Chapter Nine
Bah! No bunch of [deleted] savages can stand against the Legion!
—Colonel Wilhelm Lichtenauer
following the Battle of Concorde Station,
Second Foreign Legion, 2191
Angela Garcia wiped sweat from her forehead and silently cursed the fault in the climate-control circuits of her uniform. Less than an hour after dawn the temperature was already close to 30°C and climbing steadily. The humidity-laden mist seemed to wrap tight around her.
She was hunched over Bravo Company’s portable C3 unit in an improvised foxhole at the edge of the Ganymede crash site overlooking the eastern edge of the Monkeyville plateau. Legionnaire Tran and Gunnery Sergeant Trent crouched on either side of her, the sergeant scanning the fog-shrouded landscape with his IR scope while Tran helped Garcia set up the terminal for the task ahead.
“Anything, Sergeant?” she asked softly.
“Not yet, Garcia,” he replied. “Second and Third recon lances are in position … but there’s no sign of the bad guys yet.”
“Damn.” Garcia bit her lip and squinted up through the mist. The fierce heat of Morrison’s Star would soon burn away the morning fog, and once that happened the chance for surprise would be gone. “Maybe we should we call it off, Sarge.”
Trent spat expressively. “Give it a few more minutes, Garcia,” he said. “We’ll find a few witnesses soon.”
“All right, Sergeant. You’re the boss.”
Garcia looked back down at the computer terminal and checked the settings again, more for something to do than because there was any need for another run-through. She wondered how Fraser was managing without either of his C3 technicians to help coordinate the main body’s escape.
He had wanted to take charge of the diversion personally, but Trent’s arguments against it were too strong. The company needed him on the spot if and when the enemy took the bait and gave him his opening to lead the main body out of the fort. So Fraser was stuck in his command van, waiting for the signal to move out, while Trent supervised the operation that was supposed to give him the chance he needed.
Tran cocked his head sideways and said something too softly for Garcia to hear, speaking into his throat mike. The junior C3 tech flipped a control on the terminal pack and looked up at Sergeant Trent. “Second recon lance has something, Sarge,” he said. His finger moved over the computer-generated map display. “Hannie patrol … here, moving south. Just outside the sensor line, and acting like they know it’s there.”
Trent pulled his chin thoughtfully. “Didn’t think the little bastards knew about ’em,” he said. “Well, let’s give them a show, Garcia!”
Her fingers danced over the terminal controls.
* * *
Zydryie Kiijyeed held up a hand to stop the column and cocked kys head, listening to the morning mists.
The sounds coming from the heights above were demon-spawned, not a part of the natural voice of the mists at all. Ky had heard that sound before. It was the noise made by the demon float-tanks when they moved. Ky had been a common soldier on city security duty when a parade of their float-tanks passed through the capital streets back when the demon army first arrived in Dryienjaiyeel.
Here, surrounded by jungle and mist, the sound took on new terror for Kiijyeed. Everyone in kys unit was talking about the terrible vengeance wrought by the guns the demon vehicles mounted. The casualties taken by Regiment Godshammer even before the skyship had fallen … Immortal Ancients! How could ordinary mortals fight such demon weapons?
The help the Ancient was giving the army seemed paltry by comparison with the power of that weaponry. It was good to be able to locate the devices that helped the demons track the Dryien troops around the perimeter of their fortress, but what did that really do to protect them from danger?
Especially now. It sounded as if the demons were sending their vehicles this way, toward kys patrol. The Asjyai had warned that the demons might attempt to break out from their plateau to wreak vengeance on the countryside. Could they be seeking out the trail Regiment Godshammer had used to bring up the tanks used in yesterday’s attack? This side of the perimeter was weakly held at best.
Kiijyeed signalled to kys radio operator. Headquarters had to be informed.…
The noise grew suddenly louder as a huge, flat-bodied shape burst out of the mists only a few kwyin away. Kiijyeed recoiled instinctively, dropping the radio handset and snatching at kys submachine gun. The alien APC roared past as if the driver hadn’t seen the patrol. Behind it, a second shape thundered through the fog.
