Once more he paused, scanning for a sentry along the orchard's edge, a sentry on four legs, with a muscular torso rising from the shoulders like a short-furred neck with arms. When he'd finished his scan, his night vision had found just one. The Wyzhnyny stood unmoving, perhaps forty yards left of where the path led.
The sonofabitch could be looking at me right now, Esau thought. If I was him, I'd let me crawl closer, wait till I was almost there. Meanwhile, all he could do was keep crawling and watching, and if the Wyz raised his blaster, pot him first.
That was the first serious complication the captain had thrown into the drills: premature firing. If it happened, he'd have to change his team mission, and speed things up as much as possible. Until then, slow and easy were the key words.
Before he reached the orchard, he could see the sentry's head hanging. The sonofabitch was dozing on his feet! That was bound to be a bigger problem with four-legged sentries than with two.
Within the orchard's edge, Esau rose, moved ten yards to his right, then knelt waiting by a tree while Morris and Avery crossed, and spaced themselves. Only then did Esau start slowly through the orchard, threading his way among tents, avoiding tent ropes. He heard no sound, not even a Wyzhnyny snore.
The control center, if that's what it actually was, sat in the middle of the orchard. Timbers had been set as a foundation, keeping the chassis twenty inches or so above the ground. No tents stood within ten yards. Its door was closed, but light shone weakly through the windscreen. There was no sentry. When Morris and Avery had reached the small opening and stopped, Esau lowered himself and crept slowly to the floater, belly to the ground. The floater was light-enough green, he didn't want his two-legged form outlined against it. When he reached the door, he looked around, then rose to one knee, slung his blaster, drew his stunner, and tried the external latch. It seemed to work like those on Terran floaters. Within the orchard there was no discernible breeze. Very slowly, very carefully, he opened the door half an inch. Dull light emerged. Quickly he stood, pulled it wide and stepped in.
The Wyzhnyny charge of quarters had heard something. His torso turned, their eyes met, and Esau pressed the firing stud. The stunner's almost inaudible condenser hummed, the upright torso folded slowly, and the seated body fell sideways, toppling the low, padded chair.
Esau closed the door, and after a moment's fumbling, locked it. Less than ten seconds had elapsed since he'd entered. Judging from marine experience on Tagus, the stunned CQ would never waken. There'd been no alarm, and the control screen was serenely featureless. So far, so good, he thought. Let's just hope no Wyzhnyny radios in now.
Using his helmet mike, he reported his progress on the command frequency. The others knew what to do next.
Jael's squad had landed east of the orchard. Its mission was to capture and hold the flakwagon that lay off the southeast corner, and with it, defend the raid from outside air or ground interference. Within four minutes of landing, she and her squad lay in the edge of the uncut crop, fifteen yards from the flakwagon. She could see no Wyzhnyny on or inside the machine, but nonetheless they waited. They were not to move until either Esau had captured the control center, or there was shooting, or the tiny numerals of her HUD clock read 0030 hours-whichever came first.
They would not leave their stuffbags in the crop. The flakwagon controls were too far from the seat, even for a long-legged Sikh, let alone one of her people. So stuffbags would be used for seats.
She wasn't thinking about that, though. She was scanning the east edge of the orchard, and what she could see of the south edge. She'd found the eastside sentry, even laid her blaster sight on him. Southside was someone else's responsibility.
A voice in her helmet startled her. Esau's. "Raider command, I've taken the Wyz command center. Stunned the CQ. He's either dead or dying, and I've locked the door. So far as I know, no one knows we're here. Over."
"Acknowledged, Esau. Teams proceed with the mission."
Jael looked around. She couldn't see any of her squad, but they'd all checked in. She crept across the intervening stubble to the flakwagon, Steven Tyler to her right, mirroring her move. Standing slowly, she peered into the cab, and saw only Tyler peering in on the other side. Her squad, she knew, was crouching in the standing grain, blasters ready. Stepping to the weapon platform, she pulled herself up to peer into the back. No one there, either. Smoothly she bellied over the armored side. A moment later, Tyler joined her. This flakwagon was a lighter-weight version of the one they'd practiced on. The armored sides were high enough to protect a Wyzhnyny if he kept his head down, and the four-barreled heavy slammer had a gunner's shield.
She heard the cab doors open, a soft sound-Ambler and Hoke, as drilled. So far, so good. She felt calm as wash water. Stepping onto the gunner's platform, she activated the firing system. On the sighting screen, tiny lights showed traversing, elevation, and the power drum all engaged. The hum was louder than she'd expected, but according to the buoys, the wagon was 214 feet from the orchard. The gun swiveled, quick but smooth.
A Wyzhnyny voice called, jerking her attention from the sighting screen. The eastside sentry was trotting toward her. Carefully she drew her stunner and knelt low, waiting. "Don't fire," she murmured into her mike. She wanted to avoid noise if possible. Stun him as soon as his head appears, she told herself, and he'll never trigger his blaster.
In her helmet, Jael heard one of C Company's people report the Wyzhnyny's approach, body low, torso and head forward instead of upright. She expected its head to rise slowly. Instead it reared, blaster raised and ready. As she thumbed her stunner, she felt a monstrous pain in her belly, and lost consciousness.
In the control center, the first blaster fire was followed almost at once by a fusillade, some of it sounding like a flakwagon. Esau swore-something almost unthinkable before he'd left home. He'd pretty much figured out the controls while he'd waited. Now he tried powering up, hoping nothing heavy hit the floater, especially the windscreen in front of him. Windscreens were supposed to be blast resistant, but he didn't trust something he could see through.
The gravdrive growled softly, and a HUD came to life on the windscreen-concentric hair-thin rings of blue light with a pale yellow spot in the center. Quickly the spot turned blue. The joystick knob was obviously made to turn on the shaft, so he turned it. A new HUD appeared, and the floater rose. In seconds he was above the trees.
"Raider command," he said, "raider command! This is Esau! She flies! I'm above the trees now! Don't shoot me down!"
He turned the knob further, swiveled the stick and shoved it forward, sending the floater toward where Captain Zenawi's command post should be. In this contingency, his next job was to stand by as courier, bus driver, or whatever.
Almost at once, Steven Tyler had shouted, "Medic!" Then he saw the blood welling from Jael's lower abdomen. "God help us, it's Jael! And it's BAD!" Then the awakening blaster fire reminded him, and he mounted the gunner's seat, seeking targets.
Because the flakwagon teams would be outside the main action, an Indi medic had parachuted with each of them. At Tyler's cry, 4th Squad's medic had dashed to the flakwagon and clambered over the side. Now he crouched beside Jael. "Gentle Jesus!" he muttered. Blood flowed across the deck, spreading. In four seconds, with the fastest "scissors" on New Jerusalem, he'd cut away the ripped tatters of uniform; in two more seconds held a canister from which he sprayed a pressurized liquid into her abdomen, his other hand shifting her ruined intestines for better coverage.