Chapter Twenty-four

They’re not men, they’re wild beasts.

—a German major, speaking of the French Foreign Legion, 1916

Katrina Voskovich held the receiver to her ear and listened to the chatter from inside the enemy base. Around her, the other civilians on the bridge of the Seafarms Cyclops watched her, waiting. She’d never expected to be a leader, but it seemed as if the role had been forced on her anyway.

“The sappers are still pinned,” she said. “And it sounds like the captain’s troops are running into heavy resistance.” She looked across at Warrant Officer Koenig, the only legionnaire on the bridge. “Sounds like they’re in trouble.”

Koenig shifted uncomfortably. Aside from him, only Father Fitzpatrick and Dr. Ramirez remained on board the ship. “What about Captain Hawley’s men? Can we get any of them free to support the strike force?”

“I don’t think so,” Voskovich told him. “The fighting down there is still pretty confused, and that new bunch is moving in.”

The warrant officer let out a ragged breath. “Then there’s no way of helping Fraser’s people. They’ll have to handle it on their own.…”

“We’re available,” Voskovich said flatly. “I say we go for it.”

“Captain Fraser’s orders—”

“Damn the orders!” she flared. “Look, he wanted the Cyclops safe so there was a way out if things went sour. Well, they’re going sour, but none of those legionnaires will make it unless they get support fast. We may not be much, but we can turn up the heat on the wogs.”

A spasm of indecision crossed Koenig’s face. She pressed on. “What do the rest of you say? We’ve disobeyed the military people before, right? Let’s make it count for something, for a change!”

The bridge crew’s reaction was mixed. The ones who’d been in the fighting at the Sandcastle were cheering, but the regular ship’s personnel looked sullen. Their only experience of the Legion had been Subaltern Watanabe’s takeover.…

Koenig looked around, then gave a curt nod. “Do it,” he said shortly.

“You heard the man,” Voskovich said loudly. “Get this monstrosity under way. And get everyone who has a weapon and isn’t needed to operate the ship down to the boarding platforms. We’ll show the legionnaires they aren’t the only ones crazy enough to take on these wogs!”

O O O

Fraser swam past a knot of dead nomads, to join Gunnery Sergeant Trent beside one of the twisted struts that had been part of a harvester ship cradle near the center of the enemy compound. Steady fighting had pushed them deeper and deeper into the base, but they still had a long way to go to reach Kelly’s position beyond the bulk of the Toel ship.

Fourteen dead and eight wounded, so far. More than half of his force were casualties now, and still the nomads kept on fighting. The wog coalition was larger than anyone had predicted, and there were still plenty of hostiles left inside their fortress. Enemy troops were closing in behind them now, and the next attack would probably come from all sides.

He was certain now that this final gesture against Choor!’s headquarters had failed. They hadn’t seen anything yet that looked like it might be the native warlord’s bodyguard or staff, just scores of nomad soldiers rallying to the defense. He had a good idea now of where Choor! was: The defenders were strongest in the direction of the gatehouse complex, and Fraser suspected that the lower levels there were probably flooded and occupied by the enemy leadership. But the gatehouse was even farther away than Kelly’s beleaguered sappers. It didn’t look like he was going to reach either target now.

Explosions erupted behind the legionnaires, a long way off but loud in his external audio pickups. They were coming from the direction of the breach, and they sounded like the depth charges the legionnaires had improvised. “What the hell…?” he said aloud.

He kicked off from the bottom and broke the surface, ignoring the risk of being spotted. Looking across the compound, Fraser spotted the breach.

The huge shape of the Cyclops loomed behind the hole, and civilians were streaming off one of the boarding platforms onto the abandoned barge. He thought he saw Koenig … Voskovich … even the burly shape of the guard who had threatened him during Barnett’s mutiny. None of them had hardsuits, but they were firing into the water and shoving explosive canisters through the gap to confuse the nomads.

