Legion Of The Damned - 06 - For Those Who Fell (36 page)

“All right,” Omoni said, her thoughts having already shifted to other priorities. “It's agreed. The rescue party will depart before the sun rises one fingerbreadth higher in the sky. May God protect you.”

 

The desert stretched hard and flat ahead. Each rock threw a distinct shadow, and each shadow harbored dozens of insects, all of which were willing to coexist so long as the sun hung hot in the sky, but wouldn't hesitate to hunt each other during the hours of darkness. The horizon lurched with each step that Santana's zurna took, and in spite of the fact that the party had been traveling for many hours by then, the hazy horizontal line that shimmered in the distance never seemed to get any closer.

Like the three Paguumi who led the way, the cavalry officer and his eight legionnaires made use of sticks to support tentlike squares of Jithi trade fabric called tatha. Even a tiny bit of shade was welcome. The air was oven hot, perspiration evaporated quickly, and the legionnaire's throat was eternally parched. But there was a limit to how much water a zurna could carry, and given the fact that the animals would consume a great deal of it themselves, was important rationing.

Santana glanced at his wrist terminal, confirmed that the next swallow of warm liquid was still a half hour away, and gave an involuntary start as both Guppa and his mount appeared at his elbow. What else had he missed? The officer resolved to be more vigilant in the future. Thanks to the multiple layers of fabric wrapped around Guppa's head, only his hard dark eyes could be seen. “Don't turn to look, but a group of outcasts found our trail and is following behind.”

Santana wanted to look but managed to restrain himself.
If the bandits thought they were invisible, it made sense to let them go on believing that. “Will they attack?”

“Not now,” the Paguum advised, “but later, after the sun goes down. That's when they can close with us.”

“How many?”

Guppa flashed five fingers three times. With no imminent threat to the relief force Santana had time to think. The numbers weren't all that bad, especially given the superior firepower that he and his legionnaires possessed, but what if the outlaws chose to delay their attack? And followed the rescue party all the way to the crash site? The last thing the officer wanted to do was lead the wolves to the sheep. The officer looked at the warrior. “Is there a way to kill them?
All
of them?”

It was a good question, a warrior's question, and Guppa wondered if he'd been wrong about the off-worlders. Though not especially pleasant to look upon, and less than trustworthy, it seemed they might have at least a few redeeming qualities. “Jubo knows this stretch of desert well. He tells me that we will cross a dry riverbed before long. Once in the gully, and out of sight, a group of warriors could drop off and order their mounts to proceed without them. Assuming they left their tathas in place, it would appear that they were still in the saddle.”

Santana looked at Guppa with new eyes. It appeared the Paguum had a good head on him. “Once the outcasts arrived, and descended into the riverbed, the warriors would attack.”

Guppa nodded. “Exactly.”

“It's a good plan,” Santana acknowledged. “My legionnaires and I will act on it.”

“
We
will act on it,” Guppa corrected him.

The human smiled. “All right my friend . . . But don't get killed. Your aunt would murder me.”

“Yes,” Guppa replied cheerfully. “I imagine that she would.”

 

Two hours later, having dismounted in the dry riverbed, Santana watched Guppa and another warrior do the same. It was only a matter of seconds before the riderless zurnas, tentlike tathas still in place, were herded up the western bank and over the top. With the exception of the zurna Santana had been riding, which was happy to rid itself of the extra weight, the other animal
s were reluctant to leave their owners behind and squalled loudly as they were led away.

Dietrich, who had orders to complete the journey to the crash site if anything happened to Santana, nodded as he and the other legionnaires lurched past. The officer wished he could lead them
and
take part in the ambush, but that was impossible.

No sooner had the last of the legionnaires disappeared over the far side of the riverbed than the locals retreated into the ragged run of shade that paralleled the east side of the gully and checked their weapons. Both Guppa and Jubo were armed with single-shot trade rifles, which meant that Santana's assault rifle would represent a major portion of the group's firepower.

