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TWELVE

The dead were counted, and gathered together. Just over six hundred humans, twenty-two Titanides. Their bodies were stacked with wood and set afire as all the Division stood at attention.
The wounded were treated. There were fifteen hundred human and thirty-five Titanide injuries, many of them serious. Wagons were loaded with the less serious casualties, and moved out toward the city, with three Cohorts to guard them.
So it was one Legion of dead and wounded, and half a Legion who would not go on to Hyperion. Similar numbers applied to the Titanides. It was, in effect, another decimation.
It could have been much worse. Everyone kept telling themselves that. Nobody mentioned it while the pyre was burning, or as blinded, burned, and dismembered survivors were loaded into the wagons.
 
In the remorseless logic of warfare, Cirocco knew it could not have been better if she had planned every second of it.
The Air Force was much more badly hurt than the army, both in planes and pilots—but the Gaean Air Force no longer existed. The survivors were heroes. The tale of their fight would be told in many a Bellinzona taproom.
The Army was damaged—but was probably stronger now than it had been before. It had been, in that horribly exact word, “blooded.” Soldiers had seen comrades die. They blamed Gaea for it, and they hated her. They had learned something about fear. They were veterans now.
Her Generals knew better than to bring up any of these points. They remembered the ex-General who had talked of “acceptable losses.” But they all knew it was the truth, and they knew Cirocco realized it.
It could hardly have been any better.
Cirocco was so happy she wanted to throw up.
The only thing that made it even marginally tolerable was that, so far, they had been fighting monsters. She could accept and approve of this hatred, this spirit of bloodthirsty vengeance that would have repulsed her so had it been directed at another group of humans. So far, they had been fighting true evil.
But in Hyperion, at the gates of Pandemonium, it might all change. If Cirocco’s plans for Gaea did not work out, these people would soon be fighting other human beings.
A very few of those people had chosen to be there, and were as evil as Gaea herself. But the great majority in Pandemonium had been tossed on its shores as randomly as the Bellinzonans had been washed up in Dione. It was the luck of the draw, and Gaea was using a stacked deck.
Cirocco found herself raising silent prayers to Saint Gaby. Please don’t let me fail. Please don’t let this army—this army I raised only when you promised me Adam could be saved without human beings ever warring against each other—please don’t let them learn to love killing other humans.
One other thing kept her going. If she died, and the army had to fight, it was better to die a bloody death than live in slavery.
The army pressed on.
As the road vanished into the jungle, the Titanide groups moved to the front.
There had been grumbling about the Titanides. It wasn’t logical, but those things never are. No matter that the pinned-down humans had nothing to fight back with—had not really fought a battle at all. No matter that, had it been possible, the humans would have run from the field of battle, too. The plain fact was, the Titanides had left and the humans had stayed behind to soak up the bullets.
The jungle changed all that.
Progress was slow through the jungle. As the troops moved through a long, dark tunnel of foliage, they would pass groups of exhausted, bleeding Titanides sitting at the side of the trail. Sitting with them would be the Legion that had been marching in the point position. When the end of the line passed them, the Legion and the Titanides would fall in at the back. This happened about every two revs.
When a Legion got to the front, they saw what was happening. The groups of fifty Titanides were hacking through the jungle with the speed and energy of a large, continuous buzz saw. It was awesome to watch. Little creatures that bit and clawed attacked them. Poisonous plants scored their colorful hides. It didn’t take long to see that humans could have moved the army at about a tenth its present speed, and only with heavy casualties.
It was bad enough in the middle of the column, with things jumping out of the underbrush all the time. The troops got very jittery. Some just died, for no reason anyone could see, victims of contact poisons.
When they camped, the jungle closed in. Creatures better suited to drugged nightmare than reality came blundering through the darkness and briefly into the light, fighting off four or five Titanides.
They had to camp twice in the jungle. Nobody slept much.
There was another constant tension. Word had come down that an attack in force might be made against them while they were in Cronus, who was an ally of Gaea. Nobody knew the nature of the possible enemies, but from what they had seen, it would be awful.
But for some reason, Cronus did not attack. The army came out the other end and breathed a sigh of relief—all but fifty-two Titanides and sixteen humans who would never breathe again.
They made a more elaborate camp by the river Ophion, on the verge of the great desert of Mnemosyne, not too far from where the river plunged underground and ran for two hundred kilometers before emerging.
Cirocco let them rest, recover from the jungle, and gather strength for the desert crossing. Football games were organized. Men and women soldiers retired to the conjugal tents and forgot about fear for a while.
Every available water container was topped off. There would be no oasis, no spring, no water of any kind until they reached the snows of Oceanus.

