Chapter 15. _Battle_
The hard-riding nomad cavalry bore down on the defense line. They didnot break into a circling column as before, I but began forming anadvancing line. When they were 75 yards away, Sykes ordered his men tobegin firing.
The nomads were already shooting, and what their emissary had said wastrue: these men were expert shots, even from horseback. Sykes heard thebullets careening off the sloping face of the barricade. Two of his menwere down already.
He leveled his police pistol and fired steadily into the oncoming ranks.He thought they were going to try to jump the fence this time, and hebraced for the shock. To his dismay, he now saw that a perfectly clearspace for their landing had been left between his own position and theadjacent barricade.
Suddenly the line of attackers swerved to the left just a few feet fromthe wire. The defending fire was furious, and for a moment Sykes thoughtthey were going to turn the line back. Then several of the nomads raisedtheir arms and hurled dark, small objects toward the barrier. Sykesrecognized them even while they were in the air. Grenades.
He shouted to his men and they flattened behind the barricade. Sixexplosions thundered almost simultaneously. Mud and rocks sprayed intothe air and fell back in a furious rain upon the defenders.
Cautiously, Sykes lifted himself from the ground and got a glimpse ofthe scene once more. A hundred feet of barbed-wire fence had disappearedin a tangle of shattered posts and hanging coils. Through the opening,the nomads poured over the barricades in the midst of Sykes' men.Smashing hoofs landed almost upon him but for his frantic rolling andtwisting out of their path. Gunfire was a continuous blasting wave.Sykes thought he heard above it the sound of Johnson's voice roaringcommands to the retreating men.
It sounded like he was saying, "Close up! Close up!" but Sykes neverknew for sure. An enormous explosion seemed to come from nowhere andthunder directly in front of him. The day darkened suddenly and he felthimself losing all control of his own being. He wondered if a cloud hadcrossed the sun, but almost at the same time he ceased to be concernedabout the question at all.
* * * * *
The first of the wounded came in slowly, borne by stretcher bearers onfoot who had literally dragged their charges through the lines ofinvading horsemen. Ken directed their assignment to the hospital-houses.He had always believed he could take a scene like this in his stride,but now he felt he must keep moving constantly to keep from becomingviolently sick.
Overhead, a pall of smoke surged again, blotting out, partly, thecomet's light. More houses had been fired by the invaders. The sound ofcrackling flames mingled with the thunder of hoofs and the roll of riflefire.
Surely it wouldn't be possible, Ken thought, for such a charge tosucceed unless it were backed by strong infantry. He moved into one ofthe houses and directed the placement of the severely wounded manbrought up now by the bearers. As they left, he looked down at thestained and bloody face. A nurse was already at work cutting away thematted clothing from the wound.
Ken exclaimed loudly before he realized what he was saying. "Mr. Harris!Mr. Harris--you shouldn't have been out there!"
The man opened his eyes slowly against the terrible pain. He smiled inrecognition. It was Mr. Harris, the principal of Mayfield High School;the one Ken had attended. He was an old man--at least fifty--much tooold to have been at the barricade with a rifle.
"You shouldn't have been out there," Ken repeated. Mr. Harris seemed tohave difficulty in seeing him.
"Ken," he said slowly. "It's Ken Maddox, isn't it? Everybody has to dosomething. It seemed like this was the best thing I could do. No schoolto teach. No school for a long time."
His voice wavered as he began to ramble. "I guess that makes all thestudents happy. No school all winter long. I always dreamed of Mayfieldbeing a school where they would be glad to come, whose opening in thefall would be welcomed and closing in the spring would be regretted. Inever got that far, I guess.
"I didn't do a really bad job, did I, Ken? Mayfield is a pretty goodschool, isn't it?"
"Mayfield is a swell school, Mr. Harris," said Ken. "It'll be the bestday ever when Mayfield opens up again."
"Yes ... when school opens again," Mr. Harris said, and then he wasstill.
The nurse felt his pulse and regretfully drew the sheet up to cover hisface. "I'm sorry," she said to Ken.
Blindly, he turned and went out to the porch. Mr. Harris, he thought,the little bald-headed man they'd laughed at so often with schoolboycruelty. He had wanted to make Mayfield a good school, so students wouldbe glad to attend.
