As Alpha ran past, he stopped and targeted one of the monsters, firing two rounds.
“Sir…” he said, pausing and blanking on the lieutenant’s last name. “Mammoth! Get the hell out of there. I’ve got it.”
“What?” the lieutenant asked as another beast crashed to the ground. “Who the hell…”
“Two-Gun?” Frandsen said, standing up as one of the predators closed. “Go, sir! Go!”
Mammoth had dropped one of the monsters and he got to his feet, backing up fast.
“Come on, sir!” the gunny shouted.
“Too late,” Dorsett said, firing point blank into the monster’s mouth. But its packmate took him by the arm and lifted the Wyvern off the ground, tossing it through the air to the rest of the pack.
“That kid’s got spirit,” Top said, turning to the rear.
“First Sergeant!” Captain MacDonald said, then paused. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Powell said. “You too, sir.”
As the pack closed, Berg reloaded, then drew both pistols. Two rounds per beast was about right, sometimes three. He ran through the right-hand pistol killing two and putting a round in one, then backed and fired with his left hand, killing one more. He started backing faster, trying to reload on the backwards trot, dropping his first full mag as he stumbled over the rough ground. The predators were nearly on him as he fumbled a magazine into place.
“Nice pistol,” First Sergeant Powell said, snatching out his right-hand gun. If he was bothered by the closing predators it wasn’t apparent. He simply removed a magazine from Berg’s harness quite calmly and reloaded as if he was giving a demonstration.
“Yes, Top,” Berg said, stopping his retreat. He just couldn’t run backwards and fire worth a damn.
“Got to talk to Lurch about getting one of my own,” Top said, lifting the pistol in a two-handed grip. Six rounds ripped out fast enough that it sounded as if the pistol was on auto-fire. And three of the beasts dropped. “Want the last one?”
“Sure, Top,” Berg said, putting two rounds into the sensitive patch. The beast slid to a stop at his feet, thrashing on the red grass. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Report, Lieutenant,” MacDonald said as the last of Third Platoon cleared the sangers.
“Five MIA,” Lieutenant Berisford said. “I think we can count them as KIA, sir. The big crabpus that got the ship got them, too.”
“Any news on the ship?” the captain asked tiredly. Three Wyverns were just clearing the obstacle of the big herbivores, two of them leaping across the backs. Three out of thirteen with Top and Two-Gun not far behind.
“No, sir, not yet,” Berisford replied, stoically. “I’m sure they’ll be back.”
“Hopefully before our air runs out.”
22
“I hope we can get this done without our air running out,” Miller said as the air lock began to flood.
There were many problems with using the Wyverns underwater. The first was that they hadn’t, actually, been tested under fifty meters of pressure. They should hold, they were quite heavily designed, but should and would were two entirely different things.
The second, however, was somewhat more germane. Wyverns were heavy. Although they had a large pocket of internal air, it was insufficient to buoy them up. Without some sort of flotation, they were going to sink like stones.
The engineers and machinist mates of the ship had, again, come up with an answer. A cluster of sample bags had been put in large mesh bags used for food storage and handling. External air-tanks were run to the bags so that they could be inflated. Deflation was via a rope that would squeeze the bags.
It was the buoyancy air to which the chief referred.
“I hope we can do this, period,” Weaver said, hefting his mop. “Prepare to gargalize!”
“As a battlecry it leaves something to be desired, sir,” Miller replied as the water rose over his sensor dome.
The sensors stayed online as the water filled the compartment and reached full pressure. And no leaks sprayed across his pilot compartment. So Miller hit the air lock controls and stepped out.
The air lock was on the top of the boat and he could see the mass of the crabpus blotting out the light from above.
He clipped off a safety line and then, cautiously, walked down the exterior of the boat. There was another point to clip a line ten meters from the air lock and he clipped another line to that. Only then did he, oh so slowly, begin to fill the bags.
Finally, he felt a slight upwards tug and halted to check his buoyancy. There was a delay effect and as the bags pulled upwards they jerked him off the deck.
Flying up and slamming into the thing wasn’t in the plan so he paid out the safety-line, ascending slowly. Looking to the side, he saw Weaver heading up as well.
Dr. Robertson hadn’t determined what the things used for senses but they had to hope there weren’t many sensors on the underside of the thing. Otherwise, they were simply going to get eaten.
As he approached the underside of the leviathan’s shell he started trying to figure out where the ticklish patch was. There were twelve plates on the underside of the crabpus and he had to find the right one.
Stopping just under the shell, he looked over at Weaver, who was gesturing farther upwards. The problem was, they had ended up approaching the middle of the crabpus’ underside. The patch they had to get to was farther forward. The thing was resting with its “arms” around the ship, canted upwards. They could get to the patch by letting out more line, but then they’d be touching the underside of the crabpus. It was likely to react badly to that.
Miller gestured to the scientist, then let out more line until the bags of air touched the underside of the crab. No reaction. He let out a bit more line and the bags slid upwards. Then the crab shifted, like a sleeper moving in a dream, the metal of the hull crunching briefly on the submarine rocks.
Miller paused but the balloon was now away from the crab, floating invitingly near the patch he was looking for. He let more line out and wafted gently upward through the clear water until he was opposite the “tickle patch.”
His balloons, alas, were floating right in front of the crabpus’ massive maw. In fact, as the current pushed him back and forth, they tended to drift between the giant mandibles. He’d just have to hope that “tickling” didn’t cause the thing to close its mouth.
And the mop still would not reach. But… It was the RonCorp Vibro Mop with patented extending handle. So he extended the handle, turned on the vibrator and now it reached.
He looked over to see where Weaver had gotten to. The commander, though, was right there with him, on the opposite side of the patch.
He’d have much preferred to be placing a heavy charge on the thing, but he lifted the mop and began stroking it back and forth…
“Whoa!” the pilot yelled as the submarine shifted, violently. As the tentacles loosened, the sub was pulled sideways and down to rest on its side.
“Engage space drive!” the CO said. “Lift, now! Ten gravities!”
The SEAL was jerked away from the patch as the ship lifted and the balloons flew upwards. This was one of several bits he hadn’t been looking forward to but he braced in the Wyvern as the ship lifted upwards. Suddenly he was going down again as the balloons hit the surface. Worse, he could see the tentacles of the leviathan starting to shift. It was waking up.