Resistance (4 page)

The VTOL's engines were tilted upward for takeoff, and as the pilot fed them more fuel, the plane began to shake with greater intensity. Then, as the landing gear parted company with the ground and snowflakes blew in through the side doors, Hale caught a glimpse of the meager surface base as the
Boop
rose. But not his
last
glimpse, he hoped, as the engines tilted forward and the plane pulled itself north with a lurch.

Bear Butte was about 120 miles away, so given the VTOL's top speed of 300 miles per hour, Hale expected to be boots on the ground in about half an hour. With a low ceiling and poor visibility the
Boop
was fairly safe from above, but the need to fly low over an area the Chimera had already begun to infiltrate meant the ship would be vulnerable to ground fire. It was a chance they'd have to take, since there was no other way for them to reach the butte quickly enough to beat the enemy to the punch.

As it was, he hoped they weren't already too late.

Hale peered across the center aisle to where Captain Nash was sitting, saw the other man's eye close in response to an involuntary tic, and hoped none of the men would notice. The VTOL shuddered as a crosswind hit
the fuselage, the port door gunner wrapped a long scarf around his neck, and the seconds ticked away. The mission clock was running.

It was clear that Hale didn't expect much from him. In a way that was better, since it meant he wouldn't need the type of supervision Nash couldn't provide.

Rather than dwell on his own lack of military expertise, the scientist chose to focus his thoughts on the mission. They were going to secure technology that would help the United States win the war.

And if they found what they expected to find, it wasn't just
any
technology. Judging from what they could see of the downed craft, they hoped to scavenge what SRPA called “alpha artifacts,” Chimeran equipment that would help the scientists in New Mexico unravel the secrets of nuclear fission, perhaps even fusion, thereby paving the way toward unbelievably powerful new weapons.

Such were Nash's thoughts when he was startled out of his reverie by an unfamiliar voice that spoke to him via the plug in his ear.

“This is the pilot speaking … We're five from dirt. Be sure to take everything with you, the obvious exceptions being women of ill repute, and any cases of Schlitz beer which may happen to be on board.”

The announcement elicited laughter, a few catcalls, and some loud whistles, until Kawecki and Alvarez reined in their men, then ran through the checklist to make sure they were combat-ready. Having found everything to their liking, they reported to Hale.

“The first squad is ready, sir,” Kawecki said crisply.

“Ditto Squad Two,” Alvarez reported.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Hale replied. “Let's lock and load.”

A series of clacking, clicking, and hissing sounds followed Hale's order as a variety of human and Chimeran weapons were readied for combat. They had been doled out to take advantage of each individual's skills and the team's need to cope with a wide variety of potential adversaries.

That thought weighed upon Nash as he checked the carbine he had propped, muzzle up, between his knees. Would he have to fire it? Would he even remember how? There hadn't been time for him to receive anything more than the most basic training. He lifted the weapon, worked a round into the chamber, but left the safety on as he put it down again.

Nash peered across the aisle at Hale, and thought he saw an almost imperceptible nod, the beginning of what could have been a smile. It might have been taken as a sign of condescension, but Nash didn't think it was meant that way. The other officer didn't seem to work like that. So he responded with a boyish grin.

Suddenly, for the first time, Nash felt like a member of the team. But his blood ran cold when he heard the pilot's next words.

“Uh-oh, it looks like the stinks got here first! The top of the butte is swarming with Hybrids.”

Nash released his harness and came up off his seat without really thinking about it. As the VTOL entered a wide sweeping turn, the starboard door gunner made room and Nash stuck his face into the frigid slipstream.

He could see the snow-covered butte, the point where the aircraft had slammed into the rocky slope, and the large group of Chimera rappelling down to it as quickly as they could, given the conditions. The shuttle had come to rest in a spot that offered no easy access point. There was no sign of whatever aircraft had delivered
them to the top of the butte, but it seemed safe to assume they had one on call.

“Put us on the ground directly below the wreck,” Nash instructed, and he was surprised by the certainty in his own voice. “Next to that cluster of trees.”

