Des Grieux threw the charging lever to refill the ready magazine. Just as well if he didn't use the main gun until the bore was relined; but the status report gave it ten percent of its original thickness, a safe enough margin for a few bolts, and you did what you had to do . . . .
"Yeah," he said aloud. "Get us somewhere outa the way. In the morning we'll rejoin. Somebody."
Kuykendall adjusted the fans so that they bit into the air instead of slicing through it with minimum disruption. She'd kept the power up while
The smoke-shrouded ruin of Hill 661 was unlikely to spawn emergencies, but in the four hours remaining till dawn some Rep officer might muster a tank-killer team.No point in making trouble for yourself.There were hundreds of kilometers of arid scrub which would hide
And there were no longer any targets around
Kuykendall elected to slide directly over the edge of the mesa instead of returning to the logistics route by which they had attacked. The immediate slope was severe, almost 1:3, but there were no dangerous obstacles and the terrain flattened within a hundred meters.
There were bound to be scores of Rep soldiers on the road, some of them seeking revenge. A large number might fly into a lethal panic if they saw
"Sarge?" asked Kuykendall. "What's going on back at 541 North?"
"How the hell would I know?" Des Grieux snarled. But he could know, if he wanted to. He reached to reconnect the commo buss . . . and withdrew his hand. He could adjust a screen, and he started to do that—manually,because his throat hurt as if he'd been swallowing battery acid.
Instead of carrying through with the motion, Des Grieux lifted the crash bar to open the hatch and raise his seat to cupola level. The breeze smelled so clean that it made him dizzy.
Kuykendall eased the tank toward the low ground west of Hill 661.With a swale to shelter them, they could drive north a couple kays and avoid the stragglers from the Republican disaster.
