Andromeda’s Choice (28 page)

 • • • 

Battery-powered work lamps had been attached to the inner surface of the palisade and threw pools of light onto the ground. There was no wind to speak of, so the snow fell straight down and covered the village like a white shroud. It was beautiful in a ghostly sort of way, or would have been if McKee had taken the time to appreciate it. But she was busy trudging from place to place, checking to make sure that everything that could be done had been done. And that's where she was, up on the palisade's elevated walkway, when Hagen tracked her down. He was carrying the HF/VHF man pack radio that allowed the squad to stay in contact with the FOB. “The loot wants to talk to you,” he said. “Maybe they're coming to pick us up.”

“Wouldn't that be nice,” McKee said as she accepted the handset. “This is Bravo-Eight. Over.”

Dero's voice was so clear it was as if they were standing a few feet apart. “This is Two. Any action out your way? Over.”

The words were casual, but McKee thought she could detect an underlying tension in the other woman's voice. “Negative so far. Over.”

“Glad to hear it, but that's likely to change. Over.”

McKee felt a rising sense of dread. “Roger that. What's up? Over.”

“I'm sorry to inform you that Alpha-Nine and his force walked into a trap. We're still sorting things out—but the so-what is that a group of hostiles may be headed your way. Over.”

“
May
be? Over.”

“It looks like the raiding party split into small groups—and the cloud cover is screening their movements. Over.”

McKee cleared her throat. “Copy that. How many? Over.”

There was a moment of silence before Dero spoke. “There could be as many as one-zero-zero. Over.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. One hundred to eight. The odds sucked. McKee struggled to keep her voice level. “No problem. We'll take care of it. Over.”

Dero chuckled. “You're full of shit, Eight. But I like your style. Once the weather clears, I will arrive with a platoon, a hot lunch, and a case of beer. Over.”

“We'll look forward to that. Over.” A click brought an end to the conversation and left McKee to face Hagen. “So,” he said suspiciously. “What's the scan?”

McKee took a long, slow look around. It was too dark to see anything out beyond the palisade. “It sounds like we're going to have some company. Let's kill those lights, grab something to eat, and stand to.”

Hagen frowned. “I heard you ask how many. What did she say?”

McKee considered lying to him for the sake of morale but decided against it. The squad had a right to know. “It could be a hundred. But we know they're coming, we have a plan, and the people who live in this village are counting on us.”

Hagen continued to look her in the eye. “So you believe we can defeat them?”

“I
know
we can.”

“That's good enough for me.” And with that, he turned away.

McKee was grateful because she knew that most of the females in the village were widows now—and there was no way to stop the tears.

 • • • 

The raiders arrived five hours later, just as the lead gray sky began to lighten and the temperature rose by a few degrees. The attack began with the appearance of a single mounted warrior. He looked insubstantial through the screen of falling snow, barely visible at the edge of the tree line. Then another appeared, and another, until dozens of Naa could be seen all around the village. Clouds of vapor drifted away from their faces, their dooths pawed the ground, and one of them produced a snort. It sounded unnaturally loud.

McKee had pulled the drones in hours earlier rather than run the risk that one or both of them would be spotted. So, viewed from the tree line, the village was entirely peaceful, with nothing but a few plumes of smoke to indicate that it was occupied.

The silence was broken when one of the riders raised a large horn to his lips and blew a single note. The sound was deep and threatening. McKee, who was up in the watchtower, chinned her mike. “Wait for it . . . Remember the plan.”

At that point, a dooth trotted forward so that the warrior on its back could be heard within the palisade. “Open the gate, leave the village, and no harm will come to you!”

McKee was kneeling behind the waist-high wall that ran all around the platform. The barrel of the sniper rifle was sticking out through one of many holes made for that purpose. With no wind to speak of, and a target that was only three hundred yards away, it was an easy shot. She placed the crosshairs where she wanted them and felt the trigger break. The stock thumped her shoulder, and the report was like an afterthought as the bullet hit the warrior right between the eyes. His head jerked, he swayed, and fell sideways to the ground. The battle-trained dooth remained stationary.

