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Banks stayed at his post while McCally, and then Wiggins, moved quickly to cover the sarge’s position. He knew better than to have all four of them looking one way at the same time; the Alma had already proved themselves to be sneaky. There was no sense in giving them another opportunity to show it.

He heard the sarge shouting. “Fire!” A volley of shots rang out.

“One down,” Wiggins shouted, then they all fired again.

The shots rang and echoed around them, then all went quiet.

“Two down, one buggered off, but I think I winged it,” McCally said.

A wail rose over the tundra, high and wild.

It was answered by a chorus of howls that came from all parts of the compass.

“Fuck me, there’s hundreds of them,” Wiggins said.

*

As if a silent command ran through them, the Alma attacked, all at once, coming from all sides. They heard them before they saw them, splashing their way through the bogs, hooting and wailing. Banks had once seen a tribe of chimpanzees on a hunt in a television documentary, and this had the same frenzied yet at the same time totally controlled quality to it. Every fiber of him wanted to start firing, but the range was too far; the beasts had already shown an ability to take a shot and keep coming. He’d have to let them get close.

Perhaps too close.

“Steady, lads,” he called out. “When it comes down to it, we’re holding all the cards here; they’re not armed. So take them down, but pick your shots. Short, controlled bursts.”

Then it was all done to muscle memory and control. The Alma came on, charging through the boggy ground, and into view, firstly as darker shadows against the background, then close enough that Banks saw their teeth, too white in the darkness. He waited until the first was within twenty yards, then put it down with two shots to the head.

The rest kept coming. Wiggins had overestimated with his ‘hundreds,’ but there were a dozen and more just in Banks’ field of view, and he guessed the same number again coming from each side. Then all of the squad opened fire at once, the crack of rifles echoing loud across the tundra under the stars. Banks put down two more, one big male who took four rounds to stop, and a female with a pendulous belly who only needed one, through the mouth and out the back of her head in a spray of blood and brains.

He looked quickly for another shot to take, but as quickly as they had appeared, the beasts retreated away into the dark, leaving their dead where they lay. Behind Banks, the rifles of the rest of the squad fell silent.

The first rock came out of the dark seconds later.

*

He didn’t see it coming. It dropped out of the sky and landed three feet in front of Banks with a muddy thud that sent black ooze splashing over his head and torso.

“Heads down, lads. We’ve got incoming.”

He slid down the wall of the hollow, so that only his head was above ground level, just enough to see any attack, aware that at any moment a rock might fall out of the sky. More stones fell around them, the patter and thud as they hit the wet ground sounding like the beat of a manic drummer.

I was wrong about them not having any weapons. And right about them being sneaky fuckers.

They couldn’t do anything but crouch down in the hollow as the bombardment continued; waiting and hoping a lucky strike wouldn’t crush a head or break a bone. Two rocks, each the size of rugby balls, landed inside their perimeter, one of either side of Galloway’s legs. The scientist scurried out of the bottom of the hole to lie next to Banks.

“Just in case they’re getting their aim in,” he said. Banks looked over at the man, and realized he could see him much more clearly than just minutes earlier.

Far to the east, dawn was coming, lightening the sky.

He wasn’t sure he welcomed the clarity it would bring, as another rock fell with a wet splash, less than a foot from his nose.

- 23 -

“We can’t just sit here, Cap,” Wiggins said. “We’re sitting ducks.”

“I’m open to suggestions, lad,” Banks said. “I’m not doing the fucking hokey-cokey in and out of the building again. And yon big cat is still out there somewhere too.”

Another rock hit inside the hollow, close to McCally’s feet.

“Wiggo’s got a point, Cap,” the corporal said. “We might be better off on the move.”

“Take a lookout, lads,” Banks said. “We’ve got no cover, and it’s a fucking bog in every direction. At least here we can cower down.”

“Cowering’s never really been our style,” Hynd said. “I’m with the lads on this one, John. I’d rather my number came up on the move than lying in a hole full of hairy elephant shite.”

Banks turned to Galloway, and saw that the scientist was lost in thought.

“Well, everybody else has had their say. What about you? Any bright ideas?”

Galloway wasn’t looking at him, but had turned his gaze to the west. Banks looked that way, and saw the mammoth herd, still gathered together in their tight circle.

The scientist smiled thinly.

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Like what?”

He nodded toward the mammoth herd just as another rock splashed down hard right on the rim of their hollow. Somewhere out on the tundra, an Alma hooted and whuffed, its loud laughter ringing across the open ground.

“We get the mammoths to shield us,” the scientist said.

Wiggins laughed.

“I can see that. Please mister hairy ginger elephant, can we join your gang? And by the way, your shite smells lovely. Aye, I can see that working.”

Galloway was still looking over the bog towards the mammoths.

“I haven’t seen it myself, but I’ve heard of it in Africa; people being given shelter in an elephant herd.”

“Aye,” Banks replied. “But these aren’t elephants. And they haven’t seen many people. How do we know they’ll be friendly?”

Another rock, the largest one yet, landed in the middle of the hollow, embedding itself almost completely in the wet ground.

“I think we should try,” Galloway said. “Can we afford not to?”

Banks saw the man’s point, as another rock splashed down close by. It looked like the beasts were finding their range, and any second now, somebody was likely to take a serious injury.

“Okay, we move,” he said. “Stay tight, keep an eye on the hairy men, and make for the mammoths. If they take fright, God help us.”

*

Banks stood up. The Alma hooted and wailed, and two rocks flew at him, but at least he saw them coming and was able to gauge their landing point, both hitting the ground two yards to his left.

“Look sharp, lads,” he said. “Wiggo, take point. I’ll watch your back. Double time.”

They moved out.

At the same time, the Alma made a move, closing in fast. Banks sent a volley of bullets their way. They were too far away for his shots to do any real damage, but the noise alone seemed to be enough to slow the beasts’ advance.

The squad headed at speed for the mammoth herd. Banks was busy watching the rear, trusting his men to make the right decisions depending on what happened in front of them. He heard the bull mammoth trumpet, loud and bellowing, the sound seeming to punctuate a sudden silence across the whole plain.

Then, before he realized it, he was inside a wall of shaggy, orange hair and suddenly felt a lot warmer. The smell was worse than it had been in the foxhole, and they had to stay nimble to avoid being squeezed between the huge flanks of the mammoths. But the squad was completely enclosed inside the mammoth’s defensive circle.

The Alma started to hoot and yell, but they sounded muted and distant, and they had stopped throwing rocks.