Dire Steps (20 page)

But there were far more Sims than anyone had expected. There had to be, because the rocket fire on the enemy avenue of approach was so intense that it had to be killing them by the score. The flaming remnants of their firebomb devices, and the size of the force attacking Third Platoon, were testimony to their numbers.

“Pappas.”

“Right here.” A hand landed on his armor, and the intelligence officer dropped to the ground. On his goggles, Mortas could see that the platoon had sorted itself out into the triangle described by Mecklinger. The line of dots facing northwest slowly elongated while the other legs of the triangle shortened, as Dak and the other NCOs put more of the platoon's power facing the enemy's location.

“Why is Sam still coming up the hill? Why didn't he scatter the moment the rockets started landing?”

“I have no idea. Makes no sense. Acting like a pack of lemmings.”

“Major Hatton was right about why they hit Broadleaf.” Mortas spoke calmly, the pieces falling into place. “The target was Almighty all along. They wanted to make us split up between Almighty and Cordvine.”

Rockets slammed down five hundred yards away, rocking the earth and throwing debris almost to the platoon's position. Almighty had cut the jungle back from its fencing years before, and although the resilient growth had reasserted itself, thankfully there were no large trees left to tumble nearby.

“They're at the wire! They're at the wire!” the voice from Almighty shrieked, and Mortas shivered at the memory of Broadleaf. “They're all over the place! Get up here and help us!”

“Calm down, Almighty!” Dassa shouted. “I will adjust the rockets onto them! Mark the targets!”

The absence of the company ASSL chilled Mortas even further, and he guessed the man was wounded or dead. The gunfire at Third Platoon's position was slacking off, so either they'd destroyed the Sims attacking them or the enemy had peeled off for Almighty.

“Don't do that! You'll collapse the buildings, just like on Broadleaf!”

“Sir, you hear what I'm hearing?” Dak asked tightly.

“Yes I do. Prepare to move.” Mortas switched to the company frequency. “Skipper, I can get up there if you call off the rockets.”

“Already doing that,” Dassa responded. “We got casualties here, but we're coming too! Don't run straight into them—­stop when they're in sight and use your heavy weapons.”

“Got it.” Mortas rose, excitement and fear mingling. His eyes had adjusted to the goggles, so he saw the dark green world and the soldiers of his platoon. Katinka's squad moving up next to Mecklinger's and, farther down the slope, Frankel's ­people getting into position. A plan forming.

“Okay, here's the play. Echelon attack. Katinka, you're the lead. Hug the fence, and when you can deliver effective fire, stop right there and start shooting. Mecklinger, you'll be sweeping along the slope below Katinka, and Frankel, you'll be below Mecklinger. Swing around just enough so you can fire up the hill without walking into Katinka's fire. We'll pin Sam against the fence or tear him up as he tries to withdraw.”

Katinka's troops began moving immediately, and Mortas hustled over the underbrush toward Mecklinger's men. “Dak, you go with Frankel. I'll be in the center. Make sure you don't get too far out in front.”

“Yes, sir,” Dak answered, an expectant timbre in his voice. “Okay, First, it's our turn. Let's finish these bastards once and for all.”

The thin trees and bushes parted easily, but the gradient was tough and they were moving neither uphill nor down. The last of the rockets had detonated a minute before, but below them the jungle was ablaze.

“Almighty, we are coming up on your wire from the south.” Mortas exhaled easily, grabbing the narrow trees for balance as he passed. “Do not shoot us up.”

“They are taking down the wire, Orphan! Where the fuck are you?”

And then the slope opened up into an avenue of churned-­up soil, devastated shrubbery, and broken rock. It was as if a meteor had landed at the top of the hill and tobogganed all the way down, leveling everything in its path. Small fires burned in the open, then Mortas saw the crumpled forms and knew they were the bodies of the Sims who had been carrying the firebombs.

A human machine gun began thumping away up the hill, then chonk rounds started to land as Katinka's ­people came within range.

