Andromeda's Fall (Legion of the Damned) (17 page)

Apparently, Monitor Snarr was wondering the same thing because he spoke before Camacho could make his intentions known. And there was nothing subtle about the words he chose. “It is my duty to remind the team that we are engaged in a mission of critical importance. The empress is counting on us to do our duty. Over.”

“This is Echo-One,” Camacho said. “With all due respect, no one in my platoon needs to be lectured regarding his or her duty,” he said tightly. “That being said, it’s my opinion we can pull this thing off. Let’s move.”

The upward journey continued for five minutes. Then, as Marco arrived at the point where three pipes came in to join the main line, Camacho called a halt. The junction was so large that four of the T-1s could gather while two stood guard. “Okay,” Camacho said. “The bio bods will dismount. That includes you, Mr. Balbo.”

“Why stop here?” the civilian demanded. “We haven’t reached the top yet.”

Camacho was standing next to his T-1 by then. His headlamp was aimed up at Balbo. “We’re stopping here because the rebels will be waiting for us up top. Something you’re aware of—since you sold us out.”

“I did no such thing!” Balbo insisted stoutly. “I’m taking the same chances you are.”

“I don’t think so,” Camacho countered. “It’s my belief that the drones would have attacked us earlier if it hadn’t been for your presence. Fortunately, McKee spotted them. Now get down off that T-1. Or should I ask Monitor Snarr to remove you?”

Balbo was clearly afraid of the android and hurried to dismount. “Good,” Camacho said. “Marco will lift each bio bod up into the vertical maintenance tube above us. I will go first. Nayer, Chiba, and Singh will follow. Then it will be your turn, Mr. Balbo . . . And never fear. Monitor Snarr will be there to assist you. Corporal McKee will bring up the rear.”

Camacho looked at his wrist term and back up again. “Echo-One-Two will be command here.” McKee knew that Lance Corporal Zikey, AKA Echo-One-Two, was Camacho’s T-1. A role some cyborgs coveted and others tried to avoid.

“We will try to return here,” Camacho said as he eyed the cyborgs. “But if you haven’t seen us by 2400 hours, then you’re to withdraw and return to base. In the meantime, be sure to post guards both above and below the junction. Because of the size of the pipe, the rebs will have to attack two or three abreast if they come. But keep an eye on those incoming pipes. Copy?”

“Sir, yes sir,” Zikey replied formally.

“Good. We’ll see you shortly.”

It took five minutes for Marco to boost the bio bods and the android up into the maintenance tube. As McKee followed Snarr upwards, she gave momentary consideration to shooting the robot. But there would be no doubt as to who was responsible—and Snarr’s body would fall on her. But maybe, just maybe, there would be an opportunity later on.

Boots rang on metal, Snarr’s servos whined softly, and McKee could hear the blood pounding in her ears. For that moment in time there was no past or future. Just the present. And a determination to survive.

CHAPTER: 9

What soldier relishes the sight of a civilian flourishing a sword?

PHILIP GUEDALLA

Wellington

Standard year 1931

PLANET ORLO II

As the legionnaires continued to climb, the blobs of white light projected from their helmets slid back and forth across the inside surface of the access tube. McKee heard a grating sound as her AXE made contact with the wall behind her.

She felt it was her duty to pause occasionally and look down between her boots even though she couldn’t see beyond twenty feet or so. There was some comfort in the knowledge that attack drones couldn’t enter the bottom end of the tube so long as the T-1s were there. But there was nothing to prevent the robots from accessing the shaft via horizontal ducts that had been excavated by machines for machines.

However, there were no signs of pursuit as Camacho arrived at the top of the ladder, braced himself, and pushed the circular lid up out of the way. As cool night air flooded the shaft, McKee could hear the persistent
thump, thump, thump
of antiaircraft fire and the occasional
BOOM
generated by incoming artillery rounds. Maybe Rylund had been able to push some of his batteries forward, thereby bringing the hill within range, or maybe some bigger tubes had arrived on the scene and were pounding the rebs from twelve miles away.

As McKee followed Snarr up out of the tube, she saw flames in the distance, as one of Riversplit’s buildings burned, and heard a sonic boom as an aerospace fighter passed above. The team was so small that Camacho saw no need to use call signs. “All right, Mr. Balbo . . . Lead us to the house where Representative Frood is being held. And don’t make any mistakes. You’ll be sorry if you do. Nayer, take the point. Mr. Balbo and Monitor Snarr will be right behind you, and McKee will guard our six. Okay, let’s go.”

The fact that Riversplit was blacked out and under attack was helpful to the legionnaires as they followed Balbo up a series of winding streets. Darkened buildings loomed all around. There were places where light was visible along the edges of windows or below doors. But for the most part, McKee and the rest relied on night-vision technology to find their way.

Camacho kept the team out of the streets, and on sidewalks to the extent that he could, and a good thing, too. Five or six vehicles passed them, and McKee’s heart very nearly stopped when a column of soldiers appeared out of the gloom and double-timed down the road toward the ramparts at the foot of the hill. The rebs were so close that she could hear the rattle of equipment, the
thump
of their boots, and a burp of static. Then they were gone.

