"Negative," Rico answered. "Hold fire. Units four and six confirm sighting."
For what seemed like an eternity there was only static on McCade's headset. Then, "Unit six confirms." And a moment later, "Unit four confirms . . . enemy has opened fire."
"Commence evasive action . . . and fire!" Rico shouted. McCade felt the entire crawler jerk in sympathy with the recoil of their primary armament. For at least the tenth time he wished he could see what was going on. Instead he had an unobstructed view of where they'd been. For what seemed like hours McCade listened to shouted commands punctuated by shouts of victory and groans of defeat. He was thrown from side to side during violent evasive maneuvers and jolted up and down as the crawler hurled itself across gullies in the ice and rock. Meanwhile he tried to build a picture of the battle in his mind.
The initial charge against the six pirate units netted Rico's smaller section two kills at the cost of unit four. Now the four remaining enemy units were locked in individual duels with what remained of Rico's section. Coordinated group action was impossible in the broken terrain. McCade's thoughts were interrupted as Rico shouted into the intercom, "Look out, Sam! That bastard's tryin' ta get behind us!"
McCade was thrown to the right as Rico put the crawler into a tight turn. If they could turn fast enough they'd be able to match the pirate unit and prevent it from getting behind them. But their adversary had the advantage and used it.
McCade watched the huge black shape fill his sight. He forced himself to hold back until it filled his sight from edge to edge. Then he pulled the triggers on the twin grips and heard an eerie whine as his gun opened up. He watched his tracer arc up and then down to meet the oncoming enemy crawler.
His stomach muscles tensed as the other unit returned his fire. The pirate unit's tracer probed and searched, trying to complete a deadly connection between the two crawlers. The blue pulses of their energy cannon wove in and out of the white tracer, forming an intricate pattern of color and movement. Then the crawler lurched under him, and he knew they'd been hit hard. Their speed dropped and McCade realized the engine noise had too. Evidently they'd lost an engine.
His fears were confirmed when Rico said, "We just took a round in the starboard engine. Prepare ta bail out."
McCade gritted his teeth and continued to hold the triggers down. Now that his own crawler had slowed it was easier to hit the enemy. Now Rico's top blister gunner had joined him in his efforts to hit the pirate's tracks. Suddenly the enemy unit slowed. They knew Rico's primary armament could only aim forward. So they planned to sit and pour it on while Rico's remaining engine slowly turned the crawler to meet them. Then using their superior speed, they'd get around behind Rico again and it would start over. Things don't look good, McCade thought grimly. Then he noticed the tendril of smoke coming from the inside of the enemy unit's track. He concentrated his fire on that spot and was rewarded with even more smoke. Then flames replaced the smoke and the other crawler stopped moving. Rico completed his turn at that moment and McCade lost sight of the enemy. He felt the recoil of Rico's energy cannon and heard the muffled sound of an explosion. They'd won.
But instead of victory yells, there was silence on the intercom. Then McCade realized he hadn't heard any radio transmission from the other units in Rico's section for some time. He was about to ask what was going on when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Paula holding a finger to her lips and motioning for him to follow. McCade released his harness. After some contortions he managed to turn in the cramped space of the blister and follow Paula through the narrow accessway into the crawler's main cabin.
Rico greeted him with a whispered hello and a friendly pat on the back that nearly drove him to the deck. Two other men nodded their greetings. One sat at the crawler's controls. He didn't look old enough to drink yet, much less drive a crawler into battle. He had a friendly grin, and the name Chuck was scrawled in gold thread across the left breast of his bright green jacket. A middle-aged com tech sat in front of a bank of com units and detectors. He wore a set of earphones on his balding head. After a cheerful wave he turned back to his screens.
"Nice job back there, ol' sport," Rico whispered as he motioned for McCade to join him behind Sparks.
"I had some help," McCade replied, pointing up toward the top turret.
"Yeah, Paula ain't bad . . .. Here, take a look at this," Rico whispered.
McCade joined Rico in looking over the com tech's shoulder. A battle map appeared on the screen in front of them. On it were four blinking green lights. It appeared all the units except Rico's had been knocked out. Then Rico pointed at a steady red light almost on the edge of the screen. It was rapidly moving away from the battlefield. One of the enemy units was escaping.
