Another new mystery had taunted them in Madras. Mixed with the usually simple adobe Grik architecture they’d grown accustomed to, were ancient, far more sophisticated ruins that didn’t make any sense at all. So far, they’d discovered only tantalizing fragments, incorporated directly into Grik construction, but now Flynn gazed at a granite cliff face adorned with strikingly ornate ruins carved from the living rock. His first impression was of a temple of some sort, and arched entryways surrounded by crumbling columns extended deep into the cliff. His second impression was that it was very, very old. Only when his focus expanded and he began to digest the entire scene did he begin to form a possible answer to one fundamental question about the Grik, at least the “locals.”
The ruins they’d found had been incorporated into another structure as usual, but in this case it formed one wall of an immense, recently cut, tree-staked pen that nearly filled the clearing. Inside the pen, shuffling and lowing, their ribs becoming visible along their sides, were hundreds of large, greenish gray beasts with long tails and oddly duck-shaped heads. They were actually bigger than the Asian elephant-size brontasarries in Baalkpan, and maybe two-thirds the size of a super lizard. Their hind legs were much larger than their forelegs, and they stumped around, cowlike, mostly on all fours, vainly rooting at the dirt for something to eat.
Me-naak mounted cav ’Cats eased forward, their slathering mounts snorting and sniffing, but the penned animals showed no fear. Some merely raised their large heads and gazed disinterestedly at the new arrivals. Flynn was glad to have cavalry, even if meanies gave him the creeps. They were a pain in the ass to feed; worse than medieval heavy horse, he suspected, because there certainly wasn’t any forage for the dedicated carnivores and they always seemed tempted to forage on his troops. Oddly, they obeyed their riders about as well as any horse Flynn had seen, and even appeared to bond with them to a degree. Sometimes, in a capricious fit, they might try to eat one, but that was rare.
The point that struck him then was that whatever they were, meanies were obviously predators-yet the penned… whatever the hell they were weren’t afraid of them. That meant there likely weren’t any large predators around, other than Grik of course, and hadn’t been for a very long time. Also, since the pen had to have been made by Grik, the creatures inside apparently didn’t consider them predators either, in the traditional sense.
“My God,” Flynn exclaimed. “Dino-cows. They’re cattle for slaughter, I’ll bet. Orderly!” he shouted back down the trail Bekiaa brought him. A young ’Cat scampered up, slate and chalk in hand. They had paper now and ink, but it was simpler and more economical for orderlies to carry the older tools. First, not all of them could read or write English. And second, their dispatches would be transcribed before transmission or distribution.
“I tripped on a root,” the near youngling apologized, blinking too fast for Flynn to decipher the meaning. “I thought it was snake!”
“Caap’n Bekiaa!” cried a Ranger sergeant who trotted up and slammed to attention, tail straight.
“What have you found?”
“There is rolls of leaf fodder, stored in those… cave holes, an’ a… gizmo for diverting spring water to the pen, but no sign of Griks here for days.”
“Get this out,” Flynn snapped, suddenly terse, and the orderly ’Cat poised his chalk. “Have discovered more goofy ruins of non-Grik origin. More important, we’ve found a big… herd of large animals, apparently corralled as live rations for the enemy. Most of the structure enclosing the animals is of recent construction, and I must therefore assume a large enemy force is nearby.” He rubbed his eyes. “Maybe they were expecting us to stick to the road and we took ’em by surprise. The caretakers here probably weren’t fighting Grik, anyway.” He looked at his orderly. “Forget that part, write this: “Recommend Air Corps keep a lookout for similar sites. Placement may give clues about enemy plans.” He looked at Bekiaa. “They can’t count on us or each other for rations until after the fight, and they’ll damn sure need something to tide them over if they want to gather up anything big enough to face us.” He paused a moment, then nodded at the orderly.
“Run on. Get that to the Division runners as quick as you can, then get back here.”
“Yes, sur!”
“You think they eat these things all the time?” Bekiaa asked, gesturing at the pen. “Scuttlebutt says the flyboys been seein’ dino herds on the high plains we’re headin’ for, specially round water, but nothing in the woods or coastal plains.”
“Maybe the Grik live mostly down here, but herd these things down from up there. Who knows? Maybe they raise ’em and just let ’em graze up high.” Flynn waved at the trees. “Flyboys can’t see crap down in these woods from above. There could be a million Grik within five miles of the damn road at any point.”
“But… no dino-cows were in Maa-draas.”
“Maybe not, but I bet if somebody looked again, they’d find pens where they’d been.” He shook his head. “Or maybe they just carted in the meat. Killing something that big in the middle of a city might drive all the Grik there wild!”
“Then what about the bones? We should have found bones.”
“I may not be Courtney Bradford, but I know a thing or two. There’s lots of industrial uses for ground or powdered bone-and, hell, maybe they eat that too. The point is, if I’m right, the Air Corps should be able to tell us soon.” He looked at the pen again, then back at the sergeant. “Form a detail to feed and water those damn things, then tell Captain Saachic some of his cav ’Cats are going to have to learn to be cowboys. I want them all herded to the rear. Whether we can eat ’em or not, I’m not leaving them here for the Grik.”
The next morning, the Rangers returned to the road near a narrow lake just west of 3rd Division and the rest of Safir’s II Corps. They were moving to shoot the gap through a rocky, wooded pass bordered by a swift, steeply falling river and high, jagged crags. They were joined by the 1st Battalion of the 2nd Marines, as Flynn had requested, and were screened by Captain Saachic’s company of the 6th Maa-ni-la Cavalry. An hour after daybreak, they proceeded to do what they’d been doing all along: leaping forward to establish a defensive position to support the 1st Sular (this time), and another company of the 6th. The difference was that Flynn’s leap would also be a reconnaissance in force at the end of a longer limb, and the 1st Sular and 6th Maa-ni-la would follow almost immediately. In the confines of the gap, the only avenue for support was from the rear, so Safir would bring the rest of the Corps through as quickly as she could. No one had forgotten the near-catastrophic ambush this new Grik commander had laid for them on Ceylon, so Safir didn’t mean to leave any real spaces between the various regiments for the enemy to exploit.
The river formed an impassable barrier on the south side of the gap, snug against the sheer cliff it had carved through the ages. The gap on the north side of the river was strewn with great, undermined boulders but was reasonably wide, enough that the troops could negotiate most of it in a series of block formations instead of long columns. Against the Grik, massed firepower was still the only defense. Any open-order advance was suicide. The rise in elevation was significant, but fairly consistent. There was good visibility to the front and behind, at least where the road was straight, and though it couldn’t guarantee there were no Grik on the high, forested ridges, the Air Corps assured them they would face no artillery.
As usual, it was a hot, grueling day, and the rough, rocky, uphill passage made transporting their wagons and artillery difficult. Paalkas had hooves, but they weren’t hardened against this type of terrain, and many were lamed. Those too far gone to heal quickly were butchered for the cavalry. Others moaned and squealed in pain loud enough to be heard over the tumbling water, but labored on as if they somehow knew what awaited them if they gave up. Even the cavalry’s me-naaks weren’t immune to injury. None were lamed, but they did grow testy.