Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(127)
Taanks, Chack thought. Stupid daamn things. Only four in the whole world—three now, he corrected. And we’ll never squeeze them through the trees to get them to the road beyond. The word “road” was something of an exaggeration. As reported, it was little more than a game trail through the jungle. Probably have to leave them here, he expected, even if they make it up the beach. Then his eyes narrowed and he reconsidered. The three iron, smoke-jetting monstrosities were having no difficulty with the sand and they came on with a thunderous air of invincibility. This was underscored by the fact that they seemed to have drawn the fire of every Grik still defending the beach, and they shrugged it off as if oblivious. Musket balls and tracers spanged off the big machines, and machine guns in sponsons began spitting tracers back, chewing at the source of incoming fire. Even roundshot clanged loudly against them, warbling off in the night, but the tanks kept coming.
“Huh,” Chack said aloud as the storm of roundshot, grapeshot, musket balls, and tracers increased—practically ignoring his infantry now—and ricocheted off the creeping, armored vehicles. He imagined the noise inside must be incredible. The engines were loud enough, more than 150 tails away. Combined with the battering they were taking, the crews must be deaf by now. Another sound grew louder too: the vengeful roar of his Raiders. Teetering on the verge of annihilation moments before, they swept forward again, shouting, shooting, getting close to the breastworks. A big ball, maybe a sixteen-pounder, possibly even double-charged, based on the tremendous report and spreading fog bank of smoke, must’ve found a weak spot, and one of the tanks rocked with the impact and lurched to a stop. A figure leaped out the hatch on top and jumped to the ground. Another crew—man, ’Cat, lizard; Chack couldn’t tell—tried to escape, but was consumed by a gush of flames that spewed out the hatch. An instant later, a dull explosion shook the tank and burning fuel spilled out the back onto the sand.
The tank’s death didn’t make any difference. In the time Chack took to watch it, the other two crawled over the breastworks, accompanied by battle-crazed troops, who slew everything in their path. He saw many Grik run away, panicked by the relentless charge and the iron monsters they couldn’t stop. “Maybe there’s something to taanks after all. Stick a little caannon in ’em and they might really do something,” he muttered to himself, unheard by the roaring, cheering troops around him. They’d gathered for their flank attack, but it looked like it wouldn’t be necessary.
Major Jindal joined him, breathing hard, his left arm hanging useless, and stabbed his bloody sword in the sand. “That was . . . brisker than I’d’ve liked,” he hissed through pain-clenched teeth. A corps-’Cat was following him impatiently, and now that he’d stopped, the ’Cat slit his sleeve and soaked away blood with a battle dressing so he could see the wound in the flickering light of a burning tree. “I’m shot,” Jindal snapped irritably at the corps-’Cat. “But I’ll live—if you don’t kill me with your infernal poking.” He tried to move away. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Yes, you do,” Chack told him. He’d learned wounds better than he’d ever wanted and could see that Jindal’s was bad. “Whistlers!” he shouted. “Sound recall!” NCOs promptly blew the proper sequence of loud chirps. The firing had all but stopped, and he tried to imagine how long the sharp fight lasted. Thinking back, it probably seemed much longer than it was. He’d acquired a feel for such things and figured it hadn’t taken half an hour from the moment the first shots were fired. He looked back at Jindal and continued in a low voice. “We have to press on and leave the wounded here, as plaanned. Just as important, we’ll have to send back any who’re wounded along the way. If we succeed, they should all be evaac-uated by the end of the coming day.” He didn’t add that if they didn’t succeed, there probably wouldn’t be anyone left to evacuate anybody, but Jindal knew that. He blinked regret, but doubted Jindal saw. “I’m sorry, old friend, but I caan’t lose you, and you’ll die trying to keep up. You have to take chaarge here and com-maand the company of Respitaans detailed to defend our injured.”
Jindal looked away to hide the wetness on his cheeks from the light. “You’re right, of course. I’d just be a hindrance.”
Chack smiled. “Never, Aal-ist-air, and that’s the problem. You’d just drop dead before you ever allowed it.” They both looked up as Risa and Galay joined them, followed by I’joorka, Abel Cook, and Moe. Risa and, oddly, Moe, were the only ones not covered in blood, but none looked hurt. With all the shooting and Jindal’s wound, he’d felt a growing fear for them. Risa in particular.
“There was a field tele-graaph over there,” Risa warned. Chack nodded. It had been inevitable. They’d hoped against it, but expected it. Even Gravois had confirmed that Kurokawa wouldn’t give wireless technology or radio to the Grik on the mainland, but there might be telegraphy in Sofesshk by now, matching the advantage of their own field telephones. Something else for Pete Alden to worry about. “They’ll know we’re coming. All the more reason to move before they get their shit in the sock,” Risa urged.
“I is sorry, Colonel,” I’joorka blurted.
Chack was taken aback by the change of subject. “For what?”
“For the actions of the First North Borno,” Cook said for his commander. “They froze up under fire and nearly cost us the landing.”