When the Devil Dances lota-3

by John Ringo

  “A bridge, huh,” Cholosta’an said mournfully. “And mountain roads.”

  “Don’t worry, young Kessentai,” the oolt’ondai said. “This time we shall have a surprise for the humans.”

  * * *

  Major Ryan stood on the slope of Rocky Knob and watched the bridge below. He could see Posleen passing east of Franklin in the dying light, but they weren’t to the bridge yet. And there were still refugees on it.

  “When do you blow it?” the specialist asked, picking at her hands. Rigging a bridge for demolition had turned out to be hard work.

  “There’s MPs still on it controlling traffic flow,” Ryan answered, lowering his binoculars. “I don’t know if they’re like us, just doing what seems right, or under orders. But if they’re still on it when the Posleen get to it, they’re going sky high.”

  “That will be a bit tough on the MPs,” she pointed out.

  “It will be tougher on everyone else if the Posleen capture an intact bridge,” he said. “But I have to wonder what they’ll pull.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He sat down on the verge of the road and dangled his feet over the side. They were stopped on a curve on a side road near Cook Creek and the other troopers were taking a break, eating their MREs, soaking their hands in the cold mountain water and wondering what the eccentric engineer in charge of them would have them doing next.

  They had slowly picked up the group he was looking for, soldiers who had kept their equipment and were ready to follow a person who stated up front that he was part of a rearguard. He’d gathered eight instead of the four intended, and the bridge over the Tennessee was his first objective. Once it was down they would move on to the next and the next until they either ran out of explosives or luck. He was more worried about the latter than the former.

  “These guys are acting smart so they have to know that we’ll try to delay them, right?”

  “Right,” Kitteket said.

  “So they’ve got to have a way over the river,” he continued. “I can’t imagine these guys just stopping and giving up. Can you?”

  “No, sir,” the specialist replied. “I can’t.”

  “Well, looks like we’re about to find out,” he commented as the stream of Posleen, with four Lampreys and a C-Dec hovering overhead, turned in the direction of the bridge. Off in the distance he could see other landers turning towards the west. “I think they’re dividing their forces,” he mused.

  “Well, that’s not very smart,” the specialist said. “At least if it’s not a feint.”

  “Possibly,” Ryan said, turning to look at the specialist again. “Another manual?”

  “Sort of,” Kitteket answered. “How many troops do you think they can push through the pass in an hour?”

  “I dunno,” Ryan said, then did some mental calculation. “Probably sixty to a hundred and twenty thousand. Say ninety to a hundred.”

  “So they’re going to push those in two different directions,” Kitteket said. “That reduces the forces necessary to stop them on both paths.”

  “Hmm,” Ryan said. “On the other hand, each of the routes will have its own problems; I don’t know, for example, if they could push as many on the whole route to Asheville as they can through the gap. Also, by breaking up they’re making the task of cutting them off more complex; each individual defense point may last longer and be more effective with the lower numbers, but you’ll need more routes covered. All in all I think it’s a net positive for them, a negative for us.”

  “Possibly, sir,” Kitteket said. “It depends, I suppose, on whether there are defenders on the other routes.”

  “I think you just made my point for me,” Ryan said with a smile. “And we are now going to find out how effective we are going to be,” he continued as the MP platoon on the bridge hurriedly boarded their Humvees and retreated, drawing fire from the lead oolt as they did so. Fortunately for Ryan’s stomach, there were no stragglers between the MPs and the Posleen; he’d blown up bridges with stragglers on them before and it wasn’t his favorite pastime by any stretch of the imagination.

  “Are you going to wait until they’re on the bridge?” Kitteket asked.

  “No,” Ryan answered. “And if I did, Sergeant Campbell would blow it up instead. The SOP is…”

  “Five hundred meters,” Kitteket interjected. “Just checking.”

  “Clerk typist?” he muttered.

  “Four years, sir. Right here. Well, down there,” she said, gesturing towards the Gap. “I type nearly eighty words a minute.”

  “If I need any forms filled out, I’ll let you know,” Ryan said, throwing a hand switch as the first Posleen passed by a street sign he had measured off as just under five hundred meters.

  The explosion was the antithesis of spectacular. There were a few puffs of smoke and the concrete and steel bridges dropped into the stream.

  “That’s it?” Kitteket asked.

  “That’s it,” Ryan answered, packing up the detonation circuit.

  “I just expected lots of smoke and fire and the bridge going sky high,” she said with a sigh. “We did a hell of a lot of work for a few puffs of smoke.”

  “I am a master,” he said haughtily. “The essence of mastery in blowing things up is minimal force and I have blown up a lot of bridges in the last few years. Since we also have minimal explosives, I consider it to be a good idea all around.”

  “Sure, sir.” The specialist laughed. “What next, O Great Master?”

  “Next we are going to blow up a road,” he answered. “Right after we see what these Posleen are going to do about the bridge.”

  The first wave of Posleen milled around aimlessly as the lead God Kings lifted up on their saucers and flew over the river. They quickly came back, though, and as new forces joined them the units were spread along the riverbank and the individual oolt’os spaced out.

