When the Devil Dances lota-3

by John Ringo

  “So who is the real you?” Wendy asked.

  “I dunno,” Elgars said softly. “But for the time being I’ll take what I can get; better than getting eaten by the Posleen.”

  Wendy nodded for a moment then grinned. “So, you’re channeling the spirit of a British mad bomber? Does he know any good drinking songs? The Brits usually know all the good drinking songs…”

  Elgars laughed and went back to the main control board. “Trust you to see the humor of it.”

  “Nah, it’s just a matter of looking on the bright side of any really fucked up situation,” Wendy said with a muffled chuckle. “I didn’t know how to do that at first; I really had a hard time understanding how Tommy could be so… comfortable in Fredericksburg. I mean, we were all getting ready to be either blown up or killed and eaten. It’s because the rest of us had had our heads in the ground for years about the Posleen. But he had been thinking about what fighting them would be like, getting beaten by them would be like, for years. So when the time came, he just did it while I was running around like a chicken with my head cut off, crying and worrying and half useless.”

  “That I have a hard time believing,” Elgars said. She cut the power to the tank that the leads had been run to and walked back. She carefully leapt to the mixer arm and waved at the wires. “Hand those to me, would you?”

  “Sure,” Wendy answered, pushing the bundle across the gap. “But really, the difference now is that most of us have been thinking about what might happen down here for years. Oh, there were some that thought the Posleen would never come; just like there are some that planned on getting drunk enough not to notice. But most of us realized that they might, and thought about what we would do about it. Generally, that was ‘head for a defense point and hold out until we’re relieved,’ but even that is wishful thinking; the Posleen will overrun those in an hour or two. There’s no way that the Army is going to be back before we’re all snacks.”

  “Was this your plan from the beginning?” Elgars asked. She carefully leaned over the edge and lowered the wires into the ammoniated muck in the bottom, pressing the wires and spray can deep into it.

  “No,” Wendy said with a sigh that could barely be heard over the grinding of the other motors; the material in the bottom was mostly anhydrous ammonia and the mixture was harder than cookie dough. The motors were designed to drive against liquid and although they were about thirty percent overrated for that, they were quickly reaching the point where failsafes were going to pop out. “My plan had been to be in the emergency crews; they would have been at the front lines, trying to hold the Posleen back for as long as possible. But that presumed that we got some warning; I don’t know why we didn’t.”

  “So the longest that the defense points could hold out is… what?” Elgars asked, wiping her gloves off on a rag and jumping back to the catwalk. She walked back over to the central console and started shutting down the pumps.

  “Three to six hours,” Wendy said. “That’s the estimated time for a Posleen force to eliminate ninety percent of resistance and presence. Of course, nobody says that, but I’ve seen the estimates. That presumes this wasn’t just a Lamprey, but if it was there wouldn’t be Posleen down here already.”

  She keyed the information terminal and dove into the database. She had to enter her password twice, but she finally found the appropriate file.

  “Two hours after reduction of primary defense — that’s the security forces in A section — ninety percent of the population will have been removed,” Wendy said, referring to the document. “Within six hours after reduction, ninety-eight percent will have been removed.”

  “I guess we’re in the two percent then,” Elgars said.

  “I think it’s a bit pessimistic,” Wendy answered. “But there’s one way to find out.” She keyed up a schematic of the Sub-Urb then opened up the emergency services database. “I was wondering, earlier, how we could figure out where the Posleen are. I finally realized you could track them by emergency calls.” She pulled up the call records and patched them into the schematic. “We’ve been on the run for four and a half hours. Penetration was about five hours ago, I’d guess.” She scrolled the schematic back five hours. “See the red dots? Those are calls, both initiating calls and support calls. There’s a bunch of them around the entrances and then they spread out.” She scrolled the schematic forward in time and Elgars could see what she meant; the red dots spread out with a solid “outline” for a while then started to dissipate.

