Komani warriors were swarming in on one-man flyers, saddlelike machines that gave them terrifying speed and mobility. Vorgens could see them plainly now, huge, humanoid warriors in gleaming battle armor, their arms covered with tuzzy greenish hair, their faces more like cats than men.
Mclntyre was blazing away with everything available now and the footmen were laying down a heavy fire. The Komani were being mowed down in the volley, but still more of them came, some of them brandishing their ceremonial broadswords.
Vorgens dialed the other side of the cruiser, and spoke into his mouthpiece, “Keep both our flanks covered, no matter …”
The screen exploded in a shower of glass and Vorgens was smashed back in his chair as the whole cruiser lurched violently.
Vorgens shook his head groggily, It was dark inside the turret, and strangely quiet. A surge of panic flashed through the Watchman, but he fought it down automatically, The cruiser was stopped. Power off. But Fin still in one piece … I think.
Vorgens unbuckled his safety strap and turned around in his seat. His head hurt, a dull, sullen pain. In the dimness he could see Mclntyre sprawled unconscious next to him, his left arm twisted grotesquely,
Unconscious or—no, no—he’s breathing.
His eyes were getting accustomed to the shadows now. Vorgens could both see and smell a faint acrid smoke drifting through the shattered turret. There were no signs of life from the men below. He realized that his right and was throbbing. A glass splinter was sticking into the palm and a steady trickle of blood oozed from it.