by Bill Baldwin
“I suppose that's right,” Brim said, watching the other machines regain the surface.
“It is, sir,” Barbousse assured him. “If you can't beat somebody you're fightin', it never hurts to convince him he can't beat you, either.” He grinned. “Besides,” he added, “anybody who's spent his life followin' a cable isn't going to be too happy about pickin' his way through that mess of craters — probably fall in and never find his way out.”
“Let's hope,” Brim agreed, settling wearily back in his uncomfortable seat at the COMM console. “Now all we've got to do is catch up with Colonel Hagbut.”
“Beggin' the Lieutenant's pardon, but that bird's liable to be all the way to Avalon by now,” Barbousse said.
Brim smothered a laugh — just as the landscape ahead erupted in flashes of light. Clicks later, the cascading, rolling thunder of high-energy artillery reached them. He looked at Barbousse and frowned. “Another battle?” he whispered.
“Sounds like one to me, sir...” Barbousse started, then he was cut off by the screech of an emergency channel running overload on the COMM console.
“Brim! Stay clear! We're prisoners! Target is map locus 765jj. Everything up to you now…” The display globe went out in a manner similar to Fronze's demise.
Galvanized, Brim displayed the coordinates of the message on the COMM console. “Nine thirteen point five by E9G. Can you help me remember that, Barbousse?”
“Nine thirteen point five by E9G. I'll remember it, sir.”
“Good,” Brim said, his mind working furiously as he peered off along the cable right-of-way. “Now get ready to stop us in that patch of trees coming up to starboard. We've got some serious thinking to do before we go any farther.”
Scant cycles later, the convoy was hidden under the dense foliage of a large forest glen. Brim clambered onto the cool, fern-carpeted ground and motioned for the rest of the crews to stand down for the remainder of the day, then he leaned on a stump and breathed the clean fragrance of the trees, pondering what he ought to do next.
Suddenly, he was in command.
* * * *
Late into the long summer evening, Brim sat alone on the cool forest floor, back to a stump, hands around his knees while he desperately tried to assemble a coherent mental picture of his predicament. Reduced to absolute basics, the situation appeared to consist of no more than three primary elements, which he absently counted on his fingers for the hundredth time: (1) his chances for calling anyone to assist him, (2) his mission (and what to do about it), and (3) the meager resources at his disposal.
The first element — assistance — was simply unattainable. He immediately dismissed it as such. The Fleet certainly couldn't help him. Even if he asked his BATTLE COMMs to call, any starships they might find were powerless against his target, at least until he could contrive to achieve Hagbut's original mission and remove the A'zurnian hostages imprisoned there.
The second element, his mission, was a different proposition altogether — one in which the word “impossible” had no meaning whatsoever. It represented a commitment to duty he absolutely intended to fulfill. Of course, that involved no less than capture of a major military facility (which he had never so much as seen), freeing a sizable group of hostages who unwillingly — but effectively — protected that same facility from attack, delivery of the hostages to safety (wherever that was), and, finally, getting himself and his charges back to Magalla'ana in time to be evacuated when the mission terminated. All this, of course, had to be accomplished notwithstanding his secondary obligation to search for the captured Colonel Hagbut — if he found himself with spare time on his hands.
The third element, unfortunately, threatened ill for everything else. His resources were nowhere near to being suitable to the requirements of his mission, and that included himself. His fewer than twenty BATTLE COMMs, for example, had superb equipment for calling in destroyers — but before they could use any of it, they first had to double for 180 of Hagbut's highly trained foot soldiers!
The combined lack of help, impossible task load, and inadequate resources might have daunted many a normal Imperial. Carescrian Imperials, however, shared a unique background of adversity, one in which even the best of circumstances normally required making do with whatever expedients came to hand. He shrugged. He knew a way existed for getting the job done; no doubt about it. All he had to do was discover what that was.