He'd done that--almost. Mayfield _was_ a good school.
Ken looked at the rolling clouds of black smoke in the sky. The gunfireseemed less steady now. Suddenly he was running furiously and with allhis strength. He turned down Main Street and headed south. He ran untilhe caught sight of the first nomad he had seen since the events in theMayor's Council chamber.
The enemy had stopped his horse, rearing high, while he hurled some kindof incendiary through the window of a house. It exploded inside andbillows of flame and smoke poured out. A heart-tight pain gripped Ken.He looked wildly about and saw a fragment of brick lying beside ademolished house nearby.
He snatched up the missile and wound up as if pitching one straight overthe corner of the plate. The horseman saw the motion of his arm andtried to whirl, but he was too late. The brickbat caught him at the sideof the head and he dropped to the snow without a sound. Ken ran forwardand caught up the nomad's rifle and ammunition belt. The horse had fledin panic.
Without a backward glance Ken raced on down the street toward thedwindling sound of battle. The invaders were retreating, streaming fromall directions toward the break in the barrier, firing steadily as theycame. The defenders were trying to block the escape.
Ken dropped behind a barricade next to an older man he didn't know. Hesearched for an opening and waited for a rider to cross his sights; thenhe squeezed the trigger and the man fell. When he looked up again thelast of the invaders were gone. Only half of those who had come up tothe attack were leaving it.
The men around Ken slowly relaxed their terrible tension. From somelying prone there were cries of pain. Those who could stand did so andrevealed their drawn faces to one another.
Teams of the medical group began moving again. A horse-drawn wagon wasbrought up that had been fitted with boards across the sides so that twolayers of wounded men could be carried at once.
Ken heard sudden hoofbeats behind and turned. Sheriff Johnson rode upand surveyed the scene. His eye caught Ken's figure standing in themidst of it, rifle in hand, the captured ammunition belt draped over hisshoulder.
"You!" White anger was on Johnson's face. "You were ordered to stay outof the frontline!" he thundered. "Any other man would be court-martialedfor such disobedience. Get back where you belong and don't show yourface in this area again. I'll jail you for the rest of the fighting ifyou disobey again!"
Half-ashamed, but half only, for his impulsive action, Ken turned andmoved down the street.
"Leave that gun here!" the Sheriff commanded harshly.
Ken gave it to the nearest soldier. He took off the ammunition belt andhanded it over too, then resumed his course. He should not have done it,he told himself, but he felt better for it. He felt he had paid a littleof his debt to Mr. Harris.
When he reached the hospital center he told his father.
"It wasn't a good thing," said Professor Maddox gently, "but maybe itwas something that had to be done."
Throughout the day they continued to bring in the wounded and the dead.There seemed to be an incredible number, but the invaders had sufferedheavily, too. Half their force had been lost. A dozen fine horses hadbeen captured, which were a considerable prize.
There was speculation as to why the nomads chose to attack in thismanner. They had done great damage, it was true, yet the attack had nothad a chance of being decisive in spite of their insane persistence.
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p; Hilliard and Johnson held a staff meeting that afternoon while a sharpwatch was kept for further attack. They considered that they had donevery well so far. The chief worries were the grenades and incendiaries,which the nomads seemed to have in large quantity.
Toward evening, Johnson asked for two volunteers to go out as scouts totry to reach the top of Lincoln's Peak, west of town, to spot the campof the nomads and scout their activities. A pair of volunteers waschosen from the many who offered. On two of the best of the nomads'horses, they made their way across the frozen plain and up the smallravine leading to the ridge. Observers watched until they were out ofsight in the ravine.
It was agreed the two would return by 6 o'clock. At 5 there was thefaint sound of gunfire from somewhere in the hills. The scouts did notreturn at the appointed time. They did not return at all.
Night came, and word spread among the townspeople of the disappearanceof the two scouts. Anxiety increased as it became apparent they wereunder close surveillance by the enemy. Perhaps it was the intention ofthe nomads to wear them down with a winter-long siege of attack afterattack, until they no longer had the ability or strength to fight.
Hilliard and Johnson doubted this. The nomads were far less equipped forsuch a siege than Mayfield was.
