All Santana could do was jump in and try to save the battalion. There wasn’t enough time in which to pull everyone together into a single formation. So he chinned the switch in his helmet. “This is Zulu Nine. Rally around the quads! Use them for cover. Over.”
Then, having switched to the intercom, he spoke to Joshi. “Take me forward, Sergeant. And kill as many of those bastards as you can.”
“Roger that, sir,” Joshi replied stoically, as he began to jog and fire both of his arm-mounted weapons at the same time. A half-slagged body fell as blips of blue light stabbed the foliage-and a second attacker was transformed into a bloody mist as a burst of machine-gun fire tore his body apart. Joshi’s fire combined with all the rest tore holes in the jungle’s green canopy. Bits of leaves, twigs, and chunks of wood rained down on the troops, along with O-Chi bodies and parts of bodies.
But it wasn’t enough. Because as the O-Chies fired down on them, dozens of bio bods staggered and fell until Joshi was forced to jump over their bodies. Then what looked like black dots fell out of the trees, hit the ground, and bounced back into the air. “Grenades!” someone shouted, as a bright explosion cut a T-2’s legs out from under her. The cyborg’s rider was dead, but the T-2 continued to fire up into the foliage as a pair of bio bods towed her body toward cover.
Santana took note. First automatic weapons, then grenades. The bugs were supplying the O-Chies with arms. Were the Ramanthians providing leadership as well? That seemed likely. The ambush had been well planned and executed.
Then the time for analysis was over as Joshi rounded a curve and Alpha Company’s quad came into sight. Most of what remained of Zarrella’s company and the tail end of Bravo Company were gathered around the cyborg. His name was Coto, and his minigun roared defiantly as it sent a steady stream of projectiles up into the ragged canopy.
By then it was clear that the battalion was up against hundreds of native warriors, there wasn’t anyplace to hide, and, even though they were impervious to the poison darts, the T-2s were taking damage from Ramanthian grenades. It was tempting to send the troops into the surrounding jungle, where they might be able to take shelter, but Santana knew that danger lurked there as well. The O-Chies knew the forest in a way that his troops never could-and would presumably like nothing better than to pick them off one at a time.
So as Joshi came to an abrupt halt and Santana bailed out, the situation was bleak. Bullets pinged as they hit Coto’s armor, geysers of dirt leapt into the air as an O-Chi warrior fired blindly from above, and someone screamed over an open mike. “Medic! I need a medic!”
Santana looked up, saw what might have been a shadow jump from one branch to the next, and fired his carbine. A warbling cry was heard, and branches broke as an O-Chi hit the ground a few feet away. There was some satisfaction in that but not much since it did nothing to alter the underlying situation.
That was when Captain Ryley arrived on the scene. Charlie Company had been in the lead, with Farber tucked between the squad on point and the second platoon, when the shit hit the fan. Now, as Ryley’s T-2 carried him back in the direction they had come from, it looked as though the ex-militia officer had decided to run. Santana swore, raised his carbine, and was about to take a shot at Ryley when the other officer’s cyborg swerved. Seconds later, Ryley was on the ground and sprinting toward the quad. “Major! Order the quads to fire missiles at the Ba-Na trees. They’re the tallest ones. Do it now.”
Santana didn’t like Ryley. And couldn’t see how firing missiles at trees was going to help. But if the battalion went down, Ryley would, too. So, desperate to do something, Santana gave the necessary order. “Zulu Nine to all quads. Target the tallest trees and fire missiles at them now. Over.”
There was a pause as the cyborgs processed the unexpected order and launched their missiles. Then came a series of loud booms as the weapons struck, the trees were severed, and the tops began to fall. “More!” Ryley demanded. “Fire again.”
The quads obeyed. The first trees were falling in slow motion by then. There was a loud, crackling noise as hundreds if not thousands of branches broke, a multitude of vines snapped, and the forest was torn asunder. The ground shook as the gigantic trunks struck, a T-2 and its rider disappeared as a massive Ba-Na tree fell on them, and a vast cloud of dust rose. And then, as it began to settle, the incoming fire ceased.
That was when Santana understood. Being the tallest structures in the forest, the Ba-Na trees had been supporting the parasitic plants and the snakelike vines that provided the O-Chi warriors with what amounted to elevated highways. Scores of indigs had been killed as an entire layer of the environment was destroyed. A few survived, only to be cut down by vengeful troopers.
Finally, as the gunfire died away, it was time for the surviving platoon leaders and noncoms to begin the bloody business of salvaging what they could. Santana had been kneeling next to the quad. He stood, raised his visor, and looked at Ryley. “Thank you, Captain. You saved a lot of lives today. I won’t forget.”
Ryley produced a crooked smile. “You’re welcome, sir.”
“You were up front when they hit us,” Santana said. “What happened to Colonel Farber?”
“He ran into the jungle,” Ryley replied coldly. “The bastard.”
Santana nodded. “We’ll send someone to look for him as soon as we can. In the meantime, there’s a lot of work to do. We’ll spend the night here. I want a ditch, a berm, and all the rest of it.”
“You’ll have it, sir,” Ryley said. And both men went to work.
The battle was over, and an eerie silence had fallen over the forest. In fact, it seemed as if all the jungle creatures had fled or gone into hiding. But Dietrich knew that danger lurked all around him as he followed a trail of broken twigs, crushed plants, and occasional boot prints deeper into the green maze. In spite of the damage inflicted on the area to the west, this part of the forest was still intact. So, alert to the possibility that O-Chies could be watching from above, the noncom kept his rifle up and ready to fire.
While Sergeant Major Dice Dietrich wasn’t a native, he had fought on LaNor, Savas, Jericho, and Gamma-014. Often under hellish conditions. So he knew a thing or two about how to stay alive in a variety of environments.
But there weren’t any snipers, trip wires, or man traps waiting for him. Just the zigzag trail of destruction Colonel Farber had left as he ran pell-mell into the jungle, looking for a place to hide. Not that the noncom needed such evidence. He could “see” Farber’s location projected on the inside of his visor. He paused next to a small stream and took a long look around before stepping over the flow of water onto some soft mud. His right boot obliterated one of the tracks Farber had left.
Then it was time to make his way up a gentle slope, climb over a rotting log, and push his way through a grove of spindly tree trunks to a point where he could look down into a small clearing. And that was where Farber was. His helmet lay on the ground, most of his shirt was missing, and he had been tied to a tree. “Thank God!” Farber said feelingly, as Dietrich appeared. “I chased one of the bastards into the forest. That was when they captured me.”
It was a simple story. And Dietrich might have been willing to believe it if he hadn’t seen Farber run with his own eyes. Now that Dietrich was closer, he could see the writing on the officer’s bare chest. “Go back or die. Maj. D. Temo.”
“So Major Temo led the ambush… Now that’s interesting.”
“Cut me down,” Farber growled. “That’s an order.”
“I’d like to,” Dietrich responded, as he sat on a moss-covered log. “I really would. If only to testify at your court-martial. But that would be way off in the future, wouldn’t it? After this mission fails-which it surely will if I leave you in command.”