"There must be three thousand of them out there," said Lieutenant
commander Hernan tightly, "and every one of them's crazy."
"Rot!" The commander spat on the ground and then sighted again along the
barrel of his weapon. "I'm the one who's crazy. I'm a lousy politician;
that's my trouble."
The lieutenant commander shrugged lightly. "Anyone can make a mistake.
Just chalk it up to experience."
"I will, when we get out of this mess." He watched the gathering natives
through hard, slitted eyes.
The invading Earthmen were in a village at the southern end of the
eight-mile-long island, waiting inside the mud-brick huts while the
natives who had surrounded the village worked themselves into a frenzy
for an attack. The commander knew there was no sense in charging into
them at that point: they would simply scatter and reassemble. The only
thing to do was wait until they attacked--and then smash the attack.
"Hernan," he said, his eyes still watching the outside, "you and the
others get out there with the carriers after the first volley. Cut them
down. They're twenty-to-one against us, so make every blow count. Move."
Hernan nodded wordlessly and slipped away.
The natives were building up their courage with some sort of war dance,
whooping and screaming and making threatening gestures toward the
embattled invaders. Then the pattern of the dance changed; the islanders
whirled to face the mud-brick buildings which housed the invading
Earthmen. Suddenly, the dance broke, and the warriors ran in a
screaming charge, straight for the trapped soldiers.
The commander waited. His own shot would be the signal, and he didn't
want the men to fire too quickly. If the islanders were hit too soon,
they might fall back into the woods and set up a siege, which the little
company couldn't stand. Better to mop up the natives now, if possible.