by John Ringo
"Just between the juncture of A and D sectors," Wendy answered moving to the end of a corridor identical to the first. "If memory serves, this should open out into a secondary corridor and that should connect to the main route to the range." She stopped as she was about to open the hatch and first put her hand on the door and then laid her ear against it. "Do you hear something?"
"Feel it, more like," Elgars said. The floor seemed to be shuddering at irregular intervals."
"That's . . . new," Wendy said, popping the portal.
The corridor they stepped into was empty, but for the first time there were screams in the distance and then, close, the sound of a gun, probably a shotgun, discharging.
"Okay, that's bad," Wendy said. She looked up and down the corridor unsure which way to go. "Left is to the range," she muttered. That was also the direction of the greatest noise.
As they stood there, the decision was reached for them. A mob appeared at the right end of the corridor and a group of them sprinted down the other direction. On the left, at almost the same time, a large figure in a wheelchair appeared, wheeling in the opposite direction for all his might.
"Oh, shit," Wendy breathed. "Oh . . . merde." She felt faint for just a moment and a taste of iron was in her mouth; she really didn't like the way things were going.
"Hi, Wendy," Harmon said, sliding to a stop as the panicked refugees poured by. "Fancy meeting you here."
"Did you know I'd come up the tunnel?" she asked and shook her head.
"Well, I didn't figure you'd used the escalators," he admitted. "It was this one or ladder seventeen-B and if you used that one you'd be dead by now, so I figured I'd come over here."
"Oh, shit, Dave," she said, looking into the maintenance room. The idea of lowering Harmon down that ladder was not appealing.
"Let's step inside, shall we?" he asked, rolling past her. "And close the door."
* * *
"What happened?" she asked, sealing the memory plastic portal. She wished it was a blast door.
"Dunno," Harmon said. "I ran across a security goon; they said that the computer was refusing to recognize the Posleen or declare a system-wide emergency. So other than calling people and telling them to get out, there was nothing to do. And they didn't get the word from the corps at all; the Posleen were just on the Urb before anyone knew anything was wrong. I was at my quarters; I couldn't even make it to the range." He reached into his carry bag and pulled out a short barrel pump shotgun. "Of course, nothing says I didn't have a backup."
"But it's like Rochester," Wendy whispered. "If they're on the entrances there's nothing we can do."
"I was wondering about that," Harmon said. "There's more than just personnel entrances; the grain elevators have a completely separate area. If you go down to H level through Hydroponics and into the elevators you'll come out about five miles from Pendergrass Mountain in an industrial park. Posleen can't be everywhere; once you make it up in the mountains . . ."
"That . . . might work," Wendy said, some of the shock coming off of her. "How in the hell are we going to get you down to H Sector, though?"
Harmon laughed and shook his head. "You're not. I am going to take the ladder down to D and then head for the cafeteria. But that's as far as I'm going."
"Dave . . ."
"Shut up, will you?" he asked. "We need to move and I need your help. I can climb down the ladder myself, but I need somebody to get the chair down."
"Can do," Wendy said. "But what about . . . ?"
"Wendy, if you can make it out of here, especially with the kids, it will be a miracle," he said. "You will not make it out dragging a . . . guy in a wheelchair. Too many ladders, too many small passages that are not exactly 'handicap friendly.' Understood?"
"Understood," Wendy answered.
Getting him down the ladder was easier than it appeared. Wendy found a length of tie-down strap and lowered the wheelchair almost the entire way, then Elgars climbed down and held onto it while Wendy climbed down and repeated the operation. Harmon, as he had said, was able to descend the ladder using only his arms. Maneuvering him into the chair at the bottom was tricky, but even that was accomplished with little trouble.
The corridors had actually thinned out as people gravitated to anywhere they considered safe. They wheeled the former police officer to the cafeteria, which was already filling up with people. As anticipated, many of them had managed to find a weapon "somewhere." Wendy wheeled him into the echoing hall and settled him behind a hasty barricade.
