Andromeda's War (Legion of the Damned Book 3) (20 page)

Meanwhile, Avery had a problem on his hands. Having been startled by the first shots, a big quadruped had interposed itself between Avery and warrior four. A nimble fellow who took the opportunity to grab onto the saddle-horn-like prominence located to the rear of the beast’s neck and pull himself up off the ground. Then, with a series of yips, he urged the animal into motion. The dig was about to escape, and if he did, would soon return with some of his friends.

Avery swore and did the only thing he could. He led the mount slightly, pulled back on the trigger, and fired half of the assault weapon’s fifty-round magazine. The bullets stitched a bloody line along the animal’s flank until they found a vital organ. The warrior managed to jump free as the beast fell. He was busy trying to bring his long-barreled rifle to bear when Avery shot him in the chest. He backpedaled and fell. Avery sensed motion and turned to discover that Daska was standing next to him. “You aren’t supposed to shoot the animals,” the robot said critically.

“And you aren’t supposed to be a pain in the ass,” Avery replied. “But you are.”

The sun beat down on his shoulders as he walked over to where the dead beast lay. What looked like a wineskin hung from the largely decorative saddle. He cut the object loose. It was still wet after being immersed in the well and clearly filled with water. Mission accomplished.

Further investigation produced a purse full of what appeared to be uncut gemstones—although Avery knew next to nothing about such things. It turned out that the other warriors were carrying similar pouches. Were such stones common on Savas? Or had the warriors stolen them from somebody? Either was a possibility. Avery poured all of the stones into a single pouch and buttoned it into a pocket.

The next twenty minutes were spent gathering everything that might come in handy, including three additional water bags, a couple of curved knives, and one of the single-shot rifles. The theory was that, primitive though the firing mechanism was, a long-range weapon could come in handy.

The original plan had been to ride the captured animals. But one lay dead, one had been wounded, and the others were anything but cooperative. Any attempt to climb aboard was met with loud grunts, shrill screams, and an effort to buck him off.

The reason for that soon became apparent as Avery studied one of the creatures. The blanket on its back was just that—a blanket. The
real
saddle consisted of the concave mass of bone and cartilage that lay underneath. It was equipped with what appeared to be a socket. And if Avery’s guess was correct, it was evolved to receive the short, tail-like tentacles that each warrior had. A symbiotic relationship? Yes, he thought so. And that being the case, the chances of successfully riding one of the animals was zero.

Fortunately, the beasts were equipped with small panniers that could be used to haul their belongings. Because even if the animals couldn’t be ridden, they could be led. So Avery turned the wounded mount loose, loaded the other two with supplies, and waited for darkness to fall. And that was when Nicolai began to cry. It seemed natural to hold the boy, to let him sob, and to give him assurances that everything would be okay. Even if that was very unlikely indeed.

—

When McKee came to, she was lying on her back looking up through a screen of foliage to the patches of blue sky beyond. And she was moving. Not gliding, because the movement was too jerky for that, but traveling at what seemed to be a pretty good clip. How could that be? McKee attempted to sit up, felt an explosion of pain in her head, and fell back. Darkness reached up to pull her down.

Eventually after what might have been a day, week, or month McKee awoke once again. As before, she was lying on her back. But the surface underneath her was steady this time. And instead of foliage, she was looking up into an alien countenance. She would have been frightened if it hadn’t been for the fact that she recognized the creature as one of the Jithi they had rescued from the Paguumis. A translator dangled from his neck.

“Greetings, Lieutenant. You were bitten by a claw wing. The poison it injected into your bloodstream is very toxic. But you are better now. It seems the extract made from Ibumi tree bark works on Humans as well as Jithi. Praise be to the great one.”

McKee tried to speak, but her mouth was too dry. She croaked “Water,” and felt grateful when the Jithi helped her to sit up. The water he offered her was cool and felt heavenly as it trickled down her throat. “What’s your name?” McKee inquired.

“They call me Kambi.”

“Thank you, Kambi. How long has it been since the wing bit me?”

“Four days.”

“Where are we?”

