The Seeds of Man (30 page)

Unfortunately they were vulnerable from the air, and while they were well camouflaged, he couldn’t fire them without attracting Hashi’s drones, aircraft that, judging from the way the scouts had been killed could attack and kill. Machine guns might bring some of them down, but since Voss was badly outnumbered, he couldn’t afford to lose a single howitzer. Therefore, a team of mercs had been dispatched to Thermopolis to buy heat-seeking missiles and the launchers required to fire them. Once they arrived, Voss would be able to rain high-explosive shells down on that section of the valley with impunity. All of that and more flickered through Voss’s mind as he eyed the scout. “Understood. And the Ronin?”

“Most of them are massed five miles south of here waiting for the tractors to catch up with them.”

“How soon will the tractors arrive?”

“That depends,” Kovo replied. “If they stop for the night, they should join the main force by noon tomorrow. If they travel at night, they will arrive before dawn.”

Voss thought about that. “What about fuel?”

“It’s on a tanker truck that follows along behind the tractors.”

“Could we destroy it? Tonight?”

Kovo’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe . . . if we went wide, rode south, and attacked from behind. But even if we were successful the Ronin would be there to cut us off.”

“What if I have a way to keep the Ronin busy?”

Kovo’s expression brightened. “That would make all the difference.”

Voss nodded. “Choose two good men in addition to yourself. I’ll supply the rest. Meet me here at six p.m.”

Kovo touched the brim of his hat, pulled his horse around, and rode away.

Voss glanced at the Rolex. It was 3:22 and there were a lot of things to get done. By the time darkness began to fall, Voss had put the slaves to work digging trenches to slow the tractors, a strategy intended to give the inexperienced gun crews more opportunities to strike their targets. And with his help, the mayor of Afton had been able to position two companies of cavalry so they could sweep out into the valley and attack the enemy on both flanks. The third company, which was under the command of a prominent merchant, was scheduled to attack the Ronin just before dawn. Then, once the techies were committed, the townies were supposed to run like hell. Never having fought such an action before, the fools thought they were going to have a bit of fun. Voss figured it would be a miracle if a third of them survived.

In the meantime, Voss, three of his scouts, and six handpicked townies were going to find Hashi’s fuel truck and destroy it. That was the plan, anyway, and Voss was ready when Kovo and his men arrived. They were armed with pistols, military-style assault rifles, and saddlebags filled with hand grenades.

The townies appeared out of the quickly gathering gloom a few moments later, led by a man named Hollings. He had dark skin, green eyes, and a reputation as gunfighter. He and his riders were armed with two pistols apiece and twelve-gauge shotguns, the assumption being that whatever fighting took place was likely to be up close and personal.

Voss nodded approvingly. “All right, men . . . Kovo will take us across the valley and down the east side. That will put us in position to attack the techies from the rear. Meanwhile, a company of cavalry will charge the Ronin from the north. Our goal is to find the fuel truck and destroy it. Once that’s accomplished, we will run like hell. Any questions? No? Let’s ride.”

As the sun sank in the west and the hills threw dark shadows across the valley, the raiders rode east. Kovo led them across a concrete bridge and into a fallow field. Tall grass swished as the horses passed through it, insects whirred away, and Voss took pleasure in his surroundings. Here, now, in this particular moment, there was nothing to worry about other than the mission he had assigned to himself—not because he had to, but because he
wanted
to, although he was aware that his actions would inspire others.

They passed the remains of a melancholy farmhouse, splashed through a creek, and climbed the bank beyond. As stars began to populate the sky, Kovo kicked his mount into a ground-eating trot. It wasn’t long before the dark bulk of the eastern hills rose to block the way. Then, with only starlight to guide them, the riders turned south. They were following an ancient fence, and the vibration from the horses’ hooves sent small creatures scurrying for safety.

To the south Voss could see the flickering points of light that represented Ronin campfires. Did that mean they had settled in for the night? Or did that mean they wanted him to believe that? Such was his greatest fear—that Hashi
wouldn’t
wait for the tractors. Voss knew that if the Ronin attacked right away, they would cut through the townies like a hot knife through butter. And given how inexperienced the gunners were, it would be easy to hit friendly forces during the hours of darkness. Then, having cleared the choke point, Hashi’s forces would surge into Star Valley. Could the remaining mercs stop her? Maybe . . . but the outcome would be far from certain.

