Byap was seated behind them, and swiveled around to face a heavily armed fi?le leader named Beeb Nohar. Having responded to the general alarm, the offi?cer was dressed in powerassisted space armor that would not only protect the soldier from a complete vacuum, but enable him to rip a legionnaire’s head off should that be necessary. The helmet that Nohar held clutched in the crook of his right arm incorporated side-mounted black portals through which his compound eyes would be able to see, and a hook-shaped protuberance designed to accommodate his parrotlike beak. The fi?le leader listened impassively as Byap spoke. “The automatic defenses located in the vicinity of the main lock won’t be suffi?cient to stop them,” the subcommander predicted. “Confront the animals in the main corridor and show no mercy. I will take File Two, exit through the escape shaft, and attack the troops on the surface.”
The plan made sense, given the circumstances, even though it couldn’t possibly succeed. But both of Nohar’s mates had been killed on Infama VI, and he was eager to join them in paradise. “It shall be as you say,” the fi?le leader agreed stoically, and came to the Ramanthian equivalent of attention. Byap stood. “You are a fi?ne offi?cer,” the subcommander said feelingly. “The Queen would be proud. Dismissed.”
Once Nohar was gone, and the technicians had been released to rejoin their units, Byap shuffl?ed over to the control console, where he removed the wafer-shaped device that dangled from his neck and slipped the object into a waiting slot. A gentle whir could be heard as a remote appeared, and the offi?cer took possession of it. There wasn’t a single member of his command who wasn’t aware of the strategically located demolition charges that had been pre-positioned throughout the mine. But being aware of a potential calamity, and knowing it’s about to occur, are two different things. So the offi?cer thought it best to pocket the device when none of his subordinates were present to see him do so. Especially given the fact that once the charges went off, the entire mine would collapse, killing everyone inside.
From all appearances it looked as if someone or something had bypassed the dome’s heavy-duty lock by hacking a huge hole in the habitat’s metal skin. The Ramanthians? Possibly, although Santana had his doubts, as Sergeant Omi Dekar carried him through the ragged opening. There wasn’t much to see as the T-2’s headlight swept back and forth across the nearly empty interior. In fact, it looked as if the place had been gutted years before. By humans most likely, looking to strip the mothballed facility of electronics, or anything else that could be sold on the black market.
Having found nothing of interest inside the dome, the legionnaires made their way toward the small blocky building that served as the entry point to the mine below. The terrain, not to mention piles of rusty pipe and pieces of old mining equipment, conspired to funnel the squad through a narrow passageway. Was that a matter of chance, Santana wondered? Or the result of careful planning? “Take it slow,” the cavalry offi?cer cautioned. “And keep your eyes peeled for booby traps.”
That was good advice, as soon became apparent, when Staff Sergeant Carol Yanty spotted two pieces of pipe that stuck up out of the ground like gateposts and motioned for those behind her to stop. What caught her attention was the fact that anyone who wanted to approach the main lock would have to pass between the head-high pylons. The NCO
dropped to the ground, made her way over to a pile of scrap, and selected a small piece of sheet metal. Harsh sunlight glinted off the object as it sailed between the pipes. Lieutenant Zolkin, who had been somewhat skeptical until then, watched in slack-jawed astonishment as a bolt of bright blue electricity jumped from one pole to the other and punched a hole through the scrap of sheet metal as it did so. Then, having completed its task, the system returned to standby. The platoon leader couldn’t hear the sizzle from inside his suit, but there was nothing wrong with his imagination, so he could easily visualize what would have occurred had he been allowed to lead the rest of the squad through the narrow passageway. Would his armor have been suffi?cient to protect him from such a device? Maybe, Zolkin concluded, and maybe not.
The electrifi?ed posts were quickly slagged by the T-2s, thus allowing the entire team to pass unharmed. “Okay,”
Santana said over the squad-level com channel. “That confi?rms what we already knew. . . . The bugs are in residence, so stay sharp.”
