“What if the others have advanced weaponry such as the lasers that slew three of our beasts?”

  I nodded. “They might have that. War is a gamble after all. They might not have that. If they do, my phasors and the nine with their lances will have their work cut out for them, as I’ve been saying. The key will be to maneuver our main mass close to them, even if they have more warriors. Our warriors are more motivated and more practiced fighters. We need to hit them as a single heavy force.”

  Gruum stared at me, his forehead furrowed.

  “We can’t come at them piecemeal, sir. What that means is we can’t come at them in driblets so a small force of theirs can take us out one at a time. Rather, we hit them with a single mass.”

  “But…” Gruum said.

  “This is all predicated on the First Folk moving out, their trying to escape from Garm. That means we should rush them. We should particularly rush them if they’re trying to move all the women out.”

  “Brakka?” asked Gruum. “Do you agree with Bayard?”

  “I do,” Brakka said. “Saving our women is everything.”

  “Could the First Folk be trying to trick us through Philip?” Gruum asked.

  “It’s a possibility,” I said. “But from what I know about all this—look, whatever we do is a risk. I’m for gambling in this manner. Earth history is filled with generals making bold moves and winning everything.”

  “And if you’re wrong?” Gruum asked.

  “Then maybe we can salvage it through hard fighting.”

  “We’ve come this far,” Brakka said. “Now it’s the moment to charge the mammoth.”

  That must have been a Neanderthal saying.

  “I’m so torn,” Gruum said. “It’s a difficult decision.”

  “Being the leader is tough,” I said. “I think that’s always the case. It’s your call, sir.”

  Gruum bent his head in thought. He shook his head, looking up, breathing deeply. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Trust your advisors then,” I said.

  Gruum stared at me. “Yes,” he said in a small voice. “Let us attempt this your way, Earthman.”

  I shuddered, and that surprised me. After thinking about it, I realized that if I had guessed wrong, I’d probably have to pay with my life one way or another.

  Soon enough, I joined Philip up on one of the mammoths. The rider still governed the beast up front. Doing this would save Philip’s ankle and keep him from dropping back, in case we needed him again later.

  Runners raced ahead, fanning out.

  The main company marched faster.

  It was soon apparent that our warriors knew the First Folk were taking the women off Garm. I suspected Skarl, Zog or maybe even Brakka had gotten the rumor started.

  Intensity began to build in these bachelors. Most of them wanted wives or mates or however the Neanderthals did it. Even though they weren’t young bucks, they’d all been without women for a long time.

  We marched into the sleet and snow.

  From atop the mammoth, I put on the special glasses and kept watch.

  At one point, I caught Philip looking at me.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “You’re the one who shot my saucer.”

  “How could it be otherwise?” I said.

  He sat ahead of me, as there was no way I’d let Philip be behind me. While the mammoth was broad, it had a steeply sloping back just like the dire wolves and sabertooths.

  What was it with these big prehistoric animals that had big forward quarters like a bison and smaller hindquarters? Maybe it had something to do with the snow and cold, facing harsh weather head-on.

  Three hours later, we reached the ziggurat.

  The company paused to look at the noble statues surrounding it. Many hadn’t seen the statues when they’d escaped. Many had only glimpsed them once.

  Inspiration struck me. Armies often won through fierce motivation. Here was my chance to pump them up.

  I slid off the mammoth, pulling Philip with me, and handed him over to Skarl’s care. Then I marched in front of the massed warriors.

  “Hey,” I shouted.

  Neanderthals nudged one another, growing silent.

  I pointed at the statues. “Look at what the First Folk stole from you. You were people of substance. You had great knowledge. Then those like him,” I pointed at Philip, “stole your knowledge and greatness. Now, they want to steal your women. We must stop them.”

  Gruum came forward, adding powerful words.

  Savage cheers erupted when he finished speaking.

  That sent a shiver down my back.

  Here it was. These guys were primed and ready.

  We left the ziggurat and statues and marched into the low sloping valley.

  Soon, runners raced toward us. Behind them—ahead of us—were explosions.

  “Those must be missiles from drones,” Brakka said.

  I used the special glasses and saw something that could have been a drone. I targeted, fired, and maybe hit it. I didn’t see anything more.

  Three Neanderthals ran straight to Gruum.

  “An army, an army,” one said.

  “What do you mean?” Gruum asked.

  “The slave guards are coming in force. Thousands,” the runner said. “They have thousands. They’ll destroy us.”

  Gruum turned to me with fear on his old face.

  “Sir,” I said, “as a Marine, I’m aware that scouts sometimes see more than what’s actually there.”

  “You do not think thousands have come to annihilate us?” Gruum asked.

  “I think the First Folk are sending the slave guards in order to slow us down, in order to give them more time to take everything away. We have to smash the slave guards.”

  “How can we do that if there are thousands?” Gruum asked.

  I began to explain, hoping it could work.

  Gruum listened intently, nodding as I laid out a plan. “What if they have advanced weaponry?”

  “We’ll have to rely on our lances and my phasor to neutralize as many of their weapons as possible. Once we’re in close combat, I believe our men will have the advantage. Their motivation and experience in hunting will give them the edge.”

