Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2) (60 page)

You need a tank...
“Shut up, you're not helping,” he whispered to himself. Could he make it to the beach? If he did, there was no real advantage there, except that he'd be able to see them coming. The water was of no help, they could probably swim better than he could. An unobstructed field of fire was the only upside... he just hoped the charged particle blaster was substantial enough to take one down. Five. He'd have to take five down. He didn't think much of his odds.

■ ■ ■

“Missy!” shouted Nevin, holding up the radio mic, “Hutthorn's calling...”

Lisa paused and the dog stopped, standing in the gentle surf as it rolled in, cooling his feet. He took advantage of the short respite to lap up some water. “What does he want?” she shouted back.

“The fisherman's place is about another two or three miles from here. He says he hasn't seen your brother. He must've left the beach and gone inland somewhere.”

“
Son of a bitch...”

“
He still walking here,” said Fritz, sitting in the cool water.

“
You're sure?” asked Lisa. “We haven't missed him?”

He blinked, not sure which question to answer first. “Not missed.”

“We gotta keep going,” she called back, trusting the dog's judgment.

Nevin nodded and spoke into the mic before moving the skimmer forward again. “He says they have a Gogol pilot though.”

Lisa looked over her shoulder, “Not interested in him, just my brother.”

Corporal Dunnom touched her elbow, “The Gogol pilot may have seen your brother...”

Lisa sighed, “Fine, whatever... c'mon Fritz.” The Shepherd trotted off with Lisa close behind.

The Corporal signaled to Nevin to radio Hutthorn back, then notified the Invader they would be needed for a prisoner pickup. “Don't worry, Ms. Steele, we'll find him,” he said, catching up.

“Please, no platitudes, Corporal. You know as well as I do, things don't look good...” She cleared her throat, her eyes welling up, “But if anyone can find him, Fritz can.”

■ ■ ■

The Volkens were having as much trouble seeing their prey in the splintered light and shadow as he did seeing them, but they had picked up his scent, and now they were tracking him. As they got closer, their eyes picked up the heat signatures of his footprints, places where his hand touched a tree, where he brushed up against the leaves of a bush. He would not be able to hide from them. They were nearly infallible hunters... the closer they got, the more vivid the heat signatures. Their eyes didn't work that way in open sunlight, but here in the forest the trail was unmistakable. The prey was winding its way through the trees, forcing them to slow down to navigate their bulky frames through the narrow clusters of timber. They caught a flash of red as his body passed between the trees, running all-out, spiking their chase and kill reflex. They could now smell him without having to resort to tracking his trail. Flooded with intense brain-induced stimulants, barking, growling, snarling, they would run their prey down. Their short huffing howls were filled with wild enthusiasm, exciting one another to new heights of hunting euphoria. They thundered through the forest, bouncing off trees they could not weave past, ignoring the impacts, accelerating...  

■ ■ ■

His body functioning on pure adrenalin, Steele released his arm from the sling to help him run better, oblivious to the pain. Powerful adrenalin was pumping raw energy throughout his entire body like high octane fuel, supercharging his muscles. Ignoring the burn and approaching fatigue he pounded across the turf well beyond his normal physical limits. His mind was sharp and clear, the world reduced to slow motion, the wind whipping past him, driven forward by the relentless killing machines behind him gaining with every step. Like some nightmare that leaves the dreamer running in slow motion, legs made of lead, unable to run fast enough to escape a relentless pursuer, he wished for wings.

■ ■ ■

“VOLKENS!”
screamed Lisa, hearing the howls,
“Watch the trees!”

“
What's a Volken..?” asked Corporal Dunnom.

“
Four-legged, evil, demon werewolves from hell..!” she said, checking her carbine.

Jack burst from the tree line at a full-out run, like a wide receiver heading for the end zone... Absolutely, lit-on-fire, levitating off the ground, flying. “Oh my God,
it's Jack!” s
he yelled. She brought the weapon and the sight up to bear as she ran forward, followed by the Corporal and his squad of Marines.

Jack was running blindly, his brain on adrenalin overload. He hadn't seen them and her screams to him were unsuccessful in turning him.

When the Volkens cleared the tree line, the underbrush literally exploded outward, a shower of branches and leaves fluttering through the air as they rampaged through like a runaway train. Before Lisa could even think to respond, Fritz launched like a rocket, fearlessly heading straight for the monsters that were easily ten times his size.

“
Fritz, NO!”
she screamed,
“NOOOO!”

Corporal Dunnom broadened his stance, flipping off his carbine's safety.
“Marines! COVERING FIRE!”

“
Don't hit Fritz!”

Her heart pounding in her chest, Lisa sighted in on the Volken closing in on Jack and squeezed when the reticule lit him up, the gun vibrating on full auto in her hands, stitching the animal down the entire length of his body, rolling him at a full run, his body crashing in a wild tumble.

Fritz screamed in on their flank, launching himself through the air, landing on the back of the closest animal he could reach, sinking his teeth in the neck, with a snarl of his own, tearing its flesh open, springing off at they rolled, sprinting off after another.

The howls, cries and fury attracted more Volkens and they poured from the forest, filled with the hunting frenzy, some, more than willing to cannibalize their own. The Marines were firing furiously, some of the larger animals so filled with their own stimulants, they were the fighting dead, their bodies riddled, nearly bloodless before they finally fell without an ability to get back up.

“Reloading! Reloading!”

“
I'm out, cover me!”

“
Left flank! Watch the left flank!”

The machine gunner's barrel was glowing red...

“Where's Jack?” called Lisa. “Where's Jack? Where'd he go? I lost him...” She sighted in on another animal at a full charge and unloaded an entire magazine before it nosed over, rolling headlong in the sand.
“Reloading...!”

