The story has grown into a three-parter as I was writing it. I'll be back to work on the third installment in a while. -------------------------------------------------

There's a line that blurs from youth into old age. A person reaches a point where they can look back and remember how stupid, insane, and just plain lucky they were in their younger days. They may still be capable of doing the things they did back then, indeed they may be far more capable than they were then, given the experience they've acquired since. But with the experience comes the experience, and the earnest and entirely logical desire never to revisit some of the dark alleys of one's life. Cafferty was feeling all at once like he was eight years younger and forty years older as he watched the video feed. They didn't have audio, so the whooping and savage bellowing that seemed to be issuing from the Reavers as they disembarked from their grounded vessel was absent from the raucous scene on the monitor. Every grotesque story he'd ever heard about them was coming to life right on the screen. They looked like what they were, insane savages, multilated, tattooed and pierced. Savages with modern weapons, though, and as Miloslaw had said, possessed of a dangerous cunning. The imaged shifted a bit as Kellerman adjusted the angle of the camera. The Alliance couldn't provide support, not until they were certain. They had, however, provided a few items, including enough comm units to go around to the various commanders, a full medical kit for his usage, and a few other handy items. They'd even scrounged up a brand-new integrated-sniping system for Jian-Ku, and like any proper soldier she'd bitched about how it was different than the one she'd used during the war, casting her doubts upon the reliability of the 'new' equipment. The question nobody seemed able to answer was what it was doing laying around an administrative post with no assigned snipers to begin with, but that was the military for you. Probably had a deathly need for one somewhere else that was going unfilled. Cafferty cared not one whit for what some hypothetical others were in vital need of at the moment. He could see what Miloslaw had been talking about earlier. While it might look like some raging lunacy going on down there (and it was) the Reavers had also enough organization to secure their perimeter when they came out, and they were definitely moving with purpose in unloading their gear and preparing for war. Then his jaw dropped when one of the contraptions they'd pulled out suddenly jumped into the air. Beside him, Matthews swore. "That damn thing's flyin'!" he said, looking accusingly at Miloslaw. "They've got more of those things, and they can fly! You didn't say nothin' about them bein' able to fly!" Miloslaw looked unfazed. It was part of the art of command to appear in total control even when a person's every instinct was screaming for them to go hide in some deep dark hole. Cafferty had gotten that line from more than one officer who'd used the unit medic for a confessional. Miloslaw put on a damn good show of being entirely unconcerned-yet-focused. "They flew in here in the first place, didn't they? I didn't tell you about these because we didn't know about them," He turned to Beth Sayers, who had served as a comm-tech for the Browncoats during the war and had been drafted to serve the same role for the Militia. "Give me all command channels." The feed had been going out to the various commanders, most or all of whom were probably just as pleased about the prospect of facing flying Reavers as Matthews was. "This is Town One," Miloslaw said, unruffled confidence projecting from his words as he used the simple identifiers they'd worked out to avoid confusion. "What you are seeing are called 'autogyros.' Scope One, take one out of our airspace, then reposition. Out." There was a momentary pause, then the first minaturized helicopter that took off suddenly began to spin crazily, spiraling into the ground and disintegrating. It shattered, pieces cartwheeling off of it and snapping through the air. Cafferty couldn't tell from the image if any of them found Reaver flesh to lodge in. The screen went dark as Jian-Ku and Kellerman started relocating themselves. "Town One to all commands. When they go high, that just means we can all get a clear shot at them." He spoke to the comm, but he was looking at Matthews. The man gathered himself and nodded. Miloslaw nodded for Beth to cut the channel, then looked back to Matthews and Cafferty. "You two need to get into position with the cavalry." Cafferty scrambled to his feet, grabbing his pack. First blood was well and fine, but he had the unpleasant dread that this town was going to need more of his services than he would be able to provide by the time the day was done. The only good thing to say about that was that it would mean that they'd won. In the Alliance military, it would have been known as a 