  Gruum mulled it over for a moment before giving a decisive nod. “Let’s put the plan into action. We cannot afford to let them slow us down if we hope to save the women.”

  -33-

  We advanced in a group nearly three hundred strong, with seven mammoths in our midst. No one rode the mammoths except for the single rider on each. The great beasts might charge the enemy, causing panic. If the enemy had high-tech weapons, our mammoths might be the ones fleeing in terror.

  We had nine, make it ten lance-men—ten shooters who could use the lances semi-skillfully. They were ten who knew how to hit what they aimed at if the target was near. We had our champions, the brave with their spiked gauntlets and iron helmets. The rest of the Neanderthals carried flint-tipped spears, granite-shod clubs and flint knives.

  Then there was me with my phasors and special glasses.

  What would face us? Surely, our enemy would use missile-launching drones; perhaps a few laser-beaming saucers would try to burn us all.

  Had our scouts really seen thousands of Slave Corps Neanderthals? The scouts were used to seeing hordes of animals, and surely could number them. Yet, this was more than a hunting expedition. This was a battle for all the marbles against an enemy who fought back. Men often saw more than they expected. Much depended on their state of mind. To see clearly was a practiced trait. Certainly, a few rare individuals had this ability without training. Unfortunately, it was human and probably Neanderthal to exaggerate.

  As we marched, other runners returned. They, too, told of thousands. That was worrisome.

  I’d hoped the desire to save the women would give our warriors that extra boost. Would the Slave Corps have a similar strong desire? Had the First Folk offered them mates if they defeated us? Would the Slave Corps Neanderthals eagerly fight for masters deserting them? Did they know the First Folk were departing Garm?

  These were all questions I didn’t know that could have a profound impact on the coming battle.

  I wore my special glasses. As I scanned the skies, several chosen Neanderthals helped me keep up. Each held an arm so I wouldn’t trip as I walked without watching my step.

  We entered the valley proper. The wind died down. Snow no longer swirled around us. That increased my visibility.

  There in the distance, a horde of Neanderthals approached. Would they have guns? If they had guns, they’d surely annihilate us. That my Neanderthals had shown such hope with our lances, and that none had understood ranged fire—

  I did not think the approaching horde had pistols or rifles. Maybe they had shock batons. I should have asked Brakka or Skarl.

  I looked up again, spotting specks in the sky. Concentrating—they were drones. I counted five of them. They were heading straight for us.

  “Let go of me.”

  My Neanderthals did.

  The rest of our host continued to march to contact.

  I enslaved my phasor to the special glasses, tapping the buttons with my fingers. I used zoom and magnification, targeting a drone.

  At extreme distance, I fired, fired again, retargeted and fired yet again.

  Three drones plummeted.

  Our Neanderthals cheered. They saw the streaks of smoke in the sky and understood the significance of it.

  “Hold them back,” I said.

  The cheers continued. I was too far back for anyone in the company to hear my feeble words.

  I sprinted for them. The enemy was still too far away that any of our warriors should lose his head and charge them.

  I ran among them. “Do you hear me? Don’t go yet.”

  Gruum saw me.

  I ran to him. “Keep the company here for a minute,” I said.

  Gruum nodded. He gave orders. Brakka relayed them.

  Skarl and Zog shouted at the spiked-gloved champions. They shouted at their squads.

  The cheering died down.

  Skarl and Zog shouted again.

  The company looked at them, waiting.

  Meanwhile, I hadn’t downed all the drones. There were more. Several now launched.

  A hush fell over our company. All eyes must have latched onto the missiles zooming at us.

  With my special glasses targeting them—I concentrated on the first missile—I practiced a prodigy of firing. I shot the missiles out of the air. I couldn’t have done it without a phasor and special glasses. Unfortunately, it took more shots—more power—than I liked, draining the phasor.

  I tossed it aside and drew another. Carefully, deliberately, I destroyed the remaining drones until none flew in the sky.

  I scanned all around, looking for a saucer. Would a First Folk dare to fly one now? If the First Folk were fleeing from Garm, never to return, I suspected all the Homo habilises would be in the mines.

  “Should we continue to advance?” Gruum asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Now, it’s time.”

  The company of free Neanderthals marched resolutely. Surely, every warrior knew that nothing in the sky would help the enemy.

  I hurried to Skarl.

  He glanced at me, nodding. “Good shooting, Tex,” he said, using a reference I’d used on them during our days of lance-firing practice.

  “Thanks. So, what do the slave guards use as weapons?”

  Skarl frowned. “Spiked clubs and short, stabbing swords.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. That has always been their weapons.”

  I grinned. “We can beat that.”

  We marched almost lightly deeper into the valley.

  The enemy host, two thousand strong at least, appeared everywhere before us. The Slave Corps seemed to be stretched across the horizon compared to our paltry numbers.

  Could almost three hundred Neanderthals with seven woolly mammoths take them? I wasn’t sure. Even with the missile-launching lances—

  If the enemy attacked resolutely, willingly took their losses, they could probably roll us.

  How could I prevent that?

