Magda stepped forward and threw her arms around Ashnak’s hips, burying her face against his web-belt and hard-muscled gut. Taloned hands gently stroked her fur-short hair.
She heard footsteps approaching and did not move. A creaking, deathly voice spoke.
“General Ashnak, sir. Satellite communications are back online. Sir, I really think you ought to listen to the situation reports that are coming in.”
4
The fort sweltered under the equatorial sun.
“Excuse me, sir.” A polite orcish voice spoke in Barashkukor’s ear. “The second recon patrol’s overdue, sir. What shall we do?”
Patrols are nothing more than habit on peacetime trips. Especially with a squad of sales-orcs. The major rested his skinny elbows on the deserted fort’s parapet and gazed out at rock and sand. Even though he was wearing Ray·Bans, the gusting yellow and white sand of the Endless Desert reflected the light back painfully. Hot now, and only an hour after dawn.
“Get back to HQ on the radio. Post them officially missing.”
The marine first class saluted Barashkukor with a hand upon which the talons were trimmed. Her uniform showed signs of being ironed, her combat boots shone, her tusks were polished. Of her M16, however, there was no sign. Barashkukor regarded his squad of twelve sales-orcs with despair.
“Sir,” she added, “Corporal Uzkaddit didn’t come back either. What are we going to do, sir?”
Under any other circumstances Barashkukor would have said, Act like an orc! Appreciating that it might be futile in this case, he refrained. Having only two combat veterans in his sales-force, it might have been an error to send them both out on recce…
“We’re not even fighting anyone,” the large orc Arakingu whimpered. “Sir, we aren’t at war here, sir, are we? We’re here to sell things—”
Patience expired. Major Barashkukor climbed up onto the step of the parapet, drew back his black-gloved fist, and punched the orc squarely in the face. When she got to her feet, combat fatigues dusty, there was a glint of red in her eyes.
“You’re a marine, orc! I don’t care if you’re support services, you’re a marine!”
“Sir, yes sir!”
The rear echelon marine retired to the other end of the parapet to tinker with radio equipment, muttering something about a slur on a fine body of orcs. Major Barashkukor, adjusting his black Stetson, strode bandy-legged down into the compound and went around his orcs at the walls’ murderholes, checking weapons and boosting morale. The fort, little more than a square of walls around a tiny courtyard and well, was small enough that Barashkukor could cross it in five strides.
“Sir.” The MFC, Arakingu, appeared at his elbow. “Sorry, sir, satellite link’s down again.”
“That does it. Get Graagryk back,” the small orc major said fiercely. “I don’t care how you do it, but contact them. Tell them we’ve got trouble here, and we’re understrength. Either we get reinforcements or they pull us out—I want an airlift, and I want it today!”
At the same moment a marine called from the walls, “Sir—it’s out there again, sir!”
“Give me distance and direction, you snivelling ball of orc-dung!” Major Barashkukor loped over to the walls, black cowboy boots kicking up sand. He squinted through the slit in the masonry. “Where is it?”
Dredging up some memory of basic training, the grunt muttered, “Those rocks at two o’clock, sir. Movement. Number of hostiles unknown.”
“Well done, Luzdrak.” Barashkukor shoved up the brim of his Stetson and wiped sweat from his leathery forehead. His long, thin ears wavered, drooping in the heat. “Remember, orcs, we have the demo ammunition from the trucks. We outgun everything for miles. Keep your heads and we’ll dogmeat this sucker! Are we marines?”
The marine major pointed up at the striped-and-starred marine flag, with the Horde’s raven superimposed, flying bravely from the ruined fort’s flagpole. The dozen sales-orcs grinned, showing tusks and fangs, and rumbled, “We are marines!” with a certain bloodthirsty gleam in their deep-set eyes.
“It doesn’t matter if there are hundreds of Desert Riders out there!” Major Barashkukor enthused. “We have the firepower. More important, we are trained and disciplined soldiers.”
“Oh, my god!” Luzdrak shrieked, clutching his superior officer. “It’s horrible! It’s out there! It’s coming for us!”
Barashkukor shoved the orc bodily out of the way and crouched down at the wall-slit. A hot wind blew. Squinting into the eastern light, he made out movement in the rocks a hundred yards away.
“Shit….” Luzdrak crooned. “Oh, shit, man, we are some unhappy mothers! What is that thing?”
“Don’t worry, marine. I am completely familiar with the native indigenous life-forms of the desert terrain…” Barashkukor’s voice trailed off.
Segments of chitin hauled themselves up over the rocks on jointed black legs—and then it stood upright. Desert sunlight shone on a black carapace.
Barashkukor registered a shiny, elongated Man-like body, with clawed hind limbs, half as tall again as an orc. A scorpion-like tail curved up and hung above its long, domed chitinous skull. Spines lined the clawed forelimbs. Soft clusters of rubbery black objects hung on its underbelly.
The orc stared. “Man, that fucker’s big!”
Arakingu called, “Sir, I’m through to Graagryk!”
“Call in air support. Now!” Barashkukor showed small fangs in a satisfied smile. “That’s got to be the mother who took the recce patrols. Marine, I want you to put one aimed round into that piece of shit—encourage it to lose our trail!”
Luzdrak raised his AK47 assault rifle and settled the wooden stock into his brawny shoulder. One tilted eye squeezed almost shut. Barashkukor caught the moment when the orc marine held his breath. The trigger pulled. The muzzle jerked fire.
FOOM!
Tensed against the noise, like a hammer banging steel an inch from his ear, Barashkukor peered through binoculars at the rocks. The insectoid beast shambled up into the open on jointed hind legs, claws jutting from its shiny, hard forelimbs. It jerked. A spray of black substance punched out from the soft underside of its body and spattered the rocks.
Beside him, orc marines cheered.
“Let’s see if it’s got sense enough to run from that.” Barashkukor held the binoculars steady. “Holy shit.”
Seven more of the creatures appeared. The first insectoid monstrosity hesitated, shiny black against the white rocks and sand, its sectioned tubular body shimmering in heat distortion. Segmented claws dipped down behind the rock. When they came into sight again, a green and dripping mess hung between them.
The orc’s body leaked blood darkly onto the sand. His head and body had a curiously chewed appearance. Both arms and one leg had been bitten off. His jaw, wrenched loose from its sockets, flapped as the insect brandished the body high in the hot desert air. A scent of carrion travelled on the wind. The cloth of combat fatigues, belts of bullets, and twisted metal that might have been an M16 assault rifle, were embedded in the ribcage of the dead orc marine.
“That’s Corporal Uzkaddit…” Barashkukor breathed. “Right! Fireteam one, hold your position. Fireteam two, withdraw to the trucks. Luzdrak, when you hear the engines, pull out. Use mortars. We’re going to make a fighting withdrawal. Arakingu, give HQ our position, let ’em bomb the fuck out of here as soon as we’re gone.”