Part 37 (2/2)

Ca.s.sie stood her ground, but all around her, members of the mob raced by. She shouted at them; they ignored her. More and more of the mob bled over the wall. Without orders, guards started falling back, trying to keep the mob to their front. In a moment, Ca.s.sie stood alone.

”Mary, something's wrong,” Du called. ”Ca.s.sie's not doing anything.”

”Oh, s.h.i.+t! I'm on my way” was Mary's answer.

Du watched as more and more of the wall went down, more of the crowd poured through. The guards retreated farther, trying to form a s.h.i.+eld wall behind the hole. The mob pushed against them, pushed them back. There were only five hundred meters between the wall there and the landing field, with its load of wagons, carts and people. Once the mob got in among them...Du didn't want to think about that.

”Ca.s.sie, what do you think you're doing?” Du whispered.

Jeff took the call. ”Where's the Colonel?” he asked after getting his orders.

”Busy at the moment. He says the computer seems to have unlimited resources. He's counting on you to cut them off.”

”You better believe we will.”

The explosions started like distant thunder, line blowing track and bed in the next valley over. The second fire line was around the bend, only two miles away from where they worked now. Jeff had to hurry the tired horses along to get them clear of the third daisy chain. Once it started, the horses found enough energy to d.a.m.n near run away from him. ”Now let's plant some more!” Lil shouted before the dirt quit flying.

”Someone coming,” Annie called from her place in the lead. Jeff hurried up to her. Thirty, forty people clomped toward them out of the rain. Some had kitchen knives, others axes. A few only sticks. They lumbered forward in silence.

”Stop where you are. That's close enough,” Jeff ordered.

They kept coming.

Lil came up beside him. ”Looks like the computer is making zombies,” Jeff said, unslinging his rifle. Lil did the same. In unison they pulled the arming bolts. ”One round over their heads,” Jeff suggested.

”Not much over,” Lil said, and nearly parted the hair of the lead guy. He didn't even flinch.

Jeff didn't think of them as people, at least not people who were people. They were something else, something a computer had made. He pitied their families. These, he was freeing.

Ray stood on a low ridge, ancient optical binoculars to his eyes. He had imposed his will on the President; this battle was the one he wanted. Before him, twelve behemoths chewed up the land, tearing up gra.s.s and dirt. Gray paint covered their blockish silhouette. Black crosses identified their country of origin. Tiger tanks.

Ray glanced up at the wide Russian sky; fighters contested for control of the blue. On the second day of the Kursk offensive, the air war was still in doubt h.e.l.l, the entire battle was anyone's bet. He looked back at the Tigers. ”Dancer, you see what I'm looking at. One shot from one of those will flame your tank. You hit it, it won't even slow down.”

”So why am I here in this flimsy thing?”

Ray hardly considered a T-34/85 flimsy; still, compared to these monsters, a lot of even modern stuff was lightweight. ”I need you to hold their attention. They've got to chase you. I want you zigzagging for all you're worth, backing up all the time. Keep your front armor to them and fire any chance you get. Don't stop, just shoot.”

”I still don't see any use in this.”

Ray turned. In a blink he was with the rest of the team, hidden under camouflage netting in a trench running the length of a small wood where their three 100mm ant.i.tank guns were dug in.

”We can't punch a hole in their front armor. We need them to chase you right past us. Then we hit their side armor. It's that easy.”

”Yeah, but you're hiding over there, and I'm out here just inviting them to blow me to pieces.”

”At least you've got something between you and them besides cloth,” the Dean said, fingering the camouflage netting. ”My s.h.i.+rt's thicker than this.”

”We all make our sacrifices,” Dancer answered. ”Can I at least run up there and take a potshot at them?”

”Better if they think you're out in front of the rest of us and running like h.e.l.l to get back over the far ridge,” Ray said.

The Dean scowled at that ”You're putting a lot of trust in your ability to outthink the Pres.”

”So far he's always picked the heavyweight, used his strength to bludgeon us. I had the superior force in the battle at the pa.s.s; he took it and lost. He went for the biggest animal man has ever faced; we outmaneuvered him into the wash. I don't know what he thought about Bunker Hill, but he sure outnumbered us. He outnumbers us here, outguns us, outweighs us. He's got us outcla.s.sed in everything. Except smarts. Let's use it.” The first Tiger trundled over the hill and immediately fired a shot at Dancer. It went wide.

