Of course, they must, if they used to own the mine.

  Even though we moved more slowly than before, we still tramped across the tundra, staking everything on one bold throw of the iron dice of war.

  I’d crossed the tundra quicker as one person than our present company did. But even a man wandering about moved faster than several hundred Neanderthals and their mammoths, even if those cavemen were warriors all.

  This was the friction of marching to combat. It came in many guises. A warrior stumbled, twisting his ankle, slowing everyone down as his friends helped him hobble. A Neanderthal got sick, starting to vomit. Others waited for him. A mammoth would give trouble by stopping and trying to forage old grass through the snow. It would take time and effort to get the beast moving again.

  Fortunately, in the last regard, the riders had several positive mammoths, with greater desire to please their masters. When one of the others baulked, the riders brought the hardy mammoths behind the reluctant one. The eager mammoths pushed that one with their mighty foreheads until it got the message and started moving once more.

  Time passed, and the company shook off the attack. We started marching faster once more.

  Then, during worsening sleet and just before Skarl was going to call a stop for a rest, a laser cut through the awful snow and drilled into the hairy forehead of one of the bravest mammoths. The laser beam moved fast, the smell of singed bone awful and repugnant.

  The beast trumpeted and screamed, rising up and pawing the air like a circus elephant. The rider tumbled back onto the snow. The beast toppled back, crushing the man as its carcass thudded upon him and the ground.

  The beam moved, a sickening sight, and drilled a second mammoth in the side.

  I sprinted up, beaming wildly into the sleet in the general direction of where I thought the saucer would be.

  The laser ceased beaming.

  I put on my special glasses, but couldn’t see anything except for the swirling whiteness.

  This wasn’t just sleet or swirled snow, but flakes pouring down from the heavens. Had we picked an inauspicious time of year to make our grand assault?

  I forgot about that as the wounded mammoth trumpeted in panic. Blood welled and matted its side, dripping onto the snow. The wounded creature circled the dead one in a desperate attempt, I suppose, to staunch the pain.

  The mammoth circled faster. It carried many bundled lances upon its back. It trumpeted shrilly and bolted into the sleet, the rider desperately clinging to it.

  “Come back,” others yelled.

  The beast didn’t heed the cry. It ran, taking the supplies and rider with it. He might have slipped off earlier. Now, the mammoth raced away, swallowed up in the snow and swirls.

  Just like that, two more mammoths were gone. We’d had ten. Now we had seven. We hadn’t yet made it halfway across the tundra. The warriors were more frightened than ever, looking about in terror.

  I scanned the white skies, standing ready, but feeling helpless.

  We could hear the trumpeting of the wounded beast, although it grew fainter by the second.

  I remembered reading about the battles of the Carthaginians and Hannibal from the First and Second Punic Wars. Elephant hosts had proven tremendously powerful against the Romans, winning many battles for the Semitic soldiers. Yet when the elephants panicked and ran amok, the great beasts lost the battle for their side. I understood that better now.

  The remaining seven proved restive and itchy, snorting and pawing the snowy ground. They didn’t want to advance. Neither did the Neanderthals.

  Brakka hurried to me. “What are we going to do? If they kill another three tomorrow, we soon won’t have any left. We won’t be able to bring all the lances. The First Folk will have defeated us before we’ve even struck a blow.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “How are we going to solve the situation?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  Brakka stared at me, possibly willing me to know this instant. I didn’t need the added pressure. I felt guilty enough as it was.

  “Have the warriors set up camp,” I said. “Build fires and pass out food. Rest the beasts. Take the goods off the dead one, and settle the others down.”

  “It’s already being done,” Brakka said.

  “Then why are you asking me?”

  “Gruum wants to know how we fix this. Can we solve the problem or are we doomed?”

  “Let me think I said.”

  Brakka studied me with that one good eye.

  Was I as agitated as the mammoths? The First Folk had killed three of our large beasts. They were probably the easiest targets and were the linchpin to what we were attempting, as they carried the bulk of the supplies.

