Operation Orion - Kevin Dockery [56]
“Sure, G-Man. Give it your best shot,” the chief agreed.
The other three SEALS moved to the sides, each of them watching for signs of any nearby alien as they avoided the imminent backblast. Apparently the yeti who had surprised them had been a lone flanker; he didn’t seem to have any pals in the immediate vicinity.
LaRue brushed aside the few inches of snow that had accumulated on the high slope and knelt on the stony ground. He raised the rail gun to his shoulder, sighting carefully through the aiming system. The battery pack pulsed, shooting a supercharged burst of energy from its series of high-density capacitors. The electric charge shot down the barrel, slinging the heavy copper-jacketed slugs down the rails and on a high-velocity flight toward the target. The counter-recoil blast from the rear of the weapon raised a cloud of snow but otherwise went unnoticed as the rail gun’s projectile hit the target.
The impact was almost instantaneous. It seemed as though the slug, with its core of depleted uranium, must have hit the machine gun right in the breech as a blossom of fire erupted from the emplacement and shards of superheated metal shot through the murk like the tracers of a major display of fireworks.
Beyond the gun, a number of the shaggy aliens popped into view, rising to their feet in reaction to the loud, violent explosion. The three SEALS sprayed them with their G15s, and the rest of the Team, pinned down in the valley, added their own fusillade of grenades and bullets to the mix. The yetis apparently had had enough. As the barrage increased in fury, the remaining aliens, guns swinging from slings, dropped to their hands and feet and galloped away, quickly vanishing into the eternal murk of the swirling snow.
“They went thataway, Sheriff,” Marannis drawled, using the muzzle of his G15 to indicate a notch between two looming pillars of rock. “Seems they can’t help but leave some tracks in the snow when they’re running for their lives.”
“Good,” Jackson said before adding, “And Pete, nice work on spotting that ambush. Those shaggy SOBs could have put a real hurt on us if we’d kept on going.”
“Thank you, sir.” Marannis seemed almost embarrassed by the compliment. He nodded toward Sanchez, who was reloading his assault rifle. “It was Willie who first sensed something. He waved me over to have a look.”
Jackson nodded, unsurprised. “I’m glad the Team has you two for eyes and ears.”
He spotted Coxswain Grafton, approaching with a stricken expression on his face, and immediately the LT suspected the worst.
“It’s Zimmer,” the petty officer said grimly, speaking of his copilot. “He took two rounds from that machine gun in his back. He was dead before I even got to him.”
“Damn,” said Jackson, keenly feeling the loss of a man under his command. “I’m sorry, Grafty.”
The coxswain nodded slowly. “I…I don’t want to just leave him here. I mean, there’s nothing we can do for him; we can’t even dig a decent grave.”
“No, of course not,” the LT replied. “Have your men rig a sledge, maybe using Zimmer’s suit with some of the cables. We’ll take him along and get him off this rock with the rest of us.”
“Sure, LT. And, well, thanks, sir.”
“We’d do the same for any one of our own,” Jackson replied, meaning it. “Let’s make ready to move out as soon as we can.”
Grafton immediately gathered the other four sailors, and they set to work rigging a means to carry the dead man. The rest of the SEALS were assembling, reloading, and checking their suits for leaks or other damage. Harris and Teal approached, tromping down the slope in long, lunging strides after their inspection of the enemy dead.
“They’re big, shaggy assholes, LT,” the chief reported. “Teal called them yetis. Lots of ’em showed flesh wounds. They didn’t seem to react much to hits in the extremities. Got a layer of blubber like a damn polar bear or something.”
“Not surprising,” Jackson replied. “How