The Artemis Fowl Files - Eoin Colfer [10]
Root jogged up a shallow incline toward the human dwelling. Short could not be inside the actual dwelling itself, but she could be using it for cover. The commander hugged the thicket, his dull green LEP jumpsuit blending with the foliage.
Julius heard something up ahead. An irregular scraping. The noise of fabric against rock. He froze, then slowly twisted his way into the foliage itself. A disgruntled rabbit turned tail, wriggling deeper into the hedgerow. Root ignored the brambles dragging at his elbows, inching forward toward the source of the noise. It could be nothing, but on the other hand it could be everything.
It turned out to be everything. From his shelter inside the thicket, Root could clearly see Holly hunkered behind a large rock. It wasn’t a particularly clever hiding place. She was sheltered from an easterly approach, but otherwise she was wide open. Captain Kelp was not visible, possibly filming from a raised vantage point.
Root sighed. He was surprised to find that he was disappointed. It would have been nice to have a girl around the place. Someone new to shout at.
Julius drew his paintball pistol, poking the barrel through spirals of briar branches. He would tag her a couple of times just to make an impression. Short had better wake up and do better if she ever wanted the Recon insignia on her lapel.
There was no need for Root to use the sights on his helmet. It was an easy shot, barely twenty feet. And even if it hadn’t been, Root would not have used his visor. Short didn’t have electronic sights, so he wouldn’t use them either. This would give him even more to shout about after the failed initiation.
Then Holly turned in the direction of the thicket. She still couldn’t see him, but he could see her. And even more important, he could read the words scrolling across her chest.
TURNBALL + 2
Commander Root drew his gun barrel back into the thicket, retreating into the blackness of the overgrowth.
Root battled to contain his emotions. Turnball was back. And he was here. How was it possible? All the old feelings quickly resurfaced, lodging in the commander’s stomach. Turnball was his brother, and a nub of affection for him still remained. But the overriding emotion was sadness. Turnball had betrayed the People, and had been willing to see many of them die for his own profit. He had allowed his brother to escape once before; he would not let it happen again.
Root wiggled backward through the thicket, then activated his helmet. He tried establishing a link with Police Plaza, but all he got on the helmet radio was white noise. Turnball must have detonated a jammer.
Turnball may control the airwaves, but he could not control the air itself. And any living thing would heat the air. Root lowered a thermal filter on his visor and began a slow grid search of the area behind Corporal Short.
The commander’s search did not take too long. Two red slits shone like beacons among the pale pink of insect and rodent life teeming under the field’s surface. The slits were probably caused by a body-heat leakage from underneath two sheets of cam foil. Snipers. Lying in wait for him. These fairies were not professional. If they had been, they would have kept their gun barrels beneath the sheet until they were needed, thus eliminating the heat spill.
Root holstered his paintball pistol, drawing instead a Neutrino 500. Usually in combat situations he carried a tri-barreled water-cooled blaster, but he hadn’t been expecting combat. He berated himself silently. Idiot. Combat does not arrange itself around schedules.
The commander circled round behind the snipers, then put two bursts into them from a distance. This might not have been the most sporting course of action, but it was definitely the most prudent. By the time the snipers regained consciousness they would be shackled to each other in the back of a police shuttle. If by some chance he had stunned two innocents, then there would be no lasting aftereffects.
Commander