  I walked farther away, racking my brain for an answer to what seemed like an insolvable dilemma.

  -28-

  I took my own advice, crunching on some of the hardest hardtack. After, I gnawed on jerked meat, swishing it down with water.

  I didn’t feel like melting snow in my mouth at the moment.

  Often when one is tired, a quick snack or a good meal does wonders.

  I stared at the falling snow, feeling the wind whipping about us. I looked at the warriors and seven great mammoths. The beasts stood like a wall, shielding some of the encampment.

  These were Neanderthals, uncomplaining about the freezing weather. But you could see the warriors looking up with fear. I imagined most of them could feel and possibly smell the flying saucers hidden behind the falling snow.

  The enemy had struck with impunity against us. The First Folk didn’t need many saucers if they could continue to kill one or two mammoths at a strike. The pilots seemed to know we couldn’t see them, which was terrible.

  Glum, I sat on padded clothing so I wouldn’t have to stand. I needed rest as much or even more than any of the warriors did. I bent my head in thought

  That meant I wasn’t looking at the bleak skies, not standing guard against the saucers.

  I was trying to understand why the saucer pilots didn’t stay at a distance and laser all our mammoths. They’d killed three, I’d blindly fired some phasor shots, but who knew how close I’d come to hitting one. Surely, the pilots could see or sense me, my position in the company.

  My head jerked up as it struck me.

  The Homo habilis pilots feared that I could target them. Why do they fear this? They’d faced me before and I’d destroyed one of their saucers. I’d been with Krull—no, I’d attacked when they went after Krull. Did the enemy pilots know about my special glasses?

  I thought back of my time with Krull. Had he seen me use the glasses? I couldn’t remember. The special glasses were of First Folk design and make.

  I took them out. The lenses were thicker than ordinary glasses. There were a few button controls on the sides.

  I hadn’t figured out all the things the glasses could do. I used magnification and targeting data. I could see on the lenses where I pointed with my slaved phasor. It gave me perfect targeting advice.

  There were a couple other buttons—

  I swore to myself and told myself, Bayard, you’ve been an idiot. These glasses can probably see through the snowfall. They can probably see mass, metal or heat.

  I began to practice with them, causing them to beep. When they did, I put them on and looked around. I tried various combinations for the next ten minutes.

  All of a sudden, I wanted to shout, “Eureka!”

  At far range, I saw a hovering saucer. It showed up as metal mass. It was out there, too far for my phasor to reach. But I could see it.

  The answer had been there all along, and they knew it. Even so, the pilots had dared approach near and see if I’d respond. Fortunately, for us, they hadn’t been courageous enough to kill all the mammoths.

  I shook my head and swore again. Of course, they hadn’t been courageous enough. The Philip I’d known in the Chaunt System had been clever, devious and dangerous. Did that mean he’d possessed the courage to stand in the breach? No. That wasn’t a First-Folk strength. It was a Neanderthal strength. At times, it was a human strength, depending on the human.

  I stood, elated.

  I could hit back at the saucers.

  I hurried and found Brakka talking with Gruum. Old Gruum looked cold. He was wearing thicker garments than any of us, and he stood near one of the mammoths.

  “I have it!” I shouted. “My glasses—I can see through the snow with them where before I couldn’t.”

  “How is that possible?” Gruum asked. “And why couldn’t you do it before?”

  “That part doesn’t matter.” I said.

  I didn’t want to have to admit my failings to the Neanderthals, and particularly not to Gruum. He’d been counting on me. I was supposed to be the brilliant war-fighter. Instead, I’d let him down and three mammoths were dead.

  “Listen,” I said. “We’re going to set up an ambush. We’re going to put out the bravest mammoth. That will be the ambush point, the goat for the tiger.”

  He gave me a strange look.

  “Never mind,” I said. “Using the lone mammoth, I’ll attempt to take out a saucer or two.”

