"We do not take orders from Planetary Defense," Longo snapped. "Status on security?"
"Colonel, overlapping security perimeters have been set up. Sensors have detected only indigenous animal life. Reconnaissance drones will launch as soon as the ceiling lifts, as you ordered."
"Very well," Longo replied. "No more games."
The winds slackened. A shiftless moon peeked through sodden clouds and then disappeared, leaving the night even darker, and from the blackness fell a miserable drizzle. Humans and hunters, cold and wet, huddled together.
"They got night vision cameras and IR detectors everywhere," MacArthur reported. "We saw ten bugs outside the modules, but they're too far inside the sensor perimeter. We might be able to pick them off in daylight, but it's a tough shot at night."
"We really scared them," Tatum added.
"Is there anyway we can take out the damn sensors?" Buccari asked.
"I've got some ideas—" MacArthur started to say.
Tonto, standing watch on the ridge, whistled softly. "Listen," Tatum whispered urgently.
In the distance, an angry high-pitched engine erupted into life.
"We've found them, Colonel," the subordinate reported. "They are near—within mortar range. Mortar crews are prepared."
Longo had not expected success so quickly. He turned up the temperature on his Genellan suit and moved quickly through the airlock hatch into the frigid darkness. The drones were controlled from the reconnaissance module housed in the last of the four landers in line. Walking across the soggy ash, Longo noted shadowy figures standing guard at the foot of each lander. Two separate groups of technicians, standing clear of the landers, huddled about their equipment, a silver-green luminescence from their electronics outlining their forms. Other soldiers remained inside the modules, out of the elements but on alert should any movement be detected within the perimeter. After hiking the full length of the secure area, Longo and his retinue boarded thereconnaissance module and moved into its cramped lab. Technicians came to attention.
"Carry on!" Longo ordered. "Where are they?"
Longo looked at the video with morbid satisfaction. The aliens showed as a cluster of fuzzy hot spots nestled within dark, cold, vertically-viewed vegetation. Occasionally, an extended arm or leg could be clearly perceived, as the hunted creatures milled about beneath the drone's camera.
"Do the mortar teams have telemetry?" Longo asked.
"Yes, most excellent Colonel!" the senior technician gushed. "Gravity, what are you waiting for?" Longo shouted. The images were dispersing.
"Y-y-your. your order to fire, most excel—"the subordinate said.
"Fire!" Longo screamed. "Fire! You idiot!"
The subordinate blurted commands into his radio, and a pair of hollow thumps sounded immediately. Mortar rounds sped into the night.
The angry engine hovered high over their heads, invisible in the night sky. Buccari squinted into the falling mists but to no avail.
"Move out, now!" Shannon ordered. He scrambled up the rise to see what was happening. Buccari followed, while MacArthur ran at the cliff dwellers, herding them, giving them panicky signals to move away from the area. They needed little inducement.
"Spread out and take cover uphill!" Shannon barked.
"What's the deal, Sarge?" Buccari said. "Can't we shoot it down?"
"Hell, can you see it?" Shannon asked, craning his neck to peer into the night. "Sounds like two of them. You better get moving, sir. Now!"
Burping gouts of flame erupted from the vicinity of the alien landers.
"Aw, shit!" Shannon exclaimed. "Everybody down! Incoming!" he bellowed into the night. The sergeant threw Buccari violently to the soggy ground, crushing her body with his own. Buccari's wind was knocked from her lungs, and her face was pushed into the muddy humus. She gasped for air. Suddenly the night was filled with shrill, screaming whistles. Explosions thundered into the ground, and Buccari felt Shannon's body jolt. The sergeant groaned softly and then was quiet.
"Damn, you're heavy, Sarge," Buccari grunted, struggling to breathe. No answer. No movement. Buccari heard the drone buzzing overhead and then more demonic whistles. The ground heaved violently, and Shannon's body twitched spasmodically as the blasts rolled over them, and then she felt the man's blood, warm and wet. Frantic, she wriggled out from under the grotesquely limp body and staggered to her feet.
"Oh, Sarge! No, Sarge!" Buccari still on her knees, wept. Shannon was dead, his back ripped open by shards of hot metal. She looked around, dazed, her ears ringing with concussion. The irritating noise of the drone pushed its way into her consciousness. Anger welled within her. The drone seemed closer. She looked up, and there it was—a hard, black form, a darker hole in the dark skies, hovering off to the side. She grabbed Shannon's assault rifle and snapped it to her shoulder. Exhaling, she aimed and fired a burst, pulling the sights across the target.
"Save the ammo!" MacArthur shouted, appearing from the dark. "Wait until daylight." He ran up to her, tripping over Shannon's form. "Get out of here," he said, kneeling to check Shannon's throat for a pulse. "Move, Lieutenant!" he shouted, grabbing the dead man's ammo belt and field glasses.
Buccari ran. Two more white flashes illuminated the bottoms of the clouds. Buccari and MacArthur dove behind a litter of fallen trees as whistling mortar shells car-rumphed into the wet ground, vomiting trees and dirt into the air. Hot shrapnel whistled and pinged through the forest, clipping tree branches and leaves—an expanding buzzsaw laid on its side! Ear-shattering impacts walked up the valley slope and spread apart, chasing the retreating humans. Buccari and MacArthur jumped to their feet and dashed across the hillside, climbing ever higher as debris fell around them. Explosions lit up the night. Mortar rounds fell continuously. After a hundred meters MacArthur reversed their traverse and headed back toward the others, continuing to climb. An eternity passed. The mortar fire stopped, but the infernal buzzing of the reconnaissance drone hung in the darkness above.
"We're out of range," MacArthur gasped.
Buccari struggled to get her wind. She heard crashing and stumbling ahead. MacArthur whistled softly.
"That you, Mac?" Chastain' s voice shouted back from the shadows.
"Yeah, Jocko. And the lieutenant. Who's with you?" "Mendoza and Schmidt," Chastain replied. "Schmidt's injured."
They caught up. Chastain and Mendoza were assisting Schmidt, though the Marine was trying to shake them off. Blood trickled from Schmidt's ears, and Mendoza's cheek was ripped, a flap of skin dangling. Schmidt had lost his rifle.
"Who else've you seen, Jocko?" Buccari asked. "Anyone else get hurt?"
"Petit bought it," Mendoza replied. "Caught a round in his lap. Nothing left."
Buccari saw shadows tramping upwards through the thinning forest of pines and firs. MacArthur shouted names and the others answered, sometimes needing voice relays to communicate over the distances. Everyone but Petit and Shannon. Buccari passed orders to climb to the tree line. There they would rendezvous and decide their next move. They climbed silently, gradually walking into a foggy overcast, the snarling engines of the drones fell behind; the cloud ceiling too thick for its detection systems.
"What have I got us into?" Buccari sighed. "Shannon's dead…and Petit."
"So they earned their paychecks!" MacArthur shot back. "Can it, Lieutenant! Shannon knew what he was doing. Your plan was good. We didn't know about their air force."