by L. E. Howel
“Seen any sign of them yet?” the lieutenant whispered in his ear. Birch shrugged and kept walking. Time was moving quickly and he was aware that night would soon be melting into dawn. He worried that the Ares might have a place to hideout for the daylight hours, if so they would be impossible to find.
Twenty minutes of walking had not produced a single clue to the Ares’ location. They were a lot more skilled and cautious than their attack and retreat from the camp had led him to believe. They had covered their trail well. Birch began to doubt that he would find it again. He was at that difficult point of wondering whether to go back and try to retrace their steps in case they had missed something, or go on and hope to find something ahead. For now he would go on. He would give it another five minutes.
Again there seemed to be a movement to his right. Had DeSante seen it too? His question was answered before he asked it, as the lieutenant’s rasping voice broke the silence. “Did you see that?” he hissed, “Something’s up there.” Birch nodded grimly, something was there and whatever it was it didn’t come up on the heat sensor.
“I can’t get a bead on it,” Birch muttered, “it isn’t showing any heat traces at all.” He circled the tree, gazing upward, but saw nothing more. Nothing happened. For a time the dark embers of his hope grew dimmer. He stared habitually back down at the blank screen of the sensor, but there was still no trace. Then it happened again, a noise that echoed in the branches of the tree. Birch stepped back, glaring into the lofty boughs above.
“It’s up there,” he growled, “let’s go find our little bird and get him to guide us back to his nest.” DeSante looked dubiously at his commander for a moment, but before he could comment Birch had started toward the base of the tree.
Birch knew what his junior officer was thinking. He was right. It was a recklessness move, but it didn’t matter because right now it was their only hope of finding the Ares and saving Karla. Besides, he reasoned to himself, it was no less dangerous to go after him now than to just leave him to follow them and attack at a moment of his own choosing. Perhaps he was a single scout, like the one that had attacked him at the camp. If he could stop him before he had a chance to report then that would give them the advantage. He was glad for the chance to take action. Now they could do something.
At the foot of the tree he carefully scanned the distant branches towering above him. He caught sight of something. He couldn’t be sure, but yes, up there in the dark greenery something was moving! Ignoring the pain and fatigue in his limbs he launched himself at the tree and began clambering up through its lower branches. DeSante stood agog, watching his commander struggle upward. Birch didn’t care. It was clear that he had treed something that didn’t want to be caught. As he climbed further the topmost branches began to sway wildly as though something were trying to escape, but couldn’t quite manage it. He had them.
His assent was slow. His hands, numb against the brittle bark, found it hard to grip and the pain in his body increased with the motion as he scaled ever upwards. As he neared the upper half of the tree his caution slowed him further, and he glanced about frequently, looking for his prey. Even so, he was startled when a pair of fiery eyes glared back at him as he lifted himself on to another branch. He caught the brief impression of gleaming steel coming down on him like the bared teeth of a wild beast.
NINETEEN
Whether by instinct or by miracle, Birch swerved just enough to avoid the knife as it came flashing down at him, cutting through the air in front of his face. He caught a glimpse of the blade quickly shifting in his attacker’s hand as it came at him again with frenzied stabbing motions. He hardly had time to react and, unthinkingly, Birch loosed his grip and fell crashing back to a branch a few feet below, hitting it hard in the chest. His rifle fell from his hands and went clack-clacking through the branches to the ground below.
For an instant he was winded; unable to move and only hanging loosely to the limb that preserved his life. Without looking he could feel the evil shadow descending after him.
