The Last Ring-bearer - Kirill Yeskov [177]
Imagine, they did figure out how to turn those stupid 'flying drops' into real weapons. That the drops' accuracy would improve dramatically if they were made to spin in flight like an arrow was fairly obvious, but how do you make the damn jar spin along its axis? They have tried attaching spiral wings to it after the manner of arrow fletching – total failure. Then someone recalled the 'ring of fire' – a kind of fireworks they had in Barad-Dur – a light ring on an axis spun by powder-filled cylinders attached to it tangentially. So they married this toy to the 'drop' by drilling several channels sideways through the sides of the jar's mouth where the flame exits, and the flying jar spun like a charm.
It is the description of this particular invention that Wolverine is now carrying in his backpack on his escape through Mirkwood. Well, he's an old hand at this, the forest is home to him, he should make it. Once he finds the boat with a stock of food hidden in the reeds, he can make his getaway good. It's a long way to Minas Tirith and he will only be able to sail at night, but it'd make no sense to hurry at this point. So even if their group doesn't make it, His Majesty will acquire a fabulous new weapon!
A lookout interrupted his musings: "Lieutenant, sir! There's a rider up ahead, going at full speed!"
When the lieutenant recognized the man who had dismounted near the head of the group, he did not believe his eyes at first and then broke into a decidedly non-regulation grin: the Old Man brought help all by himself, rather than trusting somebody else – a real father to the troops!
"Hail, Captain!"
"At ease, Lieutenant," Cheetah saluted curtly. His grey cloak (maybe one of those they wore at the Field of Pelennor?) and the exhausted horse were all splattered with road mud. "Make a defensive perimeter – the Elves will be here in a quarter of an hour."
"How many?"
"About two hundred. They've crossed over into the northern Brown Lands the day before yesterday, took the highway and are now coming to meet you."
"I see," Grizzly mumbled, remembering with a sudden clarity his moment of relaxation ten minutes ago: did we really make it? Should've knocked on wood – my dumb head, for example.
"Captain, you see how many men I have… we can't hold out until the main force arrives."
"What main force, Lieutenant? There is no main force."
"But you…" was all Grizzly could say.
"I'm here, as you can see." The captain shrugged, the gesture momentarily making him look absolutely civilian.
"So we were simply sold out?"
"Now, now, Lieutenant – sold out?" Cheetah drawled mockingly. "Not 'sold out,' but 'sacrificed in the name of the Highest State Interests.' You know, the way you did with the defenders of Dol Guldur – sacrifice the few for the many, right? Long story short – Minas Tirith has decided that now is not the time to meet the Elves 'point against point,' so all our forces and their support structures have pulled back from the highway. Dol Guldur? What Dol Guldur? No idea what you're talking about."
"As I understand it, Captain, you didn't like that decision at all, sir?"
"I'm here, as you can see," the chief of Task Force Féanor repeated deliberately. "Our Service doesn't allow the luxury of a resignation…"
"Elves!!" came a cry from up ahead, full of not even fear, but a hopeless despondency.
"No panic!" roared Cheetah; leaping into the saddle, he stood in the stirrups and, raising a narrow Elvish sword (yes, the very one from the Field of Pelennor!) to the solidly overcast sky, ordered: "Square formation, Lieutenant! Horsemen to the right!"
Perhaps he added something else, appropriately historic, like the "Donkeys and scientists to the middle!" that was sounded over the dunes of a neighboring World under similar circumstances. But be that as it may, those words did not make it into the history textbooks of Middle Earth: the approaching Elvish line was too far to hear, and none of those now taking up defense next