Legion Of The Damned - 06 - For Those Who Fell (13 page)

Colonel Kobbi, still watching from the aft part of the bridge, saw that the other officer was correct, and felt sick to his stomach as the destroyer escort blew up, and the Ramanthian interceptors went after her defenseless lifeboats.

“Look!” the navigator said, “they're still under way!”

And it was true, because even as the transports closed with Savas, what remained of the enemy destroyer turned toward the transports. Though missin
g the point of her wedge-shaped bow, there was no air to contend with, which meant
that so long as her airtight hatches held she could continue to fight. So, even as the two freighters continued to take fire from the Ramanthian fighters, the destroyer launched torpedoes in their direction.

The
Mothri Sun
took two hits in quick succession, lost her shields, and suffered still another blow as she entered the planet's atmosphere. Like the men and women around her, Captain Beverly Calvo wore full space armor and was strapped into an acceleration couch. The officer couldn't see anything other than the gray overhead, and wasn't connected to the ship's intercom, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that that transport had been hit. The ship shook like a thing gone mad as the planet's upper atmosphere tore at her hull, and the crew struggled to keep key systems on-line, as
a pair of enemy fighters followed transport down.

“My mother said that it was a mistake to join the Legion,” a technician named Lars Moy said via the suit-to-suit frequency. “I wonder if this is the kind of thing she had in mind.”

There was laughter—followed by a barrage of insults. Calvo grinned, gave thanks for Moy, and prayed she wouldn't pee in her armor.

Such was the captain's eagerness to escape the clutches of the Ramanthian destroyer that the freighter hit the atmosphere at a steeper angle and higher rate of speed than was either normal or safe. Colonel Kobbi's teeth rattled, plasma flared around the ship, and a host of audible alarms sounded. Someone said, “Shit! There goes the power dispersal grid . . .” and the freighter started to wobble as the drives fell out of phase.

“Cut the grid out of the system,” the captain ordered grimly. “Switch to manual.”

The ship continued to buck its way down through the planet's atmosphere, but without the computer-controlled system that fed precisely equal amounts of power to the in-system engines, there were discrepancies so subtle that a human brain couldn't even detect the differentials, much less balance them out. The pilot battled for control and gave thanks as the transport broke through the high cloud cover. Given the fact that their fuel was running low, and they were almost out of ordnance, the Ramanthian fighters had been forced to withdraw by then. That, plus the fact that the destroyer couldn'
t enter the atmosphere, meant that the crew could concentrate on putting the freighter down.

The captain considered his options, decided there weren't any, and made the only decision that he could. “We'll never make it to Hagala Nor. Put her down at Savas Prime instead.”

Kobbi heard the order, summoned a mental map of the planet's western hemisphere, and felt a sudden sense of alarm. If the
Natu
landed near the human population center to the southeast, and the
Sun
put down near the Ramanthian-held city to the northwest, the battalion would be split in two! Not only that, but the cyborgs would be cut off from their war forms, which would make both groups vulnerable. The battalion commander opened his mouth to object, heard someone scream, and felt the huge ship roll over onto its back.

Like all vessels her size, the
Mothri Sun
had the glide characteristics of a huge rock. That meant that it was nothing short of a miracle when the pilot managed to bring the transport's bow up and prevent the ship from corkscrewing into the desert below. The surface was tan in color, streaked with iron oxide, and interrupted by occasional rock formations. The pilot thought she saw a large cluster of domed tents at one point, but the ship was still traveling at better
than 600 mph, so the surface was a little more than a blur.

A series of lights morphed from green, to amber, to red as a series of audibles sounded. The ship started to shake as one of the drives cut in and out and fingers flew as the pilot fired the
Sun
's retros, deployed the freighter's air brakes, and felt the transport slow. That was good, especially if they were going to land in one piece, but bad as well. Hagala Nor lay hundreds of miles to the northwest—and they weren't going to make it. “I'm putting her down, sir. There isn't any choice.”

Captain Sahleen Amdo knew the pilot was correct. He nodded. “I concur.”

With the decision made, the pilot eyed the slightly undulating terrain ahead, spotted a pair of tall rock formations, and aimed the ship for the U-shaped space between them. Slowly, because it would be easy to overcorrect, the pilot pushed the vessel down until the transport was flying fifty feet above the surface of the sand. Then, with the retros still firing, she put the transport down.

The acceleration couch served to absorb a great deal of the impact, but Calvo still felt a bone-jarring
thud
as the hull hit, bounced back into the air and hit again. That was followed by the shriek of tortured metal, and a cacophony of alarms as the ship's computers hurried to tell the crew and passengers what all of them already knew: The
Mothri Sun
had crashed.

Finally, after bursting through a succession of three sand dunes and plowing a two-mile-long furrow through the open desert, the ship came to a halt. The Legion had landed.

All kinds of items that had been on the deck rained down upon those aboard the
Spirit of Natu
as the starboard drive quit, and the ship rolled over onto its back. Colonel Kobbi
figured the ride was over and was waiting for the final body-crushing impact, when the NAVCOMP fired a series of steering jets and flipped the transport right side up. Cheers could be heard over the intercom as the captain said, “Belay that!” and the hard-pressed pilot assumed control and put the vessel into a series of wide spiraling turns. Fleecy clouds parted to let the freighter through. What looked like a
thick green carpet appeared and laser fire stuttered up past the bow. “The idiots are firing at us!” the captain exclaimed. “Tell them who we are!”

A com tech ran through a number of commonly used frequencies before landing on the one being used by the local colonists. It took the tech the better part of a minute to convince the civilians that the ship was friendly, but she finally succeeded, and the laser fire stopped.

