The soldiers slowly got back to their feet and pressed on with their journey. Michael was sweating under the hot, dusty conditions and took a drink of water from a flask he was carrying. They kept on moving for what seemed like an hour before Hunter stopped them again.
A Krenaran patrol was passing in front of them; the commandoes quietly crept into cover and trained their heavy armschlagers on them. Michael counted eight in total. The patrol was 200 yards off and getting closer. The commandoes quietly readied their weapons; the aliens continued to close, and were now just 70 yards off.
Michael could pick out their bright red eyes and black pupils; a bead of cold sweat slowly ran its way down Michael’s face, he dared not even breathe. One of the Krenarans seemed to look straight at him; and he thought they had been spotted; he almost brought his weapon up to fire, until at last the Krenarans carried on their way.
“Kuray al Vorkrosht,” one of the aliens said.
Once they were sure the Krenarans were out of sight, they pressed on. Half an hour later they met up with scope, who had travelled on ahead.
Carefully they crept up to his position. He pointed at his eyes, and then pointed directly ahead of him, signalling the Krenaran position. Vargev propped himself up just above a mound of rubble, catching a glimpse of the slowly moving slave chain in the distance.
The Russian dropped back down again and held out eight fingers to Hunter; the commando nodded signalling his understanding. Vargev then stuck his fingers into the dust and made eight depressions. Two at the front, two in the middle and two at the rear, silently they all nodded again.
The Russian then pointed at Michael and then pointed towards one of the depressions at the rear, Michael nodded; I’ve got the guy at the rear. He pointed at Piranha and pointed to the front depression, then pointed to himself and pointed to the other first depression. Finally he pointed at scope and gave a signal resembling a sniper.
Scope nodded, hefting his exotic looking sniper rifle; and fixed an infrared scope to the sight. He stayed where he was and covered himself and the rest of the weapon in desert drapes, making him virtually invisible within the surrounding dust and debris.
The rest of the unit split up; Michael mimicked the movements the other commandoes were making as they gradually crawled their way closer to the rear of the slave chain. While Vargev and Piranha moved ahead of the formation; Hunter crawled over to Michaels’ position.
Scope silently rested his weapon onto a small mound of rubble; switched on the infrared sight, and flicked the shot selector switch on the side of the rifle to single shot. Breathing lightly he peered into the scope, and adjusted the focus.
Vargev was now in position; the rest of the squad were just finishing getting into position also. A Russian voice came over the helmet radios, “now!” it said.
First into action was Scope. He squeezed the trigger, a muted crack, and the middle Krenaran fell, a gaping hole punched into the side of the aliens head spewing white ichor onto the ground.
In an instant he had sighted the other middle Krenaran, another dull crack; and the alien joined his friend; the force of the impact snapping its head back and exploding its skull like a melon.
The rear Krenarans spun towards scopes’ position, and were mercilessly chopped down by the rapid gunfire of Michael’s and Hunters Armschlagers; three high powered rounds slammed into each of the Krenarans chests ripping their mid sections apart, both were thrown backwards in a spray of white ooze. Simultaneously, Vargev and Piranha popped up from their positions in front of the chain, their weapons bucking as multiple rounds smashed their way into the final two Krenarans, who also fell backwards; white ooze flowing out from huge holes ripped through their armour.
The slave chain was in a state of total panic, with no idea who their attackers were, and driven half mad by their experiences; men and women desperately tried pulling on the chains to get away from the sounds of the weapons fire. They quickly calmed when they realised they were E.D. F troops.
Hunter searched out a pair of bolt cutters from his pack; one by one, he cut the manacles shackling the slaves and set them free. One of them was desperately begging Vargev to take them with him; the Russian repeatedly refused, finally with a stern “no.”
The man dressed barely in rags ran away and rejoined the other fleeing slaves.
Michael walked up to Vargev and asked, “why couldn’t we have taken them with us?”
“Because we don’t have the resources to take proper care of them; plus they are a liability, they would slow down our operation too much.”
“Major, they are human beings!”
“We’ve done what we can; now it’s up to them.”
“But Major…”
Vargev cut him off, “that’s my final word on the subj…”
Suddenly an energy blast smashed apart a piece of rock very near where they were stood.
“Take cover!” Vargev screamed at the top of his voice.
Both Michael and Vargev sprinted for all they were worth towards the ruins; more energy blasts thumped into the ground as they ran, throwing up great plumes of dust.
Piranha spun round to bring his weapon to bear, however he was hit directly in the chest; the force of the blast throwing him through the air, before slamming him into the dust convulsing; then he was still, a gaping crimson hole blasted into his chest.
Hunter was also caught out in the open; desperately he ran for cover, blast after blast ripping into the dust around him as he ran for safety; before finally a shot slammed into his leg blowing it completely off at the knee. The force of the impact sent him sprawling into the air; he landed flat on his back with an almighty thud, crying out in absolute agony and clutching at his ruined, bloody stump of a leg.
With adrenaline pumping he managed to pick up his weapon and kept the trigger pressed; the heavy machine gun bucked and swayed as a hail of heavy calibre slugs tore into two of the on-rushing Krenarans. One was almost sawn in half by the hail of hot lead. It collapsed into a bloody mess; entrails unfurling into the dust.
A second aliens head completely disappeared in a white froth; the headless body slumped forward onto the ground next to its comrade. The rest of the commandoes were all giving covering fire, and were shouting desperately for hunter to get into some sort of cover.
Michael was almost deafened by the fierce fusillade of gun fire; Scope switched his weapon onto full auto and began pumping shots into the advancing Krenarans, three more of the armoured reptilian brutes fell; one clutching its ruined face, yet still more came on, their shadows appearing over a mound of rubble some twenty feet high.
Hunter was still desperately crawling for cover; his stump of a leg leaving behind a crimson smear across the ground as he heaved himself closer. He was barely three feet away from a small patch of rubble when a shot slammed into his back; the impact smashing him face down into the dirt and forcing him to spit out a great gobbet of blood.
More shots slammed into scopes position throwing up plumes of dust and masonry; one of which sliced across his right eye, several other razor sharp pieces of debris cut into his face and upper body. Blood spurted out from the ruined eye and ran down his face; trying his hardest to ignore the searing pain, he levelled his weapon and opened fire again; spraying the oncoming Krenarans in yet more lead. Two more of the vicious aliens fell; one was hit half a dozen times in the chest, tearing it apart in a spray of white blood and heavy bone matter. The second one’s head was torn open as two slugs ripped into its forehead, spraying more blood and shredded brain matter into the dust. Both fell simultaneously.