“We’re out of bombs!” someone hollered. “More are on the way, but we have none now!”
Flynn swore and looked around. “Corporal, gimme some water!” he cried to a ’Cat hurrying by with a bucket. The corporal paused while Billy threw some salty-tasting water at his mouth with the floating cup, then spat some down the barrel of his rifle. “Ghaa!” he said, spitting out the foul remainder. He plugged the muzzle of the weapon with his finger and tilted it in a seesaw motion so the water would slosh back and forth in the bore. “Musta been an artillery sponge bucket!” he said, spitting again and pouring the black water from his rifle onto the ground. He placed a piece of cloth over the muzzle and ran it down with his jag-shaped rammer head. Withdrawing the rammer, he stuck it in the ground at his side, and the now-soggy, blackened cloth fell away. He popped two percussion caps and blew down the barrel, then snatched another paper-wrapped cartridge from the box at his side and tore it open with his teeth.
The firing around him was diminishing, except the artillery, which was now shooting the lighter spherical case-he could tell by the report. White puffs cracked and blossomed over the retreating enemy, spraying shell fragments among them, but still they moved away-as a mob certainly, but a controlled mob.
“It is over, Col-nol Flynn,” said a familiar voice behind him. He turned and quickly saluted Safir-Maraan, throwing most of the powder in his cartridge at his face. Self-consciously, he wadded the torn paper around the bullet and dropped it back in his cartridge box.
“Aye, uh, General,” he said. Regardless of her various other titles, on the battlefield, she was “general” first. “It looks that way,” Billy added. He reached up and pulled the helmet off his head, revealing his thinning mat of sweaty red hair. He started to slick it back but was shocked to see how badly his hand had begun to shake.
Safir took a deep breath and almost gagged herself. The stench of the morning had grown exponentially worse with the addition of the mangled corpses all around and the fog of smoke that clung near the blood-drenched ground. Her normally resplendent silver-washed armor was stained with red turning to black, and her black cloak was torn and tingeed th shiny reddish patches. Knowing her, she’d probably been right up on the line with a musket and bayonet at some point, Billy thought. Not the best place for a corps commander!
“But they retire in… I think you say ‘good order’?” she said huskily, holding her hand over her mouth. “Oh, surely this is the stench of the unlighted void! I barely noticed it before.” She fumbled for her water bottle and took a long swig. “Odd, the things one perceives immediately after these ‘new’ battles-at least I’ve found it so,” she almost whispered. She composed herself and gestured toward the retreating Grik. “I do not like to see that.”
“Me neither,” Billy agreed, stunned to see even an instant of weakness from the indomitable Safir. “It was a hell of a fight, but we’d turned the corner-even if there was a bunch more than I thought at first. Sorry about that. It’s hard to count ’em when they’re all wadded up. Anyway, any battle in the past, we would’ve about wiped ’em out. This retreatin’ crap, instead of just runnin’ away, gives me the creeps.”
“I feel ‘creeps’ as well,” Safir admitted. “We must report this immediately.” She looked at him. “Thank you Col-nol,” she said sincerely. “I admit, I didn’t know what to think of you and your Amaal-gaa-mated before today. You are a strange man, originally from a very strange craft! But your and Col-nol Grisa’s regiments likely saved my entire corps today when you ‘smelled a rat,’ as Lieutenant Saaran-Gaani put it. You have my most profound appreciation.”
“More like ‘smelled a turd,’ General, but thanks. How’s Saaran? He never came back. We have to come up with a portable wireless we can use on the march! It would still be line o’ sight, but we wouldn’t have to send runners up and down the line!”
“Yes. I see no practical way to use wire as we did at Raan-goon! They say we will have better baater-ees and wireless sets soon.” She blinked a shrug. “Saaran is lightly injured, but fine. He tried to return, but tumbled from the back of a paalka!”
Billy laughed, then sobered. “I lost a lot of good guys today.”
“As did we all.”
Bekiaa-Sab-At finally gave the belated order for the nearest artillery to cease firing, and its example was soon followed by the other batteries up and down the line. She stepped wearily up beside Flynn and also exchanged salutes with Safir Maraan. Bekiaa looked terrible-again-and this time she had a Grik crossbow bolt buried between the twinbones of her left forearm. She’d refused to leave the front. “Shall we chase ’em?” she asked.
“No,” Safir said reluctantly. “They outnumber us still. I estimate now that we engaged upward of forty thousand today. Even if we’ve killed half the vermin, they could still overwhelm us in the open, in the dark, and we suffered sorely as well. No, we will consolidate the line and stand down those who were most heavily engaged. I’ve already sent cavalry to scout the high flanks, but I do think it’s over. Here.” She looked at Billy. “Tend to this stubborn Maa-reen female.. . and your Flynn’s Raangers! We will need you all again!”
“We’ve got the city, Admiral,” Alden said when Keje-Fris-Ar entered his tent, now erected inside the original Grik defenses.
Keje was in his martial best: his new white Navy tunic and blue Marine-style kilt. The polished, chased, copper scale armor he’d always worn battle was fastened over the tunic, though, and he still wore his old helmet. He also had standard-issue leggings and a web belt with a 1911 Colt holstered on one side and his old “skota” or “working sword” hanging from the other. He looked like a short, armored Navy bear.
“Splendid news, Generaal Aalden,” Keje replied. “When I got word that you desired the fleet to shift our fire to the north, I suspected as much and promptly came ashore! I hope I do not intrude.”
“Of course not!” Pete grinned. “This is a big deal, sir. The first time we’ve ever kicked the bastards out of one of their own provincial capitals! At least, Rolak’s pet Grik claims that’s what Colombo is. The little creep even acts excited for us, if you believe that!”
“I cannot fathom the Grik mind, Generaal. Even Lawrence has… exceedingly odd notions, and he is not Grik. Perhaps Hij Geerki is sincere, but I could not care less. Your victory here today, and Queen Protector Safir Maraan’s victory in the highlands are the greatest acts of the age! They will be recorded in the very scrolls!”
“Those scrolls of yours are going to get mighty long if we keep adding to them at this rate,” Pete said less enthusiastically. “We need to keep a history of this war, damn straight, but your ‘scrolls’ are sacred-and these battles today were an unholy mess. You know the details of the battle in the mountains?” Keje nodded. “Yeah, well, that was a real fight,” Pete continued. “This here was mostly just butchery once we broke through the first couple of countercharges. Rolak was right. General Grik filled his ranks with civilians; fishermen, artisans, builders, farmers-most were a buncha fogies by Grik standards. More head crests, like officers have, than we’ve ever seen before. A few females too, apparently, though you can hardly tell by lookin’ at ’em. Fatter, no crest, that sort of thing. Same teeth and claws.”
“Have any been found like Lawrence’s ‘Great Mother’?”
“No. Thousands of eggs left in joints like chicken coops, probably laid by the regular Grik broads hereabouts, but no big mama.” He looked away a moment. “I ordered all the eggs smashed. The few prisoners we took so far didn’t give a shit. You know? That part still gives me the heebie-jeebies. Wild Griklets runnin’ loose all through the woods, and nobody gives a damn about the eggs. Hell. According to Geeky, they used to eat the little buggers when they hatched. He doesn’t know why they’re takin’ over the jungle.”