When Eagles Dare

by Doug Dandridge

  The Kalagarta stood there for a moment, obviously thinking of what the Humans had said. He looked at Jonah again before speaking. “I still think it better that we move on. It would be even worse if the six legs came upon us trying to get rid of the evidence. I say we move.”

  “I agree,” Jonah said, smiling at Charley. The point hadn’t been to change the mind of the creatures, but to get them to think about the possibilities. The Kalagarta had already proven they were ready for their natural enemies, but the invaders were something else.

  “Aren’t we going to take a little time to dry out our clothing?” Sandra complained.

  “You can dry off on the march, Sandra,” Manny Fernandez said, clapping her on the shoulder with one hand while he pointed ahead with his machete. “Onward. No glory for those who wait.”

  “I don’t really see much glory in walking along like a wet cat,” the woman said, settling her rifle on its strap before stepping off after the Spaniard.

  “Your people talk a lot,” said Xebraferd, scratching the top of his head with his one hand. “They complain too much. No Kalagarta leader would put up with such.”

  Jonah didn’t say a word for fear of causing offense. He wouldn’t have his people any other way. It was the way of Human warriors to bellyache. Once it was said that an army moved on its stomach, meaning the fuel of their rations. He actually believed that an army moved on its bellyaching. Troops who weren’t complaining about something didn’t really have their heads in the game. And his people had their heads in the game.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Sixteen

  “What do you have for me, Sergeant?” Commander Mmrash asked as he walked into the remains of the village.

  Only a few structures were still standing, if buildings leaning one way or the other could be called intact. Most were gone, blasted to splinters, or had burned down to small pieces of wood glowing with heat and surrounded by ashes. Bodies were all over, swarming with the eight-legged arthropods that were this planet’s version of insects. Some of the bodies didn’t have a mark on them, killed by concussion. Others had been torn apart by blast or cut into pieces by lasers.

  Several of the ambush pits were visible along his path, the woven coverings that had made them impossible to spot lying beside them. Mmrash thought they’d need to develop a tactic in the future to take those out before they walked within range of the poisoned weapons. Nothing he could do anything about now, but maybe with some thought and planning they could solve that as well.

  One thing the commander noted immediately was the absence of women or children. So they knew we might be coming, he thought. They’d moved their more helpless members away. He might be able to locate them, but to what purpose? If he couldn’t get the survivor to speak right now, he didn’t have time to find possible hostages.

  “We think this one was the chief,” the sergeant said, pointing both right hand index fingers at the wizened male. “He tried to attack with the others, but he couldn’t keep up.”

  Fortunate, Mmrash thought, studying the Kalagarta male. His skin was more wrinkled than that of the younger versions of his species, with more dry patches. The eyes weren’t as clear, and the teeth he showed in a grimace were worn.

  The Kalagarta lived a hard life, that of hunting and gathering primitives. Most died young, many more along the way. Only a few reached the age of this male, and, as age was respected, they were either chiefs or medicine men.

  “The Humans,” Mmrash said over his helmet translator. “They were here, yes?”

  The Kalagarta elder simply glared at him with murderous rage, not a word leaving his mouth.

  The old bastard would love to have me tied down to the ground, ready for torture, Mmrash thought, a shiver running up his spine. Fortunately, the state of affairs was different, and the elder was at his mercy.

  “I think they were here. That you aided them, helped them on their way. And this,” continued the commander, waving a hand to take in the village, “was the price you paid.”

  “You are mistaken, alien,” croaked the elder in a tired voice. “I don’t know what other aliens you are talking about.”

  “We found this near a log by their night fire,” the sergeant said, holding out a small metallic object. “One of the Humans must have given this as a gift to one of these people.”

  Mmrash took the object in his hand, turning it over. It was small, with a smooth surface. He pulled at part of the object that seemed to be a separate piece and a blade extended. It was a small blade, well-made, of advanced alloys. It looked like nothing made by his people, or by any of the others in the compound.

  “When did you start making these knives? They must make you really popular with the other tribes. When will the swords be coming?”

  “I have no idea where that came from,” said the elder, dropping his eyes.

  The soldiers standing nearby laughed, the half-hacking, half-mewing sound of their kind. Even Mmrash laughed, looking at the elder as if sharing the joke. The chief was completely caught off guard when the commander slashed his face with extended claws, his hand moving in a blur.

  “I guess we’re going to have to do this the slow and painful way,” the commander said, motioning for one of his people to come over. “It was up to you, and you chose.”

  The soldier that had been called over unfurled a shock whip, standing ready.

  “I want the pleasure of doing this myself,” Mmrash said, holding out a hand to accept the handle of the whip. He looked down at the implement for a moment, dialing up the intensity. With a grunt of satisfaction, he set his feet, then licked the tip of the whip out to barely touch the ear of the Kalagarta.

  The tip hadn’t made contact yet when the spark of electricity arced from the whip to the ear. The elder cried out in pain as his hand rose to his ear.

  “Now you know what this does,” Mmrash said, staring into the shocked eyes of the Kalagarta. “Now know what I will do to make you speak.”