He began early in the first watch of the night with Barbousse, poring over a three-dimensional map, scouring dusty corners of his mind to remember everything he ought to know about field operations from exercises at the Academy. As photomapped in real time by an orbiting reconnaissance craft, his target, the purported research center, sat astride the cableway in a wooded location at the extreme limits of Magalla'ana. A wide, narrow structure, it cascaded down a hillside in three levels of attached terraces, courtyards, and glass-enclosed laboratory structures. Significantly, its doors were on the ground story. Surrounding this structure was a huge campus area protected by a stout fence with gates at two opposing cable crossings. Clearly, the big facility also doubled as a key checkpoint controlling the cableway: Both gates appeared to be protected by large guardhouses. Inside the campus and considerably removed from the gates (as well as the research center itself), a rectangular compound with separate guardhouse was set off by its own double fence. The compound contained ten rectangular buildings in two rows of five each.
“That’s where they keep the hostages,” Brim declared grimly, pointing at the buildings with the magnifier.
“Looks like, sir,” Barbousse said. “And only one entrance to the compound.” He pursed his lips. “Makes things a lot easier for us with all the guards concentrated in one place.”
“Maybe.” Brim warned with a grin, “But first we've got to get there.”
Barbousse nodded gravely. “I've been thinkin' about that, Lieutenant,” he said with a frown.
“What's on your mind?” Brim asked.
“Well, sir,” the big man said, “hasn't been much traffic on the cableway since we hid in these woods this afternoon — and during that firefight we had comin' up to the bridge, you just know somebody got a warning off to the lab.” He frowned and shrugged. “So by now it pretty well stands to reason they've fixed a special welcome for anyone arriving at this side of the research center. I mean, we know they've got battle crawlers around, so there's no tellin' what else they have in store.”
“You're right,” Brim agreed gravely. “I guess I've given that some serious thought myself. And I think I've found something that might help.” He pointed on the map to an overgrown path that formed a rough semicircle around the campus and connected to the cableway at both ends approximately five thousand irals from the gates.
“I see, sir,” Barbousse said dubiously, studying the map. “What do you suppose it is?”
“Looks like a construction road to this ex-miner,” Brim pronounced. “Couple of years old at least. Might well have supplied gravel from these pits it runs beside. The research center probably used plenty, the way it's built.” He laughed. “Whatever they used to use the road for, that old right-of-way just might make our job a whole lot easier and less risky tonight.”
“How's that, sir?” Barbousse asked, scratching his head.
“This way.” Brim explained with a smile, “We leave the main cable at the road, turn right, then use it to go around to the other side of the research center. When the road meets the cable again we simply get back on the cable again and turn left. This time, we’ll be coming from the opposite direction — and arrive from the opposite direction. Like a convoy of Leaguer reinforcements. After all, that's why Hagbut says he brought these captured cannon in the first place.”
Barbousse nodded his head and smiled. ”Sounds good to me, Lieutenant,” he said. “But what if that road doesn’t have a cable in it any more?”
“I thought about that,” Brim said. “But the way the Leaguers litter the landscape with spare cable spools, I’m bettin
g it’s cheaper to leave laid cable where it is than remove it.” Then he shrugged. “And if that isn’t the case, then we’ll have some really great practice with the rudder pedals.”
”It’s sure worth a try, Lieutenant,” Barbousse said, “anything is that makes the odds a little better than they are right now — we aren't exactly the best substitute for the Colonel's hundred and eighty foot soldiers.”
Brim chuckled. “You've noticed?”
“I've noticed,” Barbousse agreed, “but it's yet to worry me, sir.” He laughed quietly. “We'll make a go of it, Lieutenant. Catch a little sleep now. We’ve got a lot to do in the morning.”
Brim nodded sleepily and leaned back in the uncomfortable chair as the big rating switched out the light on the map table. He remembered nothing more until the first crimson rays of dawn filtered through the trees.
* * * *
Following an early morning assembly, Brim set the various crews to searching their field pieces for anything of possible value to the task at hand. Not surprisingly, they found each vehicle had been well equipped at Gimmas/Haefdon. Emperor Greyffin IV was a steadfast Army man, and consequently the Imperial Expeditionary Forces were known everywhere for the wealth of equipment they carried in the field.
