Spirit of Empire 4: Sky Knights (14 page)

Galborae sent Limam out on patrol, and before long she was joined by the rest of the melds, all of them spread out along the caravan.

Havlock noticed and was impressed. “Who’s giving them orders?” he asked Galborae.

Galborae shrugged. “They always work together. They meld with only one person, but they communicate with each other without effort. Limam lets them know what I want. Even without me telling Limam, I think they’d be doing the same thing.” He shrugged again. “Patrolling is patrolling.”

Fogel and Sergeant Vitor double-timed up to Havlock who was riding up and down the caravan. “Ready to break out the scooters?” Fogel asked hopefully.

“Not yet. We’re marines. We know how to suck it up.”

“Yes sir, but we have an awful lot of caravan to cover.”

“I want to develop tactics that include gorlacs. We need to improve our shooting accuracy when we’re on them. It’s your squad, Lieutenant, and your call. If you want to put some men on scooters for a few days, okay. Just know the scooters are not part of our long-term plan.”

“I’d rather stay on foot than on one of those animals, sir.” He stared at Havlock for a moment. “I want to send out scouts, but definitely not on foot or gorlac.”

“Scouts are standard procedure, I agree, but what will they see? The shuttles’ sensors are our best scouts, and I think the melds will give us warning also.”

“Yes, sir. Just a few scooters, sir.”

Havlock clapped him on the shoulder. “Can’t say I blame you. Go ahead, Lieutenant. Just wait until we’re out of sight of the city, okay?”

Fogel and Vitor both grinned and saluted. “Yes, sir!” They turned and walked away, with Vitor saying, “I get the first scooter . . .”

When scooters joined the caravan flying coordinated patterns above and to the sides, marines grinned with reassurance. Scooters mounted heavier guns than the marines carried, and those guns could be targeted on whatever the driver looked at. Traders stared in awe at the silent machines zig-zagging through the air. The drodans shook their heads and bellowed for a time, but they eventually grew accustomed to the strange creatures in the sky.

A light rain began falling, a rain which before long turned into a moderate downpour. The ship reported gleasons shadowing the caravan well out to the sides, and their numbers were increasing.

Two gleasons raced in, one from each side, intent on attacking the spare animals at the rear of the caravan. Second squad took out both gleasons, but one gleason took its last gasp just in front of a marine. The nearest meld did not hesitate, launching itself at the gleason just as the last shots finished the creature off.

Word reached Havlock and Galborae and they looked at each other. “We should try to hold the melds back,” Galborae said. “We can’t afford to lose them, and they might get shot by accident.”

“Agreed. Is it something you have to train them to do?”

“No. They’ll sense our instructions and follow them, but only to a point. They’re protective and not hesitant to act when they feel the need. I’ll ride back along the wagons to make sure all the traders understand.”

Havlock’s shuttle reported several possible gleasons positioning themselves half a mile up the road, but they could not positively identify the images through the rain which reduced visibility to a few hundred meters. Lightning and thunder crashed from time to time, adding to everyone’s unease.

“There won’t be any people out here,” Havlock responded. “If we take out a few wild animals, that’s okay. Fogel, deploy some of your squad ahead of the convoy. Bring three traders with you—they’ll have cats. Let’s see how well our early warning system works. Shuttle one, stay with them and be prepared to intervene. Squad two, take up the slack along the caravan.”

“Aye, sir,” Hawke replied. “I think I’ll move both shuttles in closer.”

“Okay. Just remember we want to learn, but we don’t have to answer all my questions on our first day.”

He brought his gorlac up to a canter until reaching the first wagon. He held there, not wanting to interfere with Fogel’s plan, though it took all his willpower to hold back. Before long, each of the melds went to their bellies, their ears folded back and their eyes locked onto targets. Marines got down behind each meld and sighted stunners along the line of the meld’s sight, confirming the weak images sent to their visors from the shuttle.

“Fire when ready.” Fogel commanded.

