Conflagration (10 page)

“An Other Place veteran would have given the white-stars a go-by.”

“At least it’s a know-nothing.”

“And it’s opened the bidding with a plasma wash.”

Argo brought up the heavy emitter for his quadrant and let go with a stream of bad magenta that cut viciously into the tendril, all but severing it.

A painful and abrasive howling screamed across a reshaped landscape. Furious waves of scarlet rippled the spike-torn wasteland. The Four went defensive and wilded on the rectilinear.

“Bad thought.”

“What?”

“We may have been used to establish location. The flare of us coming supplied the vector.”

“The vector of the Albany High Command?”

“You said it.”

“Shit.”

“That’s right. Shit.”

“What were we supposed to know?”

“What are we supposed to do?”

“Make sure that nothing nasty blasts through and goes terrestrial.”

The tendril was growing pseudopodia around the wound that Argo had inflicted. Some fell off wriggling.

“Split fire between the growth and the wrigglers. Either could be going for the glory.”

Cordelia flash-burned wrigglers in disgusting bunches of a dozen, vaporizing them before they could go anywhere. Argo and Jesamine poured red and green threedee fire onto the outgrowth to the tendril, but it seemed able to expand as fast as they could incinerate it.

“I have a better idea.”

“Cordelia, hold the wigglers; Raphael, retard the growth. Argo and Jesamine, cut the base of the tendril. Maybe it’ll reveal what it really wants.”

The tendril and the virtual ground-grid around it were bathed in luminous fire, but it was proving a new and tough entity
—
stupid and wholly reactive, though, as if it had been created for something other than combat. While not letting up on the flame, Argo and Jesamine combined cutting edges of a dazzling yellow, and hacked at the tendril’s growth-foundation, but suddenly the few remaining wrigglers that Cordelia had not yet fried dropped through the floor of reality.

“The fucking tendril was a decoy!”

“The wrigglers are going Outside!”

“Dropping on the normal!”

“Right on Dunbar and his people.”

The collective order flared visual.

BREAK CONTACT

“Out! Out! Out! Out! Out! Out! Out! Out!”

Raphael’s lone voice.“Wait!”

The rest. “What?”

“Later.”

ARGO

Argo was neither in nor out; not part of The Four, but not wholly himself. In the real world, the things that they had dubbed “wrigglers” were dense black, light-absorbing spheres, like Dark Things, only tiny; globes of the unimaginable contained in sweating, hide-like skins, but scarcely bigger than a standard wicket ball. For anyone in the normal world, they simply appeared out of empty air, suddenly materializing between twelve and fifteen feet up and dropping fast to hit the ground and bounce. After spinning once for orientation, the first to arrive quickly attacked the nearest available human, breaking all the laws of mass and energy by snagging the unfortunate victim, grabbing on to his throat, or smothering his face, and then totally absorbing him in little less than a second of screaming. As more baby Dark Things dropped from thin air, they adopted a more tactical purpose. They bounced to a single assembly point, laying trails of black gas in their wake. Some of the Albany soldiers were ready for a gas attack, and put on their masks, taking on an inhuman look, with snout-like filters and round staring eye-pieces under helmets or caps. Others, however, lacked the presence of mind. They saw the gas and panicked. Then a single whiff had them on their knees, in the invisible grip of shrieking hallucinations.

The Things didn’t have it all their own way, though. The wrigglers that Cordelia was burning in the Other Place were exploding in mirror-delay. One moment they were bouncing, the next they were nothing more than a brief gout of red flame, the color of diseased blood, and then gone. Slide was also marshaling an Outside defense. Both pistols drawn, he alternately shouted orders and encouragement, and blew the Things away, snap-shooting with inhuman accuracy. “The gas can’t hurt you if you’ve got a mask. And the Things respond to bullets and bayonets. If one comes at you, stab it or shoot it before it can hook on to you. They can be killed!”

