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CHAPTER 2 BEST ROUND-ROBIN CHAPTER or THE THIN RED LEATHERSTOCKING TALE When the French brought up siege mortars, things began to get serious inside Fort Dunmoore. So far, Lethbridge-Stewart had lost only a handful of men to the relentless rain of fire arrows the Indians poured over the walls. Every man lost was a hardship, of course, but a bearable one, so long as the fort stood barring the way into the lower colonies. With its high walls and solid construction, no force of Indians no matter how large or stout-hearted stood a chance of carrying it by storm. There was rather more chance of them managing to blockade the garrison inside and try to starve them out, but there were ample provisions and it was unlikely the savages would have the stomach or the organization to long maintain such a siege. But now there were French troops out there, Montcalm's veterans, it was said. And what was worse, French discipline (for all that such a concept was considered oxymoronic in His Majesty's Army) and French artillery. French orders and French tribute would keep their Indian allies in the field for however long it took for those big French siege guns to knock the walls to pieces. Their only hope now was for a relief force to arrive from New England, something more substantial than the dribs and drabs of colonial militia that had been straggling through the wilderness, getting themselves cut up by Indian ambushes. "Are you certain this is wise, General?" Captain Yates asked. The ground rumbled under their feet as a cannonball arced over the wall and slammed into the empty ruins of the stables. "Morale is most critical at this point, Yates," General Lethbridge- Stewart replied. "If we can keep morale up, we can hold out long enough for a column to reach us from New Haven." Another shell crashed into the fort as a rattle of musketry and a chorus of war whoops signalled another feint against the West Bastion being driven off. "I understand that, sir," Yates retorted, "but supposing the enemy tries a full-scale assault while the Regiment is away from the walls?" "The colonials will man the walls and will surely be able to hold for no longer than the ceremony will take." The general straightened the facings on his deep red coat and shook a bit of powder out of his wig. "Regiments are built on _tradition_, Yates. The men draw strength from it. The cost to morale of _not_ going through with the annual ceremony would, I judge, be far worse than any brief tactical weakness we may incur." A volley of fire arrows arched into the guardhouse roof, but most of it had already burned. A pair of colonials rushed over with buckets to douse such flames as took hold. The Regiment was drawn up in a square around the flagpole, the adjutant Major Yadallee at their head with the parchments folded neatly under his arm. Not a man flinched or started as gunfire battered the fort, even when a cannonball bounced beside the front rank, spraying the men with dirt clods. "My good officers and men," the general began, pacing before them, "you are all by now familiar with our tradition of presenting a yearly award for the best literary achievement in the area of chapters from Round-Robin stories. That is to say, those stories that are written by multiple authors working in turns. Today, we honor those efforts from this past year. Major Yadallee?" The adjutant turned and unrolled the parchments, but his words were drowned out by the roar of a guard tower collapsing. Thankfully, there were only a couple of colonials in it at the time. When the hammering of artillery had faded back into background noise once again, Major Yadallee began to speak. "The Round-Robin story is a long-standing tradition of the 3rd Adwecshire Regiment, going back to the very formation of this Regiment. In keeping with that noble heritage, I shall now read aloud excerpts from the top six nominees for Best Round-Robin Chapter. Ahem." He paused to let a 12-pounder cannonball ricochet over his head, never moving a muscle. "First is 'Desert of Fear', Chapter 35, by BKWillis..." -- Deliberately and without taking her eyes from his face, she brushed his hand off her shoulder, then turned and strode to the door. She stopped there for a moment, halfway out, then turned back to him, her face serious. He was still watching her. "Cain?" "Yeah?" "Just what am I to you? A hireling? Hatchet-girl? Pawn?" He was quiet for a few seconds. "Objectively, I guess you're my partner-in-crime. Personally, I'd like to think you're my friend." He shrugged. "And what am I to you?" "We'll see," she said as she closed the door behind her. -- "Second, we have 'Desert of Fear', Chapter 36, also by BKWillis..." -- It wasn't enough. The apes were too many to hold at bay for long, and the two Skyborn too weak. Marduk's spear