to that burning sky, it'd be fried."
"What about armor? Don't we even rate armor?" "This wasn't supposed to be a full-scale landing. They're calling it a surgical strike." "Surgical my ass." Rance cut through the complaining. "Knock off the crap. We're moving on." "We'll be cut to pieces."
"Shut up, Dacker. We'll take the two nearest gunpits. Half of you go for the one on the left, the others take the right. Keep firing all the way; we'll make it."
There was still fire hitting the ridge, and the group hesitated. Rance was bellowing in their helmets.
"Move, goddamm it, or I'll burn you myself!"
Suddenly they were on their feet again and running. It was another mad, screaming dash, ducking, weaving, and zigzagging, weapons vibrating in their hands as they fired wildly. It was almost as if something was taking over their will and making them do things that were in direct opposition to all their natural instincts. One man went down, and then another, but they kept on going. They were close to the gunpit, and Hark was amazed that he was still on his feet. He could see the creatures that were manning the Yal PBA. The name "chibas" was repeated in his phones. The chibas were one of the Yal's favorite cannon fodder. Slightly shorter than a human, they were part organic and part robot. Their brains and squat bodies were tank-grown biomatter, but their arms and legs were spindly constructions of implanted metal. They were among the ugliest things that Hark had ever seen. Two of the chibas were swinging around their tripod-mounted weapon, bringing it to bear on Hark and the men around him. For an instant, he thought that he was dead, then the first troopers were in the gunpit. Renchett was among them, going to work on the chibas with his knife, slashing at the soft, yellow-gray organic parts of their bodies through chinks in their somewhat minimal carapace armor. It seemed that a species that could grow-build its troops as it needed them paid little attention to protecting them on the battlefield. Renchett worked with a savage relish until his suit was slick with the transparent goop that fountained from their wounds.
"I hate chibas, they're an abomination."
He was carefully wiping his knife as he reported to Rance.
"We got the left gunpit secured." "Right gunpit also secure." The gunpit provided a brief respite, an interlude wi no one shooting at them. Hark hunkered down an*
leaned against the parapet wall. "What happens next?"
Rance wasn't slow in supplying the answer. "Anyon over there know how to fire a Yal PBA?" Helot answered. "I've checked out on one of these."
"So stay with it and give us covering fire."
"A-firm."
"Volunteering your way out, Helot?" "Screw you, Renchett. I don't enjoy the shit the way you do. I'll grab at any chance to save my ass."
There were distant screams in their helmets. Another twenty must have walked into the grinder.
"Okay, let's move out. Keep that covering fire com-ing.
This time they ran in V formation, with the sappers finding what protection they could in the angle of the V, covering the ground with fast ten-meter leaps. They were flanked by fire from the two PBAs. Once again, Hark had the feeling that some external force had a grip on him—it was akin to the fighting madness that had overwhelmed the young men back on his planet. He was taking risks that he would not normally contemplate. By the time they had overrun two more gunpits, Hark was so pumped up that he almost stumbled into a foxhole containing two chibas. They had light-yield energy weapons fastened directly to the ends of their mechanical arms. Somehow he had the impression that they were surprised. Renchett was right—they were an abomination. Fortunately, they were also slow. Hark blasted by instinct before they could bring up their weapons. He noticed that the chibas wore no helmets. The word was that they could breath anything.
"Wirefield ahead!"
The charge halted as the men flattened rather than blunder into an
"What about armor? Don't we even rate armor?" "This wasn't supposed to be a full-scale landing. They're calling it a surgical strike." "Surgical my ass." Rance cut through the complaining. "Knock off the crap. We're moving on." "We'll be cut to pieces."
"Shut up, Dacker. We'll take the two nearest gunpits. Half of you go for the one on the left, the others take the right. Keep firing all the way; we'll make it."
There was still fire hitting the ridge, and the group hesitated. Rance was bellowing in their helmets.
"Move, goddamm it, or I'll burn you myself!"
Suddenly they were on their feet again and running. It was another mad, screaming dash, ducking, weaving, and zigzagging, weapons vibrating in their hands as they fired wildly. It was almost as if something was taking over their will and making them do things that were in direct opposition to all their natural instincts. One man went down, and then another, but they kept on going. They were close to the gunpit, and Hark was amazed that he was still on his feet. He could see the creatures that were manning the Yal PBA. The name "chibas" was repeated in his phones. The chibas were one of the Yal's favorite cannon fodder. Slightly shorter than a human, they were part organic and part robot. Their brains and squat bodies were tank-grown biomatter, but their arms and legs were spindly constructions of implanted metal. They were among the ugliest things that Hark had ever seen. Two of the chibas were swinging around their tripod-mounted weapon, bringing it to bear on Hark and the men around him. For an instant, he thought that he was dead, then the first troopers were in the gunpit. Renchett was among them, going to work on the chibas with his knife, slashing at the soft, yellow-gray organic parts of their bodies through chinks in their somewhat minimal carapace armor. It seemed that a species that could grow-build its troops as it needed them paid little attention to protecting them on the battlefield. Renchett worked with a savage relish until his suit was slick with the transparent goop that fountained from their wounds.
"I hate chibas, they're an abomination."
He was carefully wiping his knife as he reported to Rance.
"We got the left gunpit secured." "Right gunpit also secure." The gunpit provided a brief respite, an interlude wi no one shooting at them. Hark hunkered down an*
leaned against the parapet wall. "What happens next?"
Rance wasn't slow in supplying the answer. "Anyon over there know how to fire a Yal PBA?" Helot answered. "I've checked out on one of these."
"So stay with it and give us covering fire."
"A-firm."
"Volunteering your way out, Helot?" "Screw you, Renchett. I don't enjoy the shit the way you do. I'll grab at any chance to save my ass."
There were distant screams in their helmets. Another twenty must have walked into the grinder.
"Okay, let's move out. Keep that covering fire com-ing.
This time they ran in V formation, with the sappers finding what protection they could in the angle of the V, covering the ground with fast ten-meter leaps. They were flanked by fire from the two PBAs. Once again, Hark had the feeling that some external force had a grip on him—it was akin to the fighting madness that had overwhelmed the young men back on his planet. He was taking risks that he would not normally contemplate. By the time they had overrun two more gunpits, Hark was so pumped up that he almost stumbled into a foxhole containing two chibas. They had light-yield energy weapons fastened directly to the ends of their mechanical arms. Somehow he had the impression that they were surprised. Renchett was right—they were an abomination. Fortunately, they were also slow. Hark blasted by instinct before they could bring up their weapons. He noticed that the chibas wore no helmets. The word was that they could breath anything.
"Wirefield ahead!"
The charge halted as the men flattened rather than blunder into an
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