“Do not be concerned. I already know what is bad. Our losses have been crippling, and the battle remains set as it was when it began.”
“Then I will add that our warriors that do not lose themselves fight even better now than they did.” Ugla said, then snorted. “The bullet weapons are a great disappointment. Unlike the weapons of the enemy, ours do not work when it rains, or even when the air is wet. Many of our steadiest Uul have died relying on them.”
“Ours will improve,” Halik assured him. “We captured many of the enemy’s arms when we took the southern hill.”
“As you say, Lord. That will be a great help… someday. In the meantime, the enemy has improved as well, even beyond his skill in the highlands on Ceylon.” His crest rose. “Our warriors who have not turned prey do not fear the enemy, but the enemy does not fear us either! How can battles end if there is no fear?”
“They end when we kill them all,” Halik said softly. “And they will fear us soon.”
“Your orders, Lord General?”
“Tonight, we attack with everything! All our reserves, even the hatchlings, will move forward. They will follow behind, but they will not allow the attack to falter. They will kill any that come at them, even our own!”
“We will lose so many,” Ugla said in what approximated dismay for him.
“Yes. We may lose all of the attackers and that is a great tragedy, but it is the defenders that we must leave in possession of the pass!”
“As you command, my lord,” Ugla said, bowing. “But… what of the enemy that remains in possession of yonder hill?” he asked, gesturing vaguely northwest. “We cannot just leave them there… can we?”
“I would desire the warriors who guard them for this push,” Halik said thoughtfully. “The enemy on the hill has been sorely hurt and cannot remain strong. Pull everything away for our assault but those on guard to the north.” He paused. “They will join us as well-after they swarm over the top of the hill. Any of the enemy that escapes will have nowhere to go but toward us here, and they will be erased at last.”
“Very good, Lord General.”
North Hill, west of the Rocky Gap
March 20, 1944
Colonel William Flynn had watched the sun go down on the west side of his hill and now stood in the heavy darkness atop the eastern slope, watching the lightning storm of battle pulse against the low clouds above the Rocky Gap. The indomitable General Maraan had held her ground near the mouth of that pass for… could it be five days now? He tried to remember, but the exact number wouldn’t come. His time on North Hill with the shattered remnants of his division had blurred into what seemed a timeless span of misery.
There was precious little food and almost no water. Some food and ammunition had been air-dropped to the tattered remnants of Flynn’s Rangers, the 1st of the 2nd Marines, and the Sularans, by parachutes. Leedom had told him that his flyers were required to wear them now, but the ones designed to carry a ’Cat or human safely to the ground couldn’t land a water cask lightly enough to keep it from shattering. Larger, hastily made patchwork parachutes had been tried, but with only slightly better results. Enough food and water had arrived to keep the division alive, but only just, and fewer and fewer flights could be made because General-Queen Protector Safir Maraan’s much larger, equally trapped force required the greater effort. It was a terrible equation. A dwindling Air Corps had to choose between bombs to protect the isolated troops or supplies to sustain them-both of which were in equal demand-and it still had to guard against the occasional but dangerous zeppelin raid. The situation couldn’t go on much longer like this.
There had been growing assurances that it wouldn’t have to. Communications had finally completely failed the day before, but Flynn knew General Alden was making progress in his drive to relieve II Corps. If he reestablished the supply line, some of the pressure might fall away from General Maraan, and more air could be diverted to Flynn. There was even talk of support from First Fleet air, which would become available for some reason in a few days. The trouble was, none of that really mattered anymore to the survivors trapped on North Hill. Things had suddenly begun happening fast, and time was running out. Flynn could feel it.
Captain Saachic approached him in the near-perfect darkness lit only by the distant battle. “Col-nol,” he said quietly, “our scouts confirm it: The enemy has pulled everything out but the six or eight thousands that still block us from the north. The rest?” Saachic shrugged. “Maybe they join the attack in the Gap?”
“What about the ones that didn’t leave?”
“I think they are coming, Col-nol,” Saachic said grimly. “All of them. Why else remain?”
