wondered if the shots came from the new Grik matchlocks or weapons captured on South Hill. There was a flurry of toomp sounds as mortar bombs arced into the sky and began snapping among those closest Grik, sending geysers of earth, screaming Grik, and shredded grass into the air. The enemy fusillade was interrupted and none of the galloping cav ’Cats were hit. A couple of me-naaks may have been, but they all flowed back up over the barbed wired entanglements, and the hasty berm.
“They’re not stopping!” Bekiaa shouted suddenly, still staring at the Grik. The whole mob that had gone for the flyer-and some other groups as well-kept right on coming, straight for the south slope of the hill. A couple of planes dropped two more bombs into the mass, and the gun-armed Nancys made another firing pass but then they flew off, into the rising sun, maybe low on fuel but certainly out of ordnance.
“Battery!” Bekiaa yelled. “Load canister! Mortars, increase elevation. First Marines and Company-A Rangers, make ready!”
Saachic’s meanie picked its way through the fallen trees to rejoin Flynn and Bekiaa, and a bloodied, scorched man slid down from the animal and stood before them. He saluted absently.
“Goddamn!” he gasped, taking an offered canteen. “Thanks!”
“Leedom?” Flynn asked, remembering the man’s name.
“Yes, sir,” the man replied, taking a gulp and wiping his mouth. “Lieutenant Commander Mark Leedom, acting COFO for Army and Naval air out of Madras! You’re Colonel Flynn?”
“I am.”
“Battery!” Bekiaa roared again. “Marines and Rangers! At my command… Fire!”
The yellowish white smoke that always seemed to accompany their canister gushed downhill in an opaque, rolling wall, and the deafening thunder of the guns overwhelmed the volley of muskets.
“Independent, fire at will!” Bekiaa ordered, her voice cracking, and with a glance at Flynn, she dashed toward the guns for a better view. With the stirring breeze, the smoke would clear there soonest.
“What happened, Commander?” Flynn asked.
“I got shot down!” Leedom replied defiantly. “They had some kind of gun mounted in the gondola; like a little cannon loaded with shot. It hammered us just like a damn duck!” He looked at the plane, burning amid the surging Grik. “Tacos-my OC-got hit…” He looked down. “He was a good ’Cat. God, I hope he was already dead before…” He looked back at Flynn. “Colonel, you’re in the shit.” Artillery and the firing of the fast-loading Allin-Silvas almost drowned his words, but Flynn heard.
“Don’t I know it,” he agreed grimly, watching the slope below the guns, willing the Grik to break. But they just kept coming, running or crawling over their own dead in places. “Shit! Just a minute!” He spun toward a ’Cat beside him wearing the painted bars of a captain on his leather armor. “Get your company up there right damn now! They ain’t stopping!” The ’Cat bolted, and the crackle of rifles increased amid the hissing roar of the Grik. Two guns bucked at once, spewing canister and scything down dozens, maybe a hundred of the enemy, they were so tightly packed. Mortar ’Cats, no longer able to bring their primary weapons to bear, were throwing grenades like baseballs, as fast as they could pull the pins. The wailing shrieks were terrible, and with the combination of concentrated fire, canister, and now the storm of grenade fragments, the swarm finally seemed to balk.
“Reserves already, Colonel?” Leedom muttered. “God, I hope not!”
“Flying reserves,” Flynn admitted, troubled. “We have more-but we’re surrounded, as you can see, and I can’t strip much around the perimeter.” He pointed at the south slope. “So far, this is the only attack, but if they see a hole somewhere else, they might go for it.” He hesitated. “Why? What did you see?”
Leedom stripped the goggles off his head and threw them on the ground. “Colonel, you have no idea how surrounded you are.” He snorted. “ We are.”
The reserve company formed, standing, behind the junction of the Marines and Rangers, where the two battalions had become intermingled, firing as quickly as they could. That’s where the most densely packed Grik thrust seemed to be headed, as if deliberately aimed there, like a wedge.