Stunners fired. Gleasons materialized and pandemonium broke out, though among the marines it was a controlled pandemonium. Three gleasons literally tore across the intervening distance, zigzagging as they went. Blasters, all of them, sounded repeatedly, but the gleasons kept coming despite serious wounds. Silent red beams reached down from scooters and turf exploded where the gleasons had been.

Marines redeployed, searching the surroundings while the traders gathered their wits about themselves. All of them knew that without the scooters they might have had to engage the gleasons up close and personal.

Single gleasons came at the sides of the convoy from time to time, and the melds quickly caught on to their duties. Even slightly earlier warnings made a big difference to the defenders.

A couple of hours later, Sergeant Hawke called again. “You’re approaching a stream crossing the road about a mile ahead. There’s a band of trees along both sides of the stream. It looks like gleasons from all over the area are headed that way.”

Havlock scratched his chin. “Hmm. Are they smart enough to set up an ambush? I guess we should give them the benefit of the doubt until we learn otherwise. Since they’re telepathic, they know we’re killing their buddies. I’m guessing they’re here for the challenge more than for a meal.”

“Sir, I don’t think you want to challenge them in those woods. If you could pick up the pace, you might get there before them.”

Havlock rode back along the convoy until he found Trader Kratzn. He explained the situation, finishing with, “How fast can these wagons go?”

“A lot faster when our lives depend on it. It’s only mid-day. If we stop here for very long, we stop for the night. That gives the gleasons another whole night to infiltrate the forest. I’ll pass the word to give it everything we have.”

“Wait! I have to get my men mounted up on their gorlacs.”

Kratzn looked at him like he was crazy. “That will take an hour. Tell them to get up on the nearest wagon or they’ll get left behind.” He didn’t wait for a response, just raced off toward the front of the caravan.

Havlock radioed the word to his men to mount wagons, those who were not already mounted on gorlacs. Before long all the wagons and livestock raced pell-mell down the road toward the tree line. The drodans, seemingly bulky, slow-moving creatures, galloped with surprising speed. He had to give credit to these traders. Clearly, they had done this before and knew what they were doing.

Havlock called the ship. “I don’t think we could stop now even if we wanted to. Take out anything living that’s near the road.”

“There are three targets in the trees at the moment and a lot more coming, but it looks like you’ll beat most of them. We might start some fires if we shoot into the trees, and the animals might not like it.”

“That’s okay.” He galloped up ahead to Kratzn and briefed him, then dropped back to pass the word. He would have preferred being in the forefront of the column, but this was Kratzn’s show for the moment. He stayed in the rear, wondering if the gleasons would come after the livestock again. The incessant rain held the dust down, but he worried about footing on the slippery road. A broken leg on a drodan would be a disaster. He just had to trust that the traders knew what they were doing.

The caravan entered the tree line and kept going. The road steepened just before reaching the stream and the wagons slowed, but it was not because of the slippery road. The bridge did not mate perfectly with the road, and the traders knew it. The wagons hit the bridge going as fast as they could, the wheels slamming hard into the stone and the wagons throwing their occupants every which way. Everyone held on and just kept going, pounding across the bridge and up the steep hill beyond.

Havlock called Fogel. “I’m all the way in the rear. See if you can locate Galborae or Kratzn and have them pick out a good fighting position.”

“Kratzn’s right beside me. He says there’s a big field half a mile beyond the bridge where they often stop for the night.”

“It might meet his needs, but I want you to approve it before we stop.”

“Not a chance, sir. I’m stuck on the lead wagon until we stop. Uh . . . I get the feeling these traders know what they’re doing.”

“So do I, but they’re accustomed to swords and arrows, not air support and long-range weapons.”

“Neither are the gleasons, sir.”

He frowned as he called the shuttle. “What’s the picture from up there, Sergeant?”

“I estimate at least 20 gleasons converging from all directions.”

Havlock gulped. “Okay, we’re stopping half a mile beyond the river to make a stand. You could probably take them all out, but don’t. They’ll stop coming at us if we scare them off.”

“Understood, sir.”