“I bet you’re right, Captain,” Flynn said, and sighed. Then he chuckled grimly. “Well, we can’t stop ’em if they all come at once. Between what we had left and the small-arms ammunition the Air Corps dropped us, we might’ve had a chance-if they could’ve given us some artillery ammo. We’re completely out of exploding case, roundshot, and mortar bombs-and we’ve got maybe three rounds of canister left per gun.” He looked southeast, toward the battle raging in the Gap. “And we damn sure can’t run away from ’em.” He almost laughed. “It always comes down to just three choices, doesn’t it? All that leaves us is to try to beat ’em to the punch. Attack downhill, concentrating everything we’ve got right at their gut, and blow through ’em like bowling pins!”
“Sir…” Saachic hesitated. “I think we can do that,” he said cautiously. “We might even scatter them… but most will chase us as they recover-and I think most will recover. These are not the same Grik we used to fight, and even if they were, the sight of fleeing prey… Our infantry cannot outrun them.” Lemurians as a species were amazingly strong and agile. They could even move pretty quickly when they had to and had decent endurance. Unlike humans, however, and particularly unlike Grik, they just weren’t built for sprinting.
“I know that, Saachic,” Flynn calmly agreed. “But I guess that’s not really the point, is it? Meanies can outrun ’em, and it’ll be your job to get as many out as you can.” Flynn interrupted Saachic’s dark thoughts with a slap on the shoulder. “Hey,” he said, suddenly grinning beneath the mustache that pulsed fire red under the cloud-reflected flashes. “This one’s really gonna make us famous!”
Saachic forced a grin. “Of course. There is that,” he said, then paused. “Assuming we do break through and escape our pursuers, where will we go?”
“Does it really matter?” Flynn asked. “Away, first. Anywhere but here. You can figure out where when you can take a breath.” He scratched his chin. He really hadn’t had time to give it any thought and doubted he’d be around to do so later. “North, I guess,” he finally suggested, “then try to find a way east through the mountains. I bet your meanies could do it almost anywhere, but you’ll have to get the wounded through in the ambulances-if they make it. Maybe you can rig travois?” He shook his head. “One thing at a time.”
Over the next hour, while the distant battle flared and pulsed, the eleven hundred or so effectives under Flynn’s command struggled to move every gun remaining on the hill to the northern slope. The maze of fallen trees made it extremely difficult, and several guns had to be disassembled and shifted over obstacles by hand, which caused many injuries in the darkness, but they didn’t dare make a light. If the Grik realized what they were doing, they would doubtless attack immediately, and the disorganized defenders wouldn’t have a chance. Finally, most of the guns were in position, placed nearly hub to hub, and those too badly damaged for the role they would soon play were spiked and their spokes were shattered.
Every able-bodied Ranger, Marine, and Sularan took his or her place behind the guns, rifled muskets loaded with the loose buck and ball they all still used in desperate situations. Most carried more loaded muskets, inherited from fallen comrades, slung diagonally across their backs. Many of the Marines carried similarly loaded muskets as well. Some would retain their precious breechloaders and serve as guards for the wounded loaded on the various caissons, carts, and other vehicles they’d converted or cobbled into ambulances and hitched to the few surviving paalkas. They were too low on ammunition for the new weapons for them to be of further use, so the rest of the 1st of the 2nd’s rifles lined the bottoms of the vehicles beneath the wounded. It was important they not be captured.
Saachic’s Maa-ni-lo cavalry waited behind the guns and infantry, carrying two and sometimes three riders each. The extra riders and all the unexpected activity in the dark made the irascible me-naaks nervous, but at least they weren’t hungry; there’d been plenty of Grik for them to feast upon. The animals were incredibly tough, naturally armored with thick cases like a rhino pig, so even Grik crossbow bolts didn’t bother them much from a distance, but there were fewer than two hundred of them left alive.
“They’re getting ready,” Bekiaa-Sab-At said, closing her telescope as Flynn joined her. Her head was still wrapped in a bloody bandage beneath her helmet where she’d taken a blow from the flat of a Grik sword. “I see little glowing dots. They are lighting their matchlocks.”