Fraser dived again. They’d disobeyed his orders to stay clear of the fighting, but he was glad of the disobedience. With this new threat the nomads would have to regroup, and in the meantime he just might be able to turn the battle around.…

“Gunny!” he shouted. “Take two lances toward the breach. Cyclops is there, and we can catch some wogs in a crossfire if we hurry. Then go support Kelly.”

“What about the rest of the men?” Trent asked. “You’re not splitting us up?”

“Yes, we are. We’ll smash through the nomads over there and hit the gatehouse! That should make Choor! rethink his battle plan!” He switched frequencies. “Onagers, form up in front and prepare to advance. Let’s get this thing over with!”

He slapped a fresh magazine into the receiver of his FEK. This new plan still risked a defeat in detail, but the appearance of the Cyclops had opened up a window he couldn’t afford to ignore.

Even if they failed, the nomads would know they’d been in a fight.

O O O

“Lieutenant!” Watanabe felt relief wash over him as he caught sight of Susan Gage in the middle of a cluster of legionnaires, advancing out of the swirling murk ahead. Since Hawley’s death he’d been trying to hold his force together and close ranks with the other unit. Now, at last, he could pass the responsibility back to a superior.

Gage and her C3 technician swam over to him. “Where’s the captain?” she asked.

“Dead, Lieutenant,” Watanabe told her. “You’re in charge now.”

“Damn,” she said softly. “Just when he had a chance …”

“He died the way he would have wanted to,” he said. “Let’s concentrate on saving the living.”

“Right,” she nodded, visibly taking control of herself. “We’ve broken the back on the main body. Wish we had a better idea of what’s going on with Captain Fraser. That’s where the real action is.” She paused. “Do you have a status on those reinforcements?”

“Lost them in the clutter a few minutes ago,” he said. With the bodies so thick throughout the battlefield, the sonar units were having a lot of trouble distinguishing the live targets that were still out there. “They’ll be here soon.…”

She brought up her FEK suddenly and fired past him, yelling “They’re here now!” Watanabe rolled over and added his own weapon to hers. A cluster of nomads with mixed weaponry swam right into the kill zone and died.

Then there were more, swarming out of the murk. He maintained fire until his magazine ran dry, then drew his PLF rocket pistol.

Gage ran out of ammo at almost the same moment and fumbled for a fresh magazine. As she did, a wog raised a rocket gun and fired. Watanabe tried to shove her out of the way, but it was too late. Susan Gage was dead, too. That made him the senior surviving officer—maybe the only one. Wijngaarde had died in the early stages of the ambush, and he hadn’t seen Carnes yet.…

“Close up, legionnaires!” he called on the comm circuit. “Throw the bastards back!”

He heard Sergeant Gessler shouting orders and encouragement, heard the grudging respect in the man’s voice as he called, “Come on, you sandrats! The Sub needs us!”

O O O

Kelly flinched as another of her sappers died. The Toels had the whole position ringed in now, and there was precious little cover that wasn’t exposed to one of the alien soldiers. Even the arrival of the Cyclops, reported by Trent over her commlink, hadn’t slowed the Toels down. It looked like they were letting their allies go down, while they concentrated on protecting their ship.

Beyond their defensive positions she could see Toeljuk workers loading cargo through the open bay doors near the base of the vessel. If only she could get some explosives up there.…

A Toel laser probed toward her. She could feel the water temperature going up each time the pulse passed overhead. Kelly clung more tightly to the fusand wall and returned fire, but the laser was shielded behind a plasteel barrier.

Without reinforcements from Fraser, there was no way the sappers were breaking out of this crossfire. And Fraser, she knew, was busy elsewhere. There was still no sign of Trent’s two lances, either.

Suddenly the Toel laser position ceased firing as the gunner let go of his weapon and drifted toward the surface, no longer moving. Another Toel nearby did the same a moment later. Through her headphones she heard a whoop of triumph.

“Rydell to the rescue!”

