When the Devil Dances

“Ah,” Ryan said with an uncertain nod. “Better. I was afraid from the intel we’d gotten about that globe that they weren’t going to act ‘the same old way.’ ”

“Well, two? no, three years ago, we had a C-Dec get close enough that it could fire directly at us. I understand that was hairy; it had a space-capable plasma cannon and it really gouged up the Wall. But we still stopped them. And it got taken out by a company of Screaming Meemies. We’ve got a SheVa now, two from what I hear.”

“Yeah,” Ryan said unhappily. “I’m still jumpy about some of the stuff that the Lurps reported. There were indications of a massive ingathering, but this looks like it’s about the size of a single globe force, maybe four or five million. They’ve hit us with that before and bounced. I just… I dunno.”

“Same old same old,” Brandt said with a shrug. “Fine by me.”

“Just… keep your eyes open,” Ryan said. “I’m heading back to HQ; that’s where I’m supposed to be anyway.”

“Okay, have fun,” Brandt said with a grin. “I’m gonna be busy killing Posleen anyway.”

“Been there, done that,” Ryan muttered as he walked out of the command center. “Got the scars.”

Ryan wandered out the way he had come in, noting in passing that the level of activity in the hallways was increasing and that the automatic cannons on the top level had opened fire.

He tromped down the stairs to his Humvee and shook his head as the first of the Gatling guns opened up. Next month they had planned on rebuilding the wire and stake obstacles to the front of the wall, but it looked like that would have to wait.

He quickly drove through the serpentine road, slowing whenever groups of soldiers, who should have already been in place, crossed the road to their defense positions. There was a steady stream of vehicles heading to the Wall and the secondary defenses and half the time he felt like he was fighting against a salmon run. Twice MPs waved him off the road to let groups through in the opposite direction, but after a half an hour he finally reached the motorpool on the west side of the corps headquarters.

As he mounted the steps towards the former school he noted that the green-and-blue “hill” to the east was starting to shake and he looked to the south. Sure enough, landers were coming in view. Oh, this should be good.

CHAPTER 23 Mountain City, GA, United States, Sol III 1113 EDT Saturday September 26, 2009 ad

“I feel… uncomfortable watching the assault from a place of safety, Oolt’ondai,” Cholosta’an said.

They were both observing through vision screens the progress of the assault. The lead companies, including Balanosol, had been for all practical purposes wiped out. There might be a few members of the surviving oolt that had been lead oolt’os, but none of the Kessentai had survived.

The humans were devilishly effective at finding and engaging the Kessentai, but the mass assault had masked a greater danger; among the “political units” were Kessentai and cosslain who had “taken a leaf” as the humans would say and were sniping the anti-Kessentai defenses.

The first to be removed were the automated cannons on the top. Once the type had been identified their detectors were easy to spot and Kessentai had engaged them, using manual sights since the automatics were overloaded by fire, from beyond the effective range of the human weapons.

Once those were reduced the slaughter of Kessentai lessened, making the attack more coherent, but there were still other guns engaging the Kessentai. These were engaged in order; the front rank Kessentai were now close enough to bring their oolt to bear and that added to the effect. By the time the fourth rank of the assault was in range of the miniguns all of the upper rank heavy weapons had been engaged and destroyed. Most of the guns were recessed, but if enough plasma is pumped into the hole it doesn’t matter.

“Ah, well, that relative safety will be reduced soon, eson’sora,” Orostan said with a snap of his mouth. The losses had been heavier than anticipated, including among the “political” Kessentai; the human heavy “sniper” weapons had been engaging them as the automatics were engaging the mass assault. “But I think we have their attention well and truly fixed on the front door, do we not?”

“Indeed, Oolt’ondai,” the younger Kessentai said. “And now?”

“And now, we slam the door,” Orostan answered, waving to a subcommander.

* * *

“Well, I guess we don’t have to worry about 146,” Wright said philosophically.

Alejandro ducked as another wash of plasma gouted through a firing port. “Or 144 for that matter!”

There was a clang from the armored door to the west as it bent inward, the paint on the surface beginning to smoke.