G. Howell by The Human Memoirs

Author:The Human Memoirs [Memoirs, The Human]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-06-08T16:32:03+00:00

I turned back to the narrow peephole between the stones. The light wasn’t the greatest, the field of vision was narrow, and it was a long way down. “I am not sure I will be able to recognise him.”

“Just try.”

I bumbled my way down the narrow passage, awkwardly. The only light came from the dim spots seeping through the spy-holes and the white beam from my flashlight. The floor of the corridor was not level: beams and other obstructions poked through the walls at interesting heights. Several times I wacked my shins and Remae hushed my curses.

She didn’t seem to have any such problems.

The next hole was the second to last one, looking out over a place near the fire. I skipped over the children and the females, trying to get a glimpse of the males …

“There, Remae!” her fur brushed against my face as she pushed her head in close to peer out the narrow gap. “Down there, in the corner beside the fire. Dark brown fur, talking to that female. You see him?”

“Yes … You are sure that is him?”

I frowned, hesitating until the figure below us turned around to give me a good look at him.

“Yeah … That is him.”

“All right, now we set the bait and make sure the wolf catches the scent.” ******

The covered wagon rumbled through the day, as it had the past four days and nights.

Inside it was dim, stuffy, and crowded. The smell of nervous cat overpowering any smell of nervous human. There were nine in the back of that wagon, one human and eight Sathe, and after four days, tempers were a bit short. The bulky packages by the soldiers’ feet did nothing to ease tensions.

Outside the wagon, I knew there were two more of the slow moving vehicles as well as half a dozen llama mounted cavalry. For a moment I wondered if the Sathe had such a thing as a coordinated charge with mounted troops, then dismissed the idea. One would be better off using donkeys than llamas.

Time, and the caravan plodded on.

I was fiddling with the straps on my helmet, for the thousandth time, when the cry came from someone outside. “Ambush! Ambu … ” The yell cut off abruptly.

I slammed my helmet on my head and followed Sathe out the back of the back of the wagon, hitting the ground in a crouch with the M-16 at the ready.

Already there were two riderless llamas stamping around in panic. Sathe in red and black armour were racing from the trees on both sides of the road, too many to count. I didn’t try, just raised the rifle and pulled the trigger as fast as I could, blazing away on full automatic.

Some Sathe stumbled as though they’d been tripped. Holes appeared in armour as if by magic. The M-16A1 is a fairly lightweight weapon, lacking the punch of a Kalashnikov or an M16A2, but even so the shock factor of the muzzle flash, the noise, and impact of bullets was hideously effective against people who’d never even heard of firearms.

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