“Knock it off and find a target.” Trent’s gruff voice overrode the exuberance of the laser gunner from Braxton’s recon lance. “Miss Kelly? Are you still here?”

“Alive and kicking, Sergeant,” she answered, firing again. More Toels were dying, as the two fresh lances took them from behind. Trent had circled around so that his attack had come from the direction of the ship, and the Toels had never even noticed. “How the hell did you sneak up on them like that?”

“Climbed out and used the walls. Bashar and Spear have things pretty clear topside now, and the bad guys aren’t paying much attention up there anymore.”

She grinned inside her hardsuit helmet. For a change the Terrans had made terrain work in their favor.

“Let’s move!” she shouted to her sappers. Kicking off from the bottom and cutting in her thruster, Kelly raced toward Trent and his men. A few random shots followed from other Toel positions, but at least for now the enemy was too busy to effectively cover the legionnaires.

Sappers followed, led by old MacAllister. The veteran trailed a large satchel of PX-90 behind him. “Dinna worry, lassie!” he called, as he caught up to her. “We’ll blast yon bastards!”

Mbote, another of Braxton’s men, passed her and dropped toward the bottom, blazing away steadily with his FEK. “We’ll cover you,” he said. “But make it fast!”

Trent was already swimming ahead, with Pascali’s lance spread out in a loose skirmish line on either side, cutting a swath through the unarmed Toel workers around the cargo door. Kelly and MacAllister were close behind, with a handful of other sappers in tow.

There was a savage gun battle at the door itself, with a pair of Toels armed with heavy laser rifles holding the recon lance. Finally Trent and Corporal Pascali rolled through, firing a volley of mini-grenades. In the confusion, the rest of the lance was able to break in and kill the two aliens. The cargo bay was clear—for the moment.

“Go! Go!” Trent called. Kelly and MacAllister split the explosives between them and started working their way around opposite sides of the cargo bay, slapping liberal quantities of the PX-90 in place. The other sappers followed behind, setting detpacks and programming them to Kelly’s shouted orders. The recon troopers kept a wary eye on the two doors, ready for any Toel reinforcements.

Kelly planted her last charge and waited impatiently for the others to finish. “Let’s mag out!” she said. The Terrans swam clear of the cargo bay, back into the battle outside. Braxton’s lance was giving way slowly before a determined Toel attack. Now the legionnaires hit their thruster and angled away from the ship.

Pausing to draw out a remote control unit, Kelly hit the detonator. An instant later explosions erupted from the interior of the ship. The Toeljuks pursuing them broke off the fight and headed for the vessel.

“No way they’ll be leaving now,” Kelly said confidently. They’d planted the charges to breach the hull in several places, and it would be hours before they could patch the ship well enough to make her spaceworthy.

They’d done their job. Now if Fraser could carry off his …

O O O

Inside the Reef-of-the-Gift-Bearers, Choor! listened to the reports from his subordinates with mounting concern. All contact lost with the force sent outside the walls to face the Strangers there, no word on the progress against their fortress. And every force they’d mustered against the raiding party had been thrown back or destroyed.

How could these Terran-Strangers fight so well? The Gift-Bearers had said that Terrans were a weak race, indecisive, whose warriors ran from a losing battle and whose merchants would sell one another as slaves when they scented profit in the current. An easy victory, they had said, which would deliver Ourgh and eventually the rest of the land-dwellers into the tendrils of the Clans United with less effort then it took to subdue a hostile Clan.

But this had been anything but an easy victory. Even if they finished off these Terrans, the Clans United might never recover. Too many warriors lost, too much of Choor!’s prestige used up in useless assaults and stratagems the leaders of the Strangers had anticipated all too thoroughly. Even the Betrayer had proven useless to the Clans.

This “Legion” of Terran warriors was more tenacious in battle than any Clan, fighting, winning against impossible odds and never knowing when to give up. They were more like a blood-hungry woorroo following the scent of its prey. Animals …

But dangerous animals. Animals who had broken his dream of the Clans United.