Maria continued to return to the radio shack in the evening to maintainthe schedule with the network. She reported the plight of Mayfield tothe other stations. From across the country came the fervent best wishesof those who heard her. Wishes were all they could offer.
The scientists were particularly anguished because they considered theMaddox-Larsen group among the most likely to crack the barrier that keptthem from conquest of the comet dust. "Our prayers are with you," thePasadena group said.
They sent a new report and Maria typed it and showed it to ProfessorMaddox that evening. He scanned it and put the pages in his coat pocketas he glanced out the window toward College Hill.
"It seems like ages," he said. "I wonder if we'll ever get back upthere."
The next attack came well before dawn. Sheriff Johnson was among thefirst to be aware of it. The thunder of seemingly countless horses'hoofs was heard faintly out of the south and he put his glasses to hiseyes. The nomads were a black patch against the snow.
"How many horses have they got?" he exclaimed to the patrolman besidehim. This was Ernest Parkin, one of his best officers.
"I'd say there must be at least a hundred of them," said Parkin in awe."They must have been gathering horses for weeks."
"Feed," said Johnson, "for themselves and the animals--they may berabble and savages, but they've had genius of leadership."
Behind shelter, they waited for the blow. All orders had already beengiven. Only the general alarm was sounded now. It had been expected thatthe previous pattern of attack would be repeated. The defenders had beenmoved back from the barbed wire. They fired slowly and methodically witha splendidly efficient barrage as the nomads swung out of the night toblast with their grenades at the reconstructed fence.
The way opened and they plunged in, the defenders closing behind andretreating to the other side of their barricades.
Ken paced restlessly as he heard the shooting. "I'm going up on theroof," he told his father. "There can't be any objection to that."
"I guess not. I'll call you when we need you."
Ken climbed the stairs of the 6-story building, which was the highest inMayfield. He came out on the frozen surface of the roof and looked intothe distance. The mounted invaders were circling like Indians aboutseveral blocks of houses, firing steadily at the defenders and hurlingincendiaries at the houses.
Then, as Ken turned his eyes to the northern end of the valley, he feltas if the whole world had suddenly fallen to pieces in the dim, morninglight.
On foot, a vast host of the invaders moved toward the northern defensesof the town. Instantly, he understood their strategy. While their smallparties of mounted attackers had pressed the southern defenses, givingthe impression they intended to make their major approach there, thebulk of their forces had marched entirely around Lincoln's Peak and comeupon the northern boundary at night. That was why the peak had been soheavily guarded against the scouts.
It had been a march of over 40 miles to by-pass the valley. Now,however, the nomads were in a position to achieve their goal. The bulkof the town's defense was concentrated in the south. Little stood in theway of the horde advancing from the north.
His heart sickened as he saw them rip through the barbed-wire enclosure.The poorly manned defense posts seemed almost non-existent. Only ascattering of shots was thrown at the invaders.
From somewhere, a warning siren sounded, the agreed-upon signal toindicate invasion in that sector. It was far too late for that, Kenthought. The horde was already in the streets, fanning out, dispersingin the deserted streets.
Ken started for the doorway leading from the roof. His responsibility toCollege Hill was gone now. Every man in the valley was fighting for hisown life. If that battle were lost, College Hill would be only an emptysymbol, where ghosts were housed, as in Berkeley, as in Chicago, as ina thousand centers of learning the world around.
With his hand on the latch of the door he paused at a new sound thatbroke upon the air. An incredible barrage of firing was occurring alongnorthern Main Street near 12th Avenue. He put the fieldglasses to hiseyes again and watched the scattering nomads seeking cover. Dozens ofthem lay where they fell headlong in the streets.
Ken strained his eyes to see where the defense had come from. It wascentered in the houses and buildings that lined the streets, and ontheir rooftops. He could see the ant-sized outlines of figures on thoseroofs. For a moment he failed to understand. Then he felt a chokingsensation in his throat.
In a desperate gamble, Johnson and Hilliard had anticipated this moveand prepared for it as best they could. They had allowed the main bodyof the attackers to enter the town itself and had deployed the majorityof their guns to ring them about, while offering only token defense onthe south.
This was it. The battle would be fought here and now, in the streets ofMayfield, and before the day was over it would be known whether the citywould continue its struggle to live or whether it would become anotherBerkeley.