“One of the reasons for this strike is to try to get more targeting data. We don’t know exactly where the Posties end and the humans start, so we’re going to continue to pound the interchange. The battleship has to have had an effect by now, so we might survive the encounter. If you do, return to base for bullets and gas.
“Your flight paths are on your computer; modify them as you see fit.” He paused, searching for something to say as the squadron banked out of its figure-eight pattern and lined up to face the embattled city.
“Sir,” interjected Lieutenant Wordly, “what about straying into one of the sixteen-inchers. Shouldn’t we avoid their path?”
Kerman blanked for a moment on how to answer the question. “I tell you what, Lieutenant. If you run into one of those shells, you may officially complain about having a bad day.” There were actually a few chuckles transmitted over the frequency-hopping radios.
“Well,” he concluded, “I guess it’s time to go back to historic Fredericksburg.”
CHAPTER 37
Fredericksburg, VA, United States of America, Sol III
0524 EDT October 10th, 2004 ad
“Major, they’re across the obstacles on Sunken Road,” said the civilian runner, a well-set-up football type with blisters on his hands and blood from a head wound dripping down his sweat-streaked face.
Major Witherspoon looked at the dead and wounded piled throughout the Presbyterian church. The dead were rapidly cooling in the unheated vestibule as medics pointlessly worked to repair the wounded. Then he looked through the broken windows to the west. There the inexorable tide of centaurs was clearly visible, pushing through the piles of demolished trucks and cars at Williams and Washington. A rolled-over gas truck — converted to a suicide bomb by the driver — gave its last spiteful luminance to the scene.
“God,” he chuckled, “I love it when a plan comes together. Okay,” he continued, turning to the now-veteran soldier, “tell First platoon and the militia to pull back and head to the south. We don’t want fire directed at the Executive Building. As of now they are detached to whatever means they want to use, just don’t get between the Posleen and the Exec. Same general orders to the Second and Third, but tell them to pull straight back.”
“Yes, sir.” The private now had tears mingled with the blood on his face. “I wish we could do more.”
“When you do the best you can, there isn’t any more to do, son. We held them through the night; held them longer than the expedition on Diess. You should only have regrets if you have not given your all.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good luck.”
“Yes, sir.” Then Ted Kendall hoisted his AIW, and trotted off into the darkness.
“Ma’am,” said Colonel Robertson, proffering a bundle to the last mother entering the bunker. “I’d like you to take this in there with you. When you get your place, just set it down and don’t tamper with it. It’s booby trapped in case the Posleen try to open it, but it won’t injure anything outside the box if it goes off.”
Shari looked at the bundle in bemusement, wondering how to juggle it while carrying Kelly.
“I’ll take it down with her, sir,” said the fireman who was carrying Billy. “And make sure it gets in a secure place.”
“It’s a record of the defense and the unit’s colors. You know, the Flag?”
The fireman nodded, eyes misting slightly, “Yes, sir.”
Shari nodded as well, “ ‘At the twilight’s last gleaming,’ right?”
“It sounds strange…”
“No, it doesn’t.” She gestured with her chin at the line entering the bunker. “Where else would this happen?”
“Well,” said Colonel Robertson, picking up his rifle, “you’d better get down there.” He glanced back over his shoulder at a sudden burst of fire due west. “It won’t be long, now.”
Shari hurried down the steep stairs as best she could. The rungs were pierced steel, but the passage of so many feet had packed the planking with dirt and the steps were slick with mud and other debris.
She passed the first level, where the engineers and civilian workers were welding the last steel in place, and ended up on the muddy bottom floor. The concrete walls rose up around her, dripping condensation from the packed humanity’s breath, the water sparkling brightly in the massed Klieg lights.
A firewoman took the sleeping baby from her arms and ducked through a low opening. To either side engineers worked feverishly to shore and strengthen the hasty walls that had been faired over the opening. Following the firewoman out of the echoing chamber Shari entered the vault beyond.
On the left-hand side along the wall was a series of closed ports, apparently the pump outlets. The fifty-foot concrete cellar appeared to be a sepulcher, with the women and children under the Hiberzine resembling corpses in the harsh lights of the medics’ headlamps. The bodies were piled throughout the long, low-ceilinged room, children as much as possible on the top, but with little other order. The flaccid limbs, slack jaws and staring eyes made Shari balk for a moment, but the fireman just inside the door was used to the reaction and pulled her through, gently but firmly.
“They’re just asleep, promise,” he said with an automatic grimace he probably thought was a grin. “It’s the Hiberzine that makes them look that way.”
Shari skittered sideways and pulled Susie back to her as she stared wide-eyed around the apparent tomb.
“Go feel a pulse, if you want,” said the fireman who had brought Billy down, carrying his burden to the front corner.
She bent and felt at the neck of the nearest woman, a lady in her forties, well-dressed as if going to work at a bank. After a long and frightening moment when the vein in her neck remained flaccid, there was a single strong pulse then nothing.
“It works,” said the firewoman who preceded her. She gently pulled the protesting Susie away and gracefully put her under; the motion was as automatic as breathing by this point. “Be glad for it.”
“Carrie,” said the fireman at the door, holding out his arms.
The firewoman wrapped her arms around her compatriot and slapped him on the back. “Sorry, man.”
“Hey, just make more good babies, okay?”
“Yeah. Do good.”
“Yeah.” The fireman ducked through the low opening and was gone.
Carrie repeated the pantomime with the other fireman, then a civilian in a hard hat propped up a steel plate and with a last spiteful burst of an arc welder, the two women were alone among the piled bodies.
“Well,” the firewoman said, “it looks like you drew the short straw.”
“What?” said Shari, looking for a place to lie down that was not on a body part.
“They decided that there needed to be a few people awake on each level. You’re the last one in and I’ve got a ten-year-old somewhere back there.” She gestured towards the rear of the pile of bodies. “So we get the pleasure of waiting to see who finds us first.” Beyond the wall a sound like rain on a roof announced the first load of dirt that would bury them alive.
As a burst of fire came from just beyond the hill where the engineers’ command post was located, Wendy became aware of what Tommy was whistling under his breath. Then she recognized it as a current pop hit. The singer who had popularized the lyrics was considered to be going through a mid-life crisis and the song was a cool, subtle composition about her relationship with a man young enough to be her son.