"Okay, Chuck," Rico whispered. "Let's go. Take 'er nice 'n' easy."
To McCade's surprise he felt both engines start up. Rico smiled knowingly. "It's just amazin' how them engines come 'n' go like that."
The crawler lurched into motion. Once they were moving, the ride smoothed out. McCade watched as obstacles appeared and disappeared on the forward viewscreen. Just when he thought the crawler could go no farther, Chuck would deftly steer them around the problem. Turning back to the battle map, McCade saw that a steady green light now pursued the red.
"I don't get it, Rico," McCade whispered. "He's still in range. Why don't we open up on him? And why am I whispering?"
"First, 'cause we wanna follow him . . .. And second, 'cause we don't know how good the spacehead's audio sensors are."
"He isn't likely to hear us talking over the engines, Rico."
"That's where you're wrong, ol' friend. Least I hope ya are. Like I tol' ya before, we used ta have six units, but they've been wearin' us down. They always work it the same way. A ship lands, off-loads armor and infantry, they hit and run, then it's up and away. Ta stop 'em ya gotta nail their ship. So on Weller's World I bought me some shielding. Blocks noise and heat. After we landed, the crew worked like a gang o' Celite stevedores ta install it. Only had enough for the engines though. Twenty feet out we're as quiet as an icecat's shadow, and as cold as his rear end."
An enormous grin bisected Rico's hairy face, and his tiny eyes twinkled with merriment. "Imagine the look on those bozos' mugs when we blow their ship out from under 'em."
Then McCade understood. Rico was planning to follow the pirate crawler back to its mother ship. Then with the pirate vessel sitting vulnerable on the ground, they would stand a chance of beating down its screens and destroying it. It was a good plan and obviously one the man had worked on for some time. However, McCade saw room for one added refinement, and, if it worked, they'd end up with a usable ship instead of a wreck.
The two men held a whispered conference. Rico was quick to adopt McCade's suggestion and quickly passed appropriate orders to his crew. After that there was nothing to do but wait. Time seemed to crawl by.
Outside, an endless parade of broken rock, ice, and stunted vegetation crossed the viewscreen in monotonous succession. After what seemed like an eternity, they topped a rise and paused, hidden among upthrust spires of rock. Ahead the pirate crawler picked its way down the slope through the accumulated scree toward the valley below.
"He's talking to the ship on a sealed beam," the com tech whispered. Rico nodded.
Below, the pirate ship dominated the valley. To McCade's eyes its long, lean shape seemed pleasantly symmetrical against the jumble of ice and rock strewn around it. A ring of hastily erected earthworks surrounded the ship. But now the weapons pits stood vacant. All personnel had been pulled back in preparation for lift-off. Now they waited for the single crawler steadily creeping across the valley floor.
McCade turned to see Paula sitting at the controls of the energy cannon. Rico and the other crew members had already evacuated the crawler, leaving Paula and McCade to complete the plan. In McCade's view that was only fair, since it was his plan and entailed additional risk. Paula refused to go, pointing out that the plan called for precision shooting, and adding that she was the best shot on the crew. No one had disputed her claim.
McCade watched as a cargo hatch was slowly retracted into the pirates' hull, leaving a large rectangular opening for their crawler to pass through. A ramp was extruded from the area just below the hatch, and as it touched the ground the crawler began to move up it. As it did so Paula squeezed the trigger. Light blue pulses of energy leapt across the intervening space to smash into the crawler and the open cargo bay. Just as McCade had hoped, both the crawler and the ship had been forced to shut down their defensive screens long enough for the vehicle to embark. The unprotected crawler was quickly reduced to a pool of molten metal. Even though the ship's hull was made of sterner stuff, it too had begun to glow. The plan had worked. The pirate couldn't close the cargo hatch with the crawler in the way, so they couldn't lift ship.
McCade tapped Paula on the shoulder. She nodded and slipped out of her seat. Two steps later she dropped through the emergency escape hatch and disappeared. McCade hit the transmit switch, sending a prerecorded high-speed burst of code racing for Council Headquarters. Then he too dived for the escape hatch.
