Valour and Victory (32 page)

All through the
night the Larg nibbled and probed at the lines.

No one got much
sleep.

* * * * *

Zilla

The stream of
wounded flowed into the casualty stations and hospital tents like
an unending river of pain. Zilla soon lost count of the number of
times she helped the stretcher bearers move the bleeding, moaning
men and women from the field-stretchers and on to one of the
examination gurneys.

The medical
staff were working in shifts, six bells on and four off. At the end
of each shift Zilla stumbled over to the stuffy rest tent, grabbed
something to eat and fell into the first sleep bag she found. It
was always still warm from its previous occupant.

It seemed
unrealistic to believe that the army could sustain such high
casualties for much longer. The battle was now in its third day and
the charges of the kohorts were not slowing if the numbers of
wounded were anything to go by. Day or night, it seemed to make no
difference.

Zilla had by
now stopped thinking of her patients as individuals - they had
merged into rivulets of pain-filled objects.

So many were
there that the doctors only operated on those with the best chance
of survival.

Those with
fatal wounds were carried over to a large area, dosed with ungba
and left to die. Mercifully, using this drug meant that they did
not feel any pain. It was a dangerous drug, fatal in large doses.
Zilla knew that some of the medics administering the drug were
giving some of these unfortunates too much on purpose.

The more
lightly wounded and the aftercare was left to the nurses. Even
Zilla, with only a few months training was learning how to stitch
up gashes and to set broken bones with bandage and splint.

It was as she
was sewing up the gashed and teeth pocked forearm of an unconscious
militiawoman that Zilla began to be aware of new noises coming from
the direction of the ridge.

She had got
used to the drone of battle. This was different. She paused in her
stitching and raised her head to listen.

There was a nun
working beside her in the tent, from the nursing order known as the
White Sisters. Her habit was no longer the pristine white of her
arrival and was smeared with blood and grime.

“What’s that?”
asked the nun in a quick and fearful voice.

“I don’t know,”
answered Zilla bending once more to her interrupted task.

“It sounds like
explosions of some kind,” said the panicking nun. “You don’t
suppose it is the Dglai, do you?”

“Nothing we can
do about it if it is,” answered Zilla as she tied off another
stitch.

“We should go
to the slit trenches,” said the nun.

“I’m not
leaving my patients,” replied a stubborn Zilla, smearing more smaha
ointment on the wound, looking round for clean bandages and
accepting one from the nun’s outstretched hand.

* * * * *

Niaill

Exaltation had
risen in the hearts of every Larg warrior on the battlefield. Their
allies, the Dglai, had arrived!

Their shiny
metal flying ships, the Quorko, ten of them, were belching forth
flames on top of their enemies on the ridge.

Soon their
Kohortangan would order a final charge and the massed ranks of the
kohorts would sweep up and over the ridge and the big killings
could begin.

The Larg would
be ascendant - the absolute rulers of the planet and all would bow
down before them.

Their long
awaited destiny was imminent.

Many of the
frightened soldiers on the ridge ran to the trenches, desperate to
escape from the flames of death.

Niaill and
Taraya watched as the flames drew closer.

: They’ll sear
the ridge line then move back on to the reserves! Taraya, order
everyone to crouch. When the fire moves beyond the ridge line
they’re to stand fast. The Larg will attack then :

In the forward
trenches the army waited for the flames above them to move on. The
smell of burning flesh began to permeate the air as the flames
caught those not quick or agile enough to reach the dug-outs.

Even in the
trenches a soldier was not safe. Some of the gouts of fire found
access into them too and those sheltering were burned alive,
screaming in agony.

The ten Quorko
moved behind the front lines and began to fire on the reserve and
support troops.

Those at the
ridge climbed out of their trenches and took up their
positions.

Every single
kohort began to run forward. The Kohortangan intended that this
time his warriors would break through.

: This is
the end :
‘said’ Niaill
: Danal and the others have failed
:
he looked round at what remained of his Ryzck.

The Larg were
almost upon then. Niaill could see their snarling faces, the
blood-lust in their eyes.

He sensed the
ten Quorko above them, felt the air move as they swung away from
the reserve area and flew back to take up position behind the Larg.
He saw the metal ships hovering, ready he assumed, to fly in behind
the Larg as they advanced.

Then he heard
Deby’s excited shout.

“The Lai! The
Lai are here!”

There were
golden dragons hurtling down out of the skies above the ten Quorko,
breathing a fire of their own.

* * * * *

The Guildmaster
and the Lai

Despite his
trepidation about what was before him, Annert was thoroughly
enjoying himself.

He and Haru
were but a small part of the formation of Lai who were flying above
the clouds towards the battlefield. There were over a hundred Lai
now; they had met up with another group after they had left the
reservoir. Haru told him that this was almost the entire complement
of adult Lai on the planet, only the young, the old and the mothers
sitting on eggs had remained behind.

Annert wanted
the flight to go on forever.

It was cold and
more than cold. Annert was thankful he was well wrapped up. The
fly-draft whistled at his clothing but even with all the layers we
was feeling shivery and his feet were like blocks of ice.

The only sound
he could hear was the steady beating of Haru’s wings.

He squinted
forward to where Velku was flying at the very front of the
formation - he didn’t want to miss the signal.

The clouds made
it difficult to make him out. He hoped that Chizu, Tala and the
others in the desert weren’t experiencing a similar cloud pattern
that would impede the charging of the crystal. Haru had told him
however that these clouds were local to the area and that the skies
above the desert were clear. He continued to worry, not that there
was anything he could do about it.

Word had come
that morning that the Quorko had been sighted flying towards the
ridge.

Annert breathed
deeply. The air was thinner up here and it took more effort to
breathe. It had made him feel light-headed until he had learned to
adjust his breathing to compensate.

