by John Ringo
About an hour before local dawn, just as Bell Toll and Shiva were getting antsy, Ferret reported, “Got a depression here. Dry. Good spot to dig in.”
“Outstanding. Everyone stay put,” Shiva said. He shimmied through the formation until he could see what Ferret saw. “Yes, that’ll do fine. Let’s get in quick, dawn’s coming.”
That day found them skulking in the hollow for cover, wrapped well in blonde grass, with half-cylindrical camouflage screens overhead. They were close together, and kept two on watch at a time, dug into shallow fighting positions to the north and south. Nothing happened until after noon, and the sleeping went fitfully.
Just after the primary peaked in the blue sky that was brightly decorated with towering, puffy cumulus, local life intruded when a herd of smaller grazers browsed through on Gorilla and Bell Toll’s watch. They approached slowly and started to wander by. Then, as if drawn to the smells from the camp, they turned towards it.
“What do we do, sir?” Gorilla asked.
“We don’t spook them, first of all,” Bell Toll said. “Let’s just hope they drift past. We won’t bother them if they won’t bother us.”
“Yes, sir,” Gorilla agreed, but kept a tight grip on his weapon. He held that pose while a family group of six crawled right over him, feet carefully avoiding the unsteady surface of his back after one step, mandibles clipping grass near him, then brushing against him, nuzzling his right cheek and ear. He was freaked but unhurt, and clamped down on his sphincters and nerves as the pony-sized creatures decided he wasn’t food and moved on. “Glad that’s over,” he muttered.
“It might get worse,” the captain reminded him.
“Thanks, sir. You’re all heart.”
True to form, it did get worse. The local pseudomammalian bat analogs ranged in size up to something like a pterosaur, and five of those rode thermals lazily around the grassland. Then, apparently sharp-eyed, they came over to investigate. Shortly, they were orbiting the bivouac like horrific vultures gone awry. The shadows were big enough to have provided shade for the team, if one were to perch spread-winged.
“What the hell do we do now, sir?” Gorilla asked.
“Well, don’t shoot. That’ll be obvious and might stir them up.”
“Yes, sir. But I would like to do something to get rid of them,” he insisted. “It’s like having a floating billboard announcing our presence. And I think they’re getting lower. I’d rather not be lunch either, seeing as those things can likely carry off one of these grass chewers.”
“Right. Got one of your bots out there?” Bell Toll asked, an idea forming. Heck, it might work.
“About fifty meters in front of me, sir,” Gorilla agreed. “I think I see where you’re going. We have it stagger about and see if one will attack it.”
“Yes,” Bell Toll confirmed. “But be ready to scoot if they freak. We don’t know how similar they are to Earth vultures or Garambi rocs.”
“No problem, sir. Want me to shoot if they freak?”
“Only if you’re being attacked directly. Do it now, they’re definitely lower.”
“Yes, sir.” He called up the bot as he clutched his gauss rifle closely, and sent the lumbering creature out at a trot, circling as if injured on its right side.
One of the long-snouted flyers peeled off, looking amazingly like a fighter aircraft in an historical vid. It dove, wings spread rather than in a stoop, and opened its mouth. The teeth within were obviously meant for cracking shells and rending flesh. And it was huge. It might measure eight meters across the wings.
Then it was on the drone, wings flared to airbrake, neck cracking down like a whip and jaws snapping shut. The mock beetle reacted exactly as programmed, and the molecularly thin spikes drove out, taking it through the jaw and face. It squawked, rather quieter than an earth creature, dropped to the ground and thrashed about, its clawed and fingered wingtips beating at the inedible, hurtful little morsel stuck in its mouth. Confused and wounded, it alternated between trying to flap away and flopping around in agony. The defensive needles withdrew back into the drone, but the damage was done. Staggering and disoriented, the creature fell over and twitched.
Sensing something beyond their ken but clearly uncouth, the other four flapped for altitude and soared away to seek more familiar prey.
“That is done,” Gorilla said, with a sigh of relief. “I think I’m going to crawl back and drain before I wet my pants. That okay, sir?”
