Andromeda's War (Legion of the Damned Book 3) (32 page)

Engines roared as the sleds rounded a pinnacle of rock and came in fast. They were in a line abreast so as to divide the defenders’ fire and bring their own weapons to bear as quickly as possible. Each vehicle had a driver with a gunner in back. They sat on elevated seats, and the shimmery force fields that protected them sparkled as small-caliber projectiles were vaporized. “Hit them,” McKee ordered. “Hit them hard. Over.”

The T-1s surged forward, firing as they ran—and what ensued was a whirling death dance. The cyborgs were extremely maneuverable, but so were the sleds. They could turn on a dime, slip sideways, and reverse direction. All while putting out heavy fire. Fixed weapons were mounted in the nose of each vehicle. That was bad enough. But, because the gunners could rotate their weapons through a complete circle, they were especially deadly. In fact, it was damned near impossible to get behind one of the sleds without taking fire from a pintle-mounted machine gun.

That was a lesson McKee and Bartov learned the hard way as they circled one in hopes of sneaking up on it. The gunner tracked them all the way, scored a dozen hits on Bartov, and nearly blew McKee’s head off. She fired her AXE in return and swore as the Hudathan shield “ate” the 4.7 mm rounds.

Bartov had a solution though . . . And that was the underbarrel grenade launcher attached to his fifty. He fired it, scored a hit, and was close enough to take some of his own shrapnel as the projectile exploded. McKee heard metal rattle against the cyborg’s armor while the Hudathan gunner was blown to rags and fell to the ground. The driver had survived, however, and as the sled slip-slid away, he continued to fire the hovercraft’s nose guns.

Meanwhile Amdon and Gallo had gone down, Feng was flopping around in his harness as Chen continued to fight, and a T-1 named Cole was down on his knees. He was back-to-back with his bio bod at that point—and both continued to fire as the enemy sleds circled them like wolves. The end came quickly as Cole fell facedown in the sand and a hail of bullets ripped his partner apart.

—

Nola-Ba had kept his sled and two others back, firing at targets of opportunity, but avoiding the worst of the fighting. Not because he was afraid—but because he was waiting for the right opportunity. And when the cyborg fell facedown in the dirt, a path into the Human compound appeared. He leaned forward. “Now!” he shouted. “Take me straight in.”

The driver opened the throttle, and the hovercraft surged forward. Other sleds were to his left and right. All of them fired their weapons as they ran at the gap between two machine-gun positions. Nola-Ba could see the automatic weapons winking at him, but none of the projectiles managed to penetrate the force field that protected him. That left Nola-Ba free to return fire, which wasn’t easy from a moving sled. But by swinging the barrel back and forth, he was able to suppress the enemy fire.

One of the Human weapons fell silent, and the other could no longer be brought to bear as the hovercraft slid up the incline and entered the Human compound. Nola-Ba saw a sprawl of bodies and a single dirt-smeared face looking up at him as the sled bucked slightly and continued upslope.
They were in!
And the empress was waiting up ahead.

But the moment of jubilation was short-lived as a length of bar-taut wire sliced through the driver’s neck, blood sprayed the air, and his head fell free. Nola-Ba barely had time to register the fact that the wire was anchored to a couple of innocent-looking posts when it made contact with the machine-gun mount. That caused the hovercraft to slew around.

With no hand on the throttle, the machine slowed, and Nola-Ba rolled off. As he came to his feet the
third
sled moved in to protect him. Together, they advanced toward the shelter on the very top of the rise. That was when three Humans exited the tent and began to shoot at him. Geysers of dirt shot up all around Nola-Ba as both the sled’s driver and gunner fired in return. Bullets snatched two of the defenders off their feet right away. The third threw a grenade, which exploded well short of Nola-Ba.

He laughed, drew his sword, and continued to advance. That was when a shoulder-launched missile struck the remaining hovercraft and destroyed it. Nola-Ba managed to ignore the explosion as tiny bits of shrapnel peppered his leathery flesh. A Human was running straight at him now, arms spread wide as if in welcome, and that was a mistake.

