"We verify the identity of the target and the nature of its intentions before firing," May reminded the others. They were clustered in a fifteen-foot arc directly in front of the cave. "No one fires without authorization from myself or a direct attack-"
"Sergeant!" said Private Ruhf. "I see something."
"Where?"
"Right side of the cave, about three feet up."
May looked over. He saw it too: a pair of large, golden-white eyes hovering near the wall.
"Confirmed," said the sergeant. "Report to the sheriff, then wait until it tries to escape or to attack. Otherwise, hold your fire. Let's try to wait for the armored guys to get here."
Ruhf did as he was ordered. He settled uneasily into his firing stance behind the boulder, one leg bent, the other knee on the ground.
"What the hell is in there?" Private Markle murmured. "I've never seen eyes like that."
"Quiet," May said. He raised his rifle and looked down the site. "Remember. If they come at us everyone keeps to his line of fire. If you cross-shoot we may end up double-firing at the same target."
The men fell silent, a fire wall of guns and determination.
After a very long moment the two eyes were joined by two more, then two more. The eyes didn't move from the shadows. May wasn't able to see more than the floating orbs and an occasional downward-pointing tusk, a sliver of brightness against opaque black. The animals were remarkably quiet, though the blood rushing through May's ears drowned out any sound the creatures might be making. He thought he heard squeaks coming from the cave, but they sounded like bats. Maybe they didn't like the intruders either.
After nearly two minutes of waiting the men heard the distant beat of the Chinook's twin rotors. Part of May wanted to move in now, shoot the animals and take the score home on his resume. That would mean a lot in the security world, where he wanted to go after this. But there was the well-being of his men to consider, so he waited for the chopper. He'd have to settle for the assist.
Because of the noise of the approaching Chinook, and because of the attention the men were paying to the eyes in the jagged cave opening, none of them heard the two cats come up behind them. The only indication May had that the unit was under attack was when Ruhf suddenly cried out, lurched backward, and disappeared down the slope.
Sergeant May spun to his right. He was just in time to see a pair of tusks-much larger and nearer than the ones in the cave-flash down at him, a green haze of motion.
There were strong punches on either side of his neck. They drove May down so that he was sitting. He whimpered and his arms shook uncontrollably; he dropped his gun without realizing it. There was hot breath in the young man's face and where he'd felt the punches there was now sharp, deep pain. May wanted to scream, but he couldn't breathe as his breastbone was torn outward.
He was dead before a sheet of blood splashed up from his shattered chest, covering his face and goggles.
As soon as the man went down the cats that had attacked them were joined by the others from the cave. The giants came quickly, sinking their fangs into the bodies, lifting them from the mountaintop, and turning back toward the cave.
They paid no attention to the bright star that came early in the southern sky.
Chapter Sixty-Two
"The blips are moving again!" the copilot exclaimed as the Chinook neared the mountain. "Which way?" Gearhart asked.
"Out of the cave-only now there are five of them!"
The sheriff was once again standing in the cockpit doorway. The Chinook had collected fifteen soldiers and six deputies from four separate sites and was rushing to the cave on Monte Arido. The sheriff was peering out the front window at the distant peak.
If the cats were out of the cave, why weren't the soldiers and Deputy Bright firing? Realizing that he might not hear the gunshots because of the rotors, Gearhart grabbed a pair of binoculars from the equipment rack to the right of the cockpit. He looked out the window. Though the chopper was shaking and the magnified view was unsteady, he didn't see any flashes. But he did think be saw movement behind the rocks.
"Get your man on the radio," Gearhart said.
"Sir, the sergeant asked for radio silence-"
"Now," Gearhart insisted.
The copilot obliged. Gearhart continued to look out the window. He wasn't surprised when the copilot informed him that there was no response from the field unit.
"Get us over there fast," Gearhart said.
"Yes, sir," the pilot said.
Gearhart went back into the main cabin, a cargo hold that had been fitted with canvas sling-seats hung from the ceiling. There was also a winch beside the door and a sling for lowering equipment. He grabbed a rifle from the weapons rack toward the rear of the cabin. Then he went back to the outside door, which was located behind the cockpit. He slipped a harness around his waist, fastened himself to one of the hooks beside the door, and opened it. He wasn't going to lose these bastards again.
The Chinook dove and picked up speed. It was moving at about 120 knots. The wind was rough, the chopper was slanting down at a twenty-degree angle, and Gearhart had trouble standing. It would be tough to aim and fire from here. He wished he had fucking Sidewinders; he'd light the rockets and blow the entire mountaintop to hell.
Then Gearhart saw his enemy for the first time. He saw long, slinky golden figures moving through the sharp afternoon light. They appeared to be carrying things.
Prey?
No, Gearhart realized. Not just prey.
Bodies. Bodies dressed in drab green. The entire Monte Arido unit.
Gearhart slung the binoculars around his neck.
" Wilson!" he yelled over his shoulder.
The portly, balding first sergeant in charge of the armored unit hurried over. "Sir?"
"Sergeant, pass out weapons and send three men over here now."
"Yes, sir."
The door was wide, though three men was all Gearhart felt the doorway could accommodate without them falling over or shooting each other. As the chopper neared the cliff, three guns lined up behind Gearhart. The sheriff turned so he could be heard over the rush of the wind.
"It looks like the entire unit has been taken out," Gearhart told them. "When I give the order, fire at any animals you see on the cliff. Shoot to kill; use multiples to clean up any vital signs."
Gearhart turned back to the door. The animals were halfway between the cave and the boulders where the soldiers had been. Because they were slowed by the weight of the bodies, the sheriff was able to see them more clearly now. They were definitely tigers of some sort.
The chopper was about one hundred and fifty feet from the mountaintop. Gearhart leaned into the cabin.
"Hold us here, steady as you can!" he shouted at the pilot.
The Chinook slowed and leveled off. Gearhart raised his rifle.
"Fire at will!" he shouted to the men behind him.
The air exploded with short, hot pops from the Ml6s. The cats were peppered with fire and began twitching, hopping, and snapping at the air as sprigs of red exploded from their shoulders, backs, and hindquarters. The gunfire was constant, some of the animals taking four and five hits as the gunmen shifted targets and their fire overlapped.
The two cats nearest the cave went down almost immediately, their backs and hind legs chewed apart, their skin hanging like bloody rags. Shots to the neck and skull finished them both off. Two other cats, wounded in the rear haunches, dropped their prey and tried to drag themselves forward, only to be pinned to the ground by additional fire. The last cat went down when it paused and used its fangs to scratch at a bloody hole in its right shoulder. It was hit by a succession of bullets that caused it to stagger sideways, though it managed to stay on its feet until it tumbled over the side of the mountain.