“Colonel, succeed or not, we’ve occupied their lines,” Fitz snapped. “Do you know how often we’ve managed to do that in this war? Three times. And never across a whole sector.”
“We’ll never hold it,” said Nygen sulkily.
Fitz ground his teeth. This sort of thinking was ingrained. “We’re not going to try. When that force field comes up we’re going to punch columns hard into their force-field area.”
It had sounded convincing back then. Now, waiting in the predawn, he could have used some convincing himself. His bangstick rested against the invisible inviolate barrier. Human gunners had proved that the Magh only raised it about three feet. And on average for less than two minutes.
“Have you got any booze with you?” asked Ariel.
* * *
Bobby Van Klomp was no better at waiting. And there’d been nothing from the satellite crowd for over an hour now. He sighed and checked his gear one more time. His own guess was that the wheels would start to come off Fitzy’s crazy plans anytime after six. Maybe earlier, but certainly not later than seven-thirty. He’d have his men in the air at six-thirty. Early, but not ridiculous enough for anyone to question. He could keep them out for as long as possible.
That would give Fitzy an extra hour of a small chance . . .
* * *
The only one who waited well was Henry M’Batha. The others had all given up waiting for more fireworks and trickled off to bed, or back to their stations. But Henry refused to believe that it was all over. His relief didn’t come in until seven. And then Henry would find reasons to stay a while longer. . . .
Chapter 40: Maybe not.
Romantic places are made thus by the people in them. This was not the windswept gritstone edge above the stark and wild Yorkshire moors of her dreams. But the towering stacks of Maggot-grub cells through which they wandered hand-in-hand made a magical, beautiful place too, thought Ginny. Even the relentless munching noises from the racks had an almost musical charm.
Chip had explored the area. Off on the far side were any number of little open Magh’ adobe cells. It took them some time to get there, because they kept stopping to work on this kissing bit. At the last stop Chip had nearly decided that this was a good enough place anyway . . .
Ginny looked at Chip. “This looks like the cell I was walled up in.”
“Would you like to go somewhere else?” His hands were caressing her breasts, and his fingers were gently coming in to touch her nipples through her blouse, arousing her to the point where she wasn’t thinking logically any more. Well, other than about how to get the material out of the way.
“Not if I’m here with you,” she said, breathlessly, unfastening his shirt buttons, her fingers clumsy with haste.
And then, from the other side of the wall, someone said something. Both of them stopped, their hands in very compromising positions.
The voice from the other side of the wall spoke again.
Ginny’s heart rose, despite wishing desperately that the interruption hadn’t happened for another few, precious few, minutes. It wasn’t a bat or a rat voice. It certainly wasn’t Fluff’s. Who else was there except the Professor? Well . . . it could be someone else, she supposed. “Er. Who’s there?”
“Tell him to piss off,” Chip whispered in her ear, through clenched teeth.
The reply they got could easily have been an excerpt from the Kama Sutra. Well, an alien version thereof, because whatever language that was, it wasn’t human. And human voices didn’t hit those sorts of notes. It could have been nearly anything because she didn’t understand a word of it. She tried some Korozhet. She’d been amazed at how easy that had been to learn.
There was a silence. Then, in appallingly accented but clear Korozhet, the voice informed her that the Korozhet would get absolutely nothing out of it.
“We are not Korozhet,” Ginny said hastily. That was a shocking idea, to be denied at all costs.
The appallingly accented Korozhet speaker asked, “Well, what are you then? Are you Magh’?”