“If we cut to the east of these trees,” I flash a superimposed map over the images from the drone, “I can pursue without having to grind down timber to follow. Smashing down trees will make a great deal more noise and might well cause the enemy to veer course from their home base. I have sufficient aerial drones on board to track them through the remaining forest cover, even if the enemy recovers enough sense to begin shooting them down.”
“Good plan. Do it.”
I turn to the east, circling the stand of trees, which allows the panic-stricken enemy to believe they have eluded me. They slow slightly in their headlong rush, staggering and gasping, offering one another assistance as battlefield injuries make themselves felt. I realize for the first time that substantial size differences exist among the individuals, with some topping a full eight feet in height and others reaching no higher than an average human female, nearly a meter shorter than the tallest individuals. As I ponder possible explanations for these differences, I am deeply startled to receive a command-frequency hail from near orbit.
“CSS Darknight to all Bolo units in the field, file VSR, please.”
“Good God!” Alessandra stares. “The Darknight? That’s a heavy cruiser!”
I respond to the request for VSR. “Unit SPQ/R-561 of the line, reporting. Captain Alessandra DiMario, commanding.”
“DiMario here,” my commander takes over the VSR. “We are engaged in pursuit of enemy forces” —she glances at a side screen for the distance— “zero point nine kilometers east of Rustenberg. We have repelled a substantial attack here and are tracking survivors to their home base. If you can spare a medical shuttle, Rustenberg’s Operations Director and Chief of Fabrications could use a full course of antiradiation treatments. We had a near miss with a couple of fusion bombs. If Senator hadn’t destroyed them, there’d be nothing left of Rustenberg but slag.”
“Understood, Captain,” a crisp female voice responds. “We’ll send a team down as soon as we can. We’ve brought five more Bolo units with us, which we’ve fielded to undefended colonies. If you need help, we’re in parking orbit with the destroyer CSS Vengeance. We’ll watch your backs from up here, in case whatever’s arming those birds decides to intervene. Darknight out.”
“Roger that, and thanks. DiMario out.” My commander frowns, tapping her fingers against the padded console under her hand. “Now there’s an ugly thought,” she mutters. “I really want a look at whatever those things have stockpiled in their base camp. And where the devil are the Tersae keeping that camp? Does your drone see any heat signatures that would indicate an aboveground encampment large enough to support as many personnel as we’ve already killed?”
I widen the range of the drone’s sensors, which have been focused tightly on the fleeing Tersae. “No, Commander, there are no heat plumes besides Rustenberg’s within a fifteen-kilometer radius of the drone. Shall I boost it to a higher altitude?”
“No, launch a second drone. I don’t want to lose sight of those things, which we could do if they jump into a narrow ravine and take shelter under an overhang or in a cave somewhere, while the drone’s looking for heat plumes.”
I launch a second drone, boosting it to a higher altitude. There are still no visible heat plumes besides Rustenberg’s. “I have scanned a fifty-kilometer radius, with negative results. Any shelter the Tersae are heading for must be underground, to shield the heat of campfires this thoroughly. If,” I add thoughtfully, “the Tersae require cooked food or campfires for warmth.”
“Huh,” my commander grunts. “With those beaks of theirs, they could well eat raw meat. And I suppose it’s possible they wouldn’t need shelter or warmth to survive a Thulian winter. Presumably most of the wildlife gets along just fine. But whatever their tolerance for winter weather, they’re using advanced technology and that wouldn’t fare too well if left out in freezing rain or blizzard conditions. I think you’re right, Senator, they’ve got an underground hidey-hole.”
I study the geological map provided by Rustenberg’s Operations Director, but it reveals too little about subterranean features to be of substantial use. I monitor data feed from both drones, watching the straggling enemy as it limps toward home. Having swung wide around the stand of trees which has given the enemy a false sense of security, I slow to a crawl and parallel enemy progress toward their unknown destination.
