground and knew there were two more inside. The construct felt a sense of pride. That would teach them!

An Il Ronnian stuck his assault rifle up over the earthworks, ripped off fifteen or twenty rounds without looking, and pulled the weapon down again.

The human female's voice was a calm presence in Wexel-15's ear, put there by some sort of electronic magic devised by the person-machine that called itself "Cy Borg," and some of Dru-21's technicians.

"Okay, Wex. Mission accomplished. We inflicted some casualties, provided the prisoners with a psychological boost, and gave the Il Ronnians a choice: They can tie up more troops guarding camps like this one… or turn the prisoners loose. So pull back. Their air support will arrive at any moment… and we're not equipped to deal with that."

Wexel-15 heard the words, processed them, and gave the proper orders. "All right… time to pull out. Doma-7 and Jubo-10, you first, then in pairs. I'll come last."

The volume of fire fell off as the heavies obeyed his orders and pulled back. Their escape route led up through a gully and into one of the ancient drain pipes that ran down out of the mountains. They moved slowly, methodically, just as Della had taught them.

The plan called for them to follow the drain upward for fifteen or twenty minutes until they reached the point where the pipe split right and left. Fortifications had been placed there, and if the Il Ronnians were foolish enough to follow them underground, the constructs would be waiting.

Della's voice was urgent now. "Move it, Wex! Here comes the air support!"

Wexel-15 checked to make sure that the last pair of heavies were headed up the gully, loosed one last burst, and rolled left. Dirt fountained where he had been, followed by the
thump! thump! thump!
of an auto cannon and the flicker of a passing shadow.

The air car was so low that Wexel-15 could see individual scratches where the aircraft's pilot had carelessly scraped some treetops two days before. Wexel-15 knew he should be thinking about other things, should be concentrating on the gully, but couldn't help himself. His mind noticed that the scratches were brighter than the surrounding metal and ran forward and back rather than from side to side.

Air slapped Wexel-15's face as the air car pulled up and around. The pipe was just ahead, a gaping black maw, just waiting to swallow him. Two figures popped out of it, Doma-7 and Jubo-10, both raising their assault rifles to fire. Their weapons made a sound like ripping cloth.

Wexel-15 felt a combination of anger and pride. What they were doing was brave but stupid. He stumbled, fell, and rolled over.

The air car dived straight down, firing as it came. The auto cannons winked at him as they fired. The shells made a thumping sound as they exploded. He could see them hit, walking their way up the slope, heading for him. The construct waited for a shell to hit him, waited for the pain, and was surprised when it never came.

A bullet, one of the hundreds sprayed upward by Doma-7 and Jubo-10, hit the metal support that curved up and over the passenger compartment, and shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. One of those pieces, a chunk of metal so small that it would take a microscope to adequately see it, struck the pilot in the cheek.

The pilot had already removed his hand from the stick and touched his cheek before his brain found time to tell him that it was a stupid thing to do. The air car exploded as it hit the ground. Pieces of metal and plastic flew in every direction.

"Run, Wexel, run!"

The construct scrambled to his feet. He ran forward, felt hands grab his arms, and was jerked into the pipe. It felt cool and safe.

Della pulled her eye away from the scope. The air car had hit the ground about five hundred yards east of the pipe. A column of dark black smoke spiraled up to stain the sky. She shook her head in amazement. Once their training was complete the heavies would make some damned fine troops. A little light on the command and control side, but what the heck, you gotta start somewhere.

The three surviving air cars circled like vultures, pouring fire down toward the drain pipe, all of it wasted.

Della heard the familiar
whop, whop, whop
of chopper blades and looked to the right. The wall of carefully stacked stone blocked her view but the chopper was visible through one of the many chinks. The helicopter came in low and slow just as she had known it would. The aircraft was big, boxy, and heavily armored. Too heavily armored to be fitted with antigrav units like those used on the lighter and therefore faster air cars.

Della smiled. The same smile she had smiled after finding a fugitive with a price on his head. The helicopter would have at least one officer aboard. A soon-to-be-dead officer.

The bounty hunter looked around her blind. It would have to be good, very good, because from the moment she fired, the air cars, helicopter, and Sol knew what else would be all over the place.

Rather than run as she had in the past, Della planned to stay right where she was, and depend on her hiding place to protect her.

