When the Devil Dances

“Holy shit,” Anderson said in turn. “That was one expensive goddamn fix! I assume the chassis didn’t survive.”

“Nope, busted ’em bigger than shit,” Ryan replied, stopping and looking off the bridge at the water below. He was suddenly struck by an intense sense of déjà vu, but he couldn’t place where it was from.

“So how did you get stuck with this shit detail?” Ryan said with a smile, gesturing at the bridge as they reached the far side. “Not to be nasty. But playing rearguard on a bridge is right up there with antimatter injector cleaner.”

“Oh, it’s a shit detail, I agree,” the captain said, shaking his head. “The answer is General Keeton.”

“Eastern Commander?” the major asked. “How in the hell did that happen?”

“I was laying in cable when the word came that the Posleen had taken the Gap,” the captain replied. “I took a look at the map and figured out where the chokepoint would be for most of the corps. I headed over here to try to… I dunno, help out or something since the headquarters I was laying the wire to was gone. But there wasn’t anybody in charge and there were already problems getting the groups straightened out. So I grabbed the more stable looking units and started to get organized. Then, about the time I had to order around a major, I realized I didn’t have authority for any of it. The cable was laid back to Eastern. I called up there and got ahold of a friend of mine in Operations. He apparently busted in on the meeting when they were trying to figure out what to do and who to send. The next thing I know I’m talking to General Keeton and he’s telling me to do whatever I have to do; I’ve got full authority.”

“Go to your head?” Ryan asked.

“More like hit me with a douse of cold water,” the captain said. He gestured to one side where a group of privates and sergeants were clustered around a mass of tactical radios. “I suddenly realized I was Horatius. And I had to coordinate about a division’s worth of personnel, materials and vehicles.”

“Hah!” Ryan laughed. “That was me in Occoquan, except the coordination part. Don’t let that go to your head, either. It won’t be the last time, hopefully.”

He stopped and looked around. The town was run-down — it was apparent that the economic downturn of the war had hit it hard — but it still was fairly antique looking and, the term that came to mind was “quaint.” Most of the houses seemed to date to the early twentieth century or the late nineteenth. Many of them needed a coat of paint, but obviously before the war the place had been a rather prosperous tourist center. That was when it hit him.

“Damn,” Ryan said, shaking his head. “It looks just like Occoquan.”

And it did. The town was very similar to the site of his first battle. It was clustered around the river on a major highway and had the exact same look. He would bet a month’s pay that before the war the town had been packed with antique shops and little cafes.

Now though, it looked as if it had been mostly abandoned before the arrival of the retreating corps. Hopefully it would get fully cleared out before the SheVa drove over it.

“About Bun-Bun,” Ryan commented to the captain.

“I’ve got a platoon making sure the town is cleared,” Anderson replied. “And they’ll pass on to Sylva and do the same.”

“You know who Bun-Bun is?” the major said with a quizzical smile.

“Well, Bun-Bun is a homicidal rabbit with a switch-blade and a bad attitude,” the captain replied with a grin. “But I assumed you meant the SheVa with the great big Bun-Bun painted on it.”

“You’re a fan,” Ryan said. It was not a question.

“Oh, a huge one,” the signal officer replied with a grin. “But the first guy to call in the sighting was confused as shit.”

“Sighting?” the engineer asked. He looked up at the precipitous hills around the valley. “Of course you’ve got scouts out.”

“There’s a local militia,” the captain replied. “They were actually at the bridge before I was. I sent them out to spot for us; by now they’re all over the hills on four-wheelers.”

“So you’d already figured on clearing the town,” Ryan said, shaking his head. “You’re on the ball.”

“Why thank you,” the captain said with a grin. “I may look like Torg, but I’m Zoe inside.”

“So, what about the bridge, Zoe?”

“I’d appreciate you handling it, sir,” the captain said. “I turned it over to a sergeant who had experience working with demo, but he admitted he’d never rigged something like this to blow. And Eastern is pretty adamant that they want it down. In the meantime, I’ve really got to get back to what I was doing.”

“I’ve got it, Captain, good luck.”