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shooting from loophole windows and, from the screams outside, doing no little
damage.
"That's the way!" the Brigade Leader shouted. "They haven't taken us yet!"
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With the rations stored in its underground cellars, the hall could stand
a longer siege than any nomad tribe could afford to undertake. And
when the nomads had to withdraw . . . Grima snarled, thinking of
the revenge the
Soldiers would take.
Then fire-fighting foam gushed from forgotten ceiling fixtures unused since
Angband Base was built.
The stuff was choking to breathe; worse, when it got in a trooper's eyes, it
burned like fire and left him blind for ... Grima did not know for how
long. Long enough. As the shooting from the barracks slackened, the
plainsmen, still yelling like their imaginary demons, swarmed into the hall.
What happened next was butchery. It was not all one-sided; even blind,
Soldiers could despatch whatever foes came within their reach. But few of
the nomads were so unwise. They spent ammunition with such prodigality that
Grima wondered whether they would have enough left to hold Angband Base if
they took it.
That, however, was not his problem. Getting the traitor out of Command Central
was. He could still see out of one eye, after a fashion - and, somewhere back
in his quarters, he had a key to a secret entrance to the Base's ultimate
strongpoint. (Badri was wrong. In military paranoia if nowhere else, the
Soldiers let imagination run free.) He might yet turn the battle against the
invaders.
He ran through the corridors, dodging blinded Soldiers and shouting his name
over and over so they would not shoot at what they could not see.
Women's screams mingled with warriors'. Some fought side by side with the
Soldiers. Others struck at their one-time partners with anything they had.
Grima saw one stab a trooper in the back with a pair of scissors. The Brigade
Leader broke her neck and ran on.
Badri was not in his cubicle. He did not know whether to be glad - he might
have had to kill her too.
After frantic rummaging through desk drawers, he snatched the key he needed,
then ran for all he was worth toward Command Central.
Silent as a stalking cliff lion, Juchi chased the naked Sauron through the
chaos of Angband Base's death throes. He could have shot him more than once,
but the officer - he'd heard and seen the fellow giving orders - looked to
have some definite purpose in mind. That, Juchi thought, might be
worth learning.
So he waited until the Sauron bent to turn a key and swing open a tiny hidden
door before he fired a burst from around a corner. He heard the meaty chunnk
of bullets smacking flesh, peered cautiously to see what he had done.
The Sauron was down but not quite out - he snapped a shot that craacked past
Juchi closer than he ever wanted to think about. Juchi returned fire, emptying
the assault rifle's magazine. Not even Sauron flesh withstood that second
burst. When Juchi looked again, he saw the naked Soldier sprawled in death.
Pausing only to click in a fresh clip (his last, he noted, and reminded
himself to make sure someone salvaged the good brass cartridges he'd used), he
stepped through the door the Sauron had opened. At the end of a narrow,
winding corridor was another door. He opened it.
When Badri saw a piece of the wall of her little fortress within a fortress
begin to open inward, she knew she was dead. So unfair, she thought, so
unfair. But then, maybe not. She had had her vengeance on Angband Base;
perhaps it was only right that the base have vengeance on her.
She stood, straightened, awaited her fate with a strange calm. Here inside
Command Central, she had no weapon. For that matter, how much good was a
weapon likely to do against a battle-ready Soldier?
She was sure only a Sauron could have sniffed out the hidden way, about
which not even she had known.
Thus she gasped when the door revealed instead a nomad warrior, shaggy
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in fur cap, sheepskin jacket and boots, heavy wool trousers, and a young
man's brown beard sprouting from cheeks and chin.
He swung his rifle toward her, abruptly checked the motion. She realized her
robe had fallen open.
She made no move to pull it shut. Let the plainsman see all he wanted, if that
kept her alive.
He said something in his own language. She shook her head. He tried again,
this time in stumbling
Russki: "Who - you?"
Russki she could follow; most people inTallinnTownused it, though the Saurons
spoke - had spoken, she thought dizzily - Americ among themselves. She gave
her name, waved around. "This is Command
Central. This is where I fight for you."
His grin was enormous, and looked even more so because of the way his teeth
stood out against his unshaven face. "Badri?" he shouted. "You Badri? I
Juchi, warleader Dede Korkut's clan. We have
Angband Base, Badri. We win! Between you, fighters of clan, we win!" He threw
his arms wide.
She sprang forward to hug him. Even the prod of the assault rifle in the small
of her back as Juchi's embrace enfolded her was only a brief annoyance. He
smelled of stale sweat and smokeless powder.
Badri did not care, not now, not in the savage rush, stronger than vodka, of a
victory she had never expected to win.
He tilted her chin up. His face felt strange against hers; she had never
kissed a bearded man before.
Triumph burned as hot in her as in him. The kiss went on and on.
She felt her loins turn liquid. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]