“What the hell?” Flynn murmured.
Four guns snarled with distinct, separate thunderclaps of fire, and the reserve company poured in a volley of buck and ball at less than thirty yards. Finally, finally, the Grik charge staggered, shrouded in smoke, lead, and a blizzard of downy fur and reddish vapor. Only then did something like Grik Rout grip what remained of the bloody stump of the enemy thrust. Maddened by wounds, pain, and panic, some Grik turned on each other, fighting to get back, aside, away from the hail of bullets and buzzing canister. These, as always, were hacked down by their comrades, but not before the charge stacked up behind them and the withering fire spread the effect. Hundreds fell in the next few moments while those behind pressed against others that retained no notion other than an instinctual imperative to escape.
All the veteran troops had seen Grik Rout before, and they cheered when they saw the symptoms now-but the cheer slowly died and the stunned Marines and Rangers resumed firing with a will when it didn’t really happen. The charge came apart, and many did flee mindlessly, but the great bulk of the surviving attackers backed away, still shooting crossbows or firing the weird matchlocks, if they had them. Only the Rangers had ever seen the enemy retire before, and they’d been beyond musket shot then. The rifled muskets still picked at them and so did the big guns, but it hadn’t really been a retreat under fire. Not like this.
Flynn gave the order to cease firing after the Grik moved beyond a hundred yards. Leedom’s words still echoed in his mind, even without a proper explanation, and he instinctively knew that explanation would mean they had to conserve ammunition. The smoke slowly drifted away and dissipated in time for them all to see the attacking force rejoin the multitudes that ringed them-and be welcomed back into those ranks.
“A hell of a thing,” Flynn muttered. His gaze turned to the field below the breastworks and the dark mounds bearing down on the tall grass. He couldn’t see them all, of course, but there were surely thousands; maybe half the force that broke ranks to go after the fallen plane to start with. He could see inside the breastworks as well, now that the smoke was gone, and stretcher bearers climbed out of the ditch with their grisly, moaning burdens. These were carried to the centrally located medical section that had set to work under lean-tos erected around a tree-trunk stockade. After they deposited their burdens with the surgeons, the stretcher bearers returned to the ditch for more.
Bekiaa rejoined them. The white fur around her mouth was smudged black with powder from tearing open musket cartridges with her teeth, and her painted armor was dingy and streaked with blood. She’d slung her rifled musket, but seemed to sag under its weight.
“That was… closer than I expected,” she said softly, barely audible over a loud, eerie chant the Grik had begun. None of them had ever heard anything like it, but its newness didn’t compare to the other changes they’d seen in the short fight.
“Yeah,” Flynn agreed. He turned to Leedom. “What were you saying? What did you mean?”
Bekiaa looked at the flyer and blinked tired curiosity.
“I’m afraid we’re cooked,” Leedom said, almost matter-of-factly. “Have you got comm?”
“I hope so. The guys were trying to patch up the generator,” Flynn admitted.
“Listen, sir, I gotta report what shot me down so other guys don’t get it!”
“You need to tell me what you saw!” Flynn demanded.
“Okay. General Alden needs to hear it too. If comm’s up, I’ll tell you while we send it. Fair?” He suddenly looked around with an almost-desperate expression for the first time, and patted the holster under his arm. “Say, uh, I sure could use a weapon besides my pistol!” He looked dubiously at Bekiaa’s rifle musket. “You got any oh- threes around here?”
CHAPTER 15
March 14, 1944
USS Salissa (CV-1)
Lieutenant Sandy Newman banged on the bulkhead beside the door, or “hatch,” to Admiral Keje-Fris-Ar’s quarters, despite the Marine sentry standing there, who blinked astonishment at the breach of protocol. Keje opened the heavy door and stepped into the passageway.
“I was just on my way,” he said. “Cap-i-taan Atlaan-Fas called me over the bridge voice tube. Come, you can