lashed out, driving through a fur-matted belly. The ape howled like a damned soul, but grasped the shaft and held on with all its dying strength as Marduk tried to wrench the weapon free. Another ape slipped in a ferocious stab that narrowly missed skewering the young Guardsman, laying his side open in a messy but shallow furrow. He staggered back as the ape grinned at him and drew back for the finishing blow. Something went whirring just past the Skyborn's head and the ape's face dissolved into red ruin, a hand axe buried in its skull. Again the apes gave back as Ghorlok and Shizaan came plowing into them, sabers a-whirl. The Servii's terrible, lashing strokes split heads and bellies, leaving a carpet of thrashing and sundered bodies in their wake. The ferocity of the charge rolled the fighting back away from the two Skyborn, giving them a moment to recover. -- A musket ball from an Indian who'd gained the wall knocked the cocked hat from Yadallee's head, but he just calmly bent down and retrieved it, paying no mind to the hole it now sported. "Third is 'Desert of Fear', Chapter 37, _also_ by BKWillis..." -- But it wasn't a Servii that finally came out of the looming dark. It was a girl, a mere slip of a human girl, fair of skin and with hair like a nighted river. She walked slowly but resolutely into the puddle of light around the Trinnians, stopping to offer them a short, polite bow. She wore no armor, just a dark, heavy dress of the sort a noble might wear, and bore no weapon that the Gun Master could see. A drop of blood fell from her fingers. "I apologize, gentlemen," she said in a soft, regretful voice, "but I fear it's necessary that I slay you all..." -- "The fourth nominee is 'Desert of Fear', Chapter 39, by Clive May..." -- The trip through the tunnels, hallways, and up the ramps and stairs was a nightmare. They were frustrated at every turn. Pursued by the green fire, their way was continually being blocked by locked doors and armed guards closing the exits to the Under-City, due to the current emergency. Vanir despaired of even getting clear of the Under-City, let alone into the heart of Security Headquarters. As they approached the exit from yet another corridor, Siharal motioned for quiet. "This is where it gets tricky - there'll be guards," he cautioned. There were guards; but they were slumped unconscious just inside the door to the chamber. A slender, boyish figure with short dark hair wearing a Temple Guard uniform stood impatiently by the tall blue box. As they emerged, she stepped forward and raised a blaster. At sight of her, the Doctor's eyes went wide in recognition. He glanced at the bodies slumped by the doorway. His face twisted into an expression of dislike. "Still having trouble picking sides young lady, I see?" he observed. Rhanda grinned at him. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to come back for this," she said, and tapped the side of the box. -- One of the French gunners made either a very beautiful or very lucky shot just then, the shell landing in the powder kegs beside the North Bastion cannon. The explosion levelled the tower and sent a wave of smoke and dust across the assembled Regiment. But they spared it little attention, since another nominee was about to be announced. "Fifth, we have Internet Adventure #27, 'The Apan Way', Chapter 1, by Paul Gadzikowski..." -- "Excuse me," said Greh, "I hate to bother you, but it's really frightfully important." The tall chap looked down at Greh and smiled. "Wonderful! I'm good at important things." No mark'd ever said that before. No matter. "I do mean frightfully important," Greh continued earnestly. "Life and death, fate of the world at stake, that sort of thing." "Go on, please," said the tall chap. "By the way, I'm -" It wasn't important who the mark thought he was. It was important who the mark thought Greh was. "Have you ever heard," said Greh, "of the Doctor?" The tall chap took a moment to get his mind around that. "The Doctor?" Good, good; you don't want a mark who's too bright. "Lives in a time machine?" Greh explained. "Travels about putting the universe to rights? Steals from the rich, gives to the poor, six megalomaniacs toppled before breakfast?" "What about the Doctor?" The tall chap *had* heard the stories, or heard of the stories. Greh grabbed his own lapels - thumbs pointing up; he practiced this in restroom mirrors - and straightened to his full height, which was about eighty percent of the tall chap's. "I am the Doctor." The tall chap looked at Greh stunned for a moment, then broke into the most delighted grin. "*You* are?" -- "And the final nominee is Internet Adventure #27, 'The Apan Way', Chapter 2, by Molly Schlemmer." An arrow pierced the parchment in Major Yadallee's hands and this time he actually sighed a little bit before plucking it out and continuing