When Eagles Dare

by Doug Dandridge

  They were huffing and puffing by the time they stumbled into the woods, only to find they weren’t the only occupants.

  * * *

  “The aliens are here to destroy our planet,” said Chief Allasher of the Black Swamp Tribe, his mouth and eyes above the water of the council chamber. The water was relaxing to his kind, keeping their skin moist, while the chamber, like the rest of the village, was deep in the swamp, a place the aliens normally didn’t visit.

  “Of course they are,” said Chief Allaman of the North River Tribe. “They have clear cut thousands of square miles of the forest around their devil’s lair. They destroy our best hunting grounds. We will not be able to pass our legacy on to our children. It will lead to war between the tribes when some are forced to move.”

  “No,” said Chief Allasher. “They mean to destroy this world. Completely. When they are finished, there will not be a green growing thing on the ground.”

  “That is madness!” exclaimed Allaman, the tribesmen who had accompanied him growling in agreement. “Surely no intelligent being could be so stupid or so cruel!”

  “This is not their world,” called out another of the Black Swamp Tribe. “When they kill ours, they will just move on to another.”

  “They are not a member of a government,” continued Allasher, using a term that most in the chamber were unfamiliar with. Allasher realized this from the looks that were turned his way. “They have many tribes on each world, just as we do, but they all pledge allegiance to a central authority that tells them what to do.”

  “Why would any free being do that?” asked Allaman, his eyes blinking in disbelief. “Are they all insane?”

  “Look at where they are compared to us,” continued Allasher. “They have conquered the stars, while we are still confined to this world.”

  “A world given us by the Gods,” replied the other chief.

  “We must depend on the Gods to save us,” called out another tribesman.

  “And they have been doing a fine job,” said Allasher, eliciting growls and calls of blasphemy. He gave a head nod of negation. The gods of the other tribe were not his, and he was beginning to believe that none of them actually existed. Or if they existed, they didn’t seem to care for the people. Or for the rest of the world, either.

  “The Gods will strike you down for those words,” said one of the North River Tribesmen.

  “As they have struck down the aliens,” said Allasher, standing up and splashing through the water to the center of the chamber. “But I have not asked you here to talk theology. What we need to talk about is what we are going to do about the invaders.”

  “What can we do?” asked the other chief. “The Forest Hill Tribe fell to them. All are now either dead or slaves of the aliens. They have weapons we cannot withstand. Armor that our spears and darts cannot pierce.”

  “And if we do not do anything we will all die,” growled Allasher.

  “What do you propose? That we throw ourselves on their weapons and watch as all of our young warriors go into the dark?”

  Allasher gave another nod of negation. He didn’t expect the people to attack the aliens head on. He had seen their weapons. They had gone out of their way to demonstrate to all of the local tribes what they could do. They could ambush in the forests and jungles, but the opportunities were not often presented when the aliens drove around in their heavy machines.

  “What if another group came from the stars to challenge the invaders?”

  Allaman stared at the other chief for a moment, digesting the words before speaking. “Why would we think anyone would come to challenge those already here? And why would they be any different?”

  “Send in our guest,” ordered Allasher, looking over at one of his wives, who was in the chamber to act as his messenger. She gave a blink of acceptance and dove into the water, going out through the submerged entrance with a splash.

  Moments later another male entered the chamber, preceded by the bubbles he had generated to announce his coming.

  “This is Larrast of the High Forest Tribe,” said Allasher by way of introduction.

  “I thought they had all been captured,” said Allaman, staring at the other male in disbelief.

  Larrast stood in the center of the chamber in a very un-Klanfolk-like way. His shoulders were stooped, while his eyes looked down.

  “He has been broken,” said Allaman, turning his eyes away.

  “Not quite broken, Chief,” said the male in a quiet voice. “They came close, but I saw a chance to escape and took it. I had to tell someone about what I had heard.”

  “What could you have heard that was of any importance while you were a slave?” shouted out another tribesman in derision.

  “It was because I was a slave that I heard what I did,” responded Larrast, the gill slits on his neck opening and closing in a sign of anxiety. “I listened to everything said around me, until I started making sense of one of their languages. Until I heard something that gave me the strength and courage to get away.”

  “And what did you hear?” asked Allaman, leaning forward.

  “They are expecting people from another species of starfolk. Enemies. People who might be able to smash their compound and destroy their operation.”

  “What kind of people?”

  “That I do not know. I saw no pictures of them, but from what I heard, they are different from any species here right now.”

  “How many of them are coming? And when?”

  “I cannot answer that, Great Chief. I was able to hear what they said in front of me, since I was only a slave, and they seemed to consider me as no more meaningful than their machines. But that didn’t mean they went out of their way to present their plans to me.”

  Gurgling laughter greeted his speech. All had heard of the arrogance of the strangers, who would consider one of the Klanfolk an inferior. The Kalagarta Klanfolk didn’t believe they were. Take the machines away from the invaders and release them into the forest, and they would be just so much meat for the tribes to gather.

  “The point is, Chief Allaman, there are strangers on the way here. Strangers who are the enemies of our enemies.”

