It was a long shot. The darkness might not be a pass at all...
While he waited on the charters Cassius played with the command nets, hoping to intercept something from the war zone. He got nothing but static, which was all he really expected in that cove of darkness on the shores of the sea of fire.
He thought Brightside was what the old Christians had had in mind for Hell. With the Legion here Blackworld certainly was a planet of the damned.
The charters returned two days later. They had found the way across the mountains, but did not know if the larger units could manage it.
"We'll give it a try," Cassius said. He had spent too much time with his thoughts and away from his command. He had to be moving, to be involved, soon, or he would go mad reliving his losses.
The pass was a tight, tortuous canyon, and the going was slow, but there were few real problems till they had crossed the Edge of the World. Then, after they had passed the limit of the original survey, they encountered a crack in the mountain which crossed and blocked the way. The crevasse threatened Cassius's entire scheme.
He refused to turn back. "We're going over these mountains here," he growled, "or we'll die here. One or the other. Let's find out how deep the son-of-a-bitch is."
His driver idled down. Cassius clambered out his escape hatch, approached the obstacle. The lead crawler had put lights on it, but they did nothing to illuminate its depths. He stared down into darkness. After a minute he fired his lasegun downward. The flash revealed a bottom much nearer than he expected.
He returned to his crawler. "Stray Dog One, this is Starfire. Maneuver your unit around parallel to the crevasse. Over."
It took two hours for the charter to wriggle into a position that suited him. "Stray Dog One, abandon your unit. Stray Dog Three, Stray Dog Six, push it over. Over."
The two surviving charters groaned and strained. The vibration of their effort shook the stone of the Thunder Mountains, made the big crawlers shudder. Their engines growled and whined, their tracks ripped at the earth. They injured themselves badly, but managed to topple the crawler into the crevasse.
Cassius offloaded his troops and had them gather loose rock. They dumped the detritus around the fallen charter. Hours crept away. The bridge grew, became level. Cassius sent a charter over to test and tamp, then an empty pumper. The fill held both times. One by one, the remaining units rolled.
That crevasse was the last serious obstacle. Abandoning the surviving charters because they could no longer keep pace, Cassius swung the big units onto the route between Twilight and Edgeward. He sped southward, maintaining radio silence. Near Edgeward he swung west, toward Michael Dee and the Whitlandsund.
His troops were exhausted. They had been cramped in their crawlers for days, racked by tension, constantly haunted by the fear that the next minute would be the one when a track went into heat erosion, or the mountain slid away beneath them. Even so, Cassius offloaded them at the eastern mouth of the Whitlandsund and sent them in. They made contact quickly.
Walters broke radio silence at last. "Andiron, Andiron, this is Wormdoom, do you read, over."
Mouse came on net only minutes later. "Wormdoom, this is Andiron. Shift to the scrambled trunk, over."
Cassius shifted. Mouse squeaked, "Cassius, where the hell are you? We've been trying to get ahold of you for six days."
"I'm right outside your door, Mouse. Moving into the Whitlandsund. I need Ceislak's men."
"You're on this side of the Edge of the World?"
"That's right. How soon can you get those men here?"
"How did you manage that?"
"Never mind. I did it. Send me those men. We can talk after we finish Dee."
"All right. They're on their way. I don't know how you did it... "
Cassius cut him off, turned to listen to the tactical nets once more.
He had been listening in since returning to Darkside, trying to assess the situation back in the Shadowline. It did not look good for those he had left behind.
Fifty-Five: 3032 AD
It was a very grim, very sour Masato Storm who watched the big board in the war room. It looked terrible.
Someone moved a chair into place beside him. He glanced up at at a commtech. He was holding the chair for Pollyanna.
Mouse smiled weakly. "How are you? Any better?"
"Ready for anything. Except I limp a little. They say it'll go away. How is it going?"
"Not good. I haven't heard from Cassius for days. I'm scared for him. And up there... " He indicated the board showing the Whitlandsund. "We made some gains when the first wave came over, but it's slowed down. Way down. We're still pushing them back, but not fast enough."
"But you outnumber them."
"We've lost too many tractors. We can't bring our people over fast enough. It looks like we've only got two chances. Either Cassius turns up or my uncle runs out of ammunition."
"Sir!" one of the commtechs yelled. "Sir, I've got Colonel Walters on Tac One."
"Put him on over here. Pollyanna, you're a good-luck charm. Maybe I'll strap you into that chair."
She smiled wanly. "I wasn't too lucky for Frog. Or Lucifer. Or... "
"Can it." Cassius's grim face came on screen. They argued back and forth about Ceislak's battalion, and Mouse tried to discover how Walters had gotten to Darkside. Cassius broke off.
"He's in a foul mood, isn't he?" Pollyanna asked.
"That he is. And he can be just as nasty as he wants as long as he does his job. I feel a thousand percent better now."
"Sir," commtech said a few minutes later, "I have Colonel Walters again."
"Put him over here."
"Mouse?" Cassius said, "Sorry about snapping. It's the nerves, I guess. It's grim out here. As your father would put it, the Oriflamme is up."
Pollyanna frowned a question. Mouse whispered, "No quarter given or asked."
Cassius continued, "We're in a bad spot. Nobody can back down. It's all or nothing, and the losers die the death-without-resurrection."
"I understand, Cassius. We're all under pressure."
"Your uncle has got what he wanted. His battle to the death." A nasty smile crossed Walters's mouth. "I don't think the fool counted on being part of it, though."
"No. One thing. He doesn't know about Father yet. I want to save that as a special surprise. Let him count on that last-minute protection till it's too late."
"But of course! That's why I wanted to keep it quiet."
"The Legion never fought this bitterly," Mouse said.
"Never before. We've got an emotional stake in this one, Mouse."
Had it not been for the topographical advantages, Michael's crew would have been obliterated long since. Dee's men were good fighters, but they were not soldiers, not in the sense that the Legionnaires were. They were unaccustomed to extensive teamwork and the complexities of large, enduring operations. Though largely of human origin, they were tainted with the Sangaree raid-and-run philosophy.
"Michael's people aren't doing bad."
"They're cornered. I've got to get back to it. I just wanted to say sorry for growling."
"It's all right."
Cassius's battalions shoved Dee deeper and deeper into the Whitlandsund. The lines facing Edgeward had been thin and unprepared for a heavy stroke.
The hours cranked along. Mouse sat that chair till his behind began to ache. Pollyanna remained beside him, partly because she was interested in events, partly because she sensed his need for a bridge to the Mouse that used to be.