Rear Echelon

by Darryl S Ellrott

  “Saluda a mi pequeño amigo!” roared Prince Nahuatl as he whirled, hacking off an arm on the down stroke and disemboweling another on the up stroke. They began to drive the lizard men back.

  Acrisius caught the Prelate by the wrist, pulling his blaster hand back. “Stop, you idiot!” he cried. “You’re doing exactly what they want you to do! Pull them back, damn you!” The Prelate fell silent, his eyes wide. Then he brought the blaster up and shot the Centurion in the face. The body fell, the body armor clanking as it hit the pavestones. “Centurion Decimus,” asked the Prelate, “will you bring me their heads?”

  “Aye, sir!” stammered the beneficiary of an impromptu promotion.

  “Then, get them!” he screamed, “and don’t come back ‘till you do!”

  Struts let the Prince and his men have their fun, holding his position and picking off anyone who came near with his rifle, while he listened to the meaty blows, the screams of agony, and the shouts of triumph. Within a few minutes, Machai with laser rifles began arriving to reinforce the lizard men. One of the Asilyans was cut in two by a blaster when the Prince snapped out of his bloodlust and called, “Volver ahora, de vuelta! La caza ha comenzado! Back now, back! The hunt is on!” The men of Asilyo high-tailed it into the jungle. The lizard men and the Machai followed them, unheeding.

  “Make for the gate, men!” called Decimus. “Flank them! Cut of their retreat! The one who brings me their commander’s head will be rich!”

  Struts McCaskey grinned as he saw the pursuit coming at him from the south, around he curvature of the great wall. He couldn’t believe it. The ruse had worked. The main gate was virtually undefended. Now to draw them on.

  “This way, greenies!” he shouted, triggering off another burst in their direction. His shots hit nothing at that range, but it brought some random laser blasts his way. “Your mother was a suitcase and your father was a pair of cowboy boots! You can’t catch me!”

  The Asilyans from the diversion group were vanishing into the forest, and Struts couldn’t afford to lose them. As he pounded up the trail with hell at his heels, he only hoped they’d given the second group the time to do their work.

  He checked his rifle’s indicator as he ran. Down to one round. He ditched the old one, jacked a new one into place, and looked for his contact. Twenty yards ahead he saw one of the prince’s men signaling to him from behind a tree. He’d reached station one. The warrior held his had about knee high on the trunk, pointing. The rest of his body was hidden behind a particularly thick growth of a lush green vine that covered the bottom half of the trees on both sides of the path. Struts could hear pursuit close behind as he stepped around the left side tree and took up position about twenty yards beyond the marker.

  Struts didn’t have time to get nervous as he saw four lizard men sprinting up the path trailed my two Machai. “Come and get me ladies,” he called, triggering off a shot over their heads. The reptiles never broke stride. One second they were galloping towards Struts hissing, the next second their legless torsos tumbled forward spurting blood. They had used one of the oldest tricks in the booby trap book: a snap wire. Monomolecular wire, so thin as to be invisible, but sharper than a surgeon’s scalpel, had been stretched knee high across the path. Momentum had carried the victims into the wire. slicing through hide, muscle, and bone easier than a wire through cheese. Three had been taken out, but the fourth vaulted the wire. He was an easy shot for Struts, who stretched him lifeless on the forest floor. He whooped in triumph, and took off down the predetermined forest path. Not a moment too soon. One of the trees behind him was shattered by a blaster bolt, sending a shower of splinters over the bodies of the fallen reptiles.

  The Machai sentries, each wearing a scanner helmet with a dark visor, pulled up short. The lizard men, like a pack of hungry dogs, kept right on running. They peered here and there, looking for signs.

  “Are you reading them?”

  “I’m not registering anything. They’ve vanished off our scopes. I’m reading the lizards, but no human electrical traces. This is very suspicious.”

  “Proceed with caution.” The leader motioned the group forward. The men slowed to a walk, searching the ground for any possible snap wires. If they’d been running, they would have been in the clear. They were so keyed in to the ground they never saw the massive log trap swinging down from the side of the trail. Those not smashed to jelly by the impact were impaled on the bamboo stakes protruding from the logs. Two were brained, one had his ribs caved in, and a fourth was skewered through the kidneys. He swung back across the trail, shrieking.

