The Complete Hammer's Slammers, Vol. 1

Hoodoo's skirts dug into the ground, sealing the plenum chamber for an instant before the pressure rose enough to pop the tank up like a cork from a champagne bottle. The plume of debris followed the breeze upstream, settling and dissipating while the echoes of Lamartiere's ineptitude slowly faded.

"Befayt's people must think I'm an incompetent fool," Lamartiere muttered. "And they're right."

"What they think," Dr. Clargue replied with his usual dispassion, "is that the most powerful machine on Ambiorix is on their side. And they are indeed right."

Lamartiere revved his fans. He took Hoodoo slowly back up the slope until the cupola and its sensors peeked over crest to view the ford. Then he shut down again and studied the display.

"Doctor?" he said, wishing he could see Clargue's face as he spoke. "I'm going to try to bluff the Synod troops into thinking Hoodoo has her full armament. A 2cm round doesn't have anything like the power of the main gun, but it's no joke. I'm hoping if there's a big flash here, they'll think whatever hits them is from the 20cm gun."

"Ah," said Clargue, quick on the uptake as always. "So these little bombs Lieutenant Aghulan put in the compartment with me are to make the flashes. You want me to throw them out one at a time for you to detonate when you fire the tribarrel."

"That's right," said Lamartiere, "but you'll have to detonate them yourself when I call, 'Shoot'. Do you know how to use a clacker?"

"Of course I know how to use a clacker," Clargue said with frigid disdain. "I was born in Pamiers, was I not? But have you forgotten how to turn on the radios, Denis? The timing will be more accurate if you do both things yourself; and as for the remaining blasting caps, the transfer chamber for the big gun will provide a Faraday cage to shield them."

"Mother God," said Lamartiere in embarrassment. "Yes, Doctor, that's a much better idea. I'm very sorry."

He heard the cupola hatch open. "I've placed the first bomb," Clargue said mildly. "You have a great deal to think about, Denis. You are doing well."

I wish I were a million light-years away, Lamartiere thought as he concentrated on his displays. But he wasn't, and the rebellion would have to make do with him for want of better.

Hoodoo's sensors indicated the government battalion had halted on the reverse slope of the ridge north of the Lystra River. Their commander had the same problem as a hunter who thinks he's trapped a dangerous animal in a deep cave: the only way to be sure is to go straight in.

If the rebels were going to defend Pamiers, the ford was the obvious location. On the other hand they might well have drifted higher in the mountains, leaving behind booby traps and snipers instead of trying to stop a force they knew was unstoppable. That had generally been the case in the past when the government focused its strength.

Besides, months of battering by government units supported by mercenaries had virtually eliminated the Mosites' ability to mass large forces of their own.

But now there was a tank, a devouring superweapon, which the rebels might have in operating condition. All the battalion from Ariege knew for sure was that they had been ordered to assault Pamiers and eliminate the stolen tank at all cost.

Lamartiere grinned despite himself as he considered his enemy's options. The government troops knew one other thing: they, and not the brass in Carcassone, would be paying that cost.

He could have felt sorry for them if he hadn't remembered the villages Synod troops had "cleansed" after a nearby ambush. Of course, there'd been the garrisons of overrun government bases left with their genitals sewn into their mouths. In the name of God. . . .

An 8-wheeled "tank" accelerated over the crest and bounced down the road to the crossing at too high a speed. The driver was afraid of a rebel ambush, but nothing the Mosites could do would be worse than flipping the 30-tonne vehicle to tumble sideways into the river.

The hidden rebels didn't respond.

The tank slowed, spraying gravel from its locked wheels. It pulled off the road at the end of a switchback and settled into a hull-down position from which its long 10cm coil gun could cover the crossing.

Three more tanks came into sight one after another, following the first without the initial panicked haste. They all took overwatch positions on the forward slope. They weren't well shielded—one of them was in a clump of spiny shrubs that wouldn't stop small arms, let alone a 20cm bolt—but at least there was psychological benefit for the crews.

The government tanks had good frontal protection and powerful electromotive guns that could throw either HE or long-rod tungsten armor-piercers. Local technology couldn't carry the gun, the armor, and the banks of capacitors which powered the weapon, on an air-cushion chassis of reasonable size, though.