Free Bolo Brigade by William H Keith Page A

background. Schaagrasch saw nothing she could distinguish as a weapon, but the capabilities of this species were still less than perfectly known. With a twist of her head and a double blink of her eyes, she targeted the group, now fifty erucht distant. A forward thrust of her left hand, third claw extended, triggered a single bolt from her kaigho .
    The word translated as "fang-slash" and referred to the first, satisfying lunge-and-rip designed to disembowel or cut the leg tendons of large prey, rendering it helpless. A relatively short-ranged weapon, it discharged a dazzling pulse of electrons, a Malach-made bolt of lightning that scrambled unhardened electronics, melted armor, and charred flesh. The flash was dazzling, the thunderclap deafening as autochthons were scattered in every direction, some of them gloriously ablaze, some squeaking in terror or pain. In an instant, Schaagrasch was upon them, standing astride a tumble of charred and still-smoking corpses, lashing out with one clawed foot to slice one of the screaming wounded in two, bringing the foot down atop the writhing, partly burned body of another. Four of the autochthons not caught in the kaigho 's killzone fled in panic down the slope. She turned and lowered the Hunter's snout; a movement of her second claw, right hind-arm, triggered her mag gun, flinging a buzzing swarm of flechettes through the screaming survivors and cutting them into bloody shreds.
    Kill and eat!
    Schaagrasch paused momentarily, among the torn and scattered bodies. Odd little creatures, with blood that was altogether the wrong color. Killing them was not quite as satisfying as she'd anticipated . . . a psychological effect, she knew, of the fact that the color red did not trigger the same urges and mental channelings as the color blue-green. It left her with the gnawing, hungry need to keep striking, keep slashing. She needed to find more autochthons to kill.
    She had read the reports of these scout packs and watched vid records of the vivisection of several captives. They were oddly made, to be sure, erect and tailless, with too few limbs, with an omnivore's teeth, with only a single heart, and with digestive organs unprotected and easily opened. She gave a short, hard snort of derision. These had been unarmored and apparently unarmed. Had they been juveniles? Where were their Guardians? She turned in place, surveying the surrounding hills and forests. There must be more to sate her blood-hunger.
    New movement to her right caught her attention; another ebon-hulled Hunter topped the ridge, flat, weapon-heavy hull bobbing in mechanical mimicry of an organic Malach's search-and-track body language. A second machine followed. Schaagrasch's electronic overlays identified both: Krakuscht the Never-Tiring and Ureskchagh the Sinews-Cutter. The sight thrilled Schaagrasch, kindling the sharp joy of UrrghChaak , the Blood-chase. In military operations like these, the hardest part might be the waiting, but the most dangerous in a tactical sense was those critical few moments after landing, when the Pack was scattered and unable to coordinate effectively. Now, though, two of Schaagrasch's companions had joined her. Both strode forward, tipping the prows of their machines high in a salute acknowledging Schaagrasch's greater rank and social status.
    "You have killed," Krakuscht said over the Hunter Pack's radio link. "The first taste is to you!"
    Contemptuously, Schaagrasch scattered wet body parts with a flick of one huge, clawed foot. " Gnedissh ," she said. "Trash. There is nothing here worthy of the Pack."
    "The military base is that way," Ureskchagh said, indicating the south with a twist of her Hunter's body. "There will be Guardians there."
    "Then we will kill and eat," Schaagrasch said, the UrrghChaak pounding behind her eyes, bringing anticipatory blood-taste to her jaws.
    " Shch'kaa uroch! " the others bayed. " Kill and eat! "
     
    It was still night when Alexie reached downtown Galloway in