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  So he drove the tractor in cautiously, dropped the blade-with some skill by now-and started cranking the wheel over.

  "No," said Ginny. "The other way-if you want to reverse."

  He kept turning his way. "That doesn't make sense."

  "It does mathematically. Please, Chip."

  He shrugged, and tried it her way. "Holy Mackerel! So that's how it works! Why didn't you tell me before?" They were around! He pushed the throttle out a bit fast for the last bit, before they could drive back down. And the trailer jackknifed in earnest. Shaft-snapping earnest.

  Fortunately, the drive shaft snapped at the link. If it had snapped at the pump it would have killed the Korozhet. The piece of ricocheting steel just touched across Ginny's high forehead. Even a quarter-inch closer and she'd have been dead. A sudden line of red appeared, and then beaded with blood.

  Chip stared at her in open-mouthed horror. "Oh, shit! Are you all right! I didn't mean…"

  "I'm fine," she said faintly. "Just drive." This time, when she put an arm around him, he did not pull away.

  Eric Flint

  Rats, Bats amp; Vats

  Chapter 32:

  Orders.

  WHEN CONRAD AND Ariel checked in to the headquarters-parking-precinct, Corporal Simms was waiting for them. Hopping with impatience.

  "You'd better get home, Johnny. Be sure you sign out." Fitz spoke before the car had even fully stopped. This was a good man. No point in dragging him down into what was going to be a hell of a mess.

  Simms simply ignored the comment. "I've got the G23-A signed and waiting. I've got current troop deployments up on screen for you. I think the division at Cressy could be mobilized within the hour. The only problem is that Brigadier Charlesworth is in charge of it. Still, they're the nearest. I took the liberty of going ahead and organizing transport vehicles. They've got farther to go. The dispatch riders have gone with that one, and I've got three others on standby."

  For a moment Fitz could only stare at him. Swallow. How the hell? "Johnny, you go and get yourself signed out of that gate, now. PDQ! You've a wife, and a kid on the way, you fool. I want you out of this."

  The corporal twitched a grin. There was no humor in it. "Let's get to the office, sir. There are lots of other men with wives and families. Sometimes, a man just does what he has to do."

  They hurried down the passage. "How the hell did you know what I was going to do… and where the hell did you get redeployment orders?"

  "Yeah. Well done, Johnny," said Ariel. "Saved us some trouble."

  Simms sighed. "I'm a Vat, Major. I don't have delusions about Shareholders. I knew Carrot-up wouldn't do a thing, even if he believed you. The Kreutzler family has the main artillery-shell contract. Not in the family interest to do anything to disturb cost-plus. I know you. I knew what you'd decide to do."

  Fitz stopped, removed his cap, and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm a Shareholder too, Johnny."

  The corporal grinned. "Nossir. You are a lunatic."

  Ariel laughed. " 'Tis true. Hey Johnny, I wish you could have seen Daisy horse riding. Tell him, Fitz."

  But the major was still intent on the subject in hand. "And the G23-A's? Redeployment orders live locked up in the general's safe."

  "Yessir," said Simms. "They are well locked up. They're still well locked up. But only after Daisy orders the forms from central stationary stores. I walked into there and helped myself… about a month ago."

  Once more Fitz found himself without a word to say.

  "That's just how the army works, sir," said the corporal, obviously by way of further explanation.

  Fitz had to admit that there was quite a lot of truth in this. "We're going to get court-martialed, you know."

  "Yes, sir. That's unfortunate, sir."

  ***

  Fitz made notes off the screen as Corporal Simms filled in the troop redeployment forms in a neat, precise hand… totally unlike General Cartup-Kreutzler's sprawling signature. "No word in from the satellite guy?" he asked.

  The corporal looked up briefly from his meticulous detailing. "Nothing, I'm afraid, sir."

  "Shit. They've bought it. Well, if we move fast maybe we can still salvage something from the price they've paid."

  "If that idiot colonel has got his troops into position in the Magh's lines… and if they can hold until these troops get through," muttered Simms.

  The phone rang. The corporal picked it up and answered in his best Shareholder drawl. His written counterfeiting was much better. "General Cartup-Kreutzler's office. Liaison Officer Simmons… Excellent! No. I'm afraid the general's unavailable right now. Yes, sir. I'll pass that on, sir. Yes, he is a genius, sir."

