There wasn’t anything subtle about the way that the ten-foot-tall cyborg plowed through the jungle, and there couldn’t be given the war form’s size. So Santana bent his knees and sought shelter behind the T-2’s blocky head, as an army of branches and vines tried to rip him off the borg’s back. Could the enemy hear them coming? Absolutely, assuming that the tricky green bastards were somewhere nearby.
But the alternative was to follow one of the alreadywell-established jungle trails north toward the objective. That would be quieter, not to mention faster, but such paths were almost certain to be booby-trapped and kept under constant surveillance by the enemy. So, cutting a new trail through the jungle was the better choice, or so it seemed to Santana.
Of course, the key to implementing that strategy was the use of the Integrated Tactical Command (ITC) system that allowed the aggressor team to “see” each other electronically, even though it was necessary for each cyborg to maintain an interval of at least a hundred yards between themselves and other units so that a single artillery mission wouldn’t be suffi?cient to kill all of them.
So when the ITC suddenly went down, Santana’s unit was not only too spread out to provide each other with line-of-sight fi?re support, but vulnerable in a number of other ways as well. . . . The offi?cer felt something heavy land in the pit of his stomach, and he was just about to issue an order, when Corporal Gomez placed a hand on his shoulder. The unexpected contact caused Santana to jump as his mind was forced to break the connection with the virtual world and reintegrate itself with the real one.
“Sorry to interrupt, sir,” the noncom said. “But it looks like the brass hats want to noodle with you now. One of the Indi’s shuttles is waiting to take you dirtside.”
“Don’t ever do that again,” Santana said, as he pulled the VR helmet up off of his head. “I nearly had a heart attack.”
Gomez tried to look contrite but couldn’t quite pull it off. “Yes, sir, that is no, sir. I won’t do that again. Now, no offense, sir, but we need to board that shuttle.”
Santana put the helmet down, removed the VR gauntlets, and stood. “We?”
“Yes, sir,” Gomez answered evenly. “I took the liberty of having myself assigned to your command. I hope that’s okay.”
The cavalry offi?cer frowned. His father had been an NCO, and he knew from experience that senior enlisted people could pull all sorts of strings if they chose to do so. But Gomez was too junior to have arranged such a posting on her own. “Was Major Lassiter a party to this arrangement by any chance?”
“Sir, yes, sir,” Gomez said expressionlessly. “The major said that we deserve each other. Sir.”
The comment could be taken in a lot of different ways, and Santana was forced to grin. “Okay, Corporal, but you may live to regret that decision. Let’s get our T-1 bags and board that shuttle. I don’t know why the brass are so eager to see us, but it can’t be good.”
*
*
*
It was dark when the shuttle emerged from a blinding snowstorm to hover over one of Fort Camerone’s landing platforms. Nav lights glowed, and repellers screamed as the ship lowered itself into a cloud of billowing steam. Thanks to the fact that it was so cold, and the visibility was poor, the shuttle managed to touch down without taking sniper fi?re from the neighboring hills. Only one person was present to meet the incoming ship—but the Hudathan was big enough to qualify as a reception party all by himself. His name was Drik Seeba-Ka. Major Drik Seeba-Ka, and he recognized Santana the moment the human emerged from the shuttle. What illumination there was came from one of the spaceship’s wing lights as Santana approached the other offi?cer. Coming as he did from one of the most hostile planets in known space, the Hudathan had no need for a parka. What might have been an expression of amusement fl?ickered within his deep set eyes as the human dropped his T-1 bag and came to attention. “Captain Antonio Santana reporting as ordered, sir!”
“Stand easy,” Seeba-Ka said as he returned the salute.
“You’re just as ugly as the last time I saw you.”
“Look who’s talking,” Santana replied, and staggered as a massive hand slapped him on the back. The Hudathan made a grinding noise, which, based on previous experience, the human knew to be laughter.
“And who is this?” Seeba-Ka wanted to know, as Gomez arrived at the bottom of the ramp with her T-1 bag strapped to her back.
“Please allow me to introduce Corporal Gomez,” Santana replied dryly. “But watch your step. . . . She doesn’t like offi?cers.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” the Hudathan growled. “Welcome to Algeron, Corporal. I’m sure the fort will be that much safer now that you’re here to help guard it.”
But Gomez didn’t want to guard the fort—or anything else for that matter. She wanted to be with Santana. Partly because the noncom felt she owed the offi?cer, partly because he appeared to be competent, and partly for reasons she wasn’t ready to fully confront yet. So the noncom was about to object when Santana saw the look in her eye and hurried to intervene. “Report to the transient barracks, Corporal. I’ll track you down.”
Gomez heard the promise that was implicit in the offi?cer’s last sentence, took comfort from it, and managed a respectful, “Yes, sir.”
Santana nodded, bent to retrieve his bag, and followed the Hudathan down into the fortress below. Gomez looked up into the thickly falling snow, felt a half dozen fl?akes kiss her face, and cursed her own stupidity. Joining the Legion had been stupid. Continually fi?ghting the system was stupid. And falling in love with an offi?cer was the stupidest thing of all.
The conference room was empty when Seeba-Ka and Santana entered. But it wasn’t long before other people began to arrive, and the cavalry offi?cer was introduced to Military Chief of Staff, General Bill Booly III, his chief of staff, Colonel Kitty Kirby, billionaire Admiral Sergi Chien-Chu, and Intelligence Chief Margaret Rutherford Xanith, plus a handful of trusted specialists. Missing from the meeting was Hudathan Triad Hiween Doma-Sa, who was off-planet. Santana had never been in a room with so many VIPs and didn’t want to be ever again. Especially since all of them were being deferential toward him, and he didn’t know why. Finally, after the door was closed, it was Booly who brought the meeting to order. He chose to stand rather than sit and eyed those in front of him. “Most of you have seen the photos taken on Jericho, but Captain Santana hasn’t. So bear with me as I bring the captain up to speed.”
What followed was the most memorable briefi?ng Santana was ever likely to receive. First came the news that an entire battle group had been lost to the Ramanthians, followed by shocking holos of President Nankool being marched through the jungle, with hundreds of POWs strung out ahead of and behind him. Santana felt his heart sink as he came to understand the true gravity of the situation, remembered all of the jungle-related VR scenarios he’d been forced to complete on the Indi, and knew why. Judging from the way in which he’d been treated, and the way all the VIPs were staring at him, he’d been selected to lead a rescue mission, the kind where a lot of people get killed trying to accomplish the impossible. Booly smiled grimly. “I can see from the expression on the captain’s face that he’s asking himself why he was selected for what looks like a suicide mission. Well,” the general continued, “the answer to that question is quite simple. The offi?cer we’re looking for needs to have some unusual qualities. And when we ran the criteria through the BUPERS computer, six names popped up. The fi?rst was Antonio Santana’s. And no wonder—because very few of our offi?cers have been awarded one Medal for Valor, never mind two, and a Distinguished Service Cross to boot!