Clone World (Undying Mercenaries Series Book 12), page 22
As if stung, the two outer turrets both swung toward their dead brother. They hosed the jungle with fire. Violet flashes tore up the brush, the ground, the smoking turret itself. They rained death on the area with abandon.
“Della!” I shouted, but then I noted her name had gone red in my HUD.
“She’s gone, sir,” Cooper reported. “I’m at the left turret. I can take it out the same way.”
“Hold on… Sargon? Try to knock them out while they’re distracted.”
Sargon’s weaponeers stood bravely and melted down the last turrets with focused fire. The Claver-Twos operating the guns were so busy tearing up the jungle to make sure they got Della, they’d given us a window.
A minute later, all three of the turrets were smoking wrecks. The jungle fell quiet again.
We hustled over the patch of open ground and advanced into the trees on the far side. We were getting close now. Soon, we’d face the fortress itself.
Taking a breather to patch ourselves up, we huddled in an outbuilding. The roof had been torn off and a few dead Clavers decorated the floor.
Centurion Manfred swaggered into the building and approached me. “Nice place you’ve got here, McGill.”
“I call it home.”
“Sorry to hear about your lady-friend, but she did a number on that turret.”
“She sure did,” I agreed. “How many men did you lose in that action?”
“Six. You?”
“Seven, I think.”
Manfred laughed. “You always have to one up me, don’t you?”
“It’s in my blood. Listen, has your tech specialist managed to keep a buzzer in the air?”
“No, no one has. Claver has some kind of trick that keeps knocking them down. We’re marching into his lair blind—only you’ve been inside before.”
“I didn’t see that much of it,” I admitted. “I know there are at least ten floors, and a room down low has several gateways in it, including ones that go back to Earth.”
“Seriously? That cheater. That’s how he gets around so easily. He clones himself and slips from world to world like a ghost.”
“That might be all over with if we take his fortress down in the morning.” I thought that over, and Manfred kept on talking—but I didn’t listen to any more of it. I soon nodded off.
I felt a boot kick my boot. I woke up with a start.
“Is it time?”
“Yeah,” Manfred said. “Half an hour until dawn.”
I snorted and stretched out again. “Wake me up with fifteen minutes to go.”
He left, and the next thing I knew Kivi was shaking me. “McGill! Time to move out!”
“All right,” I said, and I climbed to my feet and stretched. I rammed pocket-warmed rations into my mouth, chewed, swallowed and guzzled some water. Five minutes later, I was moving, and my unit gathered up with me. We marched toward the fortress and reached the limits of the forest.
“There she is,” I said.
The fort was encircled by a bald area of land. It sat on a low hill surrounded by knee-high grasses. A circular wall surrounded the building itself, which was blocky and ugly-looking.
“Pure puff-crete,” Manfred said from my side. “It’s not such a much, now is it?”
“I guess not.” For a few seconds, I watched the air-swimmers drifting near the high windows. I wondered what attracted them up there to flutter around. Did Claver feed them? Somehow, I doubted he’d bother.
We waited for the attack signal, and we didn’t have to wait long. Graves came onto command chat and gave us a few choice words.
“Legion Varus and support Legion Twelve, you’re about to get your chance for revenge upon one of the greatest criminals in human history. Adjunct Claver, who’s gone by countless names in his countless existences, is about to meet justice. I hereby order you to kill every person in that structure. Have no mercy. Have no regrets. They won’t have any for you if we lose today.”
It was quite a crappy pep-speech, even for Graves. No one cheered much. A few grumbled, others angrily spat and stared at Claver’s walls.
Sensing a mood-lifter was in order, I lifted a fist and pumped it in the air. My visor flipped open, I roared “Varus!” over and over.
Others picked up the cry. All up and down the front line, a hundred throats shouted together—then a thousand.
“That’s what I like to see,” Graves said. “Now, get in there, and take them down. Don’t be afraid to die. Let the bio specialists sort out the dead. Advance!”
