During a quick briefing in Thune's parliament office before the militia left for Gladsheim, Mack had expressed that he would rather help with the evacuation "behind the scenes." He never actually refused to manifest in Gladsheim's terminal, but Avery now noticed Mack did sound a little stiff—his good humor more forced than it had been at the solstice celebration.
Part of this might have been an effort to respect the day's tragic events. But whatever the reason, the AI's personality quirks weren't Avery's concern. Lt. Commander al-Cygni had spent a great deal more time with Mack than he, and during the briefing she'd taken the AI's reticence in stride.
Avery paced out of the terminal building parallel to the line of refugees until he reached the gate. Byrne was already standing beside Ponder, but the Captain waited for Avery to draw close before he announced in a harsh whisper: "Some of Mack's JOTUNs just spotted a convoy heading through the vineyards."
"How many vehicles?" Avery asked.
Ponder looked to Mack. The AI must have been monitoring their conversation, because after tipping his hat to a stocky gray-haired woman holding the hands of her two grandchildren, the AI flashed a wide-stretched hand: five.
Avery had seen the vineyards from the roof. Their evenly spaced rows of trellised vines stretched out from town in all directions. Most of the grapes were for everyday consumption, but some were grown for wine. Indeed, sampling the product of the region's small family wineries was the main reason Utgard's more genteel population ever bothered to make the all- day drive to Gladsheim across the Ida.
Avery knew the people in the convoy had headed into the vineyards to stay off the roads.
This late in the summer the soil in the vineyards was dried out and hard packed, so they should have been able to make good time and stay out of sight. But he also knew Ponder wouldn't have called him down unless there was a problem.
"Mack's tracking two dropships," Ponder said. "Same ones they used in the gardens."
"Balls!" Byrne spat.
"Take a 'Hog, see what you can do." The Captain winced as he craned his neck to glance at the shuffling crowd. "But you gotta be quick. One more container, and we're done."
"Any sign of Jenkins' folks?" Avery asked.
Again Ponder looked to Mack. The AI wasn't just greeting people to be friendly. From cameras in his holo-projectors and others around the terminal, he had been scanning faces and checking them against Harvest's census database. Mack shook his head: no.
"Let's hope they're in that convoy," Ponder said as the echo of another plasma strike rolled across the depot, much louder than before. "We gotta move out. Even if they're not."
Less than a minute later, Avery and Byrne were driving another of the militia's Warthogs west along the main street. Avery was behind the wheel. Byrne manned the vehicle's M41 light antiaircraft gun (LAAG), a triple-barreled, rotary machine gun mounted on a swiveling turret in the vehicle's cargo-bed. The LAAG was the most powerful weapon in the militia's arsenal and would have been more than sufficient for any internal security operations. But Avery had no idea how it would stack up against the alien dropships' turrets.
He hung a sharp right onto a northbound avenue, following a waypoint Mack had beamed to a map in the vehicle's dashboard display. A few more blocks and they were in the warehouse district, their view limited by the height of the metal buildings. Avery made one more turn onto a westward avenue that led to the edge of town and brought the Warthog to a squealing stop.
One of the dropships hung low above the vineyards, its turret firing away from Avery into the rows. Closer in, a dusty hauler and sedan sat burning on a strip of red dirt between the vineyards and the town. Both vehicles' doors were open, evidence that their occupants had at least tried to run. But they hadn't made it very far. A line of smoldering corpses lay flopped in the dirt where the turret had cut them down.
Avery saw something emerge from the hauler's freight container. It glimmered in the fiery smoke shooting from the hauler's engine, and Avery knew it was the gold-armored alien even before it stepped clearly into view, hammer slung across its back. The creature held a suitcase in one of its paws and a body in the other. Avery watched the creature dump both its prizes on the ground, bend down, and tear the suitcase open with its claws. Not yet alerted to the marines' presence, it carefully sorted through the jumbled clothes.
"We're too late," Byrne hissed.
"No." Avery saw the body move—a slender man with thinning hair who screamed as the gold-armored alien caught him around the neck. "Got a survivor."
Byrne braced himself against the LAAG. "Make that son-of-a-bitch stand up."
Avery punched the Warthog's horn. He didn't let up until the commanding honk cut through the groan of the dropship's anti-grav units. When the alien rose to face the sound, Byrne let him have it.
Blue sparks burst from the alien's energy shields as the LAAG'S twelve-point-seven millimeter rounds drove home. The creature staggered backward, and, for a moment, Avery thought Byrne's sustained fire would cut it down. But just as its knees looked set to buckle, the alien rolled sideways behind the sedan. Just then the dropship swung round, insects buzzing from its bays. Avery held steady and let Byrne rake the scattering swarm. But then he saw a vaulting flash of gold.
"Hang on!" Avery shouted, yanking the shift lever on the Warthog's steering column into reverse and stomping the accelerator. But before the vehicle had moved more than a few meters backward, the gold-armored alien thundered onto the avenue, dropping its hammer with a mighty roar. The weapon crushed the front of the Warthog's hood and sheared off its tow- winch. The Warthog's engine was unscathed, but the force of the alien's strike popped the vehicle's rear wheels clean off the pavement.
"Roll!" Byrne thundered, struggling to level the LAAG as the Warthog bounced back onto its tires.
But Avery had already changed gears, and now the vehicle surged forward, hitting the gold- armored alien in the chest and driving it backwards through the swarm. One insect flew into the windshield, cracking the glass and dying in an explosion of mustard-colored gore that covered Avery's shooting glasses. As Avery tossed his glasses aside, another bug toppled over the first, clawed limbs flailing, and slammed into the tapered, armored plates that bracketed the LAAG's barrel.
"Bugger off!" Byrne yelled at the insect as it tumbled past. The creature raked its claws, managing to cut the Staff Sergeant's arm. Even though it was a shallow wound, it made Byrne angrier than he already was. He swung the turret around and hit the insect with an extended burst. But they were through the swarm now, and as the surviving bugs slowed in an effort to circle back, Byrne gladly distributed his fury.
The Warthog came to another abrupt halt—an impact that was so violent it snapped Avery's chin to his chest and loosed the insect from the shattered windshield. But the crash was intentional; Avery had driven the Warthog right into the sedan, pinning the gold-armored alien in between. The creature roared with pain. It had dropped its hammer, and now its only weapons were its gauntleted paws, which it proceeded to clang against the Warthog's crumpled hood like clappers in a pair of church bells.
"What are you waiting for?" Byrne shouted as Avery unholstered his M6 and leveled the pistol at the alien's face. "Kill the bastard!"
But Avery didn't pull the trigger. Instead he glared up at the dropship's cabin: You shoot me? I shoot you-know-damn-well-who.
The dropship's turret had swung around to face the Warthog. Bright blue plasma crackled deep inside its two-pronged barrel. But whatever creature sat inside the cabin heeded Avery's warning, and the weapon did not fire.
"Byrne. Grab the survivor."
"Are you crazy?"
The armored alien stopped pounding. It put its paws against the Warthog's exposed engine block and tried to push the vehicle back. Avery gave the Warthog some gas, spinning its rear tires in the vineyard dirt and applying additional pressure. "Do it!" Avery shouted.
The alien stopped pushing and howled in agony.
Byrne leapt down from the LAAG and walked slowly to the wounded civilian, the dropship's turret pivoting between him and Avery. Byrne helped the thin-haired man to his feet, slung his arm across his shoulder and led him to the Warthog's passenger seat.