McCade and Paula were crouched under the crawler, huddled between massive treads, when the first missile hit. There was an ear-splitting roar and the ground shook convulsively as waves of intense heat rolled over them. But the crawler's tremendous bulk and defensive screens sheltered them from the worst of it. Paula bent over, clutching her head with both hands. McCade grabbed her arm, and they crawled toward the rear where a rectangle of daylight was visible between the huge tracks.
McCade waited for a moment, and then used a pause in the missile barrage to crawl out and run for the nearest pile of jumbled rock. He half-guided, half-dragged Paula behind him, leading her around the clumps of burning vegetation. Just as they dived into the shelter of the rocks, more missiles arrived, hitting the crawler and completely obliterating it. McCade gave thanks they weren't using nukes. However nukes would have destroyed their ship as well.
"Nice of ya to drop in," Rico said, rounding a large boulder. "But I'm gonna miss 'er," the big man said, gazing sadly at the burning remnants. "She was a good ol' girl. Plus ya wouldn't believe how many forms I'm gonna have ta fill out. The Council's real good at inventin' new forms." He grinned broadly.
Five shots rang out in quick succession. Rico nodded in the direction of the sound. "That'll be Chuck 'n' Sparks keepin' their heads down for us. Chuck's a real artist with a huntin' rifle. They won't be clearin' that wreckage for some time."
"You okay, Paula?" McCade asked. She looked a little better and smiled wanly as she struggled to her feet. McCade put out a hand to stop her, but Rico shook his head. Paula paused for a moment and then disappeared in the direction of the sporadic rifle fire.
"Paula's married to Chuck," Rico said in explanation as he settled himself on a flat piece of rock.
McCade nodded as he accepted one of the other man's expensive cigars. "How soon can we expect some help, Rico?"
The big man examined the chronometer strapped to a hairy wrist. "Well assumin' ya triggered that call for help on your way out . . ." He looked questioningly in McCade's direction and receiving a nod, continued. "Then we oughta have air cover any time now . . . and maybe ground support a half hour later."
McCade savored the cigar smoke as he blew it out into the cold, crisp air. Even in the shelter provided by the rocks the cold wind found them and seeped through McCade's parka to chill his skin.
"No offense, Rico," McCade said, "but this world is no paradise. What are the pirates after anyway?"
Rico shrugged his large shoulders. "Beats me, Sam ol' friend. Course we've always had a coupla raids a year. After refined metals mostly. But lately they've been hittin' us a couple times a week. Now suddenly it's one a day." He shook his head in amazement. "Funny part is they don't seem to be after the usual stuff. Course they take it if they find it . . . but it's like they're lookin' for somethun else."
"How long has this been going on?" McCade asked.
"Last coupla months maybe," Rico answered around his cigar.
McCade considered the other man's answer. The more he thought about it, the more he doubted it was coincidence. The pirate attacks had increased about the same time Bridger had gone over the hill.
Suddenly there was excited shouting from Paula and Chuck, followed by a roar and a sonic boom. Both men leaped to their feet and ran toward the valley wall. A breathless Paula intercepted them.
"They launched a boat from the far side of the ship!"
McCade swore to himself as Rico cursed out loud in a dozen tongues. Of course. A ship that size carried at least two lifeboats in case of emergencies or for use as shuttles. One on the port side and one to starboard. They'd picked the one on the far side to avoid detection by Chuck, Paula and Sparks. Launching a boat from a grounded ship called for consummate skill, lots of guts, and a large measure of desperation, but they'd done it. Damn! He should have thought of it. Now he'd lost his chance to ask the pirates a few questions.
There was a rolling thunder of sound as a flight of three atmospheric fighters swept over to circle the valley. "That's the flyboys . . .. Day late 'n' a credit short like always," Rico said, shading his eyes against the glare as he looked up at the specks circling overhead. "Well there's still a chance. By now Larkin's got a couple ships on patrol just outside the atmosphere."
Not much later a large freight copter arrived and disgorged some troops. McCade noticed there wasn't a uniform among them, but they were obviously well trained and disciplined. Colonel Larkin's influence no doubt. From their smoke-stained clothes and bandages he could see they had already been in action.