The sword sang as it fell on a shoulder and nearly cut the man in half. This was when Nola-Ba realized his mistake. The alien
wasn’t
unarmed. He was holding a grenade in each hand. And as Ka-Killer cut him down, the explosives fell free.

Surprisingly, there was some time to think. Not much, but enough in which to wonder why everything had gone wrong, why he was destined to die without honor, and why an animal would sacrifice himself in such a manner. For the empress? Yes, that must be it. Then there was a flash of light and a momentary sense of warmth. One journey was over, and another had begun.

—

Avery had seen the whole thing from the slit trench where he and Corporal Peters were prepping another missile. They had scored three kills so far, including two of the sleds that had broken through the outer perimeter, and were getting ready to fire again when a legionnaire threw a grenade. But it fell short, allowing a Hudathan to continue his advance.

Avery was bringing the tube to bear when Remy ran downslope with arms spread. It was a crazy, horrible thing to do. And Avery swore as the monstrous alien cut Remy down. Then he saw the grenades roll free. The explosions came in quick succession and blew the Hudathan’s legs off.

It wasn’t pretty and Avery shut his eyes for a moment before scanning for another target. The missiles he was using were heat seekers, but they were
smart
heat seekers, and could “read” the tags that each legionnaire wore. That allowed him to fire into the melee without fear of hitting a friendly. The pencil-shaped rocket flew straight and true. There was a loud bang as a sled disappeared in a flash of light. Remy’s death had been avenged.

—

There were no sounds other than the crackle of flames produced by a burning sled, the occasional
pop, pop, pop
as rounds of unfired ammo cooked off, and the thump of her boots as McKee dropped to the ground. Her knees gave unexpectedly, and she landed on all fours. An act of will was required to stand.

Then, still wobbly from the intensity of what she had been fortunate enough to survive, McKee made her way over to where Carly Berg and Lisa Kane lay sprawled on the ground. They’d been lovers in the emotional if not the physical sense. And once Kane’s knee actuator failed, the cyborg had been easy meat for the sleds. She told Berg to run, but the bio bod refused. So they died together. McKee knelt next to the cyborg and checked her readouts just to be sure. A servo whined as Bartov helped her stand. Then, walking side by side, they circled the rise, pausing to check each body.

There were some survivors but not very many. Those who could were giving first aid to the wounded. And that was nearly all of them. Only eight members of McKee’s platoon were still alive, ten, including Bartov and herself. And only fifteen hats were still on their feet. Not enough people to repel a serious attack, but it was her duty to make such preparations as were possible.

Sleds littered the battlefield. Some were little more than charred wrecks. Others were hung up on rocks, had been flipped upside down, or sat seemingly untouched. There were bodies, too . . . Lots of them. Most of the aliens had been killed in combat. But some had been wounded and executed. It wasn’t something McKee approved, but it was something she understood.

All of the legionnaires were aware that with the single exception of Ophelia and two sailors, the rest of the prisoners had been murdered after they fell into Hudathan hands. And, come to think of it, there was one more person who needed to die: the supreme bitch herself.

McKee went over to where Jolo was bandaging a leg. “Take command of the platoon, Sergeant. I’m going to see Remy.”

“He’s dead,” Jolo said bitterly. “Avery’s in command.”

McKee said, “Shit. Okay, move everyone inside the perimeter as soon as you can. Leave the ridgeheads where they are. We’ll deal with them later.”

“Got it,” Jolo replied.

McKee turned to Bartov. “It looks like we have four T-1s left. Pull them together in a quick-reaction force and round up some bio bods to rearm them.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bartov rumbled. “Look at the sky . . . I think we’re on our own.”

McKee looked up and was shocked to see two Hudathan DEs in the hazy distance, along with dozens of Human fighters, all duking it out. What might have been a Tachyon fighter exploded high above. Pieces of burning wreckage fell, but there was no sign of a chute. It appeared that the Hudathans were still determined to recapture the empress, and the navy was doing everything in its power to prevent it.

Well,
McKee thought to herself as she trudged up the slope,
I have news for all of you. Ophelia is about to die.
What had been the ops center was riddled with bullet holes. Not because the Hudathans had been trying to hit it but because bullets were flying every which way. But if anyone could survive, the empress could. She might have lived a privileged life, but the bitch was tough as nails.

