Chastain dashed up and yanked MacArthur's arm, forcibly pulling him into a run. MacArthur ran dumbly for twenty more strides and then stopped to look back at the lodge, his stomach knotted and his head spinning. A shutter in the rock wall burst open. Ugly black smoke billowed forth as two fast-moving figures clambered through the opening and hit the ground running. Adrenaline flushed MacArthur' s body. His entire being soared with exhilaration. He turned and sprinted along with the others until they made the rear gate. All made it, except for Ensign Hudson.
Longo gained the stockade in time to see humans running out the rear gate. His soldiers fired at their backs, but their power packs had been drained by the assault barrage. None of the infantry cannon hit the mark. He cantered through tumbling smoke, past the burning gates and into the compound. He surveyed the gutted lodge, noting with satisfaction that nothing could have survived the roaring flames consuming its structure. A subaltern trotted up to him.
"Four of our soldiers are dead or dying, Colonel. Six are wounded—two seriously," the subaltern reported. "All blaster units need to be recharged. We are vulnerable."
"At least it is warm for a change," Longo muttered. All around him the settlement roared with the flames of destruction. These aliens were turning out to be considerable adversaries. He had badly underestimated them. "Did we do any damage?" he asked.
"Yes, Colonel," the subaltern reported. "One is gravely injured at the gate. It will probably die. The one called Huhsawn."
Longo smiled. "Ah! A small victory," said Longo, "but a victory, nevertheless. Have the blaster soldiers form up and return to the landers. Recharge the blaster packs and bring them back as soon as you can. Order reinforcements down, armed with cannon and small bore. We have enough blasters. Take the alien back to the lander and see what can be done to keep it alive. A hostage may prove useful."
Brappa sailed overhead, lifted by hot updrafts. He slipped against the press of the thermals and surveyed the activity. The battle had been brief, but every settlement building was in flames. A column of loping bear people hurried along the beach in the direction of their ships. A clutch of wounded soldiers straggled more slowly. Bear people still in the settlement were taking positions along the palisade's remaining back wall. Two huge soldiers slipped through the sally gate and were tentatively crossing the stretch of cleared land.
Brappa lifted his gaze uphill. The long-legs had arrived at their rendezvous point and were retreating in good order. Brappa could see the heavily laden horses and the broad figure of a bear-person. Brappa wondered at the wisdom of accepting the bear-person into their ranks, and of taking the horses. All would be easy to track.
Long-leg death-sticks cracked. Brappa observed puffs of smoke at the edge of the forest. One of the bear people went down, and a blend of thunderous explosions sounded as the bear people unleashed a volley of return fire. Trees disintegrated in crackling flames and explosions, but Brappa caught sight of two long-legs sprinting and dodging through the incinerated boughs. He was not surprised to recognize Brave-crazy-one and Short-one-who-leads.
Tatum helplessly observed the black pall of smoke above the settlement. Intervening ridges blocked his view, and he could only guess at the magnitude of destruction. Tatum slid from the steep ridge of the glacial moraine and returned to the cave. A single large entrance and two narrow clefts provided access to its multiple chambers. He climbed over the boulders obscuring the main entrance. A rivulet of glacier melt ran nearby. The nearest arm of the imposing blue-green glacier was only three hundred meters away—an icy chill testifying to its proximity. The glacier's physical splendor was reflected on the surface of the moraine lake, whose silty emerald waters meandered beneath and past the boulder-shrouded cave entrance, narrowing and draining into the lake valley below. The cascades of the upper falls were just below the hunting camp, and the noise of the falling water thundered in the background.
"What did you see, Sandy?" Dawson asked. Worry pinched her features. "Is it still burning?" She moved back from the cave entrance.
"Still burning," Tatum fretted. "It's been over four hours." After a few paces the ceiling lifted high enough to where even Tatum could stand, but he sat down heavily next to Goldberg and took Honey into his lap. Everyone stayed close for warmth. Tatum would not let them start a fire until darkness could obscure the smoke.
"What should we do?" Fenstermacher asked. Lee and her infant lay next to him, both covered in furs and fast asleep.
"Sit and wait," Tatum replied. "We're on our own."
"What happens if the bugs win?" Fenstermacher asked.
"No way!" Tatum shot back. "We'll tear them to pieces."
"How can you say that?" Fenstermacher asked. "The big uglies have the firepower. Wonder why Buccari decided to fight?"
"Because the fleet's back, and judging from what happened, it's a good thing she did," Wilson said. "As long as we're not captured, we can still be rescued."
"How long?" Dawson said. "How much longer can we hold out?"
"This is our planet," the taciturn Tookmanian suddenly interjected. "The kones don't know it, but it's ours. It's—it's our moral right."
"Moral right, Tooks?" Fenstermacher huffed. "Stick to your sewing!"
"Morality has nothing to do with it," Wilson said. "It's called survival."
"In the long run they are the same," Tookmanian replied, staring blankly at the opposite wall. Silence fell over the haggard survivors.
Buccari worked the soreness from her back and the burning ache from her old injury; it felt as if she had sand in her shoulder socket. Her hair was singed and brittle from laser strikes, her cheek blistered. But most of all, she mourned Hudson.
"Tonto says we took out maybe six or seven of them," MacArthur said. "That leaves only fifteen or sixteen. That's a pretty good day."
"So much for the element of surprise," Buccari said. "The rest will be a lot harder to hit." She looked around at the cold, tired faces. The silvery moon was three-quarters full, giving everyone a sinister and shadowy visage. She puzzled over their next step. "Ammo status?" Shannon demanded.
"Two hundred eight rounds standard—thirty pistol," O'Toole answered.
"Phew!" MacArthur replied. "Get ready to fix bayonets." "Can't we steal some of their weapons?" O'Toole asked.
"We need another breather canister for Et Silmarn," Buccari said. She looked at the big kone. Et Silmarn stirred, pushing off the furs.
"It-ah… makes sense… for me-e-e to go back-ah," Et Silmarn said. "It too cold, Sharl. My fuel is gone in five days or less. I am burden to-ah you." He stood on his four limbs and stared at the humans, the moon's reflection on his helmet visor making it brightly opaque. "Even if could-ah get-ah more fuel tanks, it-ah would-ah only be matter of time. I am dead-ah either way." He turned and ambled slowly downhill.
"Et Silmarn," Buccari said firmly. The scientist turned. "We will be rescued. When my people come, we will take you with us. We can make fuel for your breathing unit."
"But-ah will they come in time?" the kone asked.
"More fuel," Buccari said grimly. "We'll get more fuel." She turned to Shannon. "Sarge! The night's ours. It's too cold for the kones, but they'll have posted sentries. We're going back to the lake and liberate as many fuel tanks and weapons from those sentries as we can."