"I still don't like it," she said. She looked around and noted that most of the people in the room were older or infirm. On the other hand, most of them also looked like they were ready to handle anything hostile that came through the door.
"If it's a small incursion and anybody else turns up with a weapon we might make it," he said with a shrug. "And as long as you guys keep out of the way, we'll see each other later."
Elgars walked over and kissed him on the forehead then rubbed his stubble. "Aim low," she muttered. "They might be riding shetland ponies."
Harmon laughed and nodded. "I will. Get out of here."
One of the other defenders came over, a big old man with silver hair and hands that still had the calluses of a guy who had worked for a living. He was carrying a shortened pump shotgun similar to Harmon's and two mugs of steaming liquid. "Coffee, Dave?"
"Damn, where'd you get that, Pops?" Harmon asked with a laugh. "And I see that you are carrying a weapon, in clear violation of Sub-Urb regulation," he added in a stern tone.
"Oh, this?" the old man said, holding up the well-tended shotgun. "I just noticed it lying there in the corridor on my way over here. Undoubtedly it was dropped in panic by some miscreant. Probably at the thought of how angry Security would be if they caught him with it; I'm sure that he was shaking in his—or her, come to think of it—boots." He reached into his cavernous smock and pulled out a handful of twelve-gauge cartridges. "You fixed for ammo?"
Dave just laughed and shook his head. "Take off, ladies. I'll be fine."
Wendy gave him a last pat on the shoulder and walked out into the corridor.
"What we need," Wendy said, "is a plan."
Elgars looked thoughtful for a moment. " 'Kill them all; God will surely know his own.' "
"Where did you hear that?" Wendy asked.
"I have no idea, but when you said 'plan' it just popped in my head," Elgars sighed. "We need weapons. Those are in my room."
"Yeah, and we need to get the kids to Hydroponics," Wendy added. "You go for the guns, I'll go for the kids. We'll meet at the entrance to Hydro. Bring all the ammo you can carry."
"Oh, yes," Elgars said. "That part I can guarantee."
CHAPTER 30
Near Franklin, GA, United States, Sol III
2047 EDT Saturday September 26, 2009 ad
"I don't suppose you're going to let my oolt land there?" Cholosta'an said mournfully. Below, the stream of Posleen disappearing into the underground city was clear. As was the huge amount of booty seized from the military forces in the area.
"I don't think so," Orostan said. He was happier now that the plan seemed to be functioning and that the hated, impossible to catch, SheVa gun seemed to have fled. "There are too many objectives to be taken as it is and we are far behind schedule. Your oolt has a mission to perform and that is that."
"As long as I get my cut," Cholosta'an sighed. "But I could wish for some items in hand. I've never been in a successful assault before; it seems a waste to just let others take all the loot."
"There will be plenty later," Orostan snorted. "Think of this way; you get a cut of all of that. You'll be rolling in funds by the time this mission is done. And everyone who comes through a pass we take owes us a cut; so opening the way through to the plains is more important than sacking one stinking city. I could wish there was a way to stop them entirely. I need those oolt'os taking passes and running the human forces down, not looting."
"What is the next
objective?" the younger Kessentai asked.
"There is a bridge over a river called the Little Tennessee," Orostan said. "Horrible name. After that, we have to take the road up into the mountains. There are four or five objectives that are very important there. We'll bring the entire oolt'ondar down on the Tennessee then, after we have secured the crossing, we'll break up for the mountain objectives. We have the mission to open the way up the four-four-one route. Sanada will take the route up the twenty-eight road."
"A bridge, huh," Cholosta'an said mournfully. "And mountain roads."
"Don't worry, young Kessentai," the oolt'ondai said. "This time we shall have a surprise for the humans."
* * *
Major Ryan stood on the slope of Rocky Knob and watched the bridge below. He could see Posleen passing east of Franklin in the dying light, but they weren't to the bridge yet. And there were still refugees on it.
