Max Speer had been aboard the single dropship that managed to touch down safely. He smiled broadly and continued to record as the soldiers departed.
The Avengers had regrouped by that time and took off after the Hellhounds. One of the enemy fighters took a hit from a missile, roared over the camp, and slammed into the hill designated as “Charlie.” The fighter was carrying a full load of ordnance plus lots of fuel. The resulting explosion shook the ground and a red-orange fireball floated up into the sky as members of the STM platoon rushed to collect the POWs.
And that was when they discovered that, having been tipped off by Raynor, the prisoners had organized themselves into small groups and were ready to board the dropships. The weakest POWs had been spread across all of the groups so that the stronger ones could assist them, and all the “platoons” were gathered near the Kel-Morian landing pads waiting for ships that weren’t coming. It was a bittersweet sight for Raynor, who was determined to finish what he started.
High on the stimpack Doc had given him, Raynor insisted on taking charge. He could see the drug’s appeal for the first time; it seemed to erase his pain, at least for a little while. The mental anguish he’d just suffered would take more than a drug to ease—but there was no time to think about that now.
Raynor knew where the camp’s factory was, and led a posse that consisted of Zander, Doc, and a couple of STM troopers to the low-slung structure. And just in time, too … because as he and his companions jogged up the road Raynor saw headlights and knew some of the KMs were going to make a run for it. “Stop them!” he shouted. “But don’t destroy the vehicles.”
There was a sharp exchange of gunfire as the groups clashed. Some of the KMs—those who’d been on guard duty when the attack began—were wearing armor. The rest were wearing vest-style chest protectors. As the defenders charged, Ward fired a salvo of rockets at them even as Harnack opened up with his flamethrower. There were three overlapping explosions, so only two of the armored KMs staggered out of the raging inferno, and they were on fire. The STM troopers triggered their gauss rifles and the enemy soldiers fell.
As Raynor stepped under a harsh light and bent to retrieve a Kel-Morian assault rifle, he heard a powerful engine start. Zander shouted, “Watch out!” and Raynor found himself pinned in the glare of two headlights as tires screeched and a huge saber command car barreled straight at him!
Raynor threw himself to the right, felt a searing pain as the loose gravel ripped some skin off, and fired a short burst. The fact that a bullet whipped through the driver’s side window and blew Taskmaster Lumley’s brains out was a matter of luck rather than marksmanship.
But the effect was the same as the vehicle swerved, skidded, and came to a halt. By the time Raynor got up and rounded the back of the vehicle, Overseer Brucker was out of the car and waddling away.
“There! Behind the car!” Doc shouted.
“Stop, or I’ll shoot!” Raynor yelled as he scrambled toward Brucker, positioning himself within range, but the Kel-Morian officer kept going. Then, before Raynor could pull the trigger, Zander fired a single shot. Brucker stumbled and fell.
Doc had chosen to shuck her armor because it was difficult to treat patients with the hardskin on. By the time Raynor reached them she was already kneeling next to Brucker with her medical pack opened at her side. A red stain could be seen on the officer’s right thigh and he was gritting his teeth in pain. “It looks like the bullet missed bone,” Doc said matter-of-factly. “He’ll be fine.”
“That’s Overseer Brucker,” Raynor said, “the guy the POWs call ‘the Butcher.’ They’ll be thrilled to hear that he’s going to recover.”
“I need to slip a plastiscab bandage in under the exit wound. Do me a favor, reach under his knee and lift it up.”
“I should have shot you,” Brucker said bitterly, as Raynor lifted the officer’s leg.
“Yeah, life is filled with missed opportunities,” Raynor observed.
“Thanks,” Doc said. “You can put it down now. And Jim …”
“Yeah?”
“Once you find some clothes, track me down. I’ll give you some more happy juice and put antibacterial dressings on the worst of those needle holes.”
“Okay,” Raynor agreed as he eyed a trooper. “You’ll guard him?”
“Sure,” the other soldier agreed. “No problem.”
As Raynor left, Doc applied a plastiscab bandage to Brucker’s entry wound and taped it in place. Then, having removed a disposable syringe from her bag, she withdrew ten cc’s of clear liquid from a small bottle. “What’s that?” Brucker inquired.
“It’s a painkiller,” Doc replied, as she examined the inside surface of Brucker’s arm. The light was poor, and the patient was obese, so it took a moment to find a vein. But once Doc had it the needle went in smoothly.
That was when she leaned in close. Her voice was little more than a whisper. “Colonel Vanderspool asked me to give you this message… . If you thought you could get your grubby little hands on his trucks, you thought wrong. Attacking Fort Howe was a serious mistake, and the last one you’re ever going to make.”
Brucker’s eyes opened wide and he tried to jerk his arm away as he realized what was going to happen. But it was too late by then. The poison was already in his bloodstream. He jerked convulsively, tried to say something, and died.
“Damn it!” Doc said regretfully, as she got to her feet. “The fat bastard had a heart attack! Oh well, you can’t win ’em all. Drag him off the road, Max… . The last thing we need is a speed bump.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“This week’s program lineup showcases the heroism, valor, and strength of all our fighting men and women. Tune in to Courage for the Confederacy at 2100, followed by the acclaimed documentary series Honored Few at 2200, only on UNN, your home for up-to-the-minute information, analysis, and commentary on the war.”
KEL-MORIAN INTERNMENT CAMP-36, ON THE PLANET TURAXIS II
Having captured the factory, the next challenge was to assemble a convoy and load it. Once Zander completed a quick inventory of what was available, Tychus learned that he had six trucks, two buses, two tracked, armored personnel carriers (APCs), and a saber command car at his disposal. So he put the saber at the head of the column, followed by an APC, the trucks, the buses, and the second armored personnel carrier.
Three members of the STM platoon had been killed in crash landings, and two had been taken out subsequent to touchdown. That left Tychus with thirty-one of his own people, plus a dozen rangers who had been lucky enough to survive a dropship crash. That gave him a force of forty-three soldiers to protect some three hundred POWs, roughly ten percent of whom might be healthy enough to fight, and were busy arming themselves just in case.
Could the convoy break through into the zone? He hoped so. The only alternative was to stay at KIC-36 and wait to see who would arrive first. A contingent of Kel-Morian troops? Or some Confederate dropships? Given the fact that they were well inside Kel-Morian-held territory, it would have been silly to put his money on the dropships.
There was a sudden roar as gravel flew in every direction and a dusty vulture hover-cycle came to a stop. Not only was Jim Raynor at the controls, he was wearing goggles he’d acquired with the vehicle, a collection of garments scrounged from the factory’s locker room, and a pistol he had taken off a dead pit boss. There was a big grin on his face as he revved the engines. “Look what I found!”