"That would be a most unfortunate word for you to give. You see, I have yet another hostage in the boat behind us, a young Mr. Abel Cook, if I don't mistake his name. He is lightly injured, I'm afraid, but he is also in the hands of a most dedicated friend of mine, a Mr. Truelove. He is perfectly prepared to cut that young man's throat, and you can't even see him." Billingsly shrugged. "Mr. Truelove is also performing a number of other tasks, highly specialized for this occasion."

Spanky glanced to his right as a winded Adar and Alan Letts arrived. He knew both would have enough sense to say nothing until they knew more about the situation. "Such as?" Spanky asked.

"Mr. Truelove is holding a hooded lantern over the side of the boat. As long as that colored lantern is visible to my ship, Ajax Ajax, she will not fire a full broadside of grapeshot into this very gathering. If you carry out your threat I will die, which would certainly disappoint me, but then Mr. Truelove would drop that lantern into the sea and everyone here, including many of you-who I predict are leaders of this ridiculous Alliance-would also die. A most tragic ending to what I had hoped would be a very peaceful little rescue."

"Kidnapping, you mean!" Letts snarled.

Billingsly shrugged again. "Semantics. A great hobby among philosophers, but quite tedious for me, I'm afraid."

"You're bluffing," Spanky declared. "I can still see your ship's lights, riding where they've been for months!"

"A regrettable subterfuge . . . Mr. McFarlane, is it not? A mere anch.o.r.ed raft with lights. I a.s.sure you, Ajax Ajax stands less than two hundred yards offsh.o.r.e this very moment. You could adjust your annoying light to see her if you wish. No? Well then, you should probably take my word." stands less than two hundred yards offsh.o.r.e this very moment. You could adjust your annoying light to see her if you wish. No? Well then, you should probably take my word."

"You can't possibly expect to get away with this!" Adar remarked forcefully. "We will chase you; we will hunt you! We will never give up! You are committing an act of war against a people who mean you no ill!"

"Oh, I certainly hope so!" Billingsly said. "War with you might suit our plans quite nicely just now! As for pursuit, what will you make it with?" He gestured at Walker Walker. "Surely not that. It is not even armed and requires more weeks of repair before undertaking a chase. The bulk of your fleet is elsewhere, and that which is here and nearly ready to sail-your 'new-construction steamers,' you call them-are about to suffer a mischief." He looked about. "Does anyone happen to have the time?"

A red pulse of light engulfed the waterfront and a towering, roiling ball of flame gushed into the heavens. A moment later, there was a second flash, as large as the first, and the thunderous detonations reached them at last.

"My G.o.d! The fuel storage tanks!" Letts whispered. "They must have bombed the whole tank battery!" It was true. It also wasn't lost on anyone that the flash had indeed illuminated Ajax Ajax, just offsh.o.r.e.

"You son of the Devil!" Princess Rebecca finally screamed. "You filthy, vile, reptilian monster! These people needed that fuel to fight the Grik, not us us, you pathetic fool! You've destroyed us all!"

Sandra, a b.l.o.o.d.y gag back in her mouth, struggled against the man holding her until he pressed the cutla.s.s tighter, drawing blood. Billingsly silenced the princess with another jab of the pistol.

"There, now!" Billingsly exclaimed cheerfully. "No doubt you will replace the fuel shortly, but I am reliably informed that your new boilers do not thrive on wood or coal." He shook his head. "You may now regard that as an oversight in design, but perhaps not. The oil you use instead seems to have a number of advantages . . . but it is is frightfully flammable, isn't it? In any event, you have little left with which to chase us! Your better-sailing frigates, gone with the fleet, alas, might have had a chance if the winds favored them, but your steamers will be no faster than we-and helpless if the wind fails! We would have a good start on them regardless. As for your 'prizes,' all the swifter variety of those are either gone as well, or their conversions are not yet complete." frightfully flammable, isn't it? In any event, you have little left with which to chase us! Your better-sailing frigates, gone with the fleet, alas, might have had a chance if the winds favored them, but your steamers will be no faster than we-and helpless if the wind fails! We would have a good start on them regardless. As for your 'prizes,' all the swifter variety of those are either gone as well, or their conversions are not yet complete."

"We will chase you, nevertheless," Adar warned grimly.

