The shockwave hardened slowshields. It spun bats from the air like autumn wind-torn leaves. It rocked the tractor. It fried hundreds of Maggots. It seared and panicked twice that number…
And it took Behan away to the great belfry in the sky.
"I killed him," said Ginny, in a small wooden voice. "I killed him."
Eric Flint
Rats, Bats amp; Vats
Chapter 28:
A romantic little place in the country.
THE PAGER BLEEPED insistently. Fitz was glad to pull over to the side of the road. He was not relishing this little trip.
"Major Fitzhugh? It's Henry M'Batha from satellite tracking here. We've just picked up another explosion. About five miles from the last one. They're heading southeast and inwards, sir!" The technician sounded as pleased as if he'd infiltrated the Magh' scorpiary himself.
"Thank you, Henry. Well done! Keep me updated, will you? Can you contact my office and send printouts to Corporal Simms?"
"Yessir. Right away!"
Fitz gritted his teeth. Well. They were still alive. So he would just have to go ahead. But M'Batha would have sounded less cheerful with his "good news" if he'd understood that it meant waking General Cartup-Kreutzler. Fitz was under no delusions as to how the general was going to feel about this…
"Got any food in this rattletrap?" asked Ariel, yawning.
Fitz grinned wryly. "In two minutes you can start on Carrot-up. How's that?"
Ariel made a face. Which, on a rat, was something to see. "Blech! A little lard goes a long way."
The gate guards were no match for Major Conrad Fitzhugh at his most glacial.
"Halt!"
"Private. I am going to count to three. If you don't take that damnfool firearm out of my face, I'll inspect it." Fitz's tone was cold enough to make liquid nitrogen seem like bathwater.
The rifle was hastily lowered. "Uh. Nobody is allowed in here, sir."
Fitz raised an eyebrow… on the bad side of his face. "Do you know what happens when you use a high-velocity automatic rifle within interpenetrated slowshields?" he asked quietly. His voice was terrifyingly even.
His eyes swept the small squad of soldiers. After a moment's hesitation, one of them spoke. The corporal in charge.
"Uh. Nossir."
"Have you heard the word `ricochet,' Corporal?" Fitz spoke between clenched teeth. "It means both of us end up dead. Outside the shield it is totally useless. Inside you've got just one shot. What sort of defense are you against the Magh'?"
"Uh. Major dien Thiem had us issued us with these, sir."
"He and I will have words in the morning." There was now helium frost in the major's tone. "Now, stand aside. I need to see General Cartup-Kreutzler on a security matter of the highest urgency."
"Erm. He… he's not alone, Major Fitzhugh."
The major smiled. The guards cringed. They knew who he was. Sometimes a reputation helped. So did a shark's smile. "He needs to see me. And see me he will, even if he's entertaining Shaw's daughter to a private soiree. Now, open those gates."
They did.
He drove past them, down the long curving avenue to the door of the general's little country retreat, just outside of the town. The general had a handsome mansion in town too… with a wife and children in it. That didn't have armed guards at the gates.
The pager bleeped again.
"Can't a girl sleep around here?" muttered Ariel.
The major pulled up. Took the communicator out of his pocket. "Yes?"
"The infrared scan, sir! Definitely a vehicle, sir, and, and there was a huge heat trace further in. Really big."
"I wonder if that was them buying it," said Conrad with a trace of regret. "They can't go on like this…"
There was a moment's silence. Then a gleeful: "NO! They've just come out in between the next two, sir. They're REALLY giving it to the Maggots, Major!"
Eric Flint
Rats, Bats amp; Vats
Chapter 29:
The paradigms of war.
CHIP HAD TO HOLD Ginny and steer. Words just seemed pitifully inadequate.
And then they rounded the corner. The floor was solid wall-to-wall Maggots and there was no way to slow down or stop. Chip knew that hitting two or three hundred slowshields at that speed was going to be like driving into a thirty-foot thick concrete wall.
Only… it wasn't.
"Brace yourselves!" He shouted. They hit the Maggots. And kept plowing through. Crunch and splatter. Ginny was knocking them back with a shovel. The Maggots weren't slowshielded. And they weren't warrior types either. They were mostly small, weird-shaped specialists drafted into line as a solid cork.
Eventually, though, the tractor was brought to a stop by the sheer weight of crushed bodies. Chip grabbed the chainsaw from where it hung, ripped the pull cord and thrust it at Ginny. "Take this! Gimme that." He snatched the shovel from her and belted at a pick-snouted Maggot. Beside him he heard the chainsaw ripping and growling.
A glance showed him Fluff belaboring a Maggot with a piece of pipe. "AIEEE! GET DOWN, YOU FILTHY BEAST!" Either pipe or galago-volume was enough.
Pistol, clinging to the air filter, was flailing at the mass with a length of chain. All he needed was a biker jacket. Beside him Fal fought tooth and claw, until Nym, from the trailer, tossed him a piece of reinforcing rod. Up on the trailer, all with bits of reinforcing rod, Nym, Doll, Melene and Doc were smashing Maggots away. These Maggots weren't fighters. Just endless.
The bats, except O'Niel, had dived to war. O'Niel sat calmly on the middle of the trailer, took a drink from a bottle, then popped a wick into it. Then he held it upside down to soak, while flicking the lighter with his feet. Then, using both wings he tossed it. "Duck, you suckers!" Fire still caused pandemonium.
O'Niel shouted to Fluff, a lid in his mouth making him sound even more bog-Irish. "Ghet oop here and ohpen bhattles, damn ye!" With a leap, the galago complied.
The Magh' could still overwhelm them, but only by sheer panic and numbers and the slipperiness of the ground. Nym came up with a new crowd-clearer. Some of the scrap brought for shrapnel in the expedient mines yielded a couple of huge nuts, which the big rat hastily strung onto ten feet of nylon, bitten from the roll. He scrambled forward over Chip's head and onto the front edge of the radiator grill, where he clung by toes and tail. He whirled it around his head. He nearly got Pistol on the first arc, but then he got the angle right. The Maggots were mostly small and Nym kept the thing whirling at the height of the waving limbs. Knocking limbs off didn't even slow the weapon down.
One of the whirling nuts howled, and that put the horn into Chip's mind. He dropped the shovel and set the tractor going again, leaning on the horn. It brayed and brayed, as they began to slither and crunch their way forward through a flaming fleeing mob. The tank pump chose this moment to add its own drowning-baby shriek. Something about that seemed to frighten the Maggots even more.
