When Eagles Dare

by Doug Dandridge

  “We should be okay in here,” Charley said, gesturing around the cabin. “We have the backup fuel cells going, so we have heat, and the air recycler should keep us going for as long as it takes for someone to come find us.”

  “That’s the problem,” Jonah said, shaking his head, then stopping as the headache struck. “The ‘someone coming to find us’ might not be who we want it to be. So we’re going to unass this thing as soon as possible and hit the road.”

  “Where to?” Charley asked, the slight smile on his lips telling Jonah that he knew where they were going.

  “We still have a mission, and I’ll be damned if the Fierce Eagle Company doesn’t fulfill a contract. So we’ll gear up, grab whatever we can take, and head for the cliffs.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Two

  The fans whirled to life as the ground support shuttle slowed to under a hundred knots and swung around above the compound. A dozen prefab buildings sat on one side of the landing pad, including a large hangar with an open door. It would be night in about six hours, and at that time, light would be spilling out of the buildings. The lights around the perimeter would turn night into day across the miles of clear-cut jungle outside the compound. The berm around the facility protected them from the raids the natives insisted on conducting despite the cost, and eight high towers with laser-armed guards watched the surrounding territory.

  A separate compound with a high double fence sat five hundred yards to the north, housing most of the aborigines who were being used as forced labor for the project. Some were kept in the main compound, where they could be at hand for service. The administration building and several buildings of quarters sat near the center. They were much more sturdily constructed. A few bunkers were scattered about.

  The project itself was going strong; the machines shredding and pulping vegetation whirring away. All the plants on this lower world contained a biochemical that worked as a combination rejuvenation drug and aphrodisiac for a large number of alien species, although it did nothing for the native animal life. Unfortunately, the concentration was low in most of the plants, so they had to process an enormous amount to get enough of the chemical to make the project worthwhile.

  The soil of this part of the canyonlands was the best growing area for vegetation with the highest concentrations of the chemical, what they were calling Invigorate in a number of alien tongues. Someone higher up in the Syndicate had suggested growing the plants in greenhouses on another world. Finance, though, had pointed out it would cost four times what they spent on local harvesting to build the infrastructure needed for farming, with no guarantee the plants would do as well. Also, there was no guarantee they wouldn’t spread across other worlds, which could cause an ecological disaster. The only ecological disaster they would allow was the one that destroyed the environment of the central canyonlands.

  Damn abos, Mmrash thought as he looked down on a couple of bodies laid out by the hangar prior to disposal. One was a Xlatan, while the other two were members of one of the species being used as technicians on the project. All had the long shafts of native spears sticking out of their bodies. The leader wasn’t surprised the soft-skinned sophonts had been killed, but one of his people? They wore body armor and had a tough wiry fur that made penetration by abo weapons difficult. It didn’t happen often, but it did happen. Soon they’d have to go out and strike the abos again, burn down the closest villages, and capture more workers. Teach them the lesson they didn’t seem able to learn.

  “We’re down,” the pilot said as the craft’s landing jacks bumped on the pad.

  “Hand the ship off to the maintenance crews, then take some time off,” the leader said, getting up from his seat and reaching for the controls to the warrior compartment. The males inside looked expectantly at the commander, their rough speech ceasing. “Get some food in you. I don’t think we’ll be going out again until morning.”

  “Back to the plateau?” asked an underofficer, or sergeant, who was the male in charge of the section of ten warriors.

  “I think not. We’ve taken care of those people, but I think there’ll be another expedition against the natives, and soon.”

  There was much good-natured growling at his pronouncement. Xlatan could eat just about anything that didn’t clog up or poison their tough digestive system, but the natives, what they called the Kalagarta, were especially delicious to their palates. After an expedition against them, there was always fresh meat.

  The commander continued back to the exit hatch, enjoying the sound of happy males discussing what would be coming the next day. He cracked the hatch, let it swing out and down, then stalked to the ground. The odor of decaying bodies hit his sensitive nostrils; the bodies of the dead Xlatan and the technicians had been rotting throughout the day.

  “Can’t you do something about the carrion?” he asked one of the males on evening sentry duty.

  “When we get the order, Commander,” the warrior replied.

  A pair of the abos ran by, hopping forward on their short legs with surprising speed. One was well ahead of the other, and they were both aiming for a portion of the fence that had been slated for increased height. The work hadn’t been done, and, with a running start, the abos could jump over it.

  Two Xlatan were chasing them, probably the guards from the slave compound who’d somehow let them get by. They were both on all six limbs, low to the ground. They couldn’t shoot from this stance, and their rifles were slung over their backs. It looked like the foremost one was going to catch his prey as his limbs propelled him over the ground. A couple more leaping strides, and he was on the abo, his four hundred pounds of bone and muscle landing on the being’s back and bearing him to the ground. Jaws closed while retractable claws slashed, and the native died with a spurting of blackish-red blood.

  The other guard staggered to a stop, at the end of his endurance; Xlatan couldn’t run far. They had evolved as sprinting ambush hunters, and no amount of training could make them distance runners. The male crouched on all six limbs, staring at the back of the escaping native.

