The half dozen or so flying cylinders that all the time had been drifting harmlessly over the army took this as their cue and began dropping explosives and gas bombs. The gases — not used extensively for fear they would reach our own side — were almost instantly dispersed by the stiff breeze that crossed the plain and did little harm. The explosives flared in red, smoky blasts and took care of a score of men at a time.
I was mildly surprised at the unambitious nature of this bombardment. Why had the Rotrox not sprung hundreds of flying cylinders on the Rheattites, loaded to the roof with bombs, and annihilated them from the air? But when I looked at the type of ground weapons both sides had, I realised they were suffering from a rigidity of thinking. In the minds of both the Meramites and the Rheattites, warfare meant primarily close combat. Neither the fire-lances of the Rotrox nor the dart-guns of the Rheattites were accurate at long range, and neither did they pack much of a punch. The combatants stalked one another at close quarters or else fired away at one another at close range, coming swiftly in to grapple with knives if neither was successful. This style of fighting took little account of the type of efficient killing machine we had brought with us from Killibol.
With startling rapidity the fighter aircraft were among us. They were able to twist and turn in the air with considerable agility. Mounted on the front of their fuselages, just below the cockpit, they carried launching tubes which fired explosive rockets.
The Rotrox evidently had respect for these skilled aerial fighters. They themselves had atmospheric fighters of a clumsier kind, a great number of which had been launched in midair as the invasion fleet came in. Because of their superior numbers they had succeeded in virtually wiping out the Rheattite air force, but at great cost. What we saw now were the defenders’ last few craft, and the Rotrox had decided not to pit their own surviving flying machines against them.
Instead, Bec had volunteered our services. He gave me a signal. I climbed up a short ladder. At the same time the side of the cylinder closed up like an eyelid, leaving only a narrow horizontal slot running the length of the vessel.
I emerged on to a small platform mounted atop the cylinder. One of our Hacker cannon from the sloop had been fitted there, complete with a personnel shield and a full magazine.
I scrambled behind the cannon and took a good look round me. The fighters were attacking the cylinders, downing them like ninepins. None of the other cylinders seemed to have any means of defending themselves. I saw one tip over and crash to the ground, breaking up under the impact of exploding rockets.
Then I swung the Hacker round fast. A fighter craft was howling towards me, lining up its rocket tube. I’m pretty good with a Hacker. I put my eye to the sight and pressed the button. A hard stream of shells hammered out. The fighter disintegrated in a cloud of flame, raining fragments all around.
I grinned tightly, traversing the Hacker and scanning the sky. The platform underneath me was rock steady, had hardly wavered in the blast. I began to feel good.
Most of the other cylinders were going down now. I adjusted the sight and trained on an aircraft just coming out of an attack dive about a mile and a half away. Only one or two of the shells found their targets but one of its wings dropped off and the machine tumbled earthwards, spinning end over end.
These fighter craft were nimble but they were flimsy. Just one well-placed Hacker shell was enough to send them flying to pieces. I downed another at fairly long range before they realised where the danger lay. Then two aircraft turned their noses towards me and came up fast. A rocket whanged over my head and exploded some distance behind me. The fighter it had come from followed moments later, on fire and already disintegrating from the hammering I had given it. Flaming fuel splashed down on to the cylinder. For a few seconds I was confused and could see nothing. Then I glimpsed the second fighter howling towards me and hastily tried to train the barrel of the Hacker on it.
But before I pressed the firing button the aircraft exploded into fragments.
I took a look at the ground. The shots had come from another Hacker, wielded by a Rotrox gunner in the sloop, which was emerging from one of culverts on the right of the battleground. I was surprised to know I probably owed my life to one of those grey monsters.
There was only one fighter aircraft left and it was hightailing it for the horizon. I decided to get back inside; the bulk of the cylinder was obscuring my view of the ground and I wanted to get a good look at the action.
Now that the air attack was over the longitudinal slot was gaping open again. I nodded to Bec as I came down, then peered over the rim of the slot.
The sloop had entered the fight at the right moment. The Rheattite infantry had pressed against the Meramite columns, which presented a disciplined diagonal array, and the battle-line had swiftly degenerated into a bloody scrum, contained on one side by the line of hills. Into the Rheattite reserves, from their exposed side and from the rear, plunged the sloop.
Grale was driving. The guns were manned by Rotrox we had previously trained, taking out some of the fittings so that they were able to squat on the floor and fit their ungainly bulk into the interior.
I estimated that the combatants numbered roughly ten thousand on each side. The effect of the sloop’s armoury on the massed Rheattites was devastating. The Jains and Hackers, as well as smaller portable repeaters fired through the gunslits, cut them down in hundreds. Grale drove recklessly, churning over piles of bodies to penetrate more deeply into the mass.
The Rheattites had nothing to fight back with, either. They piled up on one another, pushing in a mob to get away from the death-dealing machine. Further in the rear some of the more enterprising began to bring up heavier weapons using explosives; but we had already checked that out and knew they would have little effect: the explosives used on both Earth and Merame were of a crude, low-impact type. The sloop’s armour could take it.
Consternation and then panic began to spread through the Rheattite ranks. The appearance of this unfamiliar and apparently invincible weapon made a crack in their already shaky morale. Urged on by their officers, the Rotrox took the initiative and pressed the offensive, their fire-lances spitting cascades of hot metal into the green-skinned ranks. Steadily, inexorably, the long disciplined lines of extended lances advanced across the plain.
By now the Rheattites were beginning to mill up the slopes of the hills. For a moment it looked as though they would break; but somehow, miraculously, they held and began to reform, despite the continuing carnage wreaked by the sloop. The gunners had orders to keep killing until the ammunition was exhausted — which meant that, except for a few magazines cautiously kept safe in Blue Space Valley, we would be out of it altogether.
Then a new band of Rotrox appeared on a hilltop. These were not warriors, but technicians. With practised skill they erected a series of huge loudspeakers facing the battle-locked armies. A vast voice boomed out — a Rheattite voice, using a minion Bec had found:
“MEN OF RHEATT! THE DAY IS LOST — LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS! BLUE SPACE WILL BE ISSUED TO ALL WHO SURRENDER AND YOU WILL BE ALLOWED TO GO PEACEFULLY TO YOUR HOMES!”
The message was repeated again and again. At first it was ignored; then a few listened. Soon the temptation was spreading like fire. As Bec had gambled, thousands of the Rheattites were in fact badly in need of the drug. They had been prepared to fight in the hope of victory, but now that such hope seemed to be fading their will to resist was weak. Men came staggering up the hill, throwing away their weapons. Turning, I saw Imnitrin smiling his sinister smile.