  The whip snaked out again, this time to the elder’s left shoulder. Again sparks flew; again the elder shouted in pain. The difference this time was the length of contact, as the commander left it in place for fifteen seconds. Smoke rose from the contact, along with the smell of burning flesh.

  The chief opened his mouth in a high-pitched scream of agony and tried to bolt. The strong hands of Xlatan warriors clamped onto his arms, holding him down.

  “I can do this the whole day,” Mmrash said, squatting down so he could look the chief in the eye. “I won’t go far enough to kill you. No, you will not get that release. Not until you tell me what I want to know.”

  The chief tried to struggle out of the grasp of the soldiers, but he had too many things going against him. Xlatan were more massive, having more muscle and greater strength, and the Kalagarta was old.

  “The croakers are weak,” said one of the soldiers holding the old man, showing his teeth in a grin.

  They still killed some of us, the commander thought, looking over at the trooper, who was filled with the sense of superiority that victory brings. His men had attacked with superior tech, aircraft, heavy weapons, and armor. And still the weak and primitive Kalagarta had killed two of the ground force.

  “Now is the time to tell me, old man. If you don’t speak now, you won’t be allowed to for an hour, while I push your pain receptors to their limit. So what will it be?”

  “I will talk,” said the elder, drooping his head. “I will talk,” he said again in a soft voice. “I will talk.” The voice dropped even lower, almost too low for the sharp-eared predator to make out the words.

  Mmrash leaned closer so he could hear, a mistake that almost cost him his life. The elder moved faster than seemed possible for one so old, his hands flying up from his waist, a sharp stick in each. He planted one in the hand of the warrior holding his left shoulder, while the second was aimed at the commander’s throat.

  The soldier on the right pulled the old man back before he could strike at the offic
er. The ancient must have decided his chance had passed him by. He brought the stick in his right hand up and into his own throat. It didn’t go very deep, not deep enough to cause severe damage, just as the stick that broke the skin of the Xlatan soldier was not enough to do more than scratch the skin beneath the fur.

  The Xlatan warrior coughed, not the sound of a laugh, but of labored breathing and pain. The panicked warrior looked up at his commander, his eyes pleading for help. There was no help forthcoming, though, and the warrior fell over to his side on the ground, twitching as if in a seizure.

  Mmrash stared at his soldier in disbelief, then looked over at the elder, who’d also curled in on himself, no longer breathing, but with a slight smile on his face.

  The commander felt himself tremble. He took a deep breath, not daring to show cowardice in front of his people. Xlatan had no respect for fearful leaders. They might still follow his orders, but they wouldn’t go beyond the minimum of effort for a leader they didn’t respect.

  He couldn’t help himself. If not for the actions of the soldier who had acted quickly to pull the Kalagarta back down on the log, he would be as dead as the Xlatan who had been scratched on the hand.

  “Filthy devils,” cursed the closest sergeant, spitting on the ground. “Only cowards use the weapons of assassins.”

  Mmrash glanced at the soldier, seeing from his expression that the warrior actually believed what he was saying. The commander didn’t believe that. The natives were facing people who had all the advantages, so they used what they had. Poison was a filthy weapon, yes, but was it any more so than aerial attacks and weapons that could strike them down from far beyond their ability to respond?

  “Everyone, back on the shuttles,” he ordered, deciding that he’d had enough of this place.

  “What about our fallen?” the sergeant asked, looking down at the most recent of their dead.

  “We bring them with us,” the commander said. “They’ll be buried with ceremony, as befits those who have fallen in battle.”

  * * *

  The day had gotten warmer as it progressed. That had brought on more grumbling, but even more kidding from those who were happy they were no longer walking through the frigid, low-pressure hell of the world above.

  Jonah slapped once again at an insectoid who’d decided he might make a good drinking vessel. None of them actually took much of a drink, probably finding Human blood not to their taste, but that didn’t stop the stupid creatures from continuing to try Human circulating fluid.

  “I notice the damned bugs don’t bite your people,” he said to Xebraferd, who was walking beside him. “What’s your secret?”

  “We rub ourselves down with the sap of the Ngrata bush,” said the Kalagarta with a smile. “The bugs do not like the smell, and they leave us alone.”

  “Could we use it?”

  “Maybe. It depends on how you react to it.” The Kalagarta reached into a pouch and held out a small covered pot with a lid secured by woven vines.

  “Dotty,” Jonah called out in a low but carrying voice. “Front and center, Lieutenant.”

  The small woman came hurrying up, sweat rolling down her ebony skin, swatting at more of the bugs that were peeling off into attack runs from a pursuing cloud.

  “I think you might like this,” Jonah said, swatting some of the bugs that had decided the new target who’d come into view might be a better food source. “Get that analyzed and see if there’s anything that might be a problem to us.”

  The woman took the pot and looked at it with curiosity. She opened the top, sniffed and made a face.

  “It’s not perfume, Lieutenant,” the colonel said with a laugh, “it’s bug repellent. When was the last time you heard of a fragrant bug repellent?”

  Dotty pulled a sensor wand from her med pack and waved it over the substance. She looked with interest at what her HUD was showing her, saying, “hmm,” every couple of seconds.