  With huge smile, he turned to Fitz. "They've just pushed forward into the Magh' earthworks on sector Delta 355. They're totally unoccupied. He hopes the backup he's requested gets there soon. He says the general is a genius."

  "And here is the A. 33-1," said the returning rat. "Do you know how many stupid forms there are in that rat's-nest of an office? It's a disgrace! And what a mess they're in! The only reason that Daisy keeps her job is…"

  Fitz grinned affectionately at her. Of course, most people would have found it a frightening experience. "Ariel, there is a box of chocolate cointreau straws in my top drawer! You are a rat past price. A darling."

  "I love you too," said Ariel. "Even when I don't get my favorite form of chocolate for giving you the pleasure of shafting Brigadier Charlesworth."

  Fitz looked at the forms. "Forget the dispatch rider, Johnny. I'm going to take these myself."

  "Yesss!" Ariel cheered.

  Corporal Simms looked worried. "What about the satellite stuff?"

  Fitz pulled a face and spoke quietly. "They're dead, Corporal. They went damn well. All that is left now is to see that their effort isn't wasted. I'm going to see that that happens."

  The phone rang again. Simms answered as previously… and then: "Henry! Sorry, didn't realize it was you. Yes, he's here."

  Corporal Simms smiled beatifically, and held out the phone. "You're fucking well wrong, sir," he informed his commanding officer with glee.

  Fitz reached for the phone. "Then I have some more organizing to do. But I'm still going."

  Eric Flint

  Rats, Bats amp; Vats

  Chapter 33:

  Onwards and inwards.

  "NEXT TIME YOU want to use glue, for the holy Mary's sake don't use it when we're going to double back. It was a foine idea, but messy." "Preparing" Molotovs was making O'Niel positively loquacious. But the bits of sticky Maggot flying off the wheels were obviously upsetting him.

  Melene fastidiously wiped her fur. "Yes. My pelt doesn't look fit to be seen dead in."

  The tractor started pushing its way back into the adobe debris. Chip shook himself. "Good thing they'll probably skin us when they catch us then, huh? Come on. All off! You lot clear some of this stuff."

  "Methinks you can get off and clear stuff," said Nym. "I'll drive."

  "Oh, come on!" said Chip impatiently.

  "No. It makes good sense," said Bronstein. "You humans are bigger. Besides, I have heard that those who spend all their time sitting behind tables become constipated. We must do our bit for your digestion. Get to it."

  "Huh?"

  Ginny started to giggle. "Chip, you said `desk jockeys are full of shit.' Soft-cyber translation can be a bit literal. Come on. In first gear, the tractor won't run away from you. And Bronstein's right."

  Chip sighed. "I suppose we are bigger."

  At least four voices said, "No, we mean you're full of shit."

  Chip hopped down, and started hauling adobe pieces. "It's just bits of sticky Maggot, honest."

  ***

  The push through the area they'd blasted earlier had taken longer than Chip had anticipated. Maybe Doc was right and this was a very sophisticated trap. All he knew was it had taken a hot sweaty twenty minutes to dig their way out. And they were not more than a minute late, at that. Ten minu
tes earlier and they'd have had a clear run. As it was the Maggots were at least either ahead or behind. But not very far behind. It was obvious that Papa-Maggot was calling all his children home. Or maybe, by the way they were running, Mama-Maggot. All the children, back to the middle of the hive.

  That was about all that had saved them. There were just so many Magh' that the warrior types couldn't get through. Tractors, while wonderful vehicles in many ways, were not known for rapid acceleration. And there were just too many Maggots to fight off. But they got in each other's way. Then Ginny had the bright idea of playing "roll-the-barrel" with a half-empty twenty-five-liter diesel drum. It was a great knock-on game.

  Thus the few scorps who reached the tractor were possible to fend off as the tractor gathered speed. The creatures were determined, though. Fire used to cause pandemonium. Molotovs still fried them, of course, but it was just bug-popping now-noisier and more splattery than popcorn. They came on, as if driven. Barbed wire was simply trodden down, along with the unfortunate Maggots entangled in it.

  Eamon looked regretfully back. "Indade, a pity we can't mist-and-burn this bedamned passage. Stop them catching up on us, now that they know where we are."

