Then came what seemed like a miracle at fi?rst, as allied forces landed on Gamma-014, and the POW camp was “liberated.” The only problem was that while some of the Ramanthians were forced back into space, the victorious Seebos had no use for the Children of Nature, and largely ignored them. Fortunately, the Confederacy’s troops, all of whom were free breeders, offered what assistance they could. So, with no home to return to, Mama Dee and her clan had been forced to remain in what was now a refugee camp. A less-crowded place to be sure—but still just as miserable. Then came the news that the Alpha Clones had been overthrown, which gave the accidental people something to celebrate, until the Ramanthians suddenly reappeared! The bugs hadn’t landed in force yet, but clearly had control of the skies, and were said to be winning the ground war over toward Yal-Am.
Now, as the big rawboned Ortov-Chan “mix” and seven members of her “family” stood outside the clan’s shabby longhouse, and stared upwards, still another shift was under way. Hundreds of contrails were crisscrossing the sky. And it wasn’t long before spaceships appeared over the city. These were not the military vessels that the refugees expected to see, but a wild menagerie of yachts, freighters, and other craft, some of which were very alien in appearance. There was a momentary fl?ash of light, followed by a clap of what sounded like thunder, as one of the ships ceased to exist. Pieces of smoking wreckage were still raining down on a spot two miles away when a man in a ten-foot-tall orange exoskeleton approached them. The machine made intermittent whining noises as the petty offi?cer who was at the controls weaved his way between makeshift hovels. The noncom’s voice boomed out over the speakers above his head. “Make a hole!” the sailor demanded. “A big hole! A ship is about to land. . . . I repeat, a ship is about to land. Gamma-014 is being evacuated. You will board in an orderly fashion. Leave all personal items behind. . . . I repeat, leave all personal items behind.”
And as the sailor continued to wade through the crowd, a massive shadow fell over the fi?eld, and repellers roared as Maylo Chien-Chu brought the Xinglong in for a landing.
“Be careful!” Brisco cautioned unnecessarily. “There are people down there.”
“Thanks,” Maylo said dryly, her fi?ngers dancing across the controls. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The downdraft from the freighter’s repellers destroyed two of the fl?imsy huts, which were empty by then. That was followed by a noticeable jolt as the skids found solid ground beneath a six-inch layer of semiliquid brown muck. Down in the hold, Orlo-Ka fl?ipped a safety cover out of the way and stabbed a button with a sausage-sized index fi?nger. Metal groaned and servos whined as the much-dented belly ramp deployed. The big Hudathan was armed with an energy rifl?e as he stomped down the incline and onto the surface below. That, plus his size, was suffi?cient to prevent what might otherwise have been a stampede. Of course, some civilians were suspicious, fearing some sort of trick, and were quick to back away. But the vast majority, the Children of Nature included, fi?gured they had nothing to lose. So as her family surged up the ramp, Mama Dee led the way, her staff thumping on metal. Fifteen minutes later, a Klaxon began to bleat, the fi?lthy ramp came up, and repellers fi?red. Maylo had to rock the freighter from side to side in order to break the skids out of the mud, but eventually succeeded and accelerated away. There were still lots of people on the ground, but a beat-up ore carrier was circling the camp by then, and was soon on the ground.
It took the Xinglong two seemingly endless hours to escape Gamma-014’s gravity well, dodge a Ramanthian de- stroyer, and go hyper. But she made it—and even Brisco was somewhat pleased. “Not bad for an amateur,” the crusty copilot allowed. “But the next trip will be harder.” And, even though Maylo wasn’t ready to think about that yet, she knew Brisco was correct.
It was just after dawn. Santana stood with his back to one of the campfi?res drinking a cup of hot caf and looking out at the open area to the south of him. At least four or fi?ve inches of snow had fallen during the night, and the offi?cer was cold, tired, and dirty. Roughly half of Alpha Company was on high alert, manning the perimeter, while the rest of the outfi?t was getting ready to pull out. The good news was that the hostages had been rescued, and Colonel Six was in custody. The bad news was that, based on the most recent scouting report from Lieutenant Millar, it appeared as though the previous evening’s fi?refi?ght had been heard or seen because a large force of Ramanthians had infi?ltrated the area between Alpha Company and the main highway. So what to do? Santana could marshal his forces, such as they were, and attempt to break out. Or, remain where he was, and let the chits come to him. But one thing was for sure. . . . Kobbi’s convoy was busy fi?ghting for its life—so there wouldn’t be any help from that quarter. And Santana knew the clock was ticking. Any group that failed to exit the mountains along with the main column ran the risk of being left on Gamma-014. That, given the way Ramanthians treated their prisoners, was tantamount to a death sentence.
Such were Santana’s thoughts as he noticed something strange, swallowed the last of his caf, and made his way out to the perimeter. Marine Sergeant Pimm saw the offi?cer coming. He had come to respect Santana over the last few days, which was nothing short of a frigging miracle, since everybody knew the Legion was nothing more than a collection of criminals, wackos, and freaks. Pimm nodded politely. “Good morning, sir.”
Santana’s eyes were fi?xed on a point beyond the log barricade. He said, “Good morning, Sergeant,” drew his sidearm, and vaulted over the logs. Then, as the mystifi?ed noncom looked on, the legionnaire took four paces forward and aimed his weapon at a spiral of wispy vapor. There was a loud blam, blam, blam as the offi?cer fi?red his pistol. Brass casings arced away from the weapon, something heaved under the snow, and blood colored it red.
And that was when all hell broke loose as thirty or forty Ramanthian commandos threw off thermal blankets and rose from the ground. Having concealed their heat signatures with the blankets, the bugs had been able to sneak up on the encampment during the night. Then, once they were within grenade-throwing range of the encampment, the Ramanthians allowed the snow to cover them over. But they had to breathe, and that was what had given them away. Two commandos were within six feet of Santana. The cavalry offi?cer shot one of the Ramanthians in the face, whirled, and shot the other. Then, as he backed his way toward the barricade, Santana emptied his pistol at a fourth commando. That was when Sergeant Pimm grabbed onto the offi?cer’s battle harness from behind and jerked him over the barricade. There was a loud carump as the fi?rst mortar round hit, killed one of the CVAs, and sent a column of blood, mud, and snow up into the air.
The marines were fi?ring by then, as were the legionnaires, but the surviving commandos were only yards away. Grenades sailed though the air, landed, and went off one after another. A Seebo was decapitated by fl?ying shrapnel, a legionnaire went down with a shard of metal in his thigh, and fl?ying fragments clanged as they hit the half-tracks. Somewhere off in the distance, shrill whistles could be heard, along with an alien bugling sound, as Ramanthian regulars rushed to join the fray. Daylight attacks were rare, but with the commandos to lead the way, the bugs had been about to launch one. Santana was back on his feet by then— the decision having been made for him. There was no avenue of escape. Alpha Company would stay and fi?ght. So as Lupo’s onboard computer calculated trajectories for the incoming mortar shells, and the quad sent a volley of short-range missiles racing toward the enemy tubes, Santana offered words of encouragement as the company prepared to defend itself. The legionnaires and their allies had camped inside the perimeter that Colonel Six had established for his troops, and thanks to the fact that the cavalry offi?cer had been able to bring the rest of his command around the south end of the lake during the hours of darkness, all of them were in one place. Which was fortunate indeed. Since two separate groups would have been hard-pressed to defend themselves.