Undying Mercenaries: Machine World Part 15

Part of me understood why the officers were frustrated. We were supposed to be the cavalry, but we couldnt move like cavalry. We were in unknown territory swamped in mist, rough ground and danger. If theyd ordered us to charge into the unknown blindly, sure, we could probably make the run within the span of a few hours. But the officers had another, contradictory requirement: that we not lose their precious dragons.

"Quick gains on any battlefield often require risk," I said, quoting a military strategy book Id read to prepare for my new status as a veteran.

"Whats that c.r.a.p?" Harris demanded. Id forgotten he was still listening in on my squad chat. "You keep a lid on that, McGill. Someone might hear you."

"Someone already has," Graves said.

I flinched. I told myself I had to get used to the idea that I wasnt one more grunt mumbling to myself on proximity chat anymore. As a veteran, I had access to a lot of new levels of communication, and Id just done the equivalent of a "reply-all" to the entire unit.

"For the record, I agree with McGill," Graves said. "We should just get this over with and quit walking like frightened infantry in expensive machines. With a vanguard of fast-moving troops, we can risk a unit and follow with a large column afterward. If the first group hits a major obstacle-well, we can decide how to handle it situationally. That way you risk losing a single unit, but the entire force moves at triple the pace. Risk equals gain, as McGill said."

My private chat line was blinking. It was Harris. I had no doubt he was calling to give me a reaming. He hadnt talked to me this much since Id had my chat with Della in his squads tent. Harris distance had been just fine with me. Now, as I eyed the contact light, I wondered if I should open the channel or not. I decided to ignore it.

Another call came in from Graves. I took that one.

"McGill," Graves said, "Ive come to a decision. Im kicking your suggestion up to Winslade. Hold on."

A long, groaning sound came out of my mouth. I finally opened the private talk-line with Harris, who was still waiting.

"I dont believe it!" he said. "See? You see that? Are you even listening to Graves?"

"Yes, he just contacted me."

"Thats what you get-but we all have to suffer! You see how this turns out McGill? If you live again someday after this disaster is over and done, try to learn to keep your big mouth shut, okay? That is, if you arent permed along with the rest of us!"

He cut the channel before I could reply. It was just as well. I was all out of snappy comebacks anyway. I had a feeling he might be right.

The next few minutes were uncomfortable. Finally, the new orders came down.

"Good news, 3rd Unit," Graves announced.

What got me was that the centurion sounded honest-to-G.o.d happy.

"Were moving out, top speed," he continued. "My unit has been awarded the honor of forging the way. Leeson, take point."

That was it. Harris worst fears had been realized.

"You heard the man!" I shouted. "Saddle-up, this will be a full-speed run. Were going to get this over with before darkness falls. With any luck, well be sipping auto-heated stew in a tent within four hours!"

We began to run. For the first hour, things went relatively smoothly. The land was flat and empty. There were boulders now and then, but no one wrecked their dragon.

But then our luck changed. We ran into a broken region of badlands. There were gullies, pits and wind-carved rocks everywhere. By this time, everyone in the cohort had a channel tuned to the low-frequency bands the machines used for communication. Our computers filtered out all but the strongest, close-range contacts. If the big machines came near, we would be warned by their radioed whale-songs.

There werent any problems until we reached the midpoint of the badlands. In a particularly deep gully, we met up with a series of warbling contacts-a lot of them.

"Centurion Graves, weve got company dead ahead," I reported in.

"Roger that, I can see the readouts. Advance your platoon, Leeson. Give me an accurate count on the wildlife. Then Ill phone this in to Winslade to see what he wants to do. Remember to use only low-powered radio to talk, and hold your ground until told to do otherwise. Dont bring an avalanche of enemy machines back home to the main column."

Leeson ordered Harris to swing right and me to swing left. I had to wonder if Graves still hated me, or if his habit of picking Leeson, Harris and I to do his most hazardous missions was some kind of compliment. I figured it was probably a mixture of both, and possibly it had just become reflexive for him. Whatever the case, I found myself at the very front of the line yet again as we trotted our dragons between looming boulders, bubbling streams of methane and metallic-looking rocks with sharp edges.

We finally broke through to an area close enough and wide enough to see what we were facing. I was confused at first. The machines were all in one tight area.