'reaction force', available to shore up the line as needed or exploit breakthroughs when the opportunity arose. Here, of course, it was the cavalry. A motley assortment of personnel vehicles drafted into service and for the rest of them horses. Horses, for god's sake, centuries gone from Earth-That-Was and people were once again going to use them as a mobility multiplier. Their job was the most demanding one in former Pathfinder's defensive plan. In Miloslaw's words, they were staying 'light on their feet' by being available to flow into position wherever the Reavers struck. Given the massive mobility advantage the Reavers had with their buggies, that could easily mean the cavalry was going to have to shift position multiple times over the course of the battle. Miloslaw had diplomatically said that their advantage lay in 'being able to flow along the interior lines, matched with superior local knowledge.' That struck Cafferty as a pretty damn thin reed, but hell, it wasn't like there was anywhere to run away to anyway. Reavers were known to squat for days on settlement's they'd taken, making good and sure to get their use of the land and the people they'd taken. Matthews sat next to him, studying the renewed video coverage of the Reavers assembly. Loss of their first autogyro hadn't deterred them in the least, as they continued assembling themselves into foot and buggy units. "Seems to be a color pattern 'midst all that lunacy," Matthews said, indicating colored rags tied on the arms of the of mad warriors. "Can't rightly tell from this feed, 'cause the color is for shit, but they're definitely drawing themselves up into warbands. Your boy was right again." Being an outsider, Miloslaw was automatically part of a group that Cafferty belonged to and differentiated from the locals. Cafferty's whole reason for being there was because Miloslaw wanted an Alliance presence with the cavalry. Matthews didn't like having a minder any more the Cafferty liked doing the job. But war never was about what anybody liked or wanted anyway. Cafferty had a sense that Miloslaw would have preferred to command the cavalry personally, but delegation, especially to a local, was a smart political move. Miloslaw was going to rove independently, on a horse of his own and with Beth along to provide communications service. Nobody who had any idea of what that entailed could question either one's courage. The Reavers had begun dispersing themselves, escaping the coverage over the sniper team's video range. Cafferty silently implored his friends to be careful out there. They'd all come far too far to get lost in what was supposed to be peacetime. Cafferty had almost forgotten about the waiting. The cavalrymen fidgeted restlessly, checking their weapons and muttering quietly to each other. The Reavers were dancing and darting about the prairie, never committing to strike from any particular direction. They were wheeling about the town, undoubtedly aware of the dread they were inspiring as they feinted to and fro, occasionally coming close enough to exchange a smattering of long-range fire with the defensive positions. Moods rose whenever a report came in of a Reaver going down, but those long-range Alliance weapons some of the Reavers carried were devilishly accurate and took their own toll. Night had fallen and they'd killed maybe half a dozen of the attackers, with four dead and several wounded of their own. Cafferty ached to get out there and do what he could for the wounded men, but he had to stay by his post. He could tell Matthews wanted to counterattack, take the initiative and drive the Reavers off the planet, but they simply didn't have the manpower, firepower, or mobility to come to grips with the invaders in the open field. The ex-Browncoat settled for moving among his militia command, working to keep morale up before the coming storm. "Perimeter Seven, Town One," Miloslaw came across the channel. "Estimate six-zero hostiles moving on your position, with fifteen, one-five buggies in escort. Hold the line. Cavalry one, prepare to reinforce. Over and out." The Reaver buggies were two-man all-terrain vehicles, with big generous tires to carry them over all but the roughest ground. They were armed with a motley collection of weapons from old machineguns to modern Alliance pulsers, and they were fast enough to virtually fly over the battlefield. "Warm 'em up, people!" Matthews bellowed to the cavalry. If he didn't know damn well what was coming, Cafferty would have been almost happy for a chance to do something. He checked the straps of his pack as Matthews dropped down into his seat. "Cavalry One, Town One. Move Group Three into the indicated position and tell them to hold," A red dot pulsed on the map, located to the rear of the group holding Perimeter Seven. Matthews looked frustrated that they were only sending out one third of the cavalry, and specifically not him. "Ellerby!" he yelled. "Up to the mill