With the sound of distant artillery grumbling through the morning air, Barbousse and Fragonard lowered a number of heavy packing cases to the ground with two cables, then broke the seals with a power draw bar. From these, they lifted packages of blast pikes, oversized power cartridges, cartons of proton grenades, and a brace of battle lanterns — wiping each clean of preservative gel.
“Gantheissers, no less,” Fragonard said admiringly, turning one of the big blast pikes in his hands. “Not bad for emergency-pack stuff.” He slotted a power cartridge in place and grinned with pleasure as the self-test finished. “All ready to fire, too,” he said. “Got to give those weird Ganthers credit. If they do nothing else well, they surely can build weapons.” He departed shortly to make sure the other crews had their weapons under control.
When all the stores were prepared and distributed, some of the orphaned BATTLE COMMs set to unpacking one of the portable KA'PPA sets. “Sooner or later we'll need it to call in the destroyers, sir,” Barbousse explained to Brim. “I suggested they get their testing over with now.”
“Good idea,” brim agreed, watching two ratings reverse a large plate in the packing crate — which soon became a control panel. Others attached an auxiliary power unit via heavy cables with complex connectors, while nearby a third team unfolded the antenna lattice from a slender silver container. These tasks complete, everyone pitched in to lever the longish structure into the air and guy it in place with a triad of insulated wires. Immediately, operators busied themselves with integration tests using equipment contained in a third pack the size of the power unit. Operation of the complete assembly was verified in half a metacycle, then the whole bulky unit was restowed in five more. Brandon, A'zurn's star was high in a hazy, cloud-dappled sky by the time the BATTLE COMMs replaced the unit aboard brim's field piece, then marched off toward still another task with Barbousse in the lead.
* * * *
By mid-afternoon, the clouds had changed to a lowering overcast and a brisk wind was rustling the treetops. Brim stood at the edge of the cable right-of-way, inspecting a larger portion of sky than he could view from the forest floor. It was the fourth time he'd come; each time he did, he became more confident than the last. This time, it even smelled like rain. He smiled. Had he ordered the weather himself, he could scarcely have done a better job.
Later, rejoining the mobile field pieces, he visited the ordnance men adjusting their disruptors. “Probably get a mite better performance out of 'em this time,” Fragonard assured him from one of the boarding ladders. “None of 'em was ever fine-tuned before — thank the bloody Universe they were ready to fire at all, even if we couldn't hit anything, in a manner of speakin'.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “We'd all be dead by now.”
“Or worse,” Barbousse added under his breath.
Inside the quietly humming turret, Brim watched two ratings concentrating their efforts on the big disruptor, aiming the heavy weapon indirectly by means of a rigged index point: A hatch cover tied in a distant sapling just visible through the trees. Leveling devices and compensators whirred and hummed, dizzily (to Brim) changing the attitude of the huge turret as the ordnance men fine-tuned elevation and transverse targeting controls in both automatic and manual modes. “This time,” Fragonard said confidently, “if we need' em, we'll know better how to use 'em.”
By late afternoon, everything appeared to be ready, including the rain. A few drops filtered through the trees while Barbousse patched broken glass in the control cab and Brim completed his equipment checkout with Fragonard.
“Got the map,” the rating declared.
“Check.”
“Blast pikes?”
“Nine. One of 'em couldn't run diagnostics, so I pitched it. “
“Good. Positron grenades?”
“Forty-six energized, Lieutenant. Four duds with no power.”
Brim nodded. “That's it,” he said as the gathering storm began to drum loudly against the field piece's metal flanks. “The KA'PPA's tested, everybody's armed in one way or another, and you've got the disruptors tuned. I think we're about as ready as we're ever going to be.” A smell of rain filled the control cabin, fresh and damp to his nose. He peered around at the other field pieces. Probably it was his imagination, but somehow each one looked much more deadly now that he knew the disruptors were tuned. Then he closed his eyes and forced his racing mind to relax. Tonight would be a long night indeed.