  “Shoot him, you idiot!” Mmrash yelled.

  The male looked back at him for a moment, his tail working in a corkscrew while his ear tufts twitched, signs of the anxiety he must have felt at recognizing his commander. He stood up quickly, brought the rifle to an upper shoulder, aimed, and fired. The laser hit the native dead center in his back, and the body that hit the ground a moment later was so obviously dead it didn’t need confirmation. Nothing survived having its entire chest cavity incinerated like that.

  Most of these males couldn’t take a crap without orders, the leader thought. That was a fault with his people. That he was one of the few with initiative had resulted in his promotion out of the ranks, though some days he wished he hadn’t accepted the elevation. Seeing the male walking toward him, he thought this might be another of those days.

  “The Boss wants to see you, Commander. And just a warning. He isn’t happy.”

  When is he ever? Mmrash thought, nodding his thanks and changing his path, heading toward the administration building, the largest in the compound after the hangar.

  The admin building had planters on either side of the entrance with flowering plants. That was an affectation the Xlatan couldn’t understand. The Xlatan didn’t run this operation, however. They were merely security, the muscle the people running this operation needed to force at least grudging cooperation from the natives.

  The two guards gave the Xlatan commander a rifle salute as he approached. He glared at the aliens, some small, soft species who wore a powered armor that made them fierce warriors. The commander snorted at that thought. As if any species that needed that kind of augmentation could be warriors. Like the puny Humans they had just shot down.

  The secretary, a stout, furred species with wrinkled gray skin showing through the tufts, like that of the boss, waved him through the office door after she’d chimed the intercom. The commander wondered if the boss wa
s getting some on the side from his secretary. Not that he could see anything attractive in her, but to their species, she might be a great beauty.

  “Tell me about the mission,” said the boss, sitting behind a large desk that screamed I am in charge, a smoking stick of some foul-smelling vegetation hanging from his lips.

  “What’s to tell? We shot them down. They’re on the plateau, where their bones will remain when the scavengers get through with them.”

  “You confirmed that they were dead?” the boss asked, pulling the smoking cylinder from his mouth and pointing it at the Xlatan. “You saw the bodies?”

  “No need. There’s no way they could have survived going down like that. And even if they did, what of it? They’ll soon freeze to death in that hell up there.”

  “Idiot,” shrieked the boss, standing up and tossing his smoking weed down on the desk.

  The being stood to his full height of two and a half yards. The Xlatan was almost of a height, but the alien out-massed him by fifty percent, and the large claws on the hands showed that this being was also a predator, or at the very least a fierce omnivore. The commander wasn’t sure he could take the boss in a fight, and he wasn’t about to test it.

  “Idiot,” the boss shrieked again, glaring at the senior officer of his security. “You didn’t make sure. You were already up there, and you didn’t make sure.”

  “What’s the big deal? They’re just a bunch of soft Humans. No real threat.”

  “No real threat? You idiot, those were the Humans who ruined our hostage scheme. The leader of that group of ‘soft Humans’ killed a Besquith in hand-to-hand combat. Without one of their armored suits.”

  “No,” Mmrash growled, taking a step back. “A Human, killing one of them without a suit? I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe it. And they’re here to scout this installation so a larger force with their suits can take us out.”

  “Why?”

  “Who cares why,” the boss growled in a dangerous tone, one that sent a shiver down the commander’s spine. “It only matters that they’re here to shut us down. This operation is making our cartel a fortune, which is making the directors happy. And when they’re happy, credits flow into my accounts, which makes me happy. And when I’m happy, so are you. When I’m not…”

  The boss shook his head. “I knew we should have gotten Besquith for this job, but there weren’t any available. So we had to settle on you. Well, after this we might not be using you again.”

  Mmrash felt a shiver of fear run up his spine. His people were poor, barely as advanced as the Humans. The credits they were earning would grant them purchasing power with the rest of the galaxy, and the technology they were stealing would eventually make them a power. If they were blackballed, they’d lose all of that, and he’d be blamed and punished by his people.

  “What do you want me to do?” the commander asked, with the sinking feeling he wasn’t going to be sitting down to a good meal anytime soon.

  “I want you to get your ass back up there and make sure. Make really sure. Land and look over the shuttle. And if you don’t find enough bodies, I want you to search for the rest. Understood?”

  “But…”

  “I said, understood? And the only answer I want to hear is yes. Understood?”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “Fail me again and I’ll have your body staked out on an insect bed. Then the damned things can eat your flesh.”

  The Xlatan shook slightly. That was not a warrior’s death. With his people, it was a criminal’s death, the supreme insult to honor. He’d revolt with his people against this boss before he allowed that to happen. And then the Syndicate would track them all down and make sure they were dead. His own species wasn’t above hiring out to track down their own kind, for enough credits.

  “I’ll get them,” he blurted out, turning and walking from the office before he could say anything else that might get him into more trouble.

  On the way back to the hangar, he wondered how the boss had found out about what he’d done up on the plateau. The only answer he could come up with was the pilot.