"When do you blow it?" the specialist asked, picking at her hands. Rigging a bridge for demolition had turned out to be hard work
"There's MPs still on it controlling traffic flow," Ryan answered, lowering his binoculars. "I don't know if they're like us, just doing what seems right, or under orders. But if they're still on it when the Posleen get to it, they're going sky high."
"That will be a bit tough on the MPs," she pointed out.
"It will be tougher on everyone else if the Posleen capture an intact bridge," he said. "But I have to wonder what they'll pull."
"What do you mean?"
He sat down on the verge of the road and dangled his feet over the side. They were stopped on a curve on a side road near Cook Creek and the other troopers were taking a break, eating their MREs, soaking their hands in the cold mountain water and wondering what the eccentric engineer in charge of them would have them doing next.
They had slowly picked up the group he was looking for, soldiers who had kept their equipment and were ready to follow a person who stated up front that he was part of a rearguard. He'd gathered eight instead of the four intended, and the bridge over the Tennessee was his first objective. Once it was down they would move on to the next and the next until they either ran out of explosives or luck. He was more worried about the latter than the former.
"These guys are acting smart so they have to know that we'll try to delay them, right?"
"Right," Kitteket said.
"So they've got to have a way over the river," he continued. "I can't imagine these guys just stopping and giving up. Can you?"
"No, sir," the specialist replied. "I can't."
"Well, looks like we're about to find out," he commented as the stream of Posleen, with four Lampreys and a C-Dec hovering overhead, turned in the direction of the bridge. Off in the distance he could see other landers turning towards the west. "I think they're dividing their forces," he mused.
"Well, that's not very smart," the specialist said. "At least if it's not a feint."
"Possibly," Ryan said, turning to look at the specialist again. "Another manual?"
"Sort of," Kitteket answered. "How many troops do you think they can push through the pass in an hour?"
"I dunno," Ryan said, then did some mental calculation. "Probably sixty to a hundred and twenty thousand. Say ninety to a hundred."
"So they're going to push those in two different directions," Kitteket said. "That reduces the forces necessary to stop them on both paths."
"Hmm," Ryan said. "On the other hand, each of the routes will have its own problems; I don't know, for example, if they could push as many on the whole route to Asheville as they can through the gap. Also, by breaking up they're making the task of cutting them off more complex; each individual defense point may last longer and be more effective with the lower numbers, but you'll need more routes covered. All in all I think it's a net positive for them, a negative for us."
"Possibly, sir," Kitteket said. "It depends, I suppose, on whether there are defenders on the other routes."
"I think you just made my point for me," Ryan said with a smile. "And we are now going to find out how effective we are going to be," he continued as the MP platoon on the bridge hurriedly boarded their Humvees and retreated, drawing fire from the lead oolt as they did so. Fortunately for Ryan's stomach, there were no stragglers between the MPs and the Posleen; he'd blown up bridges with stragglers on them before and it wasn't his favorite pastime by any stretch of the imagination.
"Are you going to wait until they're on the bridge?" Kitteket asked.
"No," Ryan answered. "And if I did, Sergeant Campbell would blow it up instead. The SOP is . . ."
"Five hundred meters," Kitteket interjected. "Just checking."
"Clerk typist?" he muttered.
"Four years, sir. Right here. Well, down there," she said, gesturing towards the Gap. "I type nearly eighty words a minute."
"If I need any forms filled out, I'll let you know," Ryan said, throwing a hand switch as the first Posleen passed by a street sign he had measured off as just under five hundred meters.
The explosion was the antithesis of spectacular. There were a few puffs of smoke and the concrete and steel bridges dropped into the stream.
"That's it?" Kitteket asked.
"That's it," Ryan answered, packing up the detonation circuit.
"I just expected lots of smoke and fire and the bridge going sky high," she said with a sigh. "We did a hell of a lot of work for a few puffs of smoke."
