_Now!_
The commander's first shot picked off one of the leaders in the front
ranks of the native warriors, and was followed by a raking volley from
the other power weapons, firing from the windows of the mud-brick
buildings. The warriors in the front rank dropped, and those in the
second rank had to move adroitly to keep from stumbling over the bodies
of their fallen fellows. The firing from the huts became ragged, but its
raking effect was still deadly. A cloud of heavy, stinking smoke rolled
across the clearing between the edge of the jungle and the village, as
the bright, hard lances of heat leaped from the muzzles of the power
weapons toward the bodies of the charging warriors.
The charge was gone from the commander's weapon, and he didn't bother to
replace it. As Hernan and his men charged into the melee with their
carriers, the commander went with them.
At the same time, the armored infantrymen came pouring out of the
mud-brick houses, swinging their swords, straight into the mass of
confused native warriors. A picked group of sharpshooters remained
behind, in the concealment of the huts to pick off the warriors at the
edge of the battle with their sporadic fire.
The commander's lips were moving a little as he formed the
symbol-patterns of power almost unconsciously; a lifetime of habit had
burned them into his brain so deeply that he could form them
automatically while turning the thinking part of his mind to the
business at hand.
He soon found himself entirely surrounded by the alien warriors. Their
bronze weapons glittered in the sunlight as they tried to fight off the
onslaught of the invaders. And those same bronze weapons were sheared,
nicked, blunted, bent, and broken as they met the harder steel of the
commander's sword.
Then the unexpected happened. One of the warriors, braver than the rest,
made a grab for the commander's sword arm. At almost the same moment, a
warrior on the other side of the carrier aimed a spear thrust at his
side.
Either by itself would have been ineffectual. The spear clanged
harmlessly from the commander's armor, and the warrior who had attempted
to pull him from the carrier died before he could give much of a tug.
But the combination, plus the fact that the heavy armor was a little
unwieldy, overbalanced him. He toppled to the ground with a clash of
steel as he and the carrier parted company.
[Illustration]
Without a human hand at its controls, the carrier automatically moved
away from the mass of struggling fighters and came to a halt well away
from the battle.
The commander rolled as he hit and leaped to his feet, his sword moving
in flickering arcs around him. The natives had no knowledge of effective
swordplay. Like any barbarian, they conceived of a sword as a cutting
instrument rather than a thrusting one. They chopped with them, using
small shields to protect their bodies as they tried to hack the
commander to bits.
* * * * *
But the commander had no desire to become mincemeat just yet. Five of
the barbarians were coming at him, their swords raised for a downward
slash. The commander lunged forward with a straight stop-thrust aimed at
the groin of the nearest one. It came as a complete surprise to the
warrior, who doubled up in pain.
The commander had already withdrawn his blade and was attacking the
second as the first fell. He made another feint to the groin and then
changed the aim of his point as the warrior tried to cover with his
shield. A buckler is fine protection against a man who is trying to hack
you to death with a chopper, because a heavy cutting sword and a shield
have about the same inertia, and thus the same maneuverability. But the
shield isn't worth anything against a light stabbing weapon. The
warrior's shield started downward and he was unable to stop it and
reverse its direction before the commander's sword pierced his throat.
Two down, three to go. No, four. Another warrior had decided to join the
little battle against the leader of the invading Earthmen.
The commander changed his tactics just slightly with the third man. He
slashed with the tip of his blade against the descending sword-arm of
his opponent--a short, quick flick of his wrist that sheared through the
inside of the wrist, severing tendons, muscles, veins and arteries as it
cut to the bone. The sword clanged harmlessly off the commander's
shoulder. A quick thrust, and the third man died.
The other three slowed their attack and began circling warily, trying to
get behind the commander. Instead of waiting, he charged forward, again
cutting at the sword arm of his adversary, severing fingers this time.
As the warrior turned, the commander's sword pierced his side.
How long it went on, he had no idea. He kept his legs and his sword-arm
moving, and his eyes ever alert for new foes as man after man dropped
beneath that snake-tonguing blade. Inside his armor, perspiration poured
in rivulets down his skin, and his arms and legs began to ache, but not
for one second did he let up. He could not see what was going on, could
not tell the direction of the battle nor even allow his mind to wonder
what was going on more than ten paces from him.
And then, quite suddenly, it seemed, it was all over. Lieutenant
commander Hernan and five other men pulled up with their carriers, as if
from nowhere, their weapons dealing death, clearing a space around their
commander.
"You hurt?" bawled Hernan.
The commander paused to catch his breath. He knew there was a
sword-slash across his face, and his right leg felt as though there was
a cut on it, but otherwise--
"I'm all right," he said. "How's it going?"
"They're breaking," Hernan told him. "We'll have them scattered within
minutes."
Even as he spoke, the surge of battle moved away from them, toward the
forest. The charge of the carriers, wreaking havoc on every side, had
broken up the battle formation the aliens had had; the flaming death
from the horrible weapons of the invaders, the fearless courage of the
foot soldiers, and the steel-clad monsters that were running amuck among
them shattered the little discipline they had. Panicky, they lost their
anger, which had taken them several hours to build up. They scattered,
heading for the forest.
Shortly, the village was silent. Not an alien warrior was to be seen,
save for the hundreds of mute corpses that testified to the carnage that
had been wrought.
Several of the commander's men had been wounded, and three had died.
Lieutenant commander Hernan had been severely wounded in the leg by a
native javelin, but the injury was a long way from being fatal.
Hernan gritted his teeth while his leg was being bandaged. "The angels
were with us on that one," he said between winces.
The commander nodded. "I hope they stick with us. We'll need 'em to get
off this island."