Taylor Anderson - Crusade

One of Lord Rolak’s aides, left as a liaison, vaulted to the top of one of the brontosaurus-like creatures that had been on the waterfront when they arrived. This particular specimen had bronze greaves on its legs and wore polished bronze plates over its vitals. Besides being beasts of burden, the ridiculous brutes apparently served as Aryaalan warhorses. Matt had noticed the thing when he came ashore, but it never even occurred to him that anyone would try to ride one of the amazingly stupid animals into battle. Now he self-consciously reached up and grabbed the aide’s outstretched hand and allowed the powerful Aryaalan to help him swing onto the dinosaur’s back. He took a moment to secure himself to the rock-steady platform and then quickly raised the binoculars again.

The camp across the river looked like an ant bed stirred with a stick. Shot gouged through them, but the Grik had begun to assemble on the beach, preparing to attack what seemed to be an imminent amphibious assault. He turned to look at the river. The barges carrying reinforcements into the assault had stopped halfway across and were beginning to return to the far bank with their teeming cargoes. The assault itself had reached the obstacles and entanglements at the base of the wall, and rocks, arrows, and other projectiles rained down upon the enemy. Ladders rose out of the mass and fell against the wall, only to be pushed back upon the attackers. For now. The attack had weight behind it, however, and regardless of the terrible losses they were inflicting, the defenders were too thin on the walls to hold for long. Matt leaned over and looked down at Shinya, Gray, and Keje, who were staring up at him expectantly.

“The army will advance!” he said in a loud, firm voice. He smiled briefly at the irony. It wasn’t an order he, a naval officer, had ever expected to give.

The barricade parted before them, and at the shouted commands of their officers, the Marines and Guards from Baalkpan and Big Sal and all the other Homes and places that had come to Aryaal’s aid stepped through the gaps with a precied the others on the exposed side, with nothing between them and the enemy but a gently swaying sea of marsh grass and flowers. There the army paused for a moment, flags fluttering overhead, as it dressed ranks and waited for the guns to make their more difficult way through the obstacles. Matt patted the Aryaalan aide on the arm and motioned for him to follow. The dinosaur bellowed a complaint when the aide pushed forward on a pair of levers that caused two sharpened stakes at the back of the platform-saddle they rode to jab down hard into the animal’s hips. With a sickening pitching motion, the beast began to move and the aide released the pressure on the stakes. Two long cables, like reins, snaked back along the beast’s serpentine neck and the aide pulled savagely on one of them, physically pointing the creature’s head in the direction he wanted it to go. Slowly, they trudged through the barricade and joined the army on the other side.

“God a’mighty, Skipper! I wish I had a camera!” came a voice from below and behind. Matt looked down. Dennis Silva and half a dozen other destroyermen were falling in on the animal’s flanks.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Matt called hotly. “We already have more men ashore than I’d like. You’re supposed to be assisting Lieutenant Ellis!”

Silva assumed a wounded expression. “I am, Skipper! But he’s a captain now too, you know. What with his own ship and all. He plumb ordered us off of it!” He gestured at the other men. “Said he couldn’t stand the very thought of us deck-apes foulin’ his engineerin’ spaces! I think he must’a been a snipe himself once upon a time,” he added darkly. “Put us ashore, and made us take these guns”-he brandished the Browning Automatic Rifle, or BAR, in his hand-“to keep ’em out of the workers’ way!” Silva shook his head. “No way back to Walker now, so we figgered we’d come along over here and keep you comp’ny watchin’ this fight.”

Matt tried to maintain a stern expression, but an unstoppable grin broke through. “My God, Silva, you missed your calling. Hollywood or Congress, that’s where you should be. I’ve never seen anyone tell such a ridiculous lie with such conviction.” He looked at Gray, glowering at Silva. “Chief, put these men on report. They can stay, but they’re in your custody and control. They will not fire their weapons without my orders. Is that understood?” Matt gestured at the backs of the Lemurian troops as they prepared to move forward again. “The last thing we need is for these people to start relying on our modern weapons to fight their battles. We just don’t have enough to make a difference.” He smiled sadly. “We could probably do it once, but that would be even worse.” He looked squarely at Gray. “Emergencies only. That’s an order.”

“But, Skipper, beggin’ your pardon, haven’t we been doing that already? With the ship?” Silva asked, genuinely confused.

Matt nodded. “Yes, we have, but there’s a difference. The ship is who we are. She’s what we are, as far as these people are concerned. She’s what’s given us the credentials to advise them and help them technologically and be believed. Of course we fight with the ship. That’s what’s allowed us to give them the confidence they’ll need to win this fight-and it’ll be their fight for the most part. It has to be.”

“But… even some of the cat-monkeys have guns-”

Matt’s voice took on an edge. “I’m not in the habit of explaining myself to gunner’s mates, Silva, but you may have noticed that Sergeant Alden’s Marine rifleor two, but the victory, if there is one, must be theirs.” He waved at the army again. “Won with their arms. Do you understand? That’s the only way they’ll ever win not just this battle but the war.”

Matt was convinced he was right. He just hoped it would turn out that way. Being right in theory wasn’t always the same as being right in practice.

“Does that mean we have to sling our rifles and just use these crummy cutlasses, Skipper?” asked Tom Felts from the other side of the dinosaur.

Matt grinned. “No, just don’t shoot unless I say so. Damn, I thought I said that.”

“Just shut up, you stupid apes,” growled the Bosun. “Can’t you see the cap’n’s got a battle to think about? One more word out of you and I’ll drag your asses back to the dock and you’ll miss the whole thing!”

Lieutenant Shinya’s voice rose above the silence of the waiting army. “Soldiers of the Allied Expeditionary Force! People of the Sacred Tree and sons and daughters of the Heavens!” Others answered his shrill voice, up and down the line. Many didn’t hear him over the stiffening breeze, but they heard the voices of those closer to them.

“First Guard Regiment!”

“Second Guard Regiment!”

“Second Marines!”

And on and on, followed by the shouts of company commanders and squad leaders.

“At the quick time, march!”

As a single entity, the entire army stepped off with their left feet just as they’d been taught and began to move forward with long, purposeful strides that ate up ground at a surprising rate. The guns went with them, and two dozen artillerymen per piece manhandled the weapons and ammunition right along with the infantry. It was amazing. To Matt’s knowledge, the army had never been able to train together on such a scale before, either on the parade ground or in the newly cleared zones around Baalkpan City. But for the most part, the formation held together with almost total precision. Here and there, NCOs called a cadence or shouted instructions for their squads to keep up or slow down, but the overall impression of discipline was impressive. Pete Alden, the man who, more than anyone, had built this army, would be proud. Matt was proud. Despite his inner anxiety, he felt a sudden thrill. He knew then what it must have felt like to be Caesar, or Alexander, watching his well-trained army march into battle against disorganized barbarians. The historian within him continued to whisper insidiously that the barbarians often won, but for the moment, he didn’t-wouldn’t-listen. The die was cast and the time for strategy was past.