A fighting chance

17

ABOARD THE CONFEDERACY BATTLESHIP EARTH AVENGER NEAR PLANET HIVE, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE

The battle began as a hole opened in space and two dozen computer-controlled asteroids came shooting out of the void. They were equipped with hyperdrives as well as in-system propulsion systems. And if one of them managed to hit Hive, a tremendous amount of damage would be done.

That wouldn’t happen, of course, because the bugs had been attacked before and were prepared for such an eventuality. But ready or not, they would still have to use a significant portion of their defensive capability to destroy the incoming rocks, and that was part of General Booly’s plan.

Then, once the asteroids arrived in-system, another hole opened, and thirty-six Vulcan missiles accelerated out of the inky blackness. Like the asteroids, they were computer-controlled, but the similarity ended there. Each Vulcan was equipped to detect and zero in on Class A targets.

It was assumed that most, if not all, of the Vulcans would be intercepted. But the Ramanthians would be forced to choose between the asteroids and missiles, which might or might not be armed with nuclear warheads. Did the bugs have enough warships and orbital battle stations to block the incoming swarm? Maybe. But as Booly sat above and behind the Earth Avenger ’s bridge, and imagined how the battle would unfold, he felt reasonably sure that something would get through.

Of course, the real point of the exercise was to suck up as much of the enemy’s defensive capabilities as possible-thereby clearing the way for the fleet of 275 Confederacy warships that would arrive minutes later. Their task, in turn, was to bore in and clear a path for the ground troops that were to land on Hive. The final objective was to return the Warrior Queen to the throne and effectively end the war.

Booly turned to look at the Queen. No matter what the outcome, hundreds of thousands of Ramanthians were going to die. How did she feel about that prospect? he wondered. Sad? Perhaps. But not sad enough to call the invasion off.

More than two standard months had passed since the broadcast from Earth. And a great deal had occurred during that time. A series of speeches had been made, and according to reports from inside the empire, the anticabal messages were beginning to gain traction. There had been demonstrations in large cities, followed by scattered acts of sabotage, and three cases of well-publicized self-immolation. And the cabal reacted to the protests just as Booly thought they would-which was with poorly-thought-out mass reprisals that brought even more Ramanthians over to the denialist cause. Thereby feeding the unrest.

Meanwhile, hundreds of ships were being completed deep inside Hegemony-controlled space even as more than five million clone soldiers came under the Confederacy’s control, along with a quarter million Hudathans. All eager for revenge.

But the Confederacy was still outnumbered. And for that reason there were many in the Senate who favored waiting for a few months before attacking Hive. Fortunately, Booly, Chien-Chu, and others had been able to convince a majority to support an immediate attack because political support would be critical. Especially if the attempt failed.

The battleship’s primary Command amp; Control (C amp;C) computer was generally referred to as “the Preacher” because of its deep, melodious voice and a perpetual desire to tell everyone what to do. “The ship will drop hyper in three minutes,” the Preacher intoned as the final seconds ticked away. “Secure all gear, check space armor, and strap in. Primary weapons systems, secondary weapons systems, and tertiary weapons systems have been armed. All fighter aircraft are prepared for immediate launch. I repeat…”

The Preacher’s spiel became a meaningless drone as Booly fought a battle within himself. The attack was the right thing to do. He felt certain of it. Then why did he feel a sense of impending doom? Maybe it was the Naa blood that coursed through his veins or the fact that he was older now. His thoughts turned to Maylo, the fear in her eyes when they had said good-bye, and the sweet taste of her lips. This is the last one, he promised himself, then I’ll retire.

Booly’s thoughts were interrupted as the Preacher spoke again. “Stand by for normal space.” The bridge crew, including Captain Jonathan Alan Seebo 514,234, were seated in what was generally referred to as “the tub.” Meaning a U-shaped enclosure located half a level below the observation deck on which Booly, the Queen, and various staff members were seated. Or, in the royal’s case, strapped to the deck since the body she had chosen for the occasion was far too large for a Ramanthian-style saddle chair.