Despite Graves’ words, not all of us were cleared to charge immediately. Instead, about half the men ran off toward the walls, which were perhaps four hundred meters distant.
Predictably, dozens of turrets folded out of the outer wall and opened up on us with chattering fire. Men and near-men were cut down by the hundreds.
The light troops in the front absorbed most of these lethal bolts. In response, every weaponeer we had focused return fire from the rear ranks. A gush of belcher plasma, mini-missiles and other weapons roared and lashed the turrets. Some were knocked out, others continued their withering fire.
When the front rank was about two hundred meters from the base of the wall, Graves ordered the second rank to advance. Manfred and I moved forward at a brisk trot. Those walls looked taller with each step we took.
“We’ll never scale them,” Manfred said. “Not even with grav-boots.”
“Nope,” I agreed. “We’ll have to bore through, or use charges to blow a hole in the base.”
Manfred gave me a worried look which I didn’t return. Sure, I knew that chewing through puff-crete with small-ball weapons was easier said than done. But there was no use arguing about it. This was our time to do or die.
“Look out! Up top!” roared someone off to my left.
I looked up, and instinctively lifted an arm to shield my visor. Dozens of enemy troops—no hundreds—were now standing on the top of the wall. They had assault rifles, and they were blazing away into our charge.
“This is insane!” Manfred called out next to me. “Graves must have sold out!”
A bolt spun him around then, and he fell. I ran to him and picked him up by his ruck. “You okay?”
“Just got the wind knocked out of me,” he rasped.
He was on his feet, so I let go of him. He staggered in my wake.
It didn’t matter if he was dead on his feet or not. We had to reach that wall.
-40-
My legion’s first wave was pretty much destroyed. A few turned to run, and we tripped them and jeered. Sure, we were about to get ours. Maybe we’d be broken and routed by ninety-percent casualties, too. But for now, we had to keep our morale up, even if it was at the expense of our own panicked comrades.
Throughout history, even the best armies of Earth tended to break somewhere around the point of a fifty percent loss. The animal in every man’s mind can’t take much more than that. Almost anyone can panic and run even when you know you’ll be shot in the back. Honestly, you aren’t even thinking at that point.
Professional legionnaires, however, were a different breed. We were more akin to the crazies of history: the Viking berserkers, the Spartans, or the Samurai. We knew we could die and return to life. Even more importantly, we were intimately familiar with death in all its grisly forms. This combination of experience and know-how left us uniquely able to keep our cool under fire.
And so we charged those tall, slick walls. They loomed up, thirty meters or more, impenetrable to any light weapons. It usually took star-falls or something stronger to blow a breach in a wall like this one.
Fortunately, we hadn’t been sent into this battle without equipment. We had tube-punches with us, one per unit. These were simple devices intended to punch a hole in just about anything. They were tubes with an explosive at one closed end. The explosive had a shaped armor-piercing shell sitting on top of it. This specially designed weapon only worked once, but it could penetrate several meters of granite, or a few centimeters of collapsed armor.
Puff-crete was tough, tougher than tempered steel, but it wasn’t stardust. When we got to the base of the wall, most of our troops fired up at the enemy on the battlements. They were firing down at us, and we were dying three to one in the exchange.
But this distraction allowed a few weaponeers to get their tube-guns into position. Like the sappers of old, they blew head-sized holes in the puff-crete. That wasn’t enough to take it down, of course. It didn’t even penetrate to the other side—but that wasn’t the purpose.
“Fire in the hole!” shouted a man nearby.
I dropped my rifle and threw myself on top of it. A shockwave rolled over my back. Chunks of puff-crete struck my armored back-plate here and there, feeling like a shower of bullets.
Scrambling up, I got my rifle to my shoulder just in time. The smoking breach was there, no more than two meters wide—but it was wide enough.
We rushed inside. More Clavers met us, again as if they’d expected this.
