Once the sun had broken through, the fog lifted fast. In seconds visibility went from fifty meters to a hundred, then two hundred. In minutes the road for a kilometer north of us was visible—and empty. One wagon struggled along it, and far back in the distance a single man carried a radio.
"O'Grady says hit the dirt!" I yelled. "Hartz, tell Falkenberg the deception's over."
And still there was nothing. I took out my glasses and examined the rocks above and behind us. They were boiling with activity. "Christ," I said. "Roszak, we've run into the whole Allansport outfit. Damned near a thousand men! Dig in and get your heads down!"
A mortar shell exploded on the road below. Then another, and then a salvo. Not bad shooting, I said to myself. Of course it didn't hit anything, because there was nothing to hit except the one wagon, but they had it registered properly. If we'd been down there, we'd have had it.
Rifle bullets zinged overhead. The Association troops were firing at last. I tried to imagine the feelings of the enemy commander, and I found myself laughing. He'd waited patiently all this time for us to walk into his trap, and all he'd caught was something less than a platoon. He was going to be mad.
He was also going to chew up my sixty men, two mortars, and four light machine guns. It would take him a little time, though. I'd picked a good spot to wait for him. Now that the fog had cleared, I saw it was a better place than I'd guessed from the map. We had reasonably clear fields of fire, and the rocks were large and sturdy. They'd have to come in and get us. All we had to do was keep our heads down.
No point in deception anymore. "O'Grady says stay loose and let 'em come to us."
There was a chorus of shouted responses. Then Brady's trumpet sounded, beginning with "On Full Kits" and running through half the calls in the book before he settled onto the Line Marines' March. A favorite, I thought. Damned right. Then I heard the whistle of incoming artillery, and I dove for the tiny shelter between my rocks as barrage after barrage of heavy artillery dropped onto our position.
Riflemen swarmed down onto the road behind me. My radiomen and the two wagoneers were cut down in seconds. At least a company of Association troops started up the gentle slope toward us.
The Association commander made his first mistake then. His artillery had been effective enough for making us keep our heads down, but the rocks gave us good cover and we weren't taking many casualties. When the Association charged us, their troops held back until the artillery fire lifted. It takes experienced non-coms and a lot of discipline to get troops to take casualties from their own artillery. It pays off, but our attackers didn't know or believe it.
They were too far away when the artillery fire lifted. My lads were out of their hiding places in an instant. They poured fire on the advancing troops—rifles and the light machine guns, then both mortars. Few of the enemy had combat armor, and our fire was devastating.
"Good men," Hartz grunted. "They keep coming."
They were, but not for long. Too many of them were cut down. They swept to within fifty meters, wavered, and dropped back, some dragging their wounded with them, others running for it. When the attack was broken, we dropped back into the rocks to wait for the next barrage. "Score one for the Line Marines," I called.
Brady answered with the final fanfare from the March. "And there's none that can face us—"
"They won't try that again," Roszak said. He grinned with satisfaction. "Lads are doing right well, Mr. Slater."
"Well, indeed."
Our area was quiet, but there were sounds of heavy fighting in the south: artillery, rifle and machine gun fire, mortars and grenades. It sounded louder, as if it were coming closer to us. Louis and his commando of ranchers were facing big odds. I wondered if Kathryn were with him.
"They'll try infiltration next," Roszak predicted.
"What makes you think so?" Hartz asked.
"No discipline. After what happened last time, they'll never get a full attack going."
"No, they will have one more try in force. Perhaps two," Hartz argued.
"Never. Bet on it? Tomorrow's wine ration."
"Done," Hartz said. He was quiet for a moment, then handed me the handset. "Captain Falkenberg."
"Thank you. Yes, Captain?"
"O'Grady says the O'Grady drill is over. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"What's your situation?"
"We're in the saddle notch of Hill 239, seven klicks south of Allansport," I said. "Holding all right for now, but we're surrounded. Most of the hostiles are between us and Allansport. They let us right through for the ambush. They've tried one all-out attack and that didn't work. Roszak and Hartz are arguing over what they'll try next."
"How long can you hold?"
"Depends on what losses they're willing to take to get us out of here."