Hale peered over Nash's shoulder and nodded. The VTOL couldn't land on top of the butte, and it couldn't land on an incline, so the instructions made perfect sense. The problem being that the Chimera not only had the advantage of arriving first, but they currently held the high ground, which would allow them to fire down on the Sentinels with near impunity.

But it couldn't be helped, Nash realized, as the Chimera opened fire on the VTOL. They sent long strings of tracers up in the attempt to find the aircraft and bring it down.

Meanwhile, the pilot was dropping toward the landing site. Projectiles began to
ping
and
bang
off the fuselage as the VTOL's engines went vertical and it fell into place. All of the Sentinels had released themselves from their harnesses by that time—and hurried to disembark the moment they felt the landing gear hit solid ground. Kawecki was there to urge them on. “What the hell are you waiting for?” the NCO bellowed. “A frigging
invitation?
Let's get off this bucket of bolts and find some cover.”

Nash was about to follow the rest of the team out onto the frozen landscape when he suddenly realized that he couldn't move. His legs knew what they
should
be doing, but it didn't matter. They refused to obey his commands.

He watched helplessly as the men just ignored him and passed him by. As the last one exited, a Chimeran projectile slammed through the VTOL's skin and passed within an inch of Nash's nose. That scared him even
more, enough to start his feet moving, and get him out the door.

But not before he had grabbed a heavy duffel and thrust it out ahead of him.

Hale was one of the first troops through the door. He crouched and took a quick look around as projectiles kicked up geysers of dirt around him. Spotting a cluster of trees, he gestured to the men. “Over there!” he shouted, pointing to the tightly bunched evergreens. “Take cover!”

One member of the team, a private named Lang, took a hit, and was half carried, half dragged into the relative safety of the trees. A medic immediately went to work on a leg wound that had already begun to heal.

Hale was about to make a dash for the trees when he saw Nash throw a bag out of the VTOL's cargo compartment. Instead of being one of the first off the plane Nash was the last to leave, and Hale swore angrily as he ran over to grab the heavy bag and escort his commanding officer to the cluster of trees.

Engines roared, and the
Boop's
propellers created a momentary blizzard as the ship lifted off.

“Let me know when the fun is over,” the pilot said in his ear, “and I'll come back to get you.” Then with a tilt of its engines, the VTOL was gone.

Hale and Nash finished their sprint to the trees. By then the rest of the team was busy setting up defensive positions.

“What's in this thing, anyway?” Hale demanded, dropping the bag next to Nash. “A load of rocks?”

He didn't bother with the honorific “sir,” but Nash didn't seem to notice. Rather than correct Hale, he chose to answer the question. “Tools,” he replied. “Chimeran tools. If we find something valuable we'll have to disconnect
whatever it is from the shuttle, and as quickly as we can.”

That made sense, Hale thought, and he felt stupid for asking, but pushed the thought aside and assessed the situation.

The wreck was about eight hundred feet above them. The Chimera were damned near on top of it, and pretty well in charge. There was a loud
crack
as a large-caliber projectile hit the tree Hale was standing next to, spraying him with splinters of wood and showering him with snow. “Sergeant Kawecki … Sergeant Alvarez,” Hale said, using the radio now. “Let's put those Fareyes to work. Or do you
like
being shot at?”

That produced some chuckles, and the team's best marksmen went to work. Within moments the enemy barrage was being countered by the steady
crack, crack, crack
of outgoing sniper fire.

Hale went forward to get a better look at the butte, and Nash followed. Once there Hale discovered a long line of boulders that marked the bottom of a scree-covered slope and offered good concealment. Bringing his binoculars up to his eyes, he followed the slope up to the wreck and its debris field. Already half a dozen dead Chimera lay sprawled on the bloodied snow. The surviving Hybrids had taken cover by then, but every now and then one of them would pop up to take a pot shot at the humans, and most paid a high price for their audacity.

“So,” Nash said, from his position next to Hale's right elbow. “You have experience at this sort of thing … What do you think we should do?”