to read... -- "Could you please not talk right now? I've got a terrible headache." The voice was female, and in considerable pain. The tall chap kneeled down. Greh walked around to see who he was talking to. "Hello, I'm the Doctor," the tall chap said quietly. His expression suddenly changed from caring to quizzical. "Who are you hiding from?" The woman opened her eyes just enough to look at the tall chap. Greh could see her eyes were bloodshot. "I'm not hiding," she mumbled. "Just have a headache, that's all." "I wasn't really asking you," the tall chap replied. "I was asking your headache." -- Major Yadallee tucked the last parchment under his arm and stepped smartly back as the general came forward again, a rolled and wax- sealed document in his hands. The Regimental piper sliced through the seal with his dirk in the traditional manner, allowing it to unroll in Lethbridge-Stewart's hands. "And the Best Round-Robin Chapter is hereby declared to be... Internet Adventure #27, 'The Apan Way', Chapter 1, by Paul Gadzikowski!" A patter of applause ran through the troops as the piper launched into a celebratory skirl. Just about then, a rending crash and the din of war whoops signified a largish section of the North Wall coming down and a horde of red Indians swarming over the wreckage. General Lethbridge-Stewart snapped off a smart salute to his men, then another to the Union Jack. "Thank you, men of the 3rd Adwecshire, and Godspeed. You are now dismissed to your posts so that you may fight for your lives..." ---- CHAPTER 3: BEST ROUND-ROBIN CHAPTER or FULL METAL APOCALYPSE PLATOON "...say again, Knight-3. We did not copy. Over." Sergeant Darren Ullman ducked as another shell landed in the factory ruins, a small avalanche of cement pebbles raining on his helmet. The concussion almost jarred the radio from his hand, but he managed to hang on. "Air strike!" he screamed into the mike again. "We need an air strike on coordinates 56-86! Repeat, requesting air strike on 56-86! Over!" On the ledge above him, Rogan began hammering out long bursts with his M-60. "We got infantry dismounting!" the big corporal yelled over the racket. "Three hundred meters, with APCs in support!" The radio crackled to life again, the officer on the other end sounding as calm as would be expected of a man miles away from the fighting. "Knight-3, we show 56-86 as being your own position. Suggest you recheck coordinates for that requested air strike. Over." Ullman spat a string of curses before keying up the radio again. "Affirmitive, Base," he responded. "We are being overrun! Repeat, _overrun_! The enemy is coming down on our position!" He held out the radio, letting the mike pick up the din of explosions and automatic weapons fire. "You hear that?! We need that air strike and we need it now! Drop on us! We're dead if you don't! Over!" "Roger that," the bland voice replied. "Knight-3, I'm putting you through to Redneck-01. He's about three minutes out from your position." The radio crackled, the tone shifting a little as a new voice came on, a Southern twang undercut by a rumble of engines. "Knight-3, this is Redneck-01. I am inbound from west-northwest. Anything in particular you want shot up, or should I just flatten ever'thing? Over." Another explosion brought down a section of wall, tossing Private Hendriks across the room. Ullman started to go to him, but the private picked himself up, found his M-16, and took up position firing through the new hole. "Redneck-01, we are dug in in the old factory building on the east side of the main road. We have mechanized infantry attacking from the west. There are no, repeat _no_ friendly vehicles at these coordinates. Over." "Roger that, Knight-3. All vehicles are targets, friendlies are in the factory building. Commencing strafing run in thirty seconds. Redneck-01 out." Ullman threw down the radio receiver and snatched up his rifle, taking a post beside Private Ogden. The pudgy youngster had fired his rifle empty and was frantically blazing away with his .45. "We can't hold them, Sarge!" he bawled. And it looked like that was true. With a pistol, two rifles, and a single machine gun, they were trying to stand off what looked like a whole ADF mechanized company. Bullets from a hundred rifles spanged off the ruined concrete around them, while the ADF armored personnel carriers provided support with their light cannons and rocket launchers. Fortunately, the enemy commander must not have realized that the defenders lacked any heavy weapons, or he could have run the APCs right up into the building and ended the firefight in seconds. As it was, it still didn't look like it could go on much longer than that. Without warning, one of the APCs exploded as an air-to-ground missile found its engine compartment. Seconds later the ground around the vehicles began to ripple