The technician did. There was a pinpoint of light in the darkness of the screen. Conclusive proof that tractors need strong drink to give them the will to live, though the two men and the rat staring at the screen did not know it.
“A flare!” Fitz smiled. “That’s when it started. Match those coordinates with a daytime pic of the area.”
The technician obeyed, willingly enough. Curiosity was now driving him as much as the rat’s threat. An aerial picture of the road from the ruined winefarm appeared on the screen. Unbidden, the tech followed the road to the buildings and gave them max zoom. He looked at the text scrolling onto the screen.
“Clos Verde. It was a wine farm before the war. I went there once.”
“Methinks I’m right. ‘Tis a bunch of rats,” said Ariel.
Fitz snorted. “Goddamn likely considering the choice of hideout. But the explosion is more like bats. One of them could have survived by being aloft when an assault started.” He sighed. “Looks like they blew themselves sky high a few minutes later. Okay. Let’s go on with the time series.”
The explosion came up on screen. Fitz could see that even the sullen technician’s interest was caught by now. “Do you think they committed—what-do-you-callit—hari-kiri, sir?”
Ariel goggled. “Rats? Are you crazy?”
* * *
Corporal Simms looked at the explosion’s print carefully. Prewar he’d been a clerk for a demolitions company. He was a bright man, and the company had ended up getting him to cross-check all the calculations. He’d made it his business to learn as much as possible about explosives. In the natural fashion of military organizations, after drafting him the army had put him as far from the sappers as humanly possible. “If they did,” he said slowly, “I reckon they might have taken a lot of Magh’ along. That was a huge explosion. In the five or six tons of TNT bracket.”
Fitz nodded. “That flare beforehand—away from the explosion—makes the whole thing look planned to me. Let’s continue with the time series. Just zoom out.”
They did. And once again it was Ariel’s eyes that picked up the light trace. “It’s moving at . . . what would you say, Johnny?”
Corporal Simms studied it. “Too fast for too long and too steady for a running man. Besides, too much light. It must be a Magh’ vehicle.”
The technician’s hands flickered across the keyboard. He squinted at the display. “It’s moving between seventeen and thirty-two miles an hour. Averaging twenty-eight. It slowed right down and stopped here . . .”
“Steep hill?” Fitz asked.
The technician checked. “Yep.”
“And they veer here and disappear. Let’s just backtrack the time on that place where they disappeared.” Fitz tapped the big screen with his bangstick.
The bats knew how to place their shots. It was a small flare, but now they were looking for it.
There was silence as they stared at the screen. Then the major whistled.
The technician could no longer restrain his curiosity. “What does this all mean, sir?”
“It means that those aren’t Maggots,” said Major Conrad Fitzhugh, slipping back into grunt slang. His voice approached reverence. “Maggots don’t blow holes in their own damned nests. Those are some of our lads there. And they’re heading straight into the nest.”
Even the technician was caught up by it now. “You mean they’re a sort of special services raid? Right inside the enemy’s force shield?” His eyes shone. Clearly enough, he’d quite forgotten the cut on his neck.
Fitz blinked. “No. I wish like hell they were,” he said quietly, regretfully. “Most likely they’re just a bunch of grunts on the run. Not a clue what they’re doing.”
Corporal Simms looked at the second explosion. “A bunch of grunts heading straight into the Magh’ spiral. Brave, whoever they are.”
“Not rats,” said Ariel quietly. “They’re not that stupid.” She also sounded regretful.
“But . . . what are they trying to do?” The technician pointed to the screen. “I mean, you said yourself it all looked planned. Look at the way that wall blew up just before they got there. That’s really skilled timing! ‘Synchronize your watches’ sort of stuff. Like in old DVDs!”