The warrior's death was followed by a momentary pause as the southerners processed the unexpected turn of events. Then, with a roar of mutual anger, they charged. Not willy-nilly, but at specific targets, because the previous hour had been spent scouting the village. And there were plenty of weak points. The front gate, for one thing. It wasn't strapped with metal the way it should have been and was vulnerable to battering rams. And then there were the older and generally weaker sections of the palisade, which would be susceptible to fire. Especially if the villagers failed to keep the attackers at a distance.

But McKee knew that, was expecting the enemy to attack the village's weak points, and was happy to see them do so. She traded the rifle for a wireless remote and stood. The key was timing. If she triggered the mines too early, they would inflict very little damage. And if they went off too late, the raiders might get inside.

McKee watched half a dozen raiders rush a weak spot on the west side of the palisade. Two of them were standing on their mounts with plans to jump onto the top of the wall. When they were twenty feet away, she mashed a button. The results were spectacular. Columns of earth and fire shot up into the air, taking the raiders and their dooths with them. Each explosion produced a resonant boom, and they were still echoing between the surrounding hills as a warm rain started to fall, and the snow turned red.

McKee pushed another button and watched as a cluster of mines blew a dozen riders to smithereens. Then she swore as the final explosion destroyed the main gate. That wasn't part of the plan. A mistake had been made.
Her
mistake since she was in command.

McKee estimated that at least twenty warriors were down at that point, but there were plenty more, and
they
had a plan as well. And that was apparent as two fireballs appeared in the sky, arched over the village, and fell. The first landed on open ground, where a puddle of fire continued to burn but did no damage. The second scored a direct hit on the longhouse and immediately set the roof ablaze. That was when McKee realized how stupid she'd been. Their supplies were stored inside the structure.

“Father Ramirez!” she yelled into the mike. “Collect some villagers and put that fire out!”

Ramirez had been given a handheld radio. The response was identical to what she could expect from any legionnaire. “Roger that. I'm on it, Sergeant.”

Meanwhile,
another
fireball had fallen into the village and splashed a shop. Black smoke poured into the sky and soon became part of a thick haze. “Jaggi, Clay, speak to me. Who has a fix on that catapult?”

“There are
two
catapults,” Clay responded. “I have a lock on the one off to the west.”

“And I've got the one to the east,” Jaggi added.

“Kill them,” McKee said tersely, and gave thanks for the missile launchers that each cyborg carried in place of a bio bod. The idea being to increase the squad's offensive capability
and
cover more ground by having the T-1s fight by themselves.

Each cyborg carried two “cans,” and each can could launch six independently targeted missiles. There was a
whoosh
as Clay and Jaggi came out of hiding long enough to fire their weapons. Four rockets arched high into the sky, sought their targets, and found them. McKee was looking west and saw a flash of light in the forest as two missiles struck a catapult.

McKee was about to comment on that when Larkin's voice filled her helmet. “Uh-oh, they're coming through the front door!”

McKee turned and saw that Larkin was correct. Two dozen riders were galloping through the main entrance, firing as they came. Suddenly, Quinn stepped out of the shadows. She had a rocket launcher on her shoulder and was too close to miss. Light flared as the missile left its tube, and the explosion blew the lead dooth, its rider, and the neighboring animals into bloody fragments. The next rank stumbled over the remains of the first, dooths went down, and warriors tumbled into the street. That was when female villagers surged out of the surrounding buildings with knives, hatchets, and clubs. They descended on the invaders like avenging spirits and blood flew as their weapons rose and fell.

Some of the attackers had escaped the melee, however, and McKee was about to point that out, when a rocket struck the tower ten feet below her. Two of the supporting legs were severed, a third broke under the strain, and McKee was falling. Her helmet bounced as she hit the ground, her vision blurred, and all of the air was forced out of her lungs. Then she heard a crash as the watchtower smashed into the ground, where it was reduced to a pile of firewood.