Then the waiting was over as Booly’s stomach lurched, the NAVCOMP shut the hyperdrive down, and a starscape appeared on the curvilinear screen above and in front of the tub. It was meaningless, really, since the ships that were vectoring in on them were too small to see and wouldn’t become visible to the naked eye unless they attempted to ram the Avenger.

No, the real action could be seen in the holo tank directly in front of the captain, where red and blue symbols had already begun to clash. But it was difficult to make out the details of what was taking place, so Booly took advantage of his rank to release his harness and make his way over to the so-called admiral’s pulpit, located above and behind the command chair. From there he could look down into the tank and hear the orders that were given. He could also access the ship’s command channel if necessary, but he didn’t plan to do so, knowing that it would make the crew self-conscious.

Most of the conversation between Captain 234 and the crew was professionally matter-of-fact. But they were people and people have emotions. So a mutual groan was heard as the blue box that represented the carrier Iridian winked out of existence. The battle had only been under way for a minute and a half, yet 3,467 allied personnel were dead. Booly felt an almost overwhelming sense of sorrow, but he knew that even though he bore responsibility for the deaths, generals weren’t allowed to cry.

PLANET HIVE, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE

Chancellor Parth was deep within the warm embrace of a sand bath when his majordomo entered the room to inform him that multiple flights of computer-controlled asteroids and enemy missiles had entered the solar system via hyperspace. And worse yet, an entire fleet of warships was headed toward Hive, preceded by thousands of robotic drones, all of which were transmitting a message from someone or something that claimed to be the Warrior Queen. In spite of the warm sand that was vibrating against his chitin, Parth felt something cold enter his bloodstream. “Show me,” he ordered.

The majordomo aimed a remote at the wall screen, and video blossomed. What Parth saw was both unexpected and frightening. Because there was a picture of the legendary Kathong standing on what appeared to be the Plain of Pain but probably wasn’t. The monster was at least three times the size of a normal Ramanthian and equipped with four arms rather than two.

“Hear me,” the monster demanded, “or suffer my wrath. For I am the real Queen, the Warrior Queen, and this is but one of my bodies. Can you hear the thunder? Look to the skies. I am on the way. Those who hunger for my return have nothing to fear. Those who are corrupt, or feed off corruption, should prepare to die.”

There was a sudden eruption of sand as Parth came up out of the bath and accepted a robe. “Get Admiral Stik on the com. And do so quickly.”

The servant was expressionless as always. “Yes, Excellency.”

“And one more thing,” Parth added. “It may be necessary to evacuate the Queen to Hive Home. Notify the commander of the Imperial Guard and tell him to make all the necessary preparations.”

“Yes, sire,” the majordomo replied. “It shall be as you say.”

ABOARD THE RAMANTHIAN BATTLE CRUISER NEW EMPIRE OFF PLANET HIVE

Rather than concentrate most of a ship’s critical personnel in one place the way the humans did, Ramanthian naval architects preferred to distribute them throughout their vessels. For that reason, the battle cruiser New Empire ’s control room was relatively small. Too small in Grand Admiral Stik’s opinion as he shuffled back and forth between two bulkheads as a way to relieve the tension he felt. It had always been his dream to command the Ramanthian navy. But as hundreds of enemy ships poured out of hyperspace and he waited for Chancellor Parth’s visage to appear on the com screen, Stik wished his predecessor was still in charge.

But like so many other members of the Warrior Queen’s administration, Grand Admiral Imba had been forced into retirement and was said to be raising grubs on his country estate. The eggless bastard. Stik’s thoughts were interrupted as a com tech spoke. “Chancellor Parth is on-screen, sir.”

Stik turned and made his way over to the com station even as a steady flow of reports came in from the ship’s command center. “Most of Battle Group 12 has been neutralized. Repeat, Battle Group 12 is presumed lost. Battle Group 3 is under pressure but continues to hold, and reports that one enemy carrier has been destroyed.”

As Stik eyed Parth’s face, he could tell that the civilian was angry. And, judging from the set of his antenna, scared as well. “Yes, Excellency… What can I do for you?”

“That’s a stupid question,” Parth replied caustically. “You can kill all of the animals before they land on Hive. That’s what you can do.”

