Andromeda's Fall (Legion of the Damned) (18 page)

The next few minutes were taken up by the mad scramble to reach the roof, lay out the necessary flares, and wait out the final seconds as the fly-form swooped in for a landing. Then, once all three of them were aboard, the cyborg took off. It wasn’t until they were speeding away that McKee had an opportunity to react. Snarr was dead, but so was Camacho, and the horrible reality of that continued to sink in. She could run—it was impossible to hide.

* * *

McKee awoke with a start as a bright light probed her eyes. “Rise and shine, Corporal,” a male voice said. “They’re waiting for you.”

The choice to turn off the glow strip and lie down on the concrete floor had been hers, and now McKee was paying for it as she sat up. She felt cold, stiff, and sore. A questionable trade-off for an hour’s worth of sleep. “I need to pee,” she said thickly as she stood.

“Okay,” the other legionnaire said, standing to one side. “But make it quick. The little girl’s room is on the right—two doors down.”

McKee nodded as she stepped out into the school’s main hallway. It was a lot busier than it had been the previous day. People in all sorts of uniforms were coming, going, or standing around. Was the all-out assault coming up soon? Judging from all the activity, it seemed likely. Her thoughts went to Weber and the other cyborgs. They had returned safely according to what she’d been told, and for that she was thankful.

Having pushed her way in through a swinging door, McKee discovered that it really was a little girl’s room—complete with small commodes and low sinks. Filtered daylight came in via three frosted windows, and a sign instructed her to
WASH YOUR HANDS
.

Having taken care of the most pressing need, she went over to a washbasin. The face in the mirror looked tired and worried. And the scar was still a shock. Had Singh and Chiba been through the hot wash? And if so, what had they said? There was no way to know, so all she could do was stick to the story and hope for the best. Because the truth wouldn’t set her free. Far from it. Though officers like Rylund wouldn’t like what Snarr had done, they weren’t going to take on Empress Ophelia, not for a lieutenant, never mind a corporal.

The same legionnaire was waiting for McKee when she emerged from the restroom. He wasn’t a guard in the normal sense but had clearly been assigned to make sure that she didn’t discuss the mission with her squad. That was SOP, and nothing to be concerned about under normal circumstances, but the situation wasn’t normal. Far from it.

McKee steeled herself for what was to come as the legionnaire led her into what had been the teacher’s lounge. And there, seated around a table were Captain Avery, Lieutenant Oxby, and Monitor Snarr. The very sight of the robot was enough to open an empty place at the pit of her stomach. The machine was dead . . . It had to be.

Then, as Avery stood to greet her, McKee realized that the android in front of her
wasn’t
Snarr. Even though its appearance was identical to that of the “dead” robot. “You met the lieutenant earlier,” Avery said. “And this is monitor Jivv. We know this is a difficult time for you—but it’s important to get everything down while the details are fresh in your mind. Please . . . Have a seat.”

McKee took some comfort from the concern in Avery’s eyes—but it felt as if Jivv’s sensors were looking right through her. One thing was for sure . . . It might be hard to replace Sergeant Hux, or Lieutenant Camacho, but there were plenty of synths to go around.

The first part of the debriefing was easy. All she had to do was tell the truth. But then, as she described the attack on the house, it was necessary for her to be extremely careful. Details could be her undoing if they varied from what the others said. But Jivv called her on it right away. The timbre of its voice was slightly different from Snarr’s. As if some irregularity in the production process had caused it to be lower. “Please be more precise, Corporal. We are interested in the details of what occurred.”

“Yes, sir,” McKee replied. “Sorry, sir, but there was a lot going on. Like I said, a drone smashed through a window in the stairway and fired on us. We returned fire and destroyed it. I wasn’t aware that the lieutenant had been hit until I turned back toward the stairs. Both he and Monitor Snarr were down. Both of them were dead. So I took Lieutenant Camacho’s tag and put it in my pocket.”

“Which placed you in command,” Avery said.

“Yes, sir. I knew Representative Frood was supposed to be on the third floor. So we went looking for her. The room where they were keeping her was unlocked, and she was dead. It looked as though she had been executed.”

