Your response to my pleads is less than promising. Howevah, I shall continue this thread in the name of superior science fiction evahrahwhere! And in the name of me.
The army skirted carefully around the next Vykker station the next morning. By midday they had come to yet another, this one with a large razor-wire fence around it. As Abe made the first cut with the large wire-clippers he had brought for just such an occasion, an alarm klaxon sounded. Three Interns with Snuzis and a saw-wielding Vykker ran out the door. The Interns were killed almost the second they ran out the door by three expertly shot arrows, but one soldier chose to use a sling to take down the Vykker. Though a good slingstone would usually be enough to kill an enemy instantly, the Vykker's freakishly large skull thick enough that he only stumbled, then ran back inside.
"Stop him before he sends a distress signal!" Abe yelled.
Squad M1 jumped into action. One by one they leaped onto the nearest elum, then vaulted from it clear over the fence, weapons instantly in their hands. The Vykker was moving slowly because of his injury, and he hadn't even made it out of the entry room when Squad M1 Leader burst through the door. He fired a quick burst of shots from his spoocebow to kill the Vykker, then ran into the room it had been crawling towards. He quickly destroyed the radio equipment, then he and his squad ran out of the house, backstepping expertly and firing. Already Interns were pouring out of side doors, supplemented by two or three armored Vykkers. The Mudarchers shot through the hole Abe had made in the fence, and prepared themselves for defense. Abe began shouting orders.
"Squads M1 through M3, sniping positions in the trees! Keep 'em back! Remaining M and T squads, attack, but stay clear of those Vykkers! The rest of you, cover fire!"
It worked perfectly. Ten of the fifty or so Interns were killed straightaway by the snipers before they even came in range of the others. The hundred or so Mudarchers and Tomahawkers on the ground laid waste to the remainder like a tidal wave hitting a wall of toothpicks. They herded the Vykkers together while keeping their distance, then let the snipers concentrate all their fire on them. When it was over, within about five minutes, not one soldier had been killed, though a few of the attack party nursed small wounds: Snuzi potshots or close calls from the maniacal saw-swinging Vykkers.
They then began to raid the compound. Two steady lines had formed at one of the bunkers, one going in with empty clips, the other coming out with full ones. A few medical packs were found, not many, but just enough for the attackers to dress their wounds without having to break open their own med packs. It was obvious that the Vykkers cared as little about the welfare of their troops as the Glukkons. Mudarchers scoured the ground in the compound for spooce, as the soil was rich and the climate good, and found it bountiful. Finally, when the bodies had been dragged inside, they made camp. Extra portions were served: they had earned it. By lights-out, they all looked so content that one might not have known they were on a mission to seize control of an impenetrable flying fortress. But they were.
Rrrgh, you stink!
