by L. E. Howel
Birch had managed to jump clear as his vehicle had fallen, but he was thrown to the ground by the momentum and, in the confusion, was lost between the trampling feet. For a moment all he could do was crouch with his hands covering his head from the blows; a fetal throwback in unaccustomed danger. As he tried to fight his way to his feet hands grabbed and pulled at his face, his hair, and his clothes. He fought them; he still had his rifle and used the butt end of it to smash anything that touched him. His attackers drew back from his frenzied blows and, as they did, he used the space to turn the gun and start firing again.
Somehow for the first time the Ares had a human response. After their insane drive into the camp they showed the first sign of hesitation. Birch was berserk, firing and re-firing rapidly into the attacking mass, at anything that approached him. At close range the damage was considerable and the gun grew hot in his hands, but still he kept shooting. His opponents were mesmerized in his destructive path, and in that one instant confusion seemed to grip the heart of their attackers. Seeing the advantage shift a few of the remaining soldiers rallied to Birch and together they began to consolidate a fierce counterattack that pushed the Ares back and quickly saw their force dissolved into a rabble.
They ran. As recklessly as they had charged their camp, so the Ares fled, without any thought of defense or safety. Like wild animals in stark fear they bolted for the cover of the trees, but not alone. Birch saw that a group of them had caught DeSante and were dragging him toward the woods; they were taking hostages. Quickly Birch tried to fight his way through the crowd to get to him. He met with little actual resistance, but the sheer press of the retreating Ares was enough to make it hard for him to reach them.
For a time he lost sight of the abductors. In the amber glow of their burning vehicles he scanned the mud smeared faces of the retreating horde, but he couldn’t see them. He ran deeper into the throng, and for a time he allowed himself to be carried along in the crush of bodies toward the last place he had seen DeSante disappear. Still he couldn’t see him.
Panic had now seized their attackers entirely. Every individual seemed engrossed only in their own immediate survival and the instinct to run. No other thought entered their mind as they fled into the darkness, and so Birch ran among them unnoticed. It was amazing for him to think that such a ragged group could ever prove a threat to men like Konik and Edwards. Their route was so complete, and their organization so poor that he couldn’t imagine them ever fighting effectively. Yet the fear he had seen from Edwards, and even Konik, was real, and told him that there was much more to these people than what he was seeing in this fearful flight. It wasn’t easy to understand, but perhaps it had something to do with the type of battle they had chosen this time. Edwards had spoken of the Ares as a crafty people, working in groups of three or four in sneak attacks. Perhaps a front on fight against a determined foe was more than they were prepared for. It was the only thing he could think of to explain the discrepancy with their reputation and the reality of this night.
Whatever the answer it was clear that at least some of the Ares had retained enough of their natural instincts of war to recognize the advantage of hostages and had seized DeSante. He wasn’t going to let him go, but among all those people it seemed a hopeless task. Still he continued his anxious search.
It was some moments later that he saw the group dragging the young lieutenant into the woods. There were three of them. They were now some distance from the camp and in the dim light it was difficult to see much more than the shadowy outline of the men. Their load had slowed their progress and Birch quickly reached them as the thinning crowd dispersed among the trees. Without warning he smashed the butt of his rifle into the unsuspecting back of the rearmost man and sent him crashing to the ground. One of the others had quickly leveled his weapon at Birch, but too late, for with one swift motion Birch had drawn his own rifle up and fired into the man’s legs, sending him reeling backwards in a crumpled heap.
The third man lunged at him as he fired and hit him with such force that the gun was knocked from his hands. Before he could recover the man was on him, sending a flurry of fists to his head and face. Birch struck angrily back, but his opponent continued, unrelenting. The fear he had seen in the others was still there, he could see it in the snarling face, but there was something else, some kind of crazed protective instinct of his prize, the savage determination to keep and guard his possession with all of his fury. Birch’s desire, however, was greater. DeSante was his man and this was still their mission. He was not going to let him go.
In a burst of raging energy Birch had flipped the man and sent him hard against the ground. Unlike the other Ares in the camp, though, there still seemed to be plenty of fight in him, and it was only as Birch’s fist connected hard with his jaw in a striking blow that the man fell to the ground, unconscious. Birch fell beside him, exhausted. It was only after a few moments rest that he could find the energy to check on DeSante.
The young lieutenant physically was unharmed, though his face was gaunt and worn from the experience. Birch loosed his bonds and the two men stood shakily at the edge of the woods. The dying fires of destruction from the camp could be seen dimly in the distance and, apart from the fallen forms of Ares and allies, they were alone. It was strangely quiet again and viewing the destruction and his own blood-spattered uniform Birch shook his head. “Let’s hope this was for a good cause,” he muttered, “if anything good could ever be served by this.”
DeSante shook his head and leaned heavily on Birch’s shoulder, struggling to speak. Finally the words came through in heaving breaths, “They’ve got Karla!”
