They had gotten into the woods just in time. A bald eagle flew over the barn and circled, then flapped northward. It must be a scout sent by the Gillikins. It would soon be telling the cavalry that the Winkie king was here and his route to the castle would be cut off.
Niklaz had seen the eagle, but he apparently was going to stay at the bam.
"Here they come!" Nabya said. He spat out a plug of tobacco.
The hawks were not flying at top speed; they were hanging back so that the Monkeys could keep up with them. Both groups were at a hundred feet altitude. The hawks were three lines deep in the van, and the simians were four lines deep. The birds were silent, but the Monkeys were screaming war cries and shouting insults at the enemies and encouragement at each other.
Hank shook his head. These creatures were unnatural in that they had not evolved into their present form. Surely, they were the products of artificial genetic engineering. The Long-Gones had made them.
They were said to be, pound for pound, the strongest beings in the world. They would have to be to lift their forty pounds or so and fly at an average rate of twenty miles an hour. That two each could have lifted Dorothy, the Scarecrow, and the Tin Woodman was evidence of their powerful muscles. Twelve of them had carried the Cowardly Lion at the ends of ropes to the castle of the West Witch. But it had been a short distance.
The hawks were a hundred yards from the barn. Hank said, "Let's go," and he stood up and walked to a tree on the meadow edge. Stationing himself on one side of it, he raised the BAR and began shooting. Nabya handed him the box magazines.
At least thirty hawks went up in feathers and blood, the bullets going through two or three at a time. Hank then pointed to the left and raked the front line of monkeys. Over fifteen, he thought, were hit, including the big brute leading them.
Hank continued firing into the mass as it swept over the meadow. He wished he had a Thompson submachine gun. It had a 50-round drum magazine and would not have required changing as often as the 20-round box magazine of the BAR. Also, it was much lighter and less cumbersome. It took a strong man to stand up and handle the 18.5-pound BAR. The rifle was fitted with supports attached to the barrel so that the operator could lie prone on the ground and shoot with most of the weight on the support. Unfortunately, Hank's targets were mostly in the air. He had to tilt the weapon at considerable and varying angles.
Nevertheless, he worked carnage and panic over the meadow. There were at least two hundred and fifty Monkey carcasses on the bloody grass and many hawks and eagles.
Then he was out of ammunition.
He put the BAR on his shoulder, making sure that the hot barrel was not on the leather. He said to Nabya, "Follow me!"
About ten Monkeys were brave enough to fly towards him. He had six rounds in his revolver. Even if he got six of the enemy, he would not have time to reload before the survivors were on him.
His long legs left Nabya behind. He stopped when he heard a cry, and he whirled. The pseudo-simians were bounding along on all fours, their wings folded, close behind the Winkie. Nabya, who was burdened with a knapsack holding the empty magazines, had turned to face the attackers. He lifted a sword and stood ready.
Hank dropped his rifle and raced toward Nabya while he took his revolver from his holster. He shouted, "Lie down! Lie down, Nabya!"
The Winkie either did not hear him or was afraid that he would be too easy a prey if Hank missed. He slashed at the first of the Monkeys and cut its paw off. Then he was hurled to the ground on his back by a screeching Monkey.
Hank held the .45 in both hands, and he loosed three bullets. The two behind the simian which had attacked Nabya fell. The Winkie and the Monkey were rolling over and over on the ground. Unable to shoot from a distance without endangering Nabya, Hank ran up to them. When he got the chance, he fired, and the bullet went through the back of the creature's head and blew its face all over Nabya.
The surviving Monkey ran off but collapsed before it got sixty feet away.
Nabya did not move. His throat was torn open.
Hank cursed. He rolled the Monkey off from Nabya and turned Nabya over so he could remove his knapsack. He picked that up and ran to the rifle. He decided that he should reload the revolver before going on. He did that, and then, carrying the sack and the BAR, returned to the edge of the forest.