A grim fire-fight began. I soon realized that the enemy strength was low. They’d been fighting hard, and they seemed to be numerous, but if Leeza had been right, we’d outnumbered them two to one from the start. We’d destroyed thousands outside this wall. Now the castle garrison was facing us, and as best I could tell, it was all they had left.
Even though they had the drop on us, we killed them all. We did it by simple numbers. We had a hundred men coming through that breach, and they had maybe twenty defenders. When these had been cut down, we rushed to the central building itself.
Inside the walls, it didn’t look quite like a fortress. It looked more like a tall, blocky building. I’d been inside it, and on each occasion, it had seemed very utilitarian. I don’t think the Clavers had really envisioned fighting over this ground. Maybe the walls and the dome itself were afterthoughts. He’d depended on the secrecy of his location to protect him.
Cheering hoarsely, we marched toward the doors. They were steel, nothing more. We blew them down and walked inside. Clavers ran from us, and we gunned them down. Most of these were Class-twos, not really fighters. They barely resisted our advance.
“Where is the enemy?” Harris demanded.
We looked at each other in the smoky corridor, breathing hard and coughing.
“They’ve either been wiped out, or… come on!”
The elevators had been disabled. I rushed toward the stairs leading down, having a sudden thought.
A few more Claver-Threes met us on the stairs and battled grimly, but we overwhelmed them. I had a score of men at my back, and we weren’t in a charitable mood.
“Where are we going, McGill?” Harris demanded. “Isn’t the king at the top of this castle?”
“No. Not this time. He’s down low, on their version of Gray Deck.”
He looked at me, and his eyes bulged. “A teleport room? You think they’re bugging out?”
“Of course.”
Howling as if personally affronted, Harris rushed with me down the steps. Confused troops raced in our wake.
I knew what was motivating Harris. After a tough fight, he liked to execute his enemies. He wanted to see them dead for all the trouble they’d brought to him.
We reached the portal room, and it took a few minutes to break through. Finally, we managed it and we charged inside.
A familiar figure sat in the control booth in the center. The gateway posts were all demolished, smoldering piles of delicate electronics—except for one of them.
Instead of a Claver-Two operator, the man in the booth was a Claver-Prime. I could tell the difference instantly. Instead of having a blank, slightly concerned expression, his face was full of calculation and amusement.
“Well done, McGill!” he said, and he lifted his resting boots off the control panel. He pointed toward the last operating set of gateway posts. “I’d hoped the cavalry would arrive in time, and it has, but I hadn’t dare dream it would be you.”
“Shut your filthy hole!” Harris roared—advancing on him with his rifle trained on his chest. “Surrender, Claver!”
“Oh, I surrender. But McGill… time is wasting. The officers, the traitors you seek—they went that way.”
My eyes went to the gateway posts. I wasn’t sure where they led to. There was no indication—no signs, no colors, no pictures—nothing. But I was sure this wasn’t the same set of posts I’d gone through the last time I’d teleported to Earth.
“Uh…” I said, as men filled the room behind me.
Other officers and troops were arriving every second. Most of the invading force had gone upstairs rather than down, but even so, I knew it was only a matter of time before some uppity officer like Fike would show up and take over the situation. If I was going to do anything unexpected, this was the window I had to work with.
“Claver-X?” I asked.
He pointed his finger at me, and he grinned. “That’s right, McGill. Every time we meet, my estimation of your brain’s quality rises. Most of my brothers consider you to be a lucky ape, did you know that?”
“I’d gathered as much.”
“Well, they’re wrong. No one gets lucky as often as you do. I’d stake my reputation on it.”
“Centurion?” Harris demanded. “Can I at least arrest this man?”
I thought that over for a few seconds. “No. Stand down, Harris. Claver, talk to me. What’s this about? What’s on the far side of that gateway?”
Claver-X stood up, and Harris tightened his grip on his rifle. His finger massaged the trigger lovingly.
Claver-X took no notice. He smiled and sauntered down to meet me like we were best friends at a picnic. He was watching me, only me.