  O'Niel dropped wire-loop Maggot caltrops. "Aye. If they do catch up we'll be the mayit in the sandwich."

  "Methinks I've never tried it in a sandwich," said Doll, with a bit of regret.

  "Open the tap on the trailer. The stuff will burn anyway, even if it isn't misted," said Chip.

  Bronstein nodded. "True. Let's set a few more expedient mines, eh Chip?"

  Chip shook his head. "I don't think we can stop. We'll have to drop the stuff, and you'll have to fly to catch up."

  "Okay. We'll do just that. You-Fluff! Open the tap." The galago looked at Bronstein and went off to comply. A minute later, a sack of fertilizer and a drum of diesel narrowly missed the tiny hidalgo's delicate ears. He ducked-getting splashed by the brandy river-while avoiding a bundle of hinged cartridge planks.

  "Fluff, I do like the aftershave," said Melene, when he reappeared. "But Bronstein said, `please close it now.' "

  The galago shook his head, mournfully. "My best, she is done. Already I have tried with great effort. The tap, she leaks."

  ***

  Ginny clung with one hand to the ropes of the wildly swaying trailer. Her feet were carefully tangled in the cargo netting that she and Chip had tied there… several lifetimes ago. The abrasive, bumpy Maggot-tunnel floor blurred past as she struggled to close the tap. The alcohol must have gotten to the seals… hardly surprising, really. It was close to rocket fuel, as she well remembered. A thin stream of seventy-four percent trailed behind them, despite her best efforts with the recalcitrant tap. If she fell now she'd be dragged to hamburger meat.

  She managed to pull herself up. "It will not be stopped!"

  "Oh…"

  Bats came hurtling in, and of course the explosion followed.

  Then the hot wind came rushing along the tunnel… the alcohol wasn't rapidly going woof as it had when atomized. Instead it was burning steadily. Looking back on their curving trail she saw that even if the Maggots weren't catching them… the flames were. A little firetrail was leaping and hopping down the path laid by the leaking tap.

  "Flames are catching up with us!" yelled Nym.

  Chip risked a glance backwards, nearly sending the tractor into the wall. "Stop the alcohol!" he shouted. "If those flames catch up with the trailer, it'll blow us to shit!"

  Ginny resolutely stuck both feet into the cargo net again, and lowered herself over. Facing out, back the way they'd come. Then she let go with her first hand, and then the second. The ends of her long hair swept through the dust as she cupped both hands under the tap. She knew that all she had to do was to break that alcohol line, but hanging by her heels, seeing the flames leap closer, was terrifying. The trailer bounced and the libation in her cupped hands spilled. A small stick-up knob of Magh' adobe plucked violently at her hair. Her legs and feet screamed with the effort.

  And then a huge force plucked her upright. Hauled her onto the top of the trailer. All he'd been able to reach was the front of her blouse, which would never be the same again.

  "Are you fucking crazy?" Chip shouted into her face. "You could have killed yourself! You silly little idiot!" Then he dived forward to help Pistol, who was attempting to restrain Nym's driving efforts.

  Well! Apparently he did care…

  Bronstein flung herself into flight. "Come on, Siobhan. Let us see if we can get ahead of these speeding lunatics. See what joys lie in store for us."

  Ginny peered at the GPS figures. Less than a half a mile to go! She looked at her spiky-haired, stubble-faced love, his face dirty and sweat streaked, his gaze intent on the tunnel-road.

  He wasn't very tall, she had to admit, and his torn-sleeved shirt showed arms that were more sinew and scar tissue than beautifully sculpted muscle. Well, he might not be the cover picture from her favorite romance. Actually the thought of him in elegant Regency knee-smalls and a swallow-tailed coat… was enough to provide her with a welcome snort of laughter. She'd never again be able to imagine a romantic figure in quite the same way.

  He glanced at her and she smiled. And he smiled back.

