The king grunted as the gates of the distant city opened at last. It was difficult to see much at this distance, but it was obvious that the city’s forces were pouring out into the plain to defend their fields.
“I’d hoped they would take longer to respond,” he grumped.
“Well,” O’Casey smiled, “they say no plan survives contact with the enemy.” She tried not to smile too broadly as she recalled Pahner’s explanation of the sole exception to that rule—the first few moments of a surprise attack
“Look.” The king pointed to the struggling plasma cannon team. “Your lightning weapon is almost to the hill.”
Moseyev’s team had reached the parklike hill, and were toiling up the overgrown path, and Radj Hoomas pointed again, this time to a small group of his own forces which had separated from the main body.
“I hope no one minds, but I sent along some of my own troops.” He grunted in laughter, looking down at the chief of staff. “Just in case your soldiers should meet up with stragglers or brigands. You can never be too careful, you know.”
“Oh, I agree,” the academic said with a slight frown. “War is a terrible business. One never knows what might go wrong.”
“Okay,” Gronningen said. “We’ve got nursemaids.” The big Asgardian frowned. “This is going to fuck things up.”
“I see ’em,” Moseyev grunted. “Stay with the plan.”
“There’s nearly twenty of ’em,” Macek’s tone wasn’t nervous, just professional.
“Yeah,” Moseyev said, grunting again—this time under the combined weight of their overloaded packs and the plasma cannon. “And there’s four of us, and we planned for this. When we get in place, put out the gear right away. Even
The king grunted in laughter as the Marshad forces came to a halt on the plain. The formation’s wings were composed of standard mercenary companies, professionals who would stand and fight as long as they felt the battle was going for them, and not a second longer. They could be expected to lend weight to a successful attack, but only a fool would depend on them for more than that.
No, the critical point was in the center, where the strongest and deepest companies stood. The humans formed the front rank, “supported” by the majority of the Royal Guard immediately behind them, ready to cut them down if they attempted to flee or to exploit the expected breach the human weapons were about to rip through the Pasulians.
The Guards had stopped to dress their ranks before attacking . . . which gave the humans an opportunity to make one last communication.
“Fire it off, Julian,” Lieutenant Jasco said.
“Yes, Sir.” The NCO dug the star flare out of his cargo pocket and prepared it, then fired it into the air over the human forces—where both the Pasulian army and their Marshadan allies in the city could see it—with a thump.
“What was that?” the king demanded suspiciously as the green firework burst in midair.
“It’s a human custom,” O’Casey said indifferently. “It’s a sign that the force is here for battle and that no parley will be accepted.”
“Ah.” The mollified monarch gave another grunting laugh. “You seem eager to enter battle.”
“The sooner we finish, the sooner we can be on our way,” O’Casey said with absolute sincerity.
“There’s the signal,” Denat whispered.
“You don’t need to whisper,” Sena said grumpily. “No one can hear us here.”
They were back in their sewer tunnel, but Denat wasn’t paying any attention to the smell this time. The two of them were too busy watching the humans who had just topped out on the small hill across the river.
“What’s that they’re setting up?” Sena asked. The activity could barely be seen at this range.
“A lightning weapon,” Denat replied offhandedly. “One of their largest. It will cut through the enemy like a scythe.”
“Ah,” the spy said. “Good. It looks like they’re ready.”
“We’re up, boss.”
“Roger.” Moseyev looked to where Macek and Mutabi were putting in the last of the crosslike stakes. The stakes ran in a semicircle ten meters back from where the plasma cannon was set up. “You set, Mutabi?”
“Yep.” The grenadier dusted his hands. “Limit line’s all set.”
“Good, because here comes our company.” The team leader raised a hand at the group of Mardukans struggling up the hill. “Hold it. Why are you here?”
The Mardukan in the lead swatted at his hand.
“We were sent to keep an eye on you,
“Did you see what this thing did to the bridge?” Moseyev snapped. “I could give a shit why you’re here, frankly, but if you don’t follow our instructions
“We’re going to do as we damned well please,” the leader shot back angrily, but there was more than a hint of fear under his belligerence, and the troops behind him muttered nervously. “We’ll stay out of the way, but only where we can watch you,” he said in slightly more moderate tones. Clearly, he had no more interest in dying than the soldiers he commanded.
“Okay.” Moseyev pointed to the line of stakes. “There’s enough room behind the gun shield for the four of us, but no more, and we all have jobs to do so we can’t put any of you behind it. The stakes are the limit line—you’ll be safe enough as long as you stay behind it, but you’ll be close enough so that if we try to run or do any other funny stuff you can fill us full of javelins.”
The leader examined the situation and clapped his hands in agreement.
“Very good. But remember—we’ll be watching you!”
“You just do that,” Moseyev said, and turned back towards the gun so the idiot couldn’t see his feral smile.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
“Captain, this is Lieutenant Jasco,” the field commander said. He looked around at the bare platoon of soldiers and shook his head. “We’re in place with the Marshad forces. The plasma gun is in place, with its line out. Denat and the package are in place. I would say we’re a go.”
“Roger,” Pahner replied over the circuit. “Plasma team, you’re the initiators. When the Pasule forces charge.”
“Roger, Sir,” Moseyev responded nervously. “We’re ready.”
“Pahner, out.”
Moseyev looked over Gronningen’s fire plan one last time.
“Wait for my call,” he said.
“Got it,” the Asgardian grunted. “We’re locked and cocked.”
