Gust Front

«But before the Po'oslenar can turn this corner, can take that booty to the north,» continued the eson'antai, «there is this stretch here.» Near the end of the Occoquan reservoir, a thin line of blue stretched to the south and widened to become Lake Jackson. «The threshkreen can organize here and meet us in terrific battle. Woe betide the force that first assaults them there!»

«It would be an honorable battle,» snarled Ardan'aath, «none of this skulking and ru

«We would be like Sammadar!» snarled the junior, rounding on the older Kessentai in challenge mode. «Without an oolt'os to our name, reduced to a castellaine! Perhaps that is what you seek?»

«Enough!» snapped the oolt'ondai, stepping between the two officers as they began to close. «Each has his merits! I listen to both, and each decides for himself the actions of his oolt'os. For himself! That is the Way and the Path. Ardan'aath, I listen to this one, for he is often right before the battle. But as battle is joined, do I not take your advice?»

«Aye, my lord,» said the older advisor, calmer with the reminder.

«Then, listen to this one. Take not anger from this conference, but wisdom.»

«I listen. As to wisdom, when this puppy has seen the burning of the orna'adar, when he has conquered worlds, then will I learn his wisdom.» He turned away and stomped again to the window. As he did, a tremendous crash on the southern ridge smashed the remaining glass inward, scattering it about the room and into the God King's crest. With an angry gesture, he shook his crocodilian head to clear it. «Demons of the sky eat your souls, you gutless thresh!»

«My edas'antai, we do not have much more time,» whispered the junior softly.

«The firing of this valley? You are sure of that?»

«Yes, here is the final quotient. If the thresh defend here,» he pointed once again to the map, wondering for a moment about the mind of a species that would make such a thing, the Po'oslenar had no equivalent, «then they will be strong. But if we swing here,» he pointed south of Lake Jackson, «to the south, we can come in behind them. They ca

«That will take us hours out of our way, we will not be there before deep night!»

«That is my suggestion. If you prefer to try that footbridge . . .» He gestured pointedly out the window.

The oolt'ondai winced, without looking again. He was experienced enough to recognize a trap when he saw one. «I think not. Ardan'aath!»

«Oolt'ondai?»

«Are you with us?»

«For a long march with no prospect of battle for hours? When battle rages all around us? What use am I?»

«Ardan'aath! Yes, or no? We must move!»

«I have traveled far with you, Kenallai. I continue, despite your dependence on this puppy.»

«Then we move!» With those words he led the way out of the room, already at a trot, a terrible fear clutching at his soul.

* * *

They passed the outskirts of the town of Occoquan, the normals of the brigade in a ground-eating lope, just as the first salvo of sixteen-inch rounds landed in the square.

* * *

«Big Mo pour it on!» The condition of Ryan's ears, despite hastily jammed in earplugs, had gone beyond ringing to probable permanent deafness. «I can't hear any response! I think I'm deaf! But you've wiped out hundreds so far.»

The plan had worked beyond his wildest dreams, because somehow the word had gotten around that there was an intact bridge at this location. Through the afternoon, the Posleen poured into the valley, charging for their chance at taking the far bank, and the shorter route to the prizes to the north. But as fast as they charged, the guns of the Missouri pounded the narrow defilade where the town had once stood.

Occoquan was no more; not a single house was left standing throughout the entire valley. As the engineer/forward observer walked the big sixteen-inch rounds back and forth, the quaint one– and two-story wood and stone houses had been torn apart under the hammer of the guns. Main Street was choked with rubble and in places the big rounds struck so many times they had pummeled the underlying rock into layers of gravel. The spot where the Occoquan Boatyard had once stood was now a cha

The huge shells were briefly visible as they plunged into the maelstrom, each one adding its load of dust and smoke to the surreal haze across the river. Occasionally, the pall was blown away by the light north wind but not fast enough for clear vision. Parties of the Posleen would make their way through the holocaust, taking casualties that would turn back a human force, all the way to the foot bridge and the dam, where they would run into more problems.

The dug-in engineer platoon had festooned the bridge with command-detonated mines. As the Posleen continued to reach the bridge, these were slowly used up, but the base of the narrow bridge was within easy small-arms fire. As the Posleen tried to cross, one at a time, they were brought under a hail of fire from the M-16s and AIWs of the platoon. Three times God Kings had made it through the curtain of battleship fire, but even their heavy weapons had been unable to force the passage.

Trying the old dam was no more use. In an inspired move one of the privates had found a can of grease in the now-erased waterworks and spread grease all along the top of the dam. The engineers rarely fired at the centaurs trying to cross there, instead taking notional bets on how far they would make it. There was a steady flow of white water across the top and the massive Posleen rapidly drowned in the deep water at the base.

The platoon had lost some trainee engineers, and the names of each would lie heavy on his soul, but this day Lieutenant Ryan knew he had done a man's job and done it with style. The sun descending in the west was bringing on the night's bitter autumn cold when the private next to him yelled to get his attention.

The sound barely penetrated the ringing as he called another adjustment, but the hand on his shoulder turned him around. There was a captain in battledress on his stomach behind him, camouflaged face split in a watermelon grin and crossed-rifles on his collar.

«We're here to relieve you!» the lieutenant half-heard, half-lip read.

The battle-shocked lieutenant just nodded his head. Combined with an infinite feeling of relief as he saw fresh, trained and heavily armed infantryman swarm over the lip and drop into the slit trench was a terrible sadness. It was the feeling of a job not completely done, of leaving a battle to another, a feeling similar to survivor guilt. It said «I am alive, and going to safety, but I leave you here to carry on my work and die.»

It was a silly feeling in the conditions; the infantry company was better trained for this sort of battle, fresh, more heavily armed, with three times the perso

He nodded his head again at the captain now standing next to him. «I can't hear anything, sir, just nod your head!» To which the captain nodded.

«USS Missouri,» Ryan shouted, gesturing with the microphone, «Uniform Four Seven! Be careful how close you get.» The hammer of machine guns in the background was washed out by another salvo of three rounds impacting. «You're sharing fire with the divisions getting pulled off at Deep Hole Point and over in Maryland, but it's enough.» He keyed the mike a last time.

«Uniform Four Seven, this is Romeo Six Seven, over.»