The Woodman and ten soldiers and medics were the only ones on their feet. Before and around them were piles of dead and wounded attackers. Two dozen Monkeys, about fifty feet away, were jumping up and down, howling obscenities at the defenders and encouragement to each other. They were trying to work themselves into a frenzy for another charge.
Hank emptied the revolver into them, reloaded, and advanced, firing again. By then the Monkeys were running away, heading past the barn into the wind and toward the farmhouse. They went very fast on all fours, then stood up, their birdlike legs moving. Their bone-and-skin-wings were flapping hard, but they just did not have a long enough runway. They could never get into the air and clear the farmhouse or the trees behind it.
Realizing this, they stopped, howling, and reversed course. Five of them made it, finally rising slowly and heavily.
Niklaz said, "Erakna has paid a heavy price. But so have we."
"I'm glad she didn't use all the Monkeys at her disposal," Hank said. "If she'd sent the whole horde, we'd all be dead now."
Niklaz said, "Yes. When we were with your mother, the West Witch sent the entire pack against us when we approached her castle."
"How many?"
"Oh, I'd say a thousand."
"Then she has plenty left."
He looked eastward. There were approximately fifty flying away. These had never landed but had turned when they saw their fellows ahead of them tumbling from the air under the fire from the BAR.
"I wonder," he said, "when Erakna will summon them back to her."
"Those? She won't. She'd have to use a second wish to recall them. She's abandoned them. They'll have to get back to their pack as best they can. It'll be a long way, too."
Hank sent two men to get his weapons and the belts. He then said, "What're you going to do, Your Shininess?"
"You may call me Niklaz. What will I do? I could hole up in the castle. It's provisioned for a long siege. But my people would be without a general to lead them. I'm going to retreat into the forest and reorganize my army. I've already sent a messenger to tell the people in the castle to leave it."
"Good fortune, Niklaz," Hank said. "I'm taking off right now. The Gillikins will be here soon."
"What a vast stupidity," the Tin Woodman said. "All these deaths and hurts and suffering. And for what?"
"That's the way it is on Earth, too," Hank said. "Only there, this goes on all the time. At least, you've had thirty-three years of peace and no wars or rumors of wars until now."
"I don't even have time to bury the dead."
"They won't care."
The wounded were being carried on improvised stretchers towards the woods. Jenny had been trundled out of the barn, her path cleared of corpses and carcasses. Hank saluted Niklaz and said, "No time for a leisurely farewell."
"Don't I know it," the king said. He pointed at the north. Hank turned and saw two camels standing on top of a hill a mile away. Presently, one turned and disappeared behind it.
Hank put the knapsack and BAR in the back cockpit and got into the front seat. Ten minutes later, he was airborne. The Winkies had been swallowed by the trees by then. The Gillikin cavalry was racing down the nearest hill, camels in the front and camels bearing archers behind them. Beyond them, people were pouring out of the castle, joining a throng from the north, the beaten and fleeing army of Niklaz the First and Only.
Hank went back to the Emerald City. Jenny badly needed her wing repaired. She was lucky—Hank, too—to get there without folding up. The city and the area around it were unusually crowded. Refugees from the north had come to it with all the household goods they could pack into wagons. As yet, h
owever, the invaders were stalled in the forest. Forced to march in narrow columns, they could not mass for a battle. The Oz army was ambushing them, cutting columns off, shooting from the cover of trees, snipping off pieces here and there. The defenders were greatly helped because the wild animals were their allies. The Cowardly Lion had enlisted the local beasts and birds and also brought with him many lions, cougars, sabertooths. bears, mammoths, mastodons, and wolves from his realm in the forests in the north of Quadlingland.
"Even so," the Scarecrow said, "the Gillikins will break out of the woods within a few days. We won't be able to stop them in their march to the city. The country's too open. Tell Glinda that all I can do now is to prepare for a siege. That ought to tie down most of their army."
"She probably already knows that," Hank said.
"Yes, probably. But she has to get the news officially."
