S. Stirling - Against the Tide of Years

Clemens nodded. The system would purify even Euphrates water, and it would run to public fountains. And the next shipment from Nantucket was supposed to include a complete vaccination-preparation setup for Ur Base. Then, by God, he would vaccinate the whole of Kar-Duniash, if he had to chase them down and do a flying tackle on each and every, one.

The stretcher bearers came in, with the bloodied form of the pilot lying facedown. The back of her uniform tunic was sopping; Azzu-ena took a pair of scissors and cut it away as he leaned forward, pulling up his mask. His hands probed the area between pelvis and spine.

"Bullet, no exit wound, internal bleeding too, we'll have to open her up!" And hope it didn't destroy her liver. "Saline, ether, stat, get someone her type in here, let's get a move on here, people!" he snapped, then turned and saw Brigadier Hollard crouched by her head; she was still conscious, but her eyes were wandering.

"What the hell are you doing here!" Clemens roared. "You're not sterile, you're endangering the patient, get the hell out!"

"Shut up," Hollard hissed, his voice flat and deadly enough to stop even Justin Clemens in midphrase.

"… Auto, some sort of automatic, mounted on a wagon- "

"I've got it, Kayle," Hollard said gently. "Rest now. They'll patch you up."

Then he was gone from the tent in four long strides.

"Remember Lord Kenn'et's words!" Raupasha shouted. "Against the Hittites, fight like lions-against the wizard's men, chariots are to flee and footmen to fall flat." There was an unhappy murmur, and she put metal into her voice. "There is no honor in putting yourself in the way of a bullet."

The emergency demonstration with a couple of sick donkeys had been impressive; she just hoped it hadn't killed the men's spirit.

"Follow me, men of Mitanni!" she said. "Once again you are called to war, you descendants of men who bestrode the universe. Teshub and Indara Thunderer are with us!"

She signaled to the driver and he pulled the heads of the horses around, clicking to them.

"Not too fast," she said, putting the thought of Sabala's pleading eyes out of her mind; strange that it should strike her now. "We have a better team and a better chariot; we are to lead, not lose them in our dust."

As she spoke she pulled the rifle from its scabbard that her friend Fusaro had made for her back at Ur Base. Strange, to have a leather-worker as a friend, but that is the Eagle People way. The weapon was balanced and deadly in her hands, and she'd always been a good shot-first with the bow and then with rifles. And with this rifle, all she needed was to be deft and have a keen eye, and to be as formidable as any. It was a heady feeling.

The coat of light chain mail Kenn'et had insisted on-Mitara, Lord of Justice, preserve him!-was only enough weight to anchor her securely; the chariot bounced far less than the ones she had grown up with, making more of a sway than a blow against her feet. She squinted under the brim of her helmet and saw the Hittite host approaching.

Rebel Hittite host, she reminded herself. Tudhaliyas was an ally of Nantucket, therefore of hers. Then: I am afraid, but I can master it. The conquering of fear was as heady as the soama of the ancient stories, the drink that made her ancestors as one with the gods.

Now they were close enough that she could see men through the dust and flash of movement. Three-man Hittite carts, driver and warrior and shield bearer, heavier than hers, horses' sides covered by leather blankets sewn with scales, the crews armored as well. All that weight might well slow them enough that her poor followers with their knackers-yard horses wouldn't be at too much of a disadvantage. The footmen would be; those following the rebel lord's chariots were fully equipped, nearly every man with helmet and good shield, long spear, sword, leather tunic boiled in vinegar or wax. When the infantry met, it would go hard for her folk. That grieved her, but the battle was to be won; so her foster father had taught her, and the Eagle People. She knew the price of defeat too well.

She brought her rifle up, looked back at the wedge of chariots that followed her. Some were out of the fight already, tumbled with wheels off or axles broken. Most followed, and she waved them to her right. They swung after her, and she brought the weapon up and aimed, knees flexing.

Crack. A miss, and an arrow went whirrrt through the chariot; they were within a hundred yards. But Hittites weren't archers of note, they preferred the javelin and thrusting spear. She pulled a bullet from the bandolier looped around her body and thumbed it home.

Crack. A man flung up his arms and fell backward out of his chariot, tumbling as the speed of the galloping horses threw his body against the ground. That would have broken bones even if his wound was slight.

Raupasha daughter of Shuttarna shouted in exultation.

"They're behind the locals, all right, behind and to the right," O'Rourke said. "We stung 'em."

"What arms?" Kenneth Hollard asked, handing up his canteen. The camel-mounted commander of the Scout company leaned down and took it, drinking with appreciation. The day was growing hotter as the sun rose toward noon.

"Breechloaders for certain. Most of them Westley-Richards like we were using last year," he said. "But they've got something very nasty as well, not a Gatling but something of the sort. Several of them. Cost us."

He inclined his head. Wounded Marines were being lifted off camels and onto stretchers; some were being laid out with blankets over their faces.

"And a battery of fieldpieces-twelve-pounder Napoleons would be my guess-and something else, further back, that they didn't use."

"Numbers?"

"Around a thousand, I'd say-not counting teamsters and such. They moved from column into line very fast indeed, Brigadier, sir. Fire and movement, extended order."

"Thanks, Paddy. Pull your people out, get them something to eat"-he'd had the field kitchens set up along with the hospital; you needed both-"and then dig in, and we'll see what happens. With luck, they think this force is simply locals, an ultralight, and you."

"With luck indeed."

Hollard looked along the line where his Marines were digging in, and the man-tall hillocks over to his left where the New Troops of Babylon waited. One good thing is that soil doesn't show up very well here, he thought. Another is that khaki blends in very well indeed.

He walked forward to the spot where part of the heavy-weapons company was setting up. He'd pushed the Gatlings well forward, giving them interlocking fields of fire along his front and open ones to the flanks. The sergeant in charge paused with a rock the size of a loaf of bread in her hands.

"Bit different from Babylon, nae, sir?"

He nodded, and she hesitated. "Sir, ask you a favor? Sir, it's a letter. In case Skyfather calls me."

He took it: Delauntarax of the Thaurinii, in Alba was written in a shaky hand. Vague, but the Postal Service was used to that; things got through eventually.

"Keep masked until the word comes down, and it'll be the other side who go to feast in the sky," he said, tucking it into a pocket.

She nodded. The crew threw a khaki-colored groundsheet over the Gatling on its two-wheel mount and scattered handfuls of dirt over that. Having dug their own holes, the infantry were doing likewise.

Hollard walked out in front of his own line and examined it carefully. The maskirovka was good-a useful Russian word much emphasized in the tactical manual put together by a committee of retired types with several centuries of combat experience between them. It was another advantage the Islanders had. He'd met plenty of Bronze Age hunters who were extremely good at hiding out, but few of the warrior types thought that way. Most of them had styles that deliberately drew the enemy's attention, and by their codes trying to hide was shameful.