When the Devil Dances

And it was less now. Where before there had been a few houses now there were only weedy fields, scrub and the occasional shallow crater that indicated a home with a “Scorched Earth” home defense system.

Currently the fields were covered with the oolt’ondar of Orostan and the many additional newcomer oolt attached to it. This force had been primarily responsible for patrolling Low Gap Road. Orostan had ordered in road construction materials and the track over the mountains was in the process of being graded for the first time since the initial invasion. But most of his force was now consolidated at Seed in case the humans broke in another direction. As opposed to the forces over by the lake that were closing in, presumably closing in, on the human team. And it was clear that these latter were getting hammered.

“Yes,” Orostan said. “And Lardola is being conservative. Most of the loss has been among the new forces. And especially among those marked as the least favorable.”

“I’m glad I wasn’t marked as ‘unfavorable,’ ” the younger Kessentai commented sourly.

“No, you weren’t,” the oolt’ondai agreed. “Or you’d probably be in there getting turned into thresh.” His communicator chimed and he touched one of the glowing dots, receiving the call.

“Orostan, this is Tulo. The humans appear to have tricked us; they are attempting to break to the west. Again, they are preparing to cross the road on the western side. The patrols over there have scattered and headed for the firing. Cut the humans off if you can get there in time, pursue them if not.” A holo map blossomed over the older Kessentai’s tenar showing the relative position of the human team and the Posleen force.

“Understood,” the oolt’ondai said. “I will do that immediately.”

“And,” the distant commander added with a hiss of humor, “I take it I don’t have to suggest that you use caution.”

“Agreed,” the oolt’ondai answered.

“I will take my oolt immediately, Oolt’ondai,” Cholosta’an said, starting to swing his tenar to the north.

“Softly, Kessentai,” Orostan said, flapping his crest in negation. “I did mention that you were not considered entirely expendable, right?” The oolt’ondai ran his finger down the readouts until he grunted in satisfaction. “Oldoman,” he said into his communicator. There was a moment’s pause, which evoked a snarl, but the communicator finally lit.

“What?” came a harsh answer.

“The humans have been seen trying to make it across the road. Go north and cut them off; I will follow with the rest of the force.”

“I go!” came the reply. “Enough of this waiting in the dark!”

“An expendable one?” Cholosta’an asked.

“Eminently,” Orostan agreed. “His oolt’os are on their last legs from hunger, not because he does not have the credits to afford it, but because he expects them to find food on their own. Terrible equipment, not a decent gene line in the group. Damned few usable skills and all replaceable. He’s not worth the air he and his oolt breathe.” For a group called ‘The People of the Ships’ it was the ultimate insult.

“And will we follow with the rest of the force?”

“Oh, definitely,” Orostan said, sending orders to his key subcommanders. “But carefully and slowly, the least worthy scouts out to the front. It is not worth losing a thousand oolt’os to catch one small group of humans, no matter how dangerous.”

* * *

“I don’t see that it’s worth this expenditure to cover one group of lurps,” the corps artillery commander complained.

It was inevitable that everyone would want to get their two cents in just as soon as they woke up. And with the corps commander fulminating in the pre-dawn hours the word had quickly woken his staff. Who had descended in full fury on one lonely major.

Who didn’t have an ounce of back-up.

“I don’t see that it’s worth the expenditure to keep you fed, Colonel.” Major Ryan was tired and getting just a bit cranky. And trying to follow the battle around Seed while surrounded by chateau generals was getting on his nerves.

“Enough of that,” General Bernard said. He was a big, florid commander who filled his BDU uniform like a bass drum. This also described the occasional military genius in history, but unfortunately that particular description, “military genius,” did not extend to General Bernard. He had been the Virginia National Guard commander prior to the invasion, what is called the Adjutant General. Upon the Federalization of all forces he had retained command of the 29^th Infantry Division up until the debacle that was generally called the Battle of Spottsylvania County. During the first landing individual units of the division had fought bravely and occasionally brilliantly. But the general had been shown to be completely out of his depth and when he ordered his division artillery, against standing orders, to initiate contact with the Posleen, it had contributed, markedly, to the ensuing massacres of the 9^th and 10^th Corps.