And then…
They were through. Out on the far side. Rolling along the open Maggot-way. Nym dropped his makeshift flail and began cheerfully tossing insecticide bombs behind them.
"We did it! We did it!" shouted Siobhan. "Holy mother! I think we just beat more Maggots than the whole army ever has in any one battle!"
"No shields," murmured Chip, wonderingly. "Imagine going to fight with no shields."
"I haven't got a shield," said Ginny. "It didn't stop me."
It stopped everybody else on the tractor.
They stared at her openmouthed-except for Fluff, who jumped up on Virginia's shoulder and put his long fluffy tail around her throat. "It is true! And I do not have one of these either. Bah, a true knight does not cower behind a shield!" He adopted a Napoleonic stance on her shoulder.
Chip shook his head. "You're a loony. In fact, you are a pair of flipping loonies. It didn't occur to me that you didn't have shields. Everybody in the army has shields! I… forgot you were civs."
"I'm not sure if that's a compliment, or an insult," Ginny said dryly.
"Au contraire! It is a revelation." Doc leapt up on the engine cowling. His ratty beady eyes glowed with an inner fire. "You have shifted the entire paradigm of war."
"Oh, put a sock in…" Pistol began.
Doc turned on Pistol. "You shut up! And listen for once, you fool."
The astonished Pistol shut up. And everyone listened.
"Our thinking tends to operate within the bounds of a set of preconceived premises. Every now and again those premises are shown to be flawed, and then the entire structure built on them must be rebuilt." The philosopher-rat cleared his throat and then continued with the dignity of a rat addressing the prestigious Shareholder's Society for the Advancement of Science.
"The humans entered this war with one of the basic premises wrong. Their species has, for a long time now, fought with projectile, long-range weapons. They assumed that that was the way any civilized species would fight, if given the choice. They assumed that if their troops were unshielded the Maggots would use projectile fire. It was an incorrect premise. The Maggots bodies are their weapons."
"We still can't use guns while they have shields," said Chip.
The rat shrugged. "You are still thinking within the terms of reference of the projectile weapons premise. The point is: while Maggots use shields they can't use guns either. The strength of human armies wasn't always projectile weapons. It was that they were armies relying on numbers, not on individual strengths. Believe me: Shields and the small AP mines our bats sowed helped the Maggots, not ourselves. They isolated individual humans. They made you do what your history shows that very few of you can do well: They made you fight on your own, instead of in mass attacks. We are better off without shields and AP mines. A mass of shielded Maggots couldn't penetrate a solid wall of humans with pole-mines… if the humans stood shoulder to shoulder, unshielded, without interpenetration of the human and Maggot shields. There is no good reason why an unshielded human is worse off than a shielded one, in a fight with a shielded Magh'. For one thing you can run away faster."
Chip saw the truth of it, clearly. But he had a feeling-a certainty, actually-that some desk jockey back at high command wouldn't see it that way.
"He's a broth of foine thinker, that," said O'Niel. "Whould you be hafter a small drink to be whashing down all of that dry preaching, Doc, or Georg Hegel, as you style yourself?"
Doc took off the pince-nez. "Not any more, I do not. I see now that that too was a false premise, rooted in the past. Henceforth I will call myself… Pararattus. I will build a new philosophy.. ."
Pistol snorted. "I reckon I'll still call you Doc. For all that, methinks, you may have something…"
"Yes," said Bronstein. "I hadn't thought about the projectile weapons…"
"But the Magh' do use projectile weapons! Have you forgotten their artillery?" demanded the Korozhet from his bag. "You are wrong, rat!"
Doc regarded the spiny mass of alien. Then he shook his head. "No. I'm not wrong."
For a moment the only noise was the tractor's thud-thudding diesel.
"What we need is an on-off switch for slowshields, Professor," said Ginny.
"Like I wish we had for Pricklepuss," muttered Chip.
Eamon and Siobhan came back from scouting. "Next left."
Siobhan settled on Chip's shoulder. "You should look after Chip better, Virginia. 'Tis troubled he looks. Give him some chicken soup."
Siobhan was, however, more concerned about the rest of her flock. "Why is everyone so quiet and troubled looking? To be sure it is to certain death we're going…"
Chip made a wry face. "Doc just told the Crotchet he was wrong."
The bat nearly fell off Chip's shoulder. "That's surely not true?"
Chip saw the corner. Dropped a gear, and took it in what-for him-was consummate skill. "Surely is. And I agree with him."
By now the gap outside the walls was a tight, narrow spiral. Chip started to turn back in toward the heart of the spiral-his own heart reaching for open moonlight-bathed heights. It felt like hours that they'd been traveling and fighting their way underground. It should be morning by now, surely?
"The other way," Bronstein commanded.
"But that's out!" Chip protested.
Bronstein shook her head at him. "Stop thinking like a Maggot. Never try the same trick twice. Tell him, Ginny."
"She's right, Chip. The group-mind will know."
Chip put his foot on the clutch. "Right! Now I feel like Doc. Breakthrough. All we've got do is keep changing the pattern! Come on, Ginny. Turn that tap on and let's fog this whole passage with alcohol."
Even in the dashboard light he could see she'd turned pale. He didn't pretend not to understand. "It wasn't your fault, Ginny," he said softly. "And it will keep us alive, if we play it right. The expedient mines will trigger it."
The rats were already busy setting them. Each hinged plank had a tenpenny nail which would strike a cartridge percussion cap as soon as a Maggot stood on one. The cartridge was buried in a pile of diesel-wet fertilizer and covered in "useful" metal junk from the workshop.
As soon as the rats were back up on the tractor, Ginny filled the back-tunnel with atomized alcohol. If it affected the Maggots the same way it did humans, they'd be too drunk to ever reach the expedient mines. Then Chip drove out, away from the heart of the spiral, before breaking in again.
There were already Maggot sentries on the entryway to the main passage. The group-mind was learning. But there were only two of them, unshielded. Not warriors. Child's play to this group. But now the tractor's position was known to the group-mind. What it didn't know was the convolutions of Bronstein's mind.
"Straight across," she ordered. "And rats, set some trip wires further up the main passage. Quickly! Chip, you keep her running down this passage, slowly. We'll catch up."
