Immediately, his speed began to drop—along with the shuddering rasp from aft. But far too late to help. With a shattering crash, the big machine plowed through the edge of the forest, snapping trees like twigs and throwing splintered lags a hundred irals in the air. The cab ricocheted back and forth like a starship caught in the great-grandfather of all space holes as he stood on the port rudder pedal. Ahead, through the armored glass, he watched a huge tree that seemed to have deliberately moved in his way.
That was it! He braced himself for the crash just as the runaway vehicle smashed over a half-buried rock, swerved crazily, then wobbled level again, miraculously turned around the other way—and stopped against a sapling no thicker than his forearm.
He sat for a number of cycles in the smell of crushed vegetation, listening to more distant artillery, the angry cries of disturbed birds, and the rattling polyphony of cooling metal behind him. Then he returned to the controls and carefully retraced his well-marked route back to the sunlight.
By the time he reached the forest's edge, his steaming, branch-strewn vehicle was traveling at a normal rate of speed—under positive control for the first time since he entered the cab. Brim could feel himself blush as he brought the big vehicle to a stop beside a cheering crowd of ratings. Some days, it simply didn't pay to get out of one's bunk.
Ten cycles before Brim's scheduled departure, all the mobile cannon were finally operational, their fledgling crews making the most of a few moments' practice. The field was alive with rumbling, steam-breathing machines that staggered drunkenly over the smashed grass in a scene filled with resounding collisions and general confusion. Red-faced and very much out of breath, Barbousse and Fragonard both returned on foot, grumbling they were hard pressed merely to stay alive amid the roaring mayhem outside.
Now, with Fragonard safely ensconced in the turret, Barbousse reactivated the COMM, and within a short time a display globe materialized the wobbly image of Colonel Hagbut.
"WELL?" the flush-faced officer demanded. "Are you ready to move out?"
Brim glanced at the clattering disorder outside, gulped, and nodded his head. "Absolutely, Colonel," he declared, thankful the Army officer was not privy to the same view of the field. In truth, he rationalized, the Blue Capes were probably as ready as they were going to become for a while.
'That's BETYER, Brim," Hagbut barked. "We shall make a proper soldier of you yet."
Brim uttered a silent oath about that.
"In precisely eight cycles," the Colonel continued, "you will lead your fieldpieces onto the wire at the end of your field and proceed at speed paint zero three. That will put you in position to switch onto my cable—behind the personnel carriers—five cycles later. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" I
"Aye, Colonel," Brim said.
"That's 'Yes, Colonel,'" Hagbut corrected. "On LAND, we I do not 'aye' anything."
"I understand, Colonel," Brim said through gritted teeth.
"That's better, young man." Abruptly, Hagbut frowned and peered directly in Brim's face. "Of course," he said in sudden recognition. "You're that Carescrian they let into the Fleet, aren't you?" I
"I am a Carescrian, yes," Brim said stiffly.
"Universe," Hagbut said. "That explains a lot. Well, do the best you can, then. I'm sure you can't help what you are."
Brim felt his face flush—at the same time he also felt a massive grip on his forearm—well beyond the console's video pickup.
"Stand easy, Lieutenant," Barbousse's voice whispered. I "Don't let the cod'dlinger make you throw it all away!"
He clenched his fists. "Very good, sir," he spit through his teeth, but the COMM globe had—as usual—already gone out.
Five cycles later, all eight machines hovered idling at the end of the wire in reasonable approximation of line-ahead formation, Brim's foliage-littered fieldpiece at the van. Directly behind him, the cab from the next vehicle in line hung over his savaged rear deck—where it had come to rest as the result of a badly planned stop. A red-faced BATTLE COMM rating smiled in discomfiture from the controls as Brim and Barbousse picked themselves up from the deck, strapped more securely into their seats, and prepared to follow the cable into the leafy tunnel.
Running at precisely 0.3 speed, according to his velocity readout, Brim's group of lurching vehicles cleared the boundaries of the park (and the end of his temporary cable) precisely at the same time as Hagbut's speeding troop-carrier convoy. So accurate was their arrival that they switched in line behind the last Army coach without even slowing, now following the stronger signal of a permanent cable buried in the road.
"Not bad for a worthless gaggle of Fleet types," Brim growled under his voice as the COMM module spawned another display globe.
"CONGRATULATIONS, Brim," Hagbut barked. "You do tolerable work."
"Thank you, Colonel," Brim grumped, keeping his voice just the safe side of propriety. At least the zukeed didn't sound as if he wanted to press the Carescrian issue.
"Our convoy travels no faster than those fieldpieces of yours, Lieutenant, so keep a careful watch to the rear," the Colonel admonished. "We have all indications that League forces are nowhere within a day's march—but with operations like this, one trusts one's own eyesight, as they say. Understand?"
"I understand," Brim lied, wondering how much the recent artillery exchanges affected the Colonel's "indications." Turning the controls over to Barbousse, he positioned himself at the COMM module and set up a neat row of seven display globes, one to each of his companion mobile disruptors.
"Now hear this," he said into the COMM console. "Our friends from the Expeditionary Forces tell us all League forces have been drawn from the area," he began. "But just to be on the safe side..." He scanned the seven faces peering at him from the globular displays. Each was serious, but showed no fear Whatsoever. "Just to be on the safe side," he repeated, "you will each keep your eyes peeled for anything suspicious—and report it to me immediately."
Seven versions of "Aye, Lieutenant" joined Barbousse in the rumbling control cabin as Brim settled back in the awkward seat for a few moments of relaxation—he had been working at peak output for a considerable time, and was only feeling the first pangs of fatigue. The gentle swaying of the heavy vehicle and the steady thunder of its traction system relaxed him. He leaned back as far as he could in the straight-backed seat and crossed his legs. Forward, the giant shape of Barbousse hunched attentively over a console, poised for instant action should the machine require assistance at the controls.
He turned his head and peered through the thick armored glass as they roared past blackened shells of suburban homes, windows and top-story doors gaping hideously like open mouths caught forever in the great gasp of death. No sense of surprise clouded his mind's eye, only disgust. Triannic's invaders laid their cableway with the typical arrogance of all conquerors—burning their right-of-way straight as a die through the city with no regard whatsoever for the hapless victims in its path. I The neatly spaced ruins with their pitifully blackened gardens and skeleton trees continued for a considerable distance, eventually giving way to shrub-lined fields dotted with tall, dome-capped structures—some connected by fantastic lacelike webs shimmering in the afternoon sun. But nowhere did he see the planet's winged inhabitants aloft. He pondered momentarily on this, then quickly dismissed it. He had plenty of other concerns to solve—before he tackled that!