Throwing kyself to the ground, Kiijyeed scrabbled for the radio handset again. This was surely the breakout attempt the Asjyai was waiting for. Troops had to be shifted to block the demons before they broke through the lines and spread over the countryside, harrying, destroying.…
As ky gripped the handset the radio operator flopped sideways in the dirt, half of kys face burnt away silently, invisibly, by some unseen demon weapon. Kiijyeed fought down terror as ky opened the radio channel.
“This is patrol three! Patrol three! The demons are attacking! Sector four … demon attack!”
The sinister whine of demon effeekaa rifles seemed to come from everywhere. Two more of kys soldiers died almost instantly, while a third was screaming horribly and clutching at the stump of kys arm, cut off at the wrist by the hail of demon bullets.
“Patrol three under attack by demons! They are breaking out…!”
Kiijyeed hardly even felt the needles that pierced kys body in a dozen places. The handset dropped from nerveless fingers as ky died, still gasping out kys last warning.…
* * *
“Cease fire! Cease fire!”
Corporal Strauss’s words grated harshly in Slick’s earphones. He dropped behind a fallen tree, FEK at the ready, and scanned his surroundings on IR. None of the hannie soldiers was moving any more. It had been a perfect ambush, short and sharp. Dark shapes rose out of the mist around the killing field.
“Report!” That was Sergeant Trent, speaking on the general comm channel.
“Red Lance,” Strauss replied. “All clear here. Patrol eliminated. No casualties.”
“Same for Blue Lance,” Corporal Braxton added. The two full-strength recon lances had been responsible for the ambush, while Pascali’s understrength unit remained in reserve. Trent had directed the legionnaires into position hard on the heels of the decoy vehicles. The timing had been perfect—after the hannie patrol had sighted the three engineering vans, they’d been given just enough time to report the movement to their HQ before being silenced. If all went according to plan, the natives would shift forces to investigate. And the more they shifted, the easier the real breakout would be.
“Very good,” Trent said. “All right, Red and Blue … get moving. Position number two. Spread out and start planting your Galahads. Rostov, Cunningham, start unloading your gear and setting the charges. Get moving, people!”
“You vill help Rostov, nube,” Strauss ordered curtly.
Slick followed the two demolitions experts as they headed for the nearest of the three engineering vehicles, now grounded a few meters beyond the ambush site.
The vehicle certainly looked convincing, Slick thought, as he moved up alongside it. With the engineering fittings stripped away and the laser turret disguised by a little sheet metal and some ingenious camouflage paint, the engineering van looked a lot like an ordinary Sandray troop carrier. With luck, it would convince frightened hannies that the main weight of the Terran breakout was coming through the east perimeter.
In fact the three vehicles were being remotely controlled by Legionnaire Garcia. As a computer and electronics expert, Garcia knew enough about programming to preset simple autopiloting instructions in the onboard computers and then use a C3 terminal to transmit updated orders as needed. With the recon lances deployed to spot the enemy and provide a little on-site firepower, the legionnaires could manage a convincing simulation of a breakout attempt—convincing enough, everyone hoped, to fool the natives, at least.
Rostov opened the rear door, revealing a stack of cargomods inside. Bravo Company had been well-provided with PX-90 explosives and detpack programmable detonators for use in their engineering work. Now the demolitions gear would serve a more lethal purpose, supplementing the unit’s assortment of M46 Galahad antipersonnel mines in a defensive perimeter that should help protect Trent’s diversionary force when the hannies arrived in force.
With a scowl, Rostov tossed the first case of explosives to Slick. Although he knew the explosives were completely safe unless equipped with suitably programmed detonators, he still flinched involuntarily as he caught it. Rostov’s eyes were full of contempt as he turned away to pick up another cargomod.
They all think I’m a coward. The words had become a litany echoing through his mind. Slick tried to push the thought away, deny it, reject it … but it kept coming back.
If the diversion worked the way it was supposed to, the full weight of the hannie army would be pushing this way soon. Part of him shrank from the thought of another fight. Another part, though, welcomed the prospect.