A hawk arrived with an order from Glinda. Hank was to forget about the planned strafing of the Gillikins. He took off three days later. He felt tired and defeated but not discouraged.
Stover reported the latest developments to Glinda.
"All bad news, I'm afraid."
"No," the queen said. "Not all. You must have slain almost a fourth of Erakna's hawks, and that means that her intelligence and messenger force is greatly reduced. Also, you dealt a heavy blow to the Winged Monkeys.
"However, the Uneatable will have learned from her two encounters with you. The next time she sets a trap for you, she'll do it differently."
"Why am I so important to her?"
"It's not you so much as it is the airplane. She must have an exaggerated idea of the danger it represents to her armed forces."
Hank winced, but he had to admit that she was right. Jenny's main use was just carrying passengers. She could have been of limited benefit in strafing or bombing the invaders if it were not for the hawks and eagles. But these could bring him down fairly easy. He had been lucky escaping them. Also, the hawks were far superior scouts.
Now, if only he could have an MB-3A pursuit plane. No use thinking about ifs, though.
"You're not the only teller of bad news," she said.
"Yes?"
"The day before Erakna sent the Winged Monkeys after you, she killed Wulthag."
"Oh, my God! The East Witch is dead?"
"Yes. Somehow, Erakna got through her defenses and incinerated her. A Gillikin army is marching almost unhindered to the Munchkin capital. Old Mombi is with it; she's to be the ruler, subject, of course, to Erakna."
"That's terrible!"
"Not altogether. Erakna is spreading her forces too thin. She'll have a hard time conducting a war on three fronts. Four fronts when she starts invading Quadlingland. The Gillikins are already short-handed on the farmlands. She'll probably bring in slaves from the conquered areas to replace the farmers. But they'll have to be guarded, and she'll have to use a lot of soldiers to do that. She'll also have to tie down many soldiers and occupation troops."
"Could she also have thought about capturing me so she could question me? She must be very curious about me. Maybe she thinks that I have knowledge that she could use, especially of weapons."
Glinda sipped berry juice, then said, "You're very shrewd, Hank. Like your mother. Yes, I suppose that was in her mind, but she obviously preferred that you should be killed. She is more concerned about how much you might help me than about possible aid to her."
Hank hesitated, then said, "Pardon me, Little Mother I..."
"Call me Glinda when we're alone. I get tired of titles."
"Well, uh, Glinda, I wonder... that is, when Erakna attacked Wulthag, she must have used up a lot of energy. Wouldn't she be weaker then, her defenses not so strong? Why didn't you take the opportunity then to attack her?"
Glinda's eyes narrowed, though she smiled.
"Erakna used up much energy when she attacked, yes. But by the time I detected that, she'd slain Wulthag. Poor dear. As soon as Wulthag died, Erakna immediately took over Wulthag's store of energy. That not only recharged Erakna, it made her stronger than before. That's why I did not attack."
"Thank you for the explanation," Hank said. "Though it's not really so illuminating. I need a clear and detailed description of both the theory and the practice of magic."
"You'd have to go through the discipline of witch-art," she said. "That'd take years, and it'd be very dangerous. Out of every hundred who begin training, half quit before they get very far. Out of the remaining fifty, only two or three, if that, become full-fledged witches or wizards. The others... die.
"I should modify that. A few settle for being minor witches. Like Mombi, for instance."
"Why don't you attack her?"
"I will when conditions are right."
She told him to make out his report for the Signal Corps and she would read it. When the green haze came again, he should have everything ready. She might wish to censor it, however.
"They just won't believe it," he said.
"Even if they think you're crazy, they'll keep trying. They might attempt to send through another flier. Or, perhaps, many. Once they can control the size and duration of the opening, they'll invade. I'm sure of that."
"I'm not. You're very worried about disease. But they'll be just as concerned about the diseases here. They could be wide open to them."
"But we don't have any. None for them to worry about, anyway."
"They don't know that. You made sure of that."
"Did I?"
"Sure. What makes you think you didn't?"