Stik sighed. Civilians, especially senior civilians, could be rather thick at times. And the fact that both of them were members of the cabal did nothing to change that. “I’m sorry to say that won’t be possible, Excellency.”

Parth was visibly shocked. “You’re serious? You believe the animals will seize control of Hive?”

“No,” Stik replied patiently. “I didn’t say that. I said that we won’t be able to prevent them from landing. As you know, it has been necessary to weaken the home fleet in order to prosecute the war. That, plus the number of incoming ships, means that the animals will probably succeed in putting some troops on the ground. But General Amm and his forces will be waiting for them. So there’s little if anything to fear.”

“Good,” Parth replied stolidly. “But, just in case, I think it would be prudent to evacuate the Queen to Hive Home. I will accompany her to make sure that the government remains up and running smoothly.”

Of course, you sniveling coward, Stik thought to himself. Hide behind the Queen. But there was no point in stating the obvious or placing his career in jeopardy. “Understood, Excellency.”

“Kill them,” Parth said unnecessarily. “Kill all of them.” Then the screen snapped to black.

The New Empire shook like a thing possessed, and Stik very nearly lost his footing as a symphony of Klaxons began to sound. “Torpedoes!” a voice declared. “Dozens of them. The screens are falling. Quick! We need to…”

But the officer never got to finish his sentence. Because that was the moment when a missile hit the ship; a jet of plasma burrowed through hull metal and found one of the ship’s magazines. The New Empire ceased to exist.

ABOARD THE CONFEDERACY BATTLESHIP EARTH AVENGER OFF PLANET HIVE

Ever since the moment that Earth Avenger left hyperspace, the destroyer escort (DE) Fury and a squadron of twelve Dag 190s had been sitting in the battleship’s launch bay waiting for orders to depart. And now that the capital ship and her escorts had successfully fought their way through wave after wave of nearly suicidal defenders, the time was at hand. The evolution had to be carried out with considerable care, however, because it was necessary for the Avenger to drop her shields momentarily to retrieve or launch smaller vessels. And that would open the battleship to attack.

So even though Booly, the Queen, and her retinue had boarded the DE and were strapped in ready to go, they had to wait for the right moment before the Fury could take off. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the warship rose on her repellers and followed three Daggers out into the cold blackness of space. The rest of the escorts took up positions all around to protect the ship from enemy fighters.

The little vessel was a good choice for the mission at hand, or so it seemed to Santana. Though small, it packed a lot of firepower for its size and was very maneuverable. That virtue paid immediate dividends as four Chak fighters bored in, the Daggers took them on, and the Fury ’s captain sent her ship corkscrewing through the fray.

The baby-faced lieutenant was no more than twenty-one or twenty-two years old, but, thanks to all the casualties the Confederacy had suffered, she was already in command of her own ship. And had clearly performed well in the past given how important her cargo was. “Hang on,” the officer said via the ship’s PA system as something hit the screens and the Fury shuddered. “I have Landing Force Alpha on visual.”

Santana knew the officer was referring to one of three globe-shaped formations. Each landing force was comprised of heavily armored gunboats, transports, and hundreds of assault craft. All were important, but none more so than Force Alpha, which was to include the ship carrying both Booly and the Warrior Queen. Her scorpion-like Kathong body was strapped to the center of the cargo deck. Vanderveen was seated on the other side of the compartment from Santana and appeared to be in deep conversation with Chancellor Ubatha.

Dietrich was slouched a few feet away and, based on appearances, was taking a nap. In addition to his other duties, the noncom had agreed to watch over Vanderveen on the battlefield. Santana knew she would be furious if she found out about the arrangement but didn’t care so long as she survived.

Farther back, with his helmet on the seat next to him, General Booly sat staring into space. What was he thinking? There was no way to know. Some senior officers were as transparent as glass. But not this one. He was competent though. Very much so. And having suffered under General-453’s incompetent leadership on Gamma-014, Santana was thankful for Booly’s presence.

“We’re in,” the captain announced, as the Fury took her place at the center of Landing Force Alpha’s globe-shaped formation. “And I just received word that the Hudathan Pathfinders were able to board and take control of Battle Platform 5.”