McKee paused to eject the magazine that was in her AXE and insert another. She planned to kill Ophelia first, then turn her attention to synths. With her weapon at the ready, McKee entered the shelter. But Ophelia was nowhere to be seen. Kambi was present, however, as was Avery, who turned to look at her. He nodded toward a legionnaire who was slumped over a com set. “It looks like Ophelia ordered the synths to kill Simms and destroy his com gear. Then she took the robots and ran.”

McKee frowned. “Why would she do that?”

“Because she knows about us,” Avery replied darkly. “I don’t know how she figured it out—but I think Daska was involved somehow.”

“Okay,” McKee said. “But why kill Simms?”

“Ophelia was hoping that the Hudathans would kill us—so the last thing she wanted was air support for the unit. The entire company is expendable as far as she’s concerned.”

It made sense. For the first time, McKee noticed the pistol in Avery’s hand. “You were going to kill her.”

He nodded. “And so were you.”

McKee looked at Kambi. The Jithi looked back. “How much of this do you understand?”

Kambi shrugged. “Enough . . . But remember, I have no love for your empress. Why would I? This is
our
planet.”

“We should kill you.”

“But you won’t.”

“No,” McKee agreed. “We won’t. So what now?”

“We go after her,” Avery said flatly. “It’s kill or be killed. Kambi will help us.”

McKee looked at the Jithi, who nodded. “Like I said . . . This is
our
planet.”

“Good,” McKee said. “But no one else . . . It wouldn’t be fair.”

“What about the synths?” Avery wanted to know. “How can we neutralize them without a couple of T-1s?”

“Sleds,” McKee answered. “I think one or two of them are still operable. They’re fast, well armed, and will be identifiable from the air.”

“So the Hudathans will think we’re Hudathans.”

“Exactly,” McKee agreed. “Although our people will believe the same thing.”

“Oh goody,” Avery said sarcastically. “The navy is going to shoot at us. That’ll be fun.”

“It beats walking,” McKee replied. “I hope it will, anyway. Come on . . . Let’s grab some gear.”

What with the need to find a couple of still-operable sleds, and provide Sergeant Major Hadley with orders, a full hour elapsed before McKee, Avery, and Kambi could leave. McKee could tell that Hadley didn’t think that both of the surviving officers should go, but couldn’t complain about an effort to find the empress, and didn’t.

McKee and Avery quickly discovered that while the controls on the sleds were intuitive, the handlebars were too wide for comfort, and the seats were way too large. Kambi had located the tracks by then. Ophelia and her robots were headed toward the southwest. After meandering between wrecked sleds, the footprints took off at an angle and seemed headed for the mesa that could be seen to the south.

As McKee drove, the Jithi hung on to the gun mount with his left hand. That allowed him to lean out over the ground. “They’re running,” he shouted. “And look! One set of tracks is deeper than the rest. I think a robot is carrying the empress.”

That was bad news insofar as McKee was concerned. It had been her hope that they would be able to catch up with Ophelia in an hour or so. But she’d seen Daska run and knew the robots were not only tireless but could carry heavy loads. It couldn’t be helped, however. All they could do was follow the footprints and try to catch up as quickly as possible.

So as dozens of contrails chased each other across the sky, the sleds continued south. There were occasional pauses to check the trail, then they were off again. As the sun fell lower in the west, and the mesa grew higher in front of them, it was necessary to pass through a rocky defile. It led to an open area beyond, and they were halfway through it when a synth dropped from above. It landed on the back of Avery’s hovercraft. The vehicle wobbled in response, and Avery had to let go of the controls to defend himself.

Steely fingers wrapped themselves around Avery’s throat, and it became impossible to breathe as the sled ran up onto a ledge and flipped over. The motor screamed, then shut itself off as Avery rolled free. The synth landed on its feet, knees bent, ready to fight.

A synth cannot be bribed, blackmailed, or subverted. If only Humans were so trustworthy.