"Please do! Be my guest to try, but remember this: for each hostile act on your part, a hostage will fall into the sea with his or her throat cut! The one-eyed giant will die first. He has cost us much and spoiled what would have been a perfect plan. Next, the injured boy. After that, the Roman witch priestess will die, followed by your precious Minister of Medicine, Miss Tucker. I trust things will never proceed that far. If they do and if Ajax Ajax is ultimately somehow destroyed, the princess will, regrettably, die with the ship. Do as you will. Try what you like." He paused. "Test me," he taunted. is ultimately somehow destroyed, the princess will, regrettably, die with the ship. Do as you will. Try what you like." He paused. "Test me," he taunted.

"We will chase you and we will watch you," Adar promised, "and we had better see our people alive when we do!"

"As you will. As I said, you are welcome to try. Beware if I tire of your company, however!"

Billingsly looked about for a moment, apparently pondering, then nodded to himself. Spanky recognized the look of someone who thought he'd covered all his bases. For the life of him, Spanky couldn't figure out what the man might have missed.

"Gather the giant's weapons," he instructed one of his men. He glanced at Spanky and raised his voice. "You will be safe," he a.s.sured the reluctant underling. "If they kill you, Truelove will kill the boy. Now hurry; we are leaving this place at last!"

"You'll regret this, Billingsly!" Spanky shouted. He saw Silva move a little and knew at last that the big man still lived. Oh, Lord Oh, Lord, he thought, but it was something, at least. With a little more certainty, he shouted again, "I guarantee guarantee you'll regret this!" you'll regret this!"

"Perhaps," Billingsly replied. "I have few regrets, actually. I'm sure I would would regret killing these poor souls now in my care. Pray, spare me that." regret killing these poor souls now in my care. Pray, spare me that."

Somehow, Sandra must have worked her gag loose. Suddenly she shouted out, "Give Captain Reddy my love! Tell him to do whatever he must!" There was a loud slap and a m.u.f.fled cry. The still-growing ma.s.s of warriors, sailors, and townsfolk pushed forward with a growl.

"Now, now!" yelled Billingsly. "That was sensible advice; do what you must! At present, you must let us leave and you must signal your fort to let us pa.s.s!"

"We cannot cannot just let them leave!" Keje said, moving close to Spanky, Adar, and Letts. just let them leave!" Keje said, moving close to Spanky, Adar, and Letts.

"We have no choice for now," Adar replied heavily. He turned to Letts. "Quickly, have someone pa.s.s the word along the waterfront and to Fort Atkinson: do not fire; let them pa.s.s! We will save them somehow, but we cannot do it here or now!"

"What about Captain Reddy?" Letts asked. "He's going to flip!"

For a moment, Adar said nothing while he watched the hostages briskly moved into the boat. Someone was bailing water out of it as the oars dipped clumsily and it shoved off, away from the ramp.

"Cap-i-taan Reddy will be mounting his a.s.sault on Sing-aapore about now," he said woodenly. "Perhaps it would be best not to tell him just yet. He can do nothing but worry about our situation here, and his attack must proceed. Torn in two directions at once, he might behave rashly."

Keje grunted a.s.sent.

"I will never forgive myself for allowing this to happen," Adar continued, "and Cap-i-taan Reddy may not forgive me for keeping it from him, even briefly." He blinked beseechingly at Keje. "But if he is . . . distracted now, and somehow he or our effort suffers for it, our world will not forgive me-for however long it remains."

CHAPTER 18.

"And it was such a lovely plan, too," Sean O'Casey said as yet another seething ma.s.s of Grik infantry slammed into the shield wall of the 2nd Marines. Chack laughed. The 2nd Marines and 1st Aryaal had met virtually no resistance to their predawn landing in the shipyard district. Even now, in the dawn's dreary, overcast light, cutters and launches were securing the Grik fleet anch.o.r.ed in the harbor. As Captain Reddy had surmised, most of those ships had little more than caretaker crews aboard, and dozens were already making sail to join the Allied support vessels, blue streamers fluttering from their mastheads to identify them as prizes. The Marines and 1st Aryaal actually had plenty of time to deploy to defend the beachhead before the enemy finally "got their s.h.i.t in the sock," as Alden put it, and gathered a significant force to fall on the defenders.