Claver-X was an enigma. He was a twisted member of his shared genome—you might even call him a mutant. Bad grows were bound to happen now and then. The phenomenon was more common among those who are revived over and over. Biotic copies are messy, and they didn’t always come out perfect. Sometimes, there was a twist of the body. I’d been born missing my toes once. Another time, I’d become a murderous scoundrel.
But Claver-X was different. He was nicer and more compassionate than his countless brothers. He’d been born smart and mean like the rest—but with different goals. Seeking something more than trade and trickery, he’d tried to create a female Claver. That had been a cardinal sin according to his clones, and they’d banished him. Like all Clavers, he’d proven to be harder to get rid of than one would think.
I stepped forward, allowing my rifle’s muzzle to dip toward the floor. Just like him, I offered up a big smile and a welcoming handshake.
We clasped hands like buddies and shook. Everyone behind me was gaping at the display. Here I was, almost making out with this villain, and the crowd of troops surrounding us couldn’t believe it.
“Claver,” I said quietly when we were up close and clasping hands. “I can only keep this situation from going bad for about another minute. Primus Graves is on his way down here—and he doesn’t like you. He’ll take charge, and he’ll probably execute your ass in five minutes flat… if you’re lucky.”
“Graves is here?” Claver-X asked, and a flicker of concern ran over his features.
“Damn straight he is,” I lied. “Now, why don’t you tell me the nature of your offer before this gets ugly? Where does that gateway go to?”
He shook his head, and a sly expression grew on his face. “You know I can’t do that, McGill. I have to have an edge.”
“What do you propose, then? We’ve got like ninety seconds left.”
Claver’s eyes slid toward the exit. More men were wandering in now, looking bewildered. Only Harris looked angry. He still had his gun aimed at Claver’s head, but that seemed to have no effect at all on the wily bastard.
“All right,” Claver said. “You drive a hard bargain, but I’ll walk through with you. We’ll step out, and we’ll see the answer to your questions.”
I snorted. “Why the hell should I do that? Why should I let you go anywhere?”
He shook his head. “You’re not thinking, McGill. I waited here for you. I could have left—everyone else did. Winslade, Toro, Armel—everybody. Why did I wait here to make this offer?”
I thought that over, and I didn’t have an easy answer. “I don’t know. Why?”
“Because I’m trying to help! Let me help. Let me show you something interesting.”
Damnation. Claver was so good at this kind of bamboozling. Did he really just want to capture me? Just to say he’d done it?
But if that were true, he wouldn’t be Claver-X. He would be Claver Prime, trying to screw me. I decided to test him.
“What was the lady-Claver’s name?” I asked him.
“What?”
He was blinking now. His face sagged a little. He hadn’t been expecting this line of questioning.
“You heard me. You made her. You brought her into the world, and then you let her get killed. What was her name?”
“How could you—never mind. A test… I get it… Her name was Abigail. Happy now, McGill?”
I nodded. I was happy. He seemed saddened, but not pissed off. Normally, regular Clavers lost their minds when I brought up the Lady Claver. They denied her existence and became violently angry over the topic. This truly might be Claver-X.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s take a walk.”
Moving with Claver-X, I walked toward the single set of operating gateway posts. Harris objected immediately.
“Sir! Centurion McGill! Don’t take this the wrong way, sir, but have you lost your frigging mind?”
At the gateway, I turned back to face him. “If I don’t come back, I got screwed. Give a full report to Graves. I absolve you of any guilt in regard to this decision.”
“That’s very nice of you, sir,” he said. “But this has to be the most bat-shit—”
I didn’t hear the rest of it. I’d stepped out with Claver-X. We went together, vanishing into the unknown.
-41-
Trust is a funny thing. When you come right down to it, there are two flavors that I know of.
One is the trust you have in your tightest allies. The men you’ve fought with for years. The wife you’ve been happily married to for a decade. That sort of thing.
