by Keith Laumer
Standing on the porch of his ramshackle store with Freddy Frink, Mayor Kibbe wiped his broad brow and frowned. Even if the town survived this damn battle, things'd never be the same again. The last trickle of off-planet trade would die out if Spivey's became known as a battleground, where the Deng could hit anytime. Abruptly, he became aware of what Frink was saying:
"-be worth plenty-the right stuff at the right place, at the right time, Mr. Mayor. And you're the only one's got it. Shame to let it go to waste."
"What you talking about, Freddy?" Kibbe demanded impatiently. "Town's getting blowed apart practically, and you're worrying me about wasting something. Stray shot hits the town, whole thang's wasted-and you and me with it."
"Sure, Mr. Mayor, that's what I'm talking about," Frink came back eagerly. "Don't forget even if old Jonah runs these here spodders off, they's still the main party back in the Canyon. And Pud's idea was right: we can blast the Rim right down on 'em."
"How we going to do that?" Kibbe challenged. "We been all over that. Ain't no way to tote two hundredweight o' smashite up yonder onto the Rim."
"Old Jonah could do it, Cy," Frank urged. "Could swing out into the badlands and come up on the Cut from the northeast and get right in position. Got the old mining road comes down the face, you know."
"Bout halfway," Kibbe grunted. "He might get down far enough to set the charge, but how'd he get back up? No place to turn around."
"I betcha a thousand guck a kilo wouldn't be too much to expect," Frink suggested. "A hundred thousand, cash money-if we act quick."
"That's damn foolishness, Freddy," Kibbe countered. "You really think-a hundred thousand?"
"Minimum," Frink said firmly. "I guess you'd give a fellow ten percent got it all set up, eh, Mr. Mayor?"
"Old Jonah might not last out the day," Kibbe said more briskly. "Don't know where he got the recharge; he was drained dry before they built the museum around him, back in eighty-four. Can't last long out there." He half turned away.
"Wait a minute, Mr. Mayor," Frink said quickly. "Don't know what happened, but he's still going strong. He'll be back here pretty soon. All we got to do, we got to load that smashite in his cargo bay, wire it up fer remote control, and send him off. Works, we'll be heroes; don't work, makes no difference, we're finished here anyway. This way we got a kinder chance. But we got to move fast; don't want old Cabot to try to grab the credit. That's solid gold you got back in the shelves, Cy-if you use it right."
"Can't hurt none to try, I guess," Kibbe acknowledged, as if reluctantly. "Got to clear it with Davis and General Henry, too, I guess."
"Hah, some general," Frink sneered.
When Unit JNA had pounded the last of the dozen attacking Yavacs into silence, it moved past the burned-out hulks and directed its course to the west, bypassing the end of Main Street by a quarter mile, then just as the raptly observing townsfolk perched on roofs or peering from high windows had begun to address rhetorical questions to each other, it swung south and accelerated. At once fire arced from the north of the trees, where enemy emplacements were concealed. The Bolo slowed and then halted to direct enfilade fire into the crevasse, then resumed its advance, firing both main batteries rapidly now. A great gout of soil and shattered tree trunks erupted from mid-thicket. The bodies of Deng troopers were among the debris falling back to the ground.
"Smart, like I said," General Henry told Cy Kibbe, who had made his way up beside him. "He poured the fire into the zond-projector they had set up yonder, because he knew if he could boost it past critical level it'd blow, and take the heart out of 'em."
"Commendable, I'm sure, General," Kibbe commented. "But I'm afeared these niceties of military tactics are beyond me. Now, General-" Kibbe followed closely as Henry turned in at an alley to approach the scene of action more closely. "-me and some of the fellows are still quite concerned, General, about what we understand: that most of these dang Deng-" he broke off to catch his breath. "No levity intended, sir," he interjected hastily-"these infernal aliens, I meant to say-which remain at Big Cut, with offensive power quite intact!"
