by Ike Hamill
I think I’m done, but they’re still looking at me. I realize that I haven’t caught them up to the present moment.
“When that storm hit, the creatives went underground. They knew where the meeting was, so they were all done with me. I ran. They shot at me. Vasil’s sister and some guy brought me here. That’s it.”
Vasil approaches and takes the stick from my hand.
“Thank you, Malcolm,” he says. “One battle to end everything.” He turns to me. “Where was this battle to take place?”
If I could just have a moment to think, I could decide if I should tell him. This group doesn’t look like they want to give me any time.
“The cedar grove near the Skomin farm,” I say.
“The cedar grove,” Vasil says. “We have two proposals on the table. We shall either engage with both sides and bring them down, or we will wait for our enemies to wipe each other out and then we will take out the remaining forces.”
“Wouldn’t it make sense to let them fight each other?” I ask.
“Quiet,” Vasil says. “By aye and nay. Shall we fight?”
“AYE!” the group yells.
“Shall we wait?”
“NAY!” they yell again. If there are any dissenting voices, I don’t hear them.
“Brothers and sisters, to arms!” Vasil says.
The floor moves instantly. People throw open the barn doors and light streams in as the people hustle out. Vasil strides to the edge of the platform but I catch him.
“They’re rigging the cedar grove with traps,” I say.
“Yes,” he says.
“And sending squads of fighters and snipers to take out the opposition,” I say.
“Frère Malcolm,” he says, looking me square in the eyes, “who do you think are their fighters?”
♣ ♢ ♡ ♠
More running.
The people from the barn swarm through the forest at a fast jog. Behind us, come a cavalry of plow horses. I tried to leave the group at the barn. I just melted into the background while everyone made their plans, and I hoped to sneak away during their departure. The muscle man—Vasil—put a stop to that. He cinched a belt around my waist and gave the leash to a sturdy woman. She hasn’t introduced herself yet, and that’s fine with me. I’m hoping she dies in the fighting so I can make my escape.
We’re near the back. Our speed is regulated by the horses behind us. They don’t hesitate to breathe down my back when I jog too slow. Plus, the sturdy woman doesn’t hesitate to jerk on my belt when I stumble. It’s a miracle I haven’t been trampled yet.
All at once, everyone slows to a creep. I don’t know what their signal was. People separate into groups of twenty to fifty and begin to head in different directions. I’m hoping we stay with the horses. Don’t they usually hold back and come in later?
There’s a road nearby, maybe over that hill to our right. At least that’s my guess. I hear heavy machines rumbling. It’s the chatter and clank of tracked vehicles. This is going to be a serious battle. I wonder where Bud is. I wonder if he knows what he’s coming towards.
We stop.
“Where are we?” I ask the sturdy woman. Her black hair is pulled back so tight that her eyebrows are perpetually arched, which makes her look surprised by my question.
When she speaks, the mole next to her nostril commands my full attention. It bounces with each syllable. “On Skomin property.”
“So we’re near the cedar grove?” I ask. I must have reached my question quota. She doesn’t reply.
“Are you guys going to wait and come in at the end?” I ask the woman atop the nearest horse.
“The Providentials will flee. If they try to come through this part of the forest, we’ll run them down,” she says.
“They’ll probably just go underground,” I say.
“There are no tunnels here,” she says.
“Is that what they told you?” I ask. I don’t know what I’m playing at. I’m looking for some kind of angle, but I probably don’t need one. I’ll just wait for these guys to hunt down the Providentials and then my problems will be solved. We’ll have to talk them out of lynching Bud, but that shouldn’t be too difficult. He wasn’t here for any of the years of oppression these people seem angry about. As for me, I’ve done everything that’s been asked of me. I don’t expect gratitude, but there’s a good chance these guys will let me go once the fighting is concluded. Assuming they win, of course.
Everyone turns to watch the group approaching from the side.
It’s Vasil, leading two men and a woman. They’re on foot.
Vasil addresses the woman on horseback whom I’ve been talking to. “Tell your people to fan out. You need to cover from the top of that hill to the creek.”
She legs her horse into action and takes off to speak to the other horsemen.
“Set up here,” Vasil says, to his people.
He walks up to me.
“Your people are moving slowly,” he says to me. What people? I don’t have any people.
“Yes?” I ask.
“They sense that something is amiss, but they still put their trust in us. One of their command units is still loyal, but even they don’t suspect us.”
I wonder if he’s talking about the creative or the logical Providentials. I wonder if there’s a way to find out without tipping my hand.
I laugh. “What did you expect?” I ask.
His face grows more serious. “If I had expected anything else, I would have planned accordingly.”
“You can’t tell me you don’t expect a surprise, even now,” I say. I’m going to keep laying on these generalities until I figure out who Vasil is talking about. I don’t know which side they think I’m on, and I’m not going to choose one until I find out.
