There was nothing further to be done at Seltar. The inhabitable
parts of what had been the dome were packed with survivors and
wounded; already many were having to live in the assortment of
vehicles huddled around outside it. Supplies df food and oxygen,
never intended for more than a small company, would give only a
temporary respite. The only hope, slender as it was, lay in
reaching HO Base at Gorda overland-a journey estimated to require
twenty days.
On Day Eighteen, the departure from the dome was recorded as
follows: Formed up in two columns of vehicles. Ours moved out half
an hour ahead of the second as a small advanced scouting group. We
reached a ridge about three miles from the dome and could see the
main column finish loading and begin lining up. That was when the
missiles hit. The first salvo caught them all out in the open. They
didn’t have a chance. We trained our receivers on the area for a
while, but there was nothing. The only way we’ll ever get off this
death furnace is if there are ships left at Gorda. As far as I
know, there are 340 of us, including over a hundred girls. The
column comprises five scout cars, eight tracked trucks, and ten
heavy tanks. It will be a grim journey. Even Koriel isn’t taking
bets on how many get there.
Minerva is just a black, smoky ball, difficult to pick out against
the sky. Two of the red spots have joined up to form a line
stretching at an angle across the equator. Must be hundreds of
miles long. Another red line is growing to the north. Every now and
then, parts of them glow orange through the smoke clouds for a few
hours and then die down again. Must be a mess there.
The column moved slowly through the desert of scorched gray dust,
and its numbers shrank rapidly as wounds and radiation sickness
took their toll. On Day Twenty-six they encountered a Lambian
ground force and for three hours fought furiously among the crags
and boulders. The battle ended when the remaining Lambian tanks
broke cover and charged straight into the Cerian position, only to
be destroyed right on the perimeter line by Cerian women firing
laser artillery at point-blank range. After the battle there were
165 Cerians left, but not enough vehicles to carry them.
After conferring, the Cerian officers devised a plan to continue
the journey leapfrog fashion. Half the company would be moved half
a day’s distance forward and left there with one truck to use as
living accommodation, while the remaining vehicles returned to
collect the group left behind. So it would go on all the way to
Gorda. Charlie and Koriel were among the first group lifted on
ahead.
Day Twenty-eight. Uneventful drive. Set up camp in a shady gorge
and watched the convoy about-face again and begin its long haul
back for the others. They should be back this time tomorrow.
Nothing much to do until then. Two died on the drive, so there are
fifty-eight of us here. We take turns to rest and eat inside the
truck. When it’s not your turn, you make yourself as comfortable as
you can sitting among the rocks. Koriel is furious. He’s just spent
two hours sitting outside with four of the artillery girls. He says
whoever designed spacesuits should have thought of situations like
that.
The convoy never returned.
Using the single remaining truck, the group continued the same
tactic as before, ferrying one party on ahead, dumping them, and
returning for the rest. By Day Thirty-three, sickness, mishaps, and
one suicide had depleted the numbers such that all the survivors
could be carried in the truck at once, so the leapfrogging was
discontinued. Driving steadily, they estimated they would reach
Gorda on Day Thirty-eight. On Day Thirty-seven, the truck broke
down. The spare parts needed to repair it were not available.
Many were weak. It was clear that an attempt to reach Gorda on foot
would be so slow that nobody would make it.
Day Thirty-seven. Seven of us-four men (myself, Koriel, and two of
the combat troopers) and three girls-are going to make a dash for