“Nerve wracking, yeah,” Bell Toll said. “It’s shift time, so says me. Wake Dagger and do what you gotta do. And don’t waste time. I’m next.”
When they prepped to move out at nightfall, Gorilla discovered the drone had been damaged worse than he’d thought. Reluctantly, he dropped it into the latrine slit, where its enzymes and destruct device would be unnoticed beneath the ground.
Across the mini-veldt, the woods began again. This ridge was the one from which they would hopefully see their target. They slept at the base, dug in well under weeds, and posted sentries in pairs with Gorilla’s small flying bots perched on trees, sensors wide open for any hints. He stayed up most of the day, popping chemicals to keep himself awake. That night would begin the infiltration proper.
Chapter 8
The climb up the ridge was steep, with footing made treacherous by a scree slope of shattered flat shards of ancient lava under the tangled skein of weeds. Pieces slipped and skipped downhill, tore lose under boots and gloved fingers and threw dust even through the plants. That combined with alien pollen to create swollen, oozing sinuses and itching eyes. Even through the gloves, chips and nicks from the impact trauma of the rocks caused niggling discomfort. Then the splinters worked their way in, along with thorns and burrs. Balance was precarious, and Gun Doll and Gorilla skidded several meters down the abrasive surface because of their awkward loads. Swearing and griping, they forced their way back up. Tirdal was clearly exerting himself, to the secret delight of some of the others, but his denser build kept him slipping and sliding as he dug fingers and toes into what solid surface he could find.
After several hundred meters of angled frustration, they found plants solid enough to grip. That made the climb easier, though it added sore shoulders to the tally of aches and pains. The coarse, fibrous stalks with leaves like nettles gave way to low, flexible bushes, then to trees. The terrain was thoroughly un-Earthly; Earth hills would have had loam followed by broken rock with solid basalt higher up. This was flaky followed by loam-covered solid surface with more slatelike shingles above the treeline. What odd eruption and surface effects had caused this? A shallow lake, perhaps, that cracked the lava, boiled away, only to ooze out again from the ground and shatter the bottom? Or had it all slid down from above? Exposed by weather or animals and then eroded?
The ridge was long and twisty, which was why Bell Toll had decided to go over rather than around. A small part of him wondered if that had been the right choice, even though intellectually he knew it was.
A few moments later, another colony of antlike insects attacked. These were larger, almost five centimeters long, and they chewed at the tough fabric of the suits as if it were some other form’s carapace. “Hold still!” Gorilla spoke up. “They’re big enough to bite. I’m sending out bots.”
The little flyers Gorilla had rose into the breeze and alighted on each of the troops, skittering along limbs and gear and flicking the little pests off.
“Captain, Thor, hold still. There’s more on you and they killed all the flyers. We’ll have to take them off by hand.”
“Hurry, Gorilla,” Bell Toll suggested. “I can feel the damned things getting through the fabric.”
“Right there.”
Shortly, all the gnawing annoyances had been accounted for. Bell Toll hadn’t been exaggerating. There were two holes through the fabric of his suit and one halfway through his right shoulder strap. It was a molecularly grown fabric, knitted and then woven into something tough enough to stop knives, most pistol ammo and even sl
ow kinetic rifle rounds. The mandibles from those creatures had shredded it. But there was no injury and nothing to be done about the damage, so the advance resumed.
They rested briefly and silently once among the bushes, and again in the lower trees. It was as swelteringly hot tonight as the day had been. Sweat was pouring from all of them, and even Tirdal had a sheen to his waxy features. His breath was ragged but controlled.
“Nice night for a walk, eh?” Shiva teased. There were faint mutters or snickers in response. “You okay, Tirdal?” he asked, looking over.
“I’m fine,” was the response. “I’m concentrating on Sensing, and meditating to calm my body.”
“Too much exercise even for you to ignore, Tirdal?” Dagger asked.
“Dagger, I have never pretended to be more than I am. If anyone here carries a false face, it is not I.”