  “Which does not mean they are our friends,” replied the other chief, splashing a hand into the water to emphasize his point.

  “We know that these already here are our enemies,” said Allasher, hitting the water as well. “These newcomers will be unknowns, but we can always hope they will come as friends. The way I see it, we have nothing to lose by aiding them, and possibly much to gain.”

  “So you want us to keep a lookout for some aliens we have never seen before. Contact them? Possibly lend them aid?”

  “Yes. But that is not all.”

  “What else is there?” asked Allaman, his gill slits opening and closing in excitement.

  “Sharpen our spears and knives,” said Allasher, slapping the water. “Gather the poisons, enough to coat many darts. Prepare to fight.”

  “Why, when these newcomers will do everything for us?” asked Allaman, smiling.

  “That is not something I am willing to do,” said Allasher, blowing air out of his gill slits. “I am a warrior, and it would churn my guts to let someone else fight my battles for me. Maybe we can’t beat the aliens by ourselves, but I would surely love to take some bits out of their hides.”

  That speech was greeting by the wheezing howls of the warriors, and Allasher knew he had them.

  “Send messengers to all the tribes. The more warriors we can gather, the better. We may only have one chance to save our world, and if the gods are still there, they will surely become angered if we let this one pass us by.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Get these damned things off me,” screamed out Brynjar Thorwaldsson as he went down under the mass of small predators.

  Twenty-some of the small dog-sized predators, much like the ones they’d run into in the cavern system, were laired up in the woods. They might not
have been the same species, but the mercenaries didn’t have time to engage in systematics. Being predators, they’d jumped on the nearest suspected prey and ignored the others, instincts telling them that the other prey would now simply run away. Their error.

  “Watch it!” Jonah yelled out, aiming his rifle at one of the predators that was dancing around the periphery. “Don’t hit our man!”

  The colonel quickly developed a sight picture and squeezed the trigger. The magrail phutted out a round almost silently, the only visual a slight sparking from the barrel. The round blasted through the head of the beast, killing it and dropping it to the ground without a sound.

  “Help!” Brynjar yelled, struggling under the mass of beasts.

  The other beasts not directly involved in trying to tear the rifleman apart were quickly dealt with, while Charley, Basil, and the two ninjas were the best with blades, and they attacked the beasts, thrusting and slicing while trying to avoid hitting the man underneath.

  “Help…” the voice of the man ended in a gurgle, and Jonah felt a sense of panic as he realized the Icelander had just been mortally wounded, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  “Kill the damned things!” he shouted, aiming at the dog that seemed the most likely to be savaging the mercenary’s throat, moving a second to clear the line of fire, then shooting it through the torso.

  The beast squealed, releasing its hold on the mercenary and rolling over, trying to bite at its own wound in a panic. Asuka’s sword ended its struggles, then took the head off of another of the dogs.

  Then it was over. Over a score of the predators lay dead on the ground. Thorwaldsson lay slack on the ground, too, steam rising from the ripped clothing over his throat as the hot blood was exposed to the cold air.

  “Shit,” Ujjal Singh Grewal said, looking down at the dead merc. “I was standing right next to him, and I didn’t have a chance to help him.”

  And you’re in shock, Jonah thought, nodding. It could have been the Sikh as well as the Icelander, and the big man had to realize it.

  “What’s that?” Sandra asked, looking off into the woods.

  A faint whimpering sound came from deeper in the small forest. Hotaru, Charley, and Patel started that way, blades at the ready, while Jonah and Joey followed with rifles at the ready.

  “They had cubs,” Charley said.

  One of the pups squealed, and Sandra ran over to the others. “They’re just babies. They’re innocent.”

  “And they’re going to grow into those things that killed Brynjar,” Patel said in a voice filled with hurt anger.

  “What do you want to do, Sandra?” Jonah asked, putting a hand on the woman’s shoulder and pushing her back. “Take them with us? Leave them here to starve?”

  Sandra shook her head, and Jonah was sure she was crying under her faceplate. The strange dichotomy of the sniper, who could kill an intelligent enemy without a flicker of emotion, but had a soft heart where animals were concerned.

  Another cub squealed, a cry that was cut off in an instant.

  “I know it’s the right thing to do,” she finally said, turning away.

  Jonah didn’t like it either. The cubs had nothing to do with killing his mercenary teammate, and these particular specimens would never bother them. Without the adults, they’d starve to death, unless some other predator found them. It was the kinder option to kill them now, quickly.

  “It’s done,” Charley said in a grim tone. Jonah knew his partner was not a cruel man. He’d found a job that needed doing, so he’d done so.

  “We need to get moving,” Ivan said, coming up on the others. “What should we do with Brynjar?”

  Jonah would have preferred to bring the man’s body with them, which was, of course, impossible. There was also no way they could bury him in this frozen ground without making a lot of noise and possibly some flashes of light to soften the hard surface.

  “We leave him.”

  There were many shouted protests to that, until Charley hissed out a warning in a carrying voice.

  “The colonel doesn’t want to leave him here,” the major said, shaking his head. “We didn’t want to leave our comrades up on the plateau either. But we can’t carry them with us. And Brynjar wouldn’t want us to do anything that puts us at risk just to dispose of his husk. I know I wouldn’t. If I fall on this mission, and you can’t do anything else, leave me where I lie.”