and hold position until you're told to move!" Group commanders were working without the full-fledged video/audio comm units that the top brass had, relying instead on voice links only. Matthews preferred the much more direct approach of bellowing his orders out. They could hear the furious sounds of weapon fire rising coming up from the south, ranging from single-shot rifles to the distinctive searing sound of pulsers. Ellerby's people were off and moving down to reinforce. Cafferty wiped his palms on his trousers as Matthews fired up a cigar. "Damn it all, I hate sittin' here. Sounds like it's getting mighty hot down there." the militia commander commented. "Can you get this thing to get a feed pictures off of their comm over yonder?" Cafferty could, but Miloslaw had specifically told him not to unless he deemed the situation required it, such as the event of Miloslaw being out of action for whatever reason. "Maybe," he said noncommittally, and picked up the comm to play with it and pretend like he was actually trying to get it onto the right channel. "Matthews! Town One! This is Ellerby! Group Three, gorramit! The Reavers are in the perimeter! Moving up to help 'em out!" "Negative on that, Group Three. Hold your position." "Our people are getting slaughtered in there, damn you!" "Hold your position. Support is inbound." "What?" Suddenly, a very familiar and disturbing sound went 'chumph chumph chumph chumph' from the town itself. It sent chills down Cafferty's spine. Nobody who'd ever faced a battery of Browncoat Sweet '62s ever forgot that particular sound, if they lived to tell the story. The Sweet '62 was simply one of the best tactical support weapons ever invented, and was directly responsible for a lot of the early successes by the Independent Worlds troops. Autoloading from four-round magazines, any half-trained crew could put out around a hundred rounds a minute from the damn things, if they didn't care about melting the barrel. The shells could be set to home in on RF or laser guidance, or simply fired 'dumb' as needed. One of the favorite tricks the Browncoats liked to pull consisted of dropping a transmitter in an area, then leaving behind somebody to eyeball incoming patrols and units, activating the transmitter when they figured it would do the worst damage and raining in a hail of fire. The only shortcomings it had were its tremendous ammo consumption and relatively short range. Cafferty had heard that the Alliance had finally fielded a working copy, naturally passing it out to combat units a year after the war was over. They had a very limited supply of ammo for the mortar, and it stopped almost as quickly as it started. Maybe sixteen, twenty rounds fired off, and that would leave them less than a hundred now. Cafferty wasn't sorry to hear it stop, even if it was on his own side now. The very sound made him want to find some serious cover. "Miloslaw, you're dropping rounds on our own line! You're killing our people!" shouted Ellerby, a strained, hysterical sound to his voice. Cafferty looked at the comm in his hand as it came to him that Miloslaw had done exactly what he was planning to do. He had homed the damn rounds in on the comm at the fortification once the Reavers were in among them. Miloslaw came on the line, confirming his thoughts. "Group 3, attack now." "GORRAM YOU!" Ellerby screamed. After a few moments, nothing else came across the line, so Cafferty figured he was following his orders. "That cold-blooded, no-good, low-down piece of shit." Matthews growled. He'd figured it out too. "He better sleep with his eyes open if he plans on staying around here after this is done." "That's after," Cafferty said coldly. "We've got the now to deal with." "I don't suppose it bothers you none, us mudgrubbers gettin' killed like that," Matthews snarled, turning to face him. Cafferty felt the familiar fight-or-flight response triggering, and time slowed down as he swiveled toward Matthews. In a voice that didn't sound like his own, coming as it did from a thousand miles away, he fired back. "You've got a unit to command, we have a town to save. We do what we have to do. Shut up and soldier." Matthews paled, but Cafferty was beyond caring. If he had to, he'd shoot the man himself and take over. This was war to the knife, and if Matthews didn't understand that, then he didn't belong in command. There was only so much a man could take, and Matthews was clearly on the edge of breaking. It wasn't cowardice, not by any stretch. Matthews just had more human in him than Miloslaw did. More human in him than Cafferty did, most likely. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"This... this is Chris Allen. Uh, Group Three, what's left of it. Ellerby's dead, shit, we're humped here. But they're bugged out." "Moving people in to fill the line right now, Allen. You're in command now. That was only a probe, people. They'll be coming for real soon enough."

TO BE CONTINUED