Belief is not sufficient, came Travis' interjection.
Quite, said Gorman. And make sure you check identification first.
Of course: one of those two could be Sheen.
Cormac raised the magnification of his goggles as he got down on the ground and began to crawl towards the hideout. He shut off the cooling function of his clothing so nothing would be visible from its vents should those ahead possess night goggles. Now they would not be able to pick him up in infrared, since his chameleoncloth fatigues also possessed a near perfect insulating layer, hence the need for cooling and vents. Immediately his temperature began to rise and he started sweating.
He worked his way carefully forwards, using as much cover as possible, avoiding twigs and patches of dry leaves, moving as he had been trained in a slow muscular motion that produced very little noise. He hadn't believed it possible to be so silent until training in VR, but this was his first time doing it for real, so he was as careful as he could be. In ten minutes he reached within five yards of the hideout. One of the figures was peering out through the front of the hide and by its bulk it was evident to Cormac this wasn't Sheen.
"At least it ain't raining," said a male voice from the hide.
Cormac reached forwards, pressed a hand against the tree directly in front of him, then using that to take his weight, slowly eased himself upright.
"Always fucking positive," replied a second male voice. "We get to spend the night out here with beezle grubs crawling up our arses and you're seeing the bright side?"
"It could be worse."
"Yeah, the coffee could be cold and there could be grit in my pie." The man paused for a moment. "Oh right. The coffee is cold and there is grit in my pie."
"Yeah, okay—
Two men, that meant Sheen wasn't here, so Cormac must kill both of them. For a moment he considered other aspects of his training—the stuff about an enemy being humanized, about maintaining an emotional distance—but he found, even having listened to these two talking, that he was utterly cold. Yes, these were two people with lives of their own, with kin, families, maybe wives and children, but he also knew that it was quite likely that had he been tied up before them that one of them would have been bitching about "grit in his pie" while going to fetch the blow torch. He soft-linked via his aug to his weapon, throwing up a targeting frame in his goggles, stepped out from behind the tree and walked forwards, bringing that frame over the head visible before him.
"Hey, I think I see—"
Cormac pulled the trigger and his machine pistol shuddered and whispered. Pieces still glowing in infrared splashed out behind the man as most of his head disappeared. The other was now visible through the hole in the front of the hide, crawling quickly on hands and knees to reach for a pulse-rifle nearby. Cormac hit him once, slinging him against the back earthen wall, then centred the frame over his head as he tried to haul himself upright. The face, almost skull-like in infrared, cratered, and the top of his head lifted like a lid.
Cormac paused for a moment, took a slow easy breath, then again turned on the cooling function of his clothes. With a red mist rising from the vents about his waist, he moved to the side of the hide, found a door and kicked it open, then altered his goggles to optimum night function: everything clear as day. The man he'd hit second was still breathing, but in short little gasps, his right leg shivering and blood spreading on the ground underneath him. The other one was down on his knees, what remained of his head resting against the front wall of the hide, blood painting a stripe down the wall. There was brain tissue spattered everywhere, the odd piece of hairy skull and, grotesquely, one ear was stuck to the back wall. After a moment the one still breathing, ceased to breathe.
"The problem has been dealt with?" Gorman enquired through the verbal com function of Cormac's aug.
Cormac realised that Gorman had probably been monitoring Cormac's weapon so knew when it fired, how many shots were fired, and when it ceased firing.
"The problem has been dealt with," he replied, quietly, calmly.
"Continue to the cavemouth," Gorman ordered, "but stay alert—just because you've killed some guards doesn't mean there aren't any more out here."
Cormac stepped back out of the hide, then following the direction arrow atop his gun continued along his course. Oddly, he had felt no surge of adrenaline before the assault, and now wasn't shaking and didn't feel sick, which heretofore had been his reaction in violent situations, with the exception of that time when he had faced torture. "Stone Killer" was a description that occurred to him, but it seemed far too dramatic, he felt that maybe he was just becoming accustomed to the life….
There were no further guards either in the bottom of the valley where a stream wended its way between the trees, nor on the slope leading up to a rift of stone in which the dark mouths of caves were clearly visible. Cormac paused twenty yards below the caves and scanned his surroundings. He soon saw Crean and Travis coming down the cliffs like orange spiders and Gorman, mosquito still walking at his heel, coming up through the trees to his right. Gorman came over to him while the two Golem waited up by the caves.
"Were there any other guards?" Cormac asked.
Gorman pointed upslope. "Travis found a watch tower, but it was automated for air defence—no problem for us." He glanced back behind him. "I found another hide just like your one. Not a problem either." Gorman pointed a finger up the slope and set out. Cormac fell in behind him and soon they were up with their backs against the rock wall between two caves.
Travis gestured with a thumb to one cave. "This one—the other two only go back about ten metres. There's an autogun about five metres inside."
Gorman tugged at his fatigues. "Will this get us through?"
Travis shrugged. "One way to find out." He stepped in front of the cave mouth, then ran inside. There came a cracking sound then a fizzing as from a severed cable. After a moment he strolled out lugging a primitive auto pulse-gun trailing various cables.
"Apparently not sensitive enough to pick up chameleoncloth," said Travis, driving the gun barrel-down into the earth.
Gorman now turned to the mosquito. "Stay," he said. The mobile weapon took a few paces back, tilting its body up towards him like an obedient hound watching its master. Quite odd the way weapons like this sometimes behaved, which was apparently due to their original Tenkian design. The four entered the cave.
Gorman and Cormac took point, Gorman holding his machine pistol casually at his hip, slowly swinging it back and forth. Cormac copied him, the targeting frame in his goggles veering from wall to wall of the cave. Gorman doubtless saw a targeting frame too, though did not wear goggles since the mods were actually in his eyes. They stepped past the autogun tripod and followed the cave round to the right. After a moment Cormac had to knock down the light amplification of his goggles, for the cave was lit ahead. Twenty yards further in they reached a junction of three tunnels. A woman stepped out of the right-hand one. Cormac brought his frame over her as she turned: black hair, wiry frame and apparently quite young. He triggered once and she slammed back against the wall, spun and went down.
"Fuck," said Gorman via aug.
"It wasn't her," Cormac replied.
"Michele?" someone called, stepping out of the same cave shortly after her. This man must have seen her abruptly fall, but had heard no shots nor the impacts of any bullets. He gazed down at her for half a second before shots from Gorman abruptly flung him on top of her.
"Crean, Travis," Gorman sent, "take the side caves."