Part Two
Battle
XXIII
0000 - 1238 Hours
Ziolkowski had posted guards around the compound, then positioned himself in the middle of the quad. He'd averaged three hours of solid sleep every twenty-four hours. Yet he was not exhausted. He'd served in enough campaigns to have learned the art of sleeping in brief snatches. Leaning against his Rexer, he closed his eyes in fleeting moments, dozing, yet ready to snap awake at the least sign of enemy activity. Around midnight came the plaintive song of the creatures.
"Tooo... nel...."
"Henderson! Enderfall! I think they're headed towards the warehouse."
"I don't know, Top," came a worried voice. "There's something moving out this way, too."
It seemed the nadir of military form not to leave sentries out. But Depoy and Kitrell preyed on his mind. Ziolkowski saw no point in suffering more casualties at the listening posts now that the Florida was due in the morning. So, with the creatures prowling Sand Island, he had to decide on one more retreat.
"To hell with it. Back to the bunker, everyone!"
The guards raced back, their hands on the guide ropes that led them straight to the bunker's entrance. Ziolkowski stayed put until Enderfall shouted all were inside. Then, grabbing a rope, he dashed across the quad. He had just made out the dim light behind the bunker's blackout curtain when a loud hot chug charged the air behind him. His blouse billowed out, then clung.
He was running in space.
Stinking humid breath shot over his skin and down his back. The light from the bunker seemed to dart away like a mayfly.
Panic sucked his soul. One of the creatures had launched after him, catching him by the shirt. He knew what would happen next. He had seen it happen to others. The serpent would nod its head and he would be flicked between its teeth.
It was the Rexer that saved him. He held on to it unthinkingly, spasmodically. Added to his own stocky physique, it supplied enough weight to tear the shirt off his back.
He plummeted. He could not see the ground, only knew it was coming. No way to know when to roll to reduce the impact.
He could hear bones snap when he hit. But he felt only the beating out of air. Lights sprang out. Then pain came sweeping like a comet, unifying his broken body in a scream of agony.
0000 - 1238 Hours
Lieber and Hart had seen the terror of a million nights hanging like a huge ghastly bauble outside the bunker. When running into the bunker they'd felt the guide ropes whip violently in their hands. Something huge was trammeling them and they shouted for Ziolkowski to hurry. The dim light of the battle lantern allowed them to see the Top a second before he took flight. They yelled in dismay.
When Ziolkowski fell, they did not hesitate. They dashed forward. The creature was not aware the morsel had slipped away and was busy flipping its head in an attempt to turn the shirt into something tastier. Lieber and Hart grabbed the sergeant, ignoring his howls of anguish as they dragged him inside.
Sand exploded through the entrance, blinding the men and burying those nearest. Some of them felt death on their face and screamed.
Hamilton Hart was one of them. The scream forced from his lungs was the scream of Alaska, of the Kiltik, of all the men who had died under his command. It was about to happen again. Only this time, he would be a full participant in the death rite.
Yet even as terror crippled his mind, his body responded to the emergency. He leapt to the front of the bunker to help free the buried men. First he uncovered Lieber, then others. Two were unconscious. As they dragged Ziolkowski to the far end, he opened his eyes and moaned, "My fucking leg...."
"Looks like shit, Top."
The bunker shook again. Sand rained down through the crossworks.
"Douse the lamp!"
"Belay that!" Ziolkowski shouted. "I think they already know where we are."
This drew a peculiar twist of laughter from some of them. The sergeant had been laid next to Ace, who had become feverish after his morning in the balloon. The Japanese took one look at Ziolkowski, moaned, and fell back. Hart glanced at them.
"I think they're all out there."
"How do you know that?" Ziolkowski gasped.
"It sounds like it."
"Hell, one alone sounds like a herd. Hold off. We want to toast them all."
"Gott!" Lieber jumped back from one of the narrow gun slits as a dark shadow leaned in.
The bunker shook like sticks.
"Blow it! The Top don't know--"
Ziolkowski forced himself up on one elbow. "This Top Kick knows a fucking coward when he sees--" Then the right side of the bunker began caving in. His mind changed quickly. "Do it, Hart!"
Just before he touched the wires to the battery poles, it dawned on Hart the creatures might have destroyed the connections. They had buried the wires three feet deep. The remaining gas cans were buried half their height at an angle so that the explosions would be directed towards the center. But his calculations and precautions seemed meaningless in the turmoil. After all, they'd figured the bunker would hold out at least a week--and it was already a shambles.
He pressed the wires to the battery.
His teeth shifted sides when the gasoline bombs went off. Through a gun slit he saw volcanoes erupt. Heat shot in like live coals down a chute. He shielded his eyes with his forearm. Light flared through his lids. He let out a laugh of triumph.
Then he felt the walls caving in.