once upon a time,» he added darkly. «Put us ashore, and made us take these guns» — he brandished the Browning Automatic Rifle, or BAR, in his hand' to keep ’em out of the workers’ way!» Silva shook his head. «No way back to
Matt tried to maintain a stern expression, but an unstoppable grin broke through. «My God, Silva, you missed your calling. Hollywood or Congress, that’s where you should be. I’ve never seen anyone tell such a ridiculous lie with such conviction.» He looked at Gray, glowering at Silva. «Chief, put these men on report. They can stay, but they’re in your custody and control. They will
«But, Skipper, beggin’ your pardon, haven’t we been doing that already? With the ship?» Silva asked, genuinely confused.
Matt nodded. «Yes, we have, but there’s a difference. The ship is who we are. She’s
«But. even some of the cat-monkeys have guns»
Matt’s voice took on an edge. «I’m not in the habit of explaining myself to gunner’s mates, Silva, but you may have noticed that Sergeant Alden’s Marine rifleor two, but the victory, if there is one, must be theirs.» He waved at the army again. «Won with their arms. Do you understand? That’s the only way they’ll ever win not just this battle but the war.»
Matt was convinced he was right. He just hoped it would turn out that way. Being right in theory wasn’t always the same as being right in practice.
«Does that mean we have to sling our rifles and just use these crummy cutlasses, Skipper?» asked Tom Felts from the other side of the dinosaur.
Matt grinned. «No, just don’t shoot unless I say so. Damn, I thought I said that.»
«Just shut up, you stupid apes,» growled the Bosun. «Can’t you see the cap’n’s got a battle to think about? One more word out of you and I’ll drag your asses back to the dock and you’ll miss the whole thing!»
Lieutenant Shinya’s voice rose above the silence of the waiting army. «Soldiers of the Allied Expeditionary Force! People of the Sacred Tree and sons and daughters of the Heavens!» Others answered his shrill voice, up and down the line. Many didn’t hear him over the stiffening breeze, but they heard the voices of those closer to them.
«First Guard Regiment!»
«Second Guard Regiment!»
«Second Marines!»
And on and on, followed by the shouts of company commanders and squad leaders.
«At the quick time,
As a single entity, the entire army stepped off with their left feet just as they’d been taught and began to move forward with long, purposeful strides that ate up ground at a surprising rate. The guns went with them, and two dozen artillerymen per piece manhandled the weapons and ammunition right along with the infantry. It was amazing. To Matt’s knowledge, the army had never been able to train together on such a scale before, either on the parade ground or in the newly cleared zones around Baalkpan City. But for the most part, the formation held together with almost total precision. Here and there, NCOs called a cadence or shouted instructions for their squads to keep up or slow down, but the overall impression of discipline was impressive. Pete Alden, the man who, more than anyone, had built this army, would be proud. Matt was proud. Despite his inner anxiety, he felt a sudden thrill. He knew then what it must have felt like to be Caesar, or Alexander, watching his well-trained army march into battle against disorganized barbarians. The historian within him continued to whisper insidiously that the barbarians often won, but for the moment, he didn’t — wouldn’t — listen. The die was cast and the time for strategy was past.
There would be little maneuver; there was no point. When they engaged the enemy, the army would extend from the walls of the city almost to the banks of the river and he was reminded of one of his favorite Nelson quotes: «Never mind about maneuvers. Just go straight at ’em.» That was about all they could do in this confined space. When the two forces came together, there’d just be fighting and hacking and killing. His great hope then was that the training his people had received would make the difference. Of course, they did have a few surprises for the Grik even before that happened.
The battle raged with more intensity at the base of the distant walls, and more and more ladders fell against them. Occasionally, firebombs arced up in high trajectories and fell among the defenders beyond his view. Matt surmised the enemy must have some sort of portable machine or was difficult to tell through his binoculars how well the Aryaalans were holding because of the odd, jouncing gait of his mount. He heard a different note from the horns of the Grik in front of them, one with a kind of strident edge. He thought, incongruously, that they really needed to come up with some means like that for the Lemurians to signal one another. Their mouths were shaped all wrong to blow on a bugle. They had some woodwind-type horns, but they just weren’t loud enough. Maybe the conch-like shells they blew as a warning? Even simple whistles would be better than nothing. He should have thought of that sooner. He wondered how the Grik managed it. The way their mouths were shaped, he couldn’t see how they could do anything with them other than tear flesh.
At three hundred yards, a single command echoed up and down the line.
«Shields!»
The tall, rectangular shields made from bronze plate backed with wood that the first two ranks carried clashed together as they were locked, side to side, overlapping one another to form a mobile wall. Spears came down in unison and rested on the top edges of the shields as the army advanced. It was an impressive display and Matt wondered what the enemy thought. He knew the sight had horrified the enemies of Rome, but he had no idea how the Grik would react. A smattering of crossbow bolts fluttered toward them. Most landed short, but a few thunked into the shield wall. A single piercing scream reached his ears from far to the left. His unlikely mount lumbered mindlessly along with a kind of quartering, rolling motion, following behind the trotting ranks but easily keeping up with its plodding, long-legged pace.
«Halt!» came the cry at two hundred yards, and the advance ground to a stop. For a moment there was a little confusion as the ranks realigned themselves. A runner dashed up from where Shinya had stopped with his staff a short distance away. He spoke in carefully enunciated English. «Lieutenant Shinya sends his respects, sir, and asks if he may commence firing?»
«By all means,» Matt answered. With a salute, the young runner scampered away. Matt glanced down and saw Keje standing with Chief Gray. The Chief was practically supporting him as the Lemurian wheezed and Matt felt a pang of shame. The advance from the barricade had to have been tough on his portly friend. Keje was strong as a bull, but Matt doubted he’d had many occasions to trot as far as he had. «Keje,» he called, «why don’t you join me up here? You can sure see better. There’s plenty of room.»
Keje eyed the beast with suspicion, but gratefully nodded his head. He climbed swiftly onto the platform and settled next to Matt and Lord Rolak’s aide. He was still puffing a little. «I grow too old,» he said, «and my legs are too short for this fighting on land.» He shook his head. «It is unnatural.»
Matt glanced behind them and smiled. «But you didn’t come much farther than the length of
«Perhaps, but
«Batteries, forward!» came the command. «Archers, prepare!» Gaps opened in the shield wall to allow the guns to be pushed through. Their crews immediately raced to load them with fixed charges consisting of thin tin canisters filled with two hundred three-quarter-inch balls on top of a wooden sabot to which was attached a fabric bag of powder. In carefully choreographed, highe had heard the thunder. Not just the thunder from the ships, which he’d begun to hear already, but the thunder that came from the sea folk land force. That was when he had known it
