“Comes to the same thing—all Khalia are soldiers.” Murghesh shrugged.
“Yeah,” Lutane muttered. “Kinda makes you wonder if there’re any Khalian civilians anywhere.” She had a brief, dizzying vision of newborn Khalia marching past with rifles on their shoulders.
Murghesh shrugged. “This is their home world. They’ve probably got more hidey-holes than a honeycomb. Nice to know we took ‘em by surprise, though.” Then Murghesh’s eyes widened as she caught the implication. “That mean we got ’em all? That there’re no more Khalia upstairs?”
“No.” Lutane nodded at the corpses, her eyes hard.
“Khalia do things by dozens, and only eight of those ten bodies belong to the building.”
“Four more stationed upstairs?”
“Right.” Lutane lifted her rifle with a wince. “Only four—but they’re cornered, and they know they’re dead. They’re going to be trying to take as many of us with them as they can.” She started up the stairs. “Let’s get them.” She jumped back a split second before the stairs exploded with a hail of bullets.
“Lieutenant! How come you’re still alive!?!” Murghesh was white as a sheet.
“Cause I was pretty sure they were up there. I would’ve been, if I were one of ‘em.” But Lutane was frowning up the stairwell, her brow creased in thought. Stairs . . . there was something subtly wrong about that, about the fact that the building had stairs. But what?
She shrugged the thought aside. There was a little matter of a battle, here.
“How the hell do we get through that?” Bonor grunted.
“We don’t.” Lutane stepped back, slinging her rifle.”
“Lieutenant! How about the lift?”
Automatically, Lutane shook her head. “We’d open the door and find ourselves staring down a pair of rifle barrels—that is, if they didn’t manage to turn off the power and strand us between floors.” She turned to Murghesh. “Sergeant, hold this door with your squad. If anything comes down, blast it.”
“Yes sir.” Murghesh frowned, but she took up station, rifle leveled at the stairs—a gaze leveled at Lutane. “But what’s Nol’s squad doing?”
“Going up the outside.” Lutane turned to the door, nodding to Nol. “Let’s go, Sergeant.”
Nol herded his people outside, excitement flickering in his eyes. Lutane wished the rest of his squad looked the same. For that matter, she wished she did.
She stepped out to see Olerein’s rifle leveled at her. When he saw who it was, he dropped his sights as though a marlin had taken his bait. “Lieutenant! What . . .” Then he remembered what might be behind her, and his rifle swept up again.
“At ease.” Lutane stepped up to him: “Take off your booster pack and give it to Monsan.”
Frowning, Olerein unbuckled’ his pack and swung it around. “Whatever you’re gonna do, Lieutenant, you need me along. I’m . . .”
“ . . . the best shot in the platoon, and I need you here to make those weasels keep their heads down,” Lutane finished. “Don’t talk, Olerein.” She turned away to the rest of his squad. “Doyle, Brill, Canche, Folar! Give your packs to Nol’s squad!”
Reluctantly, the soldiers helped their mates into the booster packs. Nol already had one, of course-they were standard issue for officers and NCOs. But only half of the privates had them; HQ hadn’t planned on whole squads having to lift.
“Shouldn’t my squad go along, Lieutenant?” Olerein asked.
Lutane shook her head. “There’re only five windows on that top floor, Olerein. Two soldiers to a window, that’s all we need. You just make sure the bastards don’t lean out to fire down at us.”
Olerein grinned like a mountain wolf. “They’ll stay down, Lieutenant.”
“We won’t.” Lutane looked up at Nol and his squad.
“Spread out all around the building. I’ll take four troops up to the two windows on this side.” Lutane pointed up. Nol followed her gaze, nodding. “You take six up on the far side,” the lieutenant went on, “but don’t fire until after you hear our burst stop.”
Nol frowned at her, puzzled. “Just do it,” Lutane grated.
“Yes, sir,” Nol said stiffly, and strode away toward his sixty percent.
Lutane watched him go, simmering. Who cared if he was angry or not? As long as he followed orders.
Nol bawled at his squad, and Lutane waited, chewing at her gut instead of her lip. At least ulcers didn’t show when you were out for R & R; that was some consolation.
“Ready,” Olerein told her.
Lutane nodded. “Up!” She pressed the pressure patch between her breasts, and jets roared as lox and hydrogen ignited, sending the squad up in a cloud of mist that wreathed the tower. Not the safest way to travel, Lutane thought dizzily, but effective, effective . . .
Then she realized that Pachue was tilting. “Straighten out!” she called, but the private heeled over and headed for the ground. “Cut out!” Lutane screamed.
Pachue couldn’t have heard her, but must have understood the look on Lutane’s face, because her jets died. Below her the squad scattered, pulling back into a circle as momentum turned Pachue upright again; When her head was at two o’clock, Lutane slapped her fist into her own chest, hoping Pachue would understand the impromptu sign. It must have gotten through, because the jets roared out again, breaking the kid’s fall just in time. She hit hard, but she remembered to fold at the knees, and Lutane turned back to the com center with a sigh of relief. Too bad they had to have replacements, but everyone had to be green once.
It left Lobrin without a partner, though. Lutane thumbed her altitude jet, swooping over to him, then straightening up again just as they reached the window. “Back!” Lutane called, and they both flattened themselves against the wall on either side of the window, throttling their’ jets down to maintain altitude, just as a fountain of bullets sprayed out of the window. Exactly what she herself would have done, Lutane thought grimly, and waited for a pause in the stream of bullets. It came, and she dodged into the embrasure, jamming the trigger down. Lobrin was a quarter-second behind her, but he matched her to the beat when she ducked back out again, loosing another geyser of bullets from inside the building. That was all it took, though; the defenders had had to turn back to Lutane’s side, and Nol’s troops at the opposite windows poured in hot lead as though the building was a crucible. Lutane waited, and waited;, the hail of bullets seemed to go on, and on, and on . . .
Finally it stopped. The com center was quiet.
Very quiet.
Somebody had to take the chance. Lutane ground her teeth. What are lieutenants for, anyway?
She spun through the window, rifle blazing—and let the burst die.
Four Khalia lay on the floor—all around. What was left of their bodies was hamburger, with a few jigsaw puzzle pieces thrown in.
Her stomach heaved, and she just barely managed to choke it back down, lifting her glare to the com gear. There was a lot of smoke rising, but a few consoles seemed intact.
“Come on in,” she called. “Don’t look down.”
Nol ducked in, then Lobrin at Lutane’s back, then the rest of them. Some looked at the floor, and looked away again quickly, turning a delicate shade of chartreuse. Maybe, Lutane thought, that was why they called new troops “green.”
The veterans could have taken it, but they had sense enough not to look. Porthal and Elab went straight to the two intact consoles, frowning down at the dials and sliders.
“Can you figure it out?” Lutane demanded.
Porthal nodded slowly. “Take a little experimenting, Lieutenant—but this grille is either a mike or a vent, and that meter’s either amps or volts.”