“We are ninety passems, or about sixty of your miles northeast of the point where my companions and I were ambushed. Major Remo wanted to place you in one of the RAV machines, but Sergeant Jolo said that the members of your platoon preferred to carry you, which they did.”

McKee remembered looking up into the branches as she was carried along. Carried by a couple of T-1s? She thought so. And the fact that her platoon would do that for her caused a lump to form in the back of her throat. “What about
you
?” she inquired, eager to change the subject. “Tell me about the ambush.”

Kambi produced something very similar to a Human shrug. “There were five of us. We came north to sell jewelry to the Paguumis. Their females are hungry for such baubles. And a certain amount of gifting is required prior to the wife-taking ceremony. So the males want to buy.

“But we were waylaid by a party of warriors who planned to take what they wanted. Rimbee was killed. So was Koshi. So we ran. That’s when we saw your cyborgs and you called us forward. Later, after the wing bit you, Major Remy hired us to act as guides.”

Guides would come in handy . . . There was no doubt about that. “Help me get up,” McKee demanded.

“Take it slowly,” Kambi advised. “You’ll need time to get your full strength back.”

It didn’t take long to realize that the native was correct. Getting up and leaving the Jithi-style lean-to took a lot of effort. McKee’s legs felt wobbly as she made her way out into the main encampment. The nearest legionnaires turned to look at her—and their applause was both unexpected and gratifying. Having heard the ruckus, Remy came forward to greet her. “Lieutenant McKee! It’s good to see you up and around.”

McKee mumbled something she hoped was appropriate before allowing Kambi to lead her back to the shelter. Then it was time to take a pee on her own and eat a few bites of food before going back to sleep.

The next time McKee awoke was just before 0500 as the company began to stir. That was her cue to extricate herself from the sleep sack, take a couple of pain tabs, and totter off to a female latrine. All of the people she ran into both going and returning were clearly glad to see her—and that served to lift McKee’s spirits as she packed her gear. It turned out to be an unexpectedly difficult task, and she was only half-done when Sergeant Jolo appeared with a steaming-hot mug of tea and a lukewarm MRE. “Good morning, ma’am. I heard you were up and around. Here’s a bite to eat.”

McKee thanked him and was surprised to discover how hungry she was. Jolo was packing her gear by that time and replied to her questions with short, efficient answers. It seemed that the T-1s were starting to experience all of the maintenance issues that one would expect after a prolonged period in the field. But nothing critical as yet. That was a relief, and as McKee put the MRE down, she felt better. Good enough to mount up? Yes, she thought so, even if Jolo disagreed.

Twenty minutes later, McKee was up on Bartov’s back as the company got under way. But rather than take the point, McKee chose to ride with the reserve squad. She wasn’t ready to take the lead and knew it.

The jungle was beginning to thin out as the company neared the point where it would be forced to leave the protection of the forest and cross what Kambi called “the grass path.” Or, the planet-girding swath of grass the Paguumis’ katha fed on. The desert lay beyond that.

McKee knew there were two ways to proceed. Remy could continue to travel during the day on the theory that while his unit would be easier to see, the heat stored in the sand, dirt, and rocks would help conceal the team’s infrared signature. And according to what their Jithi guides had heard, the huge aliens were definitely on the ground.

On the other hand, if the legionnaires traveled at night, they would be less visible to the Hudathans and indigs alike. The problem was that their heat signatures would be clear to see from orbit. Still, it was more comfortable to travel during the hours of darkness, so that was a factor, too.

So Remy ordered a halt at the point where the jungle gave way to desert. The plan was to rest until evening and march all night. McKee was tired by then and grateful for the break. But she was also determined to resume her duties. With that in mind, she went to see Remy.

The major was seated under a tree. He was speaking into his hand comp. Keeping a record of their progress? Probably. And for good reason. If the mission failed, he could be blamed, court-martialed even, and would have to defend himself. But if they were able to locate Ophelia? And bring her out alive? Then Remy would receive a promotion, a really important medal, and be free to write a book about his exploits. So long as it cast the empress in a good light, that is. Remy saw McKee and waved her over. The comp went into his pack. “Just the person I wanted to see! Please, have a seat.”