  “You can see that there’s starting to be fewer people to put in calls,” Wendy said emotionlessly. “This is by two hours after the entry; we were on our way down at that point. Cafeteria 3-B is already well inside the Posleen perimeter; Dave was gone by then or shortly afterwards.” She scrolled it outward further and now there was a light scattering of red dots. “At this point, almost all the population areas have been overrun and the Posleen are scattering into the industrial sectors. And trying to track them is pointless because nobody is calling for help anymore.”

  “So in four more hours?” Elgars asked, tapping at her console.

  “There will probably be three or four thousand people alive, trapped and hiding in various compartments,” Wendy said coldly. “Out of two million to start.”

  “And they’re not getting out, right?” the officer said, looking at her sharply. “They’re for all practical purposes dead.”

  “As a doornail.” Wendy nodded. “Ground Forces have not entered and have not responded and the Posleen are going to totally occupy this facility. There might be a Newt or two left, but for all practical purposes they’re all dead men walking.”

  Elgars nodded and hit enter. “Time to leave.”

  “Six hours?” Wendy asked.

  “Yep,” the captain said, looking around. “Assuming it works. But we shouldn’t dawdle.”

  “Are you guys done?” Shari asked, coming down the exit walkway. She had donned a mask as well and the voice was muffled and irritated.

  “We could do a backup,” Wendy said. “I’m not sure that will get it going. What did you use for a fuel-oil substitute?”

  “Corn oil,” Elgars answered distantly. “What I need is some bloody plastique,” she added, rubbing her chin. “That would fix the bahstahds.”

  “We need to leave,” Shari asked. “What are you doing?”

  “Blowing up the Urb,” Wendy answered.

  CHAPTER 32

  Near Cowee, NC, United States, Sol III

  2337 EDT Saturday September 26, 2009 ad

  “The drive out of here is going to be interesting,” Major Mitchell said.

  “No shit, sir,” Pruitt said, scanning the independent sight around. “How do we get out of here?”

  The SheVa had headed down the Little Tennessee River to where it was joined by Cader Creek then headed up that valley to rendezvous with its reload group on Cader Fork. The reload teams were well into the process and the spare drivers that accompanied them were working with Warrant Indy to repair some of the damage done to the gun.

  “You mean other than going back to the Tennessee?” Mitchell asked.

  “Yes, sir,” the gunner said patiently as the gun shuddered to another round being loaded. The word had already reached them that the Posleen had bounded forward to Oak Grove; indeed, the landers would have been cold meat as they passed the valley opening. But what it meant was that there were now Posleen on both sides of the valley entrance. For that matter, there could be Posleen pushing up the valley by now. However, Major Mitchell had detailed the Meemies to screen in that direction so they shouldn’t be caught reloading. “I think by the time we get back there there we’ll be way too popular if you know what I mean.”

  “Major!” Indy called. “We’ve got company.”

  “Shit!” Pruitt said, sweeping the sight around. “Not when we’re loading! Where? Bearing!”

  “No, I mean we have company,” Indy said with a nervous laugh, climbing up out of the hatch. “Get your f
inger off the trigger before you give our position away.”

  Following her was a short, muscular female captain. Mitchell smiled when he saw the ADA insignia on her uniform.

  “Whisky Three-Five I presume,” he said, offering his hand.

  “Captain Vickie Chan, sir,” the captain said, taking it.

  “Thanks for your assistance, Captain,” the SheVa commander said. “I thought we were goners.”

  “Captain, I want one of y’all’s guns,” Pruitt said, spinning his seat around to face her. “They are bad. Not as bad as Bun-Bun, mind you. But pretty damned tough.”

  “You can have it,” the captain laughed. “You have no idea what it’s like to fire.”

  “Bad?” Mitchell asked.

  “That’s an understatement, sir,” the captain replied with a smile. “Let’s just say we tend to wait until we have to fire. So what is the plan?”