"I've had three hundred years experience, but I still run across people who are so tricky that even they fool me now and then. Human ingenuity is deep and complex, and it's most ingenious when it's involved with crime or war. You're tricky, and you haven't declared for us. I wouldn't believe you if you did say you were on our side."
She paused.
"I might if you marry Lamblo. But even then I couldn't be sure of your loyalty. You could marry her as a ploy."
"Damn it! I'm not that deceitful! I have integrity! I'm honest! If I was such a double-dealing swine, I'd have jumped at the chance to marry Lamblo!"
"Cool down," she said, smiling. "You're as hot-tempered as your mother. The difference between you two is that her anger was always appropriate. You're not as self-secure. Of course, you might be faking indignation."
"I'm not very good at faking!"
"Hotter and hotter. The point just now is what you would do if there was no danger from your people and your patriotism wasn't being tried. Would you then marry Lamblo?"
"I really don't know," he said. "I'm not in love with her. That is, I'm not possessed with headlong unthinking passion."
"Passion isn't always love. In fact, it seldom is. If you're waiting for that..."
Hank said nothing.
"Whom are you waiting for? Anyone I know?"
"There's no woman on Earth..."
"Here?"
"I wasn't going to say that."
There was a long silence. Glinda looked at the pile of papers waiting for her to study and sign or not sign. She sighed. Nobody else, he thought, could convey so much in just an exhalation. There was a deep, centuries-deep, weariness in it. Or, perhaps, not weariness but frustration. Or, perhaps, sadness. Or all three, not levels of them but inextricable strands.
He felt as if he needed the relief of tears.
At that moment, he loved her more than he ever had; he ached for her, but he also felt a shadow. And that was the darkness of understanding that he could never have her for mate or wife. She was human and beautiful, but she was also a very very old human. She would as soon take a year-old infant for lover as him.
She raised her eyes and fixed him with them.
"You're in love with me, aren't you?"
"Oh, no," he said quickly.
He hated himself for the lie. Why had he blurted that out? Why was he afraid to admit the truth? Had he thought that he would offend her? Hurt her? A woman who had had three
hundred years to form every defense against every kind of emotional hurt? Who probably did not even need defenses by now?
She smiled slightly but said nothing. Those eyes. They looked like the eyes of the Sphinx of Gizeh. Time-worn, they stared out into infinity and eternity, and these looked back at her, and she became part of them. No. Became them.
Glinda came back from wherever she had been. She said, briskly, "Now. It's very doubtful that your people, the Americans, will be able to open a way at ground level. For some reason, the weak places in the walls now seem to exist above the surface of the two worlds. The Americans won't be able to send through ground troops. What are their chances for sending in an army in the flying machines?"
Hank thought for about thirty seconds before speaking.
"The Americans don't have any large transport airplanes, civilian or military. They could buy some from the British, I suppose, but they would have a tough time keeping that from the public. And, as of now anyway, the whole project is highly secret. They could send in two-seater planes and some bombers, but the biggest bombers we have, in the Army, anyway, don't carry more than three men. But the planes would also have to carry supplies, ammunition, and weapons. That means that they couldn't carry the full complement.
"Of course, if they operated quickly enough, they could establish a base which the first wave could defend while shuttle aircraft brought in more soldiers and supplies. But... I don't know. If they wanted to keep the operation secret for some time, it'd have to be a small one. The more people involved, the higher the chance of someone talking."
"What if the officials decide to tell the public?"
"They wouldn't, I think, do that until their hand is forced. They don't want other nations to know about this until they're sure they've got a monopoly here. Also, they'd be risking reaction from their own people. There's a lot of sentimentality about the fictional Land of Oz. Many people would be outraged if they knew that the military was invading this world. To tell the truth, I don't know what they're thinking there, what they hope to do."
Glinda, looking very determined, said, "What I want is the cutting-off of communication and travel between the two worlds. At least until the time, if it ever comes, that your world is more civilized."
A Barnstormer in Oz Page 16