There, there it
was, Velku was tilting his wings left as he began to circle.

That was the
signal. It was time to light the fuses on the bombas.

The battle must
be right underneath them or at least not far away.

Annert wondered
how Velku knew that now was the time but only for a heartbeat, he
and the other nineteen volunteers had a job to do.

With his teeth
he pulled off his fur-lined mittens, letting them drop. He was
wearing fingerless woollen gloves underneath.

Haru began to
glide, trying to keep his flight path as even and as steady as he
could and Annert took the tinderbox from the pouch on his belt. His
frozen fingers struggled with the catch but he managed it at last
and peered inside. Yes, it was still alight.

Now for the
next bit. Annert leant down and pulled at the hay net containing
the first bomba.

Thank goodness
these ropes are tight.

He pulled the
hay net up and set it on his lap, between his knees. The ropes were
tight and uncomfortable, they were digging into his thighs but he
had got used to them, was glad he had told Jhonas to tie them very
tight that morning. He had no fear about falling off.

He felt Haru’s
middle rumble between his legs and he knew what it meant. Haru was
preparing his metabolism to prepare flame. Once the bombas had been
dropped, Haru and the others would descend on the battlefield and
take on the Quorko with flaming breath.

The Lai flew in
a giant circle above the clouds, waiting for the second signal.

Annert sat on
Haru’s back, the bomba in his lap.

There, he saw
movement out of the corner of his eye. One of the Lai had detached
himself from the circle and was descending down into the clouds. He
thought it was young Aniku.

His task was to
find out if the Quorko had indeed arrived at the ridge.

If they were
there then the bombas would be dropped. If they were not then the
Lai intended to start hunting for them.

A long moment
passed, everyone’s eyes were fixed on the clouds through which
Aniku would re-emerge.

There, there he
was; a flash of gold and he did, his wings labouring as he strove
for altitude. He veered to the left then to the right and Annert
took at deep breath.

This was the
signal.

The Quorko were
below.

With fumbling
fingers Annert found the opening for the fuse cavity on the bomba.
It clicked open. He pulled out the fuse. He felt in his pocket and
extracted a wooden fire-spill, coated in fireoil. It would light
like a torch when applied to the tinderbox.

Cupping the
spill with one hand he applied the light-end to the tinderbox. It
lit with a flash and a flare and he made haste to apply the spill
to the bomba fuse.

The blue
coloured fuse turned red and began to burn. Annert pushed the fuse
back into the cavity and snapped the cover over, pushing down the
catch with all the firmness he could manage.

Annert began to
count.

One, two,
three.

He threw the
spill away and thumped Haru on the shoulder, pulling his knife out
of its sheath.

Four, five,
six.

Haru responded.
He veered away from the circle, much as Aniku had done and began to
dive, down into the clouds, his wings close and very fast.

The wind
whistled in Annert’s ears. He felt them pop. As they went through
the clouds the cloud-dampness soaked through him.

Ten, eleven,
twelve.

They were
through, not the first but not the last of the twenty either.

Eighteen,
nineteen, twenty.

The battlefield
below he saw as a blur, as movement only.

Twenty-six,
twenty-seven, twenty-eight.

He squinted
through streaming eyes and made out what must be one of the Quorko,
hovering over what must be the Larg kohorts.

Thirty,
thirty-one, thirty-two.

Twenty-three to
go.

Thirty-seven,
thirty-eight, thirty-nine.

They were over
the Quorko.

Forty-two,
forty-three, forty-four.

Annert cut the
rope and released the bomba from his lap.

Forty-five,
forty-six.

It dropped like
a stone, down and down.

Annert
continued to count.

Fifty,
fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four.

The explosion
was almost an anti-climax, almost but not quite.

Annert, peering
down into the fire and the smoke thought his bomba had hit the
Quorko but he could not be sure.

Haru’s wings
were working as he strained to regain altitude, to get back into
the cover of the clouds so that Annert could ready the second
bomba.

As they
climbed, Annert saw the Lai, those not carrying passengers and
bombas, emerge from the clouds and dive into the attack, trickles
of flame belching from their mouths as they manoeuvred to take on
the Quorko.

Then he and
Haru were in the clouds again and Annert realised that it was just
as wet going up as it had been going down.

* * * * *

Zilla

The flames were
white hot. Zilla and Maura cowered together under one of the beds
as the Quorko flew overhead, belching out fire from its
nose-point.

It felt as if
it was the end of the world.

“When will it
stop?” screamed Maura, her eyes screwed tight-shut and her fingers
in her ears.

Some of the
patients were calling out.

“Soon,” called
back Zilla,
we’re about to be incinerated here!

The hospital
tent smelt of burning, the acrid smell of burning canvas and the
sickly sweet smell of burning flesh. Zilla’s eyes began to
smart.

Then she felt a
searing hot blast of air and Zilla’s world erupted into
blinding-white chaos as the tent collapsed over her and Maura in a
sheet of flame.

She held her
breath until her lungs ached. Instinctively she knew that to
breathe in would mean death as her lungs filled with smoke.

How long she
lay there in the fire-blackened remains of the tent she never knew.
She realised later that it must have been a while and that she must
have passed out. When she woke she was lying on her back. She could
see the sky and the flames had gone.

“Maura,” she
said, shaking her friend. Maura did not respond to Zilla’s agitated
shaking.

“Maura?”

She reached
over to turn Maura’s head.

“No.
Noooooooo!” Zilla was screaming inside. Maura’s sightless grey eyes
were staring at the sky.

Zilla was the
only person to survive the inferno in that tent.

She scrambled
out from what remained of the twisted bed frame and trying not to
look at the charred bodies made her way towards the tent next to
where hers had been. It had only been partly damaged.