Minutes later, the team came to a halt as Nayer whispered over the radio. “Contact . . . The house is just ahead. There’s a wall and four rebs out front. Over.”

“Chiba,” Camacho said softly, “go high. Find a spot where you can look down into that courtyard. And give me a sitrep as soon as you can. Over.”

Chiba was not only known for his ability to climb—but was arguably the best shot in the platoon. That’s why he was armed with a sniper’s rifle rather than an AXE. He clicked his mike twice by way of a reply and faded into the darkness.

From what McKee could see, which was damned little, they were in a neighborhood of large homes. Most were at least two or three stories tall and were surrounded by high walls. And that included the one Frood was being held in. Four green blobs were visible. So if an equal number of guards were posted on the other three sides, that would mean sixteen in all. But what about the people
inside
the walls? Hopefully, Chiba would be able to tell them.

Five minutes ticked by. They seemed like hours as artillery rumbled in the distance, a series of flares popped high above, and tracers cut the night sky into abstract shapes. After what seemed like an eternity, Chiba spoke. “I’m on the roof of the building directly behind you. There are so many gutters, decorations, and balconies that even Singh could climb up here.”

McKee knew there was a friendly rivalry between the two men and smiled as a pair of aerospace fighters screamed overhead, leaving trails of decoy flares behind them. The rebs launched an SLM and it took off after the nearest source of heat. The resulting flash of light lit the top of the hill. “I can see into the courtyard on the other side of the wall,” Chiba said. “The rebs have an autocannon set up in front of the house. It’s pointed at the gate. Three people are clustered around the gun and two more are standing off to the right. That’s five altogether. Over.”

“It’s imperative that we enter the house and reach Representative Frood,” Snarr put in.

“All of us are aware of your desire to rescue Miss Frood,” Camacho said carefully. “Please refrain from unnecessary radio transmissions.

“Now,” Camacho continued, “here’s the plan. Thanks to Mr. Balbo, the rebs are expecting a force of T-1s. That’s why they placed an autocannon in the front yard. Chiba will neutralize that threat by killing the crew. His fire will serve as our signal to open up on the sentries. Remember . . . There are bound to be more. So wait for them to appear before crossing the street. Meanwhile, Private Chiba will rejoin us. That will be the signal for Singh to blow the gate. Questions?”

“Yes, sir,” McKee said. “What about security?”

“Normally, we would leave people outside,” Camacho acknowledged. “But I’ve been on the radio with Captain Avery—and they’re going to send a fly-form to take us off the roof.”

McKee looked up, saw that the house on the far side of the street had a flat roof, and realized she should have noticed that. What else had she missed? The question continued to dog her as Camacho issued the final order. “Kill the gun crew, Chiba. And let me know when they’re down. Over.”

It was a good plan, or so it seemed to McKee. And it might have worked if Balbo hadn’t broken free of Snarr—and run out into the street. “They’re here!” he shouted. “Kill them!”

Camacho triggered the burst that cut Balbo down. The guards fired in response, and all hell broke loose. McKee had taken cover behind a concrete planter and was firing short bursts as Chiba opened up from above. The sniper announced success thirty seconds later. “The gun crew is down. Over.”

“Then get down here,” Camacho ordered. “All right, let’s move!”

By that time, all of the sentries had been killed. But there were more, just as Camacho had said there would be, and the sound of gunfire brought them around to the front of the house. There was a melee as the two groups collided and fired at each other from only yards away.

That was when McKee’s AXE ran dry. She hit the release, and was in the process of seating a new magazine, when a reb took aim at her. McKee saw him grin and knew she was going to die when Nayer backed in between them. He’d been firing at one of the guards and momentarily lost his situational awareness.

As half a dozen rounds hit Nayer, he staggered, turned a full circle, and collapsed. McKee’s AXE was in position by then and the reb’s smile turned to a look of surprise as she fired a burst into his chest. He crumpled as she ran forward to kneel next to Nayer. A flare went off high above and the light was reflected in his eyes. “Shit,” he said. “I took a hit. For you.”

McKee eyed his torso. His body armor had protected him from some of the enemy projectiles but not all. One of them had ripped through his throat and he was bleeding profusely. She slapped a self-adhesive battle dressing onto the wound but knew it wasn’t going to make much difference. “Yes,” she said. “You did.”

Nayer frowned. The blood in his throat made it sound as if he was gargling when he spoke. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

“You’re not good enough to be a squad leader.”

McKee nodded soberly. “I agree.”

A look of satisfaction appeared on Nayer’s face. “Good. That’s settled then.”

Suddenly, as the light faded from Nayer’s eyes, McKee heard an explosion, and Camacho yelled at her. “Is he alive?”

“No.”

“Then let’s go. Our bird is inbound, and we have work to do.”

McKee removed the dead man’s tag plus two magazines before following Camacho through the shattered gate and past a sprawl of bodies. All victims of Chiba’s marksmanship. The cannon sat unused, with a dead reb slumped in the gunner’s seat. The rest of the squad was waiting on the porch.

