them.
The drone made a tutting noise very similar to the one the woman had made earlier and told its nearest knife missile to spook
the mount.
The pencil-thin shape came darting in, effectively invisible, and jabbed the beast in one flank so that it screamed
and jerked, nearly unseating
its rider as it veered away down the shallow slope of ridge toward the road.
The scout shouted and swore at his animal, reining it in and turning its broad snout back toward the ridge, some distance
beyond the
woman and the drone. They galloped away, leaving a thin trail of dust hanging in the near-still air.
Djan Seriy Anaplian stirred, sat up a little and looked out from under her hat. “What was all that." she asked sleepily.
“Nothing. Go back to sleep."
“Hmm." She relaxed again and a minute later was quietly snoring.
The drone woke her when the head of the army was almost level with them. It bobbed its front at the body of men and animals
a kilometer
distant while Anaplian was still yawning and stretching. “The boys are all here," it told her.
“Indeed they are," the woman said. She lifted the binoculars and focused on the very front of the army, where a group of men
rode mounted
on especially tall, colorfully caparisoned animals. These men wore high, plumed helmets and their highly polished
armor glittered brightly in the
glare. “They’re all very parade ground," Anaplian said. “It’s like they’re expecting to bump
into somebody out here they need to impress."
“God." the drone suggested.
The woman was silent for a moment. “Hmm," she said eventually. She put the field glasses down and looked at the drone. “Shall
we."
“Merely say the word."
Anaplian looked back at the army, took a deep breath and said, “Very well. Let us do this."
The drone made a little dipping motion like a nod. A small hatch opened in its side. A cylinder perhaps four centimeters wide
and twenty-
five long, shaped like a sort of conical knife, rolled lazily into the air then darted away, keeping close to the
ground and accelerating quickly
toward the rear of the column of men, animals and machines. It left a trail of dust for a
moment before it adjusted its altitude. Anaplian lost sight
of its camouflaged shape almost immediately.
The drone’s aura field, invisible until now, glowed rosily for a moment or two. “This," it said, “should be fun."
The woman looked at it dubiously. “There aren’t going to be any mistakes this time, are there."
“Certainly not," the machine said crisply. “Want to watch." it asked her. “I mean properly, not through those antique opera
glasses."
Anaplian looked at the machine through narrowed eyes for a little, then said, slowly, “All right."
The screen blinked into existence just to one side of them this time, so that Anaplian could still see the army in the distance
with the naked
eye. The screen view was from some distance behind the great column now, and much lower than before. Dust drifted
across the view. “That’s
from the trailing scout missile," Turminder Xuss said. Another screen flickered next to the first.
“This is from the knife missile itself." The camera
in the knife missile registered the tiny machine scudding past the army
in a blur of men, uniforms and weapons, then showed the tall shapes of
the wagons, war machines and siege engines before banking
sharply after the tail end of the army was passed. The rushing missile stooped,
taking up a position a kilometer behind the
rear of the army and a meter or so above the road surface. Its speed had dropped from near-
supersonic to something close to
that of a swiftly flying bird. It was closing rapidly with the rear of the column.
“I’ll synch the scout to the knife, follow it in behind," the drone said. In moments, the flat circular base of the knife
missile appeared as a dot
in the center of the scout missile’s view, then expanded until it looked like the smaller machine
was only a meter behind the larger one. “There
go the warps!" Xuss said, sounding excited. “See."
Two arrowhead shapes, one on either side, detached from the knife missile’s body, swung out and disappeared. The monofilament
wires
which still attached each of the little warps to the knife missile were invisible. The view changed as the scout missile
pulled back and up,
showing almost the whole of the army ahead.
“I’ll get the knife to buzz the wires," the drone said.
“What does that mean."
“Vibrates them, so that whatever the monofils go through, it’ll be like getting sliced by an implausibly sharp battle axe
rather than the world’s
keenest razor," the drone said helpfully.
The screen displaying what the scout missile could see showed a tree a hundred meters behind the last, trundling wagon. The
tree jerked
and the top three-quarters slid at a steep angle down the sloped stump that was the bottom quarter before toppling
to the dust. “That took a
flick," the drone said, glowing briefly rosy again and sounding amused. The wagons and siege engines
filled the view coming from the knife
missile. “The first bit’s actually the trickiest…"
The fabric roofs of the covered wagons rose into the air like released birds; tensed hoops of wood—cut—sprang apart. The giant,
solid
wheels of the catapults, trebuchets and siege engines shed their top sections on the next revolution and the great wooden
structures thudded to
a halt, the top halves of some of them, also cut through, jumping forward with the shock. Arm-thick
lengths of rope, wound rock-tight a moment
earlier, burst like released springs, then flopped like string. The scout missile
swung between the felled and wrecked machines as the men in
and around the wagons and siege engines started to react. The
knife missile powered onward, toward the foot soldiers immediately ahead. It
plunged into the mass of spears, pikes, pennant
poles, banners and flags, scything through them in a welter of sliced wood, falling blades and
flapping fabric.
Anaplian caught glimpses of a couple of men slashed or skewered by falling pike heads.
“Bound to be a few casualties," the drone muttered.
“Bound to be," the woman said.
The knife missile was catching glimpses of confused faces as men heard the shouts of those behind them and turned to look.
The missile
was a half-second away from the rear of the mass of mounted men and roughly level with their necks when the drone
sent,
—Are you sure we can’t—.
—Positive, Anaplian replied, inserting a sigh into what was an entirely nonverbal exchange.—Just stick to the plan.
The tiny machine nudged up a half meter or so and tore above the mounted men, catching their plumed helmets and chopping the
gaudy
decorations off like a harvest of motley stalks. It leapt over the head of the column, leaving consternation and fluttering
plumage in its wake.
Then it zoomed, heading skyward. The following scout missile registered the monofil warps clicking back
into place in the knife missile’s body
before it swiveled, rose and slowed, to look back at the whole army again.
It was, Anaplian thought, a scene of entirely satisfactory chaos, outrage and confusion. She smiled. This was an event of
such rarity that
Turminder Xuss recorded the moment.
The screens hanging in the air disappeared. The knife missile reappeared and swung into the offered hatchway in the side of
the drone.
Anaplian looked out over the plain to the road and the halted army. “Many casualties." she asked, smile disappearing.
“Sixteen or so," the drone told her. “About half will likely prove fatal, in time."
She nodded, still watching the distant column of men and machines. “Oh well."
“Indeed," Turminder Xuss agreed. The scout missile floated up to the drone and also entered via a side panel. “Still," the
drone said,
sounding weary, “we should have done more."
“Should we."