Bill Magruder shook his fist at the flying silver speck. Auerbach understood that only too well. He said, “I’m just glad it’s not after us.”

“Yes, sir,” Magruder said. They’d both been through assaults by ground-attack aircraft. Those chewed up horse cavalry as bad as tanks did. Helicopters were even worse. They didn’t just make strafing runs and leave; they stayed around and hunted you no matter which way you ran. If cavalry flew instead of riding, it would be mounted on helicopters.

Auerbach turned his head to follow the Lizard plane as it disappeared into the west. “These days, I can’t help wondering what those sons of bitches carry,” he said. “I keep worrying it’s another one of those bombs like the one they used on Washington or the Russians used on them south of Moscow. Once the gloves for that kind of fight come off, how do you put ’em back on again?”

“Damned if I know,” Magruder answered. “I just wish to Jesus we had some of those bombs ourselves. You think we can make ’em?”

“I sure hope so,” Auerbach answered. He thought back to the knapsack that colonel-what was his name? Groves, that was it-had toted from Boston all the way to Denver, complete with a detour into Canada. He’d commanded the company that had escorted Groves on the cross-country jaunt. He didn’t know for sure what was in that knapsack; Groves had been mighty tight-lipped about the whole business, like any good officer. But if it wasn’t something to do with one of those fancy bombs, Auerbach figured his guesser needed repairing.

He didn’t say anything about that to Magruder, who hadn’t been with the company then. If Groves couldn’t talk to him about it, he didn’t figure he could talk to anybody else.

The company rode into Kendall, twelve miles east of Syracuse, a couple of hours before noon. If Syracuse had been a small town, Kendall was a dusty hamlet dozing by the Arkansas River. Auerbach let the horses rest, crop some grass, and drink from the river. He walked into the general store to see if it had anything worth getting, but the 150 Kendallians had pretty much picked it clean over the past year. They were living on whatever they got from their farms, the way their grandparents and great-grandparents had just after the War Between the States.

When the company left Kendall, Auerbach ordered a couple of scouts with radios well forward. He knew the Lizards were in Garden City, forty miles east. He didn’t think they were in Lakin, fifteen miles east. He didn’t want to find out he was wrong the hard way.

He also ordered the men to spread out wide. Even if the worst happened-the worst being attack from the air-some of them should escape.

One minute, one hour, melted into another. Sweat dripped from the end of Auerbach’s pointed nose, soaked the armpits of his khaki jacket. He took off his hat and fanned himself with it. It didn’t help much.

Just as if the world remained at peace, windmills spun, pumping water up from underground to nourish wheat and corn and sugar beets. Almost every farm had a big brooder house; every so often, Auerbach would hear chickens clucking. Cows and sheep cropped grass, while pigs wandered around eating anything that wasn’t nailed down. Even though shipping had gone to the devil here no less than anywhere else, people still ate pretty well.

The company approached Lakin in the late afternoon. Auerbach didn’t mind that at all: if the town did hold Lizards, they’d have the sun in their eyes when fighting started. “Sir!” The radioman brought his horse up next to Auerbach’s. “Henry and Red, they say they’ve spotted razor wire like the Lizards use. They’re dismounting and they’ll wait for us.”

“Right.” Auerbach reined in and got out a pair of binoculars. He didn’t see any razor wire, but the scouts were a lot closer than he was. Far and away the biggest set of buildings ahead looked at first distant glance like military barracks. Auerbach turned the binoculars on them, whereupon he laughed at himself-they let him read the words painted in big letters on the side of one building, which saidKEARNY COUNTY CONSOLIDATED HIGH SCHOOL. He turned back to the radioman. “Tell ’em we’re on our way.”

“Yes, sir.” The radioman spoke into the microphone.

“Horse holders!” Auerbach called, hoping the sunwould keep the Lizards in Lakin from noticing him and his men. If it didn’t, that could prove embarrassing-maybe fatally embarrassing.

In the States War, one man in four had held horses while the others went up to fight on foot. Auerbach’s company was already about ten men understrength; he couldn’t afford to lose any more effectives than he could help. Letting one man hold five horses also let the company bring four or five extra weapons to the front.

Some of the horse holders resented the duty; he had to rotate it through all the troopers to make it seem fair. Some, though, looked just as well pleased not to be going up against the firepower the Lizards could throw at them. He pretended not to notice that. Nobody had to be a hero all the time.

He wondered how big a garrison the Lizards had thrown into Lakin. They hadn’t been there long; how well could they have fortified the place? He was bringing about seventy men with him; if they were going up against a battalion, they’d get slaughtered. But why in God’s name would the Lizards stick a battalion into a godforsaken place like Lakin, Kansas? He hoped he wouldn’t find out.

The company advanced at the best pace the crews for the machine guns and mortar could manage: they were the ones weighed down by their guns and ammunition. Auerbach would have liked to approach Lakin closer on horseback, but that was asking to get chewed up. Here on the plains, they could see you coming from a long way off.

About a mile outside of town, the mortar crew set up shop. A little bit closer, Red and Henry had tied their horses to fence posts. Red-his last name was O’Neill-pointed ahead. “See that, sir? They’ve got a perimeter out around the school.”

“Mmhmm.” Auerbach studied it. “Wire, yeah, and firing pits, too. I don’t see anybody in ’em, though.”

“No, sir,” O’Neill agreed. “They’re there, all right, but they don’t look like they’re expecting company.”

“Which may mean they aren’t, and which may mean they’re laying for us.” Auerbach rubbed his chin. Bristles rasped under his fingers. He was getting scruffy enough to make a good States War trooper, that was for sure. He sighed. “I think we better find out.”

Nobody argued, but then nobody would; he was the captain, the fellow who got paid to make the choices. He wished someone would have tried to talk him out of this one. Instead, the men fanned out and started moving in on the consolidated high school. At his murmured orders, one of the machine-gun crews went straight toward it while the other circled around to the left, away from the Arkansas River.

Auerbach went straight in, too. With every step he took, he wished Kansas wasn’t so blinking flat. He felt like a bug on a plate, walking toward a man with a fly swatter the size of Dallas. Before long, he wasn’t walking any more; he was crawling on his belly through the grass.

Something moved inside the perimeter ahead. Auerbach froze. Somebody fired. As if that were a signal, the whole company opened up. Some of the high school’s windows had been broken before. Abruptly, just about all of them were.

The Lizards wasted no time shooting back. They had machine guns on the roofs of several high school buildings. Auerbach blew air out through his lips, making a snuffling noise amazingly like one a horse might produce. This wasn’t going to be anything like a walkover.

A mortar bomb whistled through the air, landing about fifty yards short of the school buildings. Another round flew over the high school.Bracketed, Auerbach thought. Then bombs started falling on the buildings. One of the rooftop machine guns suddenly fell silent. Auerbach yelled himself hoarse.