Slide had already established a perimeter around Dunbar’s command center and had ringed the grassy knoll with a defensive circle of any soldiers, officers, and other ranks he could press into service. Behind them, Dunbar and his staff calmly went on with their task of winning the battle. Argo was now convinced that The Four had been used, presumably by Quadaron-Ahrach or one of acolytes, to vector in on the Albany commanders, but the enemy plan had slightly misfired in that The Four had not jumped from the grassy knoll itself, but had allowed Slide to find a comparatively secluded spot where they could leave their bodies under the watchful protection of their escort. The Dark Things had not fallen directly on Dunbar, and whoever was controlling them was now having to assemble them for a fast bouncing assault, a glitch that had given Albany time to react. Part of the reaction was a young officer, bareheaded but wearing a gas mask, and recklessly swinging a gleaming saber, who rushed at the bouncing carpet of tiny Dark Things, and, in so doing broke the spell of shock that had paralyzed so many of those around him. The Dark Things sprang at him, but the boy skillfully slashed and parried as though he was on the practice floor of a fencing academy, his steel blade creating a cloud of red flame and black gas around him. His action encouraged others, and more young bucks rushed to stand with him, while rankers at his back coolly bayoneted any that got past.

Argo could not help but admire the courage and adaptability of the men protecting Dunbar, but he was also very aware that the best defense was to prevent any more of the things coming through from the Other Place. The rest of The Four were reentering their bodies, but he yelled to them to turn around. “Back Inside! Fast as you can! We have to finish these fucking things!”

They returned to find the Other Place a forest of vertical tubes with vicious energy pumping down through them. These “tubes” had to be the source of the Dark Things in the normal world, and they didn’t hesitate. Intense cutting-fire roared between the tubes, and they began to melt and collapse. The energy spilled and, where it met the flames of The Four, it exploded into white heat. Then a tube exploded before it had even collapsed. It was followed by another and another. A chain reaction was under way, The Four had done all that they could do, and this version of the Other Place was collapsing around them.

“Okay, out again! Get clear! We’ve stopped them.”

CORDELIA

Cordelia fully reentered her body, and was shocked to find she had gone blind. Then she realized that she was wearing a gas mask. Either Slide or some enterprising individual in their escort had taken the initiative when the Dark Things had appeared, and put gas masks on their four inert bodies, which was extremely good thinking considering she was encircled by exploding Dark Things, and black gas billowed around where she sat. The fight around the grassy knoll, where the tiny Dark Things had charged in massed assault, appeared to be over, but she still drew her sidearm as she eased out of the semi-fetal jumping position and rose carefully to her feet. A surviving Thing bounced for her throat, but training kicked in, and she shot it almost without thinking. Large areas of burnt grass gave testimony to how effective The Four’s flaming in the Other Place had been. Hundreds of the little suckers must have dropped through, but The Four, and Slide’s swiftly assembled men on the ground, seemed to have done an efficient job of exterminating them before they did any damage. As the breeze quickly dispersed the gas, a dozen or more young officers were pulling off their masks, leaning on their sabers, and breathing hard.

The others were also getting to their feet, and as soon as the air was clear, Argo pulled off his mask, breathed tentatively, and then indicated to the others they should do the same. The rubber made a sucking sound as Cordelia followed suit. Enough gas still lingered to cause a catch in her throat. She coughed, but decided it was better than having her head encased in rubber. “Damn.”

Jesamine wiped the sweat from her face. “We really jumped into that one.”

Raphael looked less than happy. “You think that’s it? Was that their best shot?”

Jesamine shrugged. “It must have taken a fuck of a lot of energy to generate and deliver those things.”

Cordelia’s instincts agreed with Jesamine. So much energy had been expended she doubted if another attack was immediately imminent. “None of us wants to go back Inside right now.”

“If they had reserves of power, they would have launched a full-scale battlefield attack. Not just used it to nail Dunbar and cut off the head of the Albany attack.”

“They didn’t even provide support. There were no Mothmen, and no sign of the sports model. They used us to get vector, but there was nothing to make things difficult for us.”

Cordelia agreed, and not only because she didn’t want to jump again. “I didn’t sense the hand of Jeakqual-Ahrach in any of that. I want to believe those wrigglers were localized; that they were created by Zhaithan at the other end of the valley; that it was all the paranormal Ab Balsol had left.”

Cordelia didn’t have to tell the others that previous clashes with Her Grand Eminence had left her very sensitive to the presence of Jeakqual-Ahrach behind any attack, and Jesamine totally bought the logic. “So we stay on this side and watch the skies?”