The Marines in front of Chack and O'Casey heaved back against the onslaught and the cacophony was beyond anything O'Casey had yet experienced. He'd been at Baalkpan and seen the terrible nature of this war firsthand, but never from quite this close. There was a constant, roaring screech of weapons on weapons and shields on shields and Grik cries of agony as weapons pierced or slashed their vitals.

"It is a phalaanx of sorts, or so Cap-i-taan Reddy calls it. He based it on an ancient human formation, but he modified it to better fit our different circ.u.mstances!" Chack shouted over the din. "The enemy uses nothing like it. They attack as a mob, without discipline. It seems to be all they know how to do. They can can bash through by sheer weight of numbers, however." He nodded toward the left of his line, where it joined with Rolak's. "Can you heft that spear?" he asked. bash through by sheer weight of numbers, however." He nodded toward the left of his line, where it joined with Rolak's. "Can you heft that spear?" he asked.

O'Casey balanced the spear in his right hand, judging the weight. "Well enough," he a.s.sured Chack.

"Very well. Stay out of the front rank and beware the crossbow bolts!" With that, Chack called his staff, and together, they waded into the fiercest of the fight. O'Casey had been a soldier once, but he'd never been in a fight like this. The sheer scope was beyond his experience, and the type of fighting quite alien. The biggest battle he'd ever seen before Baalkpan had involved maybe a thousand men on both sides combined. He'd thought it was huge at the time. He'd lost that battle and been branded a traitor. His cause was crushed and he'd barely escaped with his life. Here, Rolak and Chack commanded nearly three thousand, and G.o.d alone knew how many Grik they faced. Many thousands more, at least. And yet Chack, whom he'd heard was once a pacifist, seemed unconcerned. He hefted the spear again and plunged ahead with the rest.

Six pounder field guns poked their muzzles through the ranks and spewed deadly, scything hail through the attackers, and two guns preceded Chack's reinforcements into the bulging line. With a pair of thunderclaps and a choking haze of white smoke, the pressure there all but vanished. Still Chack raced into the gap, giving the battered line time to re-form around him. He and his staff bashed with their shields and thrust with their short Marine spears at the regathering swarm. O'Casey found himself right among them, poking inexpertly and a little awkwardly with his own spear. More than once he felt it bite. Even so, he decided he'd probably have to become a pistol man, maybe with a few braces draped around his neck. A swordsman he'd never been. Maybe it was time he learned that art?

"Did you find that exhilarating?" Chack asked, when the last dribble of attackers was repulsed. Chack's white leather armor glistened with bright blood and the incongruous American helmet shone where a sword had skated across it, taking the paint. A slow, rolling, methodical broadside thundered from the frigates on the water. Donaghey Donaghey's eighteen pounders swooshed overhead to impact in the dense but confused enemy rear, while the fewer but heavier twenty-fours of the steamers moaned over the largely Lemurian force, trailing smoke. They detonated over and among the still-gathering Grik and the screams brought a wicked grin to Chack's face. "The new exploding sh.e.l.ls, or case shot," he explained. "Wonderfully destructive things, though we don't have many yet. The fuses can be unreliable as well, which adds a . . . delicious uncertainty to their pa.s.sage overhead!" He watched while another broadside erupted from the covering warships. "Glorious," he breathed happily and turned back to O'Casey.

"It is is a lovely plan! What did you mean earlier? Do you fear it goes poorly?" Chack asked the one-armed man. a lovely plan! What did you mean earlier? Do you fear it goes poorly?" Chack asked the one-armed man.

"What do you you mean? Is this good?" O'Casey gasped. mean? Is this good?" O'Casey gasped.

Chack laughed again. "Everything's swell so far! You do not know all all the plan, and I do!" the plan, and I do!"

"I thought ours was ta be a blockin' force!" O'Casey seemed exasperated.

"It is! And we block well, don't you think?" He gestured around. "We have already accomplished much of our goal. We are ash.o.r.e and well placed. We have seized most of the docks and much of the repair yard. We have drawn the enemy's focus and hopefully it will remain fixed upon us for some time to come." He pointed excitedly, watching several squads hurry toward them from the boats. "Ah! The new mortars! Soon we will see something, I think! Soon, but not yet!"

O'Casey had already seen quite a lot. He knew, for example, that he was glad these people were his friends, and he now knew how essential it was that they be friends of the Empire. He keenly suspected that this small force to which he was attached would have made short work of the Imperial Company regiment that had ground his own rebellion to dust. They had no muskets-yet-but they had something far more important: confidence, discipline, and the unwavering certainty that they were right right.