  Struts had pulled the log trap trigger rope and kept on running. He knew, however, what had confounded the sensor helmets. The prince had given him the clue the night before.

  “There is a predator who stalks these forests.” the prince had told him. “Very big, very fierce. This beast stalks not with his eyes, but with the pores along his snout. These pores can sense the very beating of a man’s heart. To kill him, the Libera have learned which jungle vines can absorb a man’s heart beats. We can hide behind these vines, masking ourselves from his sight, and lead him straight into our hunter’s arrows. In just that way we will lure these Machai to their doom. Their third eye will not save them.” The Prince had fixed him with a determined glare. “This is our jungle, you see.”

  And so the chase continued, with the hunters gradually realizing they were the hunted. Struts had rejoined the attack group while the second group, who had not attacked the wall, went ahead preparing traps. Periodically they would stop and yell to draw fire. Sometimes Struts would cap off rounds or shoot one of the Machai to keep them following. Sometimes they would even split into two groups and lead their pursuers in two different directions. The lizard men needed no motivation. They kept coming regardless. There were other snap wires, some set low, and they severed legs; some were set high, and they sent heads rolling in the dust. Some of the deadfalls missed their mark, but Struts was please by the way the pongee stick pits netted lizard men. Then, of course, there were the anti-personnel mines. Nothing like a mine to make a man step gingerly. The reptiles ran full speed into the traps; the Machai blundered into them and were blown to bits.

  The afternoon wore on, and the Machai continued to run the hellish gauntlet. They dared not return empty-handed. The Prelate would give them a death far worse then any native. Their attackers would appear out of nowhere, taunting them on. Their targeting scanners could not lock on. An interference they could not identify frustrated their efforts. Their breath came in panting gasps from inside the dark helmets, and every so often the hideous screams of one of their comrades would come floating through the trees as he met an awful fate. Their numbers were whittled down until there were finally only three Machai blundering terrified along the forest floor. Decimus, the new Centurion, was one of them, and he noticed something even more disquieting: the lizard men had melted away. They could not have all been killed. They had deserted their human masters. They came to a stop, wide eyed and gasping for breath.

  One of them, Gaius, ripped his helmet off in frustration. “The damned thing doesn’t work!” he cried, his panic rising. “Where are they? Why can’t we see them?” His voice rose to a scream as his nerve broke. “Where are you?” he howled, his cries echoing through the forest. “Please! Don’t kill me.” he whimpered falling to his knees. Decimus clubbed him with his rifle butt in disgust, silencing him.

  “Keep yourself together,” he warned the other.

  Abruptly, a shot rang out. The jungle birds screamed for a moment before falling silent. His companion fell over sideways without a word. A jacketless round from Struts McCaskey’s rifle had taken him through the left ear. Roaring, Decimus triggered his laser rifle on full automatic, energy blast after energy blast smashing the jungle around him to splinters and pulp. He created an incredible mess and started a small forest fire, but eventually the only thing that could be heard were his last cries and the spinning of the empty cylinder.

 
As the smoke cleared, dozens of new eyes, black and merciless, met his own. He was ringed by the men of Asilyo, who had appeared silent and ghostlike out of the forest gloom. He dropped his laser rifle to the ground and held up his hands in surrender. “Bind him,” snapped Prince Nahuatl. The Machai leader was forced to his knees. The prince’s face wore a dark expression that Struts had never seen before. “You say nothing of this to your capitán, understand?” he warned. McCaskey kept his mouth shut and nodded. Nahuatl squatted in front of Decimus, fixing him with a basilisk gaze.

  “Who said you could come into my jungle, gringo?” he asked. There was a silence that seemed to stretch for ages. Then the prince spun behind his captive, grasping him firmly by the hair. Decimus began to squeal as he heard a knife drawn. The squeal turned to a groan as Nahuatl drew the knife’s edge slowly and deliberately across the Machai’s forehead just below the hairline. The groan turned to a howl of agony as the prince pulled the severed hair backwards, tearing the scalp from his skull and leaving a gory red canyon across the top of his foe’s head.