EighTEEN
DeSante’s words hit Birch like a fist and almost knocked him back to the ground. His high elation at the successful rescue of his young lieutenant was met by a double despair at the news that Karla was gone. Worse still was the realization that he had no way of finding her in this dark, engulfing forest. He wouldn’t know where to start, but still he had to try. He had to find some way to help her.
“Did you see where they took her?” Birch looked intently into the exhausted lieutenant’s face. “Which way were they going? At least give me some idea where we can start.”
DeSante shook his head, “It was too quick,” he gasped. “I couldn’t really tell you. It was only a minute later that they grabbed me and dragged me away, so I couldn’t tell what direction anything was myself. I just don’t know.”
Birch turned angrily away, enraged at life. Somehow no victory could ever be free from the bitter gall of reality. He never expected a ‘happily ever after’, but too often the fruit of any good thing had not even passed his lips before the bitter core at the center was revealed. Just once he wanted to see something wholly good happen. He doubted he ever would.
“Let’s look around this way some more. They were taking you this direction, so maybe they were going to put you both to the same place. That seems our best chance.”
It wasn’t much of a chance. Birch suggested it less in hope of success than in angry defiance of the events. Like the kid beaten by the class bully, stubbornly coming back for another pounding. He wasn’t going to let this one go. Whether he was beaten or not- he wasn’t giving up.
DeSante nodded, but as they took their first steps toward the woods the lieutenant stumbled on unsteady legs and almost fell headlong to the ground. Birch caught him. “Are you okay?” he growled. His concern was overruled by a natural impatience with the delay. “You could head back to the camp if you need to rest. I can’t wait for you. If they get too big a jump on us we’ll lose any hope of getting her back.”
DeSante shook his head. “I want to come, just give me a minute,” he pleaded. “My head’s still spinning. If I can just clear my head for a minute then I’ll be ready to help, then we can both get Karla back.”
Birch nodded, he knew he might need DeSante if he did catch up with the Ares, besides, secretly the excuse for a moments rest was a welcome one. He was exhausted, but h
ad been unwilling to acknowledge it. His own guilt made it impossible for him to stop while he knew Karla was out there, but DeSante’s need gave him a reason to rest without blaming himself. The only problem might be getting started again after stopping.
Both men moved wearily for the deeper cover of the trees. They weren’t up to any fighting, so they hid away from the last straggling Areas running through the area. Once they were safely under cover they collapsed on the dry, earthy ground. It was only as they lay there that Birch realized the depth of his exhaustion. It was all he could do to fight the urge to sleep. His eyes were heavy, and it was as his mind slipped into one of those delicious semi-sleeping states of warmth and comfort that a thought struck him that returned him to a sudden state of wakefulness. He still had the heat sensor. This was no revelation. He had been vaguely aware of it before. It was in his pocket. What was new was its significance. He could use it to find Karla! It would be useless on the Ares, of course, because they had some kind of defense against it, but maybe that didn’t matter. He had to hope they had made a mistake. The battle had been a bloody route for their side and perhaps in the kidnapping, their one limited success, they might have made a simple error that could help him. He had to test it.
Quickly Birch pulled the sensor from his pocket and pressed the button. The display took a moment to warm up, but this time, instead of the two red blips he had seen before there were many. Birch let out a low whistle and woke DeSante from his slumbering stupor with a gentle kick to the ribs.
“What is it?” DeSante asked, starting up with fear. Birch showed him the screen. “So?” the meaning was lost on the lieutenant. “What does that mean?”
“It means we can go get Karla. Get up!” Birch hurriedly explained the discovery to DeSante as they clambered to their feet. The heat sensor would help them save Karla. The display was clear. Their two traces were in the center of the screen, another group was clustered at the camp, and a lone trace was moving in a northerly direction. He was certain that one was Karla, and if he was right then they needed to get to her as quickly as possible because, in a calmer moment, the Ares might realize their mistake and cover their trail properly.
Despite their exhaustion the two men were soon making good progress. Their renewed hope for Karla seemed to energize them as they dashed northwards. Together they ran, following the signal of their hope. Both were aware of the danger of an Ares ambush, but the desire to follow that signal outweighed their caution. It would have been the same for any member of the crew, of course, but the fact that it was Karla made it seem all the more urgent. Everyone liked her. Her youth and inexperience were still a source of annoyance to Birch, and her perky cheeriness was almost too much to bear, but somehow, like a ray of persistent sunshine, she had warmed him. She had warmed them all. Even during the worst of it out there on the mission she had been better than the rest. She had given him a chance. No one could hate Karla, unless they hated life itself.
Birch paused for a moment to look down at the device’s display again. The signal was still headed north and was leading them deeper into the woods, the type of territory the Ares loved and the perfect place for an ambush. Something about it worried Birch. It was quiet now, and the tranquil hush that hung in the air was as tangible as the heavy pine scent that filled his nostrils. It seemed peaceful, but he was cautious. Something wasn’t right. The Ares had given up too quickly that night, and this fact troubled him; it didn’t seem to fit somehow. The kidnapping of both DeSante and Karla seemed to verify that something more was happening than he had seen. There was a logic behind their panic that worried him because he couldn’t quite understand it.
