Ten kilometers ahead of the tank, the horizon quivered with the muzzle flashes of Republican artillery.
"Now we'll get those bastards on 504!" Des Grieux shouted—
And knew, even as he roared his triumph, that if he tried to smash his way into the Republican firebase, he would die as surely and as vainly as the Rep reserves had died when Warrior ripped through the center of them
So long as Des Grieux was in the middle of a firefight, his brain had disconnected the stream of orders and messages rattling over the commo net. Now the volume of angry sound overwhelmed him: "Oyster Two, report! Break! Oyster four, are you—"
The voice was Broglie's rather than that of Lieutenant Lindgren. The Lord himself had nothing to say just now that Des Grieux had time to hear.Des Grieux switched off the commo at the main console.
"Booster," he ordered the artificial intelligence, "enemy defenses in marked area."
Des Grieux's right index finger drew a rough circle bounded by Hill 504 and Warrior's present position on the topographic display. "Best esti—"
An all-terrain truck snorted into view on the main screen. Des Grieux twisted his left joystick violently but he couldn't swing the tribarrel to bear in the moment before the tank rushed by in a spray of sand. The truck's crew jumped from both sides of the cab, leaving their vehicle to careen through the night unattended. "—mate!"
Booster had very little hard data, but the AI didn't waste time as a human intelligence officer might have done in decrying the accuracy of the assessment it was about to provide.The computer's best estimate was the same as Des Grieux's own: Warrior didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell of reaching the firebase.
Only one of Hill 504's flanks,the west/southwest octave,had a slope suitable for heavy equipment—including ammunition vans and artillery prime movers, and assuredly including Warrior. There were at this moment—best estimate—anywhere from five hundred to a thousand Rep soldiers scattered along the route the tank would have to traverse.
The Reps were artillerymen, headquarters guards, and stragglers, not the crack battalions Warrior had gutted in her charge out of the Federal lines—
But these troops were prepared. The exploding chaos had warned them. They would fire from cover: rifle bullets to peck out sensors; buzzbombs whose shaped-charge warheads could and eventually would penetrate heavy armor; cannon lowered to slam their heavy shells directly into the belly plates Warrior exposed as the tank lurched to the top of Hill 504 by the only possible access . . . .
"Driver,"Des Grieux ordered.His fingertip traced as a vagearc across the topo screen at ninety degrees to the initial course. "Follow the marked route."
"Sir, there's no road!" Kuykendall shrilled.
Even on the trail flattened by the feet of Republican assault battalions, the tank proceeded in a worm of sparks and dust as its skirts dragged. Booster's augmented night vision gave the driver an image almost as good as daytime view would have been, but nothing could be sufficient to provide a smooth ride at sixty-five kph over unimproved wilderness.
"Screw the bloody road!" ordered Des Grieux. "Move!"
They couldn't go forward, but they couldn't go back, either. The survivors of the Republican attack were between Warrior and whatever safety the Federal bunker line could provide. If the tank turned and tried to make an uphill run through that gauntlet, satchel charges would rip vents in the skirts. Crippled, Warrior would be a stationary target for buzzbombs and artillery fire.
Des Grieux couldn't give the Reps time to set up. So long as the tank kept moving, it was safe. With her fusion powerplant and drive fans rated at 12,000 hours between major overhauls, Warrior could cruise all the way around the planet, dodging enemies.
For the moment, Des Grieux just wanted to get out of the immediate kill zone.
Kuykendall tilted the nacelles closer to vertical. Their attitude reduced the forward thrust,but it also increased the skirts' clearance by a centimeter or two. That was necessary insurance against a quartz outcrop tearing a hole in the skirts.
Trees twenty meters tall grew in the swales, where the water table was highest. Vegetation on the slopes and ridges was limited to low, spike-leafed bushes. Kuykendall rode the slopes, where the brush was less of a problem but the tank wasn't outlined against the sky. Des Grieux didn't have to think about what Kuykendall was doing, which made her the best kind of driver . . . .
A tank running at full power was conspicuous under almost any circumstances, but the middle of a major battle was one of the exceptions. Neither Des Grieux's instincts nor Warrior's sensor array caught any sign of close-in enemies.
By slanting northeast, Des Grieux put them in the dead ground between the axes of the Republican attack.He was well behind the immediately engaged forces and off the supply routes leading from the two northern firebases. If he ordered Kuykendall to turn due north now, Warrior would in ten minutes be in position to circle Hill 661 and then head south to link up with the relieving force.
It didn't occur to Des Grieux that they could run from the battle. He just needed a little time.
The night raved and roared. Brushfires flung sparks above the ridgelines where Warrior had gutted the right pincer of the attack.Ammunition cooked off when flames reached the bandoliers of the dead and screaming wounded.
Bullets and case fragments sang among the surviving Reps. Men shot back in panic, killing their fellows and drawing return fire from across the flame curtains.
The hollow chunking sound within Warrior's guts stopped with a final clang. The green numeral 20 appeared on the lower right-hand corner of Des Grieux's main screen, the display he was using for gunnery. His ready magazine was full again. He could pulse the night with another salvo of 20cm bolts.
Soon.
When Des Grieux blasted the Rep supports with rapid fire, he'd robbed Warrior's main gun of half the lifespan it would have had if the weapon were fired with time for the bore to cool between shots. If he cut loose with a similar burst, again there was a real chance the eroded barrel would fail, perhaps venting into the fighting compartment with catastrophic results.
That possibility had no effect on Des Grieux's plans for the next ten minutes. He would do what he had to do; and by God! His tools, human and otherwise, had better be up to the job.