The lone Tersae survivor running far in advance of the others vanishes into a ravine. A heat plume rises abruptly in a visible beacon. I send the drone lower, angling its cameras to peer into the shadowed depths. The narrow ravine hides the opening to a cavern of unknown dimensions. A well-fitted cover has been stretched across the entrance. It was the opening of this cover that sent the heat plume skyward.
We have found the enemy’s base camp.
Two point zero three minutes later, I detect a strong radio signal originating from the ravine. Startled, I lock on and hear a burst of alien chatter. My commander leans forward, expression intent.
“If I had to place a bet,” she mutters, “I’d say they’re yelling for help.”
“Agreed, Commander. The signal is both powerful and directional, aimed at something in orbit.”
My commander hails the CSS Darknight. “Darknight, DiMario here. We are picking up a Tersae radio transmission aimed at an orbital target. Do you hear the signal?”
“Roger and affirmative, we’ve got it.” A brief pause ensues. “It’s tripped a relay system inside an orbiting satellite. We’re warping orbit to attempt capture.”
“Roger that, Darknight. We’ll apprise you of further developments on the ground.”
The cluster of Tersae warriors following the front-runner has reached the same steep-sided ravine, climbing down by means of a rough trail hacked out of native rock. My commander speaks softly. “All right, Senator, it’s payback time. Let’s go.”
Savage satisfaction floods my ego-gestalt circuitry, skittering weirdly through the tangle of jury-rigged connections between older and newer psychotronic systems. As I rev up my drive engines to battle speed, I hope that my malfunctioning systems hold together long enough to destroy the enemy and take its base camp intact for the intel specialists. Then I slash my way into the forest with a ponderous crash of falling timber and close in for the kill.
Chapter Sixteen
Wakiza had not yet recovered his own strength when the other survivors, shaking and exhausted, crawled into the warmth and safety of the winter nest. Moments later, they all jerked upright again at the sound of distant crashing through the forest. The stone of the cavern floor began to rumble underfoot, as the earth had done when the great metal ogre had charged toward them.
“The ogre!” Wakiza gasped. “It’s coming!”
Exhausted, wounded warriors exchanged sick looks of fear, then staggered up again, snatching up weapons in shaking hands. Cries of fright rose on all sides from the women and little ones. The akule’s voice rose authoritatively. “Get the little ones into the deepest cavern! Anyone capable of holding a weapon, arm yourself and move out, quickly. We must stop the ogre before it reaches the nest!”
Already, half-grown boys were struggling to carry out the last of the missiles from the weapons-cache cavern. Wakiza hoisted a missile to his shoulder, grabbed up a replacement for the rifle he’d lost, and rushed out into the cold morning, climbing the path up from the bottom of the ravine. The ground shook underfoot. A hideous, terrifying growl filled the air, while the snap and crash of full-grown trees sounded loud as gunfire in the distance.
Wakiza began to run, sobbing for breath as the rest of the surviving warriors joined him. A glance behind showed him a ragged line of women, pupils wide with terror, carrying rifles and struggling to control their panic. Rage formed a hot and stone-hard knot in his breast. That it should come to this! Arming women to defend the very nest! A whisper at the back of his skull, that this threat to clan and nestlings was no less than what they, themselves, had sought to inflict on the humans, was a breath of sacrilege through his mind. He snarled at the fleeting guilt that thought stirred to life and ran through the trees, weapons clutched tightly in his grip. Now was not the time to debate the wisdom of actions long since taken.
The ogre’s snarl had reached deafening proportions when he saw the great metal hulk of the thing towering higher than the trees. Wakiza dropped to brace one knee against the frozen ground, taking aim with his one missile. He took careful aim at the wicked gun snouts high above him, then slapped the plunger on his missile. A blast of heat scorched his shoulder as the weapon flew toward its target. Wakiza rolled and ran, not even waiting to see if the missile struck, flinging himself prone behind an outcropping of rock. Fire belched through the trees and the shock wave of a massive explosion shook the ground.