  He stood and kicked Decimus to his face in the leaves, bearing his bloody prize to an ashen-faced Struts. The prince shook his head.

  “He did not bear his pain well.”

  Chapter 22

  The Prelate holstered his blaster and stepped back over the body of Acrisius. “That should do nicely.” Decimus and his pursuit party had left only minutes before. He wheeled and grasped the nearest soldier by the tunic. “Who the devil are you?”

  “Optio Caius, milord,” the man stammered.

  “Optio, we have this rabble on the run now, but their commander is still out there. I want him. How many men are left to defend the city?”

  “We have about twenty still doing the final load in at the cargo shuttle, sir. That leaves about sixty effectives, plus the lizards.”

  “The safety of the Emperor’s prize is still paramount, and I must make sure the doctor is on board the shuttle with all his research. That Armada rabble must never be allowed to come near us, do you hear?”

  “Aye, milord!”

  “Find all the remaining Optios and organize a defense of the main gate. Stand your ground and hold the enemy here until I signal our departure.”

  “My life for the Emperor, my soul for the Dark Master!” cried Caius.

  “Even so!” The Prelate flared his cloak again and stalked down the avenue.

  Bainbridge and Hardesty held their positions beyond the city wall and waited for the dust and debris to settle. They coordinated with their three remaining Alphas.

  “Driveway. Guerrero. Franks. Are your fire teams ready?”

  “Aye, sir!” said Driveway. “We’ve each got about ten men, Bandits and Asilyan bowmen combined.”

  “We advance as soon as the first shells start to fall. We were able to draw off the majority, but plan for stiff resistance from any they’ve got left. This city was constructed as a maze of interlocking streets and avenues to confuse and confound any invader, so we could be in for a street-to-street dogfight. Watch the rooftops and make sure those Indians know what to do.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Sergeant, how are we on ordinance?”

  “We’ve got about fifteen rounds of high explosive and armor piercing each, plus some white phosphorous.”

  “No sense in taking any home with us. Lay it all down.” He addressed the group. “When the last round falls, Hardesty and I will follow with the mortar crews, who will become the security team. With any luck, McCaskey and the Prince will be able to join us before all the fun’s over. Got it?” Everybody had it.

  About twenty minutes later, Bainbridge blew the main gate to splinters using all their remaining shaped charges. The ancient barrier went up an a spectacular roar, sending massive girders, crossbeams, and iron rivets flying. The echo had barely died away before high explosive shells began raining down on any defenders still left inside.

  Driveway signaled the fire team advance, and the assault force moved through the smoke and debris of the blast zone. They encountered no returning fire; in fact, the entryway seemed deserted. “I smell an ambush,” he said, “Stay frosty.”

  Without a word, the three fire teams fanned out under the covering mortar fire and advanced, their weapons at the ready. Private Numbnuts was a member of Team Driveway, and under the spell of his combat-induced adrenaline flow, he was transformed. All dullness and confusion was gone from his eyes. He moved with the sure handed confidence of a veteran who had been here a hundred times before and knew no fear. Josh Jennings flanked him and five Asilyan bowmen followed close with their bows nocked. Two of them scanned the roofline, searching out any counter attack from above.

  All the teams made sure to stay at least fifty feet back to avoid being hit by shrapnel. The noise was deafening and continuous as the falling rounds pulverized building after building along the arc of their advance. The enemy waited, as Driveway knew they would, for the last missile to fall.

  The men of the Stellar Armada moved through the maze of streets searching for foes. They found those who had been slow to retreat lying in pieces. It wasn’t until Team Driveway had turned down a narrow avenue that they encountered Machai defenders and opened fire. They ducked inside doorways for cover as energy bursts began flying all around them. Jennings, Driveway, and Numbnuts returned fire in controlled bursts, dropping the Machai front ranks and giving the Asilyans in the rear, one of whom was incinerated by an energy blast, time enough to launch a flurry of bodkin-tipped arrows into the enemy soldiers massed further down the avenue. The arrows weren’t as flashy and didn’t make as much noise as the modern weapons, but many found their mark, punching through the Machai body armor as easily as they punched through medieval plate armor in centuries past.