The only seat available was a box labeled
AMMUNITION, .50 CAL
. So she sat on it.

“Damn,” Remy said. “We were very worried about you. Nice job with the Paguumis by the way. Had one of them managed to return home, we would have been ass deep in digs shortly thereafter. As things stand, we made it this far without having to fight a major action. Although that may change once we track the signal to its source.”

McKee frowned. “Signal, sir? Meaning Ophelia’s signal?”

Remy smiled. “Sorry, McKee . . . I forgot that you’ve been out of the loop for a while. No, not Ophelia’s beacon . . . This is something different. Two days ago we began to pick up a standard distress signal. You know, the kind you’d expect from a downed shuttle or something similar.

“It’s about twelve miles north of our present position. We know the Hudathans are here, and it sounds like they plan to stay, but one of our weather sats survived an attack by the ridgeheads. In any case, a tech managed to hack into it so we had a chance to eyeball the area using infrared sensors. There are no obvious signs of a trap.”

“So we’re going in tonight?”

Remy nodded. “Damned right we are.”

“I request permission to resume all of my duties sir.”

Remy eyed her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

Remy grinned. “I had a feeling you would say that. Permission granted.”

“Can I speak freely, sir?”

“Of course.”

“We have to respond to the signal. I get that. If some swabbies survived, we need to help them. But it smells like a Hudathan trap. How come the beacon came on
after
we landed?”

Remy looked grim. “Captain Olson and I share your concern. Believe me we do.”

“So,” McKee said, “if it’s a trap, maybe we can turn that to our advantage.”

Remy’s eyebrows rose. “Please continue.”

McKee groped for words at first, found them, and spoke for the better part of two minutes. And when she was finished, a big grin appeared on Remy’s face. “You know something, Lieutenant? I like jackers. Especially ones who can think outside of the box.”

By the time the sun began to set, and violet haze settled over the desert, the company was ready to set forth. In keeping with McKee’s suggestion, the hats went first, with the RAVs and two squads of cavalry bringing up the rear. The others, four in all, were half a mile out in either direction where they could protect the column’s flanks. And on her orders, all of the bio bods were on foot. That included McKee herself—and she knew the twelve-mile hike was going to be difficult for her. But she couldn’t ask others to do what she wasn’t willing to do herself.

As the sun vanished, and a dusting of stars appeared in the sky, there was no noise other than the steady whir of servos, the crunch of boots on gravel, and the rasp of her own breathing. Bartov was carrying her pack, for which she was grateful—because her body was still recovering from the effects of the wing toxin. But there was nothing she could do other than drop another stim tab and keep walking. At least the terrain was flat, which meant they could expect to arrive in about three hours.

Time seemed to drag as the moon rose and threw an eerie white glow over the desert as they wound their way between outcroppings of rock, down through gullies, and up over wind-scoured hills. It was like marching through a dreamscape.

But all dreams must end, and such was the case as Remy spoke over the company’s alternative infrared com net. It was set on “scatter,” which meant that the legionnaires didn’t have to establish a line-of-sight connection in order to communicate with each other. Though not appropriate for enclosed spaces like buildings, the system was perfect for the desert, and almost as secure as a wired connection would have been. “This is Nine. Company, halt. Platoons 1 and 2 will take up defensive positions. Platoon 3 will prepare for Operation Sucker. Eight, you are a go. Over.”

Charlie-Eight, which was to say Captain Olson, was under orders to lead a team of hats forward to scout the situation out. What was waiting for them up ahead? A downed shuttle with some sailors hiding inside? Or a Hudathan trap? McKee didn’t envy the other woman. But if the prospect bothered Olson, there had been no sign of it during the premission brief. She might be a bitch, but she was part of team One-Five for a reason.

Now there was nothing any of them could do but wait. The minutes seemed to crawl by as the XO and her people elbowed their way forward. Finally Olson’s voice was heard. “This is Charlie-Eight . . . There isn’t any shuttle. What we’re looking at is a standard escape pod. The kind they use on navy ships. But that’s really weird because . . .”