GENELLAN: PLANETFALL(190)

"Why aren't they attacking?" Chastain grunted. The big man, with help from MacArthur and Schmidt, heaved a particularly large rock into place with a grinding crunch.

"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."