  “Can it truly be done?” Gruum asked. There was fear as well as hope in his eyes.

  “I believe so,” I said. “But let’s not sit around and talk about it. I can feel the defeat in your warriors. They’ve seen three beautiful animals taken out. We’ll encourage them by doing, by acting. And hopefully, by bringing down one of the saucers so they can see the corpse of a Homo habilis.”

  Was that bloodthirsty? Heck yeah, it was. At this point, I wanted blood all right.

  We got the men moving. However, the mammoths weren’t as eager to go. We’d lost the best one to push the others.

  Still, by crook and by hook, and by Gruum, Skarl and Zog’s will, we got the whole group moving. That was despite the Neanderthals exhibiting the feeling of frightened animals ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.

  They needed something positive to boost their morale.

  Were Neanderthals more prone to having morale problems? Could they reach a greater height of elation and charge like wild men? Would they also flee with greater terror, more like barbarians of old? I suspected that was so. They must need terrific courage to charge a wild woolly mammoth and swing their stone axe to cut the tendons, as Zog had told me before.

  So, it was time to get these guys going. The longer the campaign took—

  No. This had to be a quick campaign, not a long, drawn-out thing needing intense discipline. We had to do this with wild élan.

  That meant moving fast.

  Soon, as it snowed, as the wind continued to howl, I marched behind the lone mammoth, the bravest of the group. I scanned the snowy skies.

  An hour went by, and then another. We were making better time. Now that nothing had happened for a while, the warriors and the mammoths marched faster again.

  I swept the sky with my glasses-enhanced gaze as I’d been doing for hours. I stiffened in surprise. At the very edge of my vision, I saw two saucers. They inched closer and closer toward us.

  I looked in all directions. I couldn’t spot any drones. They hadn’t used the drone missiles yet, except for the one attack against me many days ago.

  I centered once again on the two saucers. They’d separated just a bit. I’d say four or five hundred yards apart. They inched closer and closer at a maddeningly incremental rate.

  These were not valiant fighter pilots. These were mice inching up to act the part of lions.

  I clicked my phasor to its most intense beam. This time, I’d try a long-distance shot. Still, I waited and judged distances, using my special glasses and its metal mass meter.

  My gut warned me. The saucers had ceased inching closer. They hovered at extreme range. Did they wait until the wind eased up just a bit?

  I used the targeting reticle in the glasses and fired, keeping my finger down.

  Did the snow and wind distort the phasor beam? If the targeted saucer had an electromagnetic shield, no, I don’t think it did, not in this wind and snow.

  The phasor beam burned into metal or maybe into a bubble canopy. I must have gotten lucky. I must have hit the pilot. The saucer dropped hard and fast.

  Instead of howling with glee, I kept my cool and retargeted. It took one or two seconds—the other saucer was already fleeing.

  I burned into it. I burned. Was it smoking? I think I was hitting it—then it, too, started to drop. Like the first, it plummeted.

  I watched for as long as I could, even though I’d stopped beaming. I listened intently with my head cocked. Did I hear a crash? Did I hear the crumple of metal?

  Bubbling with elation, I turned and sprinted back to the main group, not telling our lure mammoth and rider to slow the advance.

  That could have ruined everything, for if there was a third saucer out there—

  Thinking about that, I stopped, using the special glasses to look again. I didn’t see anything amiss, a third saucer or drone.

  Skarl practically crashed against me.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Gruum sent me. Did you hit what you shot at?”

  “We’re going to find out,” I said.

  I gave Skarl instructions I hoped he’d pass on to Gruum. He ran into the sleet back to the others.

  I waited for the rest of the party to rejoin me. We’d soon see if Gruum would send out search parties, whether or not I’d brought down what I’d shot at.

  -29-

  The advance continued as a group of swifter Neanderthals went out, racing into the sleet.

  Sometime later, exhausted and excited runners returned with the news. They guided the entire company, including the mammoths.

