Andromeda's Fall (Legion of the Damned) by William C. Dietz Page B

like Drang and Algeron.
    “Third, there ain’t no better way to learn how to fight than to spend some quality time with the frogs. Those water-sucking bastards are tough, and if you survive basic, you’ll be a combat veteran. So pay attention, people. What you learn here could save your life.”
    Class was dismissed after that, and McKee was in the mob of recruits headed for the mess deck, when someone shouldered her aside. It was Larkin. “Hey, watch where you’re going, bitch . . . Or do you want another ass kicking?”
    Then the bully was gone as he pushed his way toward the front of what would soon become the chow line. McKee felt a sudden surge of anger and battled to tamp it down. She couldn’t take Larkin head-on. She knew that. But I will take him, McKee thought to herself. It’s just a matter of time.
    IMPERIAL PLANET DRANG
    Thunder-and-lightning storms were common, and the shuttle shook like a thing possessed as it dropped into Drang’s troposphere and entered its final approach. There was less airsickness this time, but half a dozen recruits had been forced to barf into their helmets and looked up in surprise as Hasker announced that “The ship’s about to land—so put those brain buckets back on.”
    That got a big laugh from all the recruits who hadn’t thrown up. But their moment of joy was short-lived as the shuttle fell into an air pocket and lost one hundred feet of altitude before lurching forward again. After another three minutes of flight, the pilot said, “Hang on to your panties,” and the skids hit hard. As the repellers shut down, McKee heard the sound of rain drumming on the hull and knew it was going to be miserable outside.
    “Welcome to Fire Base Charlie-Four,” Hasker said cheerfully. “Or what will be FBC-4 once you pukes build it. Because right now, it ain’t nothing but a clearing in the jungle. Release your harnesses and follow me.”
    McKee saw a rectangle of light appear as the noncom clomped down the stern ramp into the pouring rain. He was wearing a bush hat, a poncho, and jungle boots. An assault rifle and a wicked-looking bush knife completed the outfit. Humid air flooded the cargo compartment, and the mutter of distant thunder was heard as Corporal Anders hollered, “What the hell are you waiting for? An engraved invitation? Get your asses out there.”
    McKee felt the rain pelt her hat and poncho as she followed the first group of recruits out onto soggy ground. What she saw was depressing to say the least. FBC-4 was nothing more than a landing pad and a pile of cargo modules sitting on a patch of high ground. And as far as she could tell, the “high ground” wasn’t all that high—being only ten or fifteen feet above the dirty-looking swamp water that lapped all around it.
    Heavy equipment had been used to strip all of the vegetation off the roughly circular plot of land, an electrified fence had been installed around the perimeter, and the soft glow of pole-mounted lights could be seen through the gloom. And of special interest, to McKee at least, were the Carletto Industries Trooper Is that could be seen patrolling just inside the fence.
    Each cyborg was eight feet tall and weighed half a ton. And, because the war forms were intended to be intimidating, they had ovoid heads with smooth faces. Their bulky wedge-shaped torsos were designed to take lots of punishment, and their hydraulically operated limbs were thick and sturdy. A Trooper I could run at speeds up to thirty-five miles per hour for sustained periods of time and operate in a variety of other environments, including vacuum and Class I through Class IX gas atmospheres. Plus, each cyborg could carry a bio bod on his or her back.
    McKee wanted to go over and inspect one of the cyborgs up close but was forced to put that desire on hold, as Hasker and his fellow NCOs began to holler orders. Anders pointed at a large stack of cargo containers at the center of the compound. “Unload those mothers or