EMPRESS OPHELIA ORDANUS
Standard year 2726

PLANET SAVAS

The synth was Humanoid in appearance but far from Human. Its uniform had been spray-painted on, its broad forehead was made of smooth metal, and its skull tapered into a vertical ridge in back. All of which gave the android a menacing appearance. The robots were typically armed with machine pistols, but this one wasn’t. Avery was reaching for his pistol when the synth leaped into the air. He didn’t have time to dodge.

The machine hit hard, and the weight of it threw Avery onto his back. Steely fingers sought his throat for the second time—and Avery was trying to push the robot up and off of him when a gun barrel appeared. He heard a loud
BOOM
as the heavy slug entered through the synth’s left temple—and pushed a column of electronic brain tissue out through the other side of its head. The result was instantaneous. The robot went limp, and Avery rolled out from under it.

A harsh clacking sound was heard as McKee pumped another shell into the chamber and thumbed the safety on. “That’s one,” she said laconically.

Avery eyed the twelve-gauge. “Where’s your AXE?”

“On my sled. But I knew what we’d be up against. Those 4.7 mm slugs don’t have much stopping power. So I brought Big Bertha here.”

“Good thinking. You saved my ass.”

McKee grinned. “And a good thing, too . . . It’s your best feature.”

Avery made a face. “So, why leave a machine here?”

“To slow us down,” McKee answered. “And to provide Ophelia with intel. All of the synths can communicate with each other. Now she knows there are three of us all riding Hudathan sleds.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, that pretty well sums it up,” McKee agreed. “Come on. Let’s see if your sled will run.”

With help from Kambi, they were able to turn the hovercraft right side up and start it. That was the good news. The bad news was that a blower blade was bent, and they couldn’t run the vehicle at anything more than half power. “We’ll leave it behind,” McKee said. “All three of us can ride my machine.”

“Maybe,” Avery replied. “But, if Kambi’s willing, there might be an alternative.”

McKee looked skeptical. “Such as?”

“We send Kambi ahead on my machine, swing wide on yours, and swoop in when the synths come out to capture him.”

McKee’s eyes went to Kambi and flicked back again. “What makes you think they’ll try to capture him? Won’t they shoot him?”

“Yes,” Kambi put in. “Won’t they shoot me?”

“Because Ophelia will want to know where we are,” Avery said patiently. “And the synths will have orders to intercept us if they can.”

McKee nodded. “That makes sense. So, Kambi . . . What do you think? It’s up to you.”

There was a moment of silence while the Jithi gave the plan some thought. Then he nodded. “I will do it. This is
our
planet.”

“Good,” Avery said. “You can wear my helmet. Tell us the moment you see anything suspicious.”

The next twenty minutes were spent showing Kambi how to operate the sled. The Jithi’s driving skills were pretty limited, but with a patch of open desert up ahead, there wasn’t much to run into.

So off he went, swerving wildly at times but mostly headed for the mesa that loomed ahead. The sun had set, but the moon was up. So McKee figured the Jithi would be hard to miss. As for the two of them, they planned to follow a dry watercourse that was headed in the right direction. The key was McKee’s ability to track Kambi’s position on her HUD.

But after a mere five minutes of travel, it quickly became apparent the constantly twisting-turning riverbed was going to make for some slow going. And instead of racing ahead of Kambi, McKee was hard-pressed to keep up. The fact that the watercourse was littered with boulders made a bad situation even worse. McKee managed to steer round most of them but had to leave the riverbed occasionally to bypass the largest obstacles. Would Ophelia’s synths spot them during one of the detours? McKee feared that they would—but couldn’t think of an alternative. The hard work of navigating a course through the dry riverbed continued for about thirty minutes. Then McKee saw Kambi slow down as his voice came over the radio. “I can hear them in the helmet,” he said. “They told me to stop.”

McKee couldn’t reply. Not without allowing the robots to listen in. So all she could do was look for a spot where she could steer the sled up onto the flat ground above. “Get ready!” she shouted. “They’re in contact with Kambi.”

Avery activated the force field and readied the machine gun. Avery wished he was strapped in as the sled bounced over an obstruction. Kambi was wearing his helmet, but Avery could see quite a bit thanks to the moonlight that glazed the countryside around him. The sled swerved right and left as McKee steered it through a maze of boulders.