  “I don’t think it will harm us, sir. I’m picking up some alkaloids, some unusual proteins, but nothing that will harm us, unless some of us have allergies to it.”

  “I’m game,” Jonah said, taking the container from her and dipping a couple of fingers in it. He rubbed the lotion on his face and neck, then handed the container back to his medic.

  “I don’t want to take all of it from you,” he told Xebraferd, gesturing at the container.

  “The plant it comes from is common, and it is easy to make. We will make much more of it when we camp tonight.”

  Jonah smiled, then frowned as he noticed the insectoids were still buzzing around. He waited a couple of minutes and smiled again. They might still be buzzing around him, but they definitely weren’t landing and biting.

  “Everyone. Down,” Charley hissed, motioning all to the ground.

  The whispering sound of shuttles at a distance came to Jonah’s ears. The sound was changing in tone and volume, indicating the aircraft were approaching. They probably wouldn’t spot the party under the canopy, and infrared wouldn’t be effective during the heat of the day. However, there were breaks in the canopy here and there, and if one of the aircraft was able to get a fortunate angle of observation on them, it might get a fleeting glimpse that could have them turning around for a better look.

  All crouched on the forest floor, running with sweat and worrying about the fight they might find themselves in during the next couple of minutes. The shuttle sound grew louder, then started to fade. The shuttles hadn’t gone directly over, but maybe a mile to the east.

  “Break’s over,” Jonah said, straightening up and starting forward.

  “We need to stop an hour before nightfall to make sure we have a safe place to camp,” said Xebraferd, looking up at the top of the trees.

  Jonah looked around and noticed that the shadows were starting to grow. “How long from now?”

  “Another couple of hours. We should be able to cover another five or six miles before making camp.”

  “And of course it’ll be a cold camp,” Joey complained from the next line back.

  “Unless you want to put up a sign telling the Xlatan exactly where we are,” Charley said.

  “Not me. I can use a good night’s sleep,” the young man said, shaking his head.

  “We’ll be pulling watch tonight, people,” Jonah said, raising a hand before Xebraferd could open his mouth to protest. “You’ve been doing enough. It’s about time we pulled our own weight. Adding my people to the mix means better security and more rest for all of us.”

  The colonel also liked the idea of adding their more advanced technology to the nighttime scan. He was sure the senses of the Kalagarta were as good or better than those of his people, but they didn’t include augmented night vision, high-resolution audio pickups, and computer diagnostics.

  The campsite was well chosen, considering the constraints in play. There were no nearby caves, but the rocks they’d found gave them some overhead cover. There was no hope of a fire, so they’d be eating the food they’d brought along that had previously been cooked. Even worse, they’d be missing the psychological comfort of the fire. Humans had evolved from primitive hunters, and the warmth and light of a fire had always had a calming effect on them. He wasn’t sure if it had the same effect on the Kalagarta, but wouldn’t have been surprised if it did. However, it also wouldn’t have come as a shock if fire didn’t have the same effect on the amphibious creatures.

  “We did well,” he told Xebraferd, looking at him through his helmet’s night vision function. The alien looked like a brighter, lighter green than he did in daylight. His heat signature was fainter than that of a Human, since, their body temperature was lower.

  “I am worried about my people,” said the war chief, looking down at the ground. “The six legs flew over on the way back from my village.”

  “We don’t know that,” Jonah said, shaking his head, while at the same time feeling very sure the Kalagarta warrior was correct. The enemy had been looking for his people. They proba
bly would have cruised around for some arbitrary period of time, then headed for the village to get what information the natives had. The village was hidden well from the sky, but there was no doubt the technology of the Xlatan would pinpoint it after a couple of passes. There was also no doubt the Kalagarta would resist, or that the Xlatan would overwhelm them.

  “No, we do not know that,” continued Xebraferd, looking up and into the faceplate of the Human. “Not with my mind. But in my heart I know it. We will need to seek revenge, as low as the chances are that we will get it.”

  “We’ll get it for you, Xebraferd. Let us handle the Xlatan and the others. You concentrate on getting us where we need to be.”

  The Kalagarta looked away in silence, leaving Jonah with the impression that the warrior wouldn’t accept that. He needed to get his own revenge for the injuries the Xlatan had caused to him, to his people, and to his world. Nothing else would satisfy him.

  * * *

  Manny Fernandez wished the colonel hadn’t decided to let his team stand watch tonight alongside their hosts. He’d almost caught up on his rest the night before, when they’d slept in the village without a care. The day had been tiring, walking miles through the forest, then crossing the damned predator-haunted river.

  He looked over at his partner for this watch, one of the Kalagarta warriors, who sat against a nearby rock looking out into the night. They were one of three teams on watch on this shift, staying still to keep from attracting attention to themselves. The night was cool, and fortunately the salve the Humans were now using was keeping the insectoids away. Though it was causing Manny’s skin to itch on its own, it was worth it to not have to deal with bites.

  “What’s that?” he asked as the sound of something moving through the forest below their rocky hill came over the pickups of his helmet.

  “I hear nothing, Human,” said the Kalagarta warrior, shifting from his seat into a squat.