Havlock reconsidered what he’d just said and called back. “On second thought, 20’s a lot. Take out some of them. Start picking them off, but slowly. Start with the farthest out and work your way in. That way we’ll force them to us rather than letting them scatter.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Actually, 20’s a
whole
lot. As soon as the first wagon stops, deploy third squad.”

“Aye, sir.”

The last wagon careened over the bridge, the livestock followed directly on its heels, then it was Havlock’s turn. When he saw most of his riders holding at the bridge, he pulled up short.

“What are you doing?” he asked the nearest marine.

“Would you ride onto that bridge beside a wagon, sir?” the man asked, his eyes wide as he kept up a constant search through his visor for attack.

“No, I guess not,” Havlock said, his mouth in a hard, grim line. He and his men had a lot to learn about the lives of traders. “Move out,” he said, striking his arm out to the front. They all took off at a gallop, the marines still not sitting their saddles cleanly.

The rain finally let up. A line of bright white, billowing clouds moved past them and the sun came out. The convoy reached the clearing and pulled off the road, each of the traders knowing precisely where to position his wagon. Before Havlock even reached the camp, most of the wagons had formed into a square. Traders corralled the gorlacs inside the square, the last few wagons closed the opening, then they set about releasing the drodans from their harnesses to graze. To Havlock’s surprise, they placed the drodans outside the circle of wagons, not inside with the gorlacs.

He didn’t have time to ask about it. The first meld snarled, and others picked up the call. Drodans answered with low-throated moans, tossing armored heads about as if they weighed nothing. Traders interspersed with marines and held ready.

Melds on all sides of the square began snarling, though no gleasons materialized. The ship reported gleasons continuing to gather, some twelve of them in a single group while another ten prowled on the other three sides of the square. It was strange knowing an enemy force was out there in plain sight and yet could not be seen. The gleasons roamed at will with no threat of anyone attacking them. Havlock repositioned a few marines, but he had to protect the entire perimeter, not just one spot. The gleasons could move quickly enough to attack any part of the square.

He met with Galborae and Kratzn and briefed them. “What more can we do?” he asked.

Kratzn just shrugged his shoulders. “Wait for them to attack. We’ll have dinner ready soon.”

Havlock blinked. “Dinner? Do you realize we have 22 gleasons out there massing for an attack, and their numbers are increasing?”

“We can’t do anything about it unless you want to attack them first,” Kratzn said. A hard smile flashed across his face. “I don’t recommend that.”

Havlock frowned. “No, probably not. I have sharpshooters on scooters and on top of every wagon that has a roof. The rest of my men are integrated with yours.”

“Relax, Lord. We’ll have warning. Just make sure your men have their shields ready. I know you think the shields antiquated, but they stop anything that’s thrown at us. Actually, my men are making sure yours are prepared.”

Havlock shook his head and moved along the line of defenders, encouraging each of them.

The first warning came from the melds, but the shuttles were only an instant behind. The main group of gleasons spread out enough that stunners could not light up all of them at once, then they charged wickedly fast. Melds crouched, their handlers sighted stunners along their lines of sight, and some gleasons materialized, but the gleasons did not rush in straight lines. They moved erratically and stunners had trouble finding all of them. Sharpshooters opened up on gleasons that had been stunned, then hand-held blasters opened up. Parts of gleasons tore away from their bodies, but the creatures kept coming.

All around the square of wagons, individual gleasons attacked as if on cue. For the first time, gleasons emitted a high-pitched ululating scream as they rushed the defenders. Drodans added their moaning to the fracas. Knives and discs flew through the air from the gleasons. Shields came up, but that restricted firing.

A beam of red light reached down from a scooter, exploding turf and, most likely, a gleason that had not been noticed. The other gleasons did not slow. Blasters continued firing and some gleasons finally succumbed, but others kept coming. Another beam of light reached down from the sky, then another and another. Turf exploded, then the gleasons were on the defenders.

Galborae’s sword came out in preparation for close combat when, without warning, drodans bolted from their places, all of them at once. Though massive creatures, they moved fast and they had targets in sight. They bowled into gleasons whether the gleasons were visible or not, tossing them into the air, then stomping and gutting them with the vicious tusks on their muzzles. Blasters stopped firing, partly because the defenders could not avoid hitting the drodans, but partly because those defenders were astounded at what was happening.