“We’ve been the shovel at the end of your hand for decades. You think they understand the soil, but we’re in it, every day. There is nothing that can surprise us now. You will come up through the marsh and mixed birch and approach the cedar grove from the bottom of the hill. Then, while appearing vulnerable in that lower position, you will draw the others into a circle of snipers and soldiers,” he says.
“Your other group will spread out on the far side of the road and pull in from the ends to encircle the opposition. But, like a hand trying to encompass a fist, you will cover but not have the strength to hold,” he says.
I think I followed, but he just described both sides of the fight and attributed everyone to me. Unless “your” has a meaning that I don’t remember.
I have to speak up. “Why do you call both sides mine?” I ask.
Behind him, his people have been unpacking bags and setting up equipment. One of them hands Vasil a glass display. On it, an overhead view of the forest is dotted with three colors—red, blue, and green.
Vasil angles it towards me and uses his finger to circle the small group of red dots. “These are your creative Providentials.” He circles the line of blue dots which are spread out along the representation of a road. “These are your logical Providentials.” Finally, he motions to the green dots. Some of the greens are clumped here and there, and some speckle the interior of the map. By far, most of the green are in a big circle, encompassing the whole field. “And these are our forces. These are the people who will take control of our village so we can shed the yoke of Providential rule.”
The green dots seriously outnumber the red and blue. It looks like ten to one. While he’s talking, the greens are spreading out even more. They’re parked on all sides of the battle, but positioned so that two major forces can close in from above and drive everyone south, towards the cavalry. On either side of us, the riders are spreading nets between the trees to reinforce their trap.
“All these people,” Vasil says, waving at the entire map of red, blue, and green, “are your people. In a manner of speaking, you command them all.”
This man is crazy.
“Now what are your orders?”
63 BATTLE
/> “FOR WHOM?” I ASK.
“Are you asking my counsel on whom to move first?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say. This guy is nuts. Do I have a choice but to go along with his crazy notions?
“I advise you to reach out to the logicals first. Once they’re in motion, the rest of the pieces can follow.”
“Good,” I say. I’m trying to seem authoritative.
He hands me a device and points to the button I should use to transmit. There’s a dial on the side to control the frequency. He explains that with the current settings, Constantine will have the ability to receive my signal.
I click the button to transmit. I’m trapped. I’m wearing a belt connected to a very sturdy woman and I’m surrounded by crazy people. Some of them are on horses. Bud, on the other hand, might still have a chance to escape.
“Bud,” I say. I speak fast. “You’re surrounded. Abandon the meeting and run. Head east. That’s where their line is thinnest.”
I expect the radio to be ripped from my hands. I expect to be shot for warning Bud.
After a moment, the radio chirps and I hear Bud’s voice. “Got it,” he says.
Vasil takes the radio gently and adjusts the frequency.
“Now you can address the creatives,” Vasil says, handing the radio back to me.
He’s smiling. He holds up the glass display with the map of the forces. Most of the blue dots are holding their position along the road, but a few have broken away and are heading east. Vasil zooms in and we see an overhead shot of Bud running with two other people. It’s difficult to tell identities from above.
Vasil taps the glass and it zooms back out to show the whole battlefield. Green dots are converging on Bud’s blue dot. He will have to fight his way past a couple of greens, but I’m hoping he has the element of surprise. They must have expected him to move the other direction.
“You should get Peter moving before the forces spread too far,” Vasil says.
Why is Vasil smiling? I just sent Bud the wrong way. Vasil should be angry. What the hell, if he’s going to give me the chance, I’m going to screw up his plans even more.
I press the transmit button again.
“Peter?” I ask.
We wait a few seconds.
“Peter?”
“Who is this?” his voice comes back.
“This is Malcolm,” I say.
“I have it on good authority, that you’re pinned down,” he says.
“Well,” I say, “no, I’m not. In fact, I’m looking at you from above right now.”
I motion to Vasil and he understands my meaning. He zooms in the display until we’re looking at an overhead shot of Peter holding his radio to his ear.
“I see you pacing around near one of your fancy tents. There are three other people behind you. I can’t quite tell who they are, but one of them looks fat enough to be that other Providential—the one who brought me the sandwiches. Now you’re turning around. Now you’re looking up. Yes, I see you,” I say.
“Where are you?” he asks.
“Now you’re jogging west, away from the rest of your group.”
“Where are you?”
“Look, Peter, I’m everywhere, but that shouldn’t concern you. What should concern you is that you’re surrounded.”
“Nonsense,” he says.
“Look due west,” I say. “You’re close enough now. Do you see those two trees that are so close together that the limbs are intertwined? Point at them, would you? Yes. Look just to the left. Can you see that soldier? He’s one of dozens who are off to the west. You think your snipers are good? He could take you down right this instant.”
Peter hunches down. I’m making most of this up, except for the soldier. There really is a guy over there, and Vasil sends him some sort of message. While I’m talking, I can see the guy waving to Peter. From the way that Peter gets closer to the ground, I can tell that he sees the soldier.
“Honestly, Peter, if you try to assault the cedar grove you’re going to be captured. These guys are angry, too. They want to string you up.”
