'Just as long as you ain't talking to one of those gods they're so strong on around these parts.'
Reave laughed despite himself. 'You know me better than that.'
A sudden burst of music cut through the night air of the quietly waiting city, complex cascading figures from a chromacon played by an expert.
'Clay Blaisdell.'
'Grandstanding as usual. Trying to make it into history.'
Reave smiled, but he could not shake the oppressive melancholy. The music only made it worse. 'You think we'll hear him play that thing again?'
The Minstrel Boy looked at Reave in shocked surprise. It was not like Reave to give in to that kind of pessimism. 'Will you put a cover on that talk?'
Out of the flatland, beyond the city walls, other lights were moving. Zeum's preparations for repelling the invaders were in full swing. Reave had to admit that even though it was a suicidal fantasy, it was also a textbook defense. Neat shield squares were positioned in staggered rows, taking maximum advantage of the contours of the ground. If Zeum had been expecting three hundred Spartans, he would have been in fine shape.
The raiders came across the horizon just as the first gray ofdawn flashed gold with the coming sun. Just as Reave had imagined, they were strung out along the riverbank, black shapes plodding through the early morning ground mist like a dejected wolf pack, dispirited as men can be when there is no alternative except to perpetuate the horror. Reave could feel it as strongly as if he were down among them.
In comparison, Zeum's troops were magnificent. Their white tunics and scarlet plumes were dazzling. The sun flashed from their armor, and the horses of the small cavalry unit pranced eagerly. Reave turned away. It was too depressing to watch. They were quite insane.
The Minstrel Boy yawned. 'So now they're here, what do we do?'
'Absolutely nothing. I'm going to stay right here and observe.'
The Minstrel Boy looked curiously at Reave, who seemed to be in the grip of a grim fatalism. It was probably time to start getting everyone drunk. It might be the only way to get through the day.
The engagement started painfully slowly. At the same plodding pace, the raiders turned inland from the river. The Minstrel Boy noticed that there were no armored vehicles with the column. It was possible that they had no more fuel. They crossed the top end of the flatlands until they were spread out in a loose skirmish line — and there they stopped. They did nothing except lean on their saddles and wait. They reminded the Minstrel Boy of a flock of vultures waiting for a death in the herd.
The herd, or to be more precise, the leader of the herd, did not seem content to let death come in its own sweet time. General Zeum, followed by his aides and executive officers, clattered out of the gates below Reave and the Minstrel Boy on a huge black charger with a blond mane and tail. He cantered past the series of squares, doffing his plumed helmet and accepting the organized cheers of his legion. When he reached the last square, the one closest to the line of Baptiste's raiders, he reined in the charger. He was too far away for those on the gate tower to actually hear the order, but the intention was plain.
'I see it, but I don't believe it.'
Of all the stupidity Reave had witnessed since he had arrived in Palanaque, Zeum's act had to be the crowning folly. With a crash of drums, the square nearest the line of raiders advanced.
Close-ordered and in half-time lockstep, they moved on the enemy, spears advanced, banners spread, maintaining a perfect formation. It took just five raiders to cut them to pieces. They slipped from their saddles, took a couple of paces forward, and, without the slightest pretense of taking cover, raised their weapons just as though they were shooting at targets on a range. The casual way they opened fire was nothing short of insulting. Taking their time and picking their shots, they gunned down every one of the hundred men in the phalanx. The bloodily bizarre part was that the hoplites did not falter. They stepped over the fallen and just kept going. Even when there was only a handful of them left, the Palanaquii made no attempt to halt their advance, let alone run away or otherwise try to save themselves. At no time did the hoplites attempt to throw their spears: That would have been a breach of discipline. As the smoke drifted away from the litter of bodies, the raiders holstered their weapons and climbed back on their mounts. One at a time the Palanaquii squares moved up and changed position, filling the gap left by the massacred hundred.
The Minstrel Boy sighed and shook his head. 'I guess this is going to be repeated over and over until there are none left.'
Reave turned and leaned against the parapet. 'I won't be sticking around to watch it.'
The Minstrel Boy was looking toward the river. 'I think something else is about to happen.'
An armored car was racing along the riverbank, leaving a cloud of dust. Reave turned and looked. 'That's Baptiste himself.'
'And what's this?'
There were a pair of specks in the air above the horizon, leaving white contrails against the blue of the sky.
'Oh, shit, they do have aircraft.'
The specks were growing rapidly bigger and taking on recognizable shapes.
'A pair of box-wing deltas. I wonder where the hell Baprtiste recruited them from.'
The two identical dark blue needle-nosed aircraft with strange box-kite wing formations were coming in fast and low. They swept over the line of raiders in a roar of rocket motors. Their nose-mounted cannons began to flash and stammer. They roared over the Palanaquii squares little more than ten feet off theground, strafing as they went. While the dead fell and the dying kicked and screamed, the survivors rigidly held their position. Again there was no attempt to find cover, and no order was given to do so. As the leading plane approached the city wall, it lifted. The Minstrel Boy sprang at Reave and pushed him down into the shelter of the parapet. A line of small explosions stitched their way across the gatehouse roof. They lay huddled beneath the wall as the second plane followed the first. When it passed, the Minstrel Boy scrambled to his feet.
'WeVe got to get down from here before they come back.'
The two planes screamed on across the city, following the path of the main central boulevard. Halfway to the pyramid the first aircraft loosed the rocket that was slung beneath its fuselage. The rocket hit the pyramid about two-thirds of the way up in a burst of red fire and black smoke. The targeting of the Great Pyramid might have been a fine piece of symbolism, but for tactical effect it was a complete waste of ammunition. The marble surface was burned and shattered, but the underlying stone structure was virtually indestructible. Before the second delta could fire, there was the roar of a third motor.
'What the fuck does he think he's doing?'
Jet Ace was rising straight up into the air, his dorsal rocket firing at full power.
'Does he really believe he can take on both of them?'
'He's always wanted to be a hero.'
The deltas had spotted the flying man and were turning to meet him. The leader opened fire, but Jet Ace executed a quick forward loop. He extended his right arm and loosed a massive focused heat blast. It struck the first plane directly in front of the rocket housing, and the delta blew apart like a bomb going off. Debris spiraled down over the city. Watching the spectacle. Reave and the Minstrel Boy completely forgot about their own safety.
'He got one! He goddamn got one!'
'Watch out for the other one, Ace! He's above you!'
The remaining delta had gained height and was turning to attack. Jet Ace let go with another blast, but it went harmlessly by the enemy aircraft. He desperately tried to gain height, but the delta pilot had him in his sights, and only a fast swooping roll saved him from being nailed by a burst of tracer. The rocket man and the airplane both came around, each in a tight Immelmann, each jockeying to lock onto the other's tail. Jet Ace proved to have the greater turning power. He fired again and hit the delta somewhere aft. Smoke streamed from the body of the plane, and it began to lose height.
'He's going down! He's going into the river!'
Just seconds before the delta hit the water, the pilot fired his missile. The rocket began to climb and turn.
'Damn it! He hasn't seen it.'
'It's behaving like a heat seeker.'
