They waited for the guard to make a couple of rounds, so they could time his approach. Then they started crawling—two at a time—for the tents. Mclntyre and Giradaux were the first pair to start. The rain had slackened a little but was still heavy enough to be troublesome. For what seemed like hours, the two Marines inched along n their stomachs, while the others covered them with their guns.
Merdon was the last to go acrossHe pulled himself along the wet, slippery grass and mud, his vision restricted to the same view of the world that a worm might have.
Suddenly he heard Mclntyre’s harsh whisper in his helmet earphones. “Freeze!”
Merdon stopped dead and buried his face in his arms. He was wearing a black uniform and equipment, as the Marines were. But still it seemed his heart was pounding loud enough to be heard all over the camp.
Finally Mclntyre whispered, “Okay.”
The young Shinarian slithered across the last remaining yards and joined the others in the relative safety behind the tents.
“What happened?” he asked as they helped him to his feet.
“Changing of the guard,” Mclntyre answered. ‘Two of ’em walked right out in fronta you. Lucky they didn’t look your way.”
Merdon grinned. “Well let’s get moving while our luck still holds.”
They made their way as quickly as possible toward the center of the camp. Merdon pointed the way, and Mclntyre directed their movements, “The seven of them fanned out slightly, but still kept within sight of each other. One man would move ahead the distance of a single tent, make certain the way was clear, then signal the next man to move up. They kept to the shadows, and their guns were always in their hands, ready to fire.