"Don't know," MacArthur huffed, jumping down and inspecting their handiwork. "Okay, Beppo, this one's yours."

Schmidt, his blonde beard dirty and caked with blood, moved into position, sticking the barrel of a captured weapon through the opening in the stacked rocks. Everyone was in position.

"They're setting up the mortar," Buccari said. She stood motionless on a prominent crag, staring down the slope through field glasses, an inviting target. The cliff dwellers stood close by, giving balance to Buccari's solitary form, statues on rocky pedestals set against a metallic blue sky. An occasional alien bullet pinged off the rocks.

"Uh-oh," O'Toole said. "That mortar will beat us to pieces." "Lieutenant!" MacArthur barked. "With all due respect, get your ass behind a rock."

Buccari pulled the glasses from her eyes and hopped down. "The other drone is coming!" she declared. "That's what they're waiting for."

MacArthur could hear the engine whining in the distance.

Captain whistled and looked at MacArthur. MacArthur nodded and pointed into the sky. All three cliff dwellers launched into the air, their wings cracking as one. As before, they glided downward and to the east, gaining speed and seeking currents to lift them. They quickly left the range of vision.

"Everybody down!" MacArthur shouted. "In your bunkers!" The corporal slid into his rock emplacement, assault rifle in hand. He watched Buccari as she did the same, only paces away.

"Some leader I turned out to be," Buccari snarled.

"Cut the crap…" MacArthur replied. His mouth snapped shut. The unmistakable sound of a double sonic boom rumbled across the valley. His eyes jerked up into the sky.

"A lander!" Buccari shouted. "That was ours!"

A thin cheer rose from the rocks. Joy was short-lived; the mortar harrumped into activity, a screaming whistle followed, and the first of many explosions showered rock and dirt over their heads. The mortar rounds landed with accuracy, exploding around the dug-in humans. Granite rocks shielded them from the direct effects of the blasts, but the rocks also provided a multitude of hard surfaces. Shrapnel careened from all directions; ricochets screamed and pinged crazily.

MacArthur heard Buccari cry out and was immediately at her side.

"Where're you hit, Sharl?" he asked, near panic. Buccari's head was back, mouth gaping, struggling to breathe.

"I'm… I'm okay, Mac," she gasped, sucking air. "Get back." "You're hit!"

"I'm fine, Mac," she wheezed. "I slipped and knocked my wind out." She flexed her left arm and wiggled her fingers.

MacArthur gently pulled her away from the rocks and saw blood trickling down the granite boulder. Frightened, he peeled the shredded, red-sodden jumpsuit from her shoulders. Another round exploded nearby, and another. He ducked low, clasping Buccari in his arms as killing shards buzzed about their shelter.

A brief lull ensued. A smattering of return fire from the humans filled the void. MacArthur shifted his position and carefully examined the lieutenant's injuries.

"You're lucky," he said, exhaling with relief. "The bleeding is already stopped, and I can see metal. The fragments were spent when they hit you. Bite on this!" He handed her his knife scabbard. "I'm going to dig them out."

MacArthur was quick. Warm splinters of shrapnel dropped to the ground, clinking wetly on the rocks. He wrapped hide and strips of bloody material tightly around her torso.

"That's all I can do," he said. He made her put on his coat.

"Thanks, Doc," Buccari breathed heavily as the pain receded. "Will… will I still be able to play the accordion?" She sat upright and leaned gingerly against the rocks. A mortar round thudded to ground close by, and more shrapnel screamed around them. She ducked into his arms, moaning in pain and fear. MacArthur hugged her passionately.

The mortar fire stopped, and he pushed her away, not looking at her face. He tried to hide his tears.

"What's wrong, Mac?" she asked. "We're going to get out of this, I know we are. The fleet's coming. You heard the lander."

He smiled sadly. "It's funny, Sharl. That's what's bothering me."

"What? Why?" she mumbled, wincing.

MacArthur moved to his knees.

"Sharl," he said, holding her hand. "We belong to different worlds. The fleet's back. You can—you'll have to return to your world. You're an officer. I'm a grunt."

"Bullshit, Mac!" she responded, green eyes flaring. "This is our world! Yours and mine. It's a new world, and we'll write our own rules—our own philosophies."

MacArthur looked at the bloodshot eyes staring out from her scarred and blackened face. He stroked her tangled, singed hair. "We better worry about one problem at a time. That shoulder's going to make it hard for you, if we have to climb down the back side."

"Don't worry about me. Corporal."

MacArthur smiled, but the smile evaporated with the realization the mortar fire had not just paused—it had ceased. He jumped to his feet and peeked above the rocks. "Sandy! Terry! Anything happening on your side?" he shouted.

"All clear here!" Tatum shouted. "The bugs are still butts up in the rocks."

"Look!" Buccari shouted, clambering up to join him. "The drone!"

"Colonel!" the subordinate shouted. "The drone! Birds are attacking."

"Not birds," Longo snarled. He scanned the skies with binoculars. "Birds do not carry weapons. Command the drone back to us and lower its altitude. Order the soldiers to blast those creatures!"

Longo watched anxiously as the mountain flyer closed inexorably on the descending machine. He could not afford to lose his last drone.

"Make it go faster!" Longo shouted. "Faster!"

"It is already at maximum speed, Colonel," said the subordinate. Both officers watched the drone technician anxiously, praying for the soldier to perform a miracle.

Ironically, if only the bear people had made the drone climb, the hunter would have been frustrated. As long as they continued to lower the machine's altitude it was possible for Braan to continue pursuit. The hunter dove at the noisy craft, closing on his objective, planning his tactics. Gaining speed by pulling in his wings, the hunter accelerated and swooped below the helicopter, passing it by. Braan curved his membranes and started an arcing movement, giving him an upward ballistic trajectory. Pulling in his wings, the creature carved a graceful, parabolic path, all the while spinning his body to face the approaching drone. With gravity killing his vertical momentum, Braan pulled the pistol from the holster and, holding it with both clawed hands at arms length, sighted down the barrel at the onrushing machine.

Braan, the-leader-of hunters, fired one shot at point blank range before the drone crashed into his body.

"It hit him!" MacArthur shouted, binoculars pressed to his eyes. The drone halted in midair, pieces of metal peeling away, theplane of its rotor blades tilting. Captain's limp form was dashed aside, tumbling from the skies. MacArthur focused on the falling creature, but he could still see the drone veering crazily. The drone wobbled, seeking to stabilize itself, but then it rolled in a jerking spiral over onto its back. MacArthur thought the spinning blades would strike the hunter, but Captain had fallen clear.

"Come on, Captain! Fly!" MacArthur exhorted. "Come on!"

One of the creature's wings slipped open, and Captain rolled in mid-air. The hunter's line of fall deflected, but it remained precipitous.

"You can do it!" MacArthur was yelling. "Fly, you little bastard! Fly!"

The hunter's wings stiffened. The plummet turned into a swoop, and Captain sailed unsteadily over the ground, wobbling through the ranks of the konish soldiers. The drone exploded beautifully in the background. The humans cheered. MacArthur screamed in joy.