Later, when storm-gray daylight faded to the near darkness of A'zurnian evening, the rain — which was previously only falling lightly — now began to come down in torrents. “Even with a cable in place, we're not going to make much speed with visibility like this,” Barbousse observed, peering through the water streaming along the windshield.
Brim nodded agreement. It was raining with a vengeance. “At least we don't have far to go,” he observed. “And anyway, it'll make it harder for them to spot us.”
“Through optical sights, sir,” Barbousse grumped with a smile.
“Those jammers in the hull ought to confuse their other sensors some,” Brim offered.
Barbousse smiled. “They won't believe it if they do pick us up, Lieutenant,” he said. “Nobody would go out on a night like this.”
“Sure hope so,” Brim said as he stretched forward and opened the phase converter. “You make sure the traction gear works and I'll test the COMM. After that, we'll get started and find out if you’re right.”
Five display globes again hovered above the shifting light patterns of the COMM cabinet as Barbousse gunned the traction engine from the driver's seat. “Everybody ready?” Brim asked — this time in short-range, “secure” mode.
Five versions of “Aye, sir” provided his answer from the other field pieces.
“Fragonard?”
“Ready, sir,” came his answer on the interCOMM from the turret.
Brim peered around the hunched form of Barbousse in the driver's seat. The big rating had his windshield cleaners in action, and the trees appeared like specters in the dim illumination of the battle headlights. “All set?” he asked.
“All set, sir.”
“Let's move out.”
“Aye, sir.” Barbousse nodded and carefully lowered the thrust sink. The big machine lumbered into motion, its traction system throttled back just above idle. Brim swung in his seat, watching five pairs of battle headlights follow in a serpentine track among the trees. “There,” the rating muttered, manhandling the heavy vehicle into a sharp left turn.
“Cableway?” Brim asked.
“Aye, sir,” Barbousse answered. “But I'm not lockin' on the cable-just as you ordered, Lieutenant.” He cocked his head momentarily. “Do you suppose they can track who's followin' the cable?”
&n
bsp; “Don't know for sure,” Brim admitted. “But it's always possible, and besides, the construction road isn't that far away.”
“Aye, sir,” agreed Barbousse, peering out into the rain ahead.
To Brim, the raging torrent looked like a meteor shower in the battle headlights' dull glow.
They drove in silence, Barbousse picking his way carefully with the trees a bare ten irals to his left. “Break in the woods coming up, sir,” he said tensely.
Brim peered past the man's shoulder. “About the right time,” he confirmed. “Try it.” Then he turned to the five COMM displays. “Hard right coming up,” he warned the others. “Watch for a break in the woods to starboard.” The landscape abruptly skidded to the left and the field piece tipped precipitously, then righted, Barbousse swearing under his breath. Then they were once more under control, picking their way slowly along the overgrown construction road.
* * * *
Considerable time elapsed before the six vehicles completed their circuitous route around the research center — successfully avoiding nine open quarry pits along the way. By the time they drew to a halt at the cableway again, this time on the far side of the campus, nearly half the night had passed.
“Everybody still with me?” he asked the COMM cabinet.
“Aye, sir,” five voices replied from the globes.
“Barbousse?”
“Doing fine, sir,” the big rating assured him.
“Very well,” Brim said. “Let's be at it, just as if we'd been coming this direction all day.”
“Aye, sir,” Barbousse called over the roar of the traction engine. He swung the heavy vehicle left onto the cableway. “Picking up the cable now,” he reported as a trio of green lights began to pulse on the panel before him. “Lock on.”
“Good,” Brim replied. “Let's put the lights on, we might as well get it over with and be done for once and all.”
Barbousse switched energy to the three big forward illuminators and all the running lights. The other five field pieces followed suit. Brim mentally shuddered as trees bordering the cable right-of-way stood out in sudden detail. He imagined the lighted machines looked a lot like six oversized refugees from a Gambbolian Feast of Lights.