He swung the laser’s sighting mirrors around and tried to hold them on the nearest tank. Flicking the fire control to the shortest possible pulse, he rattled off a train of microsecond bursts. The ground near the tank smoked and sputtered but the tank itself rumbled forward unharmed. The truck lurched violently as he fired again.
Where the hell is everybody else?
Alec fired three more times as shellfire racked the truck. He heard shrapnel clanging against the truck’s sides, then caught a glance of another truck as they zipped past it. It was gutted, wheels splayed, front end smashed in.
One of the tanks was turning in a tight circle. Got its left tread! Alec rejoiced. A half-dozen mounted men were pulling up alongside it, unlimbering the rocket launchers and grenades they carried. He turned his attention to the second tank and saw, beyond it, that the third one was crawling with men clambering over it, like ants swarming over an invading scorpion. Crumpled bodies lay broken and smashed in the tank’s wake.
If we can knock off the tanks before Douglas’ reserves get here... Alec dialed the frequency for the second truck in his unit. “Get on the left side of that tank that’s still fighting. I’ll swing to the right. Spray him!”
They swung to the tank’s flanks. The gun turret swung toward Alec’s side and he fanned the laser beam to maximum width and sprayed the entire turret area. Blind the bastards, he raged to himself, hoping that the infrared energy would at least damage the periscopes poking from the turret. Then the tank bloomed into a roaring fireball. The other truck’s laser had found the engine ducts. The tank shuddered, then burst open like an overripe melon, its fuel and ammunition exploding inside it. The turret blew high into the air. With smoke and steam hissing from every joint and port in the heavy armor, the tank died like a dragon consumed by its own internal juices, hissing and rumbling as it disappeared in smoke.
It seemed like hours, but it actually took less than forty minutes to clean up the tank counterattack. Alec’s units helped each other as much as they could, but most of them had to fight their own battles, individual jousts of two or three tanks pitted against a handful of trucks and jeeps. The cavalry made the real difference. The horsemen scattered at the sight of the tanks, then while the armored behomeths were engaging the laser trucks and darting jeeps, the cavalry reformed in the rear and attacked with rocket missiles and grenades. Men leaped from horseback onto the tanks and stuffed grenades into the engine ducts or cracked the periscopes and rangefinders that sprouted vulnerably out from the armor. Blinded or immobile, the tanks became more deathtraps than weapons.
Douglas’ reserves arrived to join the battle before the last of the tanks were destroyed, but they were either on horseback or riding lightly armored trucks. And they were spread thin. The breadth of Alec’s attack had foiled Douglas’ defense plan before the battle began, though neither side realized this while the fighting raged.
As the battle eddied away from his sector, Alec ordered his truck back up to the top of the ridge that had masked the tanks’ advance. From this higher ground he could see much of the swirling, dust-clouded fight, and he had time to check his commanders by radio and direct their actions. The tanks were a good idea, he thought. If we had come in a massive single thrust they would have converged on us and clobbered us. But Alec’s broad, fluid advance offered no heavy concentrations of troops to center on, no massed targets for the tanks’ cannon.
As he watched the field peppered with burning pyres and saw his laser trucks slicing through Douglas’ lightly-armored reserves, Alec calmly spoke orders into his helmet microphone. Douglas’ men were beginning to retreat; in some places they seemed to be panicking blindly and racing away, especially where the laser trucks were burning everything they could reach.
It was not pretty. Alec knew his own casualties were mounting. The stench of death reached him, even up on the ridge; burned flesh and the bitter fumes of explosives and burning oil. The noise was incessant, even through his heavy earphones: explosions punctuating the constant chatter of automatic weapons; roars and groans that might have been the voices of men, but so distorted and tortured that they were unrecognizable.
He climbed down from the gunner’s seat and stood on the laser mount platform. His knees were shaking, his vision blurred.
This is what you came for, he told himself as he watched thousands of men trying to kill each other. This is what your entire life has been aimed at. He clutched the binoculars that still hung at his chest and started to put them to his eyes. But he hesitated. What if I see Will’s body out there?
Jameson’s flat unemotional voice in his earphones snapped him back to reality. “They’re breaking up on this end. All the fight’s out of them.”
“All right,” Alec heard himself say. “Don’t bother with the stragglers. Let them go. Make a dash for the base and try to take it before they can set up a last-ditch defense. I’ll join you from this end of the line.”
“Check. What about Kobol and his special unit?”
“He’ll follow my squad.”
“Right. I presume you’ll give the necessary orders in your usual crisp, military fashion.”
Alec almost smiled. Jameson had detected his depression, obviously. “Yes, yes. Move out in five minutes, no more.”
“We’re moving.”
Alec quickly checked with the other sector commanders. The battle was disintegrating into a series of separate little skirmishes. Douglas’ troops were struggling for their lives now, trying to escape or simply survive. Alec ordered all commanders to ignore the retreating enemy troops and offer surrender to the pockets of men still fighting. Half of each unit he ordered to race for Douglas’s headquarters.