Snarr nodded, put four rounds into the door lock, and there was a spill of light as he kicked it open. A burst of automatic fire passed over the robot’s head and stopped as the android fired both pistols. Camacho led the way, and McKee had to step over a dead officer in order to follow her platoon leader up a spiral staircase. She got the impression of a glittering chandelier, dark wood, and beautifully framed landscapes. It was a look very similar to what she’d grown up with.

Fire lashed down from above, Camacho paused to return fire, and a body fell past her to land somewhere below. “According to Balbo, Representative Frood is being held on the top floor,” the officer said grimly as they arrived on a landing. “One more to go.”

Boots thundered on the stairs as the legionnaires continued to climb. But as they rounded a curve, glass shattered, and an attack drone nosed into the stairwell with its gun firing. McKee turned to look as the railing exploded into splinters. The robot was vaguely cylindrical in shape and equipped with bladelike vanes that protruded from its sides.

There was no need to yell “Contact!” but McKee did, as she fired from fifteen feet away. The machine was well armored, however, and it took a combined effort by the entire team to damage the drone. The robot seemed to stagger in midair, slammed into a wall, and blew up.

McKee felt what must have been a sizable piece of shrapnel strike her body armor. The impact knocked her off her feet and saved her life, as a second machine entered through the broken window. It fired on the spot where she had been and was destroyed by Camacho, Snarr, and Chiba.

At that point, she half expected to see a
third
drone appear and was relieved when it didn’t. “Okay,” Camacho said. “Rebel troops will arrive soon. Let’s get this thing done.”

Once the team arrived on the third floor, it was only a matter of seconds before they located the table and chair where a guard had been stationed. He or she was absent now, and McKee was reminded of the body that had fallen past her earlier.

Snarr tried the door, but it was secured, and McKee could see that a heavy-duty lock had been installed. Camacho turned to Singh. “Open it.”

Singh grinned through his black beard. He was well over six feet tall and very muscular. So when his boot hit the door, wood splintered. A second kick finished the job.

Then, as the door swung open, McKee saw a sparsely furnished bedroom with a woman standing in a corner. She had gray hair and was clearly terrified. “Representative Frood?” Camacho inquired. “We won’t hurt you. We’re here to get you out.”

Frood looked hopeful. “Really? Thank God!”

And that was when Snarr raised a pistol and shot her between the eyes. Frood’s head jerked as the bullet hit, her face lost all expression, and she slid to the floor.

Camacho was the first to react. His weapon was coming to bear on Snarr when the android shot him as well. Twice.

McKee watched in disbelief as her platoon leader went down with two bullets in his brain. After months of training, her reaction was as natural as breathing. The AXE seemed to fire itself. Snarr took dozens of hits but was seemingly impervious to bullets as he continued to turn in her direction. But finally the 4.7mm rounds ate through his armor, found something vital, and destroyed it. The android jerked spastically, lost motor control, and crashed to the floor. That was when Chiba put a final bullet into the robot’s head. “And stay down, you piece of shit.”

A heavy silence followed. Singh was the first to break it. “Damn,” he said wonderingly. “What happened?”

“It looks like Snarr had orders to kill Frood,” McKee said darkly. “And used us to get at her.”

“But
why
?” Chiba wanted to know.

McKee knew the answer. Or thought she did. Chances were that Frood had been sent to Orlo II by Ophelia’s brother. And having any sort of relationship with the dead emperor was a crime against the state. So Snarr had been ordered to kill Frood by someone who was willing to sacrifice the android if necessary. But she couldn’t say that. Not without revealing information about herself. “Who knows?” McKee said. “But one thing’s for sure . . . If we’re smart, we’ll stay well clear of whatever it is.”

Singh looked worried. “How can we do that?”

“We’ll tell the same story when they run us through the after-action hot wash. The drone killed Camacho and Snarr as we fought our way up the stairs. The door to Frood’s room was open and she was dead when we found her. Stick to those points. Don’t add details and don’t drop anything. Keep it simple.”

“This is Lifter-Five to Echo-One,” a female voice said over the platoon push. “I’m thirty out. Drop some flares.”

McKee chinned her mike. “This is Echo-Four. I read you. We’re headed for the roof. Over.”

She looked from face to face. “So how ’bout it? Are we on the same page?”

Singh answered for both of them. “What you say makes sense. I never liked that frigging machine—and I don’t think the loot did either. And there’s more of the bastards. All linked in with the government somehow. So we need to stay clear of it. Right, Chiba?”

Chiba nodded. “That’s, right. Plus McKee’s our squad leader . . . So what she says goes.”

That was acceptance of a sort, and McKee felt a momentary flush of pleasure as she ordered the other two to find a way up to the roof. Then she bent over to collect Camacho’s ID tag and wished there was time to perform a cybernetic autopsy on Snarr. But there wasn’t. So all she could do was pull the pin on a thermite grenade, drop it next to Snarr’s body, and leave. Hopefully, the heat would destroy the android and burn the house down, making a forensic investigation impossible. Because a battle was coming, and if the loyalists won, the people who sent Snarr might go looking for its remains.