  “Jesus Christ,” Ryan said, shaking his head.

  “What?”

  “They’re spreading them out to reduce the damage from artillery. It would be better to start digging in, but I guess they haven’t quite gotten that far.”

  “That’s bad,” Kitteket said. “Right?”

  “Oh, yeah,” the major mused as the first Lamprey crossed the river and disgorged its troops. It quickly lifted off and took on a new contingent, beginning a continuous shuttle back and forth. Once on the far side most of the units took up the chase after the fleeing humans, but a few spread out as on the near side, in this case fanning out widely and ensuring that there were no humans in the immediate vicinity.

  “And now they’re establishing a perimeter,” Ryan said. “Why are they establishing a perimeter around the bridge? The former bridge.”

  “They’re going to hold a cookout on the remains?” the specialist asked. “Uh, Major, it’s getting dark and those Posleen that aren’t establishing a bridgehead are headed up the road. Towards us.”

  “But the landers aren’t moving,” Ryan said as if he hadn’t heard. One of the other Lampreys had joined the first in shuttling troops, but the other two Lampreys and the C-Dec were on the ground, spread out, as if waiting for something. “What are they doing?”

  “Sir, maybe we should wonder someplace else?”

  “Ah,” the major answered with a grunt. “There’s some movement.”

  The Posleen forces had been backing up into the valley, spreading out in a disciplined manner that Ryan still found disturbing, and now the centauroids were moving off the road to let another group through to the front. He focused the binoculars on the formation in the last light and shook his head.

  “Tell me those aren’t what they look like,” he muttered.

  “I dunno,” Kitteket grumped. “You’re the one with the binoculars.”

  He handed them over and shook his head. “Where in the hell did they get them?”

  “Sir,” Kitteket said with a gasp. “Are those… ?”

  “Indowy.”

  * * *

&nb
sp; Orostan folded his arms and lowered his crest, the better to keep from frightening the little green one. Tulo’stenaloor had already had one Kessentai killed who had permitted the death of one of the “engineers”; the little creatures had been purchased and transported at great expense and they were a very finite resource. But dealing with them was very difficult.

  He pointed to where the bridge had been. “There was a bridge,” he said in a hash of Posleen and Galactic. “There must be a new one. If there is a new one, everything will be well. If there is not, your clan will be reduced.”

  The Indowy sidled around him and went over to the demolished bridge. The supports of both spans had been blown down and the metal girders had been blown in several places. What was left was a tangled mass of pulverized concrete and steel. He examined it for a moment then looked around at the materials in view. Last, he sidled back over to the Posleen commander.

  “I will need hands, more hands than we have,” the Indowy said diffidently. “Fortunately, there is a source of materials right here. We will not try to reconstruct the bridge, but will make new ones nearer the water level. This will be quicker. It still will take until morning. We cannot work miracles.”

  “You will have all the oolt’os you need,” Orostan said. He gestured to forestall the question. “They will be controlled by their Kessentai, I will pick the ones to work with you. You may order them in these tasks as you will; there will be no damage to you.”

  “It will take time,” the Indowy pointed out.

  “It must go as swiftly as possible,” Orostan warned. “No delay.”

  “We shall start immediately.”

  * * *

  “Son of a bitch,” Ryan said, getting out his notebook computer.

  “What, sir?” Kitteket asked. “They’re… doing something.”

  “They’re replacing the bridge,” Ryan said. “This is going to get interesting.”

  “So what are we doing?” she asked. “And there are Posleen moving around down in Brendleston.”

  “Brendletown,” he corrected pedantically. “We’re getting the hell out of here; I’ve seen everything I need to see.”

  “Where to?” she asked.

  “I was going to blast the face by Rocky Top,” he said, examining the map. “But that would be easy for them to clear. So I think we’ll find something a little tougher. Unfortunately, we’re a bit cut off.”

  “What!?” Kitteket yelled.

  “Oh, nothing we can’t handle,” the major replied. “But the drive out of here is going to be… interesting. On the other hand, it will give us time to think of new ways to amuse our visitors.”

  * * *

  “Is it bad?” Shari asked as Wendy came through the door.

  “Yep,” Wendy answered. “Load the kids up. You have the emergency packs?”

  Shari just shook her head and went to the back, calling for the children to get in line. She pulled out backpacks that were new to the children and passed them out. Each child got one and she put a warm jacket in it along with small packs of food. She admonished them not to go diving in, that the food might have to last a long time. She checked their shoes and in one case changed them out for some better footwear, then had them all line up to go to the bathroom.

  Wendy, in the meantime, filled larger daypacks with food and water. She left room for some ammunition, but she hoped that Elgars would be able to bring combat harnesses; they had integral ammunition bags. She considered changing clothes, but the pair of leather pants she had picked up had sort of stretched out to fit and would probably wear as well as anything she had.

  By the time she was finished Shari had lined up the kids and thrown Amber into a papoose on her back. Without another word they headed for the door. Looking both ways, Wendy led them out with the kids following in line and Shari at the rear.

