But the battle was far from one-sided. All of Force Commander Homar’s offi?cers and noncoms were equipped with power-assisted body armor that could literally rip a human apart. And it was one such trooper who managed to punch a fi?st through Private Ren Rosato’s chest plate, grab hold of some electronics, and jerk them out.
Rosato’s brain was still alive, but his body was out of action, which made his bio bod very angry. His name was Private Horu Bora-Sa. And while the three-hundred-pound Hudathan had long carried his father’s battle-ax into action, he had never been given an opportunity to use it before. So, having freed himself from his harness as the T-2 fell, BoraSa drew the clan’s “Ka-killer,” and went to work. Light glinted off the two-hundred-year-old ax, and gore fl?ew left and right, as the angry Hudathan shouted the ancient battle cry: “BLOOD!”
The shout was echoed by Hudathans and Humans alike, along with cries of “CAMERONE!” which was the name of the famous battle in which Captain Jean Danjou and a force of sixty-two legionnaires had taken on thousands of Mexican regulars in 1863. Those cries, plus a renewed effort by the towering T-2s, was enough to push the bugs back as the cyborgs fought for a purchase on the steep blood-slicked road. “After them!” Quinlan was heard to shout, as the Ramanthians began to retreat. “Cut the bastards down!”
“Hold!” Force Commander Homar ordered, having raised his sword over his head, and deployed his wings. Noncoms blew their whistles, and their troopers took to the air as well. It was a desperate move, because as a result of the long, slow evolutionary process, all but the young and very fi?t were limited to only short bursts of fl?ight. But the effort was successful in that it momentarily neutralized the height advantage that the cyborgs had.
Unfortunately for the Ramanthians, however, every fourth T-2 was equipped with a fl?amethrower in place of the standard energy cannon. Weapons that soon proved to be very effective against the airborne bugs. Wings burst into fl?ames as they beat against the air, and insectoid troopers screamed as they cartwheeled to their deaths.
Homar had accepted defeat by then, but was determined to take a human with him, and fl?ew straight at Colonel Quinlan. The Ramanthian was a good ten feet off the ground by that time—and so full of naturally produced stimulants that fl?ying was easy.
Quinlan’s cyborg could have blown the Ramanthian out of the air, but was engaged in pincer-to-pincer combat with an armored noncom, and couldn’t respond. There was a strange moment as the two adversaries locked eyes, the battalion commander raised his sidearm, and Homar swung his blade. Three bullets struck the Ramanthian’s face, blew the back of his head out, and sprayed the troopers behind him with gore. The sword fell, but the offi?cer’s body continued to hang there for a moment, as his wings fanned the air. So Quinlan fi?red again. “That’s for Nancy, you butt-ugly bastard!”
Homar’s body fell, a shout went up as the legionnaires surged forward, and the Trooper IIs began to run. The Ramanthians, none of whom could manage more than a fast shuffl?e, didn’t stand a chance. Even though Santana ordered his men to take prisoners, the legionnaires weren’t in the mood. Not after the slaughter in the LZ, the long march up the valley, and the attempt to eradicate them with the STO
cannon. They fi?red until their weapons ran dry, reloaded on the run, and fi?red again. So that by the time the battalion gained the top of the dam and the gun emplacement was located there, a long trail of dead bodies lay behind them. Demolition charges had been set, and were about to be detonated, when Dietrich and Fareye arrived. Both of their T-2s were out of ammo by then, but the master sergeant had four shotgun shells left, and the Naa had his knife. Three Ramanthians went down in as many seconds and the dam, not to mention the valley below, was spared. And, thanks to the efforts of Lieutenant-620 and his Seebos, all of the 1,142 civilian POWs who had been held prisoner next to the huge generators, were secured before the Ramanthians could execute them. A sharply fought action that would probably earn the young offi?cer a medal, assuming he survived long enough to pin the bauble on.
Santana jumped to the ground and walked over to stand next to the STO cannon. It was still aimed at a huge crater in the valley below. The Cyon River had begun to fl?ow into the depression by that time, and it looked as if the resulting lake would be three miles long and one mile wide. Santana knew that the next few hours would be fi?lled with casualty lists, the after-action reports that Quinlan loved so much, and a thousand other things. And once that process began, the assault on the dam would begin the slow fade into history. But right then, at that precise moment in time, a battle had been won. And that felt good. As the legionnaire looked out over the bloodied valley, and the slowly thickening clouds beyond, a single snowfl?ake came twirling down out of the lead gray sky to land on his navy parka. It was gone a few seconds later. But there would be more to come during the days, weeks, and months ahead. Because the Ramanthians had an ally—and its name was winter.
7
Tora! Tora! Tora! (Tiger! Tiger! Tiger!)
—Coded radio transmission from Commander Mitsuo Fuchida to theJapanese Fleet just prior to the attack on Pearl HarborStandard year 1941
PLANET EARTH, THE CONFEDERACY OF SENTIENT BEINGS
With no fl?eet left to protect it, Earth was nearly defenseless, as the Ramanthian battleship Regulus and her consorts left hyperspace, and arrowed in toward the blue planet. There were thousands of them. By far the largest fl?eet ever assembled, even during the fi?rst and second Hudathan wars. About 25 percent of the warships were Sheen vessels that had been stolen from the Confederacy, which made the occasion that much more enjoyable from a Ramanthian perspective. Still, even though the once-mighty Stern-Krieger and most of her escorts had been destroyed, elements of the human armada remained. And rather than fl?ee, as Admiral Ru Lorko fully expected them to, the “animals” came out to fi?ght. The counterattack wasn’t a smart thing to do, since the Confederacy’s ships were doomed from the start, but it was incredibly brave. And that was something Old Iron Back wasn’t expecting to see from the humans. Not after the way the animals on the Gladiator surrendered months before. But it seemed that these aliens were more honorable, and rather than live as cowards, had chosen to die like warriors.
It was an honor that Lorko, like any member of the fanatical Nira cult, was duty-bound to grant them. So as destroyers, gunboats, and even tugs threw themselves at the Ramanthian fl?eet they were snuffed out with methodical precision. Not even lifeboats were spared. A magnifi?cent slaughter that Lorko would never forget.