Andromeda’s Choice (37 page)

Once inside the FOB, they would fight until the last legionnaire fell or, if Major Hasbro approved her plan, they triggered something that might save them. There was no way to know in advance.

McKee's thoughts were interrupted as what remained of her squad arrived. That gave her eighteen bio bods plus four T-1s with which to stop what? Five thousand Naa?
Ten thousand?
Too damned many. That was for sure. “Larkin, I'm putting you in charge of the cavalry. With the sole exception of you, I'd like to put the rest of the bio bods on the ground. But let's keep them together in case they need to mount up. We'll use the T-1s to protect our flanks. While we're focused on the slide area, the Naa could send climbers up the cliffs. Don't let that happen.”

Larkin looked surprised but hurried to cover up. “Got it . . . I mean, Yes, ma'am.”

Suddenly, there was a roar as a fireball arced out of the thickly falling snow and exploded on the ground below. A cloud of steam rose, but the flames soon disappeared. The infantry sergeant was named Hollister. He spoke over the squad push. “Stand to, here they come.”

McKee gave the enemy credit. They had used the snowstorm to move at least one catapult in close. And that wasn't all. As she looked downslope, warriors materialized out of the whiteness, uttered war cries, and charged uphill. “Hold your fire,” McKee ordered, as another fireball fell. “Let them get closer.”

McKee knew her troops were getting low on ammo and didn't want to waste any. More than that, she wanted to make an impression on the Naa. The kind they wouldn't forget.

Meanwhile, as the bravest of the brave stormed up the hill, a line of skirmishers appeared at the bottom of the slope. McKee saw that they were armed with rifles. Then, as a warrior shouted a command, they brought the weapons up to their shoulders. The movements were ragged, and would never get the nod from the likes of Sergeant Major Jenkins, but the rudiments of discipline were there. The Naa were learning.

A second order produced jets of smoke and a ragged volley. It was intended to provide cover for the warriors who were struggling up the hill. Bullets kicked up dirt all around the trench and a legionnaire swore as a projectile nipped her arm. “Steadddy . . .” Hollister said. “You heard the lieutenant. Wait for it.”

A fireball soared over McKee's head to land uphill of her. She ignored it. “All right, people. Prepare to fire . . . Fire!”

The centerpiece of their defenses was a .50-caliber machine gun. It began to chug as two 60mm mortars opened fire, and legionnaires not otherwise occupied cut loose with their assault weapons. The results were horrific. Bravery was no match for modern weapons fired at point-blank range. The Naa went down in clusters, and their bodies were an impediment to those coming up from below.

Then a horn sounded. And as the survivors pulled back, some carrying wounded, the skirmishers fired a final volley. McKee shouted, “Cease fire!” as the enemy retreated behind a curtain of snow.

“Well, that was easy,” a private remarked.

“The Naa were testing us,” McKee said grimly. “They wanted to know how strong our defenses are. Hear that?”

The legionnaire listened. “Firing from the south.”

“Yes. They're probing the east–west trench line. Looking for weak spots. Then they'll make tea, talk things over, and come for us.”

The soldier looked alarmed. “So we're screwed?”

McKee realized how stupid she'd been. Thinking out loud in front of an eighteen-year-old kid. She forced a smile. “No, of course not . . . You saw what happened yesterday. The enemy took a royal ass kicking. And if they want some more, we'll dish it out.” The legionnaire was clearly relieved.

But they were meaningless words. McKee believed that the
real
hope, if there was one, lay in the plan she had offered to Dero. And she had no way of knowing what Hasbro's response had been. But if he was working on it, the more time the better—so she hoped the Naa would take a long break. And they did.

What ensued was a period of boredom interspersed with occasional fireballs, long-range rifle shots, and attempts to scale the neighboring cliffs. McKee knew the activity was meant to keep her people on edge, and it was effective. So she rotated legionnaires out for thirty-minute breaks, allowed her troops to brew caf in the trench, and let them sing drinking songs. Anything to provide a distraction.

McKee figured the attack would come when night fell, but it didn't. Maybe the Naa were planning. Or maybe they were squabbling. But by the time the sun finally rose, she was so tired she
wanted
the battle to begin. And she got her wish.