Birch hesitated. The silent woods opened up before them, ready to swallow them in its darkness. It occurred to him at that moment that the noise and confusion of the battle had been too pronounced, too deliberate, and now, by contrast, the silence of the forest seemed too clear and too complete. They were walking into danger. He knew it, but still he swallowed his fears and moved forward again.
As they plunged deeper under the cover of the trees Birch took a moment for a last look back. The dying embers of the camp’s burning trucks were now barely visible, little more than small points of light in the distance, like fallen stars come to ground, glimmering in the darkness. He wished there had been time to go back for help, he almost wished Jane could be with them; she’d pull through for Karla. As he turned he wondered if he would see them again. He moved on.
For a time Birch was able to convince himself that his fears had been unfounded. It was harder to see in the denser tree cover, but as his eyes adjusted things appeared as peaceful as ever. All was quiet. If their enemies were waiting they were well hidden. Birch’s plan seemed to be working.
It was the heat sensor that gave him the first indication that something was wrong. Karla’s signal had gone stationary and in those few moments it looked as though they were going to catch them. The next time he looked, though, he had lost the reading. Their own signal still showed at the center, and the camp was now on the edge of the display, but Karla had gone. Muttering angrily to himself, he scowled at the device and rapped at the screen, but it didn’t change. Karla’s trace had gone.
DeSante was looking over his shoulder at the monitor. “What now?” he whispered.
Birch shrugged angrily and gestured in the direction they had been following.
“That seems our best chance,” he answered dryly and started running further into the woods toward the last sensor reading. He had tried to sound optimistic but the words had been hollow in his throat. He knew the Ares would have moved on. He was sure they wouldn’t still be there, unless something bad had happened. He didn’t want to think about that. He also knew that if she wasn’t there then all they could do is try to find their trail as best they could. With no heat trace to follow he doubted they would ever find her.
Their speed slowed as they came to the point where Karla’s signal had disappeared. He wanted to be sure he didn’t stumble into a trap. The soft noise of their own feet on the forest floor seemed to Birch as a trumpet heralding their arrival in the still night air. Even his own breathing sounded inordinately loud in the quiet gloom of the woods. He found himself instinctively holding his respiration until he was left gasping for air.
When they finally arrived at the spot Birch was ready for anything, but they found nothing, at least nothing tangible.
In some respects this came as a relief. Irrationally he had feared that they might find a more ominous reason for Karla’s loss of body heat, though he knew that even a dead body would retain enough warmth to be traced for a while. That left only one other possibility, the Ares had discovered their mistake and covered it. That was reassuring in some ways, no harm had come to her yet, but now he and DeSante were back in the dark, with no way to track her.
“Major!” DeSante’s hoarse whisper interrupted his thoughts, “something’s happened here, some kind of struggle.” Birch nodded, it was pretty clear. Marks in the dirt, flattened grass, and broken branches all seemed to support this conclusion. The discovery of a blood stain on one of the trees a moment later seemed to confirm it. There had been a fight here.
“Good girl,” Birch muttered, “she’s trying to slow them down.” He hoped that was it anyway. She was certainly showing a lot more spunk than he gave her credit for.
Glaring down again at the screen of the sensor Birch scanned hopefully, looking for even the faintest trace of Karla, but like her captors she had now faded into the night. If they were going to find her it would have to be another way. There was nothing left for them to do but to fumble around in the dark and hope to find some trace of where they went, a dangerous task that probably had as great a chance of finding an enemy as Karla. He sighed and did it anyway. It was the only chance they had.
They searched in silence, looking for any sign of the direction they had taken. It was tedious, futile work and seemed fruitless until some time later when Birch’s brooding thoughts were interrup
ted by DeSante’s excited whisper.
“Here,” his voice was barely audible as he waved him over. Birch was quickly at his side as he pointed to a patch of earth. “It looks like they were pretty careful to cover their tracks,” he continued in a more subdued tone, “but they missed this one.” It was true. A single faint footprint remained in isolation, seemingly headed in an easterly direction. This deep in the forest he knew it could only come from someone connected to Karla’s abduction. That single footprint represented the rebirth of hope in Birch’s mind.
The Ares had changed direction, perhaps they knew they were being followed, or perhaps there was some other reason. Whatever it was Birch knew he would have to be cautious. If they were aware of their pursuit it would be dangerous for them and for Karla.
“Let’s go,” he barked, “we’ll just head east from here and keep a lookout for any other signs as we go.” DeSante nodded and followed silently.
As they trudged onward Birch cast frequent glances into the forest around them. He was seeking telling indicators of the Ares passing. He was watching for any movement and listening for any alien sound among the soft murmur of forest life around them. Once he thought he saw something in the trees to his right, but it was a fleeting impression and he couldn’t be sure. He glanced down at the heat sensor’s display again, but, as he expected, there was still nothing there. Even the camp had now dropped out of range and only the two central dots for himself and DeSante remained.