The campfires grew gradually brighter, came abreast of Voss, and began to dim as the riders continued south. Voss saw a shooting star streak across the sky and hoped it was a good omen. Kovo turned west a few minutes later and led the group into an ocean of darkness. The campfires Voss had seen earlier were off to his right now. But there, straight ahead of him, were three points of light. The rearguard, perhaps? Including the personnel associated with the fuel truck? He hoped so.

According to the luminous dial on the Rolex, the townies weren’t due to launch the diversionary attack for another fifteen minutes. So Voss wasn’t surprised when Kovo led the group down into a ravine and sent a scout up to keep an eye on the enemy. It was a good opportunity to take a pee, let the horses drink from the creek that flowed through the ravine, and cinch their saddles. And that’s what the raiders were doing when the drones attacked.

Voss had assumed that the machines couldn’t operate at night. He was wrong. That became apparent when a drone with a four-foot wingspan swooped in and fired a single shot. The pilot, who was stationed hundreds of miles to the southwest and was “looking” at the scene via a satellite relay, missed the man he was aiming for. But the bullet hit the townie’s horse, which reared and threw him off. Then, maddened by the pain, the animal galloped down the ravine.

As the first aircraft disappeared into the darkness, another attacked. The motor produced a high-pitched whine as the drone bore in from the south, only this time Hollings was ready for it. As the machine came into range, he and another townie fired their shotguns. The aircraft exploded as it ran into a cloud of lead pellets. Pieces of hot shrapnel flew in every direction. A chunk of metal hit one of the scouts in the temple and killed him instantly. A townie was wounded.

Meanwhile, all hell was breaking loose to the north as the townies launched an attack on the Ronin. That was good, but not good enough, as Voss learned when a horse and rider skidded down into the ravine. Voss could barely make him out in the gloom. “They’re on to us, sir. A whole lot of Ronin are coming this way.”

“How many?”

“It’s too dark to tell, sir. Fifteen? Twenty? Something like that.”

“Tether your horses,” Voss shouted. “Get up on the edge of the ravine. Prepare to fire, but wait for my command.”

Kovo ordered the wounded man to remain with the horses as the rest of them scrambled up the slope. The element of surprise had been lost, so the fuel truck was out of reach now. Voss knew that. All he could do was try to discourage pursuit and make a run for it.

There was a thunder of hooves as the Ronin came closer. They were determined to catch up with the raiding party before it could escape. So they rode hard, saw the edge of the ravine, and were starting to rein their horses in when Voss shouted, “Fire!”

Tongues of flame stabbed the night. Horses screamed as shotgun pellets struck them. The rattle of assault weapons was a sharp counterpoint to the overlapping booms that the shotguns made as the townies opened fire. Horses went down, Ronin were blown out of their saddles, and screams added to the din.

But the battle wasn’t one-sided. Slugs threw up divots of dirt all around, and the man next to Voss fell as he gave another order. “Grenades!”

Bombs flew through the air, exploded among the enemy, and cut the survivors down. “Back to the horses!” Voss shouted. “We’re pulling out.”

They rode hard. And even though Voss feared that one or more drones would swoop out of the darkness, none did. Maybe the machines were being employed elsewhere—or maybe there was a limited number of them. Whatever the reason, the raiders were able to make their way back to Geneva without suffering additional casualties.

A cluster of old buildings had been taken over and were being used as a makeshift headquarters. A bedroom in an old house had been prepared for Voss’s use. It was furnished with campaign-style furniture including a bed. After splashing some water onto his face and eating a sliced beef sandwich, Voss went out to make the rounds.

The cavalry company had paid a heavy price, and since Voss had been forced to abort the raid, the deaths were for nothing. Only sixteen of the hundred men had survived, and half of them were wounded. They were quartered in an old barn, and Voss made a point of speaking with each and every one of them before meeting with Kovo, then falling into bed.

The knocking sound came seconds later. Or that was the way it seemed, until a glance at his watch confirmed that more than two hours had passed. And the sun was up, judging from the light that was leaking in between the hastily hung curtains. Voss sat up. “Come in.”