The rate of snowfall had slowed by then, the ceiling had lifted, and visibility had improved. That meant the legionnaires could see the tightly focused column that was marching straight at them. It was fifty warriors wide and at least half a mile long. And, much to McKee's amazement, they were marching in step! Most of the time, anyway—with drums to keep time. A formation Napoleon had used. The steady
boom
,
boom
,
boom
had an ominous quality and seemed to match the beating of her heart.

McKee guessed that the oncoming warriors were grouped by village, or by chief, which meant they were shoulder to shoulder with people they knew. That suggested they would not only feel more confident but would fight to protect or in some cases make their reputations.

Then, as the Naa came closer, McKee saw that the first rank of warriors was wearing Legion-issue body armor! All taken from dead legionnaires over the last few days, weeks, and months. But that wasn't all. There were catapults as well, plus two light field guns, which were being towed into position on both sides of the column. Easy meat for artillery or T-1-launched rockets. The problem being that she didn't have any.

Farther out, beyond the column, she could see massed cavalry. All waiting for the column to open the door. Then they would rush in, dismount, and swarm the mesa. Still another sign that the Naa were learning fast.

As the field guns opened fire, and fireballs began to fly, there was no further opportunity for analysis. All McKee could do was order her troops to fire. And fire they did. Most of the first row went down in spite of the body armor they wore. But there were more, and more after that, and the relatively small number of legionnaires couldn't keep up as the column began to climb the hill. Chillingly, they made no attempt to stop and fight as they stepped on dead or dying warriors. The Naa in the front rank were looking upwards, paying the price, hoping to be among those who would reach the top of the slope. McKee fired, emptied a magazine, and went to work with a new one. The column kept coming.

After a couple of ranging shots, one of the fieldpieces scored a direct hit on the south end of the trench. Four legionnaires were killed and another was wounded. That was nearly 25 percent of McKee's bio bods, and she had no choice but to fall back and notify Dero that she was doing so.

Larkin and the T-1s stepped up to provide the legionnaires with cover fire as they scrambled uphill. McKee waited until all of the surviving soldiers had completed the journey before leaving herself. The skirmishers had returned, and their bullets kicked up geysers of dirt all around McKee as she high-stepped her way up the slope and fell into trench two.

Then, conscious of the speed with which the column was advancing, she struggled to get up on her knees. It was almost too late. The first rank of Naa had passed through trench one by then, and members of the second rank were muscling the fifty around so they could fire it uphill.

Seeing that, McKee fumbled the remote into the open, slid the safety cover out of the way, and mashed the red button. The mines went off with a mighty roar. Bodies, and parts of bodies, were thrown high into the air, and the machine gun was destroyed. Having lost four men, McKee felt a grim sense of satisfaction. The Naa knew about the mines now . . . Maybe that would slow them down.

It didn't. They kept coming. And some of the warriors had grenades. They threw them. Most fell short. But one bounced and landed in trench two, where it killed one legionnaire and wounded another.

McKee swore and spoke over the platoon push. “Maintain fire but prepare to pull back. Over.”

Then, having switched to the command frequency, she put in a call to Dero. “Charlie-Eight to Zulu-Two. We lost trench one, we're in two, and about to pull back. Over.”

The reply came quickly, and McKee could hear the rattle of auto fire to the south. “Roger that Eight. Pull back when you're ready—but hold there until I give the word. Zulu-One has been working on Operation Hammer—and preparations are complete. Over.”

Suddenly, McKee had reason to hope. Maybe, just maybe, they would be able to salvage a few lives. Thanks to a hail of bullets from the T-1s, the pullback went smoothly. And as she surfaced in trench three, she saw that the first rank of Naa were piling into trench one in order to protect themselves from a second blast. And farther down, the column had gone facedown on the ground.

McKee grinned and thumbed another remote. On her orders, the mines that had been planted in the bottom of trench two had been moved to a spot five yards in front of it. Close enough to kill most of the Naa who were hiding in trench one.

There was
another
series of explosions, and more mayhem, followed by a red rain. The entire slope was strewn with dead bodies. Would that stop them?