"You don't have to hold long," Falkenberg said. "A lot has happened. Ardwain broke through to the Governor and brought him out, but he ran into a strong force in Allansport. There's more coming over the bridge from the east side of the river."
"Sounds like they're bringing up everything they have."
"They are, and we're beating all of it. The column that moved north from Denisburg ran into Bonneyman's group. They deployed to break through that, and we circled around to their west and hit them in the flank. They didn't expect us. Your maneuver fooled them completely. They thought the 501st was with you until it was too late. They know better now, but we've broken them. Of course, there's a lot more of them than of us, and we couldn't hold them. They've broken through between Bonneyman and the river, and you're right in their path."
"How truly good."
"I think you'd do well to get out of their way," Falkenberg said. "I doubt you can stop them."
"If they link up with the Allansport force, they'll get away across the bridge. I can't hold them, but if you can get some artillery support here, I can spot for the guns. We might delay them."
"I was going to suggest that," Falkenberg said. "I've sent Ardwain and the Governor's escort toward that hill outside Allansport—the Rockpile. It looks like a dominant position."
"It is, sir. I've seen it. If we held that, we could keep this lot from getting into Allansport. We might bag the whole lot."
"Worth a try, anyway," Falkenberg said. "Provided you can hold on. It will be nearly an hour before I can get artillery support to you."
"We'll hold, sir."
"Good luck."
Roszak lost his wine ration. They tried one more assault. Two squads of Association troops got within twenty meters of our position before we threw them back. Of my sixty men, I had fewer than thirty effectives when it was over.
That was their last try, though. Shortly after, they regrouped. The elements which had been south of us had already skirted around the hills to join the main body, and now the whole group was moving north. They were headed for Allansport.
The sounds of fighting to the south were coming closer all the time. Falkenberg had Deane moving parallel to the Association troops, racing to get close enough to give us support, but it wouldn't arrive in time.
I sent our wounded up the hill away from the road with orders to dig in and lie low. The rest of us followed the retreating force. We were now sandwiched between the group ahead of us and the Denisburg column behind.
The first elements of Association forces were headed up the Rockpile when Deane came in range. He was still six kilometers southeast of us, long range and long time of flight, but we were in a good position to spot for him. I called in the first salvo on the advancing Association troops. The shells went beyond their target, and before I could walk them back down the hill, the Association forces retreated.
"They'll send another group around behind the hill," Roszak said. "We'll never stop them."
"No." So damned near. A few minutes' difference and we'd have bagged them all. The column Falkenberg was chasing was now no more than two kilometers south of us and moving fast.
"Hold one," Deane said. "I've got a Corporal Dangier calling in. Claims to be in position to spot targets for me."
"He's one of the wounded we left behind," I said. "He can see the road from his position, all right, but he won't last long once they know we've got a spotter in position to observe them."
"Do I fire the mission?" Deane demanded.
"Yes." Scratch Corporal Dangier, who had a girl in Harmony and a wife on Earth.
"I'll leave one gun at your disposal," Deane said. "I'm putting the rest on Dangier's mission."
A few minutes later we heard the artillery falling on the road behind us. That would play hell with the Association retreat. It kept up for ten minutes; then Deane called in again. "Can't raise Dangier any longer."
"No. There's nothing we can do here. They're staying out of sight. I'll call in some fire in places that might do some good, but it's shooting blind."
I amused myself with that for a while. It was frustrating. Once that force got to the top of the Rockpile, the route into Allansport would be secure. I was still cursing when Hartz shouted urgently.
"Centurion Ardwain on the line, sir."
"Ardwain, where are you?"
"Less than a klick west of you, Lieutenant. We moved around the edge of the town. Can't get inside without support. Militia won't try it, anyway."
"How many Marines do you have?" I demanded.
"About eighty effective. And Old Beastly."
"By God! Ardwain, move in fast. We'll join you as you come by. We're going right up to the top of the Rockpile and sit there until Falkenberg gets here. With Deane's artillery support we can hold that hill."
"Aye, aye, sir. We're coming."
"Let's go!" I shouted. "Who's been hit and can't run?"