A reedy cheer went up. Everyone knew that at least one of the enemy’s orbital battle stations would have to be captured or destroyed before Landing Force Alpha could enter Hive’s atmosphere. Now, thanks to the Hudathans, there was a large hole in the Ramanthians’ multilayered defense system. That would allow the globe-shaped formation to morph into a beelike swarm that would pour through the gap and battle its way down to the planet’s surface. “Here we go,” the captain announced, and the Fury began to buck as she entered the atmosphere.

ON THE SURFACE OF PLANET HIVE, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE

As Chancellor Parth’s ground car plowed its way through the mob of citizens hurrying to leave the city for the countryside beyond, the sound of overlapping sonic booms rolled across the land, and white contrails clawed the otherwise-pristine sky. “Damn them!” the Chancellor said feelingly, as the car’s wheels bumped over what might have been a body. “Damn them to all of the hells.”

It wasn’t clear who the official was referring to. The refugees? The denialists who were urging them to flee? Or the animals who, in spite of their well-known inferiority, were about to land? The driver didn’t know. Fortunately, the Egg Haka was already out in the country near the small town where they had been hatched. As for the War Haka, he was off-planet somewhere, serving in the Death Hammer Regiment. A source of pride for the entire family.

Thanks to occasional blips of sound from a hidden siren, plus the flashing lights behind the car’s grille, the driver was able to force a path to a downward-sloping ramp, where two soldiers were stationed. A sure sign that the panic hadn’t infected the military.

The troopers came to attention as the government car rolled past them. Then, as the driver steered the heavy vehicle down into the maze of subsurface passageways where most of the city dwellers lived, it was like a return to sanity.

Because of a strong military and police presence, those citizens who wanted to leave had to do so via spiraling pedestrian ramps rather than the streets. That allowed the driver to make better time, and it was only a matter of a few minutes before he passed through a checkpoint and entered the spacious garage that was located beneath the Queen’s official residence.

Three armored cars and a contingent of brightly armored Imperial Guards were gathered around the entrance. That was a sure sign that the royal was waiting within. The driver brought the car to a smooth stop-and was surprised when Parth opened the door himself. Perhaps, Haka thought to himself, we’re in more trouble than I thought.

Parth shuffled into the lobby, saw that the Queen was dressed in the same armor that was standard for her guards, and instinctively understood what she hoped to accomplish. Even if she couldn’t be the Warrior Queen, she could look warlike, and that would be good for morale. Parth’s respect for her went up a notch as she spoke. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, Majesty,” Parth replied as he bent a knee. “The roads are full of refugees. But never fear. Our motorcade will take us to a secured landing pad where a military transport is on standby. From there it is only a ten-minute flight to Hive Home. And once underground, you will be safe from everything up to and including a direct hit from a nuclear weapon.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the Queen replied contemptuously. “There won’t be any nuclear weapons. The Warrior Queen is ruthless, but she wants to rule over something more than a radioactive wasteland. No, if you’ve seen the propaganda broadcasts, then you know what she intends to do.”

Parth had seen the broadcast but had no idea what the Warrior Queen planned to do other than reclaim her throne and kill him. There was a horrible emptiness in the pit of his stomach. “I’ve seen the footage, Majesty… But I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

“I should never have allowed myself to listen to you or to go along with your traitorous plans,” the royal said bitterly. “But, like you, I’m ambitious. And I believed I could use the cabal and ultimately take control of it. That was naive. We still have a chance, however. Not much of one, but a chance nevertheless. And that is to go to the Plain of Pain and confront the Warrior Queen.”

“The Plain of Pain? Why there?”

“Because she is playing the part of the Kathong,” the Queen answered impatiently. “She has to go there. Then, once we kill the Kathong,” the royal continued, “the Ramanthian people will know who the true Queen is. And even if the animals succeed in taking control of Hive, they will still have to deal with the person in charge. Me. ”

It was an audacious plan. Parth felt humbled. Here, rather than an empty vessel, was a monarch reminiscent of the great mother. And, thanks to the cloud of psychoactive chemicals that enveloped him, Parth discovered that he wanted to serve her. He bowed deeply. “I am your servant, Majesty. Your car awaits.”

