“Moving away from us, toward the storage areas?”
Torrance shakes his head. “No, sir. Stationary. Vitals indicate nonhuman.”
“Look before you kill, men, but we’re going in san-bot, got me?” March glances at all our faces, making sure we understand.
Though the slang is foreign to me, I get the gist. He means we’re cleaning this place out; no Morgut gets away, no quarter granted. I have no problem with that. It’s not like they’ve ever shown our people mercy. Hatred is new to me, but a surge of it spikes through me, considering the monsters who don’t even respect us enough to consider us a worthy foe. We’re not an enemy to them; we’re food.
“They’re clustered fairly close,” Torrance says. “I think I can get near enough to soften them up with a grenade if you lot can cover my return.”
We don’t know much about the exact speed of incapacitation. They’ll most likely be weakened, but they’ll give chase. It’s a risk.
March considers the question for a moment. “Are you fast?”
“I can go a kilometer in two minutes, forty seconds.”
Damn. His record speed aside, one man can move quicker through these halls than the whole team. It’s a baiting maneuver, drawing the enemy into your terrain to close the trap. That sounds like a good idea to me because once the laser fire commences, there will be no hiding our location from the rest of the monsters.
Apparently March has the same thought because he says, “Then we need to pick our spot, somewhere we can readily defend.”
That’s when I realize this won’t be hide-and-seek like Emry. It’s going to be a great big bloody free-for-all, and most likely we won’t all walk away.
Another soldier says, “There’s a dead end around the corner. Looks like it leads to a small storage area, no life signs.”
“Then that’s where we’re headed.” March leads the way while Torrance heads off to bring us some Morgut to play with.
On their own, the men draw their weapons. The quiet click announces they’re powering up. I fall in and do the same. Since I’m small, I assume a position near the front. Others will be able to shoot over me. On either side of me stand burly clansmen, shorter than the rest. They’ll go hand-to-hand to protect me, if necessary.
The boom tells us that Torrance has delivered his invitation. Impossibly quick footfalls pound down the hall toward us. The scout shouts, “Two died instantly, three on me, and I’m coming in hot!”
As he bursts around the corner, I raise my weapon. Red targeting dots skim along the dark wall, making patterns that almost form into lines. Around me, nobody speaks. Total focus now, total concentration. This is a different kind of combat, something I’ve never experienced before—skilled, planned, professional.
Today, I learn what it means to be a soldier.
CHAPTER 39
The clatter of spiky, jointed limbs gives me the creeps. They’re clicking toward us fast. I tense, fingers sweaty on the pistol. Logically, I know we’ll be fine this time. We outnumber them. We chose our ground carefully, so we have a long corridor between them and us, lots of firing room.
By the stench of the ichor, some of them are wounded. I confirm that with a glance as the Morgut round the corner; one is missing a forelimb. Saliva runs in yellow rivulets from their fangs. They have our scent now, and they want more. As we open fire, Torrance dives between Drake’s legs and rolls to his feet, weapon in hand.
The corridor becomes a wilderness of laser fire, and the monsters keen at the searing of their flesh. It bubbles and blackens, adding to the stink. I lose track of whose shots hit where. The lead beast falters, its chest laid open. Blood spatters the walls and slicks the floor beneath our feet.
At last it falls, but the other two skitter over the top of the body, urged on by fury and hunger. Despite my hatred, such butchery bothers me, but I tell myself they started it. They’re inside one of our settlements, and they didn’t come to talk.
My pistol reaches the hot point, so I have to fall back. Another soldier takes my place on the front line, his weapon sparking in the dark. The Morgut bodies jerk with each hit, more burning flesh, and another one drops.
There’s only one left, and it’s nearly on us, but it’s outnumbered and wounded. It has assimilated the threat we pose, so it turns, far too late, and attempts to flee. No quarter. Our squad continues to fire, burning a hole its back. Its entrails spill out, dangling as it tries to run. From us, as though we’re the monsters. The thing emits a high-frequency whine as it dies, and the noise reminds me of a crying child.
“Rest up,” March says. “We’ll have more incoming soon.”
I daresay he’s right. While my pistol cools down, I focus on breathing through my mouth. It cuts down on the smell while I rummage in my pack for the dry-acid chem-burner Vel used on Ithiss-Tor. Our packs are outfitted with it; makes for efficient cleanup.
There, got it.
“Stay back,” I warn.
The powder looks so harmless, but when I sprinkle it on the corpses, they immediately begin to smoke, drying inward into a fine gray ash. Instant decomposition. It’ll make it easier for the san-bots, less trauma for the humans we save. On a more practical note, it helps with the slickness of the spilled blood. If we’re fighting in here again, we need better traction.
“Let me scout ahead, sir.” Torrance is already chafing.
March considers for a moment, then nods. “Be careful.”