Suddenly, they were out in the open, and Avery saw blips of blue light stutter away from the hovercraft as McKee fired the nose guns. Avery aimed the machine gun straight ahead and mashed the butterfly-shaped trigger. His tracers went wide, so he brought them back to merge with McKee’s fire.

Then, as Avery strained to see his target, a shoulder-launched missile hit him. Or, more accurately, it hit the protective force field and exploded. The force of the blast took the shield down and caused damage to the machine gun. Avery felt a blow followed by a sharp pain as something entered his chest. Then he was sent flying through the air. The ground came up hard, and everything went black.

—

McKee wasn’t sure what had taken place at first. One moment she was steering and firing the sled’s nose cannons. Then there was an explosion, she felt pieces of something pepper the back of her helmet, and the hovercraft swerved and sideswiped a boulder. She managed to regain control and looked back over her shoulder. The gun was gone, and so was Avery. It was like a blow to the gut. McKee felt an overwhelming sense of sorrow followed by a surge of anger. A synth was running away from her, so she opened the throttle and gave chase. She fired, saw the blips miss, and made the necessary correction. That brought the fire on target, and McKee felt a sense of satisfaction as the robot went down.

But the robots were tough. McKee had learned that on Orlo II and wasn’t about to take chances. So she circled the android, came to a stop, and felt the hovercraft wobble as she got off. The twelve-gauge shotgun produced a loud
BOOM
as she put a slug through its head. “That’s
two
,” McKee said grimly, as she pumped another shell into the chamber.

When she heard movement McKee whirled, weapon at the ready. But it was Kambi rather than a synth. She pulled the barrel up so that it was pointed at the sky. “Sorry . . . Did you see the other one?”

Kambi shook his head. “Only this one.”

“It was a trap,” McKee said. “I made the mistake of underestimating Ophelia. She’s stalling in hopes that the navy will pick her up before we can find her. Come on . . . Avery’s missing, and we need to find him.”

Both of them got back on their sleds, and McKee steered back the way she and Avery had come. She kept her head on a swivel, but there was no sign of the second synth.

Minutes later she spotted a body lying on the ground and pulled up next to it. She took her helmet off as she stepped to the ground. “John! Can you hear me?”

There was no answer, and McKee feared the worst as she knelt at his side. There was blood. A lot of it and her hands shook as she felt for a pulse. It was there! Thready, to be sure . . . But a pulse nevertheless.

There was a bloodstain on the front of his chest protector, so she hurried to cut the straps that held it in place. Moments later she saw that the body armor had been holed and so had he. Each breath produced a spurt of blood.

McKee had seen sucking chest wounds before and knew they could result in a collapsed lung. But she could prevent that by applying a special dressing to the wound. A bandage that would prevent air from getting in and allow extra air to escape.

McKee fumbled with a pocket flap, found what she was looking for, and pulled it out. The bandage began to wiggle as it sensed blood and practically jumped onto Avery’s chest.

That was good but what about the piece of metal responsible for the wound? Kambi was kneeling next to her. “Turn your helmet light on,” McKee ordered, knowing that it was a dangerous thing to do. But she had to see in order to treat Avery, and that had priority. “Here,” she added, “help me turn him on his side.”

Kambi obeyed and kept the helmet light focused on Avery’s back as McKee cut the rest of the body armor away. And there it was—a small exit wound. The object had gone straight through! That was a blessing since she had no way to remove shrapnel from deep inside his body.

McKee put a self-sealing compress over the wound and turned to Kambi. “We’ll place him on your sled. Find a place to hide. A spot where you can’t be seen from above. Keep the helmet on. I’ll use it to find you.”

Kambi turned the light off and helped McKee drape Avery over the backseat. The retractable harness served to hold him in place. Kambi switched the light off. “You’re going after them.”

“I have to. I want to kill Ophelia . . . That’s true. But now I
have
to kill her. She’ll send an army to find us if I don’t.”

Kambi nodded. “There is a place south of here. A cave that only the Jithi use. I will take him there.”

“Good. And, Kambi . . .”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” And with that, she left.