”He's firing too far out,” Ray advised everyone. ”Those guns aren't accurate beyond a thousand meters. Neither are ours. Better to hold fire until five hundred.”

”That's easy for you to say,” Dancer snapped, and started zigzagging and making smoke. He also fired off a round of his own. It didn't come close. More Tigers came over the hill. The heavy tanks moved, paused, fired, then moved on. Dancer jerked right and left with no rhyme or reason except to stay alive.

Hunched beside their guns, Ray's crews waited. Waiting was all they could do. If the Tigers nailed Dancer, they'd have all the time in the world to come looking for the three guns on their flanks. If a Tiger came head on, Ray's guns hadn't a chance.

Dancer danced and the Tigers chased. Ray would have organized the tanks; twelve would make an easy three platoons. If one had gone far to the right, another left, and the third up the middle, they would have had a better chance of getting Dancer and of checking out the neighborhood.

Dumb move; but then, Pres had never studied war. Ray had six thousand years of warfare to lean on. The computer was getting its lessons tonight. Of course, the computer was thinking in nanoseconds. How long before it had six thousand years of thinking under its belt? No use worrying about that.

The first tank pulled even with Ray's gun. ”Hold your fire. We want to work our way up from the rearmost tanks. Wait until the last ones are about even.”

”Hear you” came from the other two guns.

Ray would give his right arm for a reader with designated targets for each of his guns. Unavailable technology. ”Dean, you get the one closest. Gun one, you take the middle one. I'll take the farthest.”

”I got a hit!” Dancer shouted. ”We hit that puppy. Didn't do any good, but we hit it,” he ended, half-laughing. The lead tiger had taken a hit on its front armor. It showed a scoop like a spoon might make on soft ice cream. The tank drove on, apparently unfazed. Then it fired.

The gun blew up.

”Good going, Dancer, you damaged the gun barrel. That's got to hurt.” The crew abandoned their flaming tank. Dancer zigged but fired his machine gun, cutting down the crew as they fled.

”Time for us to go to work, teams. On my count of three. One...two...three.”

All three guns fired at once. Two Tigers caught fire; the third snapped its tread and ran out of it. Still dangerous, its turret slewed around, looking for its a.s.sailant. ”I'll get him next time!” the Dean shouted. He did. Ray or someone got one more tank on the second salvo.

Beside Ray, David shoved a round in the barrel. Rose slammed the breech shut as David turned to Jon for another round. Ray whirled the gun controls, sighting on the broadside of a Tiger. It blew before he pulled the trigger. Cursing the gunner who got there first, he turned some more. Hunting. Hunting.

A Tiger turned toward them. That couldn't be allowed; Ray sighted on it. His shot took off its tread. ”Aim low,” Ray muttered, as much to himself as to the others. ”Armor's thinner there.”

”I got one,” Dancer chortled. ”b.a.s.t.a.r.d turned his side to me and I got him.”

Ray found another target, fired off a round. Missed. Hit the second time. He sat up, looking over the gun s.h.i.+eld, hunting for a target to aim at. One, three, five, ten tanks burned. One was scooting away in reverse. Ray aimed low, nipped the tread. The tank came to a halt, crew bailing out. These weren't running, but prying at the damaged tread, laboring to fix it. Ray aimed a second shot. It fell short. Third missed long. Fourth landed among them. Tread, wheels, bodies flew. The tank began to burn. One left.

”Mine!” Dancer shouted. Dancer had swung wide, away from Ray's guns. Now he was in a position on the opposite flank. The last Tiger backed away, firing at the guns. Ray's fire had slowed as the kids had to run back to the caisson for each round; their ready rounds long spent.

The slow fire helped. The Tiger couldn't seem to figure out which gun to engage, but shot at each of them in turn as they fired on it. But all the tank's attention was now focused on the guns. Dancer slipped unnoticed behind him. Paused. Fired. Nothing happened for a moment. Ray wondered where the sh.e.l.l had gone; he should have seen the fall of a miss.

Then the tank blew sky high.

Around him the kids were screaming, jumping up and down. Ray rested his arms on the gunsight, totally exhausted. He'd bet their lives in a d.a.m.n deadly fight-and won.

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