The column rose as if from a grave and continued to climb. Victory was only yards away. The legionnaires fired, but the enemy kept coming. “Eight to Two . . . We need to pull out. Over.”

That was when Hasbro's voice boomed over the company push. “This is One. Prepare to fall back on the FOB. The cyborgs will provide covering fire until the rest of our personnel are inside the perimeter. At that point, they will withdraw as well. Execute. Over.”

“You heard the major,” McKee said over the platoon push. “You will pull back but do so in an orderly manner. Sergeant, take squad two. Squad one will prepare to pull out. The rest of us will try to slow the bastards down.”

McKee and members of the first squad threw every grenade they had downhill and fired short bursts from their assault rifles. Holes appeared in the front of the column but were closed from behind as the drums continued to roll. They were close now, very close, and she could hear the equivalent of noncoms urging the warriors on.

Then, McKee ordered the rest of the legionnaires to leave. They got up, zigzagged over open ground, and disappeared between two rock formations. The FOB lay just beyond.

With that accomplished, it was time for McKee to depart as well. She scrambled out of the trench, found her footing, and began to run. What she needed was some cover. A place from which she would be able to see the Naa crest the hill. That was when she would detonate the very last row of mines.

So she ran toward a likely-looking rock, or was trying to, when a bullet passed through her right calf. She fell forward and hit hard. Where was the fire coming from? McKee was desperate to know as she rolled over and felt for the AXE. A burst of bullets kicked up snow all around the weapon, and McKee jerked her hand back. Then she saw Vickers. The other woman was fifty feet away and about to fire again.

McKee threw herself to the left, heard a burst of auto fire, and rolled to her feet. The pain was intense, but she managed to hobble forward and dive behind some scrub. Then, moving on her hands and knees, she scuttled south. Bullets tore through the brush. One of them hit a boulder, and she felt bits of rock pepper her cheek.

Then, as she propelled herself through some scrub, the hammer fell. Somewhere up in orbit, an order had been given, and a salvo of space-to-surface energy bolts had been fired. The first round made a screaming sound as it passed through the atmosphere and struck the ground. That was followed by another, and another, all overlapping each other so as to kill everything in the area. First the Naa in the east, then the Naa on the mesa itself, then the Naa off to the west.

The process was something akin to suicide. The only chance to survive the bombardment was to dig deep holes and dive into them. And that's where the rest of Force Zulu was. In bunkers under the FOB.

But McKee wasn't, and that meant she had
two
things to worry about. Vickers and the energy bolts that were raining down from the sky. McKee's knees were bloody by that time, but she barely noticed. She could see a dead legionnaire up ahead. One of Dero's people. And there, right next to the corpse, was an open fighting position.

There was no time to plan or do anything other than crawl forward and plunge into the hole. The ground shook as a bolt landed on the mesa, and McKee struggled to turn over. Her pistol . . . She was reaching for it when Vickers loomed above. The agent smiled as she pointed the AXE downwards. “Good-bye, Miss Carletto.”

Time froze, and in that moment a bolt landed a hundred feet away, and Vickers ceased to exist. The explosion was so loud that McKee's eardrums would have been ruptured had it not been for the dampening effect of her helmet. Then, after sending a powerful shock wave outward, air was sucked back into the momentary vacuum with another clap of thunder. McKee saw a blizzard of debris pass over the fighting position. It paused as pressures were equalized, and fell. All she could do was roll into a ball while dirt, small rocks, and a gobbet of bloody meat rained down on her.

McKee wanted to escape the hole but knew it was best to remain where she was until the bolts passed over and moved on to pummel the west side of the mesa. As the explosions continued to march away, she used her knife to hack a section of pant leg off, winced when she saw the holes, and fought the dizziness that tried to claim her.

Fortunately, the bullet hadn't touched bone, she didn't think so anyway, but she knew she'd have another scar. The kind of blemish the previous her would have agonized over. McKee laughed manically as she pulled a premedicated pressure dressing out of a pouch on her chest protector and ripped the package open. The dressing began to writhe as it sought blood and wrapped itself around her calf the moment she brought it near. She felt a comforting sense of heat as the bandage sealed itself to her skin, applied pressure, and began to pump a cocktail of chemicals into both wounds.