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militia HQ. "Sir."
Barton typed at his own console. "HAVE THEY
FOUND THE BUGS IN HERE?"
TWO--
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THINK THATS ALL?"
"NEGATIVE."
Aloud he said, "How long would it take to string landlines of our own between
the perimeter bunkers.
HQ. and the main interior points?"
"About a day, using all the men, sir," Mace said.
"I think we should get on that as soon as this fracas is over," Barton said.
"Sir."
Christ I'm no goddam actor. "FIND THOSE DAMN
BUGS'!!" he typed. "Meantime, collect our spare communicators, and send one to
the commander's bunkers. And the power and communications buildings."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Barton turned to the screens. The local militia had mobilized with smooth
efficiency, fanning out to their duty posts. Second-line Brotherhood personnel
were seeing the families and children to the Armory; an immensely strong
position, dug into solid rock and surrounded by pillboxes. And I don't like
this one damned bit.
200 Jerry PoumeUe 6 S M Stirling
"Get me the relief column."
Karl Olafson's face showed, looking up from the tail of a truck set up as a
command post. From somewhere outside the field of vision came an unmistakable
booooom, heavy artillery in action.
"Report, Major."
"Light resistance on the way here, sir. Mines, and snipers, a lot of mem with
Peltast rifles" which had considerable antivehicle capacity "we lost the
armored car, and the mine-clearing vehicle is dam-
aged. We had to stop and deploy several times, but we've pushed through to
within firing range of the trapped reaction force, and with them to observe
we're shooting the rebels out of their positions."
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"Are you in ground contact?"
"I think so, at least, my forward patrols are running into them. Infantry
screens."
"Resistance?"
"They're giving a stiff fight and then pulling back.
Laying mines as they go." The militia officer grimaced, and the mercenary
nodded. That was something of a
Helot trademark. "But they don't have time to set complete nets, or equipment
for air-delivered stuff."
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Odd, Barton thought. The enemy had repeatedly shown they did have some
capacity in that field. Not an unlimited one, but this was a fairly important
action-
Certainly the largest battle in the Upper Valley so far.
One of the few where the Helots had operated in battalion strength.
"And they're keeping their mortars on the reaction force position, mostly."
More understandable. Causing maximum Citizen casualties seemed to be a
strategic aim of the enemy high command, and the pinned-down force was a con-
centrated, sitting target. And I still don't like it. "All right. Major, carry
on, but keep me in the loop."
PRINCE OF SPARTA 201
"Yes, sir. I expect to break up the enemy concentration within the next few
hours, and pursue their elements as they split up and withdraw."
Barton leaned back in the chair. That ought to be that, he thought- The
screens showed orderly activity, the last of the children going down the
elevators at the armory...
His Legion console screen lit. "SERGEANT
BIELSKIS REPORTS REACTION FORCE VEHICLES
MAY BE SABOTAGED POSSIBLY BOMBS ABOARD IT
IS CONFIRMED THAT BOMBS WERE PLACED IN
MOBILE RESERVE VEHICLES "
"Jesus Christ," Barton said.
"Sir?" Olafson said.
"Major, this computers showing something odd.
Fve got a terrain plot. You see that secondary road off to your left there?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Dismount your men and go investigate it."
"Sir?"
"Now, Major. Go take a look yourself."
"General, mat will delay us "
"Major, indulge me. It won't take five minutes. I
don't quite know what this thing is trying to tell me, and I'd rather have you
go in strength. Now get mov-
ing, please. And stay on line with me."
Olafson reacted to the tone of command. "Yes, sir.
Captain, dismount the unit, please "
Dear God, let them get out of those trucks and I'll buy the biggest damned
Easter candle Bloody HeU.
That perimeter monitor's repeating, I saw those rab-
bits move exactly the same way last time I looked. His hand reached for a
button. It was 1045, exactly.
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"OK, shut it down, just leave the pumps working,"
the foreman said. "We'll pop that rockface when the alert's off."
202 Jerry PourwSe 6- S M Stirling
He had half-turned when the prybar struck him behind the ear. Then he was
staring at the wet stone of the tunnel floor; there was time for a moment of
sur-
prise before something hit the back of his head. The last sound he heard was
crumpling bone.
"Come on, we gotta get everything in place before
1050!" the man who had struck him hissed. The six men in hard hats and
overalls began taking bricks of plasticine from their carryalls. Two of them
began shoving extra loads of dynamite down the holes bored into die glistening
black stone of the stope-face.
'Tumps, transformers and the conveyor," the man continued, looking nervously
back over his shoulder at the long tunnel that lead towards the cage of the
mine's shaft-elevator.
"Won't nobody notice the body?" one of the work-
ers asked.
"No way, when we pop her they'll be boiling mud all through here." He glanced
at his watch. "Come on, we've only got five minutes!"
" ^ ^
^
"Here, you, what're you doing there?" the power-
plant supervisor asked. "This isn't your workstation."
The turbine room was quiet, except for the ever-present humming of the rotors,
but that was more felt than heard- He was the only one of the supervisory
staff here, most of the rest were in the militia...
'Hie overalled figure at the steam inlet rose and tumed-
Consdously the supervisor felt only surprise; drilled reflex made him draw his
sidearm as he saw the man pull a machine-pistol from his carryall Brotherhood
training brought it up two-handed, crack-crack-crack and the worker was
spinning away with red blotches on his clothing. Hands came around the turbine
housing behind the muzzle of another submachinegun, and the supervisor dropped
flat as 10mm bullets slapped through
PRINCE OF SPARTA 203
the air where his chest had been, whined off metaL
Jesus God, that'll blow the steam pipe! he thought, returning fire, looking at
the brick of plastic explosive.
The whole floor would be flooded with superheated water from the boreholes
that slanted down into the magma.
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More bullets, and feet were moving off on the floor somewhere.
Two of them. he thought, snapping a new magazine into the pistol and scuttling
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