“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Six lied. “I’m Colonel-420, and this is A Company, 102nd Airborne. That’s what we’re calling it anyway. . . . The truth is that my men were originally part of fi?ve different units. All of which got chewed up and spit out when the bugs landed.”
“I’m glad that you and your men made it through,”
Smith said sympathetically. “Here’s hoping things improve soon.”
“Not for us,” Six replied inclusively. “Not unless we join the navy.”
That got the expected laugh. “So, how can I help?” Smith wanted to know. “We weren’t expecting you—so I don’t have any orders.”
“We’re on our way east,” Six said truthfully. “To harass the enemy. We know this country, and they don’t. So once we close with the bastards, we’ll have an advantage.”
The plan sounded iffy to Smith. Especially given the number of troops the clone had at his disposal. But who was he to argue with a full bird? “Sir, yes sir,” Smith said respectfully.
“So what we need is some MREs, a few thousand rounds of ammo, and medical treatment for a couple of men who have infected wounds. Then, if you’ll let us stay the night, we’ll be out of here in the morning.”
Everything the other offi?cer said made sense, and the clones were allies, so Smith was tempted to approve the request himself. But the battalion commander could be an asshole at times, especially where command prerogatives were concerned, so why take a chance? Having put the clones on hold, Smith walked a few yards away and activated his radio. It took the better part of fi?ve minutes to get an okay from the CO along with a lot of unsolicited advice—most of which Smith planned to ignore as he went back to speak with the man he knew as Colonel-420. “Sorry about the delay, sir. . . . Lieutenant Colonel Suki told me to welcome you to Firebase 356 on his behalf, and invited you to use his quarters. So, if you and your men will follow me, we’ll get you settled.”
Six nodded politely, let out an inaudible sigh of relief, and waved his men forward. The computer-controlled crab mines, which were located to either side of the zigzagging road, made scrabbling sounds as they crawled back and forth. Six knew that the potentially lethal devices would fl?ood the path during the hours of darkness, thereby preventing enemy forces from fi?nding their way into the fi?rebase. Hopefully, assuming that everything went according to plan, there would be no need to deal with the self-propelled explosives on the way out.
Having gone through a second defensive perimeter, Six felt a sense of satisfaction as he and his Seebos passed the stiltmounted observation tower and stopped just short of the cir- cular landing pad beyond. It consisted of rock-hard heatfused soil that resembled volcanic glass. A variety of sandbagged enclosures marked weapons emplacements and the bunkers that lay below. To the clone’s eyes the fi?rebase looked like a well-stocked supermarket that could supply his troops for weeks to come. Not with some MREs, and a few thousand rounds of ammunition, but with all of the things that the free breeders would refuse him were he to ask. Like the shoulder-launched missiles he and his men were going to need in order to fulfi?ll the next part of his plan. A rich harvest indeed! But fi?rst it would be necessary to play a part. All of the marines knew about the Seebos, but very few had seen any of the clones close-up, so there was a tendency to stare as the Hegemony’s soldiers topped the hill. One of the onlookers was Lieutenant Kira Kelly. She was a doctor, and like all of the medical staff assigned to the Marine Corps, she belonged to the navy. And with most of the battalion in the fi?eld, and having held sick call earlier that morning, she was sitting outside her surgery, enjoying a cup of hot caf when the clones arrived.
It was strange to see so many virtually identical men—
the only difference being variations in age. Having read up on the subject, Kelly knew that appearances were deceiving, because each soldier had a different personality, which was obvious from the wide variety of expressions that could be seen on their faces, the manner in which they held their bodies, and the way some of them stared at her. Kelly noticed that one man had a pronounced limp and went out to meet him. But, before she could speak to the soldier, a colonel stepped in between them. “Don’t you have some work to do, Lieutenant?” Six demanded. “Because if you don’t, I’ll speak with Captain Smith, and I’m sure we can fi?nd some.”
Kelly had short, fl?aming red hair, piercing blue eyes, and what most people agreed was a two-second fuse. So when she turned to confront Six, the physician gave him what her subordinates generally referred to as “the look.” It consisted of a narrow-eyed stare that was normally reserved for incompetents, slackers, and other assorted miscreants. That, plus the way her hands rested on her hips, was a sure sign that the shit was about to hit the fan. Two marines close enough to be privy to the exchange looked at each other and grinned.
“First, Colonel whatever your number is, I don’t report to you. Second, I don’t report to Smith either. And, third, I am doing my goddamned job! And if you try to interfere with me, Chief Kibaki will blow your motherfucking head off!”
“Sorry,” a deep basso voice said from somewhere behind the clone. “But Dr. Kelly is correct. If you try to interfere with her, I will blow your motherfucking head off. . . . Except you don’t have a mother. . . . Do you, sir?”
That caused every marine within earshot to laugh. And Six turned to discover that a huge black man was pointing a pistol at his head while grinning from ear to ear. The Seebos didn’t like that, and were reaching for their weapons, when Lieutenant-44 snapped, “As you were!” Because he knew that one wrong move could start an all-out shooting war. One the clones would lose.
Six was thunderstruck. Partly because the free-breeding female was the fi?rst person to question his authority in a long time, but also because Kelly was so pretty it took his breath away. That made the offi?cer ashamed, because such reactions were wrong, and he of all people was supposed to control himself. But when the clone turned back, ready to deliver a stern rebuke, it was to fi?nd that the doctor was helping 81 over to an ammo crate so he could take his right boot off. There was an audible click as Kibaki let the hammer down and returned the pistol to its shoulder holster. “Don’t let the doc get to you, sir. . . . Dr. Kelly has a lot of edges, but there ain’t none better! Especially when the casualties start to roll on in.”
Smith came to the clone’s rescue at that point by offering Six a lukewarm shower, and a hot meal. But Lieutenant-44 had witnessed the whole thing, and knowing his commanding offi?cer the way he did, wondered if that would be the end of it. Everyone knew Colonel Six was a horny old bastard. Everybody except him that is. . . . Which was what made the whole thing interesting. Four-four grinned and went in search of something to eat.
The night was cold, and a light snow was falling, as the clone noncoms made their rounds. There was a chorus of groans as the soldiers extricated themselves from their sleeping bags, pulled their boots on, and checked their weapons. Once the Seebos were ready, they left the relative comfort of the bunkers to which they had been assigned for the freezing cold air outside. Each squad had a separate objective—but the same basic orders: Take control of the base, prevent communications with the outside world, and keep casualties to a minimum. And the effort went well at fi?rst. Four-Four led a squad into the Bat HQ bunker, where they took Captain Smith, the duty sergeant, and the RT (radio tech) prisoner. Meanwhile, other teams took control of the weapons pits, the observation tower, and the supply dump.
In fact, the entire operation might have gone off without a hitch had it not been for the fact that Private Harley Haskins had a bad case of the runs. The problem forced the jarhead to exit his sleeping bag in a hurry, grab his weapon, and dash out into the night. The partially screened fourholer was located about twenty-fi?ve feet away, and it seemed like a mile. Having dropped trou, Haskins was forced to plant his formerly warm ass on slushy plywood as a regiment of snowfl?akes parachuted out of the sky. And that’s where he was, shitting his guts out, when a group of clones paused just beyond the privacy screen. Then, as one of the Seebo sergeants paused to remind his brothers “To use knives rather than guns,” Haskins hurried to wipe himself. Having hoisted his pants, and grabbed his weapon, the marine did what any good leatherneck would do: He followed the clones to the front gate, saw them take a sentry down, and opened fi?re. And, because Haskins was a good shot, all six of the clone bastards fell.