"Lieutenant Sharl apologizes, but she is injured," Hudson said. "She sprained her ankle trying to find our people. It is not serious and will take but a few days to mend."
"A few days! Unfortunate. Can we help to convey her back to the modules?"
"That is the least of our problems," the human said. "It has not gone well, most excellent Colonel. Half our number remains unaccounted for."
"What are you saying, Huhsawn?"
"We are anxious to obey your recommendations. It is cold here. Lieutenant Buccar—er…Lieutenant Sharl suggests you return to the orbiting ship instead of waiting in the cold. In two or three days we will be ready. If you equip us with a transmitter, we could give you status updates. Et Silmarn has experience with your radios and has volunteered to remain with us for that purpose. Of course he would need another breather canister."
They stall, thought Longo. He stared silently at the puny alien.
"Unfortunate," he growled finally, barely containing his fury. "It is not a trivial matter to return to orbit—fuel considerations, and other things. Why not bring those that have been recovered to the landers?" Perhaps Gol 'berg would be in that group.
"But we need every available person to help search," Hudson rejoined.
"We wait one more day, Huhsawn. Inform Et Silmarn that I wish him to return," Longo snarled. "Immediately." All pretense at diplomacy evaporated.
Hudson bowed slightly, turned, and walked away.
The next morning arrived clear and cold. Behind the walls of the settlement MacArthur inhaled the crisp air. It was going to be a beautiful day, and warm. He grimaced at the thought. It was going to get damned warm, but not from the sun! He had been surprised and impressed by Buccari's orders to set up the ambush. He never dreamed she would fire the first shots, but their survival hinged on taking the initiative away from the better-armed aliens. There was no turning back.
The Marine, standing alone in front of the lodge, kept an intent eye on Tonto. The cliff dweller was perched in the highest tree on the peninsula, with a clear view of all approaches to the settlement. Suddenly he screeched—it was the signal; Kones were on the beach and headed toward the settlement. MacArthur whistled an acknowledgment. He jogged to the guard tower closest to the kones' point of approach. Petit and Chastain peeked down at him.
"One more time. When I start shooting, you guys take two shots each! To kill!" he said emphatically. "Two well-aimed single shots. No bursts. Shoot quick and get the hell out of here! Go straight for the back gate. No heroes! You got me?" Both men nodded and MacArthur turned away.
"Mac!" Chastain shouted. MacArthur stopped abruptly and looked back.
"No heroes, Mac," Chastain pleaded.
MacArthur tightened his lips but said nothing. He sprinted toward the guard tower farther up the hill. O'Toole and Gordon watched him approach. MacArthur gave them the same instructions and then dashed back to the lodge. He stomped up the tall wooden stairs, crossed the porch, and went through the doors.
It was cold and dark inside; no fires had burned in its fireplaces for three nights. He scaled the ladder to the loft. It was brighter there; three rifle ports penetrated the logs, and the sun's rays angled sharply through the freshly hewn openings. Buccari, Hudson, and Shannon waited for him, their somber features bottom-lit by the brilliant patches of sunlight. Their attic perch afforded a clear field of fire over the palisade. Buccari poked a carbine through a port.
"Bugs are on the way, Lieutenant," MacArthur reported. He looked through one of the ports. The tops of the alien landersreflected dully in the distance. The air was sharp and clear, and a fresh breeze was rising—a beautiful day. Tonto screamed and flapped from the tree, catching a thermal and soaring upward.
"They're in the woods," MacArthur said. "Time to go to work."
"Sharl! I'm going down to the gate with MacArthur," Hudson said.
"Yeah, the best pistol shot in the world couldn't hit anything from here," Shannon agreed.
"Okay. Be careful," Buccari said, keeping her face to the rifle port.
"You be careful, too, Lieutenant," MacArthur said. "Once they start hitting this tinderbox with lasers you'll wish you had changed places with us. Don't wait around."
Buccari turned her head and smiled bravely, without joy but with obvious emotion. MacArthur took a deep breath and headed for the ladder with Hudson following. The men descended, dashed outside, and sprinted across the common toward the main gate, each carrying their heavy-caliber pistol in front of them. They positioned themselves behind the partially open gate doors and sighted through the hinge openings—and waited. With short-ranged pistols, it was up to them to take the first shots.
They would also start the retreat, leading everyone through the rear sally gate, to a rendezvous in the thick woods, a kilometer in the hills, where Et Silmarn and the heavily burdened horses were waiting. Tatum and Wilson had taken everyone else into the mountains, to one of Tatum' s hunting camps, a cave at the top of the valley. Buccari's objective was to delay the kones long enough to get the slower moving women and children clear of danger.
An eternity passed. Suddenly Tonto screamed. MacArthur peeked through the hinge opening and observed movement in the underbrush. He froze. Konish soldiers, giants deployed at wide intervals, appeared at the edge of the clearing—a mountain range of aliens. Broad, hulking forms broke from the spring foliage and advanced before the stockade, laser-blasters and short-barreled cannon at the ready, burgundy-uniformed officers following in their wake.
Once clear of the trees, the line of behemoths halted; three scouts crawled cautiously across the expanse of open ground toward the main gate, sweeping the area with IR detectors. Their commander moved forward until he was even with the front rank. He pointed uphill and three giant soldiers trotted out to the flank, while the rest of the titans slowly converged on the gate. MacArthur worried the kones would outflank the ambush. Fifty paces short of the stockade a scout shouted an alarm and halted, pointing his heat detector at the gate. The others brought weapons to bear. The phalanx of kones, already down on all fours, dropped their ponderous bodies to the ground.
"On three," MacArthur whispered. "One.. two. three!"
Hudson fired through the narrow crack of the gate hinge while MacArthur stepped into the gate opening, crouching low and firing three times. They were so close. A konish scout twitched in his sights as his bullets impacted.
Laser-blasters belched singing pulses through the gate, spewing like incandescent water hoses toward MacArthur's crouching form. Blue lightning beams reverberated across the short distance and exploded against the wooden structure. Konish infantry cannon, firing in machine-gun bursts, joined the barrage, their explosive shells thumping into the wood and reducing the stockade to flying splinters; but MacArthur was already clear, rolling away from the exposed door. The blasts from the lasers and cannons did not hit Hudson, but the explosive force of their discharge against the doors caused both gates to burst into flame and swing violently. The ponderous gate became a flaming fly-swatter, crushing Hudson against the wall of the fort and enveloping him in a blossoming conflagration.
Sprinting across the open field, MacArthur realized there was no hope for the officer. Over the bedlam of konish fire, he heard humans firing—the loud, cracking explosions of assault rifles and the higher pitched snaps from Lieutenant Buccari's carbine. He counted at least five carbine reports alone—too many shots! They were still firing from the lodge as answering laser pulses and cannon rounds sang overhead. MacArthur could see the effect of the konish barrage, raking and exploding against wood and stone. He glanced over his shoulder. The guard towers were gone! The stockade walls that had supported them were engulfed in a licking yellow inferno, but four Marines were on the ground sprinting his way. As he passed the main lodge, the roof exploded in flames with laser beams and artillery shell explosions fueling the fire like so many bellows gusts. Burning chunks of wood sailed through the air, sizzling and clattering to the ground. He stopped, frozen with grief.