  The men of Team Driveway closed with the Machai before they had a chance to regroup, and the narrow street was filled with the desperate sounds of close quarters fighting: the thud of rifle butts being driven into heads and torsos, the meaty thwacks of obsidian clubs being brought to bear, and the helpless groans of bayonets being driven into unprotected stomachs.

  Though Driveway was an experienced warrior and trained killer, his lethal prowess was outshone by the virtuosity of Private Numbnuts. His lanky form weaved in and out of the melee with a dancer’s grace, dodging and ducking, firing and slashing, dealing out death with a careless elegance that knew no fear and no hesitation. He seemed to know when a shot rushed towards him or when a blow was coming from behind, and he avoided them all with preternatural speed and agility. The enemy could not lay a hand on him, nor could they seem to get out of his way. When the smoke had cleared and the last shots had rang out, Numbnuts stood atop a pile of bodies, streaked in blood but otherwise unconcerned.

  Driveway tapped his earpiece and spoke for a few moments. Then he gave instructions to his remaining men. He was down to three bowmen, and Josh Jennings had a nasty slash on his left forearm. They bound the arm with some cloth from the uniform of a dead Machai and struck out in a northeasterly direction. “The captain says they’re giving ground. He says they’re retreating north and east, towards some sort of HQ near the river gate. Probably a warehouse district of some kind. We’re to keep pushing and try for a rendezvous.” He checked his directional indicator. “Where did you learn to fight like that, Numbnuts?” he asked. The lanky farm boy just shrugged. After a few moments to gulp water from their canteens, Team Driveway moved out.

  Pericu was indeed constructed as a maze, and despite always trying to move north and east, the team was frustrated by more than one wrong turn or dead end. Many of the roofs had fallen in ages ago, and only the dead shells of adobe walls remained. Driveway glimpsed the remains of rude furniture, pottery, and more than a few bones lying in some of the houses they passed.

  Twice more the Machai tried to bushwhack them. The first time the Marines beat them back with no casualties; the second time they were more clever. As Team Driveway reached the end of yet another narrow street, a gre
nade rolled around the corner and into their midst. Everyone yelled and made to leap clear except Numbnuts. Hardly glancing at what he was doing, Numbnuts kicked the grenade into a side doorway, where it detonated with a fearsome blast. Driveway and Jennings returned fire, killing the man who’d thrown the grenade and driving the ambushers back up the street.

  After a time the team finally broke out of the maze onto a broader avenue. Their noses told them the river was near, and they heard the sounds of fighting directly ahead.

  The place must have been a warehouse district at one time, and this was where the Machai had chosen to make their stand. The central avenue ran downhill to a long, low building made of stone. The avenue branched around the building on both sides, and Driveway could see the massive city wall rising on the right and curving around. Dominating the wall was another giant gate, this one leading to the river side docks. The Machai were sending round after round of small arms energy fire at the buildings across the street from the warehouse. Driveway saw Sergeant Hardesty’s face appear in a doorway for a moment, beckoning them inside.

  Everybody in the room was sitting with their backs to the wall. Captain Bainbridge was down, and not going anywhere. His left knee was bound up in a splint, and his left arm hung in a makeshift sling. Andy Hasinski and Penny Peabody tended his wounds. He was awake, but his pallor revealed the pain he was in.

  Hardesty had taken charge. “We think there’s an escape shuttle somewhere beyond the warehouse. There’s probably a Machai ship in orbit. We’ve got to take that position before they can evacuate.”

  “How many are over there? Can we rush them?” asked Driveway.

  “Well,” drawled Hardesty, “if you absolutely, positively want to get shot, I invite you to try. Otherwise, I suggest we flank them. You have five minutes to get your teams ready. Then I’m sending Team Driveway around the right side and Team Guererro around the left. We’ll lay down smoke grenades and covering fire to give you some protection.”