It was a mad dash, but we received very little suppressing fire. Apparently, Collins had made the right call by having us nail that bunker where the mini-missiles were coming from.

  Still, we were all breathing hard by the time we made it inside. The factory was dim-lit, with only a few high grungy windows covered in soot and grime to let any sunlight in.

  The big doors were the primary source of air and light, and they were wide enough to let aircraft come in.

  “We’re in some kind of warehouse,” Harris told me. “We reconned the whole chamber. There’s nothing here but those hex-shaped barrels and some dead Mogwa workers.”

  I reported in to Collins, telling her we’d made it inside the building. She ordered me to sit tight and cover the next unit that was hustling in from farther away. The other two had gone in another direction, and they were meeting some resistance.

  “There they are!” Harris said, pointing out the doorway.

  We all peered into the glare of the sunlit world outside. It was dusty out there, and a wind had picked up. The wind caused the various burning buildings to obscure the landscape with drifting black smoke.

  Jogging in our direction was a full unit. They weren’t as strung out as we’d been. All three platoons were hustling in a single mass. They were going to make it or break it together.

  “Harris, line your troops up on the other side of that door. Prepare to lay down suppressive fire. Kivi, have you got buzzers out there?”

  “They haven’t been going down as fast after we knocked out the bear’s strongpoint,” she told me. “I’ve got plenty of eyes in the sky now…”

  She surveyed her data, but she frowned suddenly. “Bears spotted, sir! They’re coming out of the factory—there’s some kind of side door. They’re lining up about two hundred meters to the west.”

  I took two steps toward the open doorway. “Put them on tactical.”

  About then, the supporting unit that was coming our way must have gotten the message that they weren’t alone out there. Instead of jogging in an organized fashion, they began to hump-and-bump. They raced toward us.

  “Barton, send out a squad of snipers. Put down fire on those bears before—”

  She began to move even as I said it—but it was too late. A volley of fire came from the bears. Worse, their squadron had swollen to a platoon—maybe more. They shot at our troops, hitting them in the flank. The running troops split up, sending their lights in toward us at a dead run, while their heavies slowed and fired back at the bears.

  Barton’s squad of snipers joined in, contributing to the chaos outside. Bolts were flying everywhere, punching holes in every barrel and chipping at the puff-crete walls of the factory.

  I gritted my teeth, wanting to order Harris out there to support her—but maybe that’s what the bears wanted. Maybe they were coming in for the kill. Right now, I had my unit inside, under cover and safe. Collins’s plan had worked, and I didn’t feel I had the right to second guess her and screw everything up at this point.

  So, I held back.

  The lights racing our way took heavy casualties on the way in. The ground was just too open, and they were too lightly armored. Half of them didn’t make it—probably more than half. It was hard to watch another unit taking hell while you looked on from a safe position.

  When the lights finally came close, dragging their wounded and screaming for help, I had Harris rush out and grab anyone who was kicking. His heavies turned their armored backs to the bears and hustled the survivors inside.

  “Who are you guys?” I asked one of their noncoms.

  He was gasping and grabbing at a bubbling spot on his side. It looked like he’d been lung-shot.

  “Are you from 4th?” I demanded.

  “No, sir. We’re from the 7th.”

  My heart sank. I knew 7th Unit. Their commander and I had once had a fling. Her name was Jenny Mills, and she was in serious trouble. The 7th had gone from “taking cover” to being pinned down by enemy fire in a matter of thirty seconds. More bears had shown up on the opposite side of the first group—another platoon of them. Jenny and the 7th were caught up in a crossfire.

  “Gary, get your weaponeers over here. Sargon? Fire on those damned bears.”

  “We’re not supposed to expose ourselves, Centurion,” Harris reminded me.

  “Shut up and help out.”

  He did so, and Gary never even complained. He lined up his remaining weaponeers—although most of them were limping after the mini-missile barrage—and he nudged them out into the sunshine.

  They sighted and beamed the bears. It wasn’t a very effective attack, but it distracted the enemy.

