“What is that?” Elgars asked, as the sprite vanished into the distance.
“That is the transport pod,” the AID answered as an oblong door opened in the side. The oblong was horizontal so the entrance was well below normal human height. In fact, Elgars had to duck so she wouldn’t hit her head.
The interior was just as unpleasant and unprepossessing as the exterior, consisting mostly of purple-blue foam with occasional washes of green that looked brownish in the odd light.
“Please take a seat,” the AID intoned. “This transport is leaving the station.”
The group sat on the floor and looked around waiting for the device to start to move. There were no external windows so there was no way to see what was going on outside; it was for all practical purposes its own little universe.
“AID?” Elgars said after a moment. “When will we start moving?”
“You are halfway to Pendergrass Mountain, Captain Elgars.”
“Oh.” She looked around again and shrugged.
“Inertial dampers,” Wendy said. “The sort of thing they have on spacecraft; it ‘damps’ the motion.”
“Okay,” Shari said with a shrug. “So when do we get there?”
“Now,” Wendy said as the door opened into blackness.
“That’s not so good,” Elgars said, stepping out onto the barely visible floor. Looking around she saw a chamber that was a large and apparently natural cavern. But there was no visible entrance deeper into the mountain; it was as if the transport had gone through solid rock. “Okay, now I’m freaked.”
“It’s just before dawn,” Shari said. “We need to let the children sleep. I could use some rest myself for that matter.”
“It’s cold out here,” Wendy said, pulling at her torn shirt. “Maybe we could sleep in the transport.”
“And have it suddenly go back to the Urb?” Elgars asked. “I don’t think so.”
“We’ve got some blankets,” Shari said. “We can bed down in here. If we all huddle up together it won’t be too bad.”
“Okay,” Wendy said looking around. “Up near the walls. Can we light a fire?”
“Probably a bad idea,” Elgars said. “The light and heat could attract attention. We just need to make it through this night; we’ll find some better materials tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Wendy said. “Let’s get some sleep. And hope it gets better tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 33
Betty Gap, NC, United States, Sol III
0714 EDT Sunday September 27, 2009 ad
Pruitt stared into the rising sun, pretty sure he’d never been this exhausted in his life. Whatever the drugs were telling him.
“I feel like I haven’t slept in a week,” he muttered. “Or at least like I could sleep for a week.” He wasn’t exactly tired; the Provigil was making sure that he wouldn’t feel that way and a tiny bit of methamphetamine was ensuring that he was alert. But it had been a long day with a lot of stress and it didn’t look to be ending any time soon.
The route over the mountain had been a long drawn out nightmare and one where he couldn’t do anything except hold on and hope for the best.
The SheVa gun had not been designed to climb mountains and a couple of times he was pretty sure they were just going to go tumbling back down a slope; once just west of Chestnut Gap when they had to ascend a ten-foot bluff while already on a very steep slope and another time when the mountainside was just a bit steeper than it looked on the map. The SheVa often felt like it was going straight up and knowing that there was a multiton gun and two stories of steel above you, pulling the gun over and backwards, was pretty nerve-wracking. It was almost worse the few times that they had had to straddle a ravine with one giant tread half supported on either side; the undercarriage would creak and groan, sounding like it was going to shatter at any moment.
It had been worse for Reeves; the large and airy compartment occasionally got thick with the fear sweat from the driver. But every time that Major Mitchell told him to take a slope, he’d just nod his head and put his foot to the floor. It took a special kind of courage to simply place your faith in a hunk of machinery, that it would take the hill and not turn into a gigantic iron boulder.
The trek had to have been nearly as bad for the Meemies. The Abrams tank was certified to negotiate a sixty degree slope — amazing what placing most of sixty tons of metal near the ground could do for center of gravity — but that didn’t mean that anyone but an idiot liked to go up them. And in places the laboring SheVa had torn the slope to such an extent that its tread holes, which were the only clear route for an Abrams, easily approached sixty degrees. But the commander of the MetalStorm tracks had taken them into and out of those ersatz fighting positions without any apparent qualm.
It would almost have been better if he’d just turned off his screens and gone to sleep, but they didn’t know when the Posleen might do a flyover. And now that he was reloaded, he was ready to kick some Posleen butt.
Where the Posleen were was a big question. Between Major Mitchell and the Storm commander they had managed to scrape up a few other surviving units on the radio. It turned out that the horses had taken the Rocky Face slope and Oak Grove, cutting off a good part of the surviving Corps. But engineers had blown the bridges at Oak Grove and Tennessee before the horses got there and at both points the Posleen were rebuilding the structures while laboriously ferrying troops across.
That last was bad news; nobody liked to think about Posleen having combat engineers; among other things that meant that the entire lower Tennessee was potentially crossable. But it was taking them a few hours to do the structure and the advance was slowed down in the meantime. Currently Major Mitchell intended to head down into Betty Creek and then over Brushy Fork mountain to Greens Creek. After that they would practically have to debouche into the Savannah Creek valley; they had to get ahead of the Posleen and filtering through mountain passes wasn’t going to let them do that.
They had reports that a company of mixed MPs and infantry were holding the bridges over the Tuckasegee River. It wasn’t a big deal to the SheVa — there wasn’t a bridge in the world that would support Bun-Bun — but the Storms needed one to cross the river. If they could make it to the crossing ahead of the horses all would be relatively well. If they didn’t, on the other hand, things would get sticky.
There was also the issue of destroying the bridge. The MPs indicated that they didn’t have any engineers; they had piled explosives around, but the bridge was pretty sturdy and they weren’t sure it would go down. If worse came to worse, of course, Bun-Bun could take care of that little detail as well.