“If you wish, you can still win free with the remaining guards,” one Clan-Leader was saying.

“No!” Choor! rejected the suggestion as automatically as the most instinct-enslaved Warrior-Inferior. “No … Muster the last guards. Break these animals for me. Break them!”

O O O

The wogs erupted out of the gatehouse so suddenly that Fraser hardly had time to react. For a few minutes he’d thought the battle was over. But there were still nomads rallying to the defense after all.

Just one more battle … Surely this would be the last.

A native with a pike twice his own length charged straight at Fraser, but the huge Gwyrran named Vrurrth thrust past and grappled with the wog. The pike drifted away as Vrurrth wrenched it from the smaller alien’s hands. Then the wog was thrashing, as those powerful fingers dug into the nomad’s gills. A moment later the native stopped moving, and the Gwyrran pushed the limp body away with a contemptuous flourish. It floated toward the surface in slow motion, blood oozing from the gill slits.

Fraser opened fire just as another nomad, this one wielding a sword, slashed at Legionnaire Grant. The boy flashed him a quick thumbs-up as he directed a steady stream of autofire at the gatehouse door. Corporals Rostov and Haddad were close by, also firing until it seemed that the water was growing black with needle rounds.

The Gurkha corporal commanding one of the weapons lances touched Fraser on the shoulder and pointed at the gatehouse wall a few meters from the door. Fraser gave him a quick nod, then he backed away fast as the onager came into play again. The other onagers joined in an instant later, and in seconds they had opened another breach in the inner wall. Fraser gathered up a handful of legionnaires and swam for the hole. The heat of the water near the gap was almost intolerable, but he squeezed through into the building, his men close behind.

And stopped at the sight of the lone figure waiting inside.

The nomad wore an ornate dagger at this side and cradled a rocket gun in his arms. His bearing made his identity plain, though he was nothing like what Fraser had imagined.

Choor!, the nomad warlord, was a young wog, probably younger than any of the leaders he had “advised.” He was distinctly overweight, too, and looked more like one of the scholarly class from Ourgh than he did like a being who had single-handedly brought such terror to Polypheme.

Fraser hesitated. Suddenly it didn’t seem right to kill this mild-looking wog.

But Choor! plainly didn’t share that sentiment. He raised his rifle and fired.

A legionnaire shoved Fraser out of the way and took the round in his own arm. A moment later it was over, with half a dozen Legion soldiers pumping round after round into the nomad leader.

O O O

Gunnery Sergeant Trent climbed wearily onto the boarding platform of the Cyclops, opening his hardsuit helmet and taking a deep, satisfying breath of air. He could hardly believe it was over.

The civilian leader, Voskovich, hurried across the deck. “Did you hear the news?” she was asking, her eyes shining.

He shook his head wearily.

“The wogs attacked the Sandcastle again, but we held them. Corporal Johnson called a few minutes ago to report that they were running. Someone must have sent word to them about Choor!.…”

“Johnson? Was DuValier…?”

She shook her head. “He was wounded in the fighting, and Johnson’s in charge, but the medical people say the Lieutenant will be all right.”

If Fraser wanted to press charges over the mutiny, DuValier would be wishing the wogs had killed him. Death by lethal injection wasn’t a pleasant way to go.…

“Everyone else aboard?” he asked, changing the subject. Another death was something he didn’t want to think about just now. Not after all the killing Trent had seen today.

She nodded. “Captain Fraser brought the Toel prisoners aboard a few minutes ago. And Mr. Watanabe and the survivors of the main body are already down in Legion country.” She smiled. “There was one named White who was talking about booze.”

“They deserve it,” Trent said. “Hell, I deserve it! You want to join us?” Voskovich had played no small part in getting the fight inside the base back on track.

She nodded hesitantly. “Yes … yes, I’d like that, Sergeant.”

“Then give the orders to get us going, and come on down. I’m not going to stop celebrating until we sight home.”