Operation: Mongolia

- 20 -

Donnie had only been paying a minimum of attention. His mind was too full of images of the professor struggling to escape from the confines of his sleeping bag even as the worms burrowed their way into him, and of the older man’s body burning in the fire pit, the worms popping and crackling as the flames took them. He wasn’t ever going to be able to forget those sights, sounds… and smells, but when Wiggins shouted, Donnie looked up.

“Movement, nine o’ clock.”

He looked over the side of the truck to see a large mound traverse the sand with more rising up on the same side but farther out. Wiggins called out again, looking across the top of the driving cab to the front of the truck. Then Davies shouted from the other side.

Donnie saw the situation immediately; they were surrounded and if the worms attacked now, the professor’s fate might be in store for all of them. He tugged at Wilkins’ arm.

“Give me a hand here, Private,” he said, bending to grab one of the ceramic vases and lift it up onto the bench. “We need to get these arranged such that we can all stand inside a circle.”

The truck lurched to a halt, almost knocking Donnie to the deck, and for a terrible second, he lost his grip on the vase then corrected and caught it before it could smash on the bed of the truck.

“Quickly now,” he said as the others, seeing what he was doing, moved to help. “We might not get a second chance.”

They arranged the ceramic pots on the bench seats on either side of the truck and Donnie completed the circuit by attaching the last on the left to the last on the right across the back end. Immediately, there was a faint but distinctive hum that could be heard even above the thrum of the truck’s engine.

“Cap, Sarge,” Wiggins shouted, reaching over the copper wire and banging on the top of the driver’s cab. “Get up here. We’re protected but you might not be.”

The engine cut off and the hum got louder as Banks and Hynd clambered out of the cab and came up to join the others standing in a tight circle inside the protective ring. Out in the lakebed, the sand seethed and boiled as a dozen worms, none smaller than four feet in width, surged under and through the sandy substrate, circling, spiraling slowly inwards towards the truck.

“Now what?” Captain Banks asked and Donnie realized the question had been directed at him.

“Well, it worked up on the rock; the electrical field kept the worms at bay—and at least here we won’t get any crawling about above our heads.”

“That’s true enough,” Banks replied. “But it also means we’re stuck here until we come up with a better plan.”

“Or the batteries go flat,” Wiggins added.

“You’re not helping, Wiggo,” Hynd said.

“Story of my life,” the corporal replied, then there was no time to talk as one of the large worms swerved suddenly in its track and headed straight at the back of the truck.

The soldiers to a man unslung their rifles and Donnie, remembering the cacophony up on the rock, took out a handkerchief, ripped it in two, rolled it up, and stuffed the small cartridges in his ears. He was grateful for it seconds later.

Initially, it looked like the worm intended to barrel into the truck but it was brought up short when the copper wire took on the familiar golden glow and the humming vibration of the protective field sent the whole truck bed thrumming. The worm rose up out of the sand, a five-foot-wide tube of glistening bright red, mouth gaping and showing a forest of the pencil-thick fangs.

“Fire,” Banks shouted and the air filled with the crack and roar of gunfire.

The worm blew apart like a popped balloon… and scattered a myriad of tiny worms into the air. Most fell onto the sand below the tumbling body, some hit the protective field and began to burn, but a score and more of them got through and tumbled onto the bed of the truck. They immediately slithered towards the men’s feet.

Wiggins was fastest to react, striding forward and stomping, almost jumping, on the squirming things, mashing them quickly to a pulp underfoot.

“Top tip,” he shouted once he was sure he’d got them all, “if you’re going to shoot one of the big fuckers, make sure it’s not going to shite these wee fuckers all over us.”

A second worm rose up in the air on the left-hand side of the truck, close enough to reach out and touch.

“Don’t shoot,” Banks shouted.

The worm came out of the sand high enough that Donnie looked right down its gaping throat. The copper wire glowed golden and the vibration rose to a howl. Blue static crackled across the worm’s body. It leaned forward as if intent on attack only to draw away back into the sand when the defensive field flared in a blast of gold.

Something shifted underneath them, the truck taking a lurch to the left of several inches before settling. Out in the desert, more sand was displaced as large worms burrowed and seethed, moving faster now as if angered that they couldn’t get to their prey.

Donnie sensed the tension in the squad. He felt like a spare wheel, surrounded by armed men when he had nothing but the wads of cotton in his ears with which to defend himself so he was surprised when Banks once again turned to him for advice.

“This wee field of yours, does it cover the whole truck including the driving cab?”

Donnie thought about it before replying and knew what the captain was asking—can we drive through this?

“It might work but we’d have to hold the urns on the roof above you and you have to go slow.”

“Aye, well I wasn’t planning an auditioning for Le Mans,” Banks replied dryly, then helped Donnie shift the two nearest vases up onto the driver cab roof.

“Wilko, Davies, you’re up. Hold these in place here.”

“I’ve got one of them,” Donnie said. “You might need the extra gun.”

Banks nodded, clapped Donnie on the shoulder, slung his weapon so that it wouldn’t impede him, and being careful to avoid the copper wire lowered himself off the truck bed and ‘round into the driver’s seat. He turned as he was about to duck through the door, looking straight at Donnie and smiling.

“And if this doesn’t work, I’ll be back to haunt your arse.”

I’m going to be haunted enough already, thanks anyway.