McKee was lying on her back gasping for air when a warrior stepped into the picture. He was armed with an AXE, which he pointed at her face. McKee thought about her pistol and was reaching for it, when an eight-foot-long staff whizzed through the air. She heard a loud
thump
as hardwood met bone, and the left side of the warrior's skull collapsed. His eyes rolled back in his head as he fell. The next thing McKee knew, Father Ramirez was pulling her up off the ground. “Here,” he said, as he bent to retrieve the AXE. “Take this. It might come in handy.”

McKee was about to thank him when the longhouse blew up and threw debris high into the air. Pieces of wood were still raining down on the area when Ramirez said, “Sorry, we weren't able to extinguish the fire.”

McKee took note of her own stupidity but didn't have time to dwell on it as the raiders blew a hole in the west side of the wall. Another rocket? Yes, that appeared to be the case since there weren't any Naa pouring through the gap. Not yet, anyway. McKee chinned her mike as she ran toward the breach. “Sykes! Tanner! Rise and shine.”

The T-1s had been buried with strict orders to stay there until summoned. And McKee would have given the order earlier except for the crash landing. But even though it was late, the sudden appearance of two T-1s rising as if from the grave had the desired effect.

McKee saw half a dozen warriors gallop away even as the cyborgs opened fire on them, sending both riders and dooths tumbling head over heels in a welter of blood and snow. “Watch out,” she warned. “The bastards have rocket launchers!”

No sooner had McKee spoken than a missile sped past Tanner, entered into a wide curve, and exploded. McKee swore as the T-1's headless body collapsed in the badly churned slush. Sykes spotted the culprit and loosed a burst of machine-gun bullets at him. They threw up geysers of snow, found the target, and ate him up. That was when McKee heard Larkin say, “Okay, assholes . . . This is
my
fucking village, and you are pissing me off.”

By looking at her HUD, McKee could see that Larkin was off to her right. She ran that way and arrived just in time to see him marching down the main street firing
two
assault weapons. The target was a group of Naa who had taken refuge behind a couple of dead dooths. They were shooting at Larkin but couldn't seem to hit him as his bullets chewed their way through flesh and bone to eventually find them.

It wasn't long before the defensive fire stopped, but Larkin didn't. He just kept walking until he was standing on top of a dooth firing down. “There,” he said, as both rifles clicked empty. “I told you not to mess with my fucking village.”

McKee heard the whine of servos and turned to find that Clay was standing behind her. Both of his cans were empty, but the big fifty was ready to go. “They're pulling out,” the T-1 growled. “Jaggi's watching them. Should we give chase?”

“No,” McKee said. “Where's Hagen? And Quinn?”

“Hagen is up on the wall,” Father Ramirez said, “and Quinn's dead. One of the raiders was going to kill a cub with a battle-axe. She threw herself in between them.”

“Let's put the drones to work. Hagen and Jaggi will patrol the perimeter. I think we won, but who knows? Let's put the fires out, establish a fortification of some sort, and get ready to defend it.”

Tired though they were, the legionnaires understood the necessity. And as they started work, something strange happened. The surviving villagers began to appear. They arrived one, two, or three at a time until a group of about fifty Naa was assembled. Then a female who had a bloody bandage wrapped around her head came to stand in front of McKee. Father Ramirez translated what she had to say. “She says the village's menfolk are dead. Nothing else could explain how the raiders were able to get here. But the fact they were alone, and that you fought for them, is evidence that Chief Lightfoot is right. The Legion
can
be trusted. And they want to thank you. And they are sorry about the casualties you suffered.”

“Tell them that they are welcome. Please tell them thank you. And tell them that we are sorry about their losses as well.”

Father Ramirez spoke, and the female nodded. Then, as the snow continued to fall, all of them went to work.

 • • • 

Snowflakes twirled down out of low-hanging clouds and made travel that much more difficult for the dooths. Ice crackled, and water flew, as the huge animals pounded through a creek and onto a track that led generally south. What remained of the war party was riding hard, and for good reason. They knew that the moment the snow stopped and the skies cleared, the slick skins would be able to see them—and what the off-worlders could see they could kill.