None of the interrogators looked surprised. And that meant they had heard the story before. “The rebs shot her,” Oxby said evenly.

“Yes, sir,” McKee said. “That was the way it appeared.”

“So you left,” Avery said.

“Yes, sir,” McKee responded, hoping to bring the session to a speedy conclusion. “Lieutenant Camacho had requested that a fly-form pick us up on the roof.”

“And that’s all?” Jivv demanded. “You have nothing to add?”

The android was after something. But what? McKee was so tired it was difficult to think. Then it came to her. “There was one other thing, sir . . . I smelled smoke as we left. There could have been a fire. I’m not sure.”

Jivv nodded as if satisfied. “Aerial photographs became available early this morning. The rebels had a lot of fires to fight last night. The house where Frood was being held, plus three neighboring dwellings, burned to the ground.”

Avery’s eyes met hers. McKee got the feeling that the officer was trying to ignore Jivv. “It’s no secret that we will attack Riversplit sometime soon,” Avery said. “The odds of getting a replacement for Camacho before then are slim to none. So I’m going to take command of your platoon. I know last night was difficult. Can I count on you to lead the second squad?”

There it was. A chance to say no. But judging from the way her story had been accepted, it was clear that she had support from Chiba and Singh. And if they believed in her, then maybe she should, too. “Sir, yes sir.”

Avery nodded. “Good. Get some sleep.”

McKee said, “Thank you, sir,” stood, and turned to go. She was halfway to the door when Jivv spoke. “Corporal . .
 
.”

McKee stopped and turned. “Yes?”

“According to the squad-level load-out checklist for last night’s mission, you were carrying a thermite grenade. But you made no mention of using it—and there was no mention of the grenade on the list of ordnance that was turned in. What happened to it?”

McKee felt something cold trickle into her bloodstream. Jivv was on a fishing expedition. Or did he suspect foul play? She made an effort to keep what she was feeling off her face. “I lost it.”

Avery frowned and looked at the robot for the first time since McKee had entered the room. “If you believe that Corporal McKee violated regulations, or was remiss in the performance of her duties, then say so. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut.”

Oxby looked uncomfortable and clearly wanted to be somewhere else. Jivv opened its mouth as if to reply, apparently thought better of it, and remained silent.

Avery returned his gaze to McKee. He was furious, judging from the expression on his face. “Dismissed.”

McKee said, “Yes, sir,” and left the room. Then it was time to grab a sandwich in the makeshift chow hall that occupied the gymnasium, return to the company area, and collapse on her cot. Sleep came quickly—and Nayer was there to greet her.

* * *

Twelve hours had passed since McKee had been debriefed. Six had been spent sleeping, five had been spent getting her squad ready for combat, and one had been spent waiting for the briefing to begin. That pissed her off because there were so many other things that she could have been doing. Although the Legion’s official motto was
Legio Patria Nostra
 (The Legion Is Our Country), it might as well have been “Hurry Up and Wait.”

But, finally, Captain Avery and Lieutenant Oxby entered the classroom where Echo Company’s officers and noncoms were assembled. “Sorry about the delay,” Avery began. “But the battalion briefer ran over. The good news is that we finally have a time. The assault on Riversplit will begin at 0500 hours in the morning. The 6
th
REI will go in first, with support from the Grays.

“We will be in the second wave. Our task is to seek out the enemy’s cavalry and neutralize it. Thanks to some HUMINT, we have images to share with you. Lieutenant Oxby—if you would be so kind.”

McKee was surprised to hear that the rebs had cavalry, as were the men and women around her, since T-1s, quads, and fly-forms were unique to the Legion insofar as she knew. But the picture that appeared on the wall screen was something very different from the sort of cavalry she was used to. So much so that the image provoked laughter and comments like “You’ve got to be kidding,” “We’ll cream them,” and “Get serious.”

McKee remained silent, but she could see why the others were so contemptuous. The video had been shot from a distance. It jiggled from time to time and showed a human encased in a nine-foot-tall exoskeleton. The same sort of machine used to load and unload cargo vessels. The reb was running an obstacle course or trying to. But his machine hadn’t been designed to high-step through rows of tires, and she wasn’t surprised when he tripped and fell. That triggered gales of laughter, which Avery cut short. “Atten
-
HUT.”