"You do your thing, Bronstein. And tell Eamon not to nip back and watch the big bang," said Chip.
"Methinks it must be ooh, hours, since I last had one of those." Melene cheekily rubbed a furry thigh against the galago.
But Fluff had an answer for her. "Alas, senorita, I should love to oblige, but I am entirely out of candy."
Fal nearly fell off the trailer laughing.
Eric Flint
Rats, Bats amp; Vats
Chapter 30:
To Banbury Cross.
THAT WAS DEFINITELY a feminine squeal. And rather a lot of panting coming from the other side of the door.
There'd been no answer to the major's demanding knock on the outer door. Being who he was, Conrad had tried the door before starting to kick it down. It wasn't locked. The keys lay hastily tossed onto the ormolu hall table.
Ariel had said: "They're upstairs."
The major hesitated for an instant at the upstairs door. Then, gritting his teeth, he knocked.
No answer.
"They're busy, from the sound of it," chuckled Ariel. "Won't pay no attention at all to a measly knock."
Fitzhugh shrugged, and opened the door.
His timing was exquisite.
The general's gum-chewing secretary Daisy was occupied in an equestrienne pursuit. Or that was what she was dressed for. Well, half-dressed for. There were parts of her distinctly undressed. She shrieked.
Her steed definitely needed more exercise. He was rather paunchy. .. and very undressed.
For a moment Fitz nearly retreated and slammed the door behind him. Then his sardonic humor asserted itself. "I seem to have come at an inopportune moment. Unfortunately, General, my business is pressing and won't wait."
Ariel stuck her head out of his pocket. "Methinks, your general won't be coming at this opportune moment." She giggled nastily. "And I don't think his business is pressing any longer."
Daisy shrieked again. "A rat! A rat! In his pocket!"
Ariel showed her teeth. "Shall I get out of this pocket and give you a reason to jump on the table and do some more shrieking? I could nibble your toes instead of your bare tits."
The general found his wind at last. "What is the meaning of this outrage?"
His rider suddenly realized that her excessively generous frontage was exposed. Maybe Ariel's nibble comment had gotten through. Fitz had always suspected it took ideas a long time to penetrate all that hair. She tried first to pull her inadequate jacket to cover herself, before remembering that it had been designed not to cover the cleavage. She snatched the frilly continental cushion from behind the head of her gray steed. His head thumped onto the wall.
This was all too much for Fitz's gravity. There were men dying out there, sure, and a war to be won or lost. But walking in on the pompous ass being boffed by his bimbo-secretary, playing mount-the-( snort)-stallion, was truly priceless.
"Sir. I'll withdraw for thirty seconds, to allow you time to assume a more dignified-ah, position. I've no desire to disturb your private life, but I need to talk to you about urgent military business." He almost managed not to smile.
The red-faced general almost managed not to look at the telephone.
Fitz unplugged it, and walked out with it. "Don't infuriate him," he hissed at Ariel.
The rat just winked. Fitz sighed. She'd do it her way. She always did. He put the telephone unit down on the parquet floor and they went back into the room.
Daisy had fled to the bathroom. The general had obviously given up his frantic search for his trousers. He was wrapped in the sheet, looking like a very irate Roman senator.
"This had better be good, Major," he hissed.
In a voice of perfect urbanity, Fitz replied. "Sir! I would not have dreamed of disturbing you for anything less than something of major importance. And-of course-your private life is of no relevance."
"What is it? And why didn't you just call or call my second-in-command, General Fertzengu? In fact, why did you override the chain of command?" The general was fast working himself up into the fury of a man caught in a compromising position, with nowhere else but temper to turn to.
Fitz looked down his long nose at the man. Then he realized he was doing just what he had asked Ariel not to do. He attempted to answer without any sign of irritation. "Firstly, sir, my orders are to report directly to you on matters of intelligence and not to attempt to influence junior officers. Those are your exact words, sir. Secondly, your 2 I.C. is out of town on a shooting trip and is not available, according to his household staff. Thirdly, I tried to call you. You have not drawn your pager, sir. I called your office. I called your home." A look of discomfort crossed the general's face. "I then called on Captain Hargreaves, sir. He provided me with this number, but the phone was not accepting calls. I had little alternative but to come here in person."
The general ground his teeth audibly. "You had no call to burst in here. You should have waited…"
Fitz lost it. "While you play your stupid philandering games, men are dying!"
"And rats too," put in Ariel.
It was perhaps not what he'd asked her to do, but it gave Conrad a second to cool.
It hadn't done that for the general. "Don't you dare shout at me! I'll have you stripped of your rank and back in the trenches before you can say `knife.' And now get yourself and that animal out of my quarters. You're dismissed, Major. Dismissed! I will see you in my office at nine tomorrow, morning. Sharp."
Inside Fitz something finally snapped. He had tried to work within the framework… He knew that there was now only one real course of action open to him. But he would have a last attempt. His voice was very cold, as it always was when he was really angry. "You'll listen to me now. I'll see you in your office, later. And then you can do your worst."
A sensible man hearing that tone would have shut up. It even took a little bit of the bombast out of Carrot-up. "I've given you your orders, Major."
"And I'll obey them. After I've finished, so you might as well let me make that quick. Now, I have interrupted your… rest, to tell you we have satellite information coming in that indicates that some of our men-"
"And maybe rats, and probably bats," interrupted Ariel, dropping out of his pocket to the floor.
"Yes, and possibly other troops, are behind enemy lines. They've attacked a scorpiary. The result is that on sector Delta 355 all the Magh' forces have been pulled back inside the force shield to deal with the insurgents. They're wreaking havoc in there, General. Three major explosion traces so far. They have some kind of vehicle and they're going through the scorpiary like a dose of salts. If they succeed in knocking out the power source for the force shield we must be ready to move in with speed, sir. The Magh' side of the line is undefended, sir. We should have whatever troops we can muster waiting in their earthworks. Even if the insurgents fail, which, of course, there is a good chance that they will…"
The general stood up, nearly losing his toga. "You dared to disturb me with this rubbish? It's a complete and utter farradiddle! And even if it wasn't, I don't care if there are a handful of other-ranks blundering around behind the enemy lines. It won't change the war, Major. These `glamour' actions never do…"
The pager in Fitz's pocket beebled insistently. The major calmly interrupted. "I must answer that, sir. It is either my office, or the satellite center." From the dressing table came the clatter of a bottle being knocked over. As he pulled the pager from his pocket, Fitz saw the general's tunic top being dowsed in expensive single malt.