  Seeing this was her chance, Centurion Jenny Mills took it. She ordered her heavies to rise up and race toward our position at a dead run. The last hundred meters or so were wide open. Nothing but a few barrels and wire fences were between them and the bears—but she was going for it anyway.

  In the end, my whole unit got involved, blazing away at the bears. They ignored us and fired at Jenny’s exposed troops. About thirty heavies from the 7th made it to our doors, and we dragged them all inside. The specialists behind them broke and ran for it as well—but there were more bears than ever out there now. The lighter troops were cut down to the last man.

  Jenny’s heavies fell on their backs, gasping and groaning. Some were calling for medics. Others gaped like fish. Our bio people wandered among the stricken, delivering what aid they could.

  I joined the medics, and after a few minutes I found Centurion Mills. I helped her pull her helmet off, and her blonde hair spilled out. There was some blood in her mouth, but she was still breathing.

  “Hey, girl! Fancy meeting you out here! It’s like fate brought us together again.”

  She grinned at me with red-rimmed teeth. “Forget it, McGill.”

  I grinned back, and we talked for a bit. I fed her some water—but then I saw her vitals on her tapper. I frowned. She was in a bad way.

  “What is it?” she asked. Her voice was kind of raspy.

  “Nothing… uh… you want some whiskey?”

  She sucked in a few painful breaths and tried to get up—but she couldn’t. At last, she gestured for the whiskey. I helped her tip my flask up to her lips.

  A few moments later, she stopped drinking. The booze ran out of her mouth, and her eyes glazed over.

  Rolling her over, I saw there was a big hole in her back. The damned bears had punched right through her back plate. She’d been bleeding out the whole time we’d been talking, and the automatic medical systems we all had in our armor hadn’t been able to stabilize her.

  Carlos landed a gauntlet on my back. “Tough break, but we’re short on time for grieving, Centurion. What do we do now?”

  I looked up at him. This was Carlos’ way of waking me up. He was trying to get my head back into the game. I stood up with a grunt and slammed my gauntlets together repeatedly, demanding attention.

  “7th Unit, I’m formally assuming command of your survivors. Heavies, you’re under Adjunct Harris. Lights, follow Adjunct Barton. The rest of you follow me and Adjunct Dahmen. Form up! Let’s go!”

  Those who could stand struggled to their feet. The rest were executed and their deaths were reported to headquarters.

  No one argued. It was time to move out.

  -41-

  With two units compressed into one, I had about a hundred and fifty troops to lead. We soon located a door that led deeper into the factory. We advanced, hearing gunshots echoing ahead of us in the dimly lit passages.

  Cooper and Della were my ghost specialists—scouts who could camouflage themselves with the aid of a high tech stealth suit. I sent them in first, racing ahead of us. Then I sent in a squad of Barton’s lights to back them up.

  Things got hot pretty quickly.

  “Centurion? Centurion, sir?” It was Cooper, and he was whispering. “I’ve got eyes on the enemy. We made contact just a hundred meters west in one of the main passages.”

  “Give me a visual, Cooper.”

  He linked my tapper to his head camera, and I got an eyeful. Cooper was lying on his side, apparently, in a pile of debris. Part of the roof had collapsed, and he’d crawled right into the mess like a good ghost. The angle was an odd one, but I saw bears scuttling down the passages in our general direction.

  Then, before Cooper could ask permission to withdraw to a safer spot, gunfire erupted. Two Mogwa marines with a few supporting drone tanks rammed down a wall and began blazing away.

  Cooper was in the middle of an ambush, and no one even knew he was there. A hail of streaks cooked the air right over him, going in both directions. He began worming backward toward shelter, whispering, “shit, shit, shit…” over and over again. I couldn’t blame him for that.

  Sucking in a deep breath and getting a positional fix on this firefight, I came to a quick and fateful decision. “Barton, advance to contact. Support the Mogwa that are hitting those bears. Harris, rush them with your heavies. Let’s take them out.”

  Harris didn’t argue for once. Barton never argued, so we were left following in her wake.