  ***

  She was looking at him. He could feel it, and it made him feel guilty. He had had no call to shout at her like that. It had just come out. She really was a good kid for a Shareholder. In fact it was hard to believe that she was a Shareholder. More like a mixture between a crazy bat, and a pragmatic rat. With twice her share of plain old-fashioned guts. Pretty too. Yeah, okay. A bit skinny. And she'd torn a bit much off that blouse and skirt for a man's imagination. But she had the kind of face that grew on you… even those glasses. That cascade of thick dusty gold hair tied up with that ridiculous bandana. Shit. Just when you got to like someone-they were bound to die. Hell, they were all bound to die, and damn soon too. The barriers between Vat and Shareholder seemed very irrelevant right now. In the midst of this lot, the boundaries between bat, rats and humans seemed virtually imaginary. The only thing he couldn't identify with was that Korozhet. At least the alien had kept its mouth shut, although someone had said the damn things spoke through their asses anyway. Its voice wasn't very loud. Maybe it couldn't make itself heard above the tractor.

  He looked at Ginny. And she smiled at him, that trusting, generous smile of hers. He found that his answering smile came very easily. He also found himself bitterly regretting some missed opportunities…

  "Why don't you come and stand over here?" he said, looking at her uncomfortable position.

  "I need something to hold onto."

  "You could hold onto me."

  The Korozhet addressed her repeatedly in the next little while and she didn't even notice. Chip, of course, had no trouble ignoring its demands to be set down.

  ***

  Idylls never last.

  Siobhan called from ahead. "Bronstein says next left. Maggots are coming."

  They turned in. Blew the entrance down. It was a good strategy. Except…

  Eamon and Siobhan came fluttering back frantically. "The back end of the tunnel is solid Maggots. It's a trap!"

  Chip swung the wheel hard over. It was simply an instinctive act because the tunnel was far too narrow for them to turn. The blade gouged into the wall before the tractor stalled. Fal had fallen off in the crash. He stood up swearing. "You whoreson mother-shogging baconfaced…!"

  And then he stopped. Darted forward through a hole. He stuck his head back. "You're driving's not worth a gooseberry, Connolly. But you found us a way out, if we can get through the wall."

  Bronstein took charge. "Expedient mines. Diesel. Ginny, get down with that chainsaw. Chip, you'll have to hammer a few more shot holes.

  "Let me out," demanded the Crotchet.

  Chip thought Bronstein gave this more consideration than it deserved. She paused her work for a moment. Then she spoke decisively. "No. We don't have time. And we certa
inly don't have time to get you back up again. You'll be safer there."

  "Move it up, Bronstein," said Chip impatiently. "Tell me where you want the next shot holes. You can chat to Smelly later, if we're alive." Chip noticed how the Crotchet flexed and pointed spines at him, but then he was too busy working to watch any further.

  Down the tunnel came the sharp crack and boom of the first expedient mines. "Behind the tractor, everybody!" shouted Bronstein. "I've used small charges."

  She was a master of demolitions. The gap would take the tractor. Eamon came fluttering up, rats running in his wake. "Let us begone. I've set the timer for forty seconds on the big one further back. We'll have the lead Maggots here in less than that!"

  Chip scrambled up. Started the tractor. And it was good and stuck. "I'm going to have to move the trailer." He jumped down and started trying to drag it by main force.

  "Bounce it!" shouted somebody. He heard the snarl of the chainsaw. As he bounced the trailer an inch, he saw Ginny cut into a big scorp. And then take on a second one. And rev the chainsaw one second too early. The blade hit the slowshield. About ninety percent of the chainsaw blade was inside the shield. The chain, totally stopped at twenty-two thousand rpm, snapped in half. The section inside the Maggot's slowshield played ricochet blender with the Maggot. The piece outside whizzed into the fibreglass of the trailer. Chip suddenly found he had the strength to lift and bounce that trailer a good eight inches.

  "Drop it, Ginny, we can go now. RUN everybody!"

  Head down, he drove the tractor through the gap… behind them another forty pounds of fertilizer blew. This wasn't an entryway, so it didn't fall to seal, but it certainly restricted access.

  "Barbed wire!" Bronstein shouted.

  "And a can of diesel and a Molotov!" yelled Eamon.

  Chip had his first proper look at the place they'd broken into. It was a shock to realize that even parts of Maggotdom could be beautiful.

  The whole place was one enormous alien hothouse. Or, by the looks of it, alien fungus-cellar. The basic color of the tunnels was mud, doubtless in many attractive Maggot-pleasing shades. Here the basic color was… bright. The tangle of spindly-stemmed nodding-capped plants came in every shade from pale chartreuse to deepest burgundy. And the air was sharp with a ferment of strange bouquets, some edging on the not-nice side of cumin-spicy, others lush with overripe esters.