It was the satellite center. M'Batha didn't even wait for him to speak. He actually had to hold the pager away from his ear.
"They've done it again! We measured a tongue of flame in excess of a hundred feet less than four minutes after we'd tracked them leaving the spot. They've gone back in, sir! Our boys are pounding the SHIT out of them!"
Fitz smiled. There was more than one voice in the background. It sounded like M'Batha had half the tech-services on the slowship in there with him. Well. It wouldn't do any harm at this stage. "Thanks, Henry." He held his hand over the pager mike. "Satellite tracking, sir. Reporting another explosion." There was no way the general couldn't have heard anyway. Daisy, with her ear to the bathroom keyhole, could probably have heard. "Would you like to speak to them, sir? Confirm it for yourself?"
General Cartup-Kreutzler wasn't buying it. "Pah. Do you think I don't recognize a put-up job. You think you can fool me! Satellite tracking is there to monitor the damned weather. Crops and things. They do not do this sort of thing. I do not know what you hoped to achieve by this… ridiculous performance, but you've failed. Failed, d'you hear? NOW GET OUT!"
Fitz clicked the pager off. "Is that your last word, sir?"
"Yes. Now GET OUT!"
Fitz shrugged. He couldn't bring himself to salute. "Enjoy the rest of your… entertainment, sir. Come on, Ariel. Let's go."
"We'll meet again, Carrot-up," said the rat cheerfully. She clambered up Fitz's leg, clutching a chocolate she'd just looted from a heart-shaped box on the dresser.
As they walked out, Fitz carefully put his heel down on the phone and crushed it. Ariel scrambled out of his pocket again, pausing to wipe her chocolaty paws on the flap. "Methinks, I'll deal with the wires just outside the house. There might be another phone. You check the other doors. And see that you pick up his trousers on the way. They're at the foot of the stairs. You humans are as good as blind. Typical of that stupid bimbo to like-bleah-strawberry creams."
Fitz smiled to himself. Rats, and Ariel in particular, were terrible rank-and-file soldiers. Nature's own samurai had far too much initiative. "I'll deal with the lights, too," Ariel added. "See you at the car."
"Fuse box is just outside the portico," reported Ariel with satisfaction. "So that tradesmen don't have to come inside, and lower the tone of the place."
"I know. I used to live like this," said Fitz grimly. "Convenient enough, of course. But it makes for easy sabotage."
Ariel scrambled up into the fatigue pocket. Her pocket. Not two seconds later, her head popped out, beady eyes filled with baleful outrage. "What's this?" she demanded, holding up the offending object.
Fitz smiled. "Called a distributor cap. Relax. We'll pitch it once we get off the grounds."
"Oh." She studied the gadget. "Okay. As long as it makes Carrot-up's life miserable, I'll tolerate the encroachment."
The guards at the gate saluted.
"Quite a party your general's having back there," said Fitz, dryly. "I wouldn't disturb him if I were you. Or let anyone else in to disturb him. Or pay too much attention to the… shouting."
"Can't really hear anything from here anyway, sir," said the corporal.
One of the privates sniggered and then realized that the major wasn't laughing. "No, sir," he said, absolutely rigid. "Anyway, we won't see anyone until the household staff get in, sir. They always come on just after the general leaves."
"Ah. And what time is that? I want to take up the length of your stint with your Major… diem Thien," said Fitz.
"We only do four-hour stretches, sir. Whoever's on the last stint just covers until the general leaves. Just before eight. We only have to do about two a week, sir. It's not a bad billet," added the soldier hastily. He knew perfectly well that when officers catch flak they pass it down.
"Compared to the front, it's heaven," agreed Fitz. "Just see your relief doesn't let anyone in-not anyone at all, understand? Tell them it is my specific orders, relayed from the general."
"Yessir." They saluted, and Fitz drove off.
"Oh dear," said Ariel. "You forgot to give them the keys."
Fitz smiled in the darkness. "It's got his office key on it. I thought I'd have to ask you to climb in through the ducts, but I won't need to now."
"You take away all my fun," she said. "Got any more food?"
He pulled a ration bar from a pocket. He knew just how fast that metabolism was. "Here."
"Yuck." She took it anyway. "You forgot to give him his trousers too."
"I'm planning on wearing those," said Fitz.
Ariel chuckled. Then she asked: "Why are we doing this? Not that I mind. But why?"
"We?" said Fitz.
"Methinks I should bite you on what's left of your balls," she said quietly.
Fitz sighed. "Because if we never win… we never can. Maybe if I prove they can advance… They'll learn."
"I doubt it," said Ariel.
"I know," said Fitz quietly. "But I've reached point-non-plus. I'm sorry, Ariel, to have dragged you into this."
She nuzzled him. "I love you." A moment later, remembering, she pitched the distributor cap out the window. "Even if you do let squatters move in on me."
Eric Flint
Rats, Bats amp; Vats
Chapter 31:
Constipative Innovation.
THEY'D BROKEN OUT, and, this time with difficulty, broken in again. The space between the spiral arms was getting narrower and narrower. There just wasn't the sort of turning space a tractor needed. Then they'd knocked over the guards. And hastily turned down another cross tunnel.
The bats and rats had had to hold off the Maggots while Chip hastily knocked holes. Ginny and the galago poured fertilizer and diesel and inserted the primacord, before clipping on the bat limpet. Chip adjusted it, one minute twenty second fuse…
They were getting to be pretty fair sappers, with all the practice. Still, even the tiny HE bat-limpets and thick-cotton primacord were getting low. Chip had the can of floor-tile glue ready and bellowed for the rats and bats as soon as he clicked the limpet relay shut. Ginny, bright girl, was already up getting the tractor started. The Crotchet was holding forth at her again. Well, at least Chip didn't have to listen.
Bats and rats hurried past, as Chip poured glue. Then he dropped the can and ran. A Maggot was coming and, besides, Nym had managed to get the tractor going. In the interest of the poor tractor he had to get back to it. Somebody tossed a Molotov past his ear.
Panting, he made it to the stabilizer bar, hauled himself up onto the seat, and took over the driving. Even getting the tractor to move along faster was easier now.