  “Let’s get moving,” Jonah said, still feeling the guilt of leaving the fallen, but glad his friend and subordinate had spoken. “If we can make it to the edge tonight, we can go ahead and jump tomorrow night.”

  There was still some grumbling, but everyone got moving. They formed up in a tactical formation and took the next open space, reaching the next gully with no problem. As the sun was rising, they found a small area to shelter within an hour’s walk from the edge.

  * * *

  “What’s the problem?” Jillor asked, staring at the mass of collapsed slaves.

  Overseers were spraying the slaves down with water hoses, wetting their dried-out skins. A slave gurgled and turned over, opening its mouth to catch the descending stream. The boss couldn’t tell if that particular slave was male or female, since the natives didn’t nurse their children and carried their genitalia inside internal pouches except when in use. Obviously the natives could tell, and since both sexes were of about equal strength, it wasn’t something that concerned the Syndicate.

  “They all just collapsed,” said one of the overseers, a mammalian being about half the size of the slaves he was watching over.

  “All at once?” asked the incredulous boss. That sounded like something planned, a strike or a sit-down. If that was the case, there’d be hell to pay.

  “No, Boss. First one fell, then another, until over a ten-minute period they were all on the ground.”

  It still sounded like a sit-down to the boss, simply better planned than everyone just falling to the ground simultaneously. The abos did need periodic moistening while working in the heat of day. They were semi-aquatic amphibious beings who breathed through both small lungs and gill slits. The Syndicate took this to mind and had set up four times during the day when they would wet the natives down.

  One of the natives got to its feet, shaking off the excess water, then heading back to its task of unloading the detritus of vegetation from a truck. Others stirred, until over a couple of minutes all were on their feet and going about their work as if nothing had happened.

  “Keep a close watch on them,” Jillor ordered. “If they unexpectedly sit down again, hose them off, then hit them with stun rods.”

  “We might lose some workers doing that.”

  “I’d rather lose some workers than let them play games with us. So go ahead and do what I say.”

  The overseer nodded and turned away, keeping a hand on the stun rod set on his belt. Jillor was hoping it didn’t get down to shooting the slaves. As he’d said, he’d rather have a couple of them dead than the rest thinking they could get out of work. But if they were all shot? Or even a good percentage of them? Production would suffer, and he couldn’t have that.

  * * *

  “Is everyone ready?” Jonah asked, looking over his people. There were still nineteen of them, fewer than he’d expected to lead into the lowlands, but better than it could have been. There was some under-the-breath grumbling in reply. There were still a lot of them pissed at leaving Thorwaldsson’s body behind. They’d done what they could with the rocks and ice nearby, but it was doubtful it would keep all the scavengers away.

  “Aren’t we always?” Joey said.

  That elicited some chuckles, and much of the grumbling died down. Jonah could have hugged the young mercenary. Humor was something they’d had too little of lately.

  “Charley will go first. I’ll follow.”

  Normally he’d have placed himself further back in the queue, but this time he needed to lead. Doing a last-minute check on his harness, he looked back at the woo
ds where they’d stashed the gear they wouldn’t be needing.

  We’re not coming back up here, he thought. They’d either be flying out of the lowlands with the Ravagers, or they’d be staying there forever, alive or dead.

  The small compressor unit and most of their oxygen tanks were stashed. Every member of the team had a single tank. Made of high-tensile-strength plastic, a full tank only weighed about a pound. Still, that was three pounds less every mercenary had to carry. They’d dropped some of their warm clothing as well, using what they’d wear down below and one layer of the heavier stuff. That lightened the load by eight to ten pounds. What they had on was warm enough in the short term, but if they had to duck down and cover for some reason in the very near future, they’d start to freeze.

  “As far as I can tell, this cliff is almost straight vertical for four miles,” Charley said, looking over the edge with his faceplate set to maximum light gathering. One of the moons was in the sky, giving them a little more, without shedding enough light to let someone pick them out from the air at a distance. Or so they hoped.

  “There’s a layer of scree from the cliff out to about a mile, maybe a little more, then the hills of the lowlands.”

  Jonah nodded as he took that in. Scree was the remains of rock falls from the cliffs. He’d really expected more, but maybe this was an unusual location on the cliff face, and in other areas it stretched out further. Still, it meant they had to jump past it and hope that there were no violent winds to push them into it.

  “Whenever you’re ready, partner.”

  Charley nodded, squatted down, and jumped into space. This was going to be a high-altitude, low-opening jump, HALO, and the major fell quickly to disappear from sight.

  The colonel hesitated for a couple of seconds, all he could afford if he wanted everyone to follow him, and ran out into space, tilting his head down to cut through the air. After a moment he turned around on his back, face up, watching as the rest of the team went off the cliff one by one. Satisfied that everyone had jumped, he turned back around and activated his helmet radar, sending a directional beam downward. Immediately the range figure showed up on his HUD. Including acceleration, it would take about a hundred and forty seconds to hit the rocks.