Savas Prime sat in a valley embraced by low, softly rounded hills. A river flowed through the center of town and made a long series of lazy loops, before emptying into the southern sea some thirty miles beyond. Significant sections of the jungle had been logged, mine tailings spilled down some of the hillsides, and a network of dirt roads wandered back and forth.

The settlement itself consisted of a cluster of prefab domes, some of which were blackened as a result of Ramanthian air attacks, and hundreds of wooden dwellings. Some were quite substantial, and reminiscent of expensive homes on Earth, but the vast majority were little more than crudely built shacks.

The spaceport had never been much, but now, after repeated attacks, the control tower resembled a burned-out stump, fire-blackened skeletons of what had once been atmospheric craft lined a debris-strewn taxiway, and the sign that read, “Welcome to Savas Prime,” hung askew from the front of the small terminal building.

It hadn't rained for a few days, so dust billowed up to
surround the battle-scarred transport as the pilot fired his repellors and lowered the transport onto the much-abused duracrete. Colonel Kobbi waited for the solid
thud
as the huge landing skids touched down, triggered his suit radio, and switched to the command override. Everyone could hear him except for the cyborgs.

“This is Colonel Kobbi . . . The bugs know we're here. They have a warship in orbit, a patrol boat with atmospheric capabilities, and an unknown number of aerospace fighters. That means they'll come after us sooner rather than later. Check for casualties, patch 'em up, and get our gear off this ship in record time. I don't think we're going to get much help, so Alpha company will throw a security perimeter around the ship while Bravo, Charlie, and Delta Companies hump gear. Let's get started. Company commanders report to me in fifteen minutes. That is all.”

It was extremely hot, and Calvo had already stripped down to her olive drab T-shirt. A single circuit of the downed ship had been sufficient to leave dark circles under her bare arms. Having just spent weeks aboard ship, the combined impact of the vast overarching sky and the seemingly endless desert was nearly overwhelming. But Calvo knew there wasn't any time for sightseeing. She had problems, lots of problems, the first of which loomed above her.

Thanks to the pilot's skill, plus the cushioning effect of the deep sand, the transport had suffered relatively little damage during the landing. Not the hull at any rate, something for which the MO was grateful, since the battalion's war forms were stored in her holds. Now, standing in the shade cast by the freighter, it was up to Calvo and Captain Amdo to figure out what to do next. “As near as I can figure we're about
here,
” the naval officer said, tapping the hand
comp's screen with a long, narrow finger. “About halfway between Savas Prime and Hagala Nor.”

Calvo shook her head in disgust. It wasn't Amdo's fault, but if it weren't for the navy, the battalion would have been on a single ship. But that was history. The first thing they needed to do was fortify the wreckage in case the bugs decided to attack. The MO was about to say as much when Amdo's eyes narrowed, and the naval officer raised a hand. It appeared that someone was talking to Amdo via his headset. That impression was confirmed when he looked at Calvo. “The
Natu
put down at Savas Prime. Colonel Kobbi wants to speak with you.”

The rest of the battalion was safe! Calvo felt a sudden surge of hope as she ran for the ship, thundered up a durasteel ramp, and passed between the containers that held the war forms. The ship's power plant was still functio
nal. That meant the lights were on, and her techs could check each transit box for damage. Captain Rono-Ra called to her, but the MO waved as she hurried past.

Outside of the fact that the deck was tilted ten degrees to port, the ship's corridors looked quite normal as Calvo made her way into the control room, where a com tech handed her a headset. A servo whined as the MO used her artificial hand to pull the device down over her head. The ship wasn't really a ship anymore—so the officer gave a call sign consistent with Legion practice. “This is Fire Base Alpha, Captain Beverly Calvo speaking, sir. Over.”

The
Natu
made a big fat target sitting as it was at the center of the settlement's spaceport. It was being stripped and Kobbi was forced to step aside as a heavily laden tech managed to squeeze past him. He heard the designator Calvo had invented and grinned. “Roger that . . . Please use the call sign Pandu Six from this point forward. There's no point in providing the bugs with more information than they already have. I know Amdo outranks you, and that
Rono-Ra is present, but it's my opinion that you are best qualified for this particular command. Organize personnel as you see fit.

“Now, here's the plan . . . It's pretty simple. Fortify your position and hold it regardless of cost. We'll join you as soon as we can. At that point we will have one helluva reunion if you take my meaning. Over.”

Calvo's mind raced. The message was clear. Kobbi intended to bring the brain boxes up through jungle and desert to Fire Base Alpha. At that point the cyborgs would be reunited with their war forms and the battalion would proceed on to Hagala Nor. The plan was courageous, stubborn, and almost certainly doomed to defeat. Especially since it would take the rest of the battalion weeks, if not months, to reach her position. Still, there was only one response that Calvo could give, and she gave it. “Sir, yes sir. Over.”

“Good,” Kobbi replied. “The com people will establish a contact schedule so we can stay in touch. You know what to do—so do it. Nomad Six, out.”

Calvo returned the headset to the com tech, got up, and made her way back down to the ship's number two hold. Both Amdo and Rono-Ra spotted the MO and hurried to join her. “So,” the supply officer said, “what did the old man have to say?”

“We're supposed to hold here,” Calvo replied, “until the rest of the battalion can join us.”

Amdo gave a long slow whistle. “That won't be easy.”

“No,” the MO agreed, “it won't. There was one other thing—something I wish you had heard firsthand.”

“Kobbi put you in command,” Rono-Ra said, eyeing her face.

“Yeah, he did.”

The Hudathan nodded. “He made a good choice. You'll have my full support.”

“This is a ground operation, so I'm naming Rono-Ra as
XO,” Calvo said, turning to Amdo, “but I'd like you to accept the number three slot. I know it's a weird job for a naval officer, especially one of your seniority, but we need your help.”