He could see the backs of the star men! He gathered his men. They would creep upon these honorless monsters from behind them and slaughter them like the serpentines they were!
One of the men argued quietly. "It is not honorable to attack a man who is not looking," he said. "That is not war. It is murder."
Tran waved his hand. "Do you not see what they are doing? They are killing dinos! Not accidentally, but purposefully. These are not men of honor," he continued contemptuously, "they are serpentines, and should be treated as such! All know that serpentines are deadly when aroused. Who does not use stealth to kill them?" He scanned the surrounding faces. "We can still save many of our people, and still destroy these honorless animals. Who will join me?"
The man who had spoken up had followed Tran's pointing finger. "It is true! They are killing dinos!" He said. "These are not men. I will join you with pride!"
His ten men grasped their javelins, and crept over the bank as though hunting wild dino. Ignoring the screams of wounded men and dinos that tore at his heart, Tran led his men closer to the star men, who had still not seen or heard them.
The men they were stalking wore the strange hard clothing of the star men, but all knew that it did not protect the neck. As he crept forward, the man he was stalking sensed something and started to turn. With a silent grimace of hate, Tran rammed the blade of his javelin into the unprotected neck. The man slumped, and Tran looked around. Nine of the enemy were down. Suddenly there was a squawking sound, and helmeted heads began to turn. His javelin was jammed in his victim's vertebrae. No time to lose. Tran snatched the man's weapon.
The weapon was the same as that Fron had taken from the dead star man. Tran had examined it closely. This was clearly intended for grasping, and that put his finger on this. He pressed it, and a line of light speared another star man. Then it faded. Tran released the small lever and squeezed it again in frustration. Another line of light flared. Ah! One pressed this, and then released it, and pressed it again! He spun, slashing the beam as quickly as possible. But after only a moment, pressing the lever no longer worked. The weapon's magic was gone. He dropped it and grabbed another.
********
There was a problem at the north end of the line. Somehow, the General was told, some nomads had gotten behind them, and were using lasers to kill!
Ochoa-Mariden had no reserve. He had to blockade the bridge. If the nomads got past him, the colony was finished. But the trouble at the north end was causing the laser fire to slacken, and the nomads had now begun pushing the wall of dino and human bodies, slowly but surely getting ever closer to the near end of the bridge. The barricade that had stopped their charge was now protecting them. He called six men out of the line, and sent them to the north end of the line, but he could do no more. Once that pile of bodies reached the near end of the bridge, the nomads would swarm from behind it and the fighting would become hand to hand.
And that was beginning to happen when a roar that grew to a physical pain announced the arrival of Zant Jenfu and King Karel's militia. Zant set down almost on the end of the bridge, instantly crisping over a dozen nomads. The Din-class's quickfirers scanned for targets, but the star men, nomads, and now the arriving militia were too intermingled for such wholesale weapons.
Ochoa-Mariden headed north. With the fighting general and hand-to-hand, there was little need for generals. But from the sound of it, there was a great need for fighters at the north end!
There were four of the nomads left when he arrived, but they were fighting like a battalion. They whirled, ducked, and grabbed weapons from the living and the dead. As he approached, one of them pointed a laser at him and pressed the trigger. But the charge was exhausted. The young man threw the weapon away and pulled his belt knife. Ochoa-Mariden grabbed a tomahawk from a dead trooper's belt without stopping and headed for the nomad.
Ha! They must be winning! The star men were sending old men into battle! Tran pulled up the star weapon, but the magic was gone. He threw it away. There was no time to grab another; the old man was almost upon him. He snatched his belt knife as he saw the man swoop with surprising grace and snatch an odd axe from a dead man's belt. The old man did not slow when he saw Tran's knife. Perhaps the old man was a worthy opponent, after all. Still, he was a star man, not a warrior, and deserved no courtesy. Tran whipped the knife to his shoulder and let fly.
This man was not wearing the hard clothing, and the knife sank into his chest. The man grunted, and paused for a moment, but then resumed his march toward a now openmouthed Tran. The last thing Tran saw was the axe swinging toward his head. He never felt the General fall on top of him.
********
King Karel looked down on the body of Coronel-General Ferdinand Ochoa-Mariden, still grasping the tomahawk buried in the skull of the young nomad. He nodded. "In the end, a brave man."
"He always was, your Majesty," replied Zant. "He had all the military virtues, but he lacked the human ones. I trust you agree, sire Perez?"
Perez nodded. "A dour, rigid man, but faithful to his own concepts of duty and honor. That's why the Council didn't remove him from command. As it turned out, that was a very wise decision."
'How many did you lose?" Zant asked. "We lost about twenty of King Karel's militia."
"We lost twelve of the colony militia at the north perimeter," Perez replied. "And we lost two med techs who tried to help wounded. As you can imagine, there was little enthusiasm for treating their wounded after that. All of the nomads are dead, now.
"At the bridge?" he shrugged. "It's easier to count the survivors. Less than twenty of the General's special operations troops survived, and three of those are still in the med center."
King Karel smiled. "We cannot say they were pleasant people," he said, "but they were brave and steadfast. What will you do with them now?"
Perez shrugged again. "They are of course welcome to join us, though they might find our placid pace of life boring. I have already discussed with their remaining officer assuming command of the colony militia, since the General and the Colonel are both dead. Why do you ask?"
"It occurs to me," King Karel replied, "that it might be wise to try to hire a few of them to teach Our guardsmen. Sire Zant and sire Cale were quite eloquent about the extensive training of these spec ops? soldiers."
King Rajo's eyebrows lifted. "An interesting thought. There may yet be work for them on Jumbo, as Our plans develop."
Zant grinned. "I would not hire more than a few each," he said. "Some of them would make excellent instructors, but the rest will cause endless trouble in peacetime, with their drinking and wenching. Unless they're fighting, spec ops types are a royal pain in the neck."
Cale nodded. "I would recommend discussing it with that officer of theirs. He'll be able to give you the names of worthy candidates. I suspect you'll find them willing. Beating up locals in the name of 'training' will definitely be more appealing than watching a bunch of plants grow."
"Then it's over?" Dee asked as they headed for orbit and Cheetah. "For good?"
Cale grinned, "If you mean is war gone from Jumbo forever, the answer is 'no', as long as humans inhabit it," he replied. "But if you're asking whether there is finally peace on Jumbo, I'm delighted to say the answer is 'yes', at least for now. The General is dead, along with most of his spec ops troublemakers, and the nomads left the last of their old campsites two days ago. They are now officially exploring new lands.