Mecklinger's men rushed forward now, reaching the edge of the devastated zone and throwing themselves down. Mortas joined them, the gunfire from Katinka's position rising in intensity while more chonk rounds detonated up the hill. Crawling forward, he was unable to see because of the brush, and then it parted.

The lights from Almighty lit up the night sky, reflecting off the antipersonnel fence that was shaking as if caught in a high wind. The outer segment was already breached, and Mortas watched in amazement as Sim soldiers struggled to peel it back on either side of the hole. All pretense gone, knowing they'd been detected, the heavy smocks abandoned, laboring in fatigues that were little more than rags, many of them bare-­chested.

The platoon opened up, easily felling the Sims still outside the wire in a roaring rain of gunfire and grenades before turning the weapons on the Sims inside the breach. Using the last of his goggle batteries, Mortas raised his Scorpion to see a small cluster of men, also in tatters, cutting away at the last obstacle between them and Almighty. Arms working improvised bolt cutters scissored the air while others hacked at the fencing with what looked like machetes. Just behind them, flinching as the first rounds passed over their heads, a tight knot of bearers knelt waiting with backpacks filled with the incendiaries.

Sighting in, Mortas saw the goggle's red dot settle on the back of one bearer's head. Scorpions began to crack all around him, and he breathed out slowly while gently squeezing the trigger. The rifle kicked against his armor, and the Sim slammed face forward into the dirt. Other Sims around him also fell, twisting, kicking, but then the whole group was moving, there was a gap in the fence, it was widening like a dam being ripped apart by torrents of water, and they were passing through.

“Katinka! Shift your fire between the fence and the main building! Don't let them cross it! Everybody else, up the hill!” He struggled to his feet, the mangled earth shifting under his boots, then he was running through the debris, lifting his knees high, athletic muscles propelling him over the ruined terrain. Katinka's machine gun started chattering again, and just beyond the broken fence he could see the explosions of the chonk rounds. A writhing body appeared on the ground, hands reaching for him, a Sim missing at least one of his legs, covered in dirt and blood, then he was past him, hurdling the branches of a young, uprooted tree, and then he was rushing through the wide break in the outer fence.

The ground there wasn't torn up, and he almost sprinted for through the triangular cut in the inner fence. Bobbing figures, not far ahead, were spinning, dropping, but still trying to reach the two-­story structure at the top of the hill. Mortas ran straight into the cross-­hatched barrier, feeling it give and then resist, and he caught it with one hand. The goggles dimmed, and he swept the lenses up into his helmet while kneeling and sticking the barrel through the fencing.

Other bodies came up on either side, then they were all firing, too close to miss, chopping down the last of the bedraggled soldiers who had survived the assault and almost reached its objective. They were no more than a dozen, every one of them clutching a pack of incendiaries, behaving as if there were no men to their right or behind them, scything them down. The last ones collapsed with a wail of despair that sounded like a large bird being mercilessly devoured, and then they were finally still.

“This is Mortas. We finished them. They're all dead,” he reported to Dassa, leaning heavily against the wire and feeling as if he would pass out.

“What were they doing?” Dak asked in astonishment, pushing through the hole with his Scorpion ready. Other Orphans followed him, and for a moment Mortas was at a loss as to what he should do next.

“Jan, did they make it through the fence?” Dassa asked, breathing heavily. Turning, Mortas saw Third Platoon struggling up the hill a few hundred yards back, carrying several wounded men.

“Yes, sir.”

“Take your men up the hill, and surround Almighty. We're going to get some answers.”

 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“N
ice place you had here. Not sure I would have given it away.” Lola sat in a corner of one of the many empty rooms in Ayliss's former abode. The corner windows on that side allowed them to look up at the abandoned mining station and down toward the tunnel's main entrance. One of the veterans' missile teams was set up in the next room, the building's roof sheltering them from enemy long-­range observation. So far that seemed unnecessary, as the last report from McRaney had indicated no enemy ships anywhere nearby.