Struggling to regain his breath he heaved himself up painfully, but before he could get his bearings he felt the slash of cold steel as the knife cut through his left arm. He heard the soft pat-pat of his blood falling, like a red rain onto the branches below. The cut wasn’t deep, but it hurt and his eyes narrowed as he bit his lip angrily. Enraged, he lunged at the small, dark form, grabbing at the hand that held the knife. He struggled to force the weapon from his grasp. The fingers loosened slightly, but just as it seemed he might strip him of the blade his wiry assailant’s other fist came thudding against the side of Birch’s head, pounding repeatedly there like a piston. Birch lost his balance and fell back from the branch. Somehow, in spite of the thick haze that clouded his mind, he kept his hold on the hand that held the knife, and as he fell back the Ares was pulled over with him. In that moment it seemed that they would both fall, but their momentum was quickly stopped when his adversary, despite his smaller size, grabbed nimbly at the branch with his free hand and saved them both. They hung there precariously.
Birch gripped his attacker’s wrist with both hands, trying to pull himself up, but now but he could feel it wrestling against him, trying to free itself of the burden and send him plunging to his death below. The sweat covering his own hands made it almost impossible to hang on, and yet he did. The knife, still clutched firmly in the fist he clung to, came again at Birch’s face in short stabbing motions. His own weight was enough to restrict the knife’s range of movement, though, and it couldn’t reach him. It might have occurred to Birch in an abstract sort of way that it was a marvel that someone smaller than him could have the strength to hold them both up by one arm and still have the energy to attack. Of course these thoughts only came to him later, for at this point he realized that his grip was slipping and he looked wildly around for any way out. There wasn’t much. All he could do was to drop to a lower branch and hope he could catch it in time.
Birch never made the decision to try it. It was made for him as his hands slipped and he instinctively swung toward another branch. He was falling.
He howled as the knife’s blade passed through his hands leaving deep red trails. He didn’t have time to think about it, though, as he grabbed at the branch that hurtled toward him. The pain of contact as his ribs smashed into it was almost unbearable, but still he held.
Slowly he drew himself up again. His hands were a mess of blood, but there wasn’t much he could do about it except wipe them on his clothes and get ready for the next assault that he knew would be coming. Already he thought he could make out the evil little shadow, like some demon monkey, coming down from the higher branches. Would it ever give up?
His breathing came heavily and he winced with pain as he clenched his fists, ready to fight. The shadow came closer. It seemed native to the trees, holding on to the smooth surface of the trunk and jumping from branch to branch. It had reached Birch’s position much more quickly than he had hoped, but he was ready. As the dark shadow leapt onto his branch Birch lashed out, landing a number of blows in its back. The pain from his own bloody fists made Birch scream, but still he attacked.
The creature fell back as Birch landed a punch to his ribs, and he heard the knife clacking against the tree as it fell to the ground below. Sensing the advantage shift Birch punched viciously at the slight form of his attacker. The pain from his own gushing hands barely registered as he struck a blizzard of blows on the retreating Ares. Relentlessly his fists thudded against his enemy until he landed a single punch that sent his enemy falling silently into the black void below.
For the first time in the dim moonlight he caught a glimpse of the face as it fell. It was young and wild, almost like that of some errant teenage boy, but harder and covered with blood. Something about that face and the look it gave as it fell choked the triumphant cheer in his throat, and he descended the tree as quickly as his painful body could manage.
Birch had expected serious injury, if not death, to result fro
m such a fall, but upon reaching the ground a few moments later he was surprised to see DeSante, not aiding the injured youth, but preoccupied with keeping the writhing boy pinned to the ground. The Ares was not in pain, but making an angry attempt to free himself. He was a tough one, Birch mused, and he couldn’t help admiring the Ares people for this diminutive example of their spirit and strength. This was much more of the character he had expected from Edwards’ description. Not the frightened, fleeing foes from the battle.
DeSante, with his knee placed firmly on the young captives back, waved Birch over. The young lieutenant smiled ruefully as he approached.
“He’s quite a little fireball,” DeSante commented dryly. “He fell on his feet and came up fighting like a wildcat. It took all I had just to get him down again.”