Two wounded gleasons reached the wagons near Galborae, slashing defenders at will. He waded in, swinging his sword carefully so as to avoid hurting defenders. When traders saw the shimmering sword, they backed away in surprise, giving Galborae more room to maneuver. Blasters sounded all around him as his blade swung. So light was the sword that it moved almost faster than the eye could follow. Galborae cleaved the first gleason in two, then leaped over to the last gleason and finished it off. It’s dead body fell into the arms of a young marine, and the two of them went down together. Galborae sheathed his sword as marines pulled the gleason from the marine, then he reached down and helped pull the marine to his feet.

He put his arm around the young man who was quaking in his boots. “Fall back, soldier,” he said softly. “Give the rest of us a chance, would you?”

The ship reported the immediate area clear, and without orders it landed just outside the square of wagons. Sergeant Kori raced from the ship with Milae and her meld beside her. A second shuttle landed, and it’s medic raced in to help as well. Kori reduced bleeds, her hands working non-stop, while the other medic completed assessments. A third shuttle landed with reinforcements, floaters appeared, and the dead and injured marines along with seven injured traders disappeared into the second and third shuttles, their medics not far behind. Both ships lifted and raced for the transporter where doctors would finish what the medics had started. Milae and Sergeant Kori stayed behind to treat the less serious wounds.

Havlock gathered up Galborae and Kratzn. “What was that all about? No one told me drodans fought.”

“I’m just as surprised as you are,” Kratzn responded. “They’ve always sensed threats to the caravan, and because of them we are rarely attacked on the road. But I had no idea they sensed the demons as well.”

“You told me they were docile. They tore those gleasons to shreds,” Havlock said.

“I told you they were docile most of the time. I never said they were docile all the time.”

Havlock shook his head. “Not a good day. Two dead, six marines wounded and seven of your men wounded. We have to get smarter. Can we move out?”

Kratzn, still shaken at the intensity of the attack and his wounded friends, asked, “Which way? Back?”

“Back? No! We just got started,” Galborae answered, shocked.

“But it will be dark in a few hours. We won’t stand a chance then.”

“You haven’t been up on the battlements after dark, have you?” Havlock asked. When Kratzn shook his head, Havlock smiled. “Don’t worry. Our visors see in the dark as well as in daylight.”

Kratzn looked at him like he was crazy, then he turned to Galborae with an equally accusing look.

“Did you know gleasons see in the dark, too?” Galborae asked, putting an arm around Kratzn’s shoulders and turning him away. Kratzn shook his head in complete surrender. “Don’t worry, my friend,” Galborae continued. “We’re going to teach your men to see in the dark as well. Should we check on the animals? They’re still upset.”

* * * * *

The caravan settled in for the night even though it was early. Everyone had emotional wounds to heal and some had real wounds, including the drodans. The animals were in such a state that it was better to keep them out of the harness for a while. Between their thick fur and thicker hides, traders rarely had to repair wounds on the beasts, and they chose to let nature take its course this day.

Whispers about Galborae’s sword made their way around the encampment, eventually forcing him to bring his sword out and discuss its capabilities, though there was no way to provide a real demonstration. The marines shook their heads, still preferring their blasters, but the traders all demanded new swords. They pressed Galborae hard, but all he could say was that his sword was the only one in existence at the moment.

The night was long but predictable. With their ability to see into the infrared spectrum, gleasons had grown accustomed to owning the night, but between early warnings from the shuttle, the melds, and the marines
’
visors, the caravan held its own. Marines and traders, including some women, rotated guard duty, the traders getting more comfortable with their visors. Lots of shots went awry at first, but all the attacks were of individual gleasons, not coordinated attacks like what they had seen during the afternoon.