As his own truck started bumpily down the ridge to take the lead of one column that was forming up, Alec relayed his orders to Kobol, who had been waiting back at their takeoff point.
“Now?” Kobol sounded shocked. “You’re heading for the base already?”
“That’s right,” Alec said as his truck lurched past a clattering collection of other trucks and jeeps. “We’ve broken up Douglas’ main force. It’s nothing more than a mop-up operation now.” He silently added, Unless Douglas has more surprises up his sleeve.
Kobol mumbled something vaguely sounding like congratulations and promised he would be on his way immediately.
“Steer clear of the firebases,” Alec warned. “They’re still in enemy hands. Those people might be in the mood to spend the rest of their ammunition on you.”
Before Kobol could respond, Alec clicked the radio off, grinning to himself.
It can’t be this easy, he thought as his truck rushed on toward Douglas’s base. But what else could he have? He’s used more men than I ever saw at the base. He can’t have much more.
As they sped over the battlefield, past burned-out tanks and trucks, past twisted bodies and moaning, maimed men, past gaping shell holes and grass made slippery with blood, Alec began to realize that it had not been so easy, after all. Quick, but not easy.
He directed his truck to a road, and the column fell in behind him. It was one of the earth-packed trails that he and Will Russo had ridden. It turned around the shoulders of the last few hillocks, darted under a copse of newly leafed maples and birches, and then the first buildings came into view.
The column of trucks and jeeps fanned out across the hummocky grass as they approached. The lasers burned down the fence quickly. The watchtowers here seemed to be empty, abandoned. Alec scanned the base area with his binoculars as they raced past the still-smoking remains of the innermost fence. A few people were dashing about in the streets, running for the shelter of the buildings.
Jameson reported, “We’re less than a kilometer from the western end of the base. No resistance. Hardly any sign of life.”
“Slow down,” Alec commanded. “Proceed with caution, but keep advancing. I don’t want any civilians hurt, especially the women.” He pulled a hand-drawn map of the base from his jacket and told Jameson which buildings his troops should seize. “Get the defenders out of the buildings and into the open. Herd them onto the runways of the old airfield.”
“Check,” Jameson said.
Alec gave similar orders to all his unit commanders, worrying about how long he could expect the raider packs to maintain any semblance of discipline. He headed his own truck straight for the row of houses where Angela and Will and Douglas had lived. As the truck rolled alone through the streets between three—and four-story barracks buildings, Alec realized what a target he made for snipers standing alone on the back of the truck alongside the gleaming metal bulk of the laser.
So shoot, he silently told his enemies. You’ll never get a better chance than now.
But there was no firing anywhere. Not even a sign of life in this part of the base. The houses looked cold and empty as the truck pulled up into the dead-end street. They’ve gone, Alec told himself, and realized he was a fool for thinking they might still be here.
He made the driver stop in front of Angela’s house. Swinging down off the truck, pistol flapping at his hip, heavy helmet on his head, Alec remembered the night he had left. He had never pictured his return as being quite like this: the conqueror striding into the deserted enemy camp.
The house was empty. The fireplace cold. It looked dusty, abandoned, as though no one had lived there for weeks. Perhaps months.
Grimly, Alec marched down the street toward Douglas’ house. He knew it was foolish, but still...
He glanced over his shoulder at the truck. The driver sat alone in the armored cab. He had lowered the front armor panel so that he could have more than just a slit to allow fresh air inside. But he still wore his helmet and his hands were gripping the steering wheel. Ready to leave at an instant’s notice, Alec saw. Constructive cowardice. The man who wants to save his skin is the man who’s got a chance to live through the day.
Fifteen paces from Douglas’s front door, Alec froze. A mechanical whirring sound, faint but real, stopped him. Like the sound of a gun mount tracking. He edged off the walkway and stepped close to the shrubbery that was just beginning to turn green, close to the house. One hand on his pistol butt, Alec carefully scanned the empty-looking street.
Nothing.
Then the sound came again, from behind him. He whirled and crouched as he drew the gun from its holster. Still nothing in sight. But there was something. Something about the house was different, something that had not been there before.
A glint in the corner of his eyes. A metal pole, strapped hastily against the side of the house with an antenna jury-rigged at the top of it. New, still bright in the late-afternoon sunlight that lanced through the smokey gray sky. A cable led down from the antenna to a second-floor window.
The antenna turned, making a mechanical whirring sound as its little electrical motor moved it.
Alec relaxed his grip on the pistol and commanded himself to stop trembling. Looking back at the truck, he saw that the driver had buttoned up his front panel. Alec called to him on his helmet radio. Whispering, he ordered, “Get Jameson and tell him to bring a squad of men here. On the double.”
“Yessir.”
Slowly, as quietly as he could, Alec moved along the side of the house and around to the back door. It was unlocked. He pushed it inward gently, almost smiling at Douglas’ insistence on good maintenance: the hinges did not squeak.
Once inside he could hear a muffled voice from upstairs. It sounded like Douglas. Alone? Why would he be here and not out in the field with his men?
