As soil covered the exhaust ports, the noise of the engines abruptly ceased. Then the top hatch was flung open and the lieutenant crawled into view. A tentacle caught him by the wrist, and Brandon fired a blaster, blowing off his own hand. Another ropy limb wrapped itself around his calf, sinking the barb deep into his leg. Openly weeping, the sec man fired his blaster twice more at the thorny vines that held him prisoner, then reversed the weapon and fired. The bullet removed a chunk of his skull, but the dying man was still breathing, his single remaining eye staring wide in horror as the LAV was hauled below the field and out of sight.
Somewhere below the rippling waves of green grass, there came a short ripping noise of the electric cannon using its battery power to strike at the enemy one last time. Then a deep and terrible silence engulfed the wooded area.
Dripping sweat, the corporal stayed where he was, trying to control his breathing. Minutes passed, then an hour, before he decided to risk moving. Climbing down the girders, he eased a boot to the ground and waited, ready to instantly climb back into the maze of struts at the slightest sign of disturbance. When nothing occurred, the sec man realized the mutie had to be busy with its food and this was his chance to escape.
Gently lowering the other boot, he then took off at a run, grabbing a blaster from the ground as he passed by, angling for the imagined safety of the forest. The roots there should be too thick for the weird mutie to travel through. Rock would be better, but he was a long distance from any real mountains. The forest would do. He’d travel out of there by jumping from tree branch to tree branch if necessary, until he was far away from this chilling zone.
Reaching the edge of the field, he leaped over a log and landed with a thump, then froze motionless. Shit-fire, he’d made noise! Slow minutes passed while the blue shirt waited for a reaction. A soft wind moved over the field and through the trees’ rustling leaves. The dish creaked slightly behind him, and a tiny scorpion scuttled over his boot and under a flat rock.
Finally, the sec man relaxed and started to walk again. He had to be far enough away from the mutie that it hadn’t heard him. Good. Now all he had to do was walk the three hundred miles back to Shiloh and his problems were over. He had found a working dish! Then it occurred to the man that with the loss of the APC, he might not be welcome in Shiloh anymore. Why not simply leave, head west and become a mercie for some baron No, once Sheffield got the Kite under control he would take over the whole continent, and when he found the sole survivor of Alpha team, the punishment he got as a deserter would be a lot worse than merely being eaten alive by any mutie, that was damn sure.
Slinging his rifle, the corporal headed due south. He had a long way to go. Hopefully, Beta team was doing better than his decimated group. They sure as fucking hell couldn’t be doing any worse! At least, he was safe. That was something, anyway.
Unexpectedly, a humanoid figure holding a lance rose from the evergreen bushes in front of the startled sec man. Frantically working the bolt of his borrowed AK-47, the corporal swung the blaster around, then paused when he realized that the weapon might not even be loaded. Black dust! He had ammo clips in the pouch at his belt, but those might as well be on the moon for all the good they did here.
Warily, the barb waited for the expected attack, watching for any opening when he could throw the lance and dodge the deathfire of the tube machine. The corporal put on a combat face and waited for the other man to throw, before risking a shot. The bolt had worked, but that might only mean a single live round remaining in the clip. If he missed, it was all over.