“Sir!” the gunner in the turret called. “Something big on the horizon!”
“A ville?” Brandon asked, dry shaving with a plastic razor from one of their packs. “I think it’s a dish, sir!”
Dropping the blue stick, the officer rushed to an ob slit. “Half speed,” Brandon ordered. “We want to recce the area first.”
The wag slowed to a crawl, and the sec men crowded the ob slits and blasterports to catch a glimpse. Sure enough, rising above the morass of trees was a dish, just like the one at their base, only much bigger. Almost double the size.
“Jackpot,” the corporal announced grinning around a cig, and slapped a private on the shoulder.
“We still have to check out the ville,” the lieutenant countered. “But so far, so good.”
Rolling closer, every weapon at the ready, the sec men could see that the predark dish was intact and in near-perfect condition. The concrete bunker at its base was almost identical to the one at their own ville. The framework of supporting girders seemed intact. A heavy infestation of thorny vines covered the dish and frame, but the slaves could clear those away in a couple of hours.
“We found it,” the driver shouted. “Hot damn, we found one!”
“Shut up,” Brandon ordered, staring out an ob slit, a hand resting on his bolstered blaster. “How stupe are you?”
“What do you mean, sir?”
He pointed with a thumb. “See that? The animals aren’t checking this wag out very closely. It’s strange, but not frightening.”
“Wags been here before,” the corporal puffed. “Stay hot, boys. We could have company.”
In response, the gunner in the turret slapped the breech of the electric cannon, making sure the ammo belt was firmly in place. “We’re ready,” Davies said confidently.
“Everybody out,” the lieutenant ordered brusquely. “I want a perimeter sweep of fifty yards in every direction. Chill anything you find. We’re not going to make the same mistake twice!”
Grabbing their blasters, the blues exited the vehicle and spread out in a loose circle, plowing through the bushes and tall weeds, their blasters steadily chattering at anything they found. Soon, dead animals and birds were strewed across the ground, pumping their blood onto the dry soil.
While the troops were busy, the corporal walked to the blockhouse and risked shaking one of the support columns. The steel girders didn’t move.
“Strong as chains!” the sec man called out happily. “We got a winner, sir. This dish is perfect shape.”
“Any holes or cracks?” the lieutenant asked, walking closer.
“Smooth as a whore’s tongue.”
“Good,” Brandon replied, and pulled the map from his pocket to check their location. “Now there’s supposed to be a big ville nearby, just to the west. We find that, and we can go home.”
Just then, a sec man cried out and disappeared from sight. The others recoiled, and another man screamed as he slid into the dirt, the grass closing over his head without leaving a trace. His cries seemed to echo from underground for a few moments, and then there was only silence.
“Muties!” a corporal shouted, firing his AK-47 in short bursts at the greenery underfoot.
A gray tentacle snaked up from the ground and grabbed a second blue shirt around the chest, the thorny tip sinking into his flesh like a fish hook. Quickly, the sec man next to him fired at the ropy limb. The slugs blew a hole through the tentacle, exposing only strange undulating fibers inside, no meat or bones. Convulsing, the gray limb dragged its captive headfirst into the soil, leaving his blaster behind.
“It’s underground! Shoot the grass!” Brandon ordered, running for the APC. What the fuck was this thing, a plant or an animal? Both could be killed with blasters, but only if they could see it. And dirt was about the best bullet stopper there was. Some villes were merely surrounded by a wall of cloth bags filled with dirt. Arrows, bullets, nothing could get through that. A few feet underground, and the thing might as well be armor plated for all the good the Kalashnikovs would do.
The lieutenant fired his handcannon wildly at the soil as the others hopped about for their lives, the AK-47s spraying lead at the grass. When he was close enough, Brandon threw himself at the open doors and landed inside the wag. With a kick, he closed the door and threw the lock.