“Who cares?” Santana countered, raising his voice so others could hear. “So long as it can fl?y. And you’ve been on our troopships. . . . I’ll take the freighter!”
That got a laugh, and the comment soon made the rounds. But Santana was concerned. As the civilian ships continued to arrive, he saw that many of them were so old, or so small, that they made the fi?rst freighter look like a passenger liner. Still, something was better than nothing, or so the cavalry offi?cer told himself as he was forced to confront the latest challenge. Alpha Company had been ordered to plug a hole on the east side of the doughnut between elements of the 13th DBLE
and the 1st Marine Division, both of which had suffered heavy casualties in Yal-Am. In fact, most of their neighbors looked like hollow-cheeked scarecrows as they interrupted their work long enough to wave at the newcomers and shout friendly insults. There was plenty of work to do, because like the outfi?ts to either side of it, the company was responsible for its own defenses. So with only a few hours of daylight left to them, it was important to dig fi?ring pits, excavate communicating trenches, and fi?ll newly created bunkers with ammo. Fortunately, the legionnaires could speed the process by replacing the graspers that the T-2s normally wore with
“shovel hands” that enabled the cyborgs to dig trenches in a fraction of the time that a team of bio bods would require. So while Zolkin, Dietrich, and Six supervised work on company’s defenses, Santana took a moment to climb up onto one of the half-tracks and examine the area through his binos. To call the scene chaotic would have been an understatement. Ships of every possible description were circling the LZ, waiting for an opportunity to land. Then, when one of them fi?nally managed to do so, a navy beach master was sent to fi?nd out how many people that particular vessel could accommodate. An unfortunate necessity caused by the fact that most of the civilians weren’t equipped to communicate with the military. Once the ship’s capacity had been determined, the petty offi?cer would radio the information in, the correct number of stretcher parties were dispatched, and the loading process began.
According to the orders issued by Kobbi, the wounded were to be evacuated fi?rst. Then, once they were gone, enlisted bio bods would go next, followed by the Legion’s cyborgs, and the offi?cers. Immediately after each vessel lifted off, another yacht, lugger, or freighter would land, at which point the whole process began again. Or that was how everything was supposed to work.
But as Santana and thousands of others looked on, what had once been a thirty-passenger lifeboat took off, and suddenly lost power. It was three hundred feet off the ground by then and fell like a rock. There was a loud boom as it hit. Followed by a ball of fl?ame—and a towering column of black smoke. Fortunately, the boat crashed well outside of the main landing area, allowing the next vessel to settle in two minutes later. Meanwhile, out along the doughnut’s perimeter, work continued. Some sections were well fortifi?ed as enterprising offi?cers, and in some cases senior noncoms, sought to strengthen their various positions. Other areas were not prepared either because the troops lacked good leadership or they were too exhausted to do more. Countless campfi?res pointed gray fi?ngers up at the overcast sky, where hardworking recon balls zipped back and forth across the LZ, and stoic robots carried stretchers loaded with ammo from one location to another. All this made Santana thankful for the fact that he wasn’t a major, colonel, or, God forbid, a general, and therefore responsible for a larger slice of the insanity taking place around him. Santana was just about to leave his vantage point when a pair of Ramanthian fi?ghters roared overhead. The cavalry offi?cer tracked the aircraft as they circled the allied position, vectored in on the incoming rescue boats, and attacked two of them. One of the allied vessels exploded in midair, and rained fl?aming debris onto the troops below, while the other spiraled into the ground half a mile outside the perimeter. There was a fl?ash of light followed by a muted boom. But victory typically comes at a price, as the bugs learned, when half a dozen quads and twice that number of T-2s hooked up with each other via the Legion’s ITC system to create an umbrella of computer-controlled antiaircraft fi?re. Both fi?ghters were destroyed within a matter of seconds, and the skies remained clear after that. Santana shook his head sadly and went back to work. There was a lot to do, beginning with the creation of an evacuation list, and the need to get a hot meal into the bio bods. That’s what Santana and Zolkin were working on when Kelly appeared. Lupo had been incorporated into the landing zone’s defenses a quarter of a mile away, and the doctor had been forced to walk from there, which was why her com- bat boots were caked with mud. There weren’t any guards with her, nor were any required, given the nature of the situation. The naval offi?cer came to attention and delivered a sloppy salute. Santana returned it. There was a continual roar as the ships came and went, forcing the cavalry offi?cer to raise his voice. “Dr. Kelly. This is a surprise.”
“I came to tell you that Private Knifeplay and the rest of your wounded soldiers are still alive,” Kelly said. “Or were when we loaded them onto one of the ships.”
Santana remembered the lifeboat that had crashed immediately after takeoff and wondered if any of his legionnaires had been aboard it. “Thank you, Doctor. That was very thoughtful of you.”
There was a moment of silence as the redhead looked down and back up again. Her eyes were very blue. “You’re welcome. Having spent time with Alpha Company, and not being assigned elsewhere, I was hoping you would let me stay.”
Colonel Six and his men had been ordered to prepare a position for one of the heavy machine guns. When Santana looked in that direction, he saw Six looking back at him. It didn’t take a genius to fi?gure out that the clone had seen Kelly arrive and was waiting to see what would happen. Santana’s fi?rst reaction was to say, “No,” but when he turned back, the expression on Kelly’s face was so hopeful he couldn’t bring himself to turn her down. “I’m afraid there will be one more battle to fi?ght,” the legionnaire said soberly.
“And we’ll need your skills.”
A look of profound gratitude appeared in Kelly’s eyes as she said, “Thank you, sir,” and immediately made her way out toward the point where Six stood waiting. The two of them made an odd couple, or so it seemed to Santana, who knew the founder would have agreed with him. A sleek-looking yacht rumbled in from the east, and was forced to pause a few hundred feet south of Alpha Company’s position, as another ship rose out of the doughnut hole. The name Play Pretty was painted on the side of the ship’s hull. The boat’s elderly pilots had completed three trips by then—and were back for their fourth. The afternoon wore on. Night was a long black thing, punctuated by the roar of repellers, as the nearly nonstop fl?ow of ships continued. Kobbi stopped by to visit Alpha Company around 0200. He was accompanied by an adjutant, and two bodyguards, all of whom joined Santana, Zolkin, and Dietrich around one of three fi?res. Colonel Six was off somewhere, with Kelly most likely, although Santana didn’t really care anymore. Not so long as they did their jobs.
“There’s one helluva battle going on up in space,” the little general commented grimly, as a fl?ask of whiskey made the rounds. He’d been talking for hours, and his voice was hoarse. “Our navy is back, and they’re doing everything they can to keep the bugs off our backs. So we owe the swabbies big-time.”