Chapter 3

'Captain' Harry 'Hap' Arnold rode atop a truck that had improvised armor plate welded to the sides and front. Behind, it towed a trailer upon which was mounted a short barreled howitzer. Behind that was another carrying ammunition and, behind that again, one carrying a cluster of dusty fighters. In the truck, itself, the unlucky soldiers were forced to ride inside with only the open hatches providing ventilation. Those, like Hap, considered themselves fortunate to find perches on the roof.

An enormous red dust cloud hung over the army. It blew east in a stream from the hundreds of wheels and horse's hooves. Hap was convinced the defenders of West Floral couldn't fail to miss the approaching host, even if they were at least 15 clicks away.

Way ahead was the cavalry screen of Bakhunin horsemen. The previous night, Black Guard troopers had swept for land mines and found none. Main force infantry and artillery could follow a closely defined approach route to their start points, confident there were no surprises. Observers confirmed the Com defenders were inside their improvised fortifications and had not sent out skirmishers to slow the advance.

The plan called for an enveloping movement that would've made Napoleon proud. The main force was to keep the enemy engaged from the West while Black Guard swung around to attack from the South. To the North, Berengarians and Bakhunins would swing around from the North. Suetonius hinted at an infiltration from the river side - effectively hitting the enemy from four sides.

Suetonius's tactics were first and foremost to prevent the enemy moving the fuel, up or down river. That would defeat the exercise and allow the Coms to continue operations. If, however, they could capture the fuel intact, the enemy strongpoints down river would be cut off and those up river would be forced to retreat. It was the Achilles heel of the Com effort on the Floral.

With a force of upwards of 8000 troops this was the largest operation ever planned by Suetonius or carried out by the future Arks. Estimated strength of the enemy was at least twice that, but they were strung out along the Floral fortifications for a distance of 100 clicks. Just how many defenders awaited them in West Floral had been impossible to judge.

The enemy had artillery and APMs with a range of no more than 10 clicks. Most of these, however, were sited to cover the river, but, could be resited with a minimum of fuss. The Coms also had a number of tanks, and an even larger number of wooden dummies. Again, they were deployed to cover a possible attack from across the river, but, a tank was a tank and the attackers had little to counter them.

Hap scanned the faces of his companions. They seemed too young - Berengarians - but of what particular column, Hap wasn't sure. They were Traveler kids with a few grizzled Spaniards mixed in - brimming with enthusiasm, and blissfully unaware of what might be awaiting them. They seemed to regard the coming battle as some big adventure. But, Hap was no more experienced than these lads. His training may have been longer and more detailed, but it had been a good 15 years since he'd any infantry drill.

Even his precise appointment was rather vague. Suetonius had taken him on the staff of the Black Guard, but, he'd never ridden a horse in his life. He'd found a perch among the Berengarian artillery, but he'd no specific role to play there either. Hap thought he was the only soldier in the army who didn't know exactly what he was meant to do.

He thought about his parting with Moira Lys. She'd been adamant she wasn't going to participate in 'boys' games.' There'd been no tears - she merely climbed into her 'van and set off with the others for Iberica. Clonagh, on the other hand, sobbed uncontrollably. The two of them had grown quite close during the trip down to the White Mountains. It was, perhaps, the hardest thing to watch her go - she'd become like a daughter.

Towards the 15 click mark, the army began to deploy to their positions. By rights, they should be safely out of range of any artillery from West Floral. The plan was to fan out and await nightfall. Once it was dark, they were to advance to their forward positions and await the signal.

There was a shortage of radios, so communication was to be by a system of flares and lights. Mono-directional reflectors were placed in the ground by pathfinders, colour-coded to guide separate units to where they were supposed to be. All this preparation took place over a couple of nights by units of the Black Guard. There were obviously some people among the 'staff' with a flair for organization and tactical planning. Hap couldn't believe this had all come from Suetonius. Ever suspicious and conspiratorial, he detected the subtle hand of Capitol at work.

Far away on the road to Iberica, Moira Lys had finally allowed herself to cry. Clonagh had failed asleep and there was no-one who could witness. Hap had made his decision without discussing it with her - as he was entitled to do - but it still hurt. Most of all, she feared another funeral, another wooden box being lowered into the ground and Clonagh having to go through what she'd been through as a child. She wanted to spare her that.

She knew Hap was a mere maintenance man. She'd been one of the few he'd admitted that to. Of course, he'd been trained in basic infantry techniques - as all servicemen in the armed forces - but he wasn't a fighter. It was one of the things that had attracted her. But, she thought, inside every man was this desire to want to play the hero.

They headed the caravan for a place called the Olive Grove. There was a spring where they could replenish their water. A small community had established themselves there - about a couple of dozen families. Some of them were Traveler families who'd settled down to grow crops and raise livestock. These were joined by a few anarchists and the two groups had blended together in a way that bespoke of the future. Ostentatiously, they described the Olive Grove as 'the Ark' and its inhabitants 'Arks.' The anarchists had shortened the word anARChist and the old spiritual connotations of the word 'Ark' had appealed to the Travelers.

But, as they got nearer, Moira Lys realized something wasn't right. Normally, several of the kids and teenagers would be running down the road as they approached. All, however, was silent except for the wind in the trees and the faint cackling of geese. Moira Lys slowed and carefully looked through the trees for signs of life. Presently, she spotted movement and a young teenage girl moved from behind the dense foliage.

Moira Lys recognized the girl instantly. She was called 'Mirri', the daughter of Greek and Italian parents, 14 years old, now, she thought, dark and slim. But, Moira Lys scarcely recognized her, even though she'd known the girl since she was born. As Mirri moved warily out of the trees, she saw she was dressed in one of those 'allsuits' and toted a brand new autorifle.

"Moira Lys?" Mirri called. "Is that you?"

"Mirri?" she called back. "That you? Has something happened?"

"Moira Lys! Is Finn there?"

"Where is everyone?" Moira Lys asked.

"They're gone - no-one's here! Oh, Moira Lys, I'm so glad you've come. My parents are, are..."

"What?"

"Dead!" With that, she fell to the ground sobbing.

"Identify!" came a hushed voice in the near distance.

"Alpha one," Nestor called back.

"There's a sap to your left, 2 metres," the voice continued.

"Got it."

Nestor moved stealthily at the crouch until he entered the sap. Hands grabbed him and hauled him into a tunnel. Behind, he could hear the others tumbling into the position.

"That all of you?" the man said, and Nestor counted back. 6, yes, they were all present. "Clarke," the man introduced himself. "You don't know me, I wasn't here."

"Nestor," Nestor replied. "Black Guard."

"Here," Clarke said, urgently, and rolled out a small chart. "Here are the positions of the Com armor. Six tanks, four with shell guns firing rocket rounds, 2 DPWs."

"'Zap guns?'" Nestor sucked in his breath. "We weren't expecting those. Where are they positioned?"

"Flanking positions - slightly forward of their main firing line with these arcs of fire," he indicated. "They haven't moved for three days and we think they've run out of gas."

"You think?" Nestor said in surprise. "I thought it was their main fuel dump."

"Gasoline, yes, but those babies run on a form of refined diesel. LVHO, to be precise, Low Volatility Heavy Oil or 'Leevoh.' Most tanks that size have turbines to power them. With CV autotrans..."

"Okay, okay, I'll take your word for it," Nestor put up his hands. "So they're static and dug in?"

"Earth revetments."

"Cheap," Nestor shrugged. "You have some APMs for us?"

"Down sap," Clarke told them. "There's a sally point where you can get through to the river. After that, you're on your own."