■ ■ ■

Moving up the beach to pick up the Gogol prisoner as requested, the Invader slid silently overhead, twenty feet off the surface of the blood-stained sand, Volkens pouring out of the tree line. Not having any communications with the ground team other than the call for the prisoner pickup, Lieutenant Maria Arroyo was stunned at what she saw, the line of Marines fighting against waves of massive wolf-like creatures, the beach crisscrossed with laser and charged particle weapons fire. Quickly activating the Invader's weapons, she flipped off the safeties and cut loose with the chin turret's twin boron autocannons, swinging their fire along the tree line, the rapid
zwug, zwug, zwug, zwug,
pulverizing everything in its path to a nearly molecular level, vaporizing trees and foliage, Volkens becoming nothing more than a pinkish-red mist floating in the air. After clearing several acres of forest and nearly a hundred Volkens, the smoking ground yielded no more movement.

■ ■ ■

The adrenalin had burned him out and exhausted its supply. Steele lay on the ground gasping for air, his limbs made of lead, shaking, exhausted, his lungs searing with pain, dully aware of the fury of the fight going on around the beach. He lay crumpled on the sand, his mind reeling, working to comprehend what stood before him, covered in blood, fangs bared, tongue lolling, a spike of fear running cold up his back, but there was no more high-octane left, he was on empty. He was done. This was it.

“
Jack...”

“
Fritz?” he panted, a spark of recognition, “where'd you come from...”

The dog whirled, standing over his friend, snarling, his hair hackled, a ridge down the middle of his back, his face and chest matted with Volken blood, facing down an angry, wounded beast, advancing slowly, painfully, stumbling its mass to face the fearless Shepherd who refused to let him pass. Fritz opened his mouth wide gurgling a snarl, his teeth clacking.

The Volken swiped, his claws extended, Fritz dipped underneath and danced to the side, moving back to block it's path, preventing access to his friend, clacking his teeth in the Volken's face.

Jack fumbled with the snap of his shoulder holster, his uncoordinated wooden fingers fighting his commands.
Dammit!
The Volken swiped again, stepping in, connecting with Fritz, batting him out of the way like a rag doll, the Shepherd hit the ground with a thud, rolling across the sand, bloody red stripes across his ribcage.

The 1911 slid heavily out of the shoulder holster and Jack saw Fritz get up slowly out of the corner of his eye. The Volken stepped over the feet of his long sought-after prey, shadowing his body, preparing to claim the prize he'd hunted and hungered for. Fritz snarled as he gathered himself, blood running out of the gashes across his ribs, steadying his footing, preparing to re-engage the Volken, clacking his teeth. He would defend Jack as long as he drew breath...

The Volken paused and glanced at the dog, considering him with one good eye, scrutinizing him, pink foaming drool dripping from his mouth and nose. Steele tucked his elbow into his side for support and angled the 1911's muzzle upward, his muscles unsteady, fatigued. His hand shook. When he clicked the safety off, the Volken looked back, disregarding the dog, locking eyes with the man, his reward. Time seemed to slow as Steele pulled the trigger, the first charged particle round entering under the animal's chin, exiting through the top of his muzzle, bone exploding outward. Steele squeezed several more times, not counting, a spray of rounds blowing the skull apart like a watermelon. The Volken toppled over heavily, a great open cranial cavity where the brain used to be, blood slopping across the sand. The 1911 flopped to his stomach still clutched limply in a hand unable to support it any longer.

Fritz lay down next to Jack, resting his head on his human's shoulder.

“You OK, Fritz?”

“
Need nap.”

“
Me too, kiddo. Me too...” the clouds in the sky began to blur.

■ ■ ■

“They're over here!” hollered Hutthorn, waving,
“Over here!”
Approaching from the old fisherman's place further south on the beach, he coasted his skimmer to a stop, throwing off his harness and hopping down to the sand near the prostrate duo, greeted by the gruesome spectacle of the mostly-headless Volken. His son stood in his seat, studying the tree line with scanners, adjusting the zoom for a better view.

The Invader crabbed sideways across the beach, simultaneously keeping the chin turret sweeping the forest edge for any signs of additional Volkens. It paralleled the movements of Lisa and the Marines as they pounded across the sand. Any additional monsters would have to make it past the ship's twin boron autocannons to get to the ground team, an extreme unlikelihood.

A mournful wail carried across the beach from somewhere in the forest, answered by another much farther away. Crouching on the sand next to the unconscious pilot and dog, Hutthorn glanced up at his son still standing in the vehicle, “What do you see, boy?”

“
Nothing, Pop. Those are a long way off...”

“
You know how fast they travel, keep watching. How's our passenger doing?”

His son glanced over at the Gogol pilot strapped to the rollbar of the neighbor's skimmer. “Same as when we left.”

Carrying less gear and weight than the Marines, Lisa made it first, dropping into a slide like Jack was home plate, setting her carbine alongside her legs. She forced herself not to look at the gore of the Volken laying off to one side, the sand thick with the animal's blood. “Jack,
Jack...”
she urged,
“Fritz?” The dog's eyes fluttered open momentarily, recognizing her face, his tail thumped against the sand weakly. But Jack was unresponsive.

“
He looks extremely dehydrated,” commented Hutthorn, lifting the pilot's eyelids peering into his eyes. “Hmm, one's not real, huh? Well, he needs fluids.” The farmer straightened, looking up at Nevin's skimmer as it coasted to a stop. “Hey Nevie, you got any of your wife's wonderfully delicious, magic juice?”

“
Sure do...”

■ ■ ■

“Keep sipping,” prodded Lisa, “believe me, it will make a difference.”