and jump under the impact of hundreds of high-velocity 30mm cannon shells as a friendly A-10 Warthog swooped low over the field, its big Avenger antitank gun cutting the armored vehicles nearly in two. The ugly fighter swung about and made another run, this time dropping a hail of cluster bombs along the roadway, breaking up the infantry assault. This was too much for the ADF soldiers to bear and as the plane veered off to return to base, the attackers grabbed up their casualties and their surviving APCs and withdrew, sped on by a few dozen rounds from the exultant defenders, who had also been knocked momentarily flat by the nearness of the bombing. When it became clear that the ADF wasn't about to try probing their position again anytime soon, Ullman and his men stood down, leaving Rogan and his M-60 on watch. "We did it," Ogden mumbled. "We're still alive." "For now," Hendriks, ever the cynic, replied. "Heh. If we can live through _that_, we can live through anything. Right, Sarge?" Ullman shrugged wearily as he sank down beside their little fire. "I suppose." His eyes were far away. "Man, I'd give anything for a cold beer right now." "Yeah, I miss that," Hendriks agreed. "Know what else I miss? Baths. Hot baths." "And girls," Rogan put in. "Yeah. And girls." Ogden chuckled softly, poking at the fire. "This is gonna sound weird, but you know what I miss most? Round-Robin stories." Ullman poked him with his boot. "That's not so weird. I like Round- Robins too." "What's a Round-Robin?" Rogan asked, still watching the horizon. Hendriks laughed. "Man, where did you live, under a rock? Round- Robins are these cool stories people used to write. They'd get a group together and everybody would take turns adding to it and figuring out how it was going to go. They made for some _excellent_ reading." "Yeah!" Ogden chirped. "Round-Robins kick ass! My favorite was this one they did, 'Dark Carnival'. It was like this really freaky horror story about these brothers that run a carnival where they kill people and sometimes steal their souls and stuff. And this one guy, he gets killed, but he ends up in this dusty place full of mad dogs and stuff. And there was this kid, and this girl that was a guy, and this ghost and her sister, and these good guys who got turned evil, and all kinds of stuff like that. It rocked!" "I remember one I liked," said the sergeant. "'The Apan Way', I think it was. There were these aliens who looked like bees and they were gonna try and conquer this planet, but there was this time traveler who was trying to stop them. And he had these helpers, like this girl with this _thing_ bonded to her brain, and this guy who was like a hobo or a con man, but used to be somebody important." "I preferred 'Alone'," offered Hendriks. "More cerebral and atmospheric than the others. Had to do with this woman who was all alone in this old building, but she wasn't _exactly_ alone, and the whole thing was a big metaphor. Makes you think." Ogden took a drink from his canteen, then fixed Hendriks with a steady stare. "Well, 'The Joyful Quadrille' was the one that made _me_ think. I mean, you had to to keep up with everything going on in that one. There was the party, then everybody disappearing into another dimension where you couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't. And there were all those people coming and going, like trolls and aliens and that kid with the rat and that robot-girl and those spies..." "I dunno," Rogan distractedly put in. "I kind of like more action- type stories." "Then you should have read 'Desert of Fear', man," Ullman informed him. "Wall-to-wall action. Lots of sword-fighting and evil cultists and double-crossing spies and junk like that. Full of hot-looking chicks, too." Artillery rumbled in the distance, but it was just the usual interdiction fire both sides aimed behind each other's lines. "So, like, what was the best one, then?" Rogan said. "If I get out of here, maybe I'll read one." "You'll make it," Ullman assured him. "It's a jinx to say different. But yeah, they held a vote one time and picked what the Best Round- Robin was. That's the one I'd start with." "So which one was it?" "'Dark Carnival'." The sergeant looked at the others for confirmation. "Yeah, 'Dark Carnival' was voted the Best Round-Robin. Read that one when you get home." "And me," piped up Ogden. "I'm gonna read it again, too." Hendriks chuckled. "At the rate the authors were going, it'll probably still be going on. When we get back home, I'll read it with you guys." "Make it four," Ullman added with a tired smile. "That's a promise, right? We all make it out, and we all read the Best Round-Robin, 'Dark Carnival', when we do." Part 1 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Epilogue & Credits - Summary
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