"Looks like that mound of machines we found eating their wounded brother back on the lakesh.o.r.e," I said.

"Sure does," Sargon said, coming close.

We were peering down into a churning pit of machines. There were about twenty of them, and they were roaming around and appeared to be feeding. I knew the look by this time. The machines would kind of hunker down and s.h.i.+ver a little when they found something good to eat.

"Hey," Sargon said. "Look over there...is that what I think it is?"

I followed his dragons outstretched gripper. Peering in the gloomy light, I nodded at last. "Yeah, I think so. Thats a dead trooper."

Wed found the Solstice infantry-or what was left of them. Looking back down into the open pit area, I began to figure out what I was seeing.

"Were looking at the remains of the proud Legion Solstice," I said grimly. "They must have made a last stand here in the badlands. Trapped in this little box canyon, they fought and lost. These machines are feeding on the armored suits of their dead."

"Makes me sick," Sargon said. "Permission to destroy these scavengers, vet?"

"Permission denied-for now. Its not my call."

Sargon looked at me. I could see his face lit up inside his faceplate by his instrumentation. He was enraged, and I didnt blame him.

"Come on, McGill," he said. "Since when did you play anything by the book? Lets charge down there and smoke those machines. If we move fast, it will be over before anyone knows whats going on. If the whole cohort shows up in the middle of the action, theyll back us up without a question."

"You could be right," I said, "but Im playing this one straight. Sorry Sargon. I have the feeling well get the chance to blast plenty of machines apart before this campaign is over if it makes you feel any better."

Sargon shook his head and glowered back down the slope at the gorging machines. "If youre bucking for Adjunct already, forget it. They dont often move an enlisted man up into the officers ranks."

I knew he was emotional, and I didnt blame him. It looked like wed found a wiped legion. I couldnt recall the last time Earth had lost one of the reputable legions like Solstice. Sure, we could revive them all if we got their data. That wasnt the point. It was a defeat, a humiliation.

"Two thousand years ago, in Roman times," I said, "the worst defeat ever suffered was in the forests of Germany. They lost three full legions on that doomed campaign. I feel now as if I can fathom some of the dismay the Romans must have felt at that loss."

Sargons mood s.h.i.+fted. "Ha! Good one, McGill! Vicious, but funny."

"Huh?"

"You know they named our legion Varus after the commander of those three legions Rome lost in Germany, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, the name was a joke, because we were meant to die over and over again," he said bitterly. "But now here we are, looking down at the remains of the Golden Legion. Solstice died here, not us. The joke is on them this time! Sorry b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. Maybe their name will mean 'loser someday, too."

Sargon wheeled around and left. I followed him. I made my report, and various officers came up to survey the mess.

All the while, I was thinking about Sargons bitter words. I knew wed been named after Publius Quinctilius Varus, the unluckiest leader in the history of the Roman Empire, and Id heard that wed been given the name as some kind of a joke.

But I didnt find it funny. It made me want to drag the hog generals out of their offices back home on Earth and put them into light-troop uniforms out here on the front line. Wed see who was laughing then.

Some of Sargons dark mood was sinking into my mind.

-19-.

Quietly, on a private channel, I asked Natasha to send out a certain radio signal that we isolated and recorded earlier. Shed theorized that it was sort of a dinner bell, a call from one machine to all those in the area that rich metals were available at a given location.

It turned out that Natashas theories were correct.

I dont think Leeson, Graves or Winslade himself ever quite figured out how our first major battle with the native machine life started. Oh sure, the officers might have had their private suspicions. But they couldnt be sure.

Natasha, always faithful in these situations and equally accountable for the aftermath in any case, kept her pretty mouth shut.

There were about thirty of the big machines in the mountains around us. Wed only spotted about half that number, but the rest came running when we sounded the dinner bell.

"James!" Natasha called on our private channel as the machines rushed up rough mountainous walls, quivering and clattering for a grip on the terrain. "Im getting a response to my message!"

"You sure are," I said. "The machines are rolling in from all over."

"No, I dont mean that. Someone must be alive down there, underneath all the wreckage. They heard our signal and blipped back something in return."

"Really? Excellent. You need to have a little more faith in me, girl."

