“Get down, you fool!” John shouted. Dammit, I need you! Loyal men of his ability weren’t that common.
Then one of the machines wavered in the air, heeled, banked towards the earth. John started to cheer, then felt it trail off as the airplane steadied and began to climb. He was still grinning broadly as he rose and slapped Barrjen on the shoulder; both the Land planes were heading south, one wavering in the air, the other anxiously flying beside it like a mother goose beside a chick.
“Good shooting,” he said.
Barrjen pulled the bolt of his rifle back and carefully thumbed in three loose rounds. “Just have t’estimate the speed, sir,” he said.
Smith used his rifle to lever himself erect. “Here,” he said, tossing over three stripper clips of ammunition. “You’ll use ’em better than me.”
—and John shook his head. “There I was, thinking how fucking ironic it would be if I got killed by something designed to plans I’d shipped to the Chosen,” he said.
Jeffrey closed his eyes for an instant to look at a still close-up of Centers record of the attack. “Nope, they’ve made some improvements. That was moving faster than anything we’ve got so far.”
correct, Center said to them both. a somewhat more powerful engine, and improvements in the chord of the wing.
“I still sent them the basics,” John said.
“Considering that your companies have been doing the work on ’em, and they know they have, it would look damned odd if their prize double agent didn’t send them the specs, wouldn’t it?” Jeffrey said. “You know how it is. If disinformation is going to be credible, you have to send a lot of good stuff along with it.”
John nodded reluctantly. “I’m getting sick of disastrous retreats,” he said.
Jeffrey smiled crookedly. “Well, this isn’t as bad as the Imperial War,” he said. “We’re not fighting the Land directly, for one thing.”
He looked over his shoulder and called names. “Come on, you need a doctor and some food and sleep. The food’s pretty bad, but we’ve got some decent doctors. Barrjen, Smith, take care of him.”
“Do our best, sir,” Smith said. “But you might tell him not to get shot at so often.”
The two Santanders helped John away. Jeffrey turned back to the map, looking down at the narrow line of hilly lowland that snaked through the mountains.
“We’ll continue to dig in along this line,” he said, tracing it with his finger.
“Why here? Why not further south? Why do we have to give up ground to Libert and his hired killers?” De Villers wasn’t even trying to hide his hostility anymore.
Jeffrey hid his sigh. “Because this is right behind a dogleg and the narrowest point around,” he said. “That means he can’t use his artillery as well—we have virtually none, you’ll have noticed, gentle . . . ah, Citizen Comrades. And the mountains make it difficult for him to flank us. Hopefully, he’ll break his teeth advancing straight into our positions.”
“We should attack. The enemy’s mercenaries have no reason to fight, and our troops’ political consciousness is high. The Legionnaires will run away, and the Errife will turn on their officers and join us to restore their independence.”
A few of the others around the table were nodding.
“Citizen Comrades,” Jeffrey said gently. “Have any of you seen the refugees coming through? Or listened to them?”
That stopped the chorus of agreement. “Well, do you get the impression that the Legion or the Errife refused to fight in Bassin du Sud? Is there any reason to believe that they’ll be any weaker here? No? Good.”
He traced lines on the map. “Their lead elements will be in contact by sunset, and I expect them to be able to put in a full attack by tomorrow. We need maximum alertness.”
He went on, outlining his plan. In theory it ought to be effective enough; he had fewer men than Libert in total, but the terrain favored him, and holding a secure defensive position with no flanks was the easiest thing for green troops to do.
The problem was that Libert knew that too, and so did his Chosen advisors.