According to current military doctrine, three conditions had to be met in order to carry out an opposed landing on a Class III planet: (1) Secure orbital control, (2) Achieve air superiority, and (3) Place enough troops on the ground to hold the landing zone (LZ) while more troops and supplies are brought down through the atmosphere.

Unfortunately, allied forces didn’t have complete control of the battle platforms in orbit around Hive-nor did they have unchallenged air superiority. But what they did have was a hole through which Landing Force Alpha could pass in order to establish an LZ on the Plain of Pain, a desolate place that had a special significance for the Ramanthian people.

But there were other reasons for establishing a beachhead on the Plain of Pain as well. First, there was no civilian population to worry about. And that was of considerable importance to the Queen because a great deal of collateral damage would make it difficult, if not impossible, for her to rule. Second, there were no localized defenses to deal with. And why would there be? It was, as one senior officer put it, “a goddamned desert.” And third, there was plenty of elbow room, which Confederacy forces were going to need if they hoped to put enough people and equipment on the ground to hold the LZ.

To accomplish that, Booly had ordered his generals to drop eight fully equipped TACBASEs onto the plain first. The so-called drop boxes formed a defensive ring five miles across and were ready to do battle within minutes of landing. And that was a good thing because no sooner had the last TACBASE thumped down and leveled itself up than the fortresses came under attack by Ramanthian armor. The bugs weren’t stupid. They knew what the off-worlders hoped to accomplish-and were determined to prevent it.

But because the high command hadn’t anticipated the possibility of any landing, much less a landing on the Plain of Pain, all they could do on such short notice was to rush lightly armored vehicles and troops into the area. Their job was to hold the animals in place until a battalion of Gantha tanks could arrive on the scene.

The problem was that each TACBASE included four quads as well as sixteen T-2s and their riders. Within ten minutes after landing, the highly mobile legionnaires were dispatched to plug the gaps between the drop boxes. And thanks to their superior firepower, they were able to lay waste to the attacking vehicles even as dozens of Confederacy ships put down inside the circle of steel. The Fury was one of them. The ship landed on a low rise around which troops were starting to mass.

Vanderveen was no stranger to violence, or to warfare for that matter, but had never been part of a planetary invasion. And she was nearly overwhelmed by the assault on her senses as Booly, the Warrior Queen, and the rest of them clattered down a ramp and onto the reddish soil. Half a dozen senior officers were waiting to update Booly on the tactical situation as Santana and his soldiers formed a protective cordon around the VIPs. Vanderveen took the opportunity to look around.

A complicated tracery of white lines carved the blue sky into dozens of abstract shapes as the life-and-death struggle for air superiority continued, and the ground shook as artillery rounds fired from twenty miles away marched across the LZ. The first couple of explosions did little more than throw fountains of reddish soil high into the air. But the third scored a direct hit on a troop transport and blew it apart. Chunks of flying metal cut an entire squad down, struck an assault boat that was in the process of landing a hundred yards away, and destroyed that as well.

It all happened so quickly that Vanderveen was still trying to absorb it as a pall of smoke rose to obscure the scene, the artillery shells continued to march across the LZ, and a newly arrived quad lurched past. It was surrounded by a pack of rakish T-2s, all armed with shoulder-mounted missile launchers, ready to defend the larger cyborg from speedy attack vehicles. The stench of smoke, fuel, and ozone was thick in Vanderveen’s nostrils as servos whined, a Dag screamed past, and a series of explosions were heard.

Vanderveen’s thoughts were interrupted as Santana approached on a T-2 with another cyborg at his side. “It’s time to saddle up. This is Corporal Haskins. She’ll take good care of you.”

Vanderveen had ridden T-2s before though not recently. But old habits returned quickly as the diplomat circled around behind the cyborg and made use of the recesses built into the back of the trooper’s legs to climb upwards. A helmet was waiting for her. Once she put it on and the safety harness was fastened, it was time to say hello. “Thanks for the ride, Corporal. I’ve done this before, but it’s been a while. Don’t hesitate to boss me around.”

The voice on the intercom was female. “Roger that, ma’am… Just keep your head down. The major told me that I’ll be stationed on a one-woman asteroid if anything happens to you.”