“Who are you working with?” he asks.
“Doesn’t matter, Peter. Just know this: your best chance of getting out of this alive is to try to battle your way back to the west.” My intentions are simple. I want to split Vasil’s forces so I can give Bud a better chance of escaping. I have a tiny amount of hope that by creating chaos, I might also find a way to escape, but mostly at this point it’s about Bud. I’ve sent him east and now I want to drag some of Vasil’s people off to the west to try to deal with Peter’s group.
“If you still command anyone in the cedar grove, I suggest you tell them to work their way west. They’ll hit resistance, but it might help you create enough of a diversion so you can sneak away.”
I look at Vasil. He has that big grin on his face again. I can’t understand why he’s allowing me to dash his plans. It doesn’t make sense, but I’m not about to squander this opportunity.
Peter doesn’t reply. On the display, he’s still crouching, looking off to the west.
“Peter?” I ask.
“Peter?”
I hand the radio back to a grinning Vasil. I tap the display, as he did, to show the whole area of engagement. Bud’s dot is moving a little slower. He has maneuvered himself so he’s almost between two green dots. He might actually be able to slip through the forces.
Vasil adjusts the radio again and triggers the microphone. “Go to config beta.”
The green dots react immediately. The dots in the center form two clumps and move up and away from each other. The outer ring of the circle pinches in the center and begins to form arches above the red and blue clumps. It looks like cellular mitosis, but instead of dividing completely, the two groups stay connected and start to push south.
“It’s working brilliantly,” Vasil says. Into the radio, he gives another order. “Move to gamma.”
Behind him, the blue forces are being herded towards Bud. The line collapses into a mob and the mob is moving south and a little east. Bud’s nearly outside the radius of control of the green dots, but I’m not sure he’s going to make it. The green dots are moving fast and anticipating his escape. They’re flanking him and driving him back to the other blues.
“Give me back the radio. Connect me to Constantine,” I say, holding out my hand to Vasil.
He nods.
“Bud!” I say. “They’re flanking you. There’s two of them, one on your ten and one on your eight. The main group is still to your six. If you can fight your way through those two, you can keep heading east.”
Bud’s dot ignores me. It moves a little faster, but it doesn’t move to confront the two flankers. If anything, he starts to round back to the south, counter to my instructions.
“Bud, what are you doing?” I ask the radio.
On the other side of the map, Peter’s group is lost. They aren’t moving fast enough to the west and the green dots have easily surrounded their escape routes. They can probably see through the woods that they’re facing a superior force and it’s closing in from the north. As expected, Peter’s Providentials allow themselves to be driven south.
“Why didn’t you just position your men to drive them south in the first place? Why did you have to use me to get them moving?”
“I was told that ‘You don’t sail a boat directly into the wind.’ I’ve never sailed a boat, but I believe I grasp the concept,” Vasil says.
I’ve heard that expression too. Bud says it to me all the time.
It happens on Peter’s side of the map first. The dots stop moving. Soon after, the blue dots decide to take a stand as well. It seems that the Providentials have figured out that they’re being herded and they would rather fight than be pushed into a trap.
The green dots pause. On the display, I see a couple of soldiers repositioning themselves, but most of the dots seem to be waiting for something to happen.
Vasil watches, holding the radio an inch away fro
m his mouth.
The red dots charge north.
Vasil speaks into his radio. “Delta.”
The sound of gunfire filters through the woods to our position.
Vasil and I hunch over the display, where green dots begin to disappear. I try to comprehend that each green dot gone is another person lost to this world. The red forces, the creatives, are doing quite well. They’re forcing their way north with deadly skill and only a few green dots remain to hamper their progress.
The blues, the logicals, are not enjoying the same results. The blue dots are pushing east, directly into the bulk of their green enemies. As I watch, several blue dots disappear, taking only an equal number of green. The blues won’t survive much longer at this rate, since the greens have such an advantage.
Mostly, when the thought of all those disappearing dots becomes too gruesome, I keep my eye on Bud’s blue dot. He’s now moving due south, towards my position. The greens offer him no resistance, they just guide him south.
“Engage Epsilon,” Vasil commands over the radio.
A second later, our display flickers and the green, red, and blue dots disappear for a second and then flash back into position. The dots look confused, if that makes sense. The red dots farthest to the north push back to the south and turn their column inside-out. Soon, all the red dots are moving rapidly south, and encountering no resistance from the greens. On the other side of the map, the blue forces stop pushing east and invert their thrust to push west instead. The greens form a line in their path, allowing them to move west but gently guiding them south. If they continue on their current sweep, they’ll intersect the paths of the red dots before too long.
The steady sound of gunfire falls away, replaced by little bursts every few seconds. The dots move.
“What happened?” I ask.
“It looks like the inverter worked,” Vasil says. “The only person not responding to the inverted field is Constantine. I suppose that’s to be expected. He wouldn’t use a device to navigate. He relies on his own knowledge of the terrain. The rest of them are dependent enough on their technology to be fooled though.”