No one got much sleep, and that would become a serious concern in a day or two, but it was not the highest item on Havlock’s list at present. He held a conference with his officers, sergeants, and several traders the next morning. They had learned a few things, and it was always better to cement those things into new tactics. First and foremost, the melds knew precisely where the gleasons were. They were a good early warning system. They had also learned that though all of their training had focused on shots to torsos, those shots just slowed the gleasons down. They needed to drop the gleasons, not just slow them down. There would be no more wild firing. Every single shot had to count, and every shot needed to be a head shot if possible, the only way to keep gleasons from getting back up.

Body armor in the form of camouflaged uniforms had saved lives and reduced wounds. Any trader willing to wear the armor would be issued a complete set.

Traders’ melds were the secret to fighting the gleasons if caravans were ever to operate without shuttle cover. Traders’ first shots would be with stunners, their aim guided by melds. Everyone could then converge on targets with blasters to finish the gleasons off.

None of them knew how many gleasons there were on the planet, but Havlock believed strongly that they were pulling gleasons to the convoy from other areas. If he was right, threats against other towns and cities might be lessening. They would know more by the time they reached the next kingdom, Tricor.

Lastly, the marines needed to get better at shooting from astride gorlacs.

Havlock and Galborae stayed with the caravan for two grueling weeks during which Galborae’s sword saw plenty of action, so much action, in fact, that Galborae wondered if the sword itself was attracting gleasons. Every time he unsheathed it, attacking gleasons turned toward him. He began keeping a few extra marines with him whenever he could.

He and Havlock were just about to fly ahead to Tricor when word reached them that Shanloc was having problems. They shuttled back and learned that gleasons had, indeed, chosen to leave the city and concentrate on the caravan. King Tennisol had ordered some farmers back into the fields with support from the marines. They enjoyed great success for a few days, but then gleasons started returning. Apparently some gleasons had decided the pickings were easier near the city than with the caravan.

The news, though not good, encouraged Havlock. To some extent he was controlling the gleasons’ movements. The rudiments of his plan were working, he just needed to refine things.

Other shuttles confirmed that a steady stream of gleasons were headed toward the caravan, abandoning cities farther afield for the more difficult challenge of fighting the marines.

Marines and a few of the locals continued patrolling the nearest fields around Shanloc while farmers worked. Melds accompanied anyone lucky enough to have them. Though it was a start, there weren’t enough nearby farms to really effect the long-term issue of food supplies for the kingdom.

“You need more fighting men,” Havlock told King Tennisol.

“The few who are still alive are defending the city. Farmers, merchants, and craftsmen are not fighters.”

“We talked about this. They’ll fight if their lives depend on it.”

“They are fighting. They’ve been manning the wall since the very beginning, but it’s not their nature. It takes a long time to train fighting men. We start almost from childhood.”

“Your fighters no longer wield swords,” Havlock argued, turning to Galborae for support.

“Your Majesty,” Galborae said to his king, “he’s right. Every man, and maybe every woman, can learn to use these weapons. We’re in a fight for our very survival.”

Tennisol struggled out of his chair, his wounds still raw. “You know as well as I do that putting a weapon in someone’s hand does not make him a fighter. They have to think like a fighter. That’s why we spend so much time practicing.”

“Fathers and mothers will do whatever it takes to protect their children,” Galborae countered. “It doesn’t have to be a permanent change. You can rotate people in and out on a daily or weekly basis. You can require every healthy merchant to soldier one day a week, or maybe one week each month. They could return to their merchant duties on the other days.”

Havlock interjected. “Your Majesty, this won’t be forever. A few years certainly, but not forever. We’ve only been at it for two weeks and we’ve seen progress.”

“What progress?”

“The gleasons not only followed the caravan away from here, other gleasons from other areas joined them. We have killed hundreds . . . uh, many, many gleasons. Now we learn that as soon as you send out farmers, the gleasons return here to fight the guards protecting the farmers. What does that tell you about them?”

“They’re stupid.”

Havlock shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think they seek challenge. They’re killers, but how much talent does it take to kill a wild animal or an unarmed man? It’s almost like they’re showing off. I want to give them that opportunity, and I’m asking for your help to do it.”