No one answered. "Sergeant Roszak took one in the leg an hour ago, Lieutenant," Hartz said.
"I can still travel," Roszak said.
"Bullshit. You'll stay here and spot artillery for us. All the walking wounded stay with him. The rest of you get moving. We want to be in position when Centurion Ardwain comes."
"But—"
"Shut up and soldier, Roszak." I waved and we moved down from our low hilltop. We were panting when we got to the base of the Rockpile. There were already Association forces up there. I didn't know how many. We had to get up there before more joined them. The way up just ahead of me was clear, because it was in direct view of Roszak and his artillery spotters. We could use it and they couldn't.
I waved the men forward. Even a dozen of us on top of the Rockpile might be enough if Ardwain came up fast. We started up. Two men went down, then another, and my troops began to look around for shelter. I couldn't blame them, but I couldn't let them do it. Getting up that hill had become the only thing in my life. I had to get them moving again.
"Brady!" I shouted. "Corporal, sound the charge!"
The trumpet notes sang out. A monitor whipped out a banner and waved it above his head. I shouted, "Follow me!" and ran up the hill. Then a mortar shell exploded two meters away. I had time to see bright red blotches spurt across my trousers legs and to wonder if that was my own blood; then I fell. The battle noises dimmed out.
* * *
"Lieutenant! Mr. Slater!"
I was in the bottom of a well. It was dark down there, and it hurt to look up at the light. I wanted to sink back into the well, but someone at the top was shouting at me. "Mr. Slater!"
"He's coming around, Centurion."
"He's got to, Crisp! Mr. Slater!"
There were people all around me. I couldn't see them very clearly, but I could recognize the voice. "Yes, Centurion."
"Mr. Slater," Ardwain said. "The Governor says we shouldn't take the hill! What do we do, sir?"
It didn't make sense. Where am I? I wondered. I had just sense enough not to ask. Everybody asks that, I thought. Why does everybody ask that? But I don't know—
I was pulled to a sitting position. My eyes managed to focus again, just for a moment. I was surrounded by people and rocks. Big rocks. Then I knew where I was. I'd passed these rocks before. They were at the base of the hill. Rocks below the Rockpile.
"What's that? Don't take the hill?" I said.
"Yes, sir—"
"Lieutenant, I have ordered your men to pull back. There are not enough to take this hill, and there's no point in wasting them."
That wasn't the Governor, but I'd heard the voice before. Trevor. Colonel Trevor of the militia. He'd been with Swale at the staff meeting back at Beersheba. Bits of the staff meeting came back to me, and I tried to remember more of them. Then I realized that was silly. The staff meeting wasn't important, but I couldn't think. What was important? There was something I had to do.
Get up the hill. I had to get up the hill. "Get me on my feet, Centurion."
"Sir—"
"Do it!" I was screaming. "I'm going up there. We have to take the Rockpile."
"You heard the company commander!" Ardwain shouted. "Move out!"
"Slater, you don't know what you're saying!" Trevor shouted.
I ignored him. "I've got to see," I said. I tried to get up, but my legs weren't working. Nothing happened when I tried to move them. "Lift me where I can see," I said.
"Sir—"
"Crisp, don't argue with me. Do it."
"You're crazy, Slater!" Trevor shouted. "Delirious. Sergeant Crisp, put him down. You'll kill him."
The medics hauled me to the edge of the boulder patch. Ardwain was leading men up the hill. Not just Marines, I saw. The militia had followed, as well. Insane, something whispered in the back of my mind. All insane. It's a disease, and they've caught it, too. I pushed the thought away.
They were falling, but they were still moving forward as they fell. I didn't know if they'd get to the top.
"You wanted to see!" Trevor shouted. "Now you've seen it! You can't send them up there. It's suicide, and they won't even listen to me! You've got to call them back, Slater. Make them retreat."
I looked at the fallen men. Some were just ahead of me. They hadn't even gotten twenty meters. There was one body blown in half. Something bright lay near it. I saw what it was and turned to Trevor.
"Retreat, Colonel? See that? Our trumpeter was killed sounding the charge. I don't know how to order a retreat."