Somewhere up on the hill, Blocker was supervising missile teams hidden in a semicircle around the mining complex. Ayliss and the Banshees were providing security for teams around the tunnel made up of gunners whose skills Blocker had deemed questionable. At the center of the two half circles, the injured First Sergeant Hemsley was directing the whole show from a radio room inside the ridge.

“Turned out to be a pretty good hospital—­even though I didn't expect to be the first patient.” Ayliss's headset crackled, a message for the entire perimeter.

“Hey, everybody,” Ewing's monotone purred from the tunnels. “I don't want to upset anyone, but I finally hacked into the Guest's satellite system. A large craft is burning through our atmosphere right now, and it looks like McRaney's.”

“Shit! I should have known.” Lola scrambled to her feet, snatching up her Scorpion. She gave Ayliss an exasperated look. “Get up! We're about to get fucked!”

She was out the door before Ayliss could rise, but the Banshee leader's next orders came over the radio. “Banshees, get on top of the tunnels!
Hurry!
”

Ayliss rushed out into the corridor, surprised to find it empty until she remembered the missile team. Turning through the door, she found Lola in a tight argument with the gunners.

“Don't you understand? McRaney knows the whole setup here. He knows the station's empty, that there's lots of Go-­Three in the tunnel, and that we have missiles! He won't bring his ship anywhere near this place. They're gonna come in with smaller craft, and they're gonna land on top of the complex!”

“How do you know that?” The man standing in front of the Banshee had a large pink discoloration on his cheek. Ayliss had mentally dubbed him Birthmark, and he was clearly rattled by the sudden change. His partner stood near the window, where two of the shoulder-­fired missiles were leaning against the wall.

“They want the Go-­Three, so they can't blow the place up. But if they get on top, they can fight their way down inside, heaving satchel charges as they go. You two stay here, stay hidden, and when their landers take up a hover over the spikes, open fire.”

“We'll be sitting ducks! They'll flatten this place!”

“You only have two missiles. Fire 'em both, and beat feet—­just like we planned.” Lola grabbed the man's arm. “Come on, now. You can be a hero for thirty seconds, can't you?”

“We can get killed in thirty seconds, too!”

“All right.” Lola glared at the man as she slung the rifle across her back and walked to one of the launchers. She picked up the long tube by its pistol grip and put it over her shoulder. “One missile. But you better use it.”

She didn't wait for a reply, pushing past Ayliss and heading down the corridor. Ayliss, trying to process everything she'd heard, followed. They hustled down the stairs and emerged into bright sunlight, then Lola was racing down the same road where they'd gone jogging just a few days earlier. Ayliss sprinted after her, and the radio spoke as they ran.

“Hey there, McRaney. Coming to help us?” Hemsley sounded cool and sarcastic, despite the way Ayliss's headset was jumping around.

“Oh, you saw us, huh? I knew I should have killed those satellites.” The voice was deep and untroubled. “Listen, First Sergeant, it's nothing personal. They're gonna reinstitute the Step pretty soon, and the Sims just don't seem terribly interested in this place. I gotta make this work for me.

“We just want the Go-­Three, so there's no reason for anybody to get hurt. You take your ­people out the ass end of that rabbit warren, head for those nice comfy hidey-­holes, and come back in a ­couple of days. We promise not to break anything.”

Ayliss's breath came in short gasps, her heart pumping hard. The armor and boots made her feel like she was running through a sauna that was somehow heaped with snow, and no matter what she did with the rifle, it slowed her down even more. Lola was getting away from her, despite the extra weight of the missile. The Banshee cradled the long tube against her chest with both arms, so Ayliss imitated the combat veteran's moves. The running was still tough, but at least the Scorpion wasn't taking her off balance or hitting her anymore.

“You know, a pirate should be a better liar than that,” Hemsley answered.

“It's a good deal, and you should take it. I'm not lying.”

