Chapter 16
"They have learned to avoid patrolling during daylight," their guide told Zant. "They use their big wagons, which our bullets will not penetrate. It was quite a problem for us until we learned that the things on their eyes let them see in the dark." He paused. "It cost two lives to learn that, but now we all have them."
Zant frowned. "I'm really sorry. I'm surprised Cale didn't mention night-vision glasses to you, but I guess he couldn't think of everything." His own people all had them, of course.
The man nodded. "Sire Cale had much to tell us. It is not surprising that something like that escaped him. We would have lost many more if he had not warned us of the heat pictures, and the capacitance alarms." The man stumbled over the unfamiliar word, but he continued, "And knowing that the body armor would not protect us against most of the star weapons saved many lives."
Zant nodded. "So, how many have your men killed?"
The man shrugged. "It is not possible to verify every kill, and many are only wounded. But from my village we are certain of two dozen. Three other villages hunt star men, and they tell of similar numbers.
"Whew!" Zant said admiringly. "The General only had 300 men to start with. Between the flitter attacks and the box canyon, we took out at least 50. If you took out another 75, he's down to about 175." He shook his head. "We've cut his force almost in half, and haven't fought a major battle! Amazing."
After a moment, he sobered. "The General's got to be getting pretty desperate. He's going to have to launch an all-out attack on the Four Kings very soon."
He called Cale and told him what he'd learned. Cale whistled. "Wow! We don't have much time. If your raid doesn't work, he won't waste any time; he'll come after us. I'll brief everybody. Good luck. Very good luck!"
The sniper leader was looking puzzled. "Why must he attack very soon? Can he not sit behind his guard stations and dare you to attack him?"
Zant shook his head. "He can't do that because of you," he said. "Every day he sits here, he's losing people he cannot afford to lose. The farmers will not fight for him, and will overthrow him if they can. King Karel would rebel in an instant. He has to attack while he has enough trained soldiers to launch an attack while still maintaining control here."
They talked for a while longer about tactics the snipers could use if the General stripped the colony for an attack force. Finally, the runner appeared, muttering quietly to the sniper leader.
The man smiled. "I was right. They are using the route to the north. We have about an hour to cross the road and set an ambush."
One by one, the sixteen men crept across the road, led by the snipers. Zant was the last to cross, hoping fervently that none of them had triggered a capacitance alarm.
A sniper awaited him on the other side of the road to guide him to the sniper leader.
Surprisingly, the ambush site was not in the underbrush of a wooded patch, but in open, nearly waist-high grass. "They try to detour around the trees," the man explained. "At first we almost always hit them from the trees; now they're very cautious about trees, but as long as we stay down and quiet, they can't spot us in the tall grass."
Zant looked around. The snipers had made certain his men were scattered; there was no telltale unevenness in the sea of grass.
It was forty minutes later that Zant's night vision glasses detected a flicker of movement. The troops were good, he decided. The six figures moved in silence, spread and staggered, night vision glasses scanning unceasingly in all directions. He held his breath as one of the shadows glided by, barely rippling the tall grass. Very good, Zant amended.
Their guide waited until the patrol faded from their enhanced view, and then tapped Zant on the shoulder. "Go," he whispered. "We will follow them. Good luck." He disappeared almost instantly.
His troops were beginning to rise, and he made sure he had all ten before they began moving north as fast as their burdens would let them.
Zant was using the farms as a guide, keeping them just in view on his left. It was the longest mile he'd ever walked, he decided. Finally, a small building appeared on his right. Zant was pretty sure the General did not have enough capacitance alarms to equip all his guard posts; he hadn't planned on having to alarm several miles of perimeter road. Now Zant prayed to any god that happened by that he was right.
One by one, the men slid slowly, silently, stealthily past the guard post. These were men who could creep to within a few yards of a mountain dino, and Zant doubted that, lacking star technology, they would be spotted.
He was right. Eventually all of his men had passed the guard post. Three of them split off with a nod; they were assigned the heavy lasers, and had the farthest to go.
Zant had decided to accompany the trio responsible for the flitter. The disruptor could be fatally damaged by a blast on the charging coil, and the lasers could be rendered useless by shattering or even just misaligning their lenses and mirrors. But Zant knew that his mountain ruffians would have no idea how to permanently damage a flitter.
Oh, if all of them just threw their demo packs underneath the flitter, it should be enough. But Zant had to make sure. It was vital that the General not be allowed to keep a flitter that could sneak into Valhalla silently, and Zant and his extra demo packs would ensure that. Zant had also been concerned that the pad might be better lit and more populated than the weapons emplacements. An extra man might provide the extra bit of force necessary for success. They split off from the last three and headed for the landing pad.
Zant's caution had been justified. The heavy schedule the flitter had been flying meant it required a lot of maintenance, and at the moment, two men were doing just that. Since there was no hangar for the flitter, the pad was brightly lighted.
Worse, there was a guard post less than fifty yards away. Zant whispered that the others should wait until he cleared the guard post, or until he was seen. Then he headed for the guard post, slipping from shadow to shadow.
He peeked around the corner of the tiny building, and then jerked his head back. Only one man, but he was awake, and watching the workers service the flitter. Zant carefully tried the guard post's door. Locked. He reached for his tomahawk.
One side of the tomahawk's head featured a razor-sharp three-inch wide axe blade, the other a conical spike. It was mounted on a two-foot hardwood handle. It was a poor design for chopping or other camp chores, but it was a very effective killing tool. Zant was not very good at throwing a knife, but with a tomahawk, he was lethal at any distance up to six meters.
He backed a few feet away from the guard post, to minimize his visibility. Then he stepped into the light from the guard post and let fly almost simultaneously, and then jumped back into the darkness.
He didn't even have to step out to check his work. The hollow 'thock' told him everything he needed to know. Still, he peeked around the corner again. The man was slumped against the wall of the tiny shack, the tomahawk's blade buried deep in his head. Zant smiled slightly with relief. The man hadn't had time to cry out. A quick glance told him that the workers were still working on the flitter. One of them straightened and stretched, trying to loosen cramped muscles. Suddenly a crossbow bolt was protruding from his neck. His eyes widened, and he must have produced a sound, because the other man slid out from under the flitter asking what was wrong. A shadow slid silently up behind him. The shadow grabbed him, pulled his head back, and a ceramic blade slid across his throat. The shadow held him for a moment, to make certain he was dead, and then lowered the body to the ground. The other two mountain men hurried across to the flitter, carrying the shadow's pack, and Zant hurried to join them.