He pushed the stick over, and the Cessna obliged, banking gently left. When he had a clearer view, he toggled the microphone on.
“Beekeper, Eyeball; looks like another group coming up from the Southwest.”
“How many, Eyeball?” came the crackling reply.
“Probably a thousand. Maybe more, hard to tell with the trees. Advise you try to break out to the North.”
“Negative, Eyeball, we can’t move the wounded any faster, over.”
The few hundred survivors, mostly troopers and guardsmen and their families, were now surrounded on three sides by the hordes. Soon they would have the river at their backs.