When the Devil Dances

He settled in for a long wait. But Himmits were good at that. And this was going to make a fine story someday.

* * *

Mosovich paused as Mueller raised a closed fist and settled on his heels. Then the master sergeant cocked his head quizzically and Jake could hear the sound as well. There was a large stream just ahead, part of the Coweeta Hydrological lab area, and the rush of the waters overwhelmed most other noises. But, faintly, he could hear what sounded like female laughter.

Wendy sat up sputtering and lowered the MP5 she had managed to keep out of the stream.

“Very funny, Shari,” she snapped, shivering. “This water is frigging freezing.”

“I can tell,” the older woman said with another laugh. “Anybody would be able to tell.”

Wendy looked down and had to chuckle. Her clothes had taken a beating in the exit from the Urb and from the vegetation of the mountains. So between the tearing and the water and the thinness of her shirt it was… more than evident that the water was cold.

“I look like a friggin’ Packed and Stacked girl,” she said, shaking her head.

“You sure do,” Mueller said, sliding down out of the underbrush. “I wish I had a camera!”

“Jesus!” Shari said, spinning in place. “Don’t do that to me!”

Mueller raised his hands at the three leveled weapons. “Hey, friends.”

“Lord, Mueller, I never thought I’d say this,” Wendy said, standing up and lowering the barrel of the submachine gun. “But you are a sight for sore eyes.”

“Likewise, I think,” the master sergeant replied. He glanced over at Shari and shook his head. “Who’s your… Shari?”

“It’s a long story,” Elgars said, raising her hand. “We’re headed to the O’Neal caches. You?”

“We’re supposed to scout forward to the Gap,” Mosovich said, coming out upstream. “But we’re moving fairly fast and light.”

“Were,” Elgars said. “We’re moving fairly fast, but we could use some help. And you’re hired.”

“Captain,” the sergeant major said severely. “We’ve been given our mission by the Continental Army commander.”

“Okay,” she said, gesturing at his AID. “Call him up. Tell him that you’ve been shanghaied by a bunch of guurrls with their kids and you don’t like it.”

“I’m supposed to be scouting,” Mosovich said. “I can’t do that dragging a bunch of refugees.”

“Oh, yeah?” Wendy said. “Just watch you.”

* * *

Sergeant Patrick Delf swept his AIW from side to side, using the night scope on it to look for targets. The area around the Blue Ridge overpass was a mass of heat signatures, but none of them were moving. Most of them were unrecognizable. He stepped forward carefully, his feet shuffling for good footing on the rubble-strewn road, and searching for threats or targets. But there wasn’t anything. Both spans, contrary to their intelligence, were down and down hard; clearing the road was going to be a bitch.

He moved closer, waving for the rest of his squad to spread to either side. The recon team opened out, each of them looking for Posleen and finding nothing.

Under the shadows of the bridge they found a trench filled with dead Posleen. Most of them were too fire-blackened to determine what had killed them, but several had had their lights punched out by a large caliber gun, probably a sniper.

The cental pylon was gone at the base. It looked like it had taken heavy fire, probably plasma or HVM, from the Posleen trench. Which didn’t make any sense unless one of them had gone completely ape-shit. There was a cooling smear at the base, but he wasn’t sure what that meant until he went to one knee, wiped at it and and sniffed his fingers. The odor of human blood, as opposed to Posleen, was distinct.

“Sir, this is Sergeant Delf,” the team leader called, touching his communicator. “The pass is clear. Some poor bastard got all the way up here and then got waxed by an HVM. But the HVM collapsed the bridge and blew plasma back on the Posleen; they’re gone.”

“Any other survivors?” the brigade commander asked.

“Not so far, sir,” the sergeant replied. “It doesn’t look good. We’re not on the other side of the bridge yet, but we can see some tracks; they got wasted, sir. I see three Abrams and two Brads from here and they’re all toast. The pass is blocked by the fallen bridges, it’s down all the way across. And the tracks are in the way. But no Posleen. The survivors kicked the shit out of them.”

“Roger,” the colonel said softly. “Is the area clear for aircraft?”

“I can’t guarantee that, sir. I don’t know what’s down the valley.”

“According to Eastern Command just a very pissed off SheVa. I’m sending a dustoff up for anyone you find, complete your sweep and get back to me. Be careful, though, it’s a long way to Rabun Gap.”

* * *

Cholosta’an shook his head as his pupils started to widen back out. Despite the secondary lids and the tightening pupils he was sure there was some eye damage. Better than what would have happened if the oolt’ondai had chosen to move forward.

“I will eat their get,” Orostan growled angrily. But even to the younger Kessentai it had a defeated sound to it.