Inside Straight

The tanks came first, single file. Their guns were blazing, trying to keep us back while they pushed past or through the obstacles we’d placed in their way. It turns out if you send a bunch of wasps up the barrel of those things, it just gets you closer to the shell when it goes off. It wasn’t pleasant. But then Rustbelt was in there, howling like a banshee, and the tanks started falling apart. They shot him. They shot him a lot. When the helicopters came, the detonations began. There was so much smoke in the air, I lost some wasps just to that.

The Living Gods put down suppressing fire, and Sekhmet and Holy Roller made a push of their own. I did what I could, stinging and moving and generally making sure the bad guys couldn’t keep it together. No matter how hard they tried, there wasn’t room for enough men to get onto the dam to overwhelm us. The whole thing was more or less even until a sandblasting wind kicked up, courtesy of Simoon, and Lohengrin in his armor showed up at Rustbelt’s side.

When the army started falling back to the east, we pressed them. We were all a little drunk, I think. We were winning. Simoon’s wind was vicious. It was enough to rip skin, not that it bothered Lohengrin or Rustbelt. Together the three of them moved slowly across, all the way to the far side, driving the army before them. Bubbles and Curveball made a second wave, shooting down any aircraft stupid enough to try to break through. The rest of us—all of us—came in ranks behind them. Jokers with pistols and ancient rifles and Kevlar vests that were state of the art in the 1970s. American aces who couldn’t speak a fucking word of Arabic or do anything more eloquent than give thumbs-up signs all around.

We were overconfident. The Egyptian commander was smart. We didn’t figure out what he was doing until it was too late.

~ ~ ~

Curveball crouched, a stone the size of a golf ball in her hand. Rusty and the German ace were still advancing, but it wasn’t easy to see much beyond that. The blowing sand obscured most of what lay ahead, and smoke and flakes of rust swirled madly, making the air taste like blood.

Earth Witch plucked at her sleeve and pointed out to the right, over the water. A boat was just visible, pushing out from the eastern shore.

“Got it,” Curveball said, and sidearmed the stone like she was skipping it. The detonation sent a wave across the surface of the water. Someone—John Fortune?—pressed another rock into her hand.

“It’s turning back,” Earth Witch said.

“Good work,” John said. His hand was hot, like a man with a fever. “Keep going.”

The angry chop of helicopters cut through the noise. They’d crossed the river somewhere else and were circling back to come up behind them. “Mine! I’ve got ’em!” Bubbles yelled. “Take cover!”

Machine guns spat, fire blazing from their muzzles, as two huge, iridescent bubbles rose gracefully into the air. The transparent skins swirled with colors like oil on water, trembling in the wash of the propellers. When they detonated, the concussion was like a blow. The burning hulk of the copters arced down to the water and sank.

“Forward!” Fortune shouted. “Come on! Let’s go!”