Hale bristled at the question because Nash was wearing the railroad tracks, and it was tempting to force him to lead. But that would be suicide, and there were the men to think of, not to mention the mission, so he chose his words with care.

“I don't think we have much choice,” he said deliberately. “It looks like we'll have to fight our way uphill. It won't be easy though—and we're going to take a lot of casualties.”

Nash flinched as a stray projectile hit one of the rocks and made a zinging sound as it whipped past his ear.

“You know best of course,” he said, lowering his own binoculars. “But there might be another way.”

“Really?” Hale said sarcastically. “And what would that be?”

Nash's eye twiched spastically and he battled to keep his voice steady.

“You've seen the wreck, Lieutenant … It's sitting on a bed of snow-covered scree. The snow is slippery, as are all those chunks of loose granite, which could work in our favor. What if you had the men fire those LAARK things at a point immediately
below
the wreck? That could precipitate a landslide which would bring the remains of the shuttle at least halfway down the slope.”

Hale just stared at him. There was a moment of silence, broken only by the intermittent
crack
of a sniper rifle—and the occasional
ping
of an incoming projectile. He wrestled with the idea for a full five seconds. “It seems like a long shot, sir,” he said tentatively, “but it's worth a try.”

Nash smiled weakly as another involuntary muscle contraction caused him to wink.
I wish he'd stop that
, Hale thought.

“Good … I'm glad you think so.”

The team was equipped with two L209 LAARK rocket launchers. It took the better part of ten minutes to collect the soldiers who were in possession of the weapons, position them at the foot of the slide area, and give them their instructions. It was snowing more heavily by then, which made the already misty crash site even
more difficult to see, so Hale felt a sense of urgency as he knelt between the men.

“Aim for a spot fifteen feet
below
the wreck,” he told them, “and fire on the count of three. Once the first rockets are on the way, reload quickly—and prepare to fire again. But don't do it unless I say so. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” both soldiers responded, their voices overlapping.

“Good,” Hale said. “Now acquire your targets … Tell me when you're ready.”

About ten seconds passed as both men took careful aim.

“Ready, sir,” the one on the left said, quickly echoed by the soldier to the right.

“On the count of three, then,” Hale said. “One, two, and
three.”

There was a loud
whoosh
, followed by another just a fraction of a second later, as two rockets sped uphill. Moments later they struck the slope. Twin explosions produced what sounded like a single
boom
, geysers of snow and pulverized rock shot up into the air, and Nash felt the resulting vibration through the soles of his boots.

But once the smoke cleared the scene was unchanged.

Hale glanced at Nash, saw the look of uncertainty on his face, and turned back again.

“Let's try again,” he said levelly. Both men had already reloaded. “Same spot as before—on the count of three. One, two, and
three!”

There was another stereo
whoosh
as two more rockets roared away, followed by overlapping explosions. But this time Hale heard another sound as well.

It began with a throaty rumble, followed by the
clatter
of loose rock, which increased to a muffled roar as the entire hillside began to move. And not just the hillside, but the Chimeran wreck as well, which was beginning
to edge downhill. Metal screeched, rocks exploded as additional weight bore down and pulverized them.

A reedy cheer went up from the Sentinels when their objective came down as if to meet them.

Hale lifted his glasses to watch the shuttle's progress, and was just in time to spot one of the Hybrids who had been hiding in the rocks downslope from the wreck. The creature popped up and tried to run, but seconds later it threw its hands into the air and mouthed a silent scream as it disappeared under the advancing beetle-shaped wreck. Instantly it was lost from sight altogether.

Hale turned toward Nash and saw a wide grin spread across the officer's face. Involuntarily, he grinned back.

“We need to hurry, sir,” he said quickly. “Your plan took the stinks by surprise, but it won't take them long to recover. I suggest that you board the shuttle as quickly as possible. I'll send Private Unver along to provide security and carry your tools.

“Thirty minutes, sir … That's the most I can give you … So make them count.”