Chapter 35 (part 2)
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“What the hell are they doing?” Company Commander demanded of Second Commander.
“It looks like it could be an attack, sir.”
“We have cover, they’re on foot, and they’re going slow to begin with. What kind of an attack is that?”
“Perhaps it’s a trick,” Third Commander suggested.
“Perhaps.” If so, it was a stupid trick-- the humans could have been killed with no trouble at all any time after they came out from cover. The Captain wanted to figure this out before he did anything irrevocable. “We’ll hold fire for the moment.”
The humans kept coming on, as other humans back behind their vehicles kept yelling. The marchers were chanting as they came:
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
that saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now I’m found,
was blind, but now I see.
Those in the lead company who knew a little human huddled together to try and figure out the meaning of this. As best they could tell, the humans were hearing something which tasted good, finally knew where they were, and had better vision-- that seemed to be the gist, anyway. Why they would feel compelled to chant this as they marched to their deaths was a mystery. Company Commander peeked around the vehicles with his magnifier on, and noticed the humans seemed to be crying. He was baffled, and it made his head hurt. He was a watch officer for the Imperial Guards, which did not qualify one to psychoanalyze hitherto unknown aliens.
Then came a report that many of the humans were dropping their weapons as they walked. Company Commander had a thought-- could it be these humans wantedto be killed? But if so, why? The questions were unanswerable for the moment, but the conviction came over the Captain that killing these humans would be wrong. Unfortunately, he was going to have to give the order to kill them anyway; he had a duty to his troopers to not endanger them unnecessarily. If the natives kept coming on they’d have to die, and Company Commander didn’t like the idea a bit.
He came to a decision-- he ordered his best speaker of human to tell the marchers to stop over his suit amplifier. “Do not-- will kill. Go away-- not want kill. Please-- not want kill.” This was repeated over and over, but there was no sign the humans understood. Company Commander looked out over the roadway with his range- finder, and chose a green sign about half a *ffklal–*a hint over fifty meters-- from his position. If the leading rank of humans passed that sign, he’d be forced to open fire.
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
that saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now I’m found,
was blind, but now I see.
At a distance of one *ffklal,**Company Commander reluctantly nodded to Third Commander, who gave the order to stand by-- the troopers prepared for their part in the drama. At two- thirds of a ffklal, Third Commander ordered safeties off. The humans, still chanting and crying, were almost at the sign-- Company Commander ordered a three to fire in front of the marchers, but it made no impression. In despair, he ordered that only the leading rank of humans be shot. A nine of troopers popped up over the vehicles and began firing.
The humans watching back behind their own vehicles saw no flashes and heard no sounds from the alien weapons; the only way of telling from a distance that a blaster had been fired was when the round hit something. The leading humans were mowed down as if with a scythe, blown back with gaping holes in their bodies. In some cases the marchers immediately behind the lead rank were killed as well, the blaster bolts passing completely through their intended targets. “Hold your fire!” Peters ordered grimly; she’d heard the aliens pleading with the marchers to stop.
The marchers were slowed only to the extent they had to step around and over the dead and dying. Company Commander was ready to break into tearless crying, but he had no choice but to order the rest of the humans killed. Eighty- one troopers went to work shooting down over 600 humans. It took almost no time at all to covert them into a pile of corpses.
There was dead silence for a moment after it was over from both the Cranangulan and human positions, and Company Commander prepared to say something to his troopers-- he didn’t know what, but something. Then came a sound from the piles of dead and wounded, a chant:
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
that saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now I’m found,
was blind, but now I see.
A woman in her late 20s or early 30s picked herself up from where a shot comrade had fallen into her-- she was the only one not killed or mortally wounded. Still singing in a quavering voice, she began to head for the alien positions again, picking her way through the bodies. She was unarmed, and it seemed to occur to her the aliens might not do what she needed; she bent down and retrieved a rifle, then continued forward. She was still crying, still singing.
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
that saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now I’m found,
was blind, but now I see.
“Hold fire!” Company Commander screamed at his troopers. He hesitated a moment, then took his helmet off and slipped around the vehicles to the no- man’s land between the lines. He began walking towards the human, who was walking towards him. The watching Cranangulans tensed; the watching humans also tensed.
They stopped in front of each other, and the woman finally fell silent. Realizing she wasn’t enough of a threat, she pointed the rifle at the alien. Company Commander didn’t move; he just looked down into her overflowing eyes. She looked back, and perhaps it was simply that she didn’t see a human being-- all humans had become repugnant to her. She lowered the rifle and dropped it on the ground; then she started sobbing harder.
“I don’t know why you wish to die,” Company Commander said softly in a language she’d never understand, “but I will not help you. I have helped enough die today.” Then he put both his right arms around her to make sure his troopers understood she wasn’t a threat, and guided her into his line. Once more under cover, he turned her over to a medic and ordered she be taken to as much a place of safety as was currently possible.
