When the Devil Dances

“We’re way down on speed, sir!” Reeves called. He had the throttle all the way open, but the SheVa was barely moving. “Under ten miles an hour!”

“Indy,” the commander called over the intercom. “Tell me we can do better than this! Those landers are going to overrun us in about fifteen minutes at this rate.”

“Not until I find out what went, sir,” the warrant officer called. She slid down the third ladder and grabbed a geiger counter as she sprinted, occasionally being knocked from side to side, towards the reactor room. “We just lost half our power; this is as fast as this thing will go.”

“Damn, damn, damn,” he muttered. “Pruitt, you have the con.”

“What?” the gunner called.

“I’m headed to the reactor room,” the commander said. “I think you can ID these things just fine.”

“Roger, sir,” the gunner replied with a gulp. “Come on, Schmoo, find us another firing position.”

“There’s one by Fulchertown,” the driver said, checking his map. “But it will mean running over a bunch of houses.”

“You afraid of getting ’em stuck in our treads?” the gunner asked sarcastically.

“No… it’s just that…” Schmoo looked up and over his shoulder to where the gunner was grinning. “Never mind. I’ve been trying to stay in the woods so we wouldn’t run people over.”

“Anybody that’s still here deserves to be run over.”

* * *

Mitchell waved a hand in front of his face as he went through the door to the reactor room; smoke and steam were pouring out and the air reeked of ozone. “Indy!”

“Over here, sir,” the warrant called from the left side of the room. The room was dominated by the four turbine generators; the smaller reactors were barely noticeable cradled along the sides. Mitchell’s background was in Abrams power packs, big jet turbine engines that drove the tanks at speeds upwards of sixty miles per hour. But the power contained in this room would provide electricity to a city of a hundred thousand people. It was sobering to think that all this power could barely get the SheVa up to twenty miles per hour on a flat surface.

“What’cha got?” he asked. “And are we hot?”

“No, sir,” the warrant called back, handing him one end of a heavy duty cable. “The shot missed the reactors and the turbines, thank goodness, or we might as well have gotten in the Abrams and run. It took out a transformer, through, and cut one of the main power circuits so even though there was a backup transformer there wasn’t any power for it. The reactor went into shutdown immediately.”

“So what are we doing?” the commander asked.

“Well, you’re holding a replacement power cable,” she said impishly. “I’m getting out a really big wrench. Then we’re going to replace the circuit and reboot the reactors.”

“How long?”

“Ten minutes, fifteen tops,” she answered, heading over to where the turbine’s power bars joined in the middle. She applied the wrench to a large nut where the cable came out and then, when it wouldn’t break free, pulled the wrench off and hammered on it repeatedly until the melted plastic sealing it flaked off. “Just be glad it didn’t hit the reactors.”

“Yeah,” the commander said with a laugh. “Or the track. I’d hate to have to break track on this thing.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all; you just call up a CONTAC team,” the warrant said, breaking the nut free. “There’s a reason that there’s a battalion in a SheVa repair team. A battalion of engineers and three really big cranes.”

Mitchell dropped the end of the cable on the floor and grabbed a stanchion as the SheVa rocked from a blow. “Uh, oh.”

“I can get this,” Indy said, grunting as she leaned into the wrench. “Get up top, sir.”

“You sure?” he asked.

“Go, I can do this in my sleep,” she said taking the nut out and pulling out the burnt cable.

As he darted out of the room she sighed and picked up the cable. “For this I went to MIT…”

* * *

“Flying tanks, sir!” Pruitt said as the commander flew out of the hatch. “Four of them. And they’re spotting for the landers; tracking says they’re all coming this way.”

“Shit,” Mitchell said, looking in his own screen as the flight of tenaral swooped by for another strafing run. The flying tanks each fired several rounds of plasma fire, but only one or two connected. “Concentrate on the landers. Reeves, see what you can do.”

“Doing it, sir,” the driver said. “The best I can do is get up along the hills, though; we’re kind of a big target.”

“Is it just me, or do they seem to be staying at a distance?” Pruitt said as the SheVa rumbled down onto the flat. “Oops. TARGET! Lamprey! Fifteen klicks!”

To get to the third firing point required turning the corner of the mountain. By and large the SheVa’s position was still covered by the intervening hills, however, the last movement, slow and glacial as it seemed, had rumbled the SheVa fully out into the open.