  The light troops hit the bears in the ass, flanking them. Her troops couldn’t do much with snap-rifles, but they were certainly throwing a confusing blur of fire downrange.

  The bears, caught in a crossfire between two forces, must have figured the ambush was bigger than they’d believed at first. They threw themselves on the deck and tried to crawl back out the way they’d come. When I reached Barton’s people with a platoon of heavies, I brushed her troops aside and charged right through.

  “We can’t let them escape,” I told the troops. “Get close while they’re busy ducking. Gut them with force-blades.”

  When Harris and I reached the action, we’d only lost two light troops. The bears were mostly firing at the Mogwa tanks, figuring they had the firepower to knock them out.

  They hadn’t counted on force-blades at close quarters. We rushed in among them, and a vicious struggle began.

  The Mogwa tanks and marines, for their part, seemed stunned by our arrival. The tanks reared up, swiveling turrets in our direction. After a moment’s hesitation, the Mogwa officer urged them to stand down. His own troops extended blades from their multi-legged power armor. They came forward like metal spiders, and they helped us slaughter the bears.

  A few men and a single Mogwa died. All the bears perished.

  Standing tall and breathing hard, I hailed the Mogwa officer, who’s name was Elgu. “Sir, I’m Centurion McGill of Legion Varus, reporting for duty.”

  “You are slave-troops?” Elgu asked.

  “Mercenaries, sir. Enforcers from Frontier 921.”

  “But… you serve the Empire?”

  “Yes. We serve the Empire.”

  Looking pleased, the officer came forward and pointed an appendage at the dead bears. “You must destroy all these rebels. Find them in the rubble. Root them out and kill them all.”

  “Uh… okay, sir. We’re working on that. Do you have more troops behind you? Where is the rest of the local garrison?”

  Elgu gestured toward his handful of drones and marines. “We’re all that’s left of the garrison. We attacked these wretches as a final act of desperation. Fortune has smiled upon us, providing you to aid in our righteous cause. I should not have doubted Mogwa superiority.”

  “That’s right. You always want to put your money down on the Galactics.”

  He stared at me for a moment, listening to his translation. “Pointless babble… but one cannot argue with the ferocity of your species. Perhaps Sateekas was arrested prematurely.”

  That made me blink in confusion and doubt my translator. The app on my tapper assured me it was ninety-seven percent sure it had gotten every word right.

  “Uh… did you say, Sateekas, sir?”

  “Yes. I do not like to repeat myself. Are you weak-minded?”

  “Uh… no sir. I’m right as rain. I was just wondering if you’ve got any information on where Sateekas is now?”

  The Mogwa was annoyed already. That wasn’t unusual. Anything beyond two questions started to piss them off.

  “He’s in the City. He’s under arrest, of course. I was merely questioning our judgment in his incarceration, not his existence or his motivation.”

  “He’s here? In jail?”

  “That’s what I said, human. Apparently, you apes can speak glibly, but your oversized auditory organs are dysfunctional.”

  “That’s right. We’re a pack of retards on a good day. Anyways, according to my tapper more human units are entering the factory, and the bears are in retreat. Mind if I accompany you? I’d like to meet the Victrix pukes with you guys at my side.”

  “Nonsensical. I gather you wish to guard my person, and that is acceptable.”

  He let me join ranks with him, but he was huffy about it. Normally, any Mogwa marine figured he was worth any thousand barbarians in a fight—but this fellow had clearly had his bell rung. He’d almost died, and he wanted a bodyguard, whether he would admit it or not.

  I took my time setting up defenses. I had my troops make an effort to look like we’d been hanging around bored with the Mogwa for a long time.

  I talked to Elgu for a bit while we waited, and we’d watched buzzer reports coming in. With human troops converging in strength, the bears had decided to withdraw. That was only temporary, I figured. Bears never gave up on an objective easily. You always had to pry it out of their hairy paws in the end.

  I was sipping some hot caff—fake coffee—when a Victrix unit arrived at last. They walked into our camp in the rubble, looking aghast.

