Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [288]
"To watch, and report," Alice said. "That's why you're there. I can't see … "
Something was happening on the ridge far below. Men had pushed something big, it looked like a wagon, to the brow of the ridge. They shoved, and it went over, tumbling down the ridge, rolling down until it came to rest a hundred yards from the repaired bridge. It sat, did nothing for thirty seconds … and exploded. A huge cloud burst from it and was carried downwind toward the bridge, across it, through the traffic jam at the bridgehead.
And everywhere along the ridge, objects came lobbing over, falling slowly. Men pushed heavy framework forward, boxes with long arms that spewed tiny black dots in an arcing trajectory.
"Catapults!" Harvey yelled.
They were. He didn't know what powered them. Nylon cords, probably. Carthaginian women donated their hair; maybe …
The catapults didn't have much range, but they didn't need it. They threw jars that burst into yellow fog on impact. The wind carried the fog down through the valley, across the advancing enemy …
The New Brotherhood screamed in panic. They threw away weapons, ran in pain, tearing at their clothes, threw themselves into the river to be carried away by the rushing water. They fought to get across the bridge, and from the ridges rifles fired again and again, cutting the running men down as they fled. The catapults poured a continuous rain of bursting jars, renewing the deadly yellow fog.
Harvey's voice broke as he screamed into the microphone. "They're running! They're dying! Good Lord, there must be five hundred of them down out there."
"What is happening to those who didn't cross the river?" The voice was Alice Cox, but the question had to be Al Hardy.
"They're loading up the trucks."
"What about their weapons? Are they getting those out?"
Harvey scanned with the binoculars. "Yes. They hadn't brought all the mortars across … there goes one of their trucks." Harvey shuddered. The pickup, with a load of men gasping in horror, drove down the road at high speed and didn't slow when it reached the bridge. It flung a dozen off the bridge into the water and kept going, leaving behind those it had run down in its flight.
"There were two of their machine guns on that truck," Harvey reported. "Looks like they got away."
The gas didn't cover the entire valley, and some of the New Brotherhood were able to escape. Many ran screaming without weapons, but Harvey saw others pause, look for a route, and leave carrying heavy weapons. Two of the mortars were carried away before the catapults closed off that escape route. Harvey grimly reported clear areas, and watched as minutes later the gas canisters dropped into them.
"Something's happening upstream," Harvey shouted. "I can't see—"
"Don't worry about it. Is the road down from the reservation clear of gas?" Alice demanded.
"Hold on a second … Yes."
"Stand by."
Moments later trucks came down that road. They carried Tallman's Indian troops, and more ranchers. Harvey thought he recognized George Christopher in one of the trucks. They roared on in pursuit of the fleeing enemy, but were stopped at the top of the ridge beyond the road junction. Now it was the Stronghold's turn to deploy and probe, search for weak spots, clear the roads …
While behind them the valley had become an alien world. Its unusual atmosphere was yellow-tinged, deadly to men without pressure-suits. Its native life was eerie to look upon: slow-moving quadrupeds and belly-crawlers, some armed with metallic stings, growing ever more torpid until most seemed to hibernate and only a few still moved. Like snails they crawled on their bellies, leaving trails of red slime, and they moved at snail's pace downhill toward the river. River life thrashed about, incredibly active, then suddenly stopped moving, to float motionless with clumsy blunt fins wavering in the current.
When dark came, the silence was that of a dead, deserted world.
Aftermath
From the Far East—send you one single thought, one sole idea—written in red on every beachhead from Australia