The officer joined the Paguum in the shade, dropped into the same crouch that they favored, and felt the heat radiate up through the soles of his combat boots. The legionnaire took a sip of warm water, swirled it around his mouth, and let it trickle down the back of his throat. Then, picking a small stone off the ground in front of him, he placed it in his mouth. The pebble was warm but the saliva it produced served to cool it down. It was tempting to shed some clothing in a further attempt to cool off, but Santana knew it was the wrong thing to do. Strange though it seemed, desert
travelers were supposed to wear
more
clothing rather than less, which acted to slow the rate at which sweat evaporated from their skin. The officer knew that was the reason why
Guppa and Jubo were swathed in long-sleeved robes and wore pieces of cloth wound round their heads as well.

So there they sat, swatting insects and waiting for time to crawl by. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, Guppa stirred, scrambled up the embankment, and peered over the top. He was back thirty seconds later. The grin had a predatory quality. “It's time for everyone to take cover. You must wait until all of them have descended into the riverbed before you open fire. If even one outcast escapes, he will bring more against us.”

Santana expected to
give
the orders rather than receive them, but knew that the Paguum was correct. He nodded. “Right. I'll take most of them down . . . You handle the strays.”

The threesome took their places among a clutch of water-smoothed boulders just south of the crossing point. The other two checked their weapons one last time, while Santana took the opportunity to lay three grenades on the rock at his side. The officer felt the usual knot form in his stomach, noticed how dry his mouth had become, and knew it wasn't from the heat alone. Then there was the sound of hooves and the clatter of loose equipment, followed by a
sudden cascade of dirt, as the first zurna appeared dark against the searingly blue sky. The animal extended its forelegs and skidded down the steep embankment.

The zurna's rider was a wild-looking figure attired in dusty rags and armed with a well-worn semiautomatic carbine of uncertain manufacture. A sword and scabbard were tucked under his left leg, and a pair of muzzle-loading pistols hung along either side of the animal's neck. Two rather lean saddlebags completed the outlaw's kit. Those who followed looked a lot like their leader and carried a wild variety of weaponry, including everything from firearms to spears.

River rock clattered as the lead rider proceeded to the west side of the watercourse and urged his zurna up the
embankment. Santana wanted to get all of the bandits into the gully before opening fire, but Guppa was afraid that the lead rider would escape. The warrior raised his weapon and fired. The outlaw's zurna felt the same impact that he did, screamed, and stood on its hind legs. Gravel gave way, both the zurna and its rider toppled over backward, and fell in a wild tangle of thrashing legs and jumbled equipment.

That was when Santana threw the first of three grenades. They went off in quick succession, ripped half the outcasts apart, and wounded the rest. There was a loud
bang!
as one of the bandits fired his rifle and Santana felt a rock chip sting his cheek as he brought the assault weapon up into firing position. The trigger gave, the weapon started to buck, and a steady stream of steel-jacketed slugs tore at the outlaws. Riders were snatched from their saddles, animals screamed as they took hits, and Guppa uttered a long, undulating war cry.

Then the assault rifle cycled empty, which allowed the surviving Paguum to enjoy a momentary respite as the volume of fire dropped and the legionnaire slammed a fresh magazine into his weapon.

The much-bloodied outcasts took advantage of the pause to turn on the ambushers and charge. Santana glanced up to find that a Paguum with a lance was charging at him. The legionnaire used the barrel of his weapon to parry the razor-sharp tip and fired as the zurna galloped past.

The officer saw the outlaw fall, heard someone shout a warning, and turned in time to confront three additional riders. One of them fired, and Jubo clutched his chest. The warrior toppled over backward as Guppa took aim and fired. There was a loud
crack!
and the older warrior was avenged.

Santana fired, saw one of the other riders jerk, but hang on as his zurna turned away. The remaining bandit was on him by then, swinging a long, curved sword, and clearly intent on removing the human's head. The legionnaire fired, saw the rider fly over his head, and heard a
thump
as the warrior
landed. Santana was still spinning, still trying to turn, when Guppa plunged a dagger into the bandit's back.

