[Republic Commando] - 03(120)

He could hear the LAAT/i gunships now, the larties, a wonderfully reassuring chonker-chonker sound that said extraction, air support, and friendly faces.

“This is like using thermal dets on insects,” Fi said, more to himself than anything. “They might knock out a few Torrents if they’re lucky.”

“We don’t often have this much of an advantage, ner vod,” said Niner. “Enjoy it while you can.”

The chonking note of the larties was overlaid now with much higher-pitched drives, the equally familiar sound of V-19 Torrent fighters that rose to a deafening crescendo as they streaked low overhead. Darman’s helmet audio shut down briefly to protect his hearing. Seconds later the first fireball rose into the night sky above the eastern approach road, and the battle started.

Darman found it unsettling to stand waiting while other troops went forward. Omega were used to being the first in, softening up position, sabotaging, preparing the battlefield. Forward air control-if they were fulfilling that role at all with Leveler in orbit-was something a droid could do: observing, confirming, relaying accurate coordinates and data. They didn’t need scarce resources like a commando squad to do it.

Adrenaline without an outlet was a bad thing. Darman fretted. Fifty meters west of them, one of the larties landed and a squad of 35th Infantry jumped out.

“You want a ride in?” the sergeant said. “We’re securing the HoloNet center. Don’t want to break it before we can send out all those uplifting Republic messages, do we?”

“We had an op order once,” Niner said, mock-wistful, “but obviously some officer lost the thing. Shab, why not? We’re just watching the show otherwise.” He opened the link to Leveler. “Leveler, Omega requesting confirmation that you want us to take the HoloNet center …”

The comm officer on the line didn’t sound like a clone. He did sound under a lot of pressure, though.

“Omega, confirmed.”

Niner jogged after the 35th’s sergeant; Darman’s tally scanner showed him as Tel. “He’s a man of few words.”

“That’s because he doesn’t know many,” Tel said. “We’ve got mongrel officers now, for fierfek’s sake, and that one only got through the Academy because his dad’s some ranking captain. If he could read a chart, he’d be dangerous. You should hear Pellaeon having a go at him.” Tel paused. “Pellaeon’s all right, though. They’re not all useless.”

Omega piled into the gunship through its open side, and Darman grabbed a safety strap. Mongrels: more nonclone officers, then. He hadn’t had contact with many. Fi and Atin peered out of the crew bay with the confidence born of armor that could take a lot more punishment than the average trooper’s. Darman watched the slight “tilt of white-helmeted heads as the infantry checked out the commandos’ kit, like they always did. When it was the only focus in your life, you tended to notice what kit others had and you didn’t.

“That matte-black rig,” said one of the grunts. “Is it so we can write interesting things on it in lumi-markers?”

“They teach you to write?” Fi feigned comic shock. “No point being that overqualified, ner vod. Is that why you go around in threes?”

“What?”

“One who can read, one who can write, and one who likes the company of intellectuals …”

“Tell me that one again when I’m on the winch end of your rappel line, will you?”

It was all banter. Nobody called them Mando-loving weirdos, anyway. The larty zigzagged between streams of triple-A and the smoke trails from flares.

“Just for your notebook,” Niner said quietly, “we usually go in and secure the strategic targets before the shooting starts. It’s idiosyncratic, I know, but it seems to work.”

“Tell the mongrel in the fancy uniform,” Tel said wearily. “I just go when sent.”

It was a surreal experience. The larty touched down briefly to drop the squads in an empty market square lit by the yellow glow of fires blazing nearby. There wasn’t a human being in sight: no defending army, no fleeing civilians, nothing. But they’d known the attack was imminent, and the Mar-its said there was an extensive network of underground service passages that would double as shelters. Darman felt a little better about that. They ran for the HoloNet building that was helpfully identified by a large sign reading HOLO-GAFTIKAR CHANNEL TEN.

Tel checked the datapad on his forearm plate. “Well, they’re still broadcasting. The satellite’s supposed to be neutralized, though.”

Atin fired a grapple over the edge of the roof and tugged on the line, testing for weight. “I’ll see what I can disable at the uplink anyway.” He winched himself up, and Niner and Fi stacked either side of the entrance with the 35th while Darman unrolled a strip of det tape with a flourish and stuck it on the doors to form a frame charge.