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TWELVE

The dead were counted, and gathered together. Just over six hundred humans, twenty-two Titanides. Their bodies were stacked with wood and set afire as all the Division stood at attention.
The wounded were treated. There were fifteen hundred human and thirty-five Titanide injuries, many of them serious. Wagons were loaded with the less serious casualties, and moved out toward the city, with three Cohorts to guard them.
So it was one Legion of dead and wounded, and half a Legion who would not go on to Hyperion. Similar numbers applied to the Titanides. It was, in effect, another decimation.
It could have been much worse. Everyone kept telling themselves that. Nobody mentioned it while the pyre was burning, or as blinded, burned, and dismembered survivors were loaded into the wagons.
 
In the remorseless logic of warfare, Cirocco knew it could not have been better if she had planned every second of it.
The Air Force was much more badly hurt than the army, both in planes and pilots—but the Gaean Air Force no longer existed. The survivors were heroes. The tale of their fight would be told in many a Bellinzona taproom.
The Army was damaged—but was probably stronger now than it had been before. It had been, in that horribly exact word, “blooded.” Soldiers had seen comrades die. They blamed Gaea for it, and they hated her. They had learned something about fear. They were veterans now.
Her Generals knew better than to bring up any of these points. They remembered the ex-General who had talked of “acceptable losses.” But they all knew it was the truth, and they knew Cirocco realized it.
It could hardly have been any better.
Cirocco was so happy she wanted to throw up.
The only thing that made it even marginally tolerable was that, so far, they had been fighting monsters. She could accept and approve of this hatred, this spirit of bloodthirsty vengeance that would have repulsed her so had it been directed at another group of humans. So far, they had been fighting true evil.
But in Hyperion, at the gates of Pandemonium, it might all change. If Cirocco’s plans for Gaea did not work out, these people would soon be fighting other human beings.
A very few of those people had chosen to be there, and were as evil as Gaea herself. But the great majority in Pandemonium had been tossed on its shores as randomly as the Bellinzonans had been washed up in Dione. It was the luck of the draw, and Gaea was using a stacked deck.
Cirocco found herself raising silent prayers to Saint Gaby. Please don’t let me fail. Please don’t let this army—this army I raised only when you promised me Adam could be saved without human beings ever warring against each other—please don’t let them learn to love killing other humans.
One other thing kept her going. If she died, and the army had to fight, it was better to die a bloody death than live in slavery.
The army pressed on.
As the road vanished into the jungle, the Titanide groups moved to the front.
There had been grumbling about the Titanides. It wasn’t logical, but those things never are. No matter that the pinned-down humans had nothing to fight back with—had not really fought a battle at all. No matter that, had it been possible, the humans would have run from the field of battle, too. The plain fact was, the Titanides had left and the humans had stayed behind to soak up the bullets.
The jungle changed all that.
Progress was slow through the jungle. As the troops moved through a long, dark tunnel of foliage, they would pass groups of exhausted, bleeding Titanides sitting at the side of the trail. Sitting with them would be the Legion that had been marching in the point position. When the end of the line passed them, the Legion and the Titanides would fall in at the back. This happened about every two revs.
When a Legion got to the front, they saw what was happening. The groups of fifty Titanides were hacking through the jungle with the speed and energy of a large, continuous buzz saw. It was awesome to watch. Little creatures that bit and clawed attacked them. Poisonous plants scored their colorful hides. It didn’t take long to see that humans could have moved the army at about a tenth its present speed, and only with heavy casualties.
It was bad enough in the middle of the column, with things jumping out of the underbrush all the time. The troops got very jittery. Some just died, for no reason anyone could see, victims of contact poisons.
When they camped, the jungle closed in. Creatures better suited to drugged nightmare than reality came blundering through the darkness and briefly into the light, fighting off four or five Titanides.
They had to camp twice in the jungle. Nobody slept much.
There was another constant tension. Word had come down that an attack in force might be made against them while they were in Cronus, who was an ally of Gaea. Nobody knew the nature of the possible enemies, but from what they had seen, it would be awful.
But for some reason, Cronus did not attack. The army came out the other end and breathed a sigh of relief—all but fifty-two Titanides and sixteen humans who would never breathe again.
They made a more elaborate camp by the river Ophion, on the verge of the great desert of Mnemosyne, not too far from where the river plunged underground and ran for two hundred kilometers before emerging.
Cirocco let them rest, recover from the jungle, and gather strength for the desert crossing. Football games were organized. Men and women soldiers retired to the conjugal tents and forgot about fear for a while.
Every available water container was topped off. There would be no oasis, no spring, no water of any kind until they reached the snows of Oceanus.

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