Behind them came the sweet sound of detonation.
"Foine! More of the same?" asked O'Niel, a bottle in hand. Maybe he was just getting a Molotov ready.
Chip smiled, his crooked teeth matching Ginny's. "Nope! Always more of something different. This is like the restaurant trade. Your customers get sick of the same meal again and again, no matter how good. So innovation is the name of the game. First, you bats 'ud do us a favor if you'd check on whether there are any live Maggots in our tunnel. If not, we can have a little rest."
Siobhan fluttered up and touched a wing to Chip's head. "To be sure, the boy's brain's overheated."
"Methinks, 'tis too little sex," sniffed Fal. He leered at Ginny. "Eh, girl?"
Her dusty glasses twinkled at him. "Why, sir, he never gives me candy."
It was a joke, but Chip detected just a touch of wistfulness under it all.
"Or flowers, I suppose," added Melene, dryly.
"Or even a drink," said Doll.
"Ahem." Doc cleared his throat. "He's right, you know…"
Pistol clapped. "I agree. I'd liefer get off this candy scale."
Doc sighed. "Explain to him, Bronstein. The Maggots do not expect us to stop. So therefore we must."
But Bronstein and Eamon had already flown back down the tunnel.
They came back a bare minute later. "Indade," said Eamon cheerfully, "there are no sounds of digging. And 'tis awful conceited those few Maggots who got through were. They couldn't even defend themselves."
"Conceited? Did they think they could beat you, Eamon?" asked Chip.
"I think he means they were stuck-up," said Ginny. She had soft-cyber language experience on her side. "Now what?"
Chip grinned. "R and R time. We give it… say five minutes. Then we go back out… the way we came in."
He dug the GPS out of his pack. "If we're right about where we're going, we've got less than a mile to go."
"Just the last little bit," she said. "Isn't that great news, Professor?"
Chip answered, his voice serious now. "The last bit is going to be the worst. It'll be wall-to-wall Maggots in the inner part. I honestly never believed we'd even get this far. Eamon, I think you'd better wire up a limpet to the trailer. We might as well go out in blaze of glory."
Eamon looked at him appraisingly. "Indade. You're thinking almost like a bat. You're an odd human, Connolly."
Chip shrugged. "Where do you think all those odd ideas in your head came from, bat? Have you still got some of those distance-trigger mines left?"
Eamon shook his head. "I've still got two," said Bronstein. "But you're wrong, Chip. Some of the words-and words color your thinking-I'll grant you, come from humans. But we are still bats at the core."
"Indeed. It would be impossible to segregate the physiological and evolutionary from the implant…" Doc Pararattus had barely got started when Pistol, Nym, and even Melene, who usually listened, all said: "SHUT UP."
Fal and Doll's voices were absent from the chorus. Chip decided it was a poor time to ask where they were.
Doc sighed. "I don't suppose anyone brought any food, did they?"
"The Maggot back there is full of glue," replied Eamon gloomily.
Chip dug in his pack. Produced two bottles and three small tins with snaptops. "Sauerkraut. A couple of tins of smoked mussels in cottonseed oil and a bottle of Roll-mops. And I've got some biscuits."
The condemned woman, man, rats and bats prepared to eat a hearty meal. Only the galago looked miserable. Chip looked at him. And dug deep in his pack. "Fruit, huh?"
"Or insects or acacia gum, senor," said the galago wistfully.
Chip pulled out a jar. "Here. Try these preserved green figs. They're traditionally served with fine cheese. But I can't oblige you there."
The galago looked longingly at bottle. "Senor Chip, I love figs. But they have on the insides of me a most distressing effect."
Chip handed him the jar. "Eat them. You probably won't be alive to worry about the aftereffects."
They even saved a bit of food for out-of-breath Fal and Doll.
"What happened to candy?" Both of them gave Chip a filthy look, before diving on the food.
"Now let's get out of here." Suddenly Chip saw the weakness of his strategy. He had a good three hundred yards to reverse. He peered back up the tunnel. It was long and curved. "Goddamn stupid bastards. Why didn't they build it like a wheel with spokes? Nice straight spokes going to the middle, instead of this damn spiral. Now I've got to reverse this trailer."
Doc took up an oratory pose. "My hypothesis is that they are like us."
That was a curious enough statement not to get him shouted down. "Methinks not even humans build in spirals," said Melene.
"No, I mean they are trapped within an evolutionary and construction milieu. This was once a defensive structure."
Chip edged the tractor backwards, and spoke through gritted teeth. "Bull, Doc. It's a disaster, defensively."
"It is now, against us. But once it must have effectively channeled and split their foes. And insured that if an enemy did get into the tunnels the guard stations along the way would stop them. Note how easily and neatly the entries fall-every time. They were built to collapse. They were built as traps. I will bet you would find a keystone in each, that they do not need explosives. You see, explosives and the tractor alter the equation. Their previous foes did not have those."
"It's a trap all right, to reverse out of. By the time we get out of here, even Maggots will have figured this out."
"Hey Chip. Methinks you could just go forward and turn around," said Fal.
"No space," said Chip shortly, putting the tractor into first. He was trying to get into a better position to reverse from.
Fal chuckled. "Just keep going forward. There's a sort of chamber, a bit ahead, that Doll and I, um, found."
"The candy store no doubt," snorted Chip.
Even the rats had the grace to look embarrassed. "Well. It might have been our last chance."
Chip noticed Virginia was looking at him very speculatively.
Chip eyed the chamber. It might have looked big to the rats. "I can go in. But then I can't turn around."
"Go past. Back the trailer in and then go out again forwards. Or go in forwards and then come out backing the trailer the other way," said Ginny.
"You know a hell of a lot about it for someone who can't drive," said Chip sourly.
"Just do it!" snapped Bronstein. "And be quick about it."
So he drove the tractor in cautiously, dropped the blade-with some skill by now-and started cranking the wheel over.
"No," said Ginny. "The other way-if you want to reverse."
He kept turning his way. "That doesn't make sense."
"It does mathematically. Please, Chip."
He shrugged, and tried it her way. "Holy Mackerel! So that's how it works! Why didn't you tell me before?" They were around! He pushed the throttle out a bit fast for the last bit, before they could drive back down. And the trailer jackknifed in earnest. Shaft-snapping earnest.
