and snowfl?akes had started to accumulate on his shoulders. The offi?cer’s tone was humble. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”
Santana shrugged. “You’re welcome. . . . What’s on your mind?”
Six stared into the legionnaire’s eyes. “The Ramanthians will attack tonight.”
“That possibility had occurred to me,” Santana replied dryly.
“And they’re going to win,” Six predicted. “Unless you get reinforcements—which both of us know you won’t. So turn us loose!” he said hurriedly. “We’ll fi?ght beside you. And I think you’ll agree that thirty-six additional soldiers could make a big difference.”
“Yes, they could,” Santana agreed soberly. “But what happens later on? When the battle is over?”
“We’ll lay down our arms,” Six promised. “Or keep them if need be—under your command.”
“It sounds good,” Santana admitted. “But no thanks. . . . I wouldn’t trust you farther than I could throw a half-track.”
“You don’t have to trust me,” the other man replied earnestly. His voice was pitched so low that the other Seebos couldn’t hear. “You have someone that means a lot to me and I wouldn’t leave here without.”
“Dr. Kelly?”
“Exactly,” the clone agreed defi?antly.
The offer was tempting. Very tempting. Because thirtysix additional defenders would make an important difference. Especially given the fact that the Seebos were crack troops. Literally bred to fi?ght—and tough as nails. But the colonel was accused of murder.
Still, the Legion had the means to keep potentially rebellious cyborgs under control, so why not use a similar technique on Six? Not too surprisingly the clone objected to the concept Santana put forward. But, if the Seebo wanted to live, he had very little choice. Sergeant Jose Ramos was something of a genius where explosives were concerned, and it was he who came up with the combination leg shackle and bomb. A tidy little device that Santana, Zolkin, or Dietrich could trigger remotely anytime one of them chose to do so. It wouldn’t kill Six, not immediately, but it would blow his right foot off. Suddenly, what had been a seemingly hopeless situation, was just a little bit better.
The animals had been weakened during the previous day. Subcommander Jaos Nubb knew that. So rather than take the more measured approach that his dead predecessor had—Nubb had chosen to send all his troops in at once. The majority of them were members of the much vaunted Death Hammer Regiment and therefore among the most valiant soldiers the empire had to offer. So it was with a sense of confi?dence that the offi?cer led his troops into battle. And simultaneously called upon his secret weapon, which was in orbit one thousand three hundred miles above the planet’s surface.
The Star Taker had been busy of late, chasing dozens of little ships and snuffi?ng them out of existence, so the ship’s crew welcomed the opportunity to settle into orbit and fi?re on some ground coordinates for a change—even if that meant allowing some civilian vessels to escape. The problem, to the extent that there was one, had to do with the question of accuracy. Because based on data provided by Subcommander Nubb, there was very little distance between his troops and enemy forces. Which meant even a small error could have tragic results. So great care was taken while calculating all of the many variables involved. But fi?nally, on an order from Nubb, one of the destroyer’s big guns spoke. An artifi?cial comet was born and slashed down through the atmosphere toward the surface below. Santana recognized the freight-train rumble the moment he heard it. But it was Dietrich who shouted, “Incoming!” and beat the offi?cer into one of the recently improved bunkers. The blue lightning bolt fell on a half-track, blew the vehicle apart, and killed the Seebos who had been stationed at the vehicle’s machine guns. The second bolt punched a hole in the ice-covered lake, brought the surrounding water to a momentary boil, and sent a geyser of steam fi?fty feet into the air. The third impact opened a gap in the southern portion of the defensive wall, erased a Hoyt, and opened a grave in which to bury her remains. Dirt and rocks fell like rain. Then while the allies were still taking shelter in their various holes, the Ramanthians attacked. Fortunately, Sergeant Suresee Fareye, who had been sent to scout the enemy, gave the warning.
“This is Alpha Six-Four. . . . Here they come! Over.”
That brought all the troops back up and most were in place by the time the tsunami of chitin and fl?esh struck. There was no opportunity to think about tactics or give orders because Santana was fi?ghting for his life. A hellish symphony of explosions, gunfi?re, and alien bugle calls were heard as fl?ares threw a ghastly glow over the scene and began their slow descent. The cavalry offi?cer could see hundreds of bugs, all shuffl?ing forward as quickly as they could, determined to roll over the encampment and kill everyone within.
But if the bugs were a wave, the allies were a rock, and the volume of outgoing fi?re was stupendous. Between the cyborgs, each of whom packed fi?repower equivalent to a squad of regular troops, and the newly reinforced bio bods, Alpha Company was an immovable object. And with no soldiers left in reserve, there was nothing Nubb could do, but throw himself at the wall of dead bodies. A valiant thing to do, but largely meaningless, because he was killed within seconds. The assault came to an end fi?ve minutes later, when the heretofore stationary Lupo lurched to his feet, stepped over the grisly barricade, and went on the offensive. With a pack of agile T-2s to protect his fl?anks, the cyborg went bug hunting. The surviving Ramanthians ran. And the results, as summarized by Master Sergeant Dietrich, were nothing less than: “Goddamned wonderful!” Which, all things considered, was pretty good. General Mortimer Kobbi had two recon balls left—and made good use of both as the nine-mile-long column snaked its way toward the west. By plugging into what the airborne cyborgs could see, Kobbi could monitor what was happening from his place near the front of the formation. The good news, if one could call it that, was that because the allied force was 10 percent smaller as it left Yal-Am, it was that much speedier. Or would have been, if it hadn’t been for a long series of Ramanthian-triggered avalanches, well-conceived ambushes, and cleverly hidden mines. As the allies waited for the latest rockslide to be cleared, Kobbi raised his binos. Hundreds of Ramanthian troops could be seen streaming along the tops of ridges to the north and south. The bugs were paralleling the allies, waiting for the chance to close in, and that opportunity was coming. Fifteen miles ahead, at a place called the Ordo gorge, the bugs would have the perfect opportunity to converge on the column as it was forced to cross a narrow two-lane bridge. That was bad enough. But even worse from Kobbi’s point of view was the fact that if the span were blown, the allies would be trapped in the mountains, and cut off from the lowlands to the west. That was where Maylo Chien-Chu and her ragtag fl?eet of yachts, freighters, and other civilian vessels were supposed to pick the soldiers up. But only if the bridge was still in place when the column arrived at the Ordo gorge.
And that was a problem because the little general lacked the fl?y-forms necessary to airlift troops to the span. All of his attempts to send infantry forward had been blocked by a sequence of well-executed ambushes. So the offi?cer felt a sudden sense of jubilation when a familiar voice was heard on the command push. “Alpha Six to Six-One. Over.”
“This is Six-One,” Kobbi replied. “Go. Over.”
“We have him,” Santana said meaningfully. “And the hostages. Over.”
“That’s wonderful,” Kobbi enthused, as he lowered his visor. A series of eye blinks summoned the map he was looking for, the blue “snake” that represented the column, and Alpha Company’s pulsing triangle. Kobbi was thrilled to see that Santana’s company was on the highway ahead, only six miles from the Ordo bridge!