“Hmm,” Birch mused, “let’s see if we can douse his flame.” He grabbed at the boy’s shirt, pulled him to his feet, and pushed him hard against the trunk of a tree. For the second time he looked into the dirty face and saw a boy of sixteen, maybe fifteen, with flinty features and eyes filled with defiance. Birch smiled grimly, “It’s time for us to talk,” his words came cold and hard. “Where’s your base? Where’s your hostage?” No answer came. Birch’s early sympathy had evaporated and he squeezed the boy’s arms persistently. “You will talk,” he rasped, “one way or another. Where is your base? Where is your hostage? Is she Okay?” He fired the questions like bullets at the boy, but he remained impassive. Only his eyes showed his silent disdain.
“Okay,” Birch spat, “we can play it that way.” He looked over to DeSante, “Give me the gun lieutenant.” DeSante hesitated for a moment before handing him the rifle.
“Now,” Birch continued, “I don’t have time to waste here so let’s just get to it. I’ve got somebody I need to rescue and I’m willing to bet your life that you know where they are.” The boy’s eyes bulged as the gun was pushed into his face.
“Major!” DeSante’s voice came loud in the night air.
“Shut-up, lieutenant!” Birch hissed and turned back to the boy. “This is how it works,” he rasped. “You’ll tell me where our crew member is and we’ll rescue her, ensuring that nobody gets hurt. The other option is that I’ll have to dispose of you and go on the rampage through this forest until I find her. One of those things is going to happen, choose now which you want it to be because I don’t want to waste my time on you. Are you going to do it, yes or no?” Birch fingered the trigger rhythmically.
The boy’s face was wild and angry, but his eyes were fixed on the gun leveled at him. “Yeah,” he growled, “I’ll help, but don’t think it’ll help you. Our people are stronger than you; they will see things right.”
Birch smiled coolly. “Yeah, yeah, your dad’s bigger than my dad, and he’ll beat us all up. We’ll see,” he muttered as he pulled the boy away from the tree and pushed him forward.
“Let’s go,” he called to DeSante, “it looks like we have a volunteer to help us out.” As they moved away Birch caught the expression on DeSante’s face, his disdain was clear and at another time he might have agreed with him, but this was different; they didn’t have time for anything else.
“Are we the good guys here, Major?” DeSante muttered as he passed him.
Birch shrugged. “Is anybody?” he retorted.
A cold silence fell on the group as the chill of early morning came about them. It would be dawn soon and he feared that the Ares would dig in for shelter from the daylight. As long as they were moving he had a chance to catch them; hidden away they might miss them and never know it. The longer they went without finding them the worse he felt their chances were of getting Karla back alive. They had to get to her quickly, but the only thing they really had to depend on was the willingness of this unwilling Ares to get them there.
The boy proved to be an efficient guide. For the next twenty minutes he led them through the trailless woods without hesitation. Turning occasionally at unexpected places, the secrets of the earth and the undergrowth were revealed in a strange array of hidden dens, burrows, and passageways through the forest. The area seemed honeycombed with them, and the young Ares carefully maneuvered them from one to another. Birch was watching him closely, but it seemed that the boy no longer offered the same sullen resistance. He almost seemed eager in his leading. That was worrying. What was he leading them to? It could be a trap, but he still had to depend on the boy to get them to Karla. The best he could do was to try and be ready for whatever would come.
Finally they came to a stop at the edge of a wide clearing. In the gray light of early dawn Birch surveyed the landscape. A large, imposing rock face climbed steeply up before them. “That’s it,” the boy announced pointing to the summit of the rocky expanse above them. “Your friend is there.”
TWENTY
An ominous shadow passed over Birch’s mind as the brightness of dawn poured over the landscape. Daylight was here and should have lifted his spirits, but instead it seared his eyes and intensified the pain pounding through his skull. He failed to notice the beauty of the golden sunlight cast upon the feathery clouds above, or the glistening diamonds it generously bestowed in twinkling little points of dew on the grass and trees around them. The sweet yellow light streaming across the land seemed to offer a future of milk and honey, but he knew it lied. They stood for a moment and silently gazed upwards.