Fortunately, the drive shaft snapped at the link. If it had snapped at the pump it would have killed the Korozhet. The piece of ricocheting steel just touched across Ginny's high forehead. Even a quarter-inch closer and she'd have been dead. A sudden line of red appeared, and then beaded with blood.
Chip stared at her in open-mouthed horror. "Oh, shit! Are you all right! I didn't mean…"
"I'm fine," she said faintly. "Just drive." This time, when she put an arm around him, he did not pull away.
Eric Flint
Rats, Bats amp; Vats
Chapter 32:
Orders.
WHEN CONRAD AND Ariel checked in to the headquarters-parking-precinct, Corporal Simms was waiting for them. Hopping with impatience.
"You'd better get home, Johnny. Be sure you sign out." Fitz spoke before the car had even fully stopped. This was a good man. No point in dragging him down into what was going to be a hell of a mess.
Simms simply ignored the comment. "I've got the G23-A signed and waiting. I've got current troop deployments up on screen for you. I think the division at Cressy could be mobilized within the hour. The only problem is that Brigadier Charlesworth is in charge of it. Still, they're the nearest. I took the liberty of going ahead and organizing transport vehicles. They've got farther to go. The dispatch riders have gone with that one, and I've got three others on standby."
For a moment Fitz could only stare at him. Swallow. How the hell? "Johnny, you go and get yourself signed out of that gate, now. PDQ! You've a wife, and a kid on the way, you fool. I want you out of this."
The corporal twitched a grin. There was no humor in it. "Let's get to the office, sir. There are lots of other men with wives and families. Sometimes, a man just does what he has to do."
They hurried down the passage. "How the hell did you know what I was going to do… and where the hell did you get redeployment orders?"
"Yeah. Well done, Johnny," said Ariel. "Saved us some trouble."
Simms sighed. "I'm a Vat, Major. I don't have delusions about Shareholders. I knew Carrot-up wouldn't do a thing, even if he believed you. The Kreutzler family has the main artillery-shell contract. Not in the family interest to do anything to disturb cost-plus. I know you. I knew what you'd decide to do."
Fitz stopped, removed his cap, and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm a Shareholder too, Johnny."
The corporal grinned. "Nossir. You are a lunatic."
Ariel laughed. " 'Tis true. Hey Johnny, I wish you could have seen Daisy horse riding. Tell him, Fitz."
But the major was still intent on the subject in hand. "And the G23-A's? Redeployment orders live locked up in the general's safe."
"Yessir," said Simms. "They are well locked up. They're still well locked up. But only after Daisy orders the forms from central stationary stores. I walked into there and helped myself… about a month ago."
Once more Fitz found himself without a word to say.
"That's just how the army works, sir," said the corporal, obviously by way of further explanation.
Fitz had to admit that there was quite a lot of truth in this. "We're going to get court-martialed, you know."
"Yes, sir. That's unfortunate, sir."
Fitz made notes off the screen as Corporal Simms filled in the troop redeployment forms in a neat, precise hand… totally unlike General Cartup-Kreutzler's sprawling signature. "No word in from the satellite guy?" he asked.
The corporal looked up briefly from his meticulous detailing. "Nothing, I'm afraid, sir."
"Shit. They've bought it. Well, if we move fast maybe we can still salvage something from the price they've paid."
"If that idiot colonel has got his troops into position in the Magh's lines… and if they can hold until these troops get through," muttered Simms.
The phone rang. The corporal picked it up and answered in his best Shareholder drawl. His written counterfeiting was much better. "General Cartup-Kreutzler's office. Liaison Officer Simmons… Excellent! No. I'm afraid the general's unavailable right now. Yes, sir. I'll pass that on, sir. Yes, he is a genius, sir."
With huge smile, he turned to Fitz. "They've just pushed forward into the Magh' earthworks on sector Delta 355. They're totally unoccupied. He hopes the backup he's requested gets there soon. He says the general is a genius."
"And here is the A. 33-1," said the returning rat. "Do you know how many stupid forms there are in that rat's-nest of an office? It's a disgrace! And what a mess they're in! The only reason that Daisy keeps her job is…"
Fitz grinned affectionately at her. Of course, most people would have found it a frightening experience. "Ariel, there is a box of chocolate cointreau straws in my top drawer! You are a rat past price. A darling."
"I love you too," said Ariel. "Even when I don't get my favorite form of chocolate for giving you the pleasure of shafting Brigadier Charlesworth."
Fitz looked at the forms. "Forget the dispatch rider, Johnny. I'm going to take these myself."
"Yesss!" Ariel cheered.
Corporal Simms looked worried. "What about the satellite stuff?"
Fitz pulled a face and spoke quietly. "They're dead, Corporal. They went damn well. All that is left now is to see that their effort isn't wasted. I'm going to see that that happens."
The phone rang again. Simms answered as previously… and then: "Henry! Sorry, didn't realize it was you. Yes, he's here."
Corporal Simms smiled beatifically, and held out the phone. "You're fucking well wrong, sir," he informed his commanding officer with glee.
Fitz reached for the phone. "Then I have some more organizing to do. But I'm still going."
Eric Flint
Rats, Bats amp; Vats
Chapter 33:
Onwards and inwards.
"NEXT TIME YOU want to use glue, for the holy Mary's sake don't use it when we're going to double back. It was a foine idea, but messy." "Preparing" Molotovs was making O'Niel positively loquacious. But the bits of sticky Maggot flying off the wheels were obviously upsetting him.
Melene fastidiously wiped her fur. "Yes. My pelt doesn't look fit to be seen dead in."
The tractor started pushing its way back into the adobe debris. Chip shook himself. "Good thing they'll probably skin us when they catch us then, huh? Come on. All off! You lot clear some of this stuff."
"Methinks you can get off and clear stuff," said Nym. "I'll drive."
"Oh, come on!" said Chip impatiently.
"No. It makes good sense," said Bronstein. "You humans are bigger. Besides, I have heard that those who spend all their time sitting behind tables become constipated. We must do our bit for your digestion. Get to it."
"Huh?"
Ginny started to giggle. "Chip, you said `desk jockeys are full of shit.' Soft-cyber translation can be a bit literal. Come on. In first gear, the tractor won't run away from you. And Bronstein's right."
Chip sighed. "I suppose we are bigger."
