"Son of a bitch!" he shouted as one of the craft flew past a camera. "What in the hell is that?"
The craft looked like something straight out of a 1950s science fiction novel. It was more or less saucer shaped with a small turret on the top. Most of the turrets seemed to have . . . Posleen plasma guns mounted in them. As he panned the camera to follow the craft's flight it fired another bolt into the front quadrant.
"We've lost the right track and drivers fourteen and fifteen," Warrant Officer Tapes called. "I've hit the track release, but we'll have to drive off of it. And that drops our max speed way down."
"Get us out of here," Porter said. "Back us up."
"Solution!"
"Belay that order," he called, dropping his eye to the sight. Without really looking he hit the confirm button. "Fire!"
"On the Way!"
* * *
"DOWN, DOWN, stay DOWN!" Orostan called. He flapped his crest happily, though, at the sight of the crumbling wall. The massive concrete structure was completely shattered across the center from repeated antimatter and plasma strikes and the way would soon be open. Rocky—the front ranks would have some clearing to do—but open. "And the artillery is dropping off," he added.
"Yes, it is," Cholosta'an said. "Soon we will be through. A real breakthrough. This is amazing."
"It has been years in planning," Orostan pointed out. "We will sweep up the mountains, opening pass after pass . . ."
"And at each point, establishing 'toll booths,' " Cholosta'an said with a flap of humor. "That was brilliant. Anyone who passes through must agree to submit ten percent of their earnings."
"Brilliant indeed," Orostan said. "Tulo'stenaloor feels that these humans owe him much. If he cannot take it from them directly, then indirectly will do as well."
"We should not be too happy yet," Cholosta'an said. "These humans . . . tend to be tricky. And they don't give up easily."
"When we are finished here, we and the tenaral will fly up the valley and take all of the key terrain positions on the initial route. The humans may try to block us, but we shall be there first. As soon as the Wall is down."
"And the SheVa gun taken care of," Cholosta'an said.
"Of course."
* * *
Another ripple of plasma fire slammed into the gun and one of the rounds penetrated through multiple layers of machinery into the command center.
The damage control panel came apart like a bomb as the last burst of plasma buried itself in the console. Control runs fused together sending power arcing through the panel and into the primary gun controls.
Sergeant Edwards flew back from his controls with a yell, hitting the chair release and backing away as sparks flew out of the targeting system. The fire control computer sparked on for a moment and then died with a rasp.
Major Porter coughed on the smoke and shook his head. "Is it just me or is this like a bad TV sci-fi show?" He hit his own chair release and pulled the warrant officer's back. In the red emergency lights he could see that the warrant had massive burns across his face and chest, but the engineer was still breathing. "Will the gun fire at all?"
"Negative!" Edwards shouted nervously. "I can't even clear the round in the breech!"
"Oh, this is so very good," Porter muttered, laying the warrant's chair flat and gently unstrapping him.
"Uh, sir," Edwards said, supporting half the weight of the warrant as they lifted him out of his chair. "I think we're mostly getting hit on our back deck . . ."
"I noticed," Porter said, looking around. "Tamby! Abandon ship!"
There was no reply from the driver's position so he slid across the smoking deck and looked down.
The driver's position was surrounded by multiple monitors so that the drivers had an almost 360-degree view at all times. Unfortunately, that meant that when a power surge hit there were thousands of volts all of a sudden going nowhere.
Porter slid down into the position, trying not to put his feet into the carbonized figure strapped into the driver's chair, and checked the drive controls. They, remarkably, seemed to be working so he set them on auto, driving forward, and climbed back out. Then he slid back across the floor and hit the escape hatch. The red painted panel opened with a susurrant hiss and lights came on below.
"Where's Tamby?" Edwards asked, dragging the limp warrant officer towards the hatch.
"Tamby won't be joining us today," Porter said, taking the warrant's feet. "You drive. And drive like a bat out of hell."
"Who's going to gun?" Edwards asked.
"Who the hell cares?" Porter said. "If we're not at least five miles away before they pound through the magazine nobody's going to be driving!"
* * *
Atrenalasal flapped his crest and keyed his communicator. "Pacalostal! The gun has stopped firing! We should join the attack on the artillery."
"No," the tenaral commander replied. "The orders are to continue firing until it is stopped and burning. Follow the orders."
"Very well," the Kessentai replied. For some reason, pounding plasma round after plasma round into the burning hulk seemed . . . wrong. But orders were orders.
* * *
Major Porter hit the lowering circuit before Edwards was even in his seat, but the gunner had the escape vehicle starting before they had dropped more than a meter. Porter sighed as the scream of the jet turbine engine caused the vehicle to purr like a tiger. Functional power was a good thing.
"Thank God for General Motors," he said. He glanced at the height reading then hit the release as another wash of plasma hit the massive SheVa above them. Fuck it. The torsion bars would handle the drop.
At forty miles per hour and accelerating the still bouncing M-1 Abrams burst from under its larger brethren and headed for the shadow of the nearest ridge.
Behind it, plasma rounds continued to dig into the more recalcitrant armor on the back deck of the SheVa gun, right over its nearly full magazines.
CHAPTER 24
Far-called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire:
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!
–Rudyard Kipling
"Recessional" (1897)
Rabun Gap, GA, United States, Sol III
1249 EDT Saturday September 26, 2009 ad
When Major Ryan saw the Abrams burst from under the SheVa he very calmly lowered his binoculars, turned around, spotted the nearest bunker and ran for it.
He was surprised when he dropped through the back door that there were not any other inhabitants. The main headquarters didn't have any structural stability; the main "war room" wasn't even on a ground floor. He considered for a moment going back to the headquarters and trying to convince the commander that maybe, just maybe, being on the second floor of a building in the way of a nuclear blast might not be the best spot to be.
He'd seen SheVas go up before; he was at Roanoke when SheVa Twenty-Five lost containment. But at Roanoke the SheVa had been on top of a mountain and fairly separated from the main force. Not parked practically on top of the tertiary defenses and right opposite the corps headquarters.
He glanced at his watch and wondered how long it would take. It was possible, possible, that the Posleen would break off their attack before the containment failed. Actually, if they were smart they would break off their attack before the containment failed.
Posleen. Smart.
Not.
As he was looking at his watch and calculating his odds of surviving a run to the motorpool he was joined by a female specialist. She tripped on the entry and tumbled into the far corner.