My Big Goblin Space Program

Chapter 65 - Flank Stakes

The goblins who had abandoned the tribe encountered the new force coming from the south. They tried to turn around and run back for safety, but the second surprise attack of javeline were already too close. I didn’t stay to watch the new force cut them down. There was no time.

I turned and ran to the east side of the village where Eileen had the heavy gliders staged and ready for takeoff. My bodyguards squawked and chased after me.

“Eileen! Eileen!” I shouted.

My taskmaster turned in her pilot’s seat and peered down at me. “How’s the battle going?”

“The javeline brought up a second group from the south,” I gasped between breaths. “They’re going to hit the gunners from behind as soon as they deal with the stragglers. We have to do something!”

Promo lifted his ceramic mask. “So… we’re not sticking to the evacuation plan?”

“No!” I said.

The noblin grinned at me and jumped down. “Good. Can’t abide runnin’ fer my hide.” he raised his voice and his hammer. “Come on lads! Every dead pig is another taste of bacon!”

The evacuees cheered and rolled off the planes, but I held Eileen and her flight crews. “Not you,” I said. I pointed to the rocket boosters that gave the heavy gliders enough thrust to gain altitude and soar between Village Apollo and Huntsville. “I wish I had a better idea, but do you think you can get this hog in the air with just one of those?”

Eileen glanced down. “Not very high. What are we going to do with the other one?”

“Point it at the porkbellies and turn it on.”

“You realize that you do this, we no longer have an out,” warned Eileen.

I nodded.

Eileen grinned and whistled for her crews to disconnect the safeties on all three aircraft. “Good. No blaze like a blaze of glory.” They scrambled down and within a few seconds, Eileen’s heavy glider was ready.

I flashed her a thumbs up. “Good luck!” I shouted over the clamor of every goblin still left on the bluff arming themselves and preparing to jump into battle. She reciprocated and her aft crewman lit the port-side rocket. The craft lurched, thrust vector uneven, and slid up the rails and into the air, much lower than I was used to seeing the heavy glider fly.

I ran back to the rest of the goblins who had grabbed whatever weapons were left—mostly slingers, spears, cleavers, and a few poppers that individual goblins had apparently stashed for a rainy day. One had a whole bomb fruit, despite the prohibition in the village. Some had their personal gliders. I took one of them, and a popper, and held them over my head, trying to think of something inspiring to say.

“Come on, you apes! You want to live forever?”

That got one hell of a cheer. And these guys had never even seen Starship Troopers so they had no way to know I’d stolen it. But it did the job. The Tribe Apollo reserve howled, lifting their weapons over their heads. I ran for the west side of the bluff, followed by the whole gaggle of them.

<3 goblins have abandoned the tribe. Your tribe has decreased to 194 members.>

This time, my bodyguards made no attempt to stop me. They were just as caught up in the fervor. We ran, and like a blue, furry waterfall, toppled over the edge of the bluff to join the battle.

The rutters had finished with the stragglers and trickling deserters and were headed for a lethal flank at the rear of the wranglers. My glider hit the wind and opened with a snap of hide pulling taut, and I heard the others behind me doing the same. The rest dropped all the way to the base. I glanced back. Most of the goblins were holding on with one hand and held poppers in the other. The one with the bomb fruit was using both hands and holding the fruit with his feet. I have no idea how he’d managed to even deploy. Madness. I angled us southwest to intercept the wave of rutters.

The bomb fruit grove had slowed them down as they had to carefully navigate around fallen fruit, lest they meet a pulpy end. I angled us north of it, just as they arrived and saw the second wave of goblins led by Promo with his steel hammer and hooked rod leading the charge. For all I knew, this was their first time encountering a noblin.

“Now!” I shouted.

We dropped our ordnance on the rutters. Poppers and a bigger bomb fruit erupted among them. Lightly armored as they were, the explosives had a greater effect than they had against their larger cousins. Several keeled over, unconscious or dead. The rest stumbled but got clear and began to sling rocks and light spears skyward. A few goblins squawked as they were knocked off their gliders, and I held on for dear life when a spear ripped through my left wing.

I turned north, quickly losing altitude, and saw a lumbering shape barreling toward me. I angled the glider towards it and had just enough distance left in it to drop onto the back of the sloth bear, where Chuck steadied me.