"I am a master," he said haughtily. "The essence of mastery in blowing things up is minimal force and I have blown up a lot of bridges in the last few years. Since we also have minimal explosives, I consider it to be a good idea all around."
"Sure, sir." The specialist laughed. "What next, O Great Master?"
"Next we are going to blow up a road," he answered. "Right after we see what these Posleen are going to do about the bridge."
The first wave of Posleen milled around aimlessly as the lead God Kings lifted up on their saucers and flew over the river. They quickly came back, though, and as new forces joined them the units were spread along the riverbank and the individual oolt'os spaced out.
"Jesus Christ," Ryan said, shaking his head.
"What?"
"They're spreading them out to reduce the damage from artillery. It would be better to start digging in, but I guess they haven't quite gotten that far."
"That's bad," Kitteket said. "Right?"
"Oh, yeah," the major mused as the first Lamprey crossed the river and disgorged its troops. It quickly lifted off and took on a new contingent, beginning a continuous shuttle back and forth. Once on the far side most of the units took up the chase after the fleeing humans, but a few spread out as on the near side, in this case fanning out widely and ensuring that there were no humans in the immediate vicinity.
"And now they're establishing a perimeter," Ryan said. "Why are they establishing a perimeter around the bridge? The former bridge."
"They're going to hold a cookout on the remains?" the specialist asked. "Uh, Major, it's getting dark and those Posleen that aren't establishing a bridgehead are headed up the road. Towards us."
"But the landers aren't moving," Ryan said as if he hadn't heard. One of the other Lampreys had joined the first in shuttling troops, but the other two Lampreys and the C-Dec were on the ground, spread out, as if waiting for something. "What are they doing?"
"Sir, maybe we should wonder someplace else?"
"Ah," the major answered with a grunt. "There's some movement."
The Posleen forces had been backing up into the valley, spreading out in a disciplined manner that Ryan still found disturbing, and now the centauroids were moving off the road to let another group through to the front. He focused the binoculars on the formation in the last light and shook his head.
"Tell me those aren't what they look like," he muttered.
"I dunno," Kitteket grumped. "You're the one with the binoculars."
He handed them over and shook his head. "Where in the hell did they get
them?"
"Sir," Kitteket said with a gasp. "Are those . . . ?"
"Indowy."
* * *
Orostan folded his arms and lowered his crest, the better to keep from frightening the little green one. Tulo'stenaloor had already had one Kessentai killed who had permitted the death of one of the "engineers"; the little creatures had been purchased and transported at great expense and they were a very finite resource. But dealing with them was very difficult.
He pointed to where the bridge had been. "There was a bridge," he said in a hash of Posleen and Galactic. "There must be a new one. If there is a new one, everything will be well. If there is not, your clan will be reduced."
The Indowy sidled around him and went over to the demolished bridge. The supports of both spans had been blown down and the metal girders had been blown in several places. What was left was a tangled mass of pulverized concrete and steel. He examined it for a moment then looked around at the materials in view. Last, he sidled back over to the Posleen commander.
"I will need hands, more hands than we have," the Indowy said diffidently. "Fortunately, there is a source of materials right here. We will not try to reconstruct the bridge, but will make new ones nearer the water level. This will be quicker. It still will take until morning. We cannot work miracles."
"You will have all the oolt'os you need," Orostan said. He gestured to forestall the question. "They will be controlled by their Kessentai, I will pick the ones to work with you. You may order them in these tasks as you will; there will be no damage to you."
"It will take time," the Indowy pointed out.
"It must go as swiftly as possible," Orostan warned. "No delay."
"We shall start immediately."
* * *
"Son of a bitch," Ryan said, getting out his notebook computer.
"What, sir?" Kitteket asked. "They're . . . doing something."
"They're replacing the bridge," Ryan said. "This is going to get interesting."
"So what are we doing?" she asked. "And there are Posleen moving around down in Brendleston."
"Brendletown," he corrected pedantically. "We're getting the hell out of here; I've seen everything I need to see."