  A full two hours after the attack, we reached a dead, charred Homo habilis pilot. He wore a helmet and lay in the wreckage of his saucer, the upper part of his chest burned by my phasor. Surrounding the crumpled saucer were various pieces of equipment.

  At my recommendation, Brakka and Skarl paraded everyone past the dead First Folk.

  Soon, Gruum shuffled to the site. The crowd made room for him. Gruum peered at the twisted dead pilot, studying him and the craft. He looked at me.

  I nodded, suspecting what he was thinking.

  Old Gruum turned to the crowd surrounding the craft. He pointed at the dead pilot.

  “Look at this,” Gruum shouted in a strong voice. “Those who attacked us are dead. Do you know why?”

  No one answered him.

  Gruum pointed at me. “Do you see what our friend the Earthman has done? He has come and helped us. He slew one of the First Folk. He brought down the flying saucer that killed our mammoths.”

  The crowd stirred.

  Gruum pointed at the dead Homo habilis. “The First Folk are going to lose, my fellow warriors. We not only have the Earthman and his weapons. We have found weapons of our own. They are better weapons than anything the First Folk have.”

  Skarl and Zog marched forward. Each gripped a lance. The two shooters fired missiles into the wreckage of the saucer. The missiles exploded, devouring the dead pilot and causing the wreckage to shift and screech metallically. The two fired until their lances clicked empty. Skarl and Zog each raised his lance, shaking it.

  That caused the Neanderthal army to cheer with a thunderous, manly applause. Only Neanderthals could have produced such a reverberating roar. It was one of defiance against the First Folk. It raised the morale where earlier the army had been as frightened mice ready to bolt.

  Now, I’d hate to have been on the other end of it, at the end of an enraged Neanderthal charge. As the combined shouts shook my bones, I think they could have rolled over a Roman legion, even with just stone mallets in hand.

  My mouth hurt I was smiling so hard.

  They gave a rolling and thunderous roar—the short, stocky, dwarvish warriors were fierce indeed. I felt for the first time that we would swarm through the mines. I only needed to bring them there, to the tunnels. Yes, some would die to phasor fire, but with the power of their thunderous voices, I couldn’t envision First Folks coolly standing behind tunnel corners firing their phasors.

  We were going to do it.

  Skarl and Zog tossed their lances aside.

  Others of the Nine handed them fresh ones. Skarl and Zog held these over their heads and shook them like champions, like victors.

  A great howl of cheers made me want to charge and kill.

  “Let us march,” Gruum said.

  Even though the star was going to show soon, Gruum was right. We set off in triumph.

  This was victory. I’d shot down two saucers. The army had seen evidence of a dead Homo habilis. Perhaps it was Philip himself.

  We marched fast. The mammoths did likewise. None of the beasts needed any prodding now. No doubt, the mammoths had caught the mood of the Neanderthals.

  The last while before twilight, we made good time.

  I’d say we’d covered over three-fourths of the way to the ziggurat by now. Once we reached it, we would reach the beginning of the valley. Once we reached the valley, would the way become harder?

  I calmed down after thinking that. The sabertooths hadn’t struck yet, and neither had the Slave Corps of Neanderthals.

  Eventually, we stopped and bedded down. Skarl posted guards. The dire wolves and their handlers patrolled the camp.

  I got some well-needed rest, sleeping hard for half the night. Halfway through, I heard a still, small voice as if someone whispered in my ear.

  I sat up. “Yes, Lord?”

  I recalled a Sunday school story about the prophet Samuel when he’d been young.

  When nothing more happened, I splashed canteen water into my face. Then, I climbed out of the furs I’d wrapped around me. I listened again, but the whisper didn’t repeat.

  I thought about the whisper, and I did a stupid thing. Taking a phasor and the Colt, putting on my furs and parka, I tramped out a short distance until there before me appeared a Homo habilis as a holographic image.

  “Did you just call me?” I asked.

  “I did,” the hominid said.

  He was different from Philip, a different Homo habilis. Why wasn’t Philip doing the talking?