The bats, having taken some losses, had regrouped, and now were advancing in a leapfrogging wedge formation. Sev eral bats would fly forward together, covered by several man forms with bows, and several other manforms protected the bowmen with spears. When the hens attacked, the bowmen got some at a distance, and the spearmen got some close, so the hens were taking heavy losses.
The Mock Offense was working its way around the clearing, as directed. But Phoebe realized that this was now working to the advantage of the bats, because their flag was not really threatened yet. They could deploy relatively few man forms to keep the hens in check, and that freed more bats for the active front nearer the harpy flag. No wonder the tide was turning!
But if she recalled the Mock Attack Squad, that would only free the remaining defensive bats, and they could fly forward faster than the harpies. That was no good. There were problems all around because they were short of personnel; the seven secret birds were sorely needed now! Soon the bats would be at the flag tree, and that was too close. Phoebe realized that it was time for her to join the fray. They had to hold off the bat attack until the Secret Squad could strike. If they could hold out long enough, they would win. If not—
She flew down toward the point of the bat wedge. It was a virtual phalanx; indeed, the spearmen carried small shields. No wonder the hens were having the worst of it! How could she break this up? A direct charge would be ruinously costly; three or four or five hens would be dispatched for every man form they took out. But if they did not interfere with the phalanx, it would reach the tree, and then there would be overwhelming bat force surrounding the harpy flag. She scratched the ground of her mind, searching for an answer—and turned up a risky but promising ploy. If the hens could hide, and let the phalanx march right into the ambush, then they could attack from within the cover of the shields, too close for arrows or spears to have effect. They could wreak horrible havoc before the bats reorganized. She came to ground well ahead of the phalanx, out of its sight. Her beady eye had spied a small gully that would do for her purpose. “Hens!” she screeched with minimal vol ume, so that her voice would not carry to the sharp-eared bats. “Here to me!”
Soon she had half a dozen harpies clustered around her. “That batty phalanx be destroying us,” she whisper screeched. “Needs must we get inside it. Its path be by here; this be the clearest approach to our flag-tree. Hunch down, within this gully, fill it with your bodies, and I will scratch dirt o’er you, and leaves. They will take it to be a level approach. When you feel the weight o’ their passage, burst up within their formation and scratch them to pieces fast as e’er you can! They will turn and finally wipe you out; this be a suicide mission. But remember that it be only till siege-end; then all be undone, and all be heroes. Meanwhile see how many each can take out. An it be enough, it will preserve our flag and our victory.”
She was an effective screecher, because of her fright-wig; they quickly agreed and huddled down into the gully, their gross bodies filling it from side to side. Each hen spread her wings enough to hold up some dirt. Phoebe scratched earth and leaves and twigs over them desperately, cursing every root that inhibited her, trying to get them covered before the bats arrived and saw what was going on. Then she saw that she had a scraped area of ground that could be a giveaway, so she had to go farther afield and scratch a shower of dry leaves across that. The whole thing seemed too obvious; they would catch on, and poke their spears into the ground ahead, and wipe out the lurking hens before they could get started! What could she do? She couldn’t call on the hens hidden in the tree; they were the last-ditch defense of the flag. All her other hens were occupied elsewhere. She needed some kind of distraction, so the batmen wouldn’t notice the scuffled ground until too late.
She heard their approach. They were marching in step, no longer bothering to fly ahead in their batforms. The phalanx was all they needed to crush the opposition. Phoebe wished she had anticipated this ploy, so that she could have better prepared her hens for it.
She had to do it herself. She flew low across the ground to the nearest tree-cover. Then she flew up into the sky, toward the approaching phalanx, as if unaware of it. “I hear a bat!” she screeched at top volume. “I’ll mash it!” Then she hove into sight of the phalanx, and did a dramatic doubletake. “Awk! It be a squintillion bats! Retreat, cohorts!” She spun in air, and did a tripletake. “Where be my cohorts?”
An arrow sailed toward her. She was alert for it, and took such little evasive action that it actually brushed her tail feathers. As it passed, she made a fortissimo screech and did a flip in the air. “Ouch; that scorched my tail!” Now she tumbled down as though injured, going into the scuffled region. She flapped furiously just above the ground, stirring up dust and leaves, and barely managed to avoid a crash. Now the ground had an excuse to be scuffed! She swooped into the lowest region of the flag tree, hiding from the phalanx. She had, she hoped, done her job of distraction. She had heard a laugh during her acrobatics; the batmen had enjoyed seeing her supposed distress. Now they were confident that there would be little further resistance, and they knew that would be at the flag tree. If they paid no attention to the ground—
The phalanx marched on, taking the most open course, avoiding cover where harpies might lurk. The gully was evident to the sides; the filled center of it seemed to be the obvious place to cross without messing up their formation. Had the bats not been so confident, they might have wondered at this convenient filling of a natural formation. But they stepped right up to it, and on it. There was a shriek from the ground. Sand and leaves burst up, as if an explosion had occurred. The harpies emerged at the batmen’s feet and commenced scratching. They were too low for the shields, and scooted under them before the bats realized.
For a moment the phalanx held its form. But the sounds of combat sounded within it: exultant screeching and mortified cursing. The formation broke apart as the batmen tried to use their weapons against the attackers underfoot, and succeeded mainly in stabbing each other. Beautiful! There had been about twenty manforms in the phalanx. By the time they broke far enough apart to use their weapons to destroy the six harpies, a dozen of them had been scratched too badly to continue. The hens had taken out two for one—an excellent score, though not as good as Phoebe had hoped. There were still more batmen advancing than harpies hidden in the tree. This was going to be tight. How much time had passed? It seemed but a moment, and it also seemed an hour. How close was the Sneak Squad to the enemy flag? Phoebe could not know.
The eight remaining batmen reformed their phalanx, and marched more carefully toward the tree. They knew there would be trouble here, and that it would be unsafe to change form until they were sure every defender was out of it. This would be hand-to-claw, arm-to-wing combat until one force or the other was wiped out, no quarter given. The phalanx moved right up to the tree. Then, abruptly, it broke apart, and all the manforms leaped for the tree. The defending harpies had been expecting action, but this was deceptively fast; the manforms were in among them before they realized, just as the buried birds had caught the phalanx by surprise. There was immediate turmoil in the tree, as spear poked at body, and claw struck at flesh. Phoebe scuttled aside as a spear came for her; fortunately the thick pine foliage masked her position, so the shaft was not well aimed. She found a leg and gave it one good slash; blood welled out as the poison went in, and the manform stiffened and fell back. She looked around, but though she heard action everywhere, she could not see it, and was afraid to move lest she interfere with one of her own. She heard an agonized screech, and knew that a hen had received a mortal stab. Then she heard the heavy crash of another manform falling. It seemed about even—but there were two more bats than harpies, so even wasn’t good enough. If one bat was left over then, peering worriedly up, she saw one bat appear from the distance, flying directly toward the flag. The bats had kept one in reserve! Now that all the harpies were locked in battle with the attacking batmen, no one was guarding the top spire. It could be a clean pickup, with no one even realizing that the flag was gone until too late.