“It’s beautiful,” DeSante murmured softly. Birch grunted and scanned the jut of gray rock the Ares boy had pointed to a moment ago. The lower portion was a mass of fir trees; the top was a bald dome of stark stone towering above them. It was formidable. It struck Birch that this was a perfect position to defend and the worst possible one to attack. The trees lower down offered cover for the early stage of their approach, but the upper section was exposed. It wouldn’t be easy to get to the top unseen. His mind was already processing the options. It was clear there wasn’t any easy choice. He sighed.
“Okay kid,” he pulled the boy to him. “It’s time for us to get to work. Where’s the place?”
The boy smiled widely. “On top of course,” he answered slyly. “That’s the best position to see everyone.” Birch looked sharply at the youth. Something in the tone of voice, and his smug, satisfied expression made the statement alarming. They were in danger. Somehow he had turned the tables on them and led them into a trap. Probably he had found some way to signal his friends during their approach. Birch couldn’t guess how, he hadn’t seen anything, but he was certain that at this very moment the young man’s cohorts were coming after them, and he guessed by the boy’s gloating confidence that they only had a few minutes before they were captured. He had to act quickly.
“Thanks,” he muttered and brought the butt of his rifle quickly down on the young Ares’ head. DeSante gasped. The boy’s smile withered and his eyes rolled as he crumpled to the ground, unconscious. “Don’t say a word,” Birch hissed in response to DeSante’s incredulous look. “He was leading his friends to us and we need to act quickly here. We don’t have time for the extra baggage. It’d be better if we split up; it’s going to take a lot for us to make it and I think we’d have a better chance from different directions. Take this,” he handed the rifle to DeSante, “you’ll need it more than me.”
DeSante shook his head. “That doesn’t seem right, Major,” he interrupted. “I can’t leave you unarmed in this place.”
Birch scowled, “Don’t go feeling sorry for me until you’ve heard what I want you to do with that thing,” he barked. “It’s no use both of us trying to make it up there; we’d both get caught. If they are up there then nothing would get past them, especially if they had the luxury of just sitting and watching for us. What we need is a distraction. That’s where you and that rifle come in. I need you to do all you can to draw their attention away from that rock face. I’m going to need you to fire that thing around like there’s the mother of all battles going on down here. Keep moving though. If you can tempt them down that’ll make it easier for me to sto
rm the top, but it also means they’ll be after you, so watch out.”
“Storm the top?” DeSante asked dubiously. “With what? You’ll have no gun and your hands are injured. It’ll be hard enough for you to even make it up there in your condition. There’s got to be a better way.”
DeSante’s words were spoken in genuine concern rather than malice, as Jane’s often were. Even so, they still sounded like mutiny to Birch. They were unwelcome, and for a moment he let them hang uncomfortably in the air before he finally wrestled them down. His answer came short and sharp.
“No,” his voice was calm but failed to hide his anger, “there’s not a better way. I’m the only one who can do it. You’ve got to make the distraction; I’ve got to make the rescue. It’s the only way it’ll work.”
“But how will we get back together? How can we find each other again in a place like this?” His voice trailed off. Birch detected the hint of fear that he hadn’t picked up before. He understood. This wasn’t a place to be alone, but it was their only chance.
“It’ll be fine, DeSante,” Birch’s voice sounded almost soothing for once. “You’ve got the gun and I’ve got the heat sensor. When we’ve finished I’ll use the heat sensor to find you and then all three of us will get out of here together. Now we better get going before neither of us gets anywhere. Got it?” DeSante nodded resolutely. “Good, head to the east and try and draw them off there, I’ll come in from the west and maybe the shadows will give me some extra cover while I climb up the other side. I’m counting on you to make sure they’re not going to be watching for me.”
DeSante smiled nervously. “I’ll do it,” he replied.
“Good,” Birch spoke evenly, “if we all get out of this alive I’ll remember to thank you for it. Well, let’s get going.”
