Task Force Mars - Kevin Dockery [55]
“I’m fine,” G-Man growled. “Just get me to my feet.” He grasped weakly for the corpsman’s shoulder, but Teal batted his hand away and continued probing LaRue’s chest and shoulders, looking for broken bones.
“You stay down, sailor, until the corpsman says you can get up,” Master Chief Ruiz said in a tone that allowed for no argument. “How does it look, Harry?”
“He’s intact, I guess. Maybe the doc can look him over, too.”
After a brief examination, Dr. Saluti looked up in disbelief. “Being airborne and blasted away from contact with that beast must’ve spared you the worst of the electrical discharge. You’re lucky to be alive, Mr. LaRue.”
“So, G-Man, are you done showing off for a while?” Falco said as he joined the huddle around the flattened SEALS.
“Yeah,” LaRue admitted, grimacing, still lying on his back. “At least until the next one of those sons of bitches comes along. Anybody seen Baby’s muzzle cap?”
Ten: Ambush Applied
“Looks like meat to me,” Chief Harris said as he appraised the corpse of the giant creature.
Doctor Sulati and Harry Teal had dragged LaRue to his feet and were helping the big man move away from the swamp. Jackson had suggested that they find some sort of small clearing to make camp, but he wanted it well removed from there in case the huge mound of flesh drew unpleasant scavengers.
“Well, let’s cut a few prime steaks out of there and haul them over to camp, then,” Jackson decided. Ruiz, Harris, Robinson, and Sanchez set to work as butchers, and the LT found Ensign Sanders and sent him to supervise the setting up of camp.
In a half hour, the castaways assembled on a small grassy patch of ground surrounded by giant trees. Since they had moved well away from the body of the giant creature that G-Man had killed, Jackson finally relented about lighting a fire. They had only limited rations with them, and survival training had taught all the SEALS not to waste a potential food source when they didn’t know where the next one might be.
Sanders kindled a carefully prepared fire, and soon the aroma of sizzling steaks—filet of dinosaur, Falco described them—wafted through the campsite in the small opening among the tall trees. The sun still had shown no sign of moving toward any horizon, but the castaways needed rest, and they couldn’t pass up this chance to take advantage of some fresh food.
The lieutenant had made it clear that they’d be moving out again very soon, but for now all of them were enjoying the remarkably savory and tender cuts of meat.
“You can almost forget it came from a giant lizard,” Dr. Sulati said, wrinkling her nose. “Almost.”
“Garcon! I’d like mine medium rare next time,” LaRue said. “I think my salad was a little warm. And what vintage did you say this swamp water was?”
“At least it doesn’t taste anything like chicken,” Rocky piped up as he chewed a big mouthful of meat.
“Actually, I hate to say it, but it tastes a lot like lobster,” Dr. Sulati said reluctantly.
“Pass the drawn butter,” LaRue quipped. The big man was in pain, but he refused to show anything but a bit of stiffness in his movements.
The doctor had worked with the SEALS corpsman, and both had been pleased to pronounce that nothing was broken in the G-Man; he was just beat up a lot and a little singed around the edges. For now, LaRue was basking in the glory of his kill. “The largest damn big-game trophy in the whole history of the human race, and that includes woolly mammoths!” he’d boasted.
For a few minutes at least, the castaways were simply comfortable, well fed for the first time since leaving Mars. Still, there was an undercurrent of tension and fear of the unknown lurking in everyone’s mind: an unknown journey, an unknown destination, and an almost completely unknown world that would be their home, or their prison, for the foreseeable future.
“What’s that?” Ensign Sanders said suddenly, holding up his hand. “Listen!”
They heard it clearly and growing louder: the sound of jet-or rocket-powered aircraft approaching.