  * * *

  Elgars palmed open her door and then strode across to her wall locker, peeling off her clothes as she went. The door popped open as if it had been waiting for her and she started putting on the gear. First was the uniform and boots, then body armor, helmet and combat harness. She considered all the weapons in the locker and frowned. She wanted the Barrett like a junkie wants a fix, but she finally decided that it was the wrong weapon for the situation. Finally she pulled out two pistols, the Steyr that Wendy had picked up, the MP-5 and the AIW. She grabbed three combat harnesses and loaded them down with magazines then pulled the sheet off her bed and filled it with ammunition for all five weapons. Fortunately the Steyr and the AIW both used the same type of bullets and the MP-5 used the same as one of the pistols.

  Finally she felt that she was set. She was as loaded down as a camel, but once she joined up with the other women the stuff would get distributed.

  Without looking back or closing up she strode back out of the room, headed for G sector.

  * * *

  Cally pried up another section of bunker and stopped, dropping down on her heels; in the broken moonlight she could see a still pale hand. She reached out to it and wiped at the thick hairs on the back. One of the fingers was bent back and the skin was gray and cold.

  She squatted in the moonlight, quietly rocking back and forth on her heels for what seemed to be half the night. Then she piled rocks back over the hand, picked up her rifle and headed back up the hills without looking back.

  After she had left, the Himmit wormed its way out of the wreckage of the bunker, put away the Hiberzine injector and followed her, without looking back.

  CHAPTER 31

  Near Franklin, GA, United States, Sol III

  2214 EDT Saturday September 26, 2009 ad

  When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,

  He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside.

  But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail.

  For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

  — Rudyard Kipling

  “The Female of the Species” (1911)

  Wendy stopped at the top of the escalator and frowned; it wasn’t working, but what was worse were the yells and sounds of firing from below.

  “I don’t think so,” she muttered.

  The problem was that as far as she could tell the Posleen had gotten around and below them. To avoid the Posleen, the group needed to drop several floors, very fast. But most of the elevators were shut down and so were the escalators. That left very few options.

  “Come on,” she said, heading back down the main corridor.

  About halfway down she came to an attack pack and palmed it open. She looked at the array of gear and shook her head; there was no way to carry everything she wanted so she had to decide what she really needed.

  Med-pack, among other things, that had Hiberzine in it and she’d used that too many times not to recognize the utility. Doors had already been a problem so she pulled out the door-pack including a tank of liquid nitrogen and a punch-gun. And they were probably going to be climbing some, so a coil of rope with a descent pack attached to it was piled on the top of her pack.

  Finally recognizing that she couldn’t carry the Halligan tool, or the rescue saw, which had a real appeal, she closed the door and went on.

  Entering another maintenance hallway she tied the children together with part of the climbing rope and got them climbing down the ladder. It descended only six levels, but as they approached the base there was a strong wind coming up the ladder shaft.

  “What’s that?” Shari panted. Wendy could tell that the trip, especially carrying Amber, was already tiring her out.

  “Air shaft,” Wendy said. “That’s how we’re going to get to G Sector.”

  “You’re joking,” Shari said as they reached the bottom of the ladder. The corridor felt like a wind tunnel, the air hammering against their bodies.

  The corridor was lined with ropes and the children grabbed them as they stepped off the ladder.

  Shari grabbed one as well and walked to the end of the co
rridor. The opening there was the width of the corridor with droppable rail well marked with warning signs. On the right-hand side was a massive winch with a spool of cable that looked long enough to reach to China. Well before she reached the end of the corridor Wendy could see the massive airshaft beyond.

  Air for a complex as large as a Sub-Urb was always a problem, especially when almost all of it was recycled in one way or another. To facilitate the transfer of fresh air, and to permit mixing of gasses, the Urb had four massive airshafts, each nearly a thousand feet deep and two hundred feet across.

  The opening they were at was halfway down B sector, but it still was nearly eight hundred feet to the bottom.

  “All I can suggest is don’t look,” Wendy said, walking to the winch and unlocking the clutch.

  “You’ve got to be joking,” Shari shouted back. The wind near the opening felt like a hurricane.

  “This is long enough to reach the bottom and then some,” Wendy shouted back, pulling out the first six feet or so of cable and dropping her climbing gear to the floor. “But we don’t really want to do that; the entrance to Hydroponics is on G Four.”

  “Tell me you’re joking,” Shari said. She felt light-headed and the dim light from the shaft seemed to be coming from beyond a veil. She’d had this feeling before, when she was walking away from the Posleen assault in Fredericksburg. It was the feeling of utter, bone-drenching terror.

  “I’ll lower you to G,” Wendy continued as if she hadn’t heard the older woman. “The cable is rated for three tons at a thousand feet, so you don’t have to worry about it taking your weight. The winch I marked for the different openings. When you get down there you’ll have to work your way into the opening. Hook the cable up to the take-up spool and then swing it back and forth. I’ll watch from up here; when I see you swinging the cable I’ll send down the kids. You’ll have to work to stabilize yourself on the way down; there’s enough cable, though, that we can hook the kids up halfway and you can stabilize from the bottom. Be careful and don’t let it pull you out the door.”