“Sure you are. If all you wanted was the ore, you'd be telling me to have my ­people bring it out. You know there's a
lot
of it, and it would be too much like work for your lazy shitheads to have to move it. So I'm guessing you've got something else in mind.”

“I don't know why Rittle thinks you're so stupid, Hemsley. Hey, it's just business, but he figures that the only way he can still work this claim is if Sam came by and killed you all.”

Lola reached the base of the ridge and went straight up, dodging between the huge black spikes. Ayliss, fighting for air, felt she had to speak up. “This is Minister Mortas! This planet belongs to the colonists now. Zone Quest has no claim here.”

“Hello, Minister. Please keep talking, it'll help us locate you. Rittle promised me a bonus if I could provide proof of your death. It seemed important to him.”

The steep gradient made it impossible to respond, and the threat sounded real, so she decided it was probably best to shut up. Somewhere above and behind her, a dull roar that she recognized as the sound of engines began to grow. The radio flowed with wild questions and frightened protests.

“What the fuck is going on? I thought they were scouting for
us
!”

“Give 'em the ore! Who cares about a bunch of rocks?”

“Everybody shut up—­they're monitoring us!”

Her head spinning with exertion, her lungs refusing to take in any more oxygen, Ayliss stumbled onto the top of the ridge. Black thorns pointed skyward all over, most of them taller than a human. She'd never been up there, and began looking around frantically for Lola.

“Everybody stay calm.” Hemsley sounded bored. “The plan's the same, just with a different target. They won't bother with the station, so get ready for these pirate pussies to come right here. They ain't after the ore, they're after our skins. They kill us all, the planet goes to the Guests—­that's why Rittle is paying them.

“So if you thought you had nothing to fight for, well now you do. It's kill-­or-­be-­killed time, ­people. And I know which one of those I choose.”

Ayliss tottered through the maze of black points, regaining her breath. The top of the ridge was a vast oval of a plateau, and she wondered for an instant if she was alone.

“Ayliss! Come to the center!” Lola ordered, and she began to run.

The engine noises were undeniable now, a high whine that she associated with the sport bikes she and a group of university friends had ridden once while on vacation. Flashes of red shot through her vision, and Ayliss stopped running because she had to. Leaning a hand against the black rock, surprised at how hot the sun had baked it, then turning to look at the station. The screeching sound suddenly coalesced, and two large objects crested the rocky hill. Long and narrow, with pointed prows and roaring engines aft.

“Those are landers! There's nowhere for them to set down up here, so when they take up a hover, wait 'til the troops come down on the ropes and light 'em up!” Lola's commands pounded into her brain, painting a picture that cleared her head instantly. An enemy in her gun sights. What she'd come out here for, what she longed for, and best of all, they were allied with the murdering assholes who'd taken Selkirk and had now put a bounty on her head.

“Hug the spikes, and they won't be able to pick up your heat signatures!” The words were distant now, unimportant. Ayliss's breathing settled down, and a blissful silence surrounded her as she rotated the Scorpion's selector switch to combat mode. The sun was warm on her neck, and a breeze filled with engine smells kissed her cheeks.

The landers split, heading to either side of the plateau, one a mere two hundred yards away. It was a thing of beauty, carried through the scorching atmosphere in the belly of a larger craft and therefore unblemished. Its bottom curved into something resembling a keel, and Ayliss made out the hatches for the landing gear just as doors slid upward all along its sides. She leaned against the nearest spike and raised the rifle.

“Take your time, shoot the one you're looking at,
then
move on to the next!”

Ayliss nodded, one with the Banshees scattered across the spiny mesa, joyously agreeing with the low voice that could have been Lola or Tin or one of the others. Lowering lines dropped all across the lander on both sides, and she put her eye to the sight. Its optics were simple, but the image that popped up showed the inside of the lander just over one of the madly jumping ropes. A figure stepped to the edge, wearing a strange helmet but stripped to the waist. She was amazed that he wore no body armor, and then the Scorpion jumped. The figure flinched as if startled, then fell back inside.