“I’ll do my best,” Vanderveen promised and made a mental note to complain about the special treatment later. Although the truth was that she was equally guilty, because she had known Dietrich for as long as she’d known Santana and given the noncom similar instructions. With the exception of the Queen, who was larger than a T-2 and fully capable of keeping up with one, the rest of the party was strapped onto cyborgs and ready to depart. Chancellor Ubatha had been ordered to remain behind and assume control of the Ramanthian government if necessary. Booly gave the group a last-minute briefing via the company-level push. “The enemy is trying to pin us down long enough to bring their heavy armor to bear. They plan to win the battle in orbit, establish air superiority, and trap us in the LZ.

“So we’re going to break out, use our speed to flank their tanks, and kill them. Meanwhile, a flight of vid cams will follow her majesty into battle and live footage of her return will be fed to the Ramanthian population. Questions?”

“Yes, sir,” Santana replied. “What happens if her majesty gets killed?”

Booly was about to respond when the Queen interrupted. “In that case, her majesty will have a very bad day.”

The human-style joke produced nervous laughter. Booly spoke once it died down. “I think that covers it, Major… But since it’s your job to keep her alive, we don’t have anything to worry about, do we?”

There was an edge to Booly’s words. And Vanderveen understood why. Like it or not, the general had to obey Nankool’s orders. And the need to protect the Queen in the midst of a planetary invasion was a heavy burden. So Santana’s skepticism was like salt in an open wound. For some reason, she was reminded of the lunch with Maylo Chien-Chu and the Wula Sticks. What was it the seer had said? “Your fates are bound together?” That was certainly the case.

“No, sir,” Santana replied levelly. “Nothing at all.”

“Good,” Booly said. “Pass the word… The regiment will advance.”

Parth was going to die. That was clear to him as the open command car that he and the Queen were riding in led a powerful wedge of Gantha tanks forward. The only question was how. Would he be blown up? Burned to death? Or simply shot? There was no way to be sure of anything but the final outcome. Because the animals had not only been able to land in force but had established a foothold on Hive’s sacred soil and destroyed the quick-response force sent to stop them. All in a matter of hours rather than the days or weeks the generals had first predicted.

That was why the Queen was determined to do battle with the invaders before night fell. Because if she didn’t, the invaders might have so much momentum it would be virtually impossible to stop them. So Parth was there, sitting directly behind the royal as the wind whipped past him and a salvo of long-range surface-to-surface missiles came sleeting in from the east. They were receiving guidance from Confederacy vessels high above, so most of the weapons hit their marks. Explosions flashed all around as Gantha tanks began to die, and the rest of the formation was forced to circumvent.

But the huge multitiered steel monsters were far from helpless. Their 120mm guns made a sound similar to rolling thunder as they sent “smart” artillery shells racing downrange. Parth knew, because General Amm had explained it, that the precision-guided munitions were equipped with fins, steering rockets, and an integrated GPS tracking system. All of which enabled them to strike targets well over the horizon. Plus, imperial forces had vehicle-mounted missile launchers that could track the incoming weapons and use the resulting data to fire at enemy launchers. So even though Parth couldn’t see the damage, he knew that the enemy was suffering casualties as well.

But that knowledge was scant comfort as the side-to-side line of bipedal monster-things appeared in the distance. Each of the horrors was carrying a rider and running an unpredictable zigzag pattern. Sparks appeared as they fired shoulder-launched missiles, which made sinuous snakelike turns as they locked in on Ramanthian vehicles and left trails of light gray smoke behind them. Parth closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable explosion of light, but nothing happened. So he opened his eyes just in time to see a scout car fly apart as an entirely new threat lumbered out of the smoke ahead.

Parth knew that the four-legged walkers were called quads. They carried missiles, guns, and troops. Human troops, Clone troops, and Hudathan troops. The latter were the most terrifying because of their reputation for ruthless savagery. The cyborgs fired, explosions rippled across the battlefield, and the command car was still unscathed. We’ll be in among them soon, Parth thought to himself as he fumbled with the rifle he had been issued. Could the weapon stop a Hudathan? Such were Parth’s thoughts as General Amm’s voice sounded inside his helmet. “You can watch live video of the imposter on channel three. The animals are broadcasting it far and wide. They want us to see her.”

