Huber cleared his and Orichos’ faceshield. “They’ll keep on firing for a while,” he said, speaking through the intercom but keeping eye contact with the local, the only person in the car who’d be interested. “The thing is, cargo shells’re expensive to make and they have to be brought in from off-planet. If Solace command wants to waste them like this, they can be our guests. There could be a time the tribarrels’d have their usual work to do, and we wouldn’t want to worry then about firecracker rounds going off overhead.”
“Fox Three-three rejoining column,” Jellicoe said in a tone of mild satisfaction. Sure it was shooting fish in a barrel; and true, neither she nor her crew had touched their triggers while the gunnery computer took care of business . . . but it was still a nice bag of fish. “Out.”
“Three indig batteries have opened fire,” Central announced. “Seventeen tubes. None of the rounds are going to come close enough to worry about, so proceed on course as planned. Over.”
Tranter straightened, stretched, and then turned enough to meet Huber’s eyes. He ventured a weak grin; Huber clasped Tranter’s arm, closing the file on their previous short exchange.
From the driver’s compartment Deseau called, “Hey El-Tee? See if you can find us something t’ shoot at, will you? I don’t want my tribarrel growing shut like an old maid’s cunt.”
He laughed.
Before Huber could speak, Central broke in with, “Six rounds incoming from vector oh-nine-three. Fox Three-six respond. Over.”
A terrain display appeared on the upper left quadrant of his faceshield with a short, crooked red line reaching left toward the spot Central had picked for Fencing Master’s firing position.
“Roger, Central,” Huber said, swaying as Deseau pulled into a ravine. It was filled with feathery bushes that crumpled beneath Fencing Master’s bow skirts. The car rocked violently on the rough climb.
“Well, it’s a start,” said Frenchie. He kept his voice bright, but Huber could hear the strain; this wasn’t easy driving, not for anybody. “But you know, it’s been a bitch of a run. I’m looking forward to getting back behind my gun where I can maybe kill some of the bastards who put us through it.”
Deseau laughed. Huber didn’t join him, but he noticed that Captain Orichos wore a broad, grim smile.
* * *
“Sierra, we got buildings up here!” called an unfamiliar voice. Huber’s AI slugged the speaker as one of the scouting infantry. “By the Lord, we do! There’s more of ’em! We finally made it!”
“Ermanez, get off the push!” Captain Sangrela snapped. They were all punchy, fatigued in mind and body alike. “White Section, hold in place. Blue Section, close up as soon as you can without running any civilians down. These’re friendlies, remember! Six out.”
“Six, this is Fox Three-six,” Huber said. He twisted and leaned sideways to look off the stern of the car, past Captain Orichos. As he expected, the commander’s jeep was on its way forward. The light vehicle wobbled furiously in the turbulent air spurting beneath the skirts of the wrenchmobiles and tanks it was passing. “I’m moving into the lead in place of Sergeant Nagano. All right? Over.”
“Roger, Three-six,” Sangrela said. Huber watched the jeep lift airborne and plop down again hard enough to pogo on its flexible skirts. The message paused for a grunt. Sangrela went on, “Three-six, I’m dismounting all the infantry. I’m putting two squads up front with you for outriders. Out.”
“Fox Three-one,” Huber said, cueing Foghorn ahead of him with the scouts, “halt at a wide spot and let me in ahead of you. Three-six out.”
He could see Foghorn. For nearly eight hundred kilometers the column had been picking its way through trees. Suddenly they’d exited the forest onto a boulevard broad enough that even the wide recovery vehicles could’ve driven down it two abreast. The buildings to either side were three and four story wood-framed structures, but they had much wider street frontage than those of the United Cities. In the UC, Huber’d had the feeling he was standing in a field of towers rather than houses.
A few pedestrians walked between buildings and a scattering of high-wheeled jitneys bounced and wavered along the street. There was no other traffic. Despite its width the road wasn’t surfaced. At the moment it was rutted and dusty, but a rainstorm would turn it into a sea of mud.