On Distant Worlds: The Prologues & Colibri. Brian Gonzalez
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cloud were visible to the east; the same formation they had been following for days but now much higher on the horizon. If the Last Standers had not run into this gully it would have been only another day or two of travel to crest the Southwest Ridge.
Everything would change when they crested the Ridge, and favorably so. They would be moving constantly downhill instead of struggling with the variegated terrain they had been crossing the last two weeks. The temperature would start dropping and humidity would increase, more so with every day of travel until they hit the precipitation zone. Once they reached the permanent rains, the Enemy would be completely out of their element, struggling to keep themselves warm and fed. Reach the rains, and there was every reason to believe the Last Standers would take over the terms of the engagement and successfully fight their way onto the ice.
But there was still the gully to deal with before Jennifer and the others would get to see the thunderheads of the precipitation zone. The meeting was over between Aram and the Captain; the former researcher started unloading tools from one of the carry bags attached to the two-person yokes the team had been using since their last cart went down. The former policeman returned to explain what their strategy would be. “One way or another the Enemy is going to reach us before we finish burning across this gully, so there’s going to be a firefight. But if we just burn through and run, the Enemy’s going to be right on our asses the rest of the way and that is not an acceptable situation. Aram and I have worked out an idea that might preserve some of our head start. But it means we’ll be here for quite some hours so we’re going to go ahead and establish a defensive perimeter 200 meters down our trail and engage the Enemy there. ‘A’ Squad, let’s get that started. ‘B’ Squad, establish nutrition and rest stations, then report to Mr. Lewitt for gully-burn instructions.”
Jennifer was ‘A’ Squad, so she along with Anders and four others, including the scouts, headed down-trail with weapons and bags of equipment. Two hundred meters back the way they came Jennifer saw why the Lieutenant had chosen this spot; there were rock outcroppings for cover and to the west the ground fell away slightly, minimizing the cover the twisted grasses would offer the approaching Enemy. As they started laying wire and checking weapons, an Enemy hoot sounded, and it was not terribly far away.
Twenty minutes passed before the Enemy arrived, twenty minutes during which smoke started rising above the foliage to their rear flank, thin and gray at first but soon enough thick and dark and acrid. The smoke naturally blew directly across ‘A’ Squad’s position but there was no avoiding that. The wind blew the only way it could: inwards from the atmospheric vortices beyond the precipitation zone. It had been that way for millions of years. It would always be that way.
The first Enemy to arrive were usually aggressive first-year males instinctively seeking to establish their own troops and this time was no exception. They appeared in ones and twos where the Last Standers’ trail faded over a rise about forty meters away. There, catching sight of the human defensive emplacement, they faded into the grasses and chattered and shrieked ferociously. They were waiting, not so much for numbers as for the emotional pitch of the group to reach the boiling point that led to a charge. This would happen when they had numbers. Two of the Enemy carried sticks – whether spears or clubs Jennifer did not have time to see. Another may have had a knife. And one had definitely been carrying a rifle.
“Did you catch that?” Jennifer whispered to Captain Anders.
Anders nodded. “If he’s had it any length of time, it’ll be discharged. But we have to assume he just acquired it.”
They waited. Behind them the smoke from the gully burn thickened. It was still blowing toward their position but at least it was to their backs; the Enemy would have the smoke in their faces. ‘A’ Squad drank water and tried to stay calm. The Enemy gathered. Above them all the huge red sun clung to its one spot in the sky.
The attack began with a single Enemy shrieking and charging up the trail at them, fangs bared and waving a stick. Not one of the smarter ones. Tony dropped him with a single shot. But the sound of the gunshot, as well as the sight of one of their number dropping dead in the middle of the trail, galvanized the rest of the troop to action. With a group chatter, they charged. Maybe a dozen of them. Some came straight up the trail but others advanced parallel to the trail in the grass where they were a lot harder to see.
The Last Standers opened fire. The handful of Enemy who had chosen the trail were cut down immediately, small furry bodies cut in half by semiautomatic weapons fire or sent flying backwards the way they had come, internal organs liquefied to jelly by the single remaining pulse rifle.
There was a responding gunshot, answering the question of how long ago the armed Enemy had found or stolen the rifle. The round smacked wetly into the thick stalk of a frond-plant at the edge of their perimeter, not that far from Tony, who flinched away. Not only was the rifle active but apparently the Enemy male had some idea how to use it. As if to confirm this point, the rifle spoke again and this time the shot winged directly over the center of the emplacement, missing everything completely but in truth much better-aimed than the first.
“Take him out,” yelled Captain Anders and everyone opened fire on the rifle’s position except the two people anchoring the ends of the line; they were raking the grass with automatic fire, keeping the flanking Enemy pinned down.
The patch of grass from concealing the enemy gun flattened from a pulse gun blast to reveal a surprised-looking Enemy male, caught halfway through pumping another shell into the chamber. Ignoring the bullets ripping past him, the Enemy snarled at them, his little black eyes glittering, his sharp teeth snapping twice, and completed his reload. The rifle was of course too large for him and as he was struggling to bring it to bear a well-placed shot caught him in the hip. The Enemy spun violently and went down; the rifle went flying into the grass. Several more shots hit the prone Enemy, stitching holes along the small furry body and punching it down-trail. Sniper down. The center of the line stopped firing and over the course of the next minute so did the anchors; the first attack had been driven back.
After waiting a minute to make sure there were no late charges, Captain Anders said, “We have to retrieve that weapon.”
“It’s just one gun,” Tony pointed out.
“One gun we could use,” the Captain said. “Go get it, Tony. Take Jennifer. We’ll cover you.”
Jennifer took a moment to unclip her equipment belt; she didn’t want her water bag and spare ammo impeding her if she had to move fast. She slid a fresh clip of ammunition into her rifle and handed her half-spent clip to one of the others; it would be refilled and recycled. She met Tony at the center of the line and they moved out quickly. It would take only minutes for the surviving Enemy to regroup, and by now the slower Enemy, the older males and the stronger of the females, would be catching up to the energetic young males. The next attack would be more formidable.
Tony took point while Jennifer covered him from the standard distance; an Enemy-leap plus one meter. They moved cautiously but quickly, covering the forty meters in less than half a minute. They passed right by the body of the Enemy who had first attacked; in death, the meter-tall black and gray creatures looked small and inoffensive, just harmless animals. Jennifer averted her eyes. When they reached the area they thought the rifle had ended up they had to move off the trail and into the waist high twist-grass, any clump of which could be harboring an Enemy.
Her eyes were beginning to sting. Risking a quick glance up-trail, Jennifer saw that there were now several columns of smoke rising from the head of the trail, merging to become a thick black column drifting ominously overhead. It seemed Aram was taking no chances with the living gully.
Tony used his boots to feel around in the grass without taking his eyes off his surroundings. “Got it,” he said, and reached down into the grass. All around them but far enough away that the pair of Last Standers could not make visual contact, Enemy were starting to hoot. Tony pulled the rifle out of the foliage and gave it a quick examination. “The clip’s almost empty, but the stock’s full!” he said with satisfaction. The stock of the gun could hold three replacement clips, each packing fourteen rounds. If the Enemy had not died before exhausting the clip, he probably would have thrown the rifle away as useless