Kovo entered the room, hat in hands. “Sorry to bother you, sir . . . but I have news.”

Voss put his feet on the floor. “What kind?”

“Both kinds, sir. The good news is that the missile launchers arrived. I sent them up to the gun positions.”

“Excellent,” Voss said as he pulled his pants on. “And the bad news?”

“The enemy tractors are pushing forward with the Ronin right behind them.”

Voss buttoned his shirt. “And the drones?”

“There have been a dozen sightings.”

“So Hashi knows about the cavalry units positioned east and west?”

Kovo nodded. “Yes, sir. The Ronin sent cavalry to protect their flanks.”

Voss buckled the gun rig around his waist. “How about the howitzers? Does Hashi know about those?”

“No, sir. Not so far as I know.”

“Well, that’s good news. Not that it matters. The element of surprise would be nice, but it isn’t critical. Have someone fetch Odin.”

“He’s ready, sir.”

“Thank you. And one more thing. Let’s take Miss Silverton with us.”

Half an hour later, Voss, Sara, and a small party of mercs were stationed on top of a knoll, where, thanks to a bright green flag, the townies, gun crews, Ronin, and drones could see them. The fact that they were on horseback made the group that much more visible.

The gesture was part bravado and part common sense. The idea was to encourage the townies, show the gunners what to avoid, and provide Voss with a good view. The drones could attack, but if they did, Voss was counting on mercs to keep the machines at bay. “So,” Voss said as the black tractors entered the maze of traps that cut across the valley. “How will the battle go?”

Sara was wearing a custom-made outfit that consisted of a frothy white blouse, a brown jacket, tan riding pants, and knee-high boots. The chains weren’t practical in that situation. And there was little chance of escape, since a merc had hold of the twenty-foot-long tether that was connected to Sara’s horse. She squinted into the harsh sunlight. “I told you. Thunder will roll, a steel rain will fall, and blood will flow like a river.”

“That’s obvious,” Voss responded. “Kovo could make that prediction.”

Sara turned to look at him. Her eyes were slightly out of focus. A gust of wind tugged at her hair. “You will win, and you will lose. That is all I can see.”

Voss was about to respond when a merc shouted, “Here they come,” and Voss brought the binoculars up to his eyes. From a distance, the Ronin seemed to rise and fall like waves in a sea of black. There were at least a thousand of them, many with swords waving in the air. Voss spoke without lowering the glasses. “Send the cavalry in.”

In spite of what had occurred the night before, the townies were brave. Voss had to give them that. Or were they afraid of him? Not that it mattered. Out they went, cutting into the ranks of Ronin waiting to face them, firing as they rode. The knoll was at least a mile from the melee, but Voss could hear the crackle of gunfire and see swords flashing in the sun.

The Ronin on the east side of the valley gave under the weight of the assault, a hole opened, and the townies poured in. Voss said, “No!” but it was too late. The hole closed, and the townies were surrounded and effectively cut to pieces.

The action on the west side of the gap was different. The townies rode in, slid off their horses, and began to fire from cover as teenage boys led their horses to the rear. The black-clad Ronin went down in successive waves as they rode into the hail of bullets, and Voss knew why. Hollings was in command—a man worth recruiting if he survived.

Meanwhile the rest of the Ronin, at least five hundred of them, were going straight up the middle. They looked like an army of black ants as columns of riders followed scouts through a maze of ditches and pits. Voss turned to Kovo. “Order the guns to fire.”

Kovo spoke into a microphone. A minute passed. Then a loud boom was heard, followed by another, and one more. Widely separated puffs of smoke appeared in the hills off to the west. As they passed over Voss’s head, the shells made shrieking sounds, followed by thunderous booms as they landed. Columns of dirt mixed with dimly seen bodies, and parts of bodies shot up into the air as two rounds fell in among the Ronin. The third fell short and exploded harmlessly. “Tell that gunner to correct his aim, or I will go up there and shoot him,” Voss said grimly.

Kovo spoke into the mike, but Voss couldn’t hear him as a shell rumbled overhead. It was stupid to stay on the knoll. He realized that now. A short round could kill him and the rest of the command party. But he couldn’t leave without losing face, sending the wrong signal to his troops, or both. So Voss sat tall in the saddle and did his best to look unconcerned as the shells continued to fall.