“Boss?” What are you doing down here?” he demanded.

We rode past a trio of deserters, who looked up and saw me atop the sloth with Chuck.

“Inspiring the troops, apparently!” I said. “Goblins won’t fight for a king that won’t fight for them.”

Chuck barked out a laugh. “Then you’re right where you ought to be! Let’s give the piggies what they came for!”

He spurred the sloth cub on, maintaining his footing. Two side-saddles had been rigged up on the flanks of the beast for goblin gunners, and I slid to one that had lost its gunner at some point. A carbine had been tied to a mount, so I worked the action back just enough to see the round still chambered. A basket of bullets jostled at my feet as the stone sloth bounded across the paddock.

The javeline rutters came at us, spears raised against the stone sloth, which was now substantially heavier than even one of the piggies. I screamed and fired as we trundled along, working the lever on the rifle and watching the tiny smoke trails smash basically anywhere but into the rutters. Marksmanship was apparently not one of my skills. I could lead a tribe, but not a target. I opened the action and stuffed another handful of bullets in.

We reached the line and the sloth reared up, sweeping its long claws into the first rank of javeline. It was all I could do to hold on as the enormous creature twisted and slashed. It spun us around, and I spotted a familiar face.

“Rotte!” I shouted. “Come and face Apollo!”

The javeline scowled. He still bore the scars on his face and chest from his fight with Armstrong. And, I hoped, on his backside from where I’d hacked him with the scrapper’s knives. He leveled his spear and leaned into a charge. “I make talking goblin sorry!” he shouted.

I yelped and ducked as Rotte drove his spear forward. The wide, leaf-shaped blade trimmed the fur on the top of my head and skipped off one of the sloth’s clay plates. I popped back up and angled the rifle over the edge of the basket, and at this range even I couldn’t miss. I fired as fast as I could work the action. The porkbelly who had captured me blew back, staggered by at least one successful hit as blood spurted from his shoulder.

But he wasn’t done. He swept his spear in a broad arc, and the blade caught the ropes binding the basket to the side of the stone sloth. I ducked again as the basket fell and rolled on the ground, watching the world spin through the opening. The butt of the rifle smacked me in the face every time the barrel caught on the ground, until it came loose and the basket finally stopped.

I pulled myself out of the basket, stumbling, barely able to walk—only to see the rutter charging at me with his spear, Chuck chasing him on the stone sloth. I scrambled for the rifle and basically tripped over it, falling on my ass with the gun in my hands. I opened the action and grabbed a handful of rockettes that had spilled out of the basket with me, barely managing to stuff them in the right way around and close the action before the rutter was on me. I pointed it up at the hulking shadow and fired.

Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom!

Rotte slowed, hit several times. “I make… talking… goblin… sorry…” he said, words slowing. Chuck and the stone sloth caught up. The wrangler taskmaster reached down with his cleaver and finished the job with a clean slash to the side of Rotte’s throat. Too humane for what the cruel creature deserved, really.

“Nicely done, boss!” he shouted down. I was too dazed and dizzy to reply.

With their leader dead and their own forces out of reach, the line of rutters began to falter. We’d met the flanking attack and stalled it out, and now the reserves from the bluff were about to swing around for a pincer movement. Chuck pulled us back out of danger so the sloth could catch its breath. The only thing missing was…

A loud shriek drew my attention around. Eileen had brought the heavy glider and ignited the second booster. Only, the lines were so jumbled that there was no way to separate pig from goblin at the front lines. Eileen and her crew bailed out of the heavy glider as it picked up speed, rocketing toward the front line.

Do javeline have blast resistance?

The glider struck, and a bright flash and shockwave knocked me right over and sent me tumbling.

I rolled upright, looking at the roiling cloud of smoke and dust. Shapes spun every which way through the air, and some of them landed near me. It was raining goblins. And less savory bits of javeline (unless you are a goblin).

“What was it you said, boss?” shouted Chuck over the echo of the explosion. “Pork rinds to the ionosphere? Whatever that is?”

A grin split my face. I laughed and laughed.

I glanced behind. What few rutters were left had turned tail. I saw one fall as a goblin landed on its head and bounced away, still screaming. All in all, I was surprised the blast had only killed 12 goblins in the thick of things. I’m sure there would be more needing prosthetics in the interim.