“And now a defense device,” Tulo’stenaloor pointed out. “The last one that we tried to take down blew up when it was moved.” The loss of an oolt’os and a Kessentai who was supervising was not worth commenting on.
“I need a sample of one of those,” Goloswin said. “I have an oolt’os who will probably be able to take one down successfully.”
“After this little problem is rectified,” Tulo’stenaloor said. “They are dependent for untraceable communication on these things. I would like to remove that link if I could.”
“Oh, it’s not untraceable,” Goloswin pointed out. He slid his talons through some glowing dots in the air and a new holofield opened and configured. It was a rough map of the region and Tulo’stenaloor realized that the “bright” areas were where the human sensors could see. And he realized immediately what he was looking at.
“You’re in the sensor net?” he breathed.
“Oh, yes,” Goloswin agreed. “Trivial exercise, quite trivial. The nice part is this.” He highlighted a field and four purple icons sprang to life on a ridgeline. “There are your pests. Now go take care of them and get me a sample of the new sensors. I look forward to examining this ‘boobytrap.’ And the next human you talk to, please ask it what a ‘booby’ is before you eat it.”
Mosovich looked at the map and got a sick feeling in his stomach. The fact was that, no matter how much artillery fire they got, they were in a box. There were only three places where crossing the Talullah River would be a reasonable proposition. As Mueller had pointed out, if they had SCUBA gear they could have crossed any of the lakes at any point. But without the gear they would be four obvious targets, out on the flat nowhere and open to fire from any passing patrol. And the crossing would not be quick. Even if they could “drownproof” Sister Mary and drag her across on a float. But otherwise it was a matter of choosing the bridges; crossing the streams would be nearly impossible and — between having to rig ropes to keep from being swept away and making their way across — sure to take too long as well.
However… these Posleen were acting like humans. They seemed to be thinking about the possible actions of their quarry and reacting in a reasonable manner. Which meant that they would be expecting the team to either cross the bridges or the lakes heading more or less directly towards the lines. They might or might not know that the latter would be virtually impossible.
If they could break through the lines to the west, then break contact, two very big ifs, they could make their way towards the lines around Tray Mountain. That was a wilderness area and the roads were few and far between, making it much better from their perspective.
But getting there would be a long damned walk with, apparently, damned little support. The artillery, though, what there was of it, would be able to cover them the whole way. The important point would be to make sure they didn’t get spotted by where the artillery was firing.
He chuckled silently. This was almost as bad as fighting humans.
“There is a reason that fighting humans is so hard,” Orostan mused. “They apparently have been warring amongst themselves, and surviving at it, for their entire history. Their legion of dirty tricks comes from those millennia of experience. We Posleen, on the other hand, have either fought those with no experience of war, or fought the ornaldath. And the ornaldath has always lasted for such a short period of time, and been so chaotic, that little can be learned.”
“With humans, every day is ornaldath,” Cholosta’an muttered bitterly. “They… cheat.”
“Yes,” Orostan admitted in an amused tone. “But it is not ornaldath. They do not use the greatest weapons, much. Tulo’stenaloor’s… ‘intelligence’ people have learned that they have a great reluctance to use those that are not chemical, those that use fusion and antimatter for their propellants. So it is not, by any stretch of the imagination, ornaldath. Except when you corner them. And then, sometimes, they use those weapons. Rarely.”
“They are not cornered now?” Cholosta’an asked. “They are only a bit of one continent. The ones that are to the north have no materials to fight with and other than this remnant it is all tribes scattered in the mountains. Except for this remnant, they are broken. Isn’t that the point of gathering this host?”
“Don’t count the humans out until the last one is dead and you have hacked its body to bits and eaten it,” the oolt’ondai cautioned. “Many of them got off the planet before we landed and those ‘scattered tribes’ are still strong enough to be a challenge in many areas. We have taken the bulk of the planet for our lands, and the bulk of the human population for our feed, but their fleet rebuilds and rebuilds seemingly endlessly. And these humans, these ‘trapped abat’ are no joke. Every day they find new ways to confound us.”
As if on cue the sky began to scream.
“Splash out,” Mosovich said, listening to the firecracker rattle of ICM landing in the distance. The team had moved down the mountainside, using every bit of concealment, until it was within two hundred yards of Oakey Mountain Road. The biggest worry were the God Kings scattered among the normals. It was hard, in the heavy foliage, to spot the occasional passing saucer, but whenever one came in view the team went to ground and held their breath in anticipation. But, so far, so good.
Now, with the firing behind them, if the Posleen stayed true to their current form they should hurry towards the bridge in anticipation of the team’s movements.
And that did appear to be happening. The normals in view, almost immediately after the artillery began to land, began to stream to the north. With any luck in a few more minutes there would be enough of a reduction the team could consider trying the road.
They were on a ridgeline perpendicular to the road, bedded down in a thick stand of white pine saplings. At the point they would be crossing the road it went through a small saddle and there was a hilltop on the far side. There had been a house or small farm to the right of the saddle in bygone days, but now all there was, was another weed-covered field and the overgrown right-of-way. The open area was small, as well, no more than fifty meters including the torn up grassy track that had been Oakey Mountain Road.
On the far side of the hill that was their objective the ground fell off down a steep slope to the Soque River. Although that would normally be a tough crossing, the area was densely grown and there was small chance the horselike Posleen could keep up with the team in there. They would have to cross Highway 197, but unless the Posleen were patrolling everywhere, any movement over there should be slight. And, again, the ground should be overgrown enough to permit them to slip past any patrols.
From the crossing of the Soque they would swing west of Batesville. If they weren’t spotted on their crossing, corps would maintain harassing fire on the Posleen in regular spots near the Talullah. With luck, it would be some time before the Posleen commander discovered that they had slipped out of the trap. By that time they should be well outside the main search area.
If. With luck.
In a remarkably short time the masses of Posleen that had been in the area were gone. The road was empty and still in the pre-dawn night.
“Time to move out,” Mosovich whispered. Steep slope again. Time to slide.