A rush of delight jetted into her brain, and Ayliss knew that if she didn't hit another thing that day, it would still be enough. Her entire body vibrated with the sensation and the tremors from the straining engines that were now traveling through the rock. Bodies came out the doors now, moving fast, knowing they were exposed, twisting to face the lander, then kicking away, rappel harnesses wrapping their waists and buttocks.

There seemed to be a lot of them, sliding down from both sides, but that was good,
God
it was good, there they were, and she could kill them now. They were dropping fast, experienced at this sort of assault, camouflage pants and boots pressed together, a guide hand on the rope above while the other one held the loose end of the line away so it would run through the snap link faster. Some armored, most not, and she turned the rifle to one of the latter, a huge man with the scalp-­tight helmet she'd seen before, the sights lining up and this time she made herself feel it as she squeezed the trigger.

The man's body had been in an L shape, but the slug hit him dead center and he collapsed, hands releasing, body arching, the rope catching in the snap link, slowing his descent to a crawl. The sun flashing off of the headset, Ayliss seeing that it was some kind of light, and realizing it was meant to aid them once they entered the tunnel. The body beginning to spin, but by then she'd found another one and had shot him too.

This one wore a blockish backpack, which the slug hit instead of his body. He exploded, a brilliant burst of fire and light, but everything was serenely quiet and so the blast was a muffled crump that nonetheless killed the pirates to either side of him. Bodies reaching the spikes now, dropping out of sight, freeing themselves from the ropes, but there were still targets hanging under the lander. Their rappel rigs had fouled when the explosive went off, one of the satchel charges Lola had mentioned, and Ayliss took her time killing them.

Surprised that the magazine was empty, angry that one of them was still on the line, yet remembering Blocker had taught her to move after shooting. Dropping to a crouch, dodging between the rocks, tossing the empty magazine aside and dragging another one out of the pouches on her armor. The lander's engines screamed, its contents delivered and its pilot eager to get away, and then the sounds of the fight came to her.

Engines roaring overhead, rifles firing behind her, some of them far behind her, and then Lola's voice.

“Shoot the landers, damn you! We're doing our part—­you do yours!” Ayliss remembered the missile crew back at the house, and laughed out loud that they had so obviously run off, laughing because they were missing it all. A fresh magazine slammed home, running bent over, her eyes searching the brief spaces between the spikes, the rifle a living, lusting thing in her hands.

And then one of them was ten yards in front of her, coming slow, torso armor and a stubby weapon that was probably a good choice for close-­in fighting on ships and in tunnels and right here right now. Startled eyes and the same silly headlight rig and a few days' worth of beard, then her rifle was coming up, smooth, as if a reverse gravity were raising it, and before she got the sights to her eyes she gently brushed the trigger and shot him right in the throat, just above the armor. A snap shot, Blocker would have called that, he wasn't a big fan of them but taught her anyway, and of course she was a natural. The stubby weapon fell to the dirt and the hands came up, grabbing, surprisingly little blood showing, and he dropped to his knees and his face.

Two figures rushing at her, one firing while the other fumbled with a satchel charge, Ayliss realizing the pirate was going to waste the huge explosive on her as if it were a grenade. A round smashing into the spine behind her, fragments of rock stinging her cheek and driving dirt into her shooting eye, the Scorpion coming up blindly now, three rapid shots and the shooter bounced back off the rocks and disappeared. The one with the bomb ran straight into her, knocking her down, the deadly package already armed, dropping the canvas sack and running off.

Only to come flying right back, Scorpion rounds slapping his armor and finding his face, his head jerking back sharply as he fell. Ayliss rolling, tangling with the rifle and coming straight up against one of the rocks, her face cringing in expectation of the blast, then something was grabbing her. She thought the satchel charge had gone off and her body was being hurled around the black cone, her hands scraping against the surface; and then she was thrown down and the bomb went off.