He wasn’t going to run from combat this time. When the battle began, Slick would be in the thick of it.
They wouldn’t call him a coward then.
* * *
“Good … good … come a little left now.” Colin Fraser studied the video image carefully, noting the movement of vehicles and men. “Steady on that view.”
“Got it, Lieutenant,” WO/4 Vandergraff acknowledged.
“What do you make of it, Mr. Hamilton?” Fraser asked the other warrant officer.
Hamilton leaned forward to look over his shoulder at the view relayed from the drone hovering low over the main hannie camp. “They’re moving, all right. Looks like our monkey buddies are falling for it.”
Fraser stood up, ducking to avoid the low roof of the command van. “Take over here, Mr. Hamilton,” he said. “Let me know when they’re committed.”
“Yes, sir.” Hamilton slid into the chair beside Vandergraff.
Moving forward, Fraser stuck his head into the driver’s cab. Platoon Sergeant Persson looked up from the control board.
“Everything ready?” Fraser asked.
“Looks like it, sir,” Persson replied. “All the ’rays are loaded up. Bashar and Mason have the FSVs in position.”
“Good. We’ll mag out as soon as the monkeys are busy with Gunny Trent’s little show.”
Fraser could hardly control the excitement rising inside him. Now there was finally a chance to act, instead of just sitting and waiting. Sergeant Trent’s arguments had been convincing … but he still wished he had insisted on taking charge of the diversion. It was frustrating to sit back in the safety of the fort, waiting and worrying while others risked everything. Getting them out after the rest of the company was clear of the fort was going to be dicey.
But Trent was right. His responsibility was to the whole unit.…
In the back of the command van, Legionnaire Hengist and the Padre were waiting in silence. Fraser caught the Padre’s eye from the compartment door.
“Know any blessings for a mag-out, Padre?” he asked, keeping his tone light.
Fitzpatrick raised his hand in benediction. “May the Good Lord bless and keep this mag-out …” he intoned solemnly, “moving just as fast as possible.”
Hengist laughed. “Think He’s looking out for us, Padre?”
“Of course, my son,” the priest responded “God watches and cherishes the very worst sinners. I can’t think of anyone He loves more than the Legion.”
Fraser turned away, smiling again. He hoped God was watching over them. In the next few hours they’d need all the help they could get.
* * *
Slick tamped wet dirt down around the cylindrical base of his last Galahad mine, then flipped open the plasteel lid covering the arming controls and touched the pressure pad labelled “TEST.” A green light glowed briefly as the mine’s sensor array went through a brief diagnostic check. At the same moment Slick heard the tone in his earpiece that indicated his helmet’s IFF system was operating. Any legionnaire with a working transponder could walk through the minefield without fear … but once the Galahad was armed, any other living thing that passed within ten meters of the deadly little cylinder would trigger it. The open-topped tube contained ten separate egg-shaped bomblets. Each time the mine’s computer brain registered a valid target and no nearby friendly forces, one of those bombs would be hurled into the air where it would explode, showering the area with a hail of lethal shrapnel.
Satisfied, Slick armed the mine. Between Rostov’s explosive charges and the pattern of Galahads, the hundred-meter stretch in front of the position Trent had designated as the main line of defense was now a death zone. The hannies would have to take this route—it was the only one suitable for their vehicles on the whole east side of Monkeyville. Anyway, in a few more minutes the engineering vans would be back in action, drawing the enemy’s attention again.
He stood up and picked his way up a steep slope toward the location Strauss had chosen for him. The corporal had assigned Slick a spot on the end of the Red Lance line, probably to keep him on the periphery of the action in case he froze up again. But Slick wasn’t planning to be left out. He’d show Strauss … he’d show them all.
As he settled behind one of the stunted, twisted trees typical of Hanuman’s jungle growth, Slick felt rather than heard a distant vibration. He’d finished his work just in time. Hannie vehicles were coming.
