The banks along the gully would hide them from sight but offer concealment for bushwhacks as well. Dwayne looked up and could see more sky through the trees. They were nearing the edge of the tree line and would soon be at the open grassy ground leading up to the field area. There’d be less cover there, but the possibility of ambush would decrease. When it came to range, the rifles gave them every advantage. He could tell from the gunfire and grenade blasts coming from below that Chaz and Hammond were having a bitch of a time keeping the skinny hunting parties from flanking them. If they were cut off from one another, each little group would be overwhelmed in a hurry. Their automatic weapons wouldn’t mean dick if they were surrounded in dense brush.
A whisper of sound ahead. Rock on rock. A tree bough moved out of sync with the others brushed by the wind coming down off the mesa. He took to a knee and fisted his raised left hand, then realized that Caroline might not be hip to Ranger sign language. He held his hand splayed behind him in the more universal gesture for ‘stop’ without turning to look back. Through the ring sight of his rifle, he scanned the ground above them. He wasn’t sure what made him stop at first, but the hair on his arms stood up. Listening hard, he picked up a click of stone on stone. Something was disturbing the rock scree above them.
It could have been an animal. These woods were full of them. Even the super-sized herbivores here were dangerous. Critters that would be skittish at home were aggressive and territorial here. Dwayne recalled thinking what a shitty way it would be to go; gnawed to death by beavers. He glanced back to see Caroline down on her knees six paces back. Jimbo was on all fours by her with head hanging low. Caroline held the Browning like she knew what she was doing.
His ears picked up a new sound, a nattering of voices. They were speaking low from just over a hummock of land where the gully curved up and out of sight. The sounds of movement stopped. Did they know Dwayne and his group were here or did they pick this as the most likely trail up the slope? Either way, Dwayne could try and move around the ambush and risk getting lost or wait on Chaz and Hammond and try to bushwhack the bushwhackers by flanking them.
Waiting for the other Rangers risked letting the skinnies add to their number and holding the high ground by sheer force of numbers. These skinnies must have swung away out of range and sight of the automatic weapons. They probably came east along the beach and climbed up here by the same route in reverse used by Dwayne and the others on their first night here.
More automatic fire from below. Controlled three-round bursts from Chaz’s rifle and longer volleys from the heavy gun. The sounds of gunfire were getting closer. They were being herded into a killing box like deer. The group above was getting bolder, no effort to hide their hoots and calls to one another, working themselves up for the kill. But they were sticking to their position rather than moving down to close up the encirclement.
If Dwayne was going to break through, it had to be now before the noose closed on them, and while the area of operations was still fluid. He either had to break the ambush or, at the very least, draw the skinnies away from Caroline and Jimbo.
Dwayne was up on his feet with a grunt and moved forward with his rifle butt tight to his shoulder. Dark shapes appeared atop the hummock of ground above, silhouetted against the scant moonlight. Rocks began falling through the pine boughs around Dwayne. They knew he was here. He pumped rounds at them and saw a shadow spin away with a yip. More rocks rained down all around, but they were throwing blind from shelter, just lobbing stones in their primitive version of suppression fire.
He peered around the shelter of a stout tree bole and let loose some suppression of his own. The rock throwing died away. There were barks and hoots in response as they torqued up their courage again. He moved to a better position on the other side of the trail just as a knot of howling skinnies piled into the trail and rushed down the slope swinging clubs.
A long burst sent three of them tumbling and another sat back on his ass with no head. More stumbled over the corpses as Dwayne dashed for fresh cover. Thrown clubs whizzed past him into the brush. He fired as he moved and dropped another one. The rest turned from the trail to follow him. He moved along the slope to the north, luring the shrieking mob away from the trail and Caroline and Jimbo’s position.
Dwayne halted to send bursts of snap shots behind him then returned to race for new cover over the rough ground. The rock scree and pine needles made for uncertain footing, and he slid as much as ran in a crooked course across the face of the slope. Turning back to sweep fire at his closing pursuers, he ran into the trunk of a tree and fell hard to tumble downhill. He came to rest in a tangle of brush. He groped for the rifle, finding the smooth Rynite stock and pulling it to him. Skinnies crashed through the foliage all around him, and he rose to his knees and