"Oh, Jenks, ye fool!" he muttered under his breath. "Where'er ye be on this field this day, open yer eyes and do nae aggravate these folk!"

"Now, now, now!" shouted Pete Alden, lowering his binoculars. With the thunder of a hundred drums, the 1st Marines, the 2nd and 4th Aryaal, the 1st Baalkpan, 3rd B'mbaado, and 2nd Sular kicked off their sweeping, or "swinging," advance with around four thousand troops. 'Cats just couldn't do bugles, so they'd settled on drum tattoos and various combinations of short whistle blasts to control large forces on the battlefield. The first few fights had shown the need for something like that, and now they had it. The roar of the drums sent gooseflesh down Matt's arms.

"I agree," Matt said, "it's time." He grinned. "Not that it matters what I think! This is your show, Pete!"

"If it was completely my show, you'd be watching from Donaghey Donaghey right now!" Pete answered harshly. "Promise me you won't wander off? We haven't really been engaged yet, but the pickets I threw out on the flanks report quite a few rambunctious Grik hunting parties, or the like. We expected that and our bowmen and a few of the NCOs with Krags are dealing with them, but I'd sure hate to have to tell Lieutenant Tucker I let you get conked from behind." right now!" Pete answered harshly. "Promise me you won't wander off? We haven't really been engaged yet, but the pickets I threw out on the flanks report quite a few rambunctious Grik hunting parties, or the like. We expected that and our bowmen and a few of the NCOs with Krags are dealing with them, but I'd sure hate to have to tell Lieutenant Tucker I let you get conked from behind."

Chief Gray pointedly racked the bolt on the Thompson he carried. Gunner's Mate Paul St.i.tes followed suit with a BAR. "Mind your own chickens," Gray grumbled. Besides St.i.tes, there were four Lemurian Marines in the Captain's Guard detail, and Jenks had a pair of his own polished muskets on their shoulders.

Matt just smiled and shrugged. Harvey Jenks chuckled beside him.

"A magnificent show, Captain Reddy," Jenks said. "I, at least, fully understand your desire to view it firsthand!" He looked at his own distant Achilles Achilles, whose guns had remained silent thus far. "I almost regret not committing myself entirely to your support-not that it seems you need it!"

"I understand your reasons. It's hard to engage in offensive operations against somebody you're not at war with. I doubt the Grik will notice any distinction, however. Besides, your Marines are on the far left with General Maraan. They're yet another blocking force, but it could be b.l.o.o.d.y work."

"There, if they must fight, it will be a defensive engagement," Jenks said. "Defending oneself from attack is hardly offensive in nature."

Matt looked at the Imperial. "Again, the Grik will make no distinction. I doubt your own superiors will."

"You wanted us in this war," Jenks said more quietly, seriously. "I've come to believe we belong in it, though G.o.d knows we have problems of our own. We may need your your help someday. How could we possibly ask it of you if we did not make this small gesture?" help someday. How could we possibly ask it of you if we did not make this small gesture?"

Matt grunted. "Your gesture could cost a lot of Imperial lives. Safir says your Marine lieutenant Blair isn't particularly open to her tactical suggestions."

Jenks nodded. "Well, there is little I can do about that. I command my ship and I command the Marines to perform their duties. How they perform those duties is up to Blair, I'm afraid. At best, if the Grik do strike there, our people may learn from one another. At worst . . ." He blinked. "Our people may learn a costly lesson from one another."

Matt shook his head, somewhat surprised Gray had held his tongue. He surveyed the disposition of the troops and all seemed to be shaping up nicely. All but the weather. Ahead, in the west, the general overcast seemed darker as the day progressed. When he spoke, he sounded slightly distracted. He was watching the sky. "I'd hoped your Marines might bolster our lines, like spearmen behind the shields. I'm telling you that a thin pair of ranks, even armed with muskets, can't can't stand against the Grik." stand against the Grik."

Jenks's smile was brittle. "We'll see." He nodded forward. "Your army will leave us behind while we discuss this, I fear, and General Alden will scold us again."

