"They have the high ground," Longo said, surveying the terrain. "The lasers have insufficient range. How soon before the mortars arrive?"
"In less than an hour, most excellent Colonel."
"Bring the translation computer forward," Longo commanded. "Perhaps they will consider surrendering."
"How's Mendoza?" Buccari asked, tightly gripping her carbine.
"He can see out of his right eye, but his left eye is in bad shape," O'Toole responded. He squatted with Buccari and MacArthur. Large boulders protected them from sporadic alien rifle and cannon fire.
"What're they doing?" O'Toole asked. The firing had stopped. Buccari peeked around lichen-covered rocks. Two konish soldiers marched across the open ground and came to a stop. One wore the burgundy uniform of an officer.
"It's Longo. He wants to talk," she said. "They have the translator."
"You think its a trick?" MacArthur asked.
"Only one way to find out." She jumped up and started walking down the rock-studded slope, leaving her weapon behind.
"Coming with you, Sharl!" MacArthur shouted and ran after her."…sir."
Braan and Craag soared high above the offensive machine. Brave-crazy-one had cautioned him against approaching too closely, saying there was grave unseen danger. The hunters circled warily downward, their target directly beneath them. It was very loud.
"You have no escape," rumbled Longo through the translation computer. He towered over the humans. "Continued resistance is futile. Surrender and you will not be harmed."
"How can we be assured of that, Colonel Longo?" Buccari asked.
MacArthur scanned the disposition of soldiers. The drone whined overhead.
"You have no choice," said the box.
"Why must we surrender?" Buccari asked. "Can we not remain here in peace?"
"That has already been explained," said the box. Longo shifted impatiently. "If you do not lay down your weapons and come with us…then I will have to track you down and deal with you.. more forcefully."
"There must be some other option?" Buccari said.
Longo paused, carefully considering his words. "I am sure you would not want more harm to come to Master Huhsawn," the box finally said.
"Hudson!" Buccari blurted. "No! Is he alive?"
"He's dead, Sharl!" MacArthur shouted. "He's playing with your mind!"
"I assure you," said the box, "Master Huhsawn is alive…if just barely."
"Sharl—Lieutenant! He's dead," MacArthur said. "And even if he isn't, he might as well be. We got other people to worry about."
"I–I understand. Allow me to return to my people and discuss the matter," Buccari answered with obvious difficulty.
"Of course, but realize if you choose to run.. I will track you down—like an animal." Longo pointed at the drone, his expression universally sinister.
The muted bark of a pistol sounded directly over their heads, and the engine noises halted. MacArthur glanced skyward to see the drone plummeting from the sky, its counter-rotating blades whirling silently. A hunter fell alongside the drone, flailing his wings, struggling to regain control—it was Captain. The hunter leader recovered, his wings beating heavily but without altitude gain. The drone accelerated straight down, crashing into the ground with a hollow noise, and then the fuel exploded with a magnificent ball of yellow and red flames. The dweller glided swiftly out of sight behind an outcropping of rock.
"Excuse us, Colonel," Buccari said with exaggerated dignity. She turned and walked away. MacArthur followed at her heels, skipping backwards and watching for an attack.
Buccari ordered them to retreat high into the rocks until they were only a few meters below the twin pinnacles at the peak. Alien rifles and laser-blasters fired sporadically, providing cover for konish soldiers as they scurried to more advanced positions. The humans suffered burns, but the kones paid dearly. O'Toole and Tatum each picked off two soldiers, halting their forward movement.
Using Chastain's great strength, the humans positioned boulders, toppling them over onto other rocks to make impenetrable covered fortifications. Those bunkers commanded excellent fields of fire; the kones would pay dearly for a direct assault. The biggest question was ammunition. And after ammo was time.
"Why aren't they attacking?" Chastain grunted. The big man, with help from MacArthur and Schmidt, heaved a particularly large rock into place with a grinding crunch.
"Don't know," MacArthur huffed, jumping down and inspecting their handiwork. "Okay, Beppo, this one's yours."
Schmidt, his blonde beard dirty and caked with blood, moved into position, sticking the barrel of a captured weapon through the opening in the stacked rocks. Everyone was in position.
"They're setting up the mortar," Buccari said. She stood motionless on a prominent crag, staring down the slope through field glasses, an inviting target. The cliff dwellers stood close by, giving balance to Buccari's solitary form, statues on rocky pedestals set against a metallic blue sky. An occasional alien bullet pinged off the rocks.
"Uh-oh," O'Toole said. "That mortar will beat us to pieces." "Lieutenant!" MacArthur barked. "With all due respect, get your ass behind a rock."
Buccari pulled the glasses from her eyes and hopped down. "The other drone is coming!" she declared. "That's what they're waiting for."
MacArthur could hear the engine whining in the distance.
Captain whistled and looked at MacArthur. MacArthur nodded and pointed into the sky. All three cliff dwellers launched into the air, their wings cracking as one. As before, they glided downward and to the east, gaining speed and seeking currents to lift them. They quickly left the range of vision.
"Everybody down!" MacArthur shouted. "In your bunkers!" The corporal slid into his rock emplacement, assault rifle in hand. He watched Buccari as she did the same, only paces away.
"Some leader I turned out to be," Buccari snarled.
"Cut the crap…" MacArthur replied. His mouth snapped shut. The unmistakable sound of a double sonic boom rumbled across the valley. His eyes jerked up into the sky.
"A lander!" Buccari shouted. "That was ours!"
A thin cheer rose from the rocks. Joy was short-lived; the mortar harrumped into activity, a screaming whistle followed, and the first of many explosions showered rock and dirt over their heads. The mortar rounds landed with accuracy, exploding around the dug-in humans. Granite rocks shielded them from the direct effects of the blasts, but the rocks also provided a multitude of hard surfaces. Shrapnel careened from all directions; ricochets screamed and pinged crazily.
MacArthur heard Buccari cry out and was immediately at her side.
"Where're you hit, Sharl?" he asked, near panic. Buccari's head was back, mouth gaping, struggling to breathe.
"I'm… I'm okay, Mac," she gasped, sucking air. "Get back." "You're hit!"
"I'm fine, Mac," she wheezed. "I slipped and knocked my wind out." She flexed her left arm and wiggled her fingers.
MacArthur gently pulled her away from the rocks and saw blood trickling down the granite boulder. Frightened, he peeled the shredded, red-sodden jumpsuit from her shoulders. Another round exploded nearby, and another. He ducked low, clasping Buccari in his arms as killing shards buzzed about their shelter.
A brief lull ensued. A smattering of return fire from the humans filled the void. MacArthur shifted his position and carefully examined the lieutenant's injuries.
"You're lucky," he said, exhaling with relief. "The bleeding is already stopped, and I can see metal. The fragments were spent when they hit you. Bite on this!" He handed her his knife scabbard. "I'm going to dig them out."