Slick checked his FEK’s battery charge and ammo counter, then flipped down his helmet display screen and called up the map Garcia was transmitting over the C3 net from Trent’s observation post. Pascali’s lance was out ahead of the main line, scouting out the enemy as they headed for the diversionary force. Red symbols crawled across the screen, creeping slowly toward the thin blue line that represented Bravo Company’s forlorn hope.
* * *
“Yeah, L-T, six to eight tanks, maybe a hundred infantry. They’ll be on top of our mines in about ten minutes.” Trent smiled wolfishly. “Looks like they got our invitation!”
“Just about what we were looking for, Gunny.” Static crackled around Fraser’s reply. “The drones are showing a lot of activity on this end. They’ve started shifting most of their boys your way. If we hit ’em hard, we’ll break through without much trouble.”
“Roger that,” Trent said. He glanced over at the C3 display. Garcia was peering at a video image relayed from the lead decoy vehicle while she entered new commands to the autopilot through the keyboard. “We’ll let ’em know we’re here, L-T. Don’t make a move until we’ve got the buggers’ attention.”
Fraser’s reply sounded stiff. “We’ll keep to the plan, Gunny. You just make sure you get disengaged in time.”
“Don’t worry about that!” Trent said. “We’re not sticking around here any longer than we have to!”
“Roger. Alice One, clear.”
“Guardian clear.” Trent turned his attention to the battle map on his helmet display. The hannies were moving up steadily.…
“All right, Garcia,” he said softly. “Time to bait the trap.”
* * *
The morning mists were all but gone now, broken up by the heat as Morrison’s Star rose higher above the horizon. That’s one advantage gone, Slick thought. Let’s hope our other surprises make up for it.
His display map showed the hannie forces closing in, less than half a kilometer away now. The jungle hid the enemy, but Pascali’s lance was still tracking their advance … and the three decoy vehicles remained in front of them, continuing to simulate the movement of a larger Terran force trying to get past the native lines. Periodically Slick heard cannonfire as native tanks challenged the empty APCs. The last few shots had been close … really close.…
With a roar of turbofans, one of the engineering vehicles burst from the tree line in full retreat, crossing the minefield at top speed. The Galahads ignored the friendly target, and the charges Rostov and Cunningham had placed were rigged for radio-controlled detonation. Any observer would have assumed that field was safe to cross.
The APC moved straight across the open ground and up the gentlest part of the slope. The sound of the fans died and the vehicle stopped moving, resting on its magnetic suspension near the crest of the hill. Then, slowly, the fields collapsed and the Sandray settled to the ground, hull-down behind the shelter of the rising ground. The turret, though, remained visible. Slick could see Corporal Pascali climbing down off the back of the vehicle. Trent had ordered the scouts to hitch rides aboard the computer-controlled vehicles so they could join the defenders along the perimeter.
Then the second and third APCs appeared almost together, farther down the line of trees, weaving past obstacles before they revved up to make the final run across the open ground. Somewhere back in the jungle another tank gun coughed. An explosion raised a gout of thick black mud from a pool of stagnant water a few meters ahead of one of the Sandrays. Legionnaire Reinhardt, lying on top of the flat manta-ray shape and facing the jungle, squeezed off an FEK burst.
Slick braced his weapon on the improvised barricade in front of him and tried to keep his breathing regular. This is it!
A squat, massive metallic shape crashed through the trees below him, clanking into the clearing with the implacable momentum of a juggernaut. Around the tank, hannie foot soldiers were fanning out into a loose skirmish line. An officer with a gaudily-painted muzzle jabbered orders, gesticulating wildly as ky urged the troops forward.
Movement to his right made Slick shift his head. Another party of native infantry was emerging from the tree line. Most were armed with blunderbuss rocket launchers or bulky heavy machine guns, but they were moving fast considering their loads. Slick drew in a quick, sharp breath.
These natives were ignoring the easy route up the slope. They were moving straight up the most difficult part of the hill, well clear of the minefield and the defending legionnaires.
Despite the difficult terrain and the burdens they were carrying, those hannie soldiers would be behind the Legion line in another few minutes, and those weapons they were carrying were a lot more dangerous to the Terran troops than the standard enemy longarms.
The trappers were about to be trapped.…