Parth switched the heads-up display on the inside surface of his visor to video and selected channel three. There he saw raw footage of what looked like a Kathong. The creature was running with the tireless efficiency of what it was: a machine. And even though Parth knew he was looking at a cybernetic vehicle, and even though he knew the animals were using Ramanthian mythology for their own perverted purposes, the image still had power.

The Queen had been looking at channel three as well. And her voice was contemptuous. “It’s a costume and nothing more. We’ll bury her in it.”

Once again, Parth was impressed by the Queen’s clarity, courage, and purpose. A flight of missiles came flashing in, a Gantha vanished in a slow-motion ball of flame, and the command car rocked as a wall of displaced air rushed past it. Parth gripped his rifle and experienced a moment of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he would survive the day.

Everything was clear. Booly could see the clouds of smoke that were boiling up into the air, the columns of dust generated by thousands of vehicles that were coming straight at him, and what the ancient Zulus called “the horns of the bull” to his left and right, as the Legion’s 2 ^ nd Regiment Etranger De Cavalerie, and elements of the Hegemony’s 1 ^ st Armored Division, sought to flank the Ramanthians. And the T-2’s power was his power as the machine carried him forward. He gloried in the way the air flowed around him, the way every sense had been fully awakened, and the rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins.

Then the time for reflection was over as the two armies collided and penetrated each other. A wild free-for-all ensued. It was the kind of battle that the Legion’s cavalry hungered for. And in that moment the wild conglomeration of fugitives, criminals, and idealists who made up the Legion wanted to kill. And Booly, who had spent his entire adult life among them, was no different. Finally, after years spent behind a desk, he was a soldier once again.

As the quads and Ganthas continued to trade earthshaking blows, the T-2s and Haba attack sleds dashed in and out, using their larger cousins for cover. Meanwhile, in the midst of the surrounding madness, a battle within a battle was under way.

Having claimed a slight rise as her own, the Warrior Queen was putting on a fearsome display of what her Kathong body was capable of. Not only could it take repeated hits from a variety of weaponry, it had considerable offensive capability as well. That could be seen as she fired green energy bolts from the trident clenched in her scorpion-like tail. The blasts were powerful enough to destroy anything less than a Gantha tank. But it took thirty seconds to recharge her accumulators, so it was necessary that she defend herself with the machine guns built into her tool arms between salvos.

The Warrior Queen would have been overrun, though, along with the rest of her party, had it not been for Santana and his platoon of legionnaires. They formed a cordon around the rise and were kept very busy. And as the radio message came in, Santana was starting to worry. There had been casualties. Lots of them. And the bugs kept coming. “Orbital Control to RAM Six,” a voice said in his ear. “An enemy ship is closing on your position from the west. The Dags are trying to shoot it down but no luck so far. We think they plan to crash it on top of you. Over.”

Santana looked west, but the incoming ship hadn’t broken the horizon yet. “This is RAM Six. Roger, that. But how would they pick us out of the crowd? Over.”

“We believe they are homing in on the signals being broadcast from the vid cams,” came the answer. “We recommend that you destroy them immediately. Over.”

Santana looked at the Warrior Queen, saw that three of what had been six vid cams were still buzzing around her, and swore. “Atkins.. Destroy those vid cams. And do it now.”

“No!” came Booly’s voice, as he and his T-2 materialized out of the drifting smoke. A group of aides and bodyguards could be seen immediately behind the officer. “Kill two of the cameras and delegate the third to me,” Booly said.

“But sir,” Santana objected, “that would…”

“That’s an order,” Booly growled. “Do it.”

Santana glanced toward the west. The Ramanthian freighter was visible and getting larger with each passing second. Tiny, insectlike Daggers were attacking the behemoth, and smoke trailed behind it, but it continued to bore in. “You heard the general, Atkins. Kill two of the cameras.”

The T-2 fired two shots in quick succession and the cameras exploded. Then, having delegated the last machine to Booly, Santana turned to tell him as much. But the general and his aides were already on the run, with the globe-shaped vid cam in hot pursuit.