  “Unfortunately, I think it’s to go up there,” Mitchell said, panning an external monitor up into the mountains. “I’ve been looking at a map. And it’s even worse than it looks on the screen.”

  “That’s nearly vertical, sir,” the Meemie commander said hesitantly. “I think that Meemies can handle the slope, but it’s also covered in trees, which we can’t handle. And isn’t a SheVa a little top-heavy for those slopes? Not to mention… wide?”

  “I think we’re about to find out,” Mitchell answered. “I think I’ve plotted out a course that we can take; up through Chestnut and Betty Gap and down Betty Creek. It’s not going to be fun or easy — the slope in particular around the back side of Panther Knob is going to be a special nightmare — but it’s all wide enough for us to fit, according to the map, and with nothing worse than a thirty-degree slope. With all our rounds loaded, we actually have a fairly low center of gravity, despite the look. I think we can make it.”

  “And if you can’t?” Captain Chan asked.

  “Well, if we go back, we’re going to run into the Posleen,” Mitchell answered. “At least, that’s a very good chance. And if we go… up, there are a series of possible bad outcomes. For one thing, we don’t know that the Posleen aren’t on Betty Creek in force. But it’s also the only path that doesn’t involve getting immediately overrun. If the Posleen are there, but not in force, well…” He grinned ferally.

  “What about your resupply units?” she asked, thumbing over her shoulder. “And us, for that matter.”

  “I’ve updated a map,” he said, handing her a flash card. “Do you have a…”

  “I’ve got a map module,” she said with a smile, pulling out her map reader and popping the chip in. “We’ve got all the modern refinements.”

  “You’ll go up by Mica City and over Brushy Fork Gap; there are some roads. On the map the path is usable by my trucks, your tanks…”

  “Are pretty damned heavy.”

  “Yes,” he said. “There are some hairpins I’m not sure about you being able to make. I’ll be honest about that. If you get permanently stuck, I suggest you get out and board our trucks. But I hope you’re able to meet us on the far side. God knows we can use the help.”

  “We might take a different route,” Chan said scrolling around the map. “I really don’t think this road will take us.”

  “I agree,” Mitchell said with a sigh. “But I don’t see another way out of the valley.”

  “I do,” Chan said with another smile. “We’ll follow you.”

  “Uh,” the major paused. “We…”

  “Make a hell of a mess,” Chan said. “I know, we followed you here, remember? But you smash stuff more or less flat; heck, sir, you smash tree stumps into sawdust. It’s bumpy, nearly impossible, for most vehicles. But an Abrams doesn’t have a problem with it at all. So we’ll just tag along behind you.”

  “Okay,” Mitchell said. “Sounds like a plan.”

  * * *

  “Well, sir, this was a hell of a plan,” Kitteket said sourly. The Humvee was perched on the edge of a precipice that did not appear on the map.

  The path up to this point had been no picnic. It was a forestry road and hadn’t been maintained in years, certainly since the war had started. The road had not been particularly good to start with and washouts and fallen limbs had slowed them considerably. But this was certainly the icing on the cake.

  “Good stop there, Specialist,” he said, considering his map again. “This certainly is not what is supposed to be there. Or, rather, what is supposed to be there is not there.”

  “Whichever it is, we need to find someplace that is there,” Kitteket said grumpily.

  “Ah,” he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a bottle of pills. “Take one,” he said, handing it to her.

  “What is this?” the specialist asked.

  “Provigil,” he answered, taking one himself. “It’s getting late and it’s been a long day and we’re all tired, right?”

  “Right,” she said, taking the pill.

  “Not anymore,” he said. “What, you never read a manual on Provigil?”

  “No,” she said. “I’ve heard the name, but I don’t know what it is.”

  “It makes you ‘untired,’ ” he said. “It’s not an upper; it’s sort of the reverse of a sleeping pill. You don’t get sleepy. You do tend to get stupid and you don’t notice, but tomorrow some time, assuming that we don’t get to sleep, which is likely, I’ll pass around some uppers and those will increase our thought speed as well. We’ll be almost good-to-go. Right up until the spiders start crawling all over us.”