The human heard the clatter of falling rock and turned just in time to see a zurna disappear over the top of the western embankment. “One of them got away!” Guppa shouted, and fought his way up through a cascade of loose rock. Once he arrived on top of the bank the Paguum brought the long-barreled trade rifle up to his shoulder in one smooth motion and pulled the trigger. Santana heard a sharp
crack!
and saw a puff of smoke as the warrior fired. Two seconds later the legionnaire saw Guppa's shoulders fall and knew that the outcast had escaped. The ambush had failed.

Santana triggered his com set. “This is Bravo Six to Bravo Three Six. It didn't work. Send someone back to pick us up and give everyone else a break. We're going to travel all night. Over.”

There were two clicks by way of a response, and dust rose as Guppa skidded down the embankment, picked his way across the body-strewn watercourse, and knelt next to Jubo. The prayer for the dead had a sad singsong quality.

The legionnaire took a look around. The bottom of the gully looked like a charnel house. Blood, bodies, and loose equipment were scattered everywhere. The sole-surviving zurna bawled mournfully and nosed a corpse as if hoping to bring its owner back to life. Santana thought about the civilians who were waiting for him and swore. The desert swallowed his words and sent a gust of wind by way of a reply. It turned circles, ran out of energy, and disappeared.

Warriors shaded their eyes, and zurnas stirred uneasily as engines screamed, and the Ramanthian shuttle circled the main encampment. Not because there was a need to do so but because Kuga-Ka wanted to make an impression.

Having successfully announced its presence, the boxy aircraft swooped in over the empty area reserved for its use and hovered within a whirlwind of dust before slowly lowering itself to the ground. Although many of the Paguum had seen the shuttle before, the aircraft could still draw a crowd. That's why the renegade allowed the dust to settle before ordering the pilot to open the rear hatch and drop the ramp. The Hudathan wanted to impress the crowd, cause a lot of talk, and start what he hoped would become a legend.

The onlookers stared into the black rectangle, saw a glint of reflected light, and uttered a mutual gasp as something truly monstrous clanked down
the incline and out into the harsh sun. The thing was huge, and judging from its metal skin, qualified as a machine rather than a flesh-and-blood being.

But that wasn't all. The construct carried an alien on its back, a creature so large that it looked all out of proportion to its electromechanical mount, and was even more fearsome to look upon than the hard skins. Waves of heat radiated away from the shuttle, metal pinged as it started to cool, the smell of ozone hung in the air.

Conscious of how she was being used but powerless to stop it, Haaby scanned the surrounding encampment. The cyborg saw a crowd of aliens, the concentric rings of hogas beyond, and the rising tendrils of a thousand cook fires, and wondered where she was going. She had asked repeatedly but to no avail. Information was power, and Kuga-Ka took pride in releasing the minimum amount of both.

There was a disturbance out beyond the edge of the crowd, and the Paguum scurried to get out of the way as a black zurna forced its way through. Srebo Riff sat high on the animal's back. The chieftain was glad he had chosen to ride rather than walk. The extra height put the Paguum on the same level as the newly arrived alien, a horrible beast that looked as if had been born in the bowels of hell. The
machine on which he rode added to the overall feeling of menace.

But so long as Omoni took counsel from aliens, he had little choice but to do likewise. Not for long, however. Once the southern tribe was defeated and the matter of water rights was settled, Riff planned to kill all the aliens and resume the eternal globe-spanning journey to which all of his kind were dedicated.

Thus reassured, Riff offered a greeting appropriate to a warrior of middle rank, who was a member of the tribe and respected by his peers. “My name is Srebo Riff.” The words that came out of the Ramanthian-made translator sounded like gibberish, but the Paguum had learned to ignore them. “Welcome to our encampment. I hope your journey was both peaceful and prosperous.”