“Right, if you can jaw, you can climb,” Shiva said, cutting off more talk. “Back to it.” There were groans and muttered comments from Thor and Gun Doll. But they were softly voiced, pro forma protests, and the ordeal resumed.
“I do think I’m beginning to sense Tslek,” Tirdal said as they resumed the climb. “There’s a pattern of thought there.”
“Details?” Bell Toll asked.
“None yet, sir. Just indications of presence.”
“Right, we’ll take it as a warning. Concealment and discipline, folks. I don’t have to tell you.”
“You don’t, but will anyway,” Shiva said. “And I’ll echo that. No dumbassing.”
The ascent through the trees was fairly rapid, the roots being as useful for traction as they were for tripping. All it took was caution to navigate them. Some of the trees resembled pines with knotty roots, straight and tall with tapering branches. They oozed their own sticky, syrupy sap, too, as Ferret and Tirdal found when they slipped by too closely to one. After that, they tried to avoid the trunks.
By the time they reached the ridge, the growth was back to scrub forms and sparse trees, with stark shadows cast by the moon, leaving lit areas the color of dried blood. They took to cautious crawling and occasional darts across barren ground. Their coveralls adapted to the local colors and shifted their IR emissions, but that latter came at a cost: heat retained inside. Powered armor had a substantial heat sink capability. The Intruder Chameleon Suits the team wore could handle it only for a short time. They were glad to shelter behind an outcropping below the military crest of the hill and let the heat disperse to the breeze. Even if it was a muggy night, it was cooler out there than in the suits.
“Okay,” Bell Toll said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice, “we’re ready to rock. Gorilla, Dagger, sneak us a peek.”
This was the way of DRTs. Days of slogging and pain had brought them here, all of it merely the commute to work. Now the mission proper began. Rucks were left under a shelf of rock to enable faster and easier movement. They’d recover them when done. If they were forced to abandon them, it was likely to be a situation so hot that they wouldn’t live long enough for the extra supplies to be missed.
Dagger slithered forward and higher, suit sealed and scanners in hand. As Gorilla unfolded a bot from his ruck, the captain looked at Tirdal again. His expressions were readable to the others now, and he was clearly concentrating.
“Got something?” Bell Toll asked.
“Perhaps,” Tirdal said with a flick of his ears. “I’m sure there’s a Tslek there. I can feel it. That’s the problem.”
“Why’s that a problem?”
“Captain… I only sense one,” he explained.
“One.” Bell Toll bristled alert, hair on his neck standing up and goosebumps running down his arms despite the heat.
“Yes.”
“That is very not good, Tirdal. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure I sense one. There could be others hidden behind unknown shields, or blocking me, or sensing me and affecting my mind, though I don’t think that’s the case. But I only feel one of them.”
“Are they underground maybe?”
“No, I’d still sense them,” he assured the captain. “And this one is… not worried. Not military. It feels like a caretaker going through a routine.”
“I’m not showing any Blob genetic material on my sensors,” Dagger interjected. “No nonnative molecular activity except us. Though we are making a lot of ‘noise’ that might hide things. And I don’t see anything down there—” he indicated the far side of the ridge ” — that indicates much travel by anything bigger than a rat. All clean. Spooky,” he admitted.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Shiva said. “Any kind of base, even inactive, even if it’s just a supply drop not yet built into a base, should have patrols and sentries. Technicians. Enough shifts to work around the clock. Thirty, forty at least. More likely a couple of hundred. Minimum.”
“I know,” Tirdal agreed. “But I sense one. Only one.”
“Well, I admit to being freaked,” Thor said. “What do we do?”
“We wait for Gorilla’s bots to tell us what they see,” Shiva replied. “We check around here. Then we decide from there.”
“Right,” Bell Toll said. “Gorilla, ready?”
“Ready, sir,” he agreed. He set a small “animal” down and let it scamper off.
“If this was a big base, you’d expect patrols,” Dagger muttered. “I’m not even getting particulates or aromatics from metal or plastic, which you always get with bots. If they’ve been running patrols they are really stealthy. And there’s no reason for that kind of stealth. They didn’t know we were coming.”