The talking stopped, those who had been seated stood, and everyone came to attention. “So you think the guy in the exoskeleton is funny?” Avery demanded as he glared at them. “Well laugh at this . . . The rebs call them Rippers. And for good reason. They’re slower than a T-1, and less agile, but a good deal more powerful. And that could be very important in an urban setting, where combat can get up close and personal.

“Plus, the rebs have armed their machines with heat-seeking fire-and-forget missiles (SLMs). Two tubes per Ripper. And that’s in addition to the .50-caliber machine guns mounted on both sides of the operators’ cages. All of which is to say that you’d better take these things seriously. Do you read me?”

The answer was in unison. “Yes, sir!”

“Good. As you were. Lieutenant Oxby—you may proceed.”

McKee listened carefully and took notes, knowing it was her responsibility to pass the information on to her squad. Oxby’s briefing came to a conclusion ten minutes later. Avery offered a closing comment. “Remember . . . The infantry is counting on us. Two Rippers could decimate a company of ground pounders. And the enemy may have as many as fifty of them. Be ready at 0400, have your people in the assembly area by 0430, and keep radio traffic to a minimum. The sergeant major will be kicking ass and taking names. I’ll see you there. Dismissed.”

She left with all the others, returned to her hooch, and found Larkin sitting on her cot. He had a shit-eating grin on his face. “So,
Corporal
,” he said, with unnecessary emphasis on the word “Corporal.” “Where should I put my gear?”

McKee frowned. “You don’t mean . .
 
.”

“I sure as hell do!” Larkin said triumphantly. “I put in a request for the second squad—and Sergeant Fanta signed the chit!”

McKee could imagine how thrilled Fanta had been. Nobody wanted Larkin, and the chance to get rid of him had been too good to pass up. Even if it left Fanta one bio bod short.

But while Larkin was a burden in many ways, McKee knew that she could count on the troublemaker even if no one else could. And with Jivv around, it would be nice to have somebody to watch her six. She forced a smile. “That’s wonderful news. As it happens, I have a slot for a crazy, undisciplined pain in the ass like yourself. You’ll replace Nayer. Go find his T-1 and get acquainted. And run every diagnostic there is. We’re going to visit Riversplit tomorrow.”

Larkin grinned and came to his feet. “Got it.”

“And Larkin . .
 
.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t make me sorry.”

* * *

If the rebels were wondering when the attack would come, the question was answered at 0430 hours when the artillery and rocket barrage began. Hits were marked by red-orange explosions that lived for a second or two before being swallowed up by the predawn darkness. Meanwhile, Echo Company was assembled behind the Grays and stood ready to follow them into no-man’s-land, where the first clash was expected to take place. If Rylund’s forces were successful on the flat ground, they would have the dubious privilege of assaulting the hill beyond.

McKee had checked her squad twice by that time and knew there was no point in doing so again. Weber was fidgety and kept shifting his weight from foot to foot, which meant she had to compensate for it. It was annoying and an act of will was required to refrain from saying something to him.

Everyone was nervous, and that included Avery, who was making the rounds and talking to soldiers in each squad. He
looked
calm enough, but his words came more quickly than usual, and he was telling jokes. Something he never did under normal circumstances and wasn’t very good at.

In fact, the only person who didn’t seem concerned was Larkin. He was doing what he always did, which was to complain about everything from what he considered to be a substandard breakfast to the constipation that would surely result. McKee smiled when Singh told Larkin to “shut the hell up.”

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, the artillery barrage stopped, at least two dozen flares went off over no-man’s-land, and the infantry began to advance. Avery’s voice sounded unnaturally loud in her helmet. “Echo Company will advance on my command. Remember . . . Keep those intervals right, watch for enemy cavalry units, and maintain your situational awareness. It could get real complicated out there, and it would be easy to wind up shooting at each other.”

The order came moments later. “Echo Company will advance in extended order.”

Someone yelled, “Camerone!” and other legionnaires did likewise. Sergeant Major Essex snapped at them for violating radio protocol, but everyone knew he didn’t mean it.