"I sent the d.a.m.ned message, didnt I? If we live, you owe me a drink."

"Done."

That was all the time we had for chit-chat. What was lucky for us was the lack of coordination in the machine attack. They acted more like a swarm of starving sharks than an army. Rather than timing the a.s.sault so they all reached us at once, they came in successive waves.

"On my target!" I roared, hearing Harris echoing the same command. I lit up the nearest machine with a laser marker built into my dragon. "Right flank, center of ma.s.s. FIRE!"

We took the first seven or eight down without mishap. But then they were rolling over the ridges above us and falling on us. Some had circled around, hitting our flanks. Other combat units had formed on hillocks farther to the rear, but they didnt have the same clear field of fire that I did. A few maniples were overrun and ground down by the sheer weight of the enemy machines.

Out of Graves unit, six dragons were down and being consumed. A dozen more were in too close to safely use their big guns. Force-blades were extended, and the grim work of dismantling the enemy piece by piece began.

What saved us in the end, I think, was the greed of the enemy machines. Rather than pressing the attack, those in the rear fell upon their mortally wounded comrades. The smoking wrecks of machines wed blasted were sent sliding back down into the valley where they flipped over and exposed their damaged guts. This was simply too tempting to the last waves of machines. They pounced upon the fallen and feasted.

After five minutes, it was all over. The enemy machines had all been destroyed, had fallen back, or were busy cannibalizing their own.

Graves approached me, and we gazed down upon a scene of destruction.

"We won that one," he said.

"Yes, sir."

"I didnt even see you fire the first shot to kick things off. Howd you manage it?"

"Manage what, Centurion?" I asked.

Graves shook his head disgustedly.

"By the way, sir," I said. "We detected new message coming from under this mess of broken metal. We have confirmed it was transmitted by Legion Solstice survivors. Theyre down there, Centurion. Permission to attempt a rescue?"

"Since when did you ask my permission to do anything, McGill?"

"Theres always a first time, sir."

Graves looked over the scene. "The remaining machines are broken or busy. Funny how theyre ignoring us again."

"Theyre driven by hunger more than anything else. Its my theory that the smaller ones might actually be more intelligent. They dont have as much ma.s.s to keep fed so they can devote more processing time to higher pursuits."

"I hate theories," Graves said, "especially those hatched by noncoms." He eyed my squad. "Youve only lost one squad member, right? Harris lost four. You know what that means, McGill?"

"That Im going down there to check for survivors personally, sir?"

"Exactly."

"Can I take Natasha with me? We might need a good tech."

"All right. But dont get her killed this time."

As Natasha hadnt qualified to pilot a dragon, she was riding on the back of a drone. We rode our mounts down the steep, rocky slopes to the bottom and quickly reached the coordinates Natasha provided. At first, I didnt see anything special about this spot. Then we found an entrance shrouded by a polymer sh.e.l.l.

I rapped on the sh.e.l.l. There was no response.

Natasha ran her drone close to my mount. She was trying to look everywhere at once. There were still at least ten of the big machines moving around, eating the guts out of their friends.

"Just blow a hole in it," she said. "They might be too weak to respond."

"If I do that, I might kill some of them. This atmosphere is toxic, and this might be their only pressurized refuge."

"Well, do something fast. Our refined metal is the most delicious thing in this region. To the machines, were like walking chocolate bars."

Chuckling at her imagery, I balled my fist and tapped an unmistakable pattern on the dome. TAP-tap-tap-tap-tap-TAP-TAP.

"Whats that?" Natasha asked. "Morse?"

"Nah. Its what my grandpa used to call 'shave and a haircut, two bits."

I repeated the sequence several times, and at last the polymer dome rolled open. Inside were worried looking troopers with guns lifted toward our faces. The woman in the lead was the Centurion of a light unit. She had a breastplate and rifle, but no full armor. Fortunately, her vac suit appeared to be in good condition, if a little dirty.

"Legion Varus," I said.

The centurion waved us into her den. "Come on in, Varus," she said. "Move fast."

We rushed inside, and when the last dragon tail was tucked underground, the small dome rolled shut again.

"Dont use radio," the Centurion urged me.

"Dont worry. We already tried that."