  He will regret betraying me, he thought as he quickened his step toward the hangar. There was nothing he could do to the pilot now. He only had the bare minimum of pilots to fly the ships he had. But the day would come when the male would learn that betraying a superior came with dire consequences.

  His eyes involuntarily sought the large rounded building near the hangar. He shuddered as he thought about the being quartered there. The boss’ trump card, and something he never wanted to face. Alone and unarmed, he wouldn’t stand a chance. Even with the rest of his people it would be a hard fight. Fortunately it couldn’t stand the cold, so at least where he was going, he was safe. For the time being.

  * * *

  “Are we ready?” Jonah asked, looking over his people.

  Everyone had on their standard camo uniforms with two layers of heavy winter clothing over the top. They were covered from head to foot, nothing exposed, breathing masks covering their lower faces. All were burdened with every bit of equipment they could carry. Weapons, rations, oxygen tanks, climbing gear, even a compressor unit that would give them a resupply of air, enough to make it if they didn’t push it too hard.

  “What if we said no?” Sandra asked, holding the strap of her rifle over her shoulder. “Would it make any difference?”

  “Not a bit,” Jonah said after a short laugh. “We need to get going before they come back.”

  “You think they will?” Charley asked, making a last-second check on his breathing mask valve. He fiddled with it a second, then gave a grunt of satisfaction.

  “I don’t know why they didn’t land next to us to make sure in the first place,” Jonah replied, checking the seal on his breathing mask. “Maybe that craft couldn’t. I want to be out of here before someone with enough brain cells to think gets them back up here.”

  Charley nodded, taking a step toward the hatch and hitting the panel. The hatch started down, and the air rushed out in a flurry of ice crystals. The Gurkha ran down the hatch-turned-ramp and looked around. The rest of the team followed him down until everyone but Jonah was on the frozen surface. Twenty-one people bundled up against the killing cold, heads turning every which way.

  Jonah walked out, first hitting the button on a small device near the hatch, then raising it by remote. He checked the temperature and air pressure on his helmet HUD. A nice, balmy minus ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit, with an atmospheric pressure of point two one Earth sea level. Fortunately, since the atmosphere at sea level on this world was slightly denser than Earth’s, and contained a higher percentage of oxygen, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. This was the tropics for this unlikely plateau, even if it was more inhospitable than Everest. Further north or south, away from the tropical regions of the world, it would have been much colder.

  They had a little less than six hours of daylight to work with. Then the sun was down, and so was the temperature, and they could expect it to get up to forty degrees colder. Jonah wasn’t sure their gear would be enough.

  Next time we’ll bring full environmental suits with us, he thought. If there is a next time.

  He took another look at his people, making sure he could identify them from their clothing. He had no trouble picking out Charley, Ivan, and Sandra, and even Joseph Many Bears was easily recognizable, wearing his bear claw necklace outside his clothing. Manny Fernandez was also easy, since the man wore a large machete on his belt. Sarah Cohen had a large sniper rifle that looked too big for her to carry. She was an expert with the anti-material weapon, though, and she complemented Sandra to a tee. Basil Paudel was another of Gurkha origin, though born and raised in England, and was also carrying the trademark kukri.

  Ujjal Singh Grewal was a giant of a man, a full six foot seven inches, with muscle to match. The Sikh heavy weapons specialist was easy to pick out even with his turban covered by his helmet. Asuka Yamashuri was as small as Ujjal
was large. The Japanese was an expert in the ancient Japanese art of Ninjutsu, and actually carried an ancient blade strapped across his back. His wife Hotaru was also a Ninja and was just as deadly as her spouse. She carried a shorter blade, a wakizashi, on her belt.

  Ahmed Mohammed and Yusef bin Sherif were easily distinguished by the tube and base plate of the small mortar they carried. The same was true of Amobi Kabir, the Nigerian grenadier who carried his large automatic weapon hung over his neck. Kevin Graham, an American-born former UN Marine, always wore a scarf around his neck, this time outside his heavy garb. The only laser the team had hung from a strap around his neck. He was not as tall as Ujjal but was probably more muscular. But even he paled in strength next to Avgust Babich, the Ukrainian-born explosives expert. His explosives bags distinguished him from the others.

  He still had trouble telling Brynjar Thorwaldsson, Eric Menendez, and Achilles Antonopolis apart when they were wrapped up. Thorwaldsson was a fair-skinned Icelander, while Antonopolis was an olive-skinned Greek, and Menendez was a light-skinned Latino of Spanish origin. Since all were dressed in the same camouflage uniforms and carried the same weapons, they looked exactly the same to Jonah. He wouldn’t have that problem once they were down in the lowlands. Cheung Xou, a moderate-sized Chinese, was carrying the insulated bags of electronics equipment that was his specialty, and Dotty Farrah, the Tanzanian-born medic, of course had her own recognizable bags.

  Satisfied he could recognize all of them while moving—when they reached the lowlands, anyway—Jonah gave his team one last thought. They were a good crew, one that had been handpicked for this mission. Paudel, bin Sherif, Graham, and Thorwaldsson were newcomers, but they’d served time in the military and had scored high on the operative qualification test the Fierce Eagles administered before hiring.