The Last Legion: Book One of the Last Legion Series (42 page)

C-Cumbre

The cargo lighter came out of the low valley it’d been following, and the Musth Mining Center was in front of it. There were two of the
aksai
attack ships grounded on the landing field, and half a dozen cargo ships that looked like bloated seedpods, but nothing in the yellow, dirty air. The scattering of missile sites around the headquarters was unmanned.

“Be ready,” the pilot commanded. Two of the ’Raum were already at the controls of the explosive planter in the back, and didn’t bother responding. The last, sitting beside the pilot, muscled a 20mm cannon on an improvised mount into position.

“Strike at the animals’ combat ships first,” the pilot ordered, and the gunner opened fire, and dust spurted across the field and over the
aksai.
One gouted flames, the other crumpled to the side.

“Good,” the driver approved, then was too busy to say more as he closed on the buildings. A ’Raum in the back closed a large breaker switch, and the launcher chugged rhythmically, each blast hurling impact-fused charges of Telex to either side. The explosives spattered across the rooftops, shock waves rocked the lifter, and smoke and black flame gouted. The lifter cleared the buildings, and came back in another pass, X-ing across its first line of destruction.

On its third pass, two Musth had reached a launch station. A missile blasted out of its tube, smashed into the lighter, and it snap-rolled upside down, dived into one building, and exploded. Moments later, black flame shot high into the greasy atmosphere as something within the Musth buildings detonated. Of the approximately eighty-four Musth at the mining station, fewer than half a dozen survived.

• • •

“This is Tver. Begin Plan Tumbril,” Jord’n Brooks ordered, and on the outskirts of Leggett a rented storage shed’s door came open, and a long, luxury lifter stolen six months earlier was pushed out.

• • •

Dill’s Grierson soon outdistanced the swarm of Cookes, soaring closer to the pillar of smoke in mid-Leggett and, in turn, was passed by three hurtling Zhukovs, each outlined by the rising sun.

“Unknown Grierson,” a voice came in Dill’s helmet. “This is Cambrai. Going our way?”

“This is Sibyl Black Recovery. That’s a big affirm.”

“Good to have you along. We’ll try to keep things nit and tiddy for our little brothers behind us.”

“Get some,” Dill said, and got a double-clicked mike in response.

• • •

“Straight in,”
Haut
Chaka ordered, “and try not to obliterate too many civvies.” The Zhukovs roared across the lower city toward the Eckmuhl’s walls. “Not too fast,” Chaka advised. “Gunner! Don’t bother me with chitchat. Targets of opportunity.”

One gunner saw the sparkle of gunfire from a rooftop to the left of the burning building, swung the Zhukov’s main turret, and the 35mm chaingun sprayed the roof clean. The second gunner targeted a group of ’Raum in the streets below, and sent a single Shrike almost straight down, into their midst.

• • •

“Fiddleemee,” Garvin howled as the heavy gunships swept overhead. “You can stop thinking now, little brother.”

Njangu rolled to where a blaster lay. A ’Raum two buildings away saw his movement, and blazed a burst across the rooftop, missing Yoshitaro by inches. Njangu fired back and didn’t miss. “Now, if the smoke doesn’t get us,” he said, coughing.

Garvin leaned over the edge of the building and let half a magazine roll down the barrel of his blaster, spraying the street below. “I do hope all good little boys and girls are sleeping in this morning,” he murmured, looked for a specific target. He found three ’Raum leaning out of a window two blocks down, aiming some sort of crew-served weapon, and blew the room in around them. The air came alive with the shrill whine of Cookes, swarming into the Eckmuhl like invading mosquitoes.

• • •

“All right,” Lir told her driver. “I want you to put it — ” The Cooke’s engine hiccuped, died. “Aw, goddammit!” she swore. “If you’re gonna crash, find something worth hitting.”

“I can flare it, boss,” the driver said, yanking at the controls. “How about that little round building?”

“Just get it down,” Monique ordered. “Flying makes me nervous.” The Cooke pancaked onto the roof of the building, and Beta Team spilled off. “First take care of anybody above us,” Lir shouted. “Then we’ll get the midgets down below.”

• • •

A spurt of flame sent the rooftop door spinning upward. “Getting close,” Garvin said over the roar of the fire.

“Too close,” Njangu managed. Garvin noticed Yoshitaro’s slightly toasted features for the first time.

“Aren’t you a little young to be so bald?”

