Now it was the Seebos’ turn to look at each other in amazement. Because on all previous occasions, when no free breeders were present to hear, the supreme commander had consistently referred to the Legion’s cyborgs as “freaks, weirdos, and criminal scum.” Military curiosities at best who weren’t fi?t for serious combat. Which was why none of the cavalry units had seen any action yet—in spite of the fact that the Legion’s infantry had taken part in assault after assault. But such was their fear of the general, and his notoriously short temper, that none of the clone offi?cers wanted to challenge the apparent about-face. Especially with so many free breeders present.
So the battle plan was fi?nalized, and all of the regimental commanders were sent out to prepare their troops, which were slated to attack the Ramanthian positions just before dawn. Not with the goal of taking a few trenches, but in an effort to wipe the bugs off the battlefi?eld, and capturing the town beyond! Kobbi was whistling by the time he made his way down the slippery ramp and entered his command bunker. And that, as all of his subordinates knew, was a very good sign.
Rather than the chance to rest, which Santana and his company had been hoping for, they came down out of Tow-Tok Pass to discover that they would be at the forefront of an allout attack scheduled for 0500 the next morning. The cavalry offi?cer got the news in person, as people bustled about the 1st REC’s command bunker, clearly preparing for something.
“I’m sorry,” General Kobbi said, once Santana had delivered his report. “But we’ve got to put the Colonel Six matter aside for the moment. I know you and your people deserve a break, but I can’t give you one. Finally, after all this time, General453 has come to his senses! We’re going to launch a major attack in the morning—I’m going to need every cyborg we’ve got. So rearm your people and get them ready. God willing, we’ll take Yal-Am in time for lunch!”
Santana had known the diminutive general for quite a while by then and couldn’t recall seeing him quite so enthusiastic before. “That sounds good, sir,” Santana replied. “I’d better get back to my company.”
“One thing before you go,” Kobbi said thoughtfully. “I was going to assign this task to someone else, but you have more combat experience, and you know what that means.”
Santana made a face. “Is this some sort of shit detail, sir?”
“Yes, it is!” Kobbi replied cheerfully. “Much to everyone’s surprise General-453 wants to lead this assault from the front. But given the speed with which we’re going to advance, the only way he can possibly keep up is to ride a T-2. Which he’s never done before.”
Santana groaned. “So you want me to babysit him.”
“No,” Kobbi countered. “I want you and your company to guard him. But I won’t insist. Colonel Quinlan misses you terribly—and will be quite happy to bring Alpha Company back into the fold.”
There was a moment of silence as the men stared at each other. It was Santana who spoke fi?rst. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Granted.”
“You are one rotten bastard. Sir.”
Kobbi grinned from ear to ear. “That’s what they tell me. So, we have a deal?”
“Yes, sir,” Santana agreed grimly. “We have a deal.”
“Good. I’ll send word to the general. Which cyborg will you partner him with?”
“Private Shalo Shaley, sir. We lost her bio bod up in TowTok Pass.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kobbi replied soberly. “Well, tell the private she’s about to become a corporal if she can get Four-fi?fty-three into Yal-Am with his clone ass intact.”
Santana came to attention. The salute was smart and crisp.
“Sir, yes sir.”
Kobbi returned the salute. “Dismissed.”
The senior offi?cer’s face was impassive, but as Santana turned, and made his way up the ramp Kobbi sent a thought after him. Take care of yourself, Captain. . . . Your father would be proud.
The entire front line seemed to hold its collective breath as the fi?nal seconds ticked away, and General-453 yelled
“Charge!” over the division-level push. Except that it wasn’t Four-fi?fty-three, because he was still being held under Dr. Kira Kelly’s supervision, as dozens of simultaneously launched fl?ares transformed night into day, artillery shells screamed downrange, and the huge quads lumbered out onto the battlefi?eld.
The fi?fty-ton cyborgs were big targets, and therefore almost impossible to miss, but they could take a lot of punishment, and did, as the Ramanthians opened up with everything they had. The legionnaires fought back as missiles raced off their rails, energy cannons sent pulses of blue death stuttering across no-man’s-land, and powerful legs tore through coils of barbed wire. And there were others besides Lupo and Xiong, sixteen quads altogether sweeping across the icy moonscape.
The big monsters weren’t alone. The smaller, more agile T-2s were all around them. Jumping over trenches, fl?aming machine-gun nests, and fi?ring shoulder-launched missiles. The rockets sleeted across the cratered landscape to strike at enemy artillery positions. Some were neutralized, while others continued to fi?re, their barrels nearly parallel to the ground.
That was when Colonel Six, AKA General-453, realized his mistake. Rather than lead allied forces, the way the renegade had imagined that he would, the clone had been re- duced to little more than a piece of living luggage strapped to a T-2’s back! And not very skilled baggage, because if it hadn’t been for the harness that held him in place, Six knew he would have been thrown clear by then. So all the imposter could do was hold on, fi?re his pistol at targets of opportunity, and hope things were going well. And things were going well, or so it seemed to Santana, who was advancing parallel to General-453, roughly fi?fteen feet away. Even though he understood the theoretical advantage that the big walkers had when fi?ghting on broken terrain, Santana had never been exposed to trench warfare before, and was proud to see how easily the quads could advance across a battlefi?eld littered with burned-out hover tanks. And not just advance, but destroy the enemy with overlapping fi?elds of fi?re, as the seemingly unstoppable behemoths continued to plod forward. Unfortunately, the big cyborgs could be stopped, and even though they hadn’t had any practice, the Ramanthian offi?cers understood the theory. Every weapon system involves a series of trade-offs. One of which is the ratio of weight to speed. And speed was very important. So rather than use the same thickness of armor underneath the quads, as they had everywhere else, the cybernetic engineers put less metal there. That meant the way to kill a quad was to send infantry in under it, fi?nd a way to attach a demolition pack to the cyborg’s belly, and run like hell! Or, if that wasn’t possible, then attack a spindly leg. Of course the Legion’s tacticians understood how vulnerable the big machines were, which was why a platoon of T-2s was typically assigned to guard each quad against infantry attacks.
But where there’s a will, there’s a way, and as Xiong moved forward her “torso” passed over a group of dead Ramanthians. Except one of them wasn’t dead. His name was Koga Noo, he was a member of the fanatical Nira cult, and eager to sacrifi?ce himself to the cause. Especially if he could take one of the big walkers with him!
War involves luck, both good and bad, and as luck would have it a demo pack lay four feet away. It had been brought onto the battlefi?eld for the purpose of blowing a hole in the allied wire, but the engineers assigned to place it had been killed. So it was a simple matter for Noo to grab hold of the container and leap into the air as the quad passed over him. The cyborg’s thinly armored belly was too high for the soldier to touch, but the Ramanthian had wings and was quick to deploy them. Seconds later, before the deadly T-2s could intervene, Noo was hovering just below Xiong’s closely packed cargo bay. That was when the enemy soldier pinched the switch.