“Did they?” Thor asked. “Could they?”
“No way,” Ferret assured him with a choppy shake of his head. “And if they could, we’d be dead already. Why wait? But why no patrols, even if only bots? It doesn’t make sense.” He was trying to reassure himself, too.
“Tirdal,” Thor asked, “are you sure you’ve got the right feel? How can you know what a Blob feels like if you’ve never felt one before?”
“I can’t explain color to the blind. I know. Believe me or not, but I’m telling you what I have.” Tirdal gave him a look that was almost a glare.
“Relax, Thor,” Bell Toll ordered. “Gorilla, how’s the bot?”
“Running, sir. Or walking, more accurately. Got it on molecular wire. Halfway down the slope and nothing so far.”
“Describe, please.”
“It’s a glacial valley, very heavily forested once past the lava. On the far side there are some dark spots that are probably caves. It is just possible to see under the canopy… wait, I have movement. Here’s the image,” he said as he plugged them all in to his view. “Bringing up mag now.”
There was definitely movement. “Are those bots?” Gun Doll asked. She lit a cursor and waved it over the area in question.
“Might be,” Gorilla agreed. “We’ll get a better view shortly. Stand by.”
The view faded as the bot scurried ahead, shutting down most of its sensors as it entered the thicker growth. It ran with only its navigation and warning circuits live, as Gorilla coaxed it through the brush.
The team sat still, patiently, as he moved it in closer. This was something they trained for almost beyond all else. The stars shifted overhead, occasional small forms scurried past, including one as big as a fox. It was a half hour and more before Gorilla said, “Got it. Here.” The images came back on screen.
There was a cleared area, and within and around it was activity. Vertical maintenance bots moved around vehicles and performed functions. Sensor globes flew slow orbits around the area, weaving around trees and other obstacles like so many intelligent tennis balls. Armored combat bots, unlike Alliance or Republic gear but obvious as to design, rolled around the perimeter.
There was a pause as Gorilla’s bot detected and moved around a mine. At Gorilla’s prompt, the screen lit with locations of sensors, mines and self-guided weapons, the drone detecting their faint idle signals and extrapolating. It wasn’t yet as accurate a
s it would get after prolonged exposure, but it was good enough.
As the bot’s view panned across the edge of the encampment it revealed a group of Blobs moving in a wedge formation. The patrol ambled and flopped across the clearing and into another part of the woods in a gait that seemed impossible.
Everyone had seen the patrol. Bell Toll looked over at Tirdal, who deliberately shrugged, that not being a Darhel gesture.
“I’m not sure what those are. But I don’t sense them. Nor any distortion from the machines. I sense one Tslek only. Still.”
“Something else is bothering me,” Dagger said. “That clearing is too small. It’s as if it’s supposed to look like a base, but isn’t one.”
“How do you mean?” Thor asked.
“I see it too,” Gun Doll said. “A proper facility would have a second perimeter, the trees would be downed and either removed or placed as revetments. They have no safe zone, and any attacker on foot or skimmer can come right up to the edge.”
“This doesn’t make sense,” Thor said. “They understand security and threat discipline as well as we do. Why are they being so stupid?”
“Maybe they aren’t,” Dagger said. He had everyone’s attention. No matter his façade, the man could stalk anything and find any hole in a perimeter. Under the sweaty grime and ragged, unshaven whiskers, his eyes had a sharp, squinty cynicism. He wasn’t assuming the Tslek didn’t know exactly what they were doing.
“What do you mean, Dagger?” Shiva asked into the pause.
“Tirdal says he senses one only. Let’s assume that’s true. We have one Blob. We have a lot of gizmos. We have a crappy perimeter a troop of Space Scouts could crack. We have a formation of what look like Blobs stomping around like a dictator’s guard. Sensors get no good reading of any minor effects like waste. I say it’s a decoy.”
Shiva and Bell Toll frowned. Shiva spoke first.