At least four voices said, "No, we mean you're full of shit."
Chip hopped down, and started hauling adobe pieces. "It's just bits of sticky Maggot, honest."
The push through the area they'd blasted earlier had taken longer than Chip had anticipated. Maybe Doc was right and this was a very sophisticated trap. All he knew was it had taken a hot sweaty twenty minutes to dig their way out. And they were not more than a minute late, at that. Ten minutes earlier and they'd have had a clear run. As it was the Maggots were at least either ahead or behind. But not very far behind. It was obvious that Papa-Maggot was calling all his children home. Or maybe, by the way they were running, Mama-Maggot. All the children, back to the middle of the hive.
That was about all that had saved them. There were just so many Magh' that the warrior types couldn't get through. Tractors, while wonderful vehicles in many ways, were not known for rapid acceleration. And there were just too many Maggots to fight off. But they got in each other's way. Then Ginny had the bright idea of playing "roll-the-barrel" with a half-empty twenty-five-liter diesel drum. It was a great knock-on game.
Thus the few scorps who reached the tractor were possible to fend off as the tractor gathered speed. The creatures were determined, though. Fire used to cause pandemonium. Molotovs still fried them, of course, but it was just bug-popping now-noisier and more splattery than popcorn. They came on, as if driven. Barbed wire was simply trodden down, along with the unfortunate Maggots entangled in it.
Eamon looked regretfully back. "Indade, a pity we can't mist-and-burn this bedamned passage. Stop them catching up on us, now that they know where we are."
O'Niel dropped wire-loop Maggot caltrops. "Aye. If they do catch up we'll be the mayit in the sandwich."
"Methinks I've never tried it in a sandwich," said Doll, with a bit of regret.
"Open the tap on the trailer. The stuff will burn anyway, even if it isn't misted," said Chip.
Bronstein nodded. "True. Let's set a few more expedient mines, eh Chip?"
Chip shook his head. "I don't think we can stop. We'll have to drop the stuff, and you'll have to fly to catch up."
"Okay. We'll do just that. You-Fluff! Open the tap." The galago looked at Bronstein and went off to comply. A minute later, a sack of fertilizer and a drum of diesel narrowly missed the tiny hidalgo's delicate ears. He ducked-getting splashed by the brandy river-while avoiding a bundle of hinged cartridge planks.
"Fluff, I do like the aftershave," said Melene, when he reappeared. "But Bronstein said, `please close it now.' "
The galago shook his head, mournfully. "My best, she is done. Already I have tried with great effort. The tap, she leaks."
Ginny clung with one hand to the ropes of the wildly swaying trailer. Her feet were carefully tangled in the cargo netting that she and Chip had tied there… several lifetimes ago. The abrasive, bumpy Maggot-tunnel floor blurred past as she struggled to close the tap. The alcohol must have gotten to the seals… hardly surprising, really. It was close to rocket fuel, as she well remembered. A thin stream of seventy-four percent trailed behind them, despite her best efforts with the recalcitrant tap. If she fell now she'd be dragged to hamburger meat.
She managed to pull herself up. "It will not be stopped!"
"Oh…"
Bats came hurtling in, and of course the explosion followed.
Then the hot wind came rushing along the tunnel… the alcohol wasn't rapidly going woof as it had when atomized. Instead it was burning steadily. Looking back on their curving trail she saw that even if the Maggots weren't catching them… the flames were. A little firetrail was leaping and hopping down the path laid by the leaking tap.
"Flames are catching up with us!" yelled Nym.
Chip risked a glance backwards, nearly sending the tractor into the wall. "Stop the alcohol!" he shouted. "If those flames catch up with the trailer, it'll blow us to shit!"
Ginny resolutely stuck both feet into the cargo net again, and lowered herself over. Facing out, back the way they'd come. Then she let go with her first hand, and then the second. The ends of her long hair swept through the dust as she cupped both hands under the tap. She knew that all she had to do was to break that alcohol line, but hanging by her heels, seeing the flames leap closer, was terrifying. The trailer bounced and the libation in her cupped hands spilled. A small stick-up knob of Magh' adobe plucked violently at her hair. Her legs and feet screamed with the effort.
And then a huge force plucked her upright. Hauled her onto the top of the trailer. All he'd been able to reach was the front of her blouse, which would never be the same again.
"Are you fucking crazy?" Chip shouted into her face. "You could have killed yourself! You silly little idiot!" Then he dived forward to help Pistol, who was attempting to restrain Nym's driving efforts.
Well! Apparently he did care…
Bronstein flung herself into flight. "Come on, Siobhan. Let us see if we can get ahead of these speeding lunatics. See what joys lie in store for us."
Ginny peered at the GPS figures. Less than a half a mile to go! She looked at her spiky-haired, stubble-faced love, his face dirty and sweat streaked, his gaze intent on the tunnel-road.
He wasn't very tall, she had to admit, and his torn-sleeved shirt showed arms that were more sinew and scar tissue than beautifully sculpted muscle. Well, he might not be the cover picture from her favorite romance. Actually the thought of him in elegant Regency knee-smalls and a swallow-tailed coat… was enough to provide her with a welcome snort of laughter. She'd never again be able to imagine a romantic figure in quite the same way.
He glanced at her and she smiled. And he smiled back.
She was looking at him. He could feel it, and it made him feel guilty. He had had no call to shout at her like that. It had just come out. She really was a good kid for a Shareholder. In fact it was hard to believe that she was a Shareholder. More like a mixture between a crazy bat, and a pragmatic rat. With twice her share of plain old-fashioned guts. Pretty too. Yeah, okay. A bit skinny. And she'd torn a bit much off that blouse and skirt for a man's imagination. But she had the kind of face that grew on you… even those glasses. That cascade of thick dusty gold hair tied up with that ridiculous bandana. Shit. Just when you got to like someone-they were bound to die. Hell, they were all bound to die, and damn soon too. The barriers between Vat and Shareholder seemed very irrelevant right now. In the midst of this lot, the boundaries between bat, rats and humans seemed virtually imaginary. The only thing he couldn't identify with was that Korozhet. At least the alien had kept its mouth shut, although someone had said the damn things spoke through their asses anyway. Its voice wasn't very loud. Maybe it couldn't make itself heard above the tractor.