"As you said, Kibbe," Henry dismissed the plump civilian, "these are matters you know nothing about. I assure you I'm mindful that the enemy has not yet committed his main body. You may leave that to me." He walked into the field, watching as the Bolo closed on the now-gutted thicket, whence individual Deng troopers were departing on foot, while the few light Yavacs which had come up maneuvered in the partial screen of the burning woods to reform a blunt wedge, considerably hindered by the continuing fire from their lone antagonist. Then they, too, turned and fled, getting off a few scattered Parthian shots from their rear emplacements as they went. Unit JNA trampled unhindered through the splintered remains of the patch of trees, skirting the shallow gully at its center, and turned toward town. A ragged cheer went up as the huge machine rounded into Main Street and crossed the last few yards to halt before the clustered townsfolk. Davis thrust Dub forward.
People shrank back from the terrific heat radiating from the battle-scarred machine, if not from the terrifying aspect of its immense bulk, the fighting prowess of which adjust been so vividly demonstrated before their eyes.
"Well done, Johnny," the boy said unsteadily. "You can rest now."
"Jest a dad burned minute here," Kibbe burst out, pushing his way to the fore. "I guess ain't no mission accomplished while the main bunch o' them spodders is still out to Big Cut, safe and sound, and planning their next movet"
Henry came up beside Dub and put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Your protégé did well, Dub," he said. "But the mayor has a valid point."
"Johnny done enough," Dub said doggedly.
"More than could have been expected," Henry agreed.
"Jest a dang minute, here," Cy Kibbe yelled. "I guess maybe us local people got something to say about it!" He turned to face the bystanders crowding in. "How about it-Bub, Charlie, you, Ben-you going to stand here while a boy and a-a…" the momentum of his indignation expended, Kibbe's voice trailed off.
"A boy and 'a drunken derelict,' is I believe, the term you were searching for," Henry supplied. He, too, faced the curious crowd. "Any suggestions?" he inquired in a discouraging tone.
"Durn right," a thin voice piped up promptly. Whiskery Fred Frink stepped to the fore, his expression as determined as his weak chin allowed. "Mr. Cabot, here, come up with a good idear," he went on. "Said let's load up this here museum-piece with some o' Mayor's explosives, left over from the last mining boom, you know, petered out all of a sudden, and send him out and blow that cliff right down on top of them spodders." Frink folded his arms and looked over his narrow shoulder for approval. General Henry frowned thoughtfully.
"Johnny's done enough," Dub repeated, tugging at the former town drunk's sleeve. "Let the mayor and some o' them go blow up the spodders."
"I'm afraid that's not practical, Dub," the general said gently. "I agree with the mayor that there are not enough fit men in town to carry out the mission, which I'm inclined to agree is our only option, under the circumstances. It's Unit JNA's duty to go where he's needed."
"You, boy," Frink yapped. "Tell this overgrowed tractor to pull up over front of the Depot."
Dub went casually over to confront the whiskery little man. Carefully, he placed his thumbs in his ears and waggled his fingers. Then he extended his tongue to its full length, looking Frink in the eye until the little man stepped back and began to bluster.
"Me, too, Dub," General Henry said, and pushed the boy gently toward the machine. Dub went as close to the Bolo as the still-hot metal would allow. "Listen, Johnny," he said earnestly. "They want you to go up on top the Badlands and plant some kind o' bomb. Can you do it?"
There was a moment of rapt silence from the open-mouthed crowd before the reply came clearly:
"As you wish, my commander. I compute that my energy reserve is sufficient to the task, though I am not fully combat-ready."
"Ain't gonna be no combat," Frink piped up
. "Jest get the stuff in position, is all."
"Better go over by Kibbe's," Dub addressed the machine reluctantly. At once the vast bulk backed, scattering townsfolk, pivoted, and advanced to the indicated position, dwarfing the big shed.
"Tell it to open up," Frink commanded. Dub nodded and passed the order along to the Bolo; immediately the aft cargo hatch opened to reveal the capacious storage space beneath.
At Frink's urging, with Kibbe fussily directing the volunteers to the rear storage loft, a human chain formed up, and in moments the first of the bright-yellow, one-pound packages of explosive was passed along the line, and tucked away in the far corner of the Bolo's cargo bin.