  “There you are, ladies,” I said, calling to them and waving. “Good of you to show up and give us a break here on the front lines.”

  The Victrix legionnaires weren’t well-known to me. Mostly, I’d met them in the Mustering Hall. Their armor was definitely less dented and shinier than ours was. Their banners and patches displayed crossed swords and a big V emblem, just like they’d done in ancient Roman times.

  “Varus?” the centurion in charge asked. “Seriously? You beat us down here? How?”

  “Uh… mostly by walking and fighting. We lost a unit’s worth of men, a cheap price to pay to save just one of our beloved masters. This here spider-monkey-Mogwa—excuse me, this high overlord of fantastic worth—his name is Elgu. Leastwise, that’s the closest I can come to pronouncing it.”

  “Elgu…” the Victrix man said, squinting. “I’m Centurion Tran, sir. This is quite an honor, sir. You’re the first Galactic I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting in person.”

  Elgu turned on Centurion Tran. His numerous eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he peered at the gauntlet the other had offered. After looking it over with distrust, he ignored the hand and eyed Tran. “You are substandard in performance parameters.” He pointed at me. “This oversized ape arrived first, and he fought as would any beast to save his master. Where were you during this critical juncture?”

  Tran looked stunned. I knew right off what the trouble was—up until this moment, he’d never known what card-carrying tools all the Mogwa tended to be.

  “That seems like a poor attitude, Elgu,” Tran began. “After all, we’ve sacrificed—”

  “Uh…” I said, loudly, interrupting. “What Centurion Tran means to say, Elgu, is that he’s embarrassed for his piss-poor performance and near cowardice on the field of glory. He’d further like to profess his slave-love for you and yours, and he hopes you can find it in your heart to forgive him.”

  “That’s not—” Tran began angrily, but I waved a hand in a spinning gesture, suggesting he should shut the hell up. He caught on and sulked, crossing his arms.

  Elgu eyed me disgustedly. “This one’s words weren’t conciliatory in any way,” he huffed. “But still, under the circumstances, I’ll let this instance of insubordination pass. I’m in need of every soldier Earth has in the region today.”

  “Yeah? What for, sir?”

  “Why, to drive these bears back into their holes—and to push them off the planet after that. Servants, gather your grunting forces and assemble them. You will march in the forefront. The Mogwa will bring up the rear in case your troops fail me.”

  “Hmm…” I said.

  Tran’s mouth fell open, and he looked like he was going to have kittens. “We just got here. You’re planning a counterattack so soon? What if the enemy is waiting outside in strength?”

  “Then your forces will flush them out. We’ll soon know the truth. You will march in the lead, Tran. Make a brave example of yourself in order to inspire your army of beasts.”

  The Mogwa was technically in charge, so Tran and I didn’t have much choice. We formed the spear tip of Elgu’s counterattack.

  I, for one, found this exhilarating. “This is cool, isn’t it?” I asked Tran. “Did you hear Sateekas is alive? This guy Elgu claims he’s right here under the dome with us. They arrested him or something—but that kind of thing never stopped old Sateekas. He’s one tough old bird.”

  “Please shut up, McGill,” Centurion Tran pleaded. “You’re giving me a headache on top of everything else.”

  “A headache? Are you serious? What are you, twelve years old? The only headache a human gets to have in this army is punched through his skull by a power bolt.”

  “What is this prattle in the ranks?” Elgu asked sternly. “Further insubordination from the beast called Tran?”

  I raised a glove to calm the angry alien. “Never, sir! Don’t worry about a thing. I’m just helping this man get his head clear before we meet the enemy again.”

  Elgu gestured with his arms dismissively. I was happy to note he didn’t dare heap more threats and insults upon us humans. It had to be due to the fact we were in a combat zone, side by side, and we humans outnumbered the Mogwa significantly. The Mogwa were as arrogant and as mean as all get-out—but they weren’t stupid.

  Tired and injured, the troops readied themselves for another assault. We had linked up with Victrix and the Mogwa garrison, which meant it was time to turn the tables and push the bears out.