Turning, he sprinted back toward the city. A second later, with a thump and a swishing of grass, de Portola landed at Werle’s side. “Where’s he going?” he asked.
“The coward’s decided to fight the invaders from right inside their stronghold,” Werle said.
“From right under their noses?” De Portola shook his head. “Simply craven. So what’s our job?”
Werle gave the sky a final quick sweep. Still no drones, but that wouldn’t last. And even if the Trofts in the disabled truck were too cautious to peek outside there were undoubtedly more trucks and troops on the way. “To stay out here, make as much trouble as we can, and give him a chance to do his part from in there,” he said. “And we’re supposed to not die. Almost forgot that part.”
“I think we can handle that,” de Portola said. “Should be interesting.”
Werle nodded, gazing across the field at the city. The occupied, quiet, but simmering city. “Pawn to king four,” he murmured.
“What?”
“The classic opening move of a chess game,” Werle told him. “But at least we’re not the only two pieces on this part of the board anymore.”
“So let’s go meet the other pieces,” de Portola said, turning toward the men and women now filing into the equipment shed. “Last one there scrapes the manure spreader.”
The End
Free Stories 2011 Page 32
