“In the name of the One God, let us carry the fight to the legions of Shaitan!”
“For the honor of the gods, I say attack!”
“We’ll attack, but it will be a feint. Thomas, you’ll take twenty-seven units, and move out to the south. Don’t close; cruise their line at extreme range, as though you were looking for a weak spot. Put two of your best probemen on scan for recruits; you may be able to pick off a unit here and there. Keep up defensive fire only; if you draw out a pursuit column, fall back on this position, and try to capture them.”
“Twenty-seven units say ye, sir? What of the others?”
“I’m taking two men. When you reach a point close to a two-seven-oh heading from here—turn and hit their line with everything you’ve got. That will be my signal to move out.”
“Wi’ two men only? By’r lakin, they’ll trounce ye like a stockfish!”
“We’ll come out with screens down, ports closed, and mingle with the enemy. In the confusion, I’m counting on their assuming we’re loyal slaves. As soon as you see we’re in their lines, turn and run for it. Keep them busy. With luck, we’ll get through.”
“And where would you be goin’?” an Irish voice demanded.
“Their headquarters is about twelve miles west of here. I’m going to try to reach it.”
“And what will you do when you get there? I see no—”
“Avaunt, ye pied ninny! Would ye doubt our captain’s wit?”
“Not I! But—”
“Then let be! Aye, Captain! We’ll bear up and board ’em. We’ll do our appointed office for stale, and putter out at three for one ye’ll treble us o’er.”
“To which of us falls the honor of your escort?” someone called.
A vast machine rumbled forward. “Who would take Aethelbert’s place will fight for it!”
“Ye wouldn’t think of tryin’ it without me, Cap’n?” the scout Ben called.
“Ben and Aethelbert it is,” I said. “Thomas, are you ready?”
“We’ll go upright wi’ our carriage, fear not, Cap’n! Now we’ll avoid i’ the instant.”
“All right,” I said. “Good luck to all of us; we’ll need it.”
* * *
With my two companions beside me, I waited at the south end of the ravine, watching the distant dust cloud that was Thomas’ force as it raced across the starlit desert, the flickering of enemy guns lighting the scene with a winking radiance of blue and red and white.
“He’ll be turning to hit them any minute,” I said. “Remember the drill: communications silence, screens down, ports closed. If we’re fired on, take evasive action, but don’t return it.”
“Hard will it be, and never gleeman’s joywood will sing the deed,” Aethelbert muttered. “By Odin’s tree, the way of the hero is no easy one.”
“Oh-oh,” Ben said. “There they go!”
I saw the dust trail turn, drive for the massed loyalist units; the glow of gunfire brightened, concentrating. There was a general movement along the alien line as the forward ranks thrust out in flanking arms to enclose the attackers.
“Let’s go!” I said. We moved out, raced toward the distant horizon behind which lay the Place That Must Be Defended. All around us, the high, grim shapes of enemy battle units loomed from the enveloping dust cloud, their guns ready, the baroque shapes of strange brigade markings gleaming on their sides. We rumbled steadily on, ignored in the churning confusion, altering course little by little to angle closer to our objective.
A unit with the garish markings of a Centurion turned across our path; its guns swung to track us. We trundled steadily on, steered past it. It moved off, and disappeared in the dust.
The number of loyalist units around us was lessening now; I increased speed, probing the opacity ahead with a focused radar beam. Moments later, the dust thinned. Abruptly we were in the open. I slammed full power to my drive mechanism, surged forward at a speed that made the landscape flash past in a blur of gray. The tall peak loomed, a mile or two ahead, and I saw now that the pass lay to the left of it. I flicked on a detector screen, fanned it out to scan the ground behind me. I saw a heavy machine roar out of the curtain of dust, its disrupter grid glowing a baleful red.
“They’ve spotted us!” I called. “Open fire—only a mile to go now!”
I heard Aethelbert and Ben’s curt acknowledgments, felt the tremors in the rock that meant their heavy guns were firing. Another alien unit hurtled into view and opened fire.
On my left, Ben whooped suddenly, “I slipped home to him, Cap’n. Old Aethelbert was keepin’ him busy, and I took him low. Watch!”
I saw the leading pursuer veer to the right, bound up a low slope, and smash headlong into a towering rock slab. There was a shock that lifted me clear of the ground, slammed me ahead; a fountain of molten chromalloy and rock leaped up, fell all around; then dust closed over the scene.
The pass was ahead now; I swung to enter it, gunned up the long slope. Ben followed, trailing by a quarter-mile. Far back, Aethelbert was coming up fast, the fire of the remaining alien unit lighting his defensive screens.
I reached the crest of the pass, came to a halt looking down on a vast complex of works—tunnel heads, squat sheds, low circular structures of unknown function—gray, rough-textured, stark and ugly against the bleakness of the lunar landscape. And beyond the warren of buildings, a tower reached up into the glittering black of the night sky, a ragged shape like a lone spire remaining from a fallen ringwall: the Place That Must Be Defended.
I looked back down the trail. From my vantage point I could see the broad sweep of the plain: the distant jumble of rock where we had regrouped, the milling mass of the enemy, strung out in a long pincers that enveloped the tiny group of winking lights that was Thomas and his dwindling band; and nearer, the dust trail reaching almost to the foot of the pass, and the second trail, close behind.
From halfway down the sloping trail, Ben called, “Aethelbert’s in trouble; he’s taken a hit, I think—and that fellow’s closing on him. I better give him a leg up.”
“Aethelbert!” I called. “Are you all right?”
There was no answer. I saw him slow as he entered the pass, then turn sideways, blocking the entry, his guns pointed toward the enemy. The oncoming unit poured fire into the now stationary target; it rocked to hit after hit. Ben, coming up beside me, swung his guns, opened fire on the alien unit as it came within range.
“Aethelbert, we’ll cover you!” I called. “Come on up into the pass; you’ll have shelter there!”
“I’ll tarry here, Jones,” came a faint reply. “There’ll be no lack of foes to tempt my thunder.”
“Just a few yards farther!”
“Bare is the back without brother behind it,” he sang out. “Now take the mead-hall of the goblins by storm, and may Odin guide your sword-arm!”
“I’m goin’ back for him!” Ben yelled.
“As you were, Ben! The target’s ahead! Let’s go and get it!” I launched myself down the slope without waiting to see him comply. A moment later, he passed me, racing to run interference.
“Head for the tower,” I called. The first buildings were close now—unlovely constructions of featureless stone, puny in scale. I saw a tiny dark shape appear in a tunnel mouth, saw it bound toward a cluster of huts—and recognized it as one of the dog-things, looking no larger to me than a leaping rat, its head grotesquely muffled in a breathing mask—apparently its only protection from the lunar vacuum. I veered, bore down on it, saw its skull-face twist toward me as my treads caught it, pulped it in an instant, flung the bristled rag that was its corpse far behind.
Ben braked to a halt before a wide gate, swung his forward battery on it, blasted it to rubble, then roared ahead through the gap, with me close behind—
A shock wave struck me like a solid wall of steel. I felt myself go up, leap back, crash to the rocky ground, slide to rest in a shower of debris. Half dazed, I stared through the settling dust, saw the blackened hulk that had been my Confederate scout, smoke boiling from every aperture, his treads gone, gun barrels melted. I shouted his name, caught a faint reply:
“Cap’n . . . don’t move . . . trap . . . all automatic stuff. I saw ’em . . . too late. Hellbores . . . set in the walls. You’ll trigger ’em . . . when you move . . . don’t . . . stir . . .” I felt his mind-field fade, wink out.