Mclntyre trudged over to the shade and squatted down on the bare, dusty ground, leaning his back against the dark, cool metal of the scout car. He took off his helmet, squinted painfully into the shimmering afternoon haze as he mopped his head with a tattered sleeve, then replaced the helmet and slid the glare visor over his eyes again.
One of the men offered him a canteen.
A lean, spotless lieutenant climbed down from the turret and confronted Mclntyre.
“Sergeant, are you the man who led this morning’s patrol through here and out to the southern edge of the valley?”
“Yes sir,” Mclntyre said, getting slowly to his feet.
“Where’s the rest of your patrol? You had twenty men, didn’t you?”
“Yes sir. The others were all lolled or captured, sir.”
“What? Impossible!”
Mclntyre shook his head. “I wish it was impossible, sir. I only wish it was.”
Sergeant Mclntyre made his report by tri-di beam from the scout car to the communications center of the Mobile Force’s main body, camped down in the heart of the valley.
“Sorry we don’t have a vehicle for you,” the lieutenant said a little stiffly, to hide his embarrassment. “We’ve been ordered to remain here at the perimeter.”
‘That’s okay, sir,” Mclntyre answered. Then he added, with just a hint of malice, “I don’t mind walldn’ back. I’ll be going away from the Komani for a change.”
By the time he reached the main encampment of the
Mobile Force, the hot, yellow sun had sunk behind the hills. The sky overhead was still bright, but the valley itself was now in shadow.