She and Wexel-15 had constructed the blind the night before. It had started as a small cave on the steep scree-covered hillside.

By cleaning out some of the bigger pieces of rock, and walling off the entrance, they had created a rather snug little hide.

Snug, but far from invulnerable. Della knew she would get one shot and one shot only. More than that and they would almost certainly spot her.

The helicopter disappeared as it dropped down below the view offered by that particular chink in the rocks.

Della raised the rifle and placed the butt against her shoulder. The weapon felt as if it had been custom-designed for her body, which it had. The butt snugged up against her shoulder just so, the grip molded itself to the shape of her hand, and the sight seemed to meld with the contours of her face.

Della slipped the barrel out through a hole created for that exact purpose. The barrel was equipped with a flash suppressor and a loose-fitting sleeve that had been dyed to match the color of the surrounding rock.

She touched the button mounted on the left side of the pistol-style grip. Video blossomed as the electronic sight came to life. Faces blurred as she swept across the prisoners and found the helicopter. Bushes danced and swayed as gigantic skids touched the ground.

Della moved the weapon a hair to the right so that the electronic cross hairs made an X right in the center of the door gunner's chest. The trooper wore body armor but it would be no match for the bounty hunter's high-velocity ammunition. But Della had other higher-ranking targets in mind.

The gunner looked right and left checking for danger. Nothing. Another trooper appeared at his side. The second trooper handed the first trooper an assault rifle. Both of them jumped to the ground. Bodyguards. The big cheese would appear any second now.

Della sucked in a long slow breath. Ten seconds passed, twenty, and then thirty. She let the breath out. What the hell? Had the officer slipped out the other side of the chopper? Wait a minute….

Della moved her weapon to the left. She'd been had! The bodyguards were gone! At least one of them had been an officer. The bastards were getting smart. Remove your insignia, blend in, dump protocol. It was all SOP for the field. The only surprise was how long it had taken the Il Ronnians to implement it.

The three fighters made an earth-shaking roar as they swept in out of the sun. The centermost aircraft fired a pair of air-to-ground missiles toward the mouth of the drain pipe while the other two strafed the opposing hillsides. A surefire way to suppress sniper fire and anything else the constructs might have up their sleeves. The missiles hit and exploded with loud crumps.

Della jerked the barrel of her weapon back inside the cave and curled up in a little ball. All it would take would be one cannon shell to turn her cave into an instant tomb.

The cannon shells made a loud cracking sound as they hit the hillside above her, exploded, and sent miniature avalanches down toward the valley below.

Then, just as quickly as they had come, the fighters were gone. Recalled to fly high cover for the reaction team that had arrived from Fire Base One.

Della opened her eyes and looked around. The cave was completely dark. An avalanche of loose dirt and rock had sealed her in. She felt very, very frightened.

Teex placed hands on hips and looked out over the prisoners. Even though they were untouched by the initial firefight, and the subsequent counterattacks, the female constructs were shocked and dazed. Many cried, whimpered, or both. Taken together they made a low keening sound that got on his nerves. He spoke without looking at the noncom by his side, a rather average-sized trooper who towered over him nonetheless.

"Describe it again."

File Leader Keem groaned internally. How many times would it take? By the holy fluid itself officers were a stupid lot. He forced himself to be patient.

"Yes, sir. It started about dawn. Just after the sun came up. The prisoners seemed restless. Agitated like. And they moved away from our position."

"As if they knew something was about to happen."

Keem signaled assent with his tail, realized that Teex couldn't see it, and said, "Yes, sir."

"All right," Teex said thoughtfully, "let's interrogate some of them. Lean on them a little… see what pops out. Find Half Sept Commander Heek. Tell him what we plan to do."

Keem said, "Yes, sir." He started to salute, remembered that a sniper could be watching, and scratched himself instead.

It seemed to take forever to get through the line. It started next to the supply dump where the Il Ronnians kept their food and snaked back into the middle of the field. Rola-4 had no watch, but estimated that she had been in line for more than two rals, which was way longer than usual. Food distribution normally took half a ral at most.

The female in front of her moved forward a couple of steps and Rola-4 prepared to do likewise. She bent over, grabbed Neder-33 around his middle, and picked him up. He was dirty but relatively happy. Rola-4 took two paces forward and put her son down. He tugged at one of her sandals and giggled.