  I thought about it: them, us, ancient combat. I thought about the football games I’d played in high school and the sandlot games later.

  I hurried to Gruum.

  He looked at me.

  “We should march straight for their center,” I said.

  Gruum frowned. “Is that wise? They’ll circle and surround us.”

  “I doubt it. If we take out the center, the rest seeing that, they’ll lose heart and flee. Besides, the Slave Corps must know their masters are fleeing the planet.”

  “What about your first plan?” Gruum asked.

  “It’s not going to work now. I’d expected them to come at us piecemeal, or to use the terrain against us. They’re over there, a simple formation heading straight for us. The First Folk must know their Slave Corps’ limitations. Thus, we march straight at them, overpowering them with the lance fire.”

  “Did you hear him, Brakka?”

  The one-eyed Neanderthal studied me.

  “There’s no trickery left,” I said. “At this point, it’s all about firepower and hard fighting.”

  I’d already used up a phasor. I was glad I’d taken Philip’s. I looked back. The little Homo habilis, with his two guards, followed us at a distance. I studied the enemy again.

  The decisive moment was almost here. The Slave Corps was less than half a mile from us.

  We marched with determination, although the warriors had clustered around the mammoths. We didn’t have any dire wolves left.

  Using the glasses, I scanned them, but couldn’t spot any sabertooths. They had two thousand-plus guards with spiked clubs and short swords. They were big boys, some bigger than Skarl.

  Would the Slave Corps bullies have the zeal to attack us? Had the First Folk promised them all the women if they’d just destroy us? That seemed like a First Folk method: make wild promises they never intended to keep.

  Using the special glasses at full magnification, I studied our enemies’ faces. They looked resolute enough.

  “Let us…” I almost said, “Let us stop and regroup.”

  That would have been a bad move. In ancient battles, the appearance of the opposing army was almost as important as the fighting prowess. To be courageous, to attack with determination could unnerve the enemy. Our mammoths must seem terrifying to the bullyboys. I doubt the Slave Corps Neanderthals were outside much and had likely to seldom faced mammoths in any capacity. That could be critical. In personal face-to-face battle, nerve counted for a lot.

  “Whip them up, Skarl,” I shouted. “Whip them up, Brakka. Now’s the time to attack.”

  Despite my bold words, my stomach began to curdle. I had my knife, several lances, carried by a Neanderthal with a bad limp behind me. But most of all, I had my phasors. I planned to strike down as many of the enemy as I could before we engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Still, this was going to be rough.

  The approach to battle was almost over. The great fight was about to begin.

  -34-

  More than two thousand Neanderthal bruisers, slave guards, wore leather garments; none had shields, but a few had leather helmets.

  Ha! Had they seen our men with metal helmets and steel-spiked gauntlets? Those might come in extremely handy today. If nothing else, it encouraged the brave, those that wore them, those that had been awarded them by the Wise One.

  I called for the Nine.

  Skarl, Zog, Drogar and the others came. Others followed them, carrying extra lances.

  I’d start with a lance like the Nine, firing with them and helping if one lost his head.

  There were ten of us up front. Brakka was back with Gruum, who hung back near Philip. No one wanted the Old One to risk himself in battle.

  “Are you ready?” I shouted.

  Not only the Nine looked at me. Others did as well.

  Was it my place to take command of our company of Neanderthals? Perhaps it was because I was the lone Marine. I’d fought in combat before. I’d been to Bhutan, and I’d killed in the heat of combat and also with the calm of a combat veteran, deliberately doing what he must.

  I hefted a lance and knew its range.

  A thousand yards would be best. Much closer, and the enemy could sprint too near, too fast. Farther than that, we’d likely miss. The idea, unfortunately, was to slaughter as many of their tough guys as we could without getting scratched ourselves.

  “Follow me,” I said to Skarl and Zog.

  I marched ahead of everyone. The Nine followed. The others who carried extra lances followed them.

  The enemy host watched us. If they had phasor-men, now was the time for them to open up on us.

  I used the special glasses one last time. I spied their lines. I didn’t see any First Folk hiding among them. I hadn’t expected to, and I’d been right.

  Their mighty host began to chant. It was loud and terrifying, rolling against me like a physical thing.

  Our host, following the Nine, chanted as well. Unfortunately, the two thousand drowned out the sound.

  Sweat prickled under my armpits. My stomach clenched. It wasn’t fun being point man, seeing the two thousand-plus stocky Neanderthals, big ones, five-seven, maybe some even five-nine. I didn’t like this one bit. I wanted to start firing now.

  “Shouldn’t we fire from here?” Drogar asked.

  I wasn’t the only one feeling this.

  “Not yet.” I said with authority, “You want to get close. You want to get close so your missiles slam into them. You want them to see that you’re not afraid. Are you afraid, Drogar?”

  “I am not afraid,” he said.

  “Good.”

  That was big talk on my part. I was damned afraid, but I also knew this was it. This was the time to win, right here at the beginning.

  I quickened my pace. The Nine followed me. Perhaps they thought I had magical powers. Maybe I did. I had fought these kinds of battles before, whereas they hadn’t.