Operation: Sahara

-Davies-

“Back to back,” the captain said, “for all the good it’s going to do us. Let’s take as many of these fuckers with us as we can.”

Davies happened to be the one facing the main gate when they formed up and so was first to see the beasts there move aside and the big one make its way forward. It moved slowly, majestically Davies thought, as if it knew it was king of all it surveyed here in this place. It raised a black pincer the size of a horse as if waving to its subjects in acknowledgement. All other movement on the plain stopped as the beetle reached the doorway. It filled the whole arch, almost as if the gate had been made for the purpose.

“Fucking hell,” Wiggo said, “it’s built like a fucking tank.”

“Well that’s handy,” the captain said. “It so happens we’ve got a way of dealing with tanks. Quick, lads. Grenades, before it gets out of the gate.”

All four of them took a grenade each.

“On three, pull the pins. Don’t throw them high. Lob them under it, take it out from below. One, two…three.”

Following Banks’ lead, they lobbed the grenades underhand just above ground level. The beast caught one of them with a great pincer, the other three rolled out of sight below it, and the squad had just enough time to throw themselves to the ground before the grenades went up with a crack that echoed around the canyon.

Banks got them on their feet as soon as the roar faded, weapons raised. The huge beetle lay in the doorway, a great seeping hole all along the back of its shell, its head totally vaporized and smoking. Its bulk blocked the main entry to the city; none of the beasts backed up behind it would be able to get over it, for a few seconds at least. A high drone rose from all the beasts on this side of the gateway but now it didn’t seem coordinated, as if some kind of coherence had been lost. Davies’ suspicion was proved right when he looked over the plain; the beasts were no longer paying attention to the squad. Some were already heading to the fallen creature in the gateway to scavenge its parts, others, more than half of them, had taken to fighting among themselves. The plain became a battleground of snapping pincers and flying black ichor.

“Leg it, lads,” Banks shouted. “To the cliff, before they get round to electing a new leader.”

Davies was slow to push off on his bad foot and the others were already three paces ahead before he even got going but that proved to be a blessing in disguise for the three of them provided an arrowhead wedge with the captain in front and Wiggo and Wilkins on either side. Davies was able to slot into the space behind them and gain a degree of protection while they dodged fighting beetles, snapping pincers and pools of tarry goop. So far none of them had needed to use their weapons; the beetles were more concerned with fighting each other. As if to prove the point, two of the beasts took down a large one only five yards to the squad’s left as they ran past. That was a cue for a swarm to pour over the dead one. It was already in pieces before Davies passed it.

Davies tried to concentrate on the captain’s back, one step at a time, trying to ignore the pain. He felt wetness and heat at his ankle again, more blood flowing into his boot. The flight to get off the valley floor turned into a prolonged feat of endurance as white flaring agony shot up his leg and his limp got ever more pronounced.

They were halfway to the cliff path before they had to fire their first shots; one of the larger beetles took an interest in them and headed in from their right flank. Davies took out its front legs. Wiggo heard the shots, turned and fired, blowing its head apart and within seconds the spot where it fell was a mound of swarming, snapping, feeding.

We’re going to make it.

The captain reached the cliff path first and headed down, the others at his back. Davies chanced one last look back at the carnage that was still playing out before the great wall. The beetles’ fighting was now concentrated around a series of seething mounds of frenzied feeding. Over at the main gate was another, even larger mound where the beetle king was being scavenged for parts. A cacophony of drones and whistles echoed around the canyon walls but almost as soon as Davies began on the downward trail the noise got softer, less insistent and soon it was drowned out by the pounding of blood in his ears. His senses narrowed, his sight concentrating on where he put his feet, everything else subsumed by the agony that shot through his body with every step. His mind played tricks on him; one minute he was on a high trail on a mountainside looking over desert sands, the next he was fleeing down a graffiti laden stairwell in a Glasgow tower block, screaming tormentors at his heels.

“Give us a smile, blackie, so we can see where you are.”

He realised he had a rifle in his hands at the same instant as he heard heavy footfalls only a pace or two behind him. He screamed, years of pent-up fury unleashed as he swivelled on his bad foot, letting the pain guide him rather than take him.

“Come and get me if you think you’ve got the balls for it.”

He didn’t need to aim; the dark shape loomed up right there at the end of his barrel. He fired at it until it went away. The recoil took his balance, his pack decided its weight was better off going backwards and Davies tumbled down the rocky path, arse over tit. His bad ankle hit a jutting rock, white pain became cold dark and he fell gratefully into it.

He came out of it lying on his back looking up at a carpet of stars. A dark shape loomed at his left and he reached for a weapon, any weapon but stopped when he heard Wiggo’s laugh.

“Look who’s in the land of the living. Welcome back, lad.”

Davies tried to sit up. Pain shot through him at both ends, white hot in his ankle, red hot and sticky at the back of his head when he felt there.

“You took a wee bump. Well, a big bump really. But no worries; we’re back at yon oasis and we’re safe and away. We lugged you here like a sack of coal. The beasties gave up the chase after you took out yon last one on the path and we’ve even got you a ride the rest of the way back.”

“I took out one on the path? I thought that was just a dream.”

“Well if this is one of your dreams, it’s got me in it, you fucking pervert.”

Off to his left, a camel, the same one as they’d met on the way in, brayed in answering laughter.