As the last of the explosive was handed down to Frink, who had stationed himself inside the bin, stacking the smashite, Kibbe climbed up to peer inside cautiously before handing down a coil of waxy yellow wire, and a small black box marked detonator. mark xx.
"Got to rig it up fer remote control," he explained gratuitously to Henry, who was watching closely. "So's he can unload and back off before it goes up."
Half an hour later, while the entire population of New Orchard cheered, the battle-scarred machine once more set off across the plain toward the distant fault-line known as the Cliff. Dub stood with Henry, hoping that no one would notice the tears he felt trickling down his face.
"He'll be all right, son," Henry reassured the lad. "The route you passed on to him will take him well to the east, so that he'll come up on Big Cut directly above the enemy concentration."
"It ain't fair," Dub managed, furious at the break in his voice.
"It seems to be the only way," Henry told him. "There are lives at stake, Dub. Perhaps this will save them."
"Johnny's worth more'n the whole town," Dub came back defiantly.
"I can't dispute that," Henry said quietly. "But if all goes well, we'll save both, and soon Unit JNA will be back in his museum, once we rebuild it, with new battle honors to his credit. Believe me, this is as he wants it. Even if he should be ambushed, he'd rather go down fighting."
"He trusted me to look out for him," Dub insisted.
"There's nothing you could have done that would have pleased him more than ordering him into action," Henry said with finality. In silence, they watched the great silhouette dwindle until it was lost against the cliffs, misty with distance.
Once more I know the exultation of going on the offensive against a worthy foe. My orders, however, do not permit me to close with him, but rather to mount the heights and to blast the rock down on him. This, I compute, is indeed my final mission. I shall take care to execute it in a manner worthy of the Dinochrome Brigade.
While the wisdom of this tactical approach is clear, it is not so satisfying as would be a direct surprise attack. Once at the Rim, I am to descend the cliff-face so far as is possible, via the roadway blasted long ago for access to certain mineral deposits exposed in the rockface. I am weary after this morning's engagement, nearing the advanced depletion level, but I compute that I have enough energy in reserve to carry out my mission. Beyond that, it is not my duty to compute.
Sitting at his desk, Cy Kibbe jumped in startlement when General Henry spoke suddenly, behind him. "I declare, Henry-I mean General," Kibbe babbled. "I never knowed-never seen you come in to my office here. What can I do for you, General, sir?"
"You can tell me more about this errand you've sent Unit JNA off on. For example, how did you go about selecting the precise point at which the machine is to set the charges?"
Kibbe opened a drawer and took out a sheaf of papers from which he extracted a hand drawn map labeled Claim District 33, showing details of the unfinished road on the cliff face. After Henry had glanced at it, Kibbe produced glossy 8 x 10 photos showing broken rock, marked-up in red crayon.
"Got no proper printouts, sir," he explained hastily. "Jest these old pitchers and the sketchmap, made by my pa years ago. Shows the road under construction," Kibbe pointed to the top photo. "See, General, far as it goes, it's plenty wide enough for the machine."
"I don't see how it's going to turn around on that goat path," Henry commented, shuffling through the photos. "You loaded two hundred pounds of Compound L-547. That's enough to blow half the cliff off, but it has to be placed just right."
"Right, sir," Kibbe agreed eagerly. "Right at the end o' the track'll do it. I know my explosives, sir, used to be a soft-rocker myself, up till the vein played out. My daddy taught me. Lucky I had the smashite on hand; put good money into stocking it, and been holding it all these years."
"I'm sure the claim you put in to Budev will cover all that," Henry said shortly.
"Sir," Kibbe said in a more subdued tone, as he extracted another paper from the drawer. "If you'd be so kind, General, to sign this here emergency requisition form, so's to show I supplied the material needed for gubment business…"
Henry looked at the document. "I suppose I can sign this," he acknowledged. "I saw the explosives loaded, looks legitimate to me." He took the stylus proffered by Kibbe and slashed an illegible signature in the space indicated.
"I understand you have an old observation station on the roof, for watching the mining work at the cliff," Henry said. "Let's go up and see how well we can monitor the Bolo's progress."