  He considered the map again and frowned. “If we back up and head downhill there’s another road that heads over towards Betty Gap along the ridge. It should be passable.”

  “If it’s even there,” she grumped, putting the Humvee in reverse.

  “Oh ye of little faith,” he said, leaning back. “Things could be worse, things could be much worse.”

  “Oh really?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Trust me,” Ryan said, fingering the 600 insignia on his chest. “Been there, done that, got the scar.”

  * * *

  “You’re doing what?” Shari asked. “Are you nuts?”

  “Well, I’m not sure I’ll tell anybody we did it,” Wendy answered. “Assuming we live to get out of here. But, no, we’re not nuts.”

  “You must be,” Shari said angrily, looking around the room. “You can’t blow this place up! There are survivors all through the Urb!”

  “It took them four years to retake the Rochester Urb,” Wendy pointed out. “The estimate is that after two weeks there will be less than two hundred survivors and I think that is being generous; I’d say less than two. Compare that to the Posleen losses if the whole Urb comes down on them; there are probably fifty or sixty thousand Posleen in this place right now.”

  “You can’t blow the whole thing up anyway,” Shari countered. “It’s designed to survive a close explosion of a nuclear weapon.”

  “It’s designed to be hit from the outside, lass,” Elgars answered. “The supports aren’t designed to take side damage. Plus the bleeding bombs will start fires; lots of them. If the Posleen aren’t all burned out they will still weaken the supports and the whole thing will come down.”

  Shari looked at Elgars with a sidelong expression. “What bombs? And why do you have an English accent?”

  “She’s channeling a Brit,” Wendy said. “Probably one of their demo experts. And the bombs are all the tanks; each of them is filled with ammonium nitrate fuel oil bombs.”

  “They look like… gray gunk,” Shari said.

  “Don’t worry, it’s a bomb,” Wendy said. “A big enough one that it’s going to gut the whole Urb and any Posleen that are in it.”

  “And all the human survivors,” Shari said.

  “And all the human survivors,” Wendy agreed.

  “That’s sick,” the older woman spat.

  “No, it’s war,” Wendy answered coldly. “You remember where we came from?”

  “I survived F
redericksburg,” Shari snapped. “And there will be people who would survive this! But not if you detonate that bomb!”

  “What was important about Fredericksburg was that it gave the Posleen a seriously bloody nose!” Wendy snapped back. “After that, they knew we could and would fuck them at every opportunity. With this we’re going to cut the head off of their advance and take out a sizable chunk of their force. And that is worth the casualties. Worth the dead. In war, people die. Good people and bad people. If I thought most of them would survive, no, we wouldn’t detonate the bomb. But almost all of them are going to die in these tunnels and be turned into rations. Not. On. My. Watch.”

  “So are you going to stick around to be blown up?” Shari asked bitterly.

  “Hell no!” Wendy said. “I’m going to get the fuck out, if I can. And bring you and the kids with me! And we’re setting the bomb for six hours from…”

  “About four minutes ago, actually,” Elgars said, looking at the controls. “So I suggest you ladies get this discussion done.”

  “Shit,” Shari said quietly. “Okay, okay. Let’s go.” She looked upwards to the rest of the Urb and shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t die in Section A,” Wendy said, putting her hand on Shari’s shoulder. “That would have been… clean. But we’re going to fuck up the Posleen, and that’s the bottom-line.”

  “Well, you two can talk about it all you’d like,” Elgars said, heading for the far door. “But I’m getting the hell out of Dodge.”

  “Agreed,” Wendy said, following her. “Agreed.”

  Shari took one more look at the controls and turned to follow the other two as the north door opened up.

  The Posleen normal took one look at the three women and started trotting down the swaying catwalk, burbling a cry as it pulled its railgun around.