—

Ophelia was on the lowest level of the fort being held prisoner in a cell. The Hudathans had secured her to a metal rack, and she’d been there for what seemed like hours. Then the door swung open, and McKee entered. The legionnaire smiled evilly as she came over to stand only inches away. Ophelia couldn’t take her eyes off the scar. It made McKee look cruel. Like a person who, having suffered pain, looked forward to dispensing it.

But when McKee spoke, it was Alfred’s voice that Ophelia heard. But that couldn’t be since she’d been there when the synths threw her brother off the balcony into the abyss below. “That’s right,” Alfred said. “I’m waiting for you. Waiting to . . .”

Ophelia awoke with a start and found a face much like her own looking down at her. Daska! Thank God. Farther up, she could see a dusting of stars and the flight of a meteor as it flashed across the sky. Or was that a burning ship? One of the many that were fighting over her. “Yes?” Ophelia croaked. “What is it?”

“Fifteen hundred hours tomorrow,” the synth answered. “That is when they will come for you.”

The ground was hard, and Ophelia was lying on a shelter half. There hadn’t been much time to gather supplies as she and her bodyguards fled the compound. Nor had she expected to need them with the navy so close. But in spite of everything Admiral Nigata had been able to accomplish, his ships were still outnumbered and worse yet, from her perspective, was the fact that the marines had been defeated on the ground. So help wouldn’t be coming from that quarter.

By using Daska as an intermediary, Ophelia had been trying to arrange for an extraction. The task was made more difficult by the fact that the Hudathans were searching for her—and would respond in force if they thought a rescue attempt was under way. “How will it work?” Ophelia wanted to know.

“There will be
ten
landings,” the synth replied. “At various locations. But only one will be real.”

“Excellent,” Ophelia exclaimed. “That should do the trick. What about the traitors who are chasing me?”

“Your plan was successful. Reez showed itself, they went after it, and Steffa fired a rocket at the Humans. We believe one of them was killed.”

“Which one?”

“Major Avery.”

“Damn. McKee is the more dangerous of the two. What about Reez? Did they manage to kill it?”

“Yes,” Daska said unemotionally.

“Okay,” Ophelia said, as she stood. “All we have to do is make it to 1500 hours tomorrow. Tell Steffa to ambush McKee and kill her. Even if the effort fails, it will buy me more time.”

“Steffa is on his way,” Daska said two seconds later. “We are ready to depart.”

Ophelia took a long drink of tepid water before handing the canteen to the robot. “All right . . . I will set the pace.” And with that, she began to jog. Her boots were heavy but well broken in. But could she run far and fast enough? The answer, Ophelia decided, would have to be yes.

—

McKee knew what to look for by that time and had little difficulty following the synth’s trail. It led west, then south, along the side of the looming mesa. Every now and then she checked her HUD to see where Kambi and Avery were. It appeared that the slower sled was headed for the north side of the mesa.

She was tired and had a hard time staying awake. It required an act of will to keep her eyes open and scan the area ahead. The sky was growing lighter, and visibility had improved. Suddenly, a hole appeared in the windshield, and a bullet buzzed past her helmet. A sniper!

The response was instinctual. McKee swerved and began a series of S turns. There! She could see a slight rise topped by a scattering of boulders. The perfect spot for a synth to lie in wait.

McKee heard a clang and knew that the robot had scored again. That meant the S turns were too predictable. So she began a series of what she hoped would be unexpected zigs and zags. The engine sputtered, quit, and caught again. Had the most recent hit caused some damage? Or was the sled running out of fuel?

Either way, it was imperative to reach the rise. If the vehicle stalled out in the open she’d be a sitting duck for the sharpshooting robot. The distance began to close, and as it did, the vehicle’s course became increasingly predictable. McKee bent over and ducked low. She heard a report and felt the hovercraft jerk as it took a hit. Then it was time to grab the shotgun and roll free. The sled ran up the slope and slammed into a reddish boulder.

McKee assumed she was up against a single robot but knew assumptions could be fatal. So she was careful to stay low as she entered a maze of rocks. But as McKee passed between a couple of rocks, she heard the chatter of a machine pistol. She had to scuttle forward to escape a hail of bullets. Shit, shit, shit! How did the synth know where she was?