“Runs in the family,” Njangu managed. “Get — ”

A round spanged off the roof and seared through Garvin’s upper shoulder. Njangu spun, saw the gunman on a rooftop, and shot him down.

Garvin sat down suddenly. “Getting shot hurts,” he said thoughtfully.

“No kid. You gonna die on me?”

“Dunno,” Garvin managed. “But I sure could use a painkiller and a soothing kiss.”

“Fresh out of both. Maybe — ”

A long, mottled monster nosed out of the smoke onto the rooftop, its hatch opened and Ben Dill’s head appeared. Kang appeared beside him. “Come on,” Kang shouted. “I’m missing good targets!”

Njangu and Garvin stumbled across and up the ramp. A ’Raum shot at them, and the bolt spanged off the armor plate beside Yoshitaro. He managed the universal twin-fingered salute before the ramp slammed up and the Grierson nosed down and away at full drive.

• • •

“Look at all those flipping people,” Hedley said. “And they’ve got flipping guns and everything. Alpha Troop … ground it in that open square, and advance by teams.”

The Cookes slid in for landings, and the men of I&R Company came out fighting. The ’Raum broke, began retreating deeper into the tangled web of the Eckmuhl.

Hedley picked up his mike. “Lance Six, this is Sibyl Six.”

Rao’s voice came. “Sibyl Six, this is Lance Six. Go ahead.”

“I’ve got lots and lots of baddies, Lance, and they want to butt heads. We could use all the people you want to throw in.”

“This is Lance Six … First Regiment on the way. Use your people to guide them to targets.”

“Flipping-A,” Hedley said. “Happy to help. Sibyl Six out.”

The Eckmuhl was no longer a sanctuary.

• • •

Ton Milot had his blaster slung over his shoulder, and three portable rocket launchers under one arm, and a case of ammunition beside him. He crouched behind a statue of something or other that’d been blasted into unrecognizability.
Take a minute to think about things. You don’t want to go and do something stupid and get shot
, he thought.
The rest of the guys are over there … and the ’Raum are over there. So I’d best get my young ass moving, like yesterday, but cutting around this frigging statue, out of the line of fire.
He grabbed the re-supply, burst out into the open, thudding along, seeing bolts smash into the pavement, not letting his mind realize it,
come on now, twenty-five meters to go, you can fly over that, just like training, those bullets won’t really hit you, you’re doing fine, just fine
—

Something smashed his leg, and he crashed headlong, tasting grit, blood, smelling smoke, and pain grabbed him, like a red-hot clamp pulling at his thigh, and he saw blood, and other bullets were beating the ground around him. He felt a thud, saw blood stain his uniform sleeve black. He couldn’t move, and guessed this was about all, that he’d die in this goddamned dirty-ass sun-baking square, never see the boats or Lupul again, and —

— And somebody had him by the back of his combat vest and was dragging him, and pain seared, but he bit his lip hard,
No, dammit, I won’t scream.
And the sun was gone, and he was in the shade, being rolled over, and hands were tearing his pants open. Fuzzy shapes above him became figures, and he saw one of the Troop medics, and next to him was Hank Faull.

“Where the hell did you come from?” Milot croaked. “You’re in Vic Team, aren’t you?”

“Saw you go down,” Faull said. “Thought you might need a hand.”

“Hank, my friend, my father, my mother, my brother,” Milot said. “You can have anything I’ve got. You can drink on me from now until the sun goes black. If you ever want to cheat on your wife, I’ll provide the giggler and the alibi.”

Faull grinned, started to say something, then looked startled. He slumped forward across Ton Milot, as if all the bones in his body had melted. Another soldier was there, pulling Faull away, and Ton Milot saw the fist-sized hole in Hank Faull’s back.

“No,” Ton Milot managed. “That can’t be. That can’t be.” Then the universe went black.

The medic shouted, “Get a lift in, dammit! I’ve got one down, one critical. Come on, people!”

“They’re in that building over there, Petr,” Penwyth said. “We’ll need a goddamned airstrike to get ‘em out. That goddamned door’s solid steel or something, and they’ve got the windows sandbagged. Not to mention we’re more’n a bit outnumbered.”

“Maybe,” Kipchak said. “Maybe not. Gimme that SSW.”

The two were crouched in a shop door, catty-corner from the big building that held half a hundred ’Raum. The rest of Alpha Team held positions up and down the street. Penwyth licked his lips, ducked into the next store, and came back with the squad weapon, trying to ignore the two dead I&R men beside it and the bolts exploding around him.