Kibbe agreed with alacrity, and led the way to the narrow stair which debouched on the tarred roof. He went across to a small hut, unlocked the door, and ushered the general into the stuffy interior crammed with old-fashioned electronic gear. He seated himself at the console and punched keys. A small screen lit up and flickered until Kibbe turned dials to steady an image of looming pinkish rock pitted with shallow cavities. "Blasted them test holes," he grunted. "Hadda abandon the work cause the formation was unstable, big mining engineer told Pa, condemned the claim-but that's just what we need, now!" Kibbe leaned back, grinning in satisfaction. "One good jolt, and the whole overburden'll come down. Now let's see can we get a line on the spodders down below the Cut." He twiddled knobs and the screen scanned down the rockface to the dry riverbed at the bottom, where the Deng had deployed their armor in battle array.
"Lordy," Kibbe whispered. "Got enough of 'em, ain't they, General sir?"
"Looks like a division, at least," Henry agreed. "They're perfectly placed for your purposes, Mr. Mayor, if nothing alerts them."
"I suppose their transports are farther north in the Cut," Henry said.
"That's right, General sir," Kibbe confirmed. "I been keeping an eye on 'em up here ever since we heard where they was at. Mighty handy, having this here spy gear." Kibbe patted the panel before him. "Pa suspicioned there was some dirty work going on at the claim, claim-jumpers and the like; spent a pretty penny shipping all this gear in and paid some experts to install it, placed the pick-up eyes all over to give him good coverage. Yessir, a pretty penny."
"I'll confirm the use of your equipment when you file your claim, Mr. Mayor," Henry said. "You'll make a nice profit on it. Provided," he added, "your plan works."
"Gotta work," Kibbe said, grinning. He adjusted the set again, and now it showed the approach to the cliff road, with the Bolo coming up fast, trailing a dustcloud that was visible now also through the lone window of the look-out shed.
The two men watched as the machine slowed, scouted the cliff-edge, then pivoted sharply, its prow dipping as it entered the man-made cut. Kibbe dollied in, and they watched the big machine move steadily down the rough-surfaced road, which was barely wide enough for passage by the Bolo.
"Close, but it's got room," Kibbe said. "Pa wasn't no dummy when he had 'em cut that trail wide enough for the heavy haulers."
"Very provident man, your father," Henry acknowledged. "I assume you'll include road-toll fees in your claim."
"Got a right to," Kibbe asserted promptly.
"Indeed you have," Henry confirmed. "I won't dispute your claim. A military man knows his rights, Mr. Mayor- but he also knows his duty."
"Sure," Kibbe said. "Well, I guess I done my duty all right, putti
ng all my equipment and supplies at the disposal of the gubment and all-not to say nothing about the time I put in on this. I'm a busy man, General, got the store to run and the town, too, but I've taken the time off, like now, to see to it the public's needs is took care of."
"Your public spirit amazes me," Henry said in a tone which Kibbe was unable to interpret.
At that moment, the office door creaked and Kibbe turned to greet Fred Frink, who hesitated, his eyes on Henry.
"Come right on in, Freddy," Kibbe said heartily. "You're just in time. Looky here." He leaned back to afford the newcomer an unimpeded view of the screen where the Bolo had halted at a barrier of striated rock.
"End o' the road," Kibbe commented. "Perfect spot to blast that cliff right down on the durn spodders."
Frink was holding a small plastic keybox in his hand. He looked from Henry to Kibbe, a worried expression on his unshaven face.
"Go ahead, Freddy," Kibbe urged, as he snapped switches on the panel. "All set," he added. "You're on the air. Go." As he turned to catch Frink's eye, the scene on the screen exploded into a fireball shrouded in whirling dust. The great slab of rock blocking the road seemed to jump, then fissured and fell apart, separating into a multitude of ground-car-sized chunks which seemed to move languidly downward before disintegrating into a chaotic scene of falling rock and spurting dust, in which the Bolo was lost to view. As the dust thinned, settling, nothing was visible but a vast pit in the shattered rock-face, heaped rocks, and a rapidly dissipating smoke-cloud.
