Having located Corporal Thain, the offi?cer gave the cyborg a concise set of orders, before turning back toward the center of camp. Millar was there, half-hidden by a track, fi?ring his energy cannon at the enemy. Another defender would have been useful, but Santana had something more important for the recon ball to do, and gave the cyborg new orders. Then, having called upon Dietrich to fi?re some smoke grenades toward the north, the scout vanished into the resulting fog.
Thanks to Lieutenant Zolkin’s earlier efforts, ordnance of all kinds had been unloaded from the vehicles and divided between three widely spaced bunkers to avoid the possibility that a single explosion would destroy all their ammo. So, when the outgoing fi?re fell off, Hoyt-11,791 and her CVAs rushed to resupply the troops. Especially the T-2s, who couldn’t reload their own magazines. As Santana continued to make the rounds, the cavalry offi?cer realized that insofar as combat troops were concerned, he was down to eight of Alpha Company’s bio bods, half a dozen marines, four loyal Seebos from the transportation platoon, and fi?ve T-2s. The rest had departed with Thain. Unfortunately, some of his legionnaires were tied up guarding Six, the treacherous Dr. Kelly, and the thirty-six Seebos who remained loyal to the renegade. All of them were seated hip to hip in two rows behind one of their own half-tracks. But there was nothing Santana could do about that as more whistles were heard and the real infantry assault began. “Don’t let them reach the perimeter!” Santana shouted, as he brought his CA-10 up to his shoulder and began to fi?re. “Lupo! Everything outside of a hundred yards belongs to you!”
The quad heard the command via the company push and went to work with all four of his gang-mounted energy cannons. They fi?red in alternating sequence, but so rapidly that the fi?re appeared to be continuous, as iridescent energy bolts sleeted across the free-fi?re zone and carved black swaths through the snow. Dozens of Ramanthians simply ceased to exist, as their bodies were vaporized, and steam fogged the atmosphere.
Meanwhile, closer in, the bio bods, backed by the highly mobile T-2s, were giving a good account of themselves. The vehicle-mounted fi?fties continued to chug methodically, the lighter weapons chattered, and exploding grenades threw columns of dirty snow up into the air as clusters of bugs went down. But like the waves of an incoming tide, Santana saw that each drift of bodies was closer to the perimeter than the last had been, and wondered how much longer they would be able to hold.
Suddenly an airborne Ramanthian was there, descending from above to land directly on top of the log barricade, then the trooper was gone in a brilliant fl?ash of light. The payoff for the trooper’s act of self-sacrifi?ce was a dead legionnaire and a four-foot-wide hole in the camp’s defenses. Both Santana and a force of Ramanthians rushed toward the gap. “Torrez!’
the offi?cer shouted. “Hayashi! To me!”
Both T-2s responded, bringing their considerable fi?repower to bear on a point fi?fty feet out from the newly created hole, and that’s where the oncoming Ramanthians seemed to collide with an invisible wall. They staggered, and fell in heaps, which made it diffi?cult for those behind them to advance. But still the enemy came, wave after wave of them, as if willing to absorb every bullet the defenders had if that was the price of victory. Sergeant Pimm went down when a bullet smashed through his throat, and Hoyt11,791 stepped in to take his place on the fi?ring line. Death owned the valley—and the day had barely begun. Millar’s assignment was simple. He could remember Santana’s exact words: “Find the Ramanthian sonofabitch and kill him!” By which the cavalry offi?cer meant the bug who was directing the attack on the allied encampment. But that was easier said than done. Even though the recon ball had been able to exit the encampment under cover of Dietrich’s smoke screen, his presence had not gone unnoticed. Although the chits didn’t believe in cyborgs, they had robotic remotes, which could be used for reconnaissance missions. And the scout hadn’t traveled more than a thousand yards before one of the pesky machines locked on to his heat signature and began to follow him. That forced Millar to waste valuable time turning around and going after the machine, which—though lightly armed—was highly maneuverable and quite speedy. But, after a three-minute chase, Millar had been able to catch up with the robot and destroy it with a single bolt from his energy cannon. Having resumed his original mission, the cyborg was concealed within a grove of trees peering out into an open meadow located about a mile north of the allied encampment. And what he saw shocked him. Even more Ramanthians were streaming into the open area, where they were formed into the equivalent of platoons before being sent south into the fray! That made the task of killing their commanding offi?cer all the more important. But, while the grouping of what the scout assumed to be offi?cers was within range of his .50-caliber gun, the stubby barrel was way too short to produce suffi?cient accuracy over the distance required. The obvious answer was to get closer before taking his shot. But with no trees for cover, that wouldn’t be possible.
The reality of that sent a trickle of liquid lead into Millar’s nonexistent belly as whistles blew, another wave of troopers were sent forward, and machines guns chattered to the south. The legionnaire had already been killed once, and didn’t want to die again, but couldn’t see any other option. So the recon ball shot out of the trees, skimmed the snow, and began the long, hazardous run. There weren’t any trees, but there were outcroppings of rock, which would provide at least some cover so long as he stayed low. None of the Ramanthian offi?cers noticed the threat at fi?rst, partly because they were preoccupied with what they were doing, and partly because the terrain-following cyborg was hard to see as he weaved his way between boulders and occasional clusters of ground-hugging shrubs. But right about the time that Millar was halfway to his goal one of the Ramanthians spotted him, clacked an alert, and the entire group turned to fi?re at him. That was bad, but not as bad as it might have been, since the offi?cers were armed with pistols rather than assault weapons. Still, the legionnaire had no armor to speak of, and felt a sudden stab of “pain” as a well-aimed bullet penetrated his casing and appropriate electronic impulses arrived at his forebrain. The damage triggered electronic warnings as well, which his onboard computer projected in front of Millar’s “vision,” making it harder to concentrate. The problem was that he didn’t know which bug was in overall command. So the logical solution was to kill all the bastards and let whatever god the Ramanthians believed in sort them out. Having closed the distance between himself and his targets, the recon ball opened fi?re.
Having stood their ground against the unconventional attack, the Ramanthian offi?cers were easy meat for the cyborg’s fi?fty and were literally torn to bloody rags as the huge slugs hit them. Body parts cartwheeled through the air, severed wings spiraled down, and a blood mist soaked the snow. But the noise and motion drew the attention of some incoming troops, one of whom was toting a rocket launcher that he was quick-witted enough to fi?re. Millar “heard” a warning tone, knew there wouldn’t be any reprieve this time, and felt an explosion of warmth as the heat-seeking missile weapon caught up with him. Suddenly he was free. Sending Corporal Thain plus three precious T-2s out of the encampment during the fi?rst few minutes of the attack had been a risky thing to do. But now, as the hard-pressed allies struggled to hold on, Santana hoped his gamble would pay off. And it did. Insofar as the chits knew, all the animals were directly in front of them. So when four highly lethal T-2s hit their left fl?ank, the Ramanthians were caught entirely by surprise. Dozens of enemy troopers were swept off their feet as the vengeful legionnaires opened fi?re on them. The cyborgs were always fast, but never more so than when unencumbered by a bio bod, which meant they were diffi?cult to hit. So as the latest wave of Ramanthians turned toward the new threat, it was only to encounter four whirling dervishes, each operating in perfect synchronization with all the rest. Guns chugged, energy cannons whined, and it seemed as if nothing could stop them until a rocket-propelled grenade hit Private Imbi Yat in the chest.