“Find something to sandbag me,” Kipchak ordered, and Erik puzzled, found a flatiron and four sacks of washers, piled them for Kipchak to rest the forehand of the Squad Support Weapon on.

“See that little bitty window?” Kipchak asked.

“Hell yes. They shot at me out of that.”

“Spot me.”

“Huh?” Erik said.

“I said spot me, dammit! Like on the range.”

“Oh. ’Kay.”

Kipchak fired a single shot.

“Uh … high. Left.”

Kipchak tsked, moved his sights a little, fired again.

“High. Center.”

Another round went out.

“I didn’t see it. I think a hit. Yeh. You put it in the window all right!”

“Nail this bastard down.” The weights went around the bipod legs of the Squad Support Weapon. “Now lemme show you something,” Petr said. “They’re all nice and bulletproof outside, right?”

“Right.”

Petr braced the butt of the SSW, let twenty bolts slam through the tiny window, paused, then another twenty, then another pause and the rest of the belt. “More ammo,” he ordered, but the door to the bank, if that was what it was, came open, and bleeding ’Raum, waving white rags, handkerchiefs, even pieces of paper, came stumbling out. “Bulletproof outside means bulletproof inside,” Kipchak said in satisfaction. “Bouncing bolts bedazzle and baffle bandits.”

• • •

No one except a couple of radar techs noticed the luxury lifter as it climbed high into the sky, Leggett no more than a dot below.

• • •

Griersons dropped into the Eckmuhl, and troops trotted off. I&R men were waiting to escort them.

“Just follow me,” a grimy soldier told a group of officers. “I’ll put your men where they’re supposed to be.”

The
haut
in charge looked suspiciously at the man, who wore no insignia. “Follow you? Might I ask your rank?”

“
Cent
Radcliffe’s my name,” Striker Penwyth said. “And I’ve got personal authorization from
Mil
Rao.”

“Oh. Then I guess everything’s all right. Come on, troops,” the
haut
said.

• • •

Njangu came to his feet, surprised, as Garvin walked out of the hospital entrance. He wore oversize fatigues, and one shoulder was lumpier than the other.

“What ho,” he said. “I thought you’d be flat on your ass in a ward, trying to play giggle and pinch with the nurses and feebly taking visitors.”

“That’s what they wanted to do to me,” Garvin said. “I didn’t like the idea.”

“Why not? Some nice days off after the shit we’ve been through. Float back, relax, and get some ghost time.”

“Uh-uh. I’m going back over, as soon as I can scrounge a combat vest and a blaster.”

“You’re what?”

“I promised I was going to kill Tver … his real name’s Brooks, by the way … if I got a chance. So I’m making the chance.”

“
Aw shit
, Garvin. I barely had time to take a shower and you want to go jump back in the stutter. You getting medal-happy or something?”

“Nobody said you had to go.”

“Not much they didn’t.” Njangu growled. “All right. Let’s scout up some bangsticks. You got any ideas how we’re gonna find our boy?”

“Yeah. But I’m not telling you ‘til we’re on the ground. You might jump the line and kill him first.”

• • •

“Is the fuse set, my brother?”

“It is.”

The pilot of the luxury lifter bowed his head, and his lips moved silently. “Then we go, and may the One bless our Task.” He pushed the control wheel forward, and the lifter nosed over. It dived down and down, starting to shudder, and the lifter’s computer pushed out dive brakes and the shuddering went away.

The driver tried not to look at his friend next to him, tried not to look out at the blue of the bay and the white stone, now smoke-covered, of the Eckmuhl, whose every alley he knew and loved. All that existed, all that should exist, was the swelling mass of the fortress below.

• • •

The sentries at the gates of the Planetary Government’s headquarters had a bare moment to react to the sonic boom, look up, and see the blurred black lifter as it dived almost straight down, into the main PlanGov building, centering on the mosaiced stained-glass dome over the main conference room, where most of D-Cumbre’s governing element were concluding a daylong meeting.

In the explosion died Planetary Governor Wilth Haemer, and most of his staff; about half of the Rentiers on the Council, including Bampur and Loy Kouro’s father, publisher of
Matin
; Godrevy Mellusin, Jasith’s father; Police Major Gothian, head of Planetary Police’s Policy and Analysis Division; and
Caud
Jochim Williams, along with his aides and heads of II Section (Intelligence), III Section (Operations) and V Section (Civil Coordination).