No Truce With Terra by Philip E. High

Author:Philip E. High [High, Philip E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Life on Other Planets
Publisher: Ace
Published: 1963-12-31T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

ON ANOTHER beach in another world, a jet torpedo boat grated on the shingle and stopped.

Dyson looked at the desolate sand and shivered slightly.

"Excuse me, sir." A tall commando Captain with a lean saturnine face saluted politely. Thought I'd better brief you on this additional equipment." He opened a small pack. "This is a nasal mask, covers the mouth and nose. At the moment we're up-wind so you may not need it, but should it veer you'll have to put it on in a hurry. The air over occupied territory is thick with a kind of metallic midge, you see. If you breathe too many it causes a kind of racing tuberculosis and you're dead in twelve hours." He paused and grinned mirthlessly. "Doesn't help much militarily either, the R.A.F. can't mount a low level air strike. Anything below seven thousand feet is suicide; intakes become choked, bearings over-heat and the crate usually crashes. If the pilot is lucky enough to get back, his ship is usually a write-off anyway."

Peel came forward. He was a stringy little man with a predominant adams apple and a straggly but aggressive black beard. "Mass bombing?"

The captain shrugged. "You blow a lot of big holes and within an hour they're recovered with this alleged vegetation. It's not like trying to clobber an army, you see. It's a kind of guerilla affair. We're trying to hold fixed lines against a number of almost invulnerable armored vehicles or, if you prefer the theory, armored creatures all of which operate independently of each other. Usually they manage to infiltrate somewhere and, before you know where you are, the damn things are coming at you from behind."

"You cheer me up," said Dyson, sourly.

Peel held up a pair of dark glasses. "Are these part of our special equipment?"

The Captain nodded. "Definitely. You'll see why for yourself when we get there. Ready to go ashore?"

Dyson nodded without speaking. The commandoes were already over the side and spreading out warily along the beach.

He glanced at Peel. "Right, come on." His voice suggested a briskness which he was far from feeling. The desolate sands depressed him, at this time of year they should have been crowded with holiday makers and echoing to the shouts of children. Again, there had been far too many dead fish in the sea for his peace of mind. It was clear that the alien ecology was by no means confined to the land.

They crossed the beach and mounted a high sea wall. At the top of the steps a pile of striped deck chairs lay in disorder as if someone had started to stack them neatly, suddenly panicked and never completed the task.

Beyond lay the town.

The seaside resort of Relton was typical of many, which had sprung up in the last half century and were completely seasonal. Normally it was overcrowded in summer but completely deserted in winter, save for a few watchmen and a small number of maintenance specialists.

Its buildings were mostly of the chalet type, the only solid structure being the combined store and post office.

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