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.'
Jet Ace had his back to the missile. His arms were spread, and he was stationary in midair, riding on his powered-down dorsal rocket.
'He's taking a fucking bow.'
Almost like a swimmer, Jet Ace pushed forward and executed a slow victory roll. The missile was almost on him. It was likely that he never knew what hit him. There was little of Jet Ace left after the explosion, except for the shrapnel that rattled down on the streets and roofs of the city. The Minstrel Boy turned away.
'Now we're six.'
Although the behavior of the defenders during the fall of Palanaque seems scarcely plausible, the diaries of General Zeum that so miraculously survived the destruction tend to confirm, albeit from the general's uniquely psychotic perspective, the major details that are recounted in the legend. Although their seemingly mindless suicide may appear aberrant in the extreme, it was far from unique in human history. Frederick Barbarossa marched his crack troops over cliffs to their deaths to demonstrate their blind obedience to visiting dignitaries. Both the Poles and the Finns sent cavalry into battle against German tanks in the war against the Nazis. The Zulu nation engaged the British at the first Battle of Rourke's Drift. They had spears, while the British were armed with breech-loading Martini rifles. There was, however, one difference in this instance. The Zulus won.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
'Hear this, people of Palanaque. The options in frontof you are painfully simple. Your army is gone, and your city will be mine in the time it takes to burn through this gate. If you force me to do that, I shall go on burning until there is nothing left of your city except its ashes. People of Palanaque, I am Vlad Baptiste, and it is not for nothing that men call me the Torch.'
Baptiste stepped back from the microphone and paused to let the threat sink in. He was a square, Napoleonic figure in a stained leather coat, flowing scarf, and black goggles. His feet were planted firmly on the roof of the armored car, and his hands were clasped behind his back. The car was drawn up in front of the gates of Palanaque, but his amplified voice could be heard all through the city.
'There is one way that your city can be saved from destruction. I want the metaphysicians from Krystaleit. Deliver them to me, and I will spare the city and place it under my protection.'
After the destruction of the two aircraft and the death of Jet Ace, Baptiste had stopped playing with the Grand Army of Palanaque, and the raiders had gone about their fast and systematic extermination with bloody efficiency. A tearful Parshew-a-Thar had watched the slaughter, all the time demanding that his men be given real weapons. Unfortunately, that religious reform had come too late to do them any good, and they died to the last man. With only the gates of the city separating them from Baptiste, Reave and the Minstrel Boy decided it was high time they withdrew to the pyramid. When they arrived there, they found the entrance sealed.
'You think Showcross Gee's double-crossed us?'
The Minstrel Boy looked around tensely. 'I kind of figured that he'd keep his word.'
Baptiste's voice boomed on. 'I, Vlad Baptiste, will personally guarantee that any group of individuals who delivers the metaphysicians to me will be given control of the city under my own ultimate jurisdiction.'
It occurred to the Minstrel Boy that maybe Baptiste did not in fact want to raze the city. Maybe he actually needed a base in which to rest up and regain his strength. The Minstrel Boy could imagine just how unbearably wretched life would be in any city that had the Torch as its ruler. He had more important things to worry about, however. There was still no suggestion that the entrance to the pyramid was about to come open for them. On top of that, Baptiste was setting a deadline.