Chack sensed a change in the Grik host before him. Another attack had been repulsed, but for a long time now, nearly half an hour, there'd been no a.s.sault. Leaving O'Casey with his staff, he trotted to where General Rolak directed his end of the line from the roof of a crude warehouse. Scrambling up the ladder, Chack saluted the old Aryaalan warrior.

"Quite a difference between this and our last meeting with these creatures!" Rolak enthused, returning Chack's salute. "Your Marines fight splendidly!"

"As do your troops, Lord. Any sign of Mr. Braad-furd's Grik Rout?" Chack asked.

Rolak frowned and his tail twitched with agitation. "Not yet. They do seem to have their s.h.i.t in their sock, as General Alden so colorfully put it. This Hij general of theirs expends many lives, but he avoids allowing them to bunch up too deeply. If any panic, the panic spreads less far."

"True," Chack agreed. "But he has sacrificed ma.s.s to accomplish this. Twice they might have broken our line if they had supported their a.s.sault with greater numbers."

"They are hesitant, I think. Few of these warriors could have been at Baalkpan. All they know is that they lost there, badly. I believe they test new tactics here, within the constraints of their warriors' . . . capabilities."

"Do you really?" Chack asked absently, thinking. "Perhaps. There are no defensive works, other than gun emplacements for their limited artillery. They do not defend as we do, behind breastworks or terrain, or with careful discipline. They defend by attacking." He took a drink from his water bottle. "Do you think that is new? That they make 'spoiling' attacks hoping to slow our advance?"

"How can we truly know what is 'new' to them? Anything they do besides a ma.s.s attack is 'new' to us, but it is possible. It may also be that they think they have succeeded. We have achieved our objective, but perhaps they do not know that. Consider: would the Grik do as we have done? Land, attack, secure a defensive perimeter, then stop?" Rolak shook his head. "I doubt they can even comprehend such a strategy."

"You may be right, lord," Chack replied, eyeing the ma.s.s of enemies before them. Their numbers continued to swell, but they'd been badly bloodied and corpses were heaped along the length of the perimeter. "We seem to have affixed the enemy's attention entirely upon us. As best we can tell, they have no notion of the main force bearing down upon their left." Chack glanced at one of the Manilo couriers who'd arrived shortly before, mounted on one of the swift "meanies," as Silva called them. The beasts still gave him the "creeps." They looked like larger, more reptilian versions of their enemies, that happened to go about on all fours. The courier had reported only desultory fighting in front of the main force.

Rolak glanced at the darkening sky. "We are liable to have a storm today. A Strakka comes at last, I suspect. It is fortunate that we have secured a safe harbor for our fleet."

Chack had been looking often at the sky himself. "I wish our luck with the weather might have held a few more days. If the gust front hits during the battle, it will confuse things."

"More for them than us, I expect." Rolak grinned. "We have a plan and they do not. At least, what they have of a plan seems to depend upon what we do for a change."

Chack nodded noncommittally. He'd had some experience with plans now, and he knew how fragile they could be. So did Rolak, for that matter. Chack suspected the old warrior of practicing his dry wit upon him. "For myself, I would hope the Strakka holds off a bit longer so our plan might unfold unimpeded," he said.

"You are of the sea folk." Rolak waved his hand. "You would know that better than I." He gestured back to the front. "Perhaps you should return to your Marines. The enemy stirs. Does it appear to you, amidst that mob, that he is shifting his front?" Rolak's teeth appeared in a feral grin. "Perhaps he is preparing to attack in a different direction!"

"Good Lord!" Jenks exclaimed. "Do they always come on like that?"

"Yep," said Gray. The Bosun spat.

"Pretty much every time," Matt confirmed.

The closer Alden's army had approached what they'd identified as the Grik main force, fixed in front of Rolak and Chack, the more crazed attackers had charged headlong against Alden's overwhelming force. At first, they'd come in groups of a dozen or less, shrieking defiantly and waving their weapons. Arrows cut down most of those before they ever came in range of a spear. Then, more Grik charged them from the jungle that bordered the clearing they'd started across. Matt had been secretly amazed they'd made it that far before being noticed, but Manilo couriers or cavalry-or whatever they were-had a.s.sured them Chack and Rolak had grabbed plenty of the enemy's attention.

They'd heard the cannonade grow louder as they neared and saw the warships in the bay jockey for more advantageous firing positions. Broadside after broadside sent roiling clouds of billowing smoke across the water. The new mortars were still silent for now, waiting for the Grik to wholly focus on the new threat. Then, shortly before, the dense peninsula of jungle ahead that stood between Alden's and Rolak's converging forces suddenly teemed with thousands of Grik shapes.

