Task Force Mars - Kevin Dockery [29]
The only part of the exposure suits not covered by the electronic camouflage was the soles of each man’s boots. The tiny glow strips embedded in the soles made it easier for each SEALS to follow the others out across the Martian landscape when they got down into the prone position. They wouldn’t need to uncover the cat’s-eye strips of the same faintly glowing material on the backs of their helmets, at least not yet.
Jackson began the movement by squeezing the shoulder of Rocky Rodale, who was standing next to him. The squeeze signal was passed back down the line. When it came back up the line and Jackson felt Rocky’s powerful grip at his shoulder, he passed the message up to Sanchez and Marannis. Slipping over the edge of the ravine, the two point men went after the enemy position.
From their position at the ravine, Falco and G-Man could see their Teammates slipping from depression to depression as they moved across the landscape. Even though they knew where to look, the two men had to strain to catch a glimpse of the ghillie-clad men. Sometimes they could see only the glowing sole strips in the sand. In spite of all of the modern electronic marvels the SEALS had at their disposal, they couldn’t risk using any of them to communicate with one another as they stealthily moved across the flat ground. Instead, they depended on the simplest of items.
In Jackson’s hand was the tag end of a coil of string that Sanchez had attached to his belt. The tiny microfilament line played out and was the means by which Jackson knew when the point men wanted their Teammates to move up. At the signaling jerk, Jackson sent another shooter pair forward to the next spot of cover. Finally, it was his turn.
It didn’t really seem to matter how much training he did: Jackson could always hear his heartbeat thundering in his ears when he was supposed to be moving in complete silence. The very breath moving in and out of his lungs seemed to rasp so loudly that everyone around him must hear it. But he knew they didn’t, and he had to shake off the feeling. He swore he could feel the sweat trickling down his back, and if there ever was a technician who came up with a way for someone to scratch his own back while wearing this damned suit, he would marry the guy.
All extraneous thoughts fled from the officer’s mind as he suddenly felt the series of jerks come back down the signal string. Sanchez and Marannis were as close to the dome as they felt they could go, and the enemy was in sight. He had to depend on the abilities of his men, men he had supreme confidence in.
Lying in the dust, Sanchez and his partner, Marannis, were like spirits in the night, death ghosts who were there to take the souls of their enemies, if these aliens believed in such things. Catching a glimpse of movement up ahead, Marannis suspected the hostiles were about to find out one way or the other.
The man in the pressure suit who stepped into view was clearly on sentry patrol. He carried his long, thin weapon—like a rifle with a battery pack attached—at the port arms position. His eyes were fixed on the far horizon, and he caught just a glimpse of nearby movement, as if a lumpy portion of the dome wall had suddenly leaned out and flexed. The fellow might have been a trained soldier, but the strange appearance of the dome moving outward gave him a moment’s pause, and that was all the shadow needed.
Marannis reached around his back to