And they were sharp, or as sharp as they could be, but some traps are diffi?cult to detect. As the legionnaires learned when Private Mak Matal put his full weight on a sand-swept pressure plate and triggered a carefully shaped charge. The explosion blew both the T-2 and his rider into a thousand fragments. They soared upwards until gravity took over and began to pull them back down. The bloody confetti had a tendency to bond with anything that it came in contact with. Including the legionnaires themselves. The disaster was so unexpected that even Santana was shocked, especially since he, Zolkin, Yanty, and their T-2s had safely crossed the very same spot only moments before. Killing the fourth person, or in this case persons to pass over the mine was a tactic intended to infl?ict casualties, sow the seeds of doubt, and terrorize those who survived. That was bad enough, but having lost one-third of Yanty’s squad, Santana was even more concerned about the unit’s ability to defend itself as the survivors came together in front of the main lock. “Check the hatch for booby traps,” Santana ordered tersely. “And, if it comes up clean, blow it.”
Zolkin felt as if he should be giving orders, or helping somehow, but found that it was diffi?cult to see. So he reached up to wipe the muck off his face shield, realized what the bloody sludge was, and threw up in his helmet. The vomit ran down the offi?cer’s chin, found its way past his neck seal, and dribbled into his suit. The stench was sickening, and Zolkin felt an intense sense of shame, as his stomach heaved yet again.
“Get away from the hatch,” Santana ordered, as Yanty slapped a charge against the metal door and stepped to one side. All of the soldiers took cover as Yanty fl?ipped a safety switch and thumbed the remote. There was a fl?ash of light as the charge went off, followed by a cloud of dust, as air was expelled and an equivalent amount of Oron IV’s atmosphere rushed in to replace it. That was Private Oneeye Knifeplay’s cue to fi?re six grenades into the black hole in an effort to kill any chits that were waiting within. Santana couldn’t hear the explosions, but he could see flashes as the grenades went off, and sent pieces of razor-sharp shrapnel fl?ying in every direction. And even though the wait was only a few seconds long, there was still enough time to feel the fear seep into his belly. Matal and Bisby died the fi?rst time they went into combat, the soldier told himself. But even though you’ve been in combat dozens of times, you’re still alive. Why is that? And how many more doors can you walk through before your luck runs out?
There was no answer, just as Santana knew there wouldn’t be, and for some reason it was an image of Christine Vanderveen’s face that the cavalry offi?cer saw as he entered the swirling smoke. It might have been Camerone, in 1863, or Dien Bien Phu in 1953, or any of a thousand actions since, as the company commander waved his legionnaires forward.
“What the hell are you waiting for?” Sergeant Yanty wanted to know, as the remainder of her squad stood frozen in place. “A frigging invitation? Let’s kill some bugs!”
Four bio bods and four T-2s entered the mine, and followed the gradually sloping shaft downwards, as their lights played across the rough-hewn rock walls. And that, according to File Leader Beeb Nohar’s way of thinking, was just fi?ne. It was a long way from the control cavern to the escape hatch located on the other side of the hills above, so Byap and the twelve troopers who accompanied him still had a ways to go, when they received word that the aliens had entered the mine. A price had been paid, however, a bloody price, and that gave the Ramanthian pleasure as he urged his soldiers forward. Blobs of light swung back and forth across rocky walls, and badly faded alien hieroglyphics could be seen here and there, as the Ramanthians shuffl?ed past a side gallery crammed fl?oor to ceiling with army rations. Finally, after fi?ve minutes of additional travel, the fi?le was forced to a stop in front of the emergency exit. Having checked to ensure that the lock’s surcam was operational, Byap took the time necessary to scan the external environment before proceeding any farther. Because once out in the open, the subcommander knew that his tiny force would be vulnerable to enemy cyborgs and the Confederacy’s aerospace fi?ghters. But the surcam revealed nothing other than a cloudless sky and the steep scree-covered slope that led to the iron-oxide-stained plain below.