He looked at Ginny. And she smiled at him, that trusting, generous smile of hers. He found that his answering smile came very easily. He also found himself bitterly regretting some missed opportunities…
"Why don't you come and stand over here?" he said, looking at her uncomfortable position.
"I need something to hold onto."
"You could hold onto me."
The Korozhet addressed her repeatedly in the next little while and she didn't even notice. Chip, of course, had no trouble ignoring its demands to be set down.
Idylls never last.
Siobhan called from ahead. "Bronstein says next left. Maggots are coming."
They turned in. Blew the entrance down. It was a good strategy. Except…
Eamon and Siobhan came fluttering back frantically. "The back end of the tunnel is solid Maggots. It's a trap!"
Chip swung the wheel hard over. It was simply an instinctive act because the tunnel was far too narrow for them to turn. The blade gouged into the wall before the tractor stalled. Fal had fallen off in the crash. He stood up swearing. "You whoreson mother-shogging baconfaced…!"
And then he stopped. Darted forward through a hole. He stuck his head back. "You're driving's not worth a gooseberry, Connolly. But you found us a way out, if we can get through the wall."
Bronstein took charge. "Expedient mines. Diesel. Ginny, get down with that chainsaw. Chip, you'll have to hammer a few more shot holes.
"Let me out," demanded the Crotchet.
Chip thought Bronstein gave this more consideration than it deserved. She paused her work for a moment. Then she spoke decisively. "No. We don't have time. And we certainly don't have time to get you back up again. You'll be safer there."
"Move it up, Bronstein," said Chip impatiently. "Tell me where you want the next shot holes. You can chat to Smelly later, if we're alive." Chip noticed how the Crotchet flexed and pointed spines at him, but then he was too busy working to watch any further.
Down the tunnel came the sharp crack and boom of the first expedient mines. "Behind the tractor, everybody!" shouted Bronstein. "I've used small charges."
She was a master of demolitions. The gap would take the tractor. Eamon came fluttering up, rats running in his wake. "Let us begone. I've set the timer for forty seconds on the big one further back. We'll have the lead Maggots here in less than that!"
Chip scrambled up. Started the tractor. And it was good and stuck. "I'm going to have to move the trailer." He jumped down and started trying to drag it by main force.
"Bounce it!" shouted somebody. He heard the snarl of the chainsaw. As he bounced the trailer an inch, he saw Ginny cut into a big scorp. And then take on a second one. And rev the chainsaw one second too early. The blade hit the slowshield. About ninety percent of the chainsaw blade was inside the shield. The chain, totally stopped at twenty-two thousand rpm, snapped in half. The section inside the Maggot's slowshield played ricochet blender with the Maggot. The piece outside whizzed into the fibreglass of the trailer. Chip suddenly found he had the strength to lift and bounce that trailer a good eight inches.
"Drop it, Ginny, we can go now. RUN everybody!"
Head down, he drove the tractor through the gap… behind them another forty pounds of fertilizer blew. This wasn't an entryway, so it didn't fall to seal, but it certainly restricted access.
"Barbed wire!" Bronstein shouted.
"And a can of diesel and a Molotov!" yelled Eamon.
Chip had his first proper look at the place they'd broken into. It was a shock to realize that even parts of Maggotdom could be beautiful.
The whole place was one enormous alien hothouse. Or, by the looks of it, alien fungus-cellar. The basic color of the tunnels was mud, doubtless in many attractive Maggot-pleasing shades. Here the basic color was… bright. The tangle of spindly-stemmed nodding-capped plants came in every shade from pale chartreuse to deepest burgundy. And the air was sharp with a ferment of strange bouquets, some edging on the not-nice side of cumin-spicy, others lush with overripe esters.
Part of Chip's soul rose. This was a vision into a distant place, a place where a strange sun gleamed pale on an enchanted fungus-world.
Pistol fanned his nose. "Whoreson. This place doesn't half pong. Phew!"
"Come on, Chip!" yelled Bronstein. "Open her up! Maggots are coming along. We're probably driving through their sewage farm."
Chip had little choice but to plow on through the delicate stems, wreaking havoc. But when he saw a spiral downramp, he took it without a second thought. Rats might have no poetry in their souls, but this was too much like destroying a cathedral. The downramp took them out onto a cross passage… and that to a clear tunnel heading inwards.
"That place was so… so beautiful," said Ginny in a quiet voice. "Elfin. I don't know how something as horrible as the Magh' could come from a place like that."
Chip gave her a glowing look which she missed because she was looking at the Korozhet. "They don't," the Crotchet said. "Those are rare plants from a world previously visited."
The rest of this enlightenment was lost to them because they had arrived at the central well. In the middle of the well stood a Maggot tower. A Magh' adobe spike separated from the circles of incoming spiral tunnel arms by a gap sixty feet wide. Off to the right, two levels up, were the remains of a single bridge. The Magh' were busy destroying it, leaving a single spar to a doorway into the tower. Across the gap in the tower, workers were blocking the doorway, working with frantic haste.
Looking at the four circles above them Chip realized this must have been the finest entertainment in all Maggotdom. The circles were solid Maggot. Actually, Maggot on top of Maggot. Heh. It was a good thing the Crotchet had told them they needed to go down to the base of the tower, or they might have tried to hack their way through that lot. And that would have been impossible.
Eric Flint
Rats, Bats amp; Vats
Chapter 34:
Calling out the Cavalry.
"WE UPPED THE detection levels in the infrared. One of the guys from over on technical… uh, I hope you don't mind, but half the nightshift is watching…"
"I had gathered," said Fitz dryly. "Go on, Henry."
"Sorry, Major. This is just the first time anything exciting has ever happened. I mean, we all thought nobody ever actually looked at satellite data. Everybody is so pleased to be, well, involved in something useful. And it is so great seeing our guys really hit back for a change. You don't know what it has meant to the people here!"
"Believe me, I do," said Fitz. "I just hope this doesn't land you all in trouble. Anyway, tell me-you've obviously tracked them a bit further?"
"Yep. They haven't come out of the mound again, but they're still alive and heading inwards. With slow time-exposure infrared we've picked up what must have been a massive fire. Ambient temperature of outgoing air from vents went up by about fifteen degrees in spots. It looked like little flowers on the screen. It must have been one hell of a fire." Henry's delight was plain.
Fitz understood the psychology. "Every time I think that must be all, these guys pull another rabbit out of the hat."