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The Cranangulans around Rochester-- the main body was more or less centered around the toll booths for the Thruway-- pretty much had it their own way. The humans kept attacking from all sides, and they did inflict some casualties, but the aliens inflicted far more. Overall, except for two detached missions which were failing to respond, things had gone very well. Regimental Commander-- he wondered if under the circumstances he was really a theatercommander-- was pleased, so pleased he allowed himself some non- regulation comfort and removed his helmet. In response to inquiries he replied no, no one else was permitted to remove their helmets, just him. As the great 20th Century human philosopher Mel Brooks once said, it’s good to be the king.
But the Cranangulans were about to meet a difficulty they’d never considered. . . .
Around the area were malls and plazas which used ponds as landscape decoration. These ponds had long ago been discovered by large numbers of Canada Geese, who established themselves as year- round residents. The owners and officers of the malls and plazas had been waging a campaign to be allowed to “reduce the flocks,” which was a euphemistic way of saying they wanted to poison the little buggers, but so far Monroe County and the various Town governments had resisted. This year there were more birds than ever.
It was seen by many, or it would never have been believed. In plain sight of hundreds of people the geese all took off, outlying flocks first. They all converged on the big mall in Henrietta, where they were joined by a flight of Mallard Ducks coming off the old Erie Canal. With everyone in place, the birds headed for the Thruway, looking for all the world like B-17 Flying Fortresses escorted by P-51 Mustang fighters on the way to bomb Berlin.
Ethnic Cranangulans tended to regard creatures which had wings, feathers, and beaks with suspicion-- an inborn reaction to the Vlood Occupation, perhaps-- but the word on Earth’s flying things was that they were just animals. When the birds appeared over their positions the aliens inspected them long enough to determine they weren’t flying weapons, then ignored them.
Then, as later reported by human prisoners released when the aliens withdrew, it became hard to ignore the ducks and geese-- the whole lot dived at the invaders and began excreting. Regimental Commander looked up, open- mouthed, and suddenly had a great honkin’ glob of goose shit score a direct hit on the back of his throat. He swallowed reflexively, turned an amazing shade of green, and commenced vomiting into the nearest receptacle at hand. The Colonel had ceased to have a good day; what he threw up in was his helmet.
The other aliens in the area were spared their leader’s fate, since they hadn’t been permitted to remove their helmets, but very few of them were happy about being covered in bird crap. They sullenly watched as the attackers let out some derisive honks and quacks and flew back to their domiciles. Some of the Cranangulans asked permission to shoot the damned things down, but these requests were passed along to Regimental Commander, who couldn’t have given an order right then if his life depended on it. The ducks and geese were allowed to leave unmolested, having staged the only successful air attack on the Cranangulan ground forces of any species that day.
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The subsequent assault on the human positions on I-280 was a success for the Cranangulans, with the humans fleeing in terror when their lines shattered. Colonel Peters, unable to stop the disintegration of her command, was killed trying to make a last- ditch stand with no more than two dozen troops.
Company Commander was also killed in the assault, which took place less than 40 minutes after what the human press would take to calling Òthe Slaughter of the Mourners.Ó He acted with such disregard for his own life during the attack that some of his troopers wondered if he actually wantedthe humans to kill him. . . but of course they’d never know.
As per orders, the Cranangulans released their human prisoners before withdrawing back to space. Included in the release was the woman Company Commander refused to kill; the aliens explained the situation to three other prisoners as best they could, and suggested she needed help of some sort. In the confusion that followed the alien withdrawal, the three ex- POWs became separated from the woman; the next time anyone saw her was after a shot rang out from inside a wrecked car. Since nobody would kill her, she’d done it herself.
It was later determined she had been Linda- Kate Francisco. Her husband had suicided almost a year before. . . and her baby boy had died on one of the crosses in the field by the road.
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The tension between Ground Forces and Naval Forces mixed with the tension between Regulars and Reservists, and Regimental Commander received no sympathy at all. When it was time for the Ground Forces south of Rochester to withdraw, the Colonel tried to get away with leaving his helmet off. The Naval Forces crew wasn’t about to cut a dirt- eating Regular slack-- the regs said everybody wore helmets for takeoffs and landings, and as far as they knew there was no exception for those stupid enough to barf in said helmets. Regimental Commander was forced to put his helmet on, which caused him to throw up some more. . . and this time it all drained down into his suit. War is hell.
The Naval Forces crews on that and other ships got a bit of a comeupance, however. After clearing the atmosphere, the crews all took their helmets off as usual. . . and then frantically jammed them back on, unable to stand the smell of the Ground Forces’ bird- decorated suits. “You look like a bucket of shit!” a crew member told a platoon leader. Oddly enough, the great 20th Century human philosopher Mel Brooks once said the same thing.
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On Tuesday, August 16, two days after the battle, the County Legislature passed an emergency measure prohibiting the “killing, injuring, removing, frightening, or harassing” of ducks and geese within Monroe County. The owners and officers of the malls and plazas protested vigorously, and discovered the ducks and geese ranked considerably higher in public opinion than they did. Indeed, the owners and officers realized they were in danger of falling below the Cranangulansin popularity-- they were already well below pimps, prostitutes, and pushers from Lyell Avenue, though that might have been true before the battle. They reversed themselves and publicly supported the new law, thinking they would just have to bide their time until after the war. . . or until Monroe County was three feet deep in bird shit.