The essence of Booly’s plan was clear. If he could lead the camera away from the Warrior Queen, the Ramanthian ship would follow. But could he execute the move in time? The freighter had come much closer. Santana could see the flare of the vessel’s repellers, the dust they churned up, and flash after flash as missiles hit the already devastated hull.

Should he take the Queen and make a run for it? Or would that make the royal even more vulnerable? Santana was still thinking about the pros and cons as the wedge-shaped ship began to turn its nose away from the rise and toward Booly. Then, with increasing speed, the freighter entered a shallow dive and followed the signal in.

Booly looked up, saw the huge mass coming straight for him, and ordered his party to scatter. Then his thoughts turned to Maylo. Good-bye, dearest, good-bye… I’ll be waiting.

Then the ship was upon him, crushing all that he was under its unimaginable weight, as the freighter’s blunt nose began to plow its way across the Plain of Pain. Waves of dirt curled away from the bow as the hull slid for the better part of two miles before the ship finally came to rest. And, in addition to killing the Confederacy’s highest-ranking general, the spaceship obliterated two quads and more than a dozen T-2s. That opened a path that ran deep into the Confederacy’s ranks. A road to victory.

“Now!” the Queen shouted, as the freighter struck. “Follow it in.” The original plan had been compromised. She knew that. But the way was open, and that meant it was possible to salvage victory from the jaws of defeat. So with a company of Imperial Guards for support, and careless of the bullets that buzzed all around her, the Queen stood as the command car pursued a zigzagging course between smoking wrecks, groups of combatants, and occasional rock formations.

And then the command car was there, within sight of the bodies that lay in bloody drifts, and the defiant creature that stood on top of the rise. It produced a bloodcurdling chittering sound, sent a ball of coherent energy flying at the royal vehicle, and scored a hit. The impact sent the Queen and several members of her party tumbling out onto the ground.

Then the Queen was up and moving forward as the Kathong creature came out to meet her. And neither one of the royals were alone. A dozen animals were present to support the Warrior Queen and an equal number of Imperial Guards were gathered around the other royal as she and her standard-bearers advanced.

Vanderveen and her T-2 were right behind the Warrior Queen and moving forward when a Ramanthian rocket struck the center of Haskins’s chest and exploded. Owing to her position on the cyborg’s back, Vanderveen was sheltered from the blast. But as the cyborg fell over backwards, there was a very real possibility that she would be crushed under the T-2’s considerable weight.

So Vanderveen hit the quick-release button located at the center of her harness and threw herself sideways. The ground came up fast and knocked the wind out of her as the two groups of combatants came together. Projectiles kicked up geysers of dirt all around her as Vanderveen struggled to rise.

Then Dietrich was there, standing over her, firing a grenade launcher. More than half a dozen Ramanthian soldiers had circled around the center of the battle, hoping to attack the Warrior Queen from behind. Four of the charging Ramanthians were killed as Dietrich’s grenades exploded around them. But the noncom’s luck ran out as the two survivors emerged from the smoke. They were so close that he couldn’t employ the launcher. So Dietrich was in the process of reaching for his pistol when a bug, who was carrying a lance, thrust the needle-sharp weapon at him. The legionnaire produced a grunt as the spearpoint penetrated his armor, passed through his abdomen, and emerged on the other side with the bloodied pennant still attached. Then, having taken hold of the shaft with both hands, Dietrich fell.

Vanderveen was back on her feet by then, firing her carbine. Bugs came at her, and she fired. A hail of bullets took them down. One of them tried to rise, and she put another bullet through his visor.

As Vanderveen knelt next to Dietrich and pulled his helmet free, she saw that his eyes were open. They blinked rapidly as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “So you’re alive,” he croaked. “That’s good. Real good. The major told me to make sure.”

“You were supposed to watch over him,” Vanderveen said gently. “But thank you.”

Dietrich forced a smile. “Sorry, ma’am… But I report to the major. Or I did. And I was honored to do so. You tell him…”

“Yes?”

There was no answer. Dietrich was gone.

Vanderveen stood, began to turn, and felt something strike her head. There was an explosion of pain, followed by a long fall into endless darkness.