"They've finally turned to meet us," Matt had announced aloud, as much for Jenks as Alden. A number of horns blew together, their different tones jumbled and discordant, but they'd seemed a suitable accompaniment to the shrill, growling shrieks of the horde that had erupted from the trees.

Now Jenks could only stare in horror at the elemental force bearing down on them. It was a mob, to be sure, but a huge one, and this first look at a Grik berserker charge was most disconcerting. He wondered how Captain Reddy could just stand there like that, watching them come. Either the man was utterly fearless or his trust in his commanders and troops was truly that profound. Jenks realized that Captain Reddy and his guards had faced this before, but he couldn't imagine anyone ever becoming so inured to it. He stood as well. He was an officer, a gentleman, and possessed a significant measure of personal courage. He admitted to himself that he was terrified, though. Standing in the face of that seething, swarming ma.s.s of teeth, claws, swords, and crossbows couldn't possibly be done without some fear. And yet, glancing sidelong at the American officer, this Supreme Commander, he saw no sign of any emotion other than . . . antic.i.p.ation.

" 'Bout . . . now!" Matt said.

As if reading his commander's thoughts, Pete Alden bellowed at the top of his lungs, the order he gave repeated down the ranks and punctuated with whistle blasts.

"Commence firing!"

Twelve pieces of light artillery bucked and spewed dense clouds of smoke and double loads of canister. Arrows whickered into the darkening sky with a terrible, collective "swoosh." Untold hundreds of Grik warriors were swept away with as little apparent effort as the command had taken to give. Others screamed in agony and writhed on the ground, clutching wounds or festooned with arrows.

"Independent, fire at will!" Alden shouted, his voice already a little hoa.r.s.e after the last command and the choking smoke that followed it.

There were a number of distinct thumping, popping sounds beyond the trees from the direction of the initial landing force. Whistling sounds, dozens, scores, like Jenks had never heard, were punctuated by fearsome but smallish blasts that sent gouts of earth into the sky right among the rear of the enemy host. A few of the "mortar bombs," Reddy had called them, though Jenks had never seen their like, erupted in the trees themselves and sent swarms of splinters into the Grik. The agonized screeching took on a desperate, terrified air.

Then, above it all, there came a roar. It wasn't like the roar of thunder or the marching surf; it was higher pitched, excited, almost gleeful. Despite its tone, it had a profound, unstoppable, elemental urgency that stirred his most primitive thoughts. In contrast to the increasingly agonized and terrified cacophony of the Grik horde, the roar from beyond the trees was confident, eager, remorseless. It was the sound of doom.

"That'll be Rolak and Chack!" Gray boomed happily. "They were the anvil. Probably got mighty sick of it too. Now they're the hammer!"

A large percentage of the Grik, where the mortars still fell, had been transformed from an unstoppable juggernaut into a wild, panic-stricken ma.s.s. Jenks looked on in amazement while thousands of Grik scrambled in all directions, slaying one another one another with wild abandon. Some ran back the way they'd come, smashing into the howling Lemurian troops and Marines that suddenly erupted from the trees. Others raced north or south, toward the jungle or the sea. Some crashed into the rear of the forward element, still charging the Allied line. Battle erupted there, among the with wild abandon. Some ran back the way they'd come, smashing into the howling Lemurian troops and Marines that suddenly erupted from the trees. Others raced north or south, toward the jungle or the sea. Some crashed into the rear of the forward element, still charging the Allied line. Battle erupted there, among the Grik Grik, even as the foremost berserkers slammed into the Allied shield wall.

The slaughter was incredible. The mortars stopped falling and the field guns were pulled back to avoid inflicting casualties on the Allied forces now closing on the still-larger Grik army caught between them. The relative sizes of the armies lost all meaning, however, since growing numbers of Grik were now murdering one another. It was insane. The fighting at the shield wall was still wildly intense; the Grik that struck there as a relatively cohesive force still outnumbered Alden's entire command, but that was when the qualitative difference between the combatants was most plainly demonstrated. Nowhere did the shield wall break. It stood like a monolithic cliff in the face of disorganized breakers, and the killing was remarkably one-sided.