Raphael looked worried. “It’s a gamble, but I know I couldn’t do that all over again, unless it was really life and death.”

The jump into the Other Place had left them all dazed, but the terrestrial battle continued to rage on. The entire area around the grassy knoll was on the move as the second wave of infantry and fighting machines assembled at the head of the valley in preparation for entering the carnage. Although it was hard to accept, their encounter with the new variety of Dark Things was just one small, if unusual, skirmish in the full epic of the battle. If they survived, they would have a story to tell, but so would thousands of others; cavalrymen, gunners, foot soldiers, the airmen in the sky above the fray. The battle went on, with or without The Four, and right now, in the early afternoon, it seemed to be moving into a new and crucial phase.

A lieutenant was cleaning stinking Dark Thing residue from the blade of his saber, and Cordelia decided he was as good as anyone to fill her in on any new developments. “How goes the battle, Lieutenant?”

“Lady Blakeney?”

“That’s right.”

“You didn’t hear?”

She indicated his sword blade. “I’ve been dealing with those damn black things.”

The lieutenant looked a little uneasy; the unease of the junior officer presented with the unexplainable. “Will we see any more of them?”

“I sincerely hope not. But what didn’t I hear.”

“We took the western ridge.”

“We did? Well, Goddess be praised.”

“And now the second half of the assault is going in.”

“And will that be the end of it?”

“We surely hope so. Dunbar is making ready to move forward with the cavalry. We have our orders. Up and mounted in fifteen minutes. Maybe you should do the same if you don’t want to be left behind.”

Cordelia definitely wasn’t going to be left behind; she turned and started for the horse lines. Then the lieutenant called after her. “Lady Blakeney?”

She turned. “Lieutenant?”

“It seems there’s a village near here called Newbury. Talk is this will end up being called the Battle of Newbury Vale.”

“That’s as long as we win, lieutenant.”

“No question we’re going to win, Lady Blakeney.”

“I hope you’re right.”

RAPHAEL

Even though they weren’t going into direct combat, the pulse-quickening excitement was infectious. Raphael was riding with the cream of the Albany cavalry. Despite all of his reservations, he could only think of the long way he had come from the squalid ranks of the Mosul. Hardware jingled and leather creaked, mounts tossed their heads and snorted, commands were shouted, and all the time the firing went on and on, but with the repetitive bark of repeating Bergman guns predominating, which had to be a good omen. Raphael figured they needed all the good omens they could get. He hadn’t told the others about the glimpse that had come to him as they exited the other place. The vision had been fleeting and less than clear, but he was sure it was the white figures from their collective dreams. The odd part was that he was left with the distinct impression that the figures were strictly observing the engagement between the Dark Things and The Four, rather than taking any part in it, but everything was so nebulous that he was not sure how to explain his suspicions to the others without causing undue alarm and distraction. In any case, no time existed for them to talk as they plunged into the valley of noise, confusion, and death that was now called Newbury Vale. He supposed he should have been frightened, but he found himself carried along by the drama and exhilarated by the spectacle.

Dunbar himself rode in an open-topped staff car towards the rear of his massed cavalry. He and his entourage were hedged around by a high-stepping thicket of protective horsemen with drawn sabers. No chances were being taken as the four cars carrying the commander and his aides bucked and bumped over the torn-up ground, and swerved to avoid the constant obstacles presented by shell craters. Now that the western ridge had fallen, the Mosul guns were no longer laying down a deadly enfilade, and the second wave of attackers took their fight to the enemy with comparative ease. The bodies of men and horses, and the burned-out hulks of fighting machines that littered the field, bore mute testimony to just how hard it had been for those in the first assault. That leading wave had approached to within two hundred yards of the Mosul forward trenches, and there they had halted, knowing it was impossible to make the final breakthrough without reinforcements. As the second wave rolled forward, gathering momentum with no Mosul fire to slow them down, the survivors of the original attack gamely held their position with their heavy, rapid-fire Bergman guns, mortars, and the cannon on the fighting machines, keeping the enemy lines pinned down in their shallow, hastily dug trenches.