The Ninth by Benjamin Schramm Page A

the second group should be,” Brent whispered urgently.  “Wait, throw it closer to us.  Owen might have gotten closer without knowing it.”
    Dante nodded slightly and threw a branch.  Dante hit the tree squarely, causing it to produce a loud, hollow tone.  The south light patrolling their area of the woods zeroed in on the noise instantly.  Brent could hear the motors whine as the instructor and his chair swiveled until he was facing the tree the light was focused on.  The instructor hunched over the view screen on the arm of his chair.  After several unbearable moments, the light resumed its patrol pattern, and the instructor started checking the other facings.  Owen was sure to have seen that and would get the message.  The lights were sensitive to sound.
    Once more Brent and his group resumed their forward crawl.  Their progress was slow but silent.  The camouflage blended in so well that they didn’t have to freeze save for when the light swept directly over them.  He started to wonder how the other recruits who hadn’t joined them were doing.  The instructor had been silent since night had fallen, and Brent had a feeling that when he caught a recruit he would be anything but quiet about it.
    His ponderings came to an abrupt end when he realized the ground in front of him had only sparse covering.  They would need more leaves on the ground to keep hidden.  However, he knew that if he threw a branch at a tree in front of them to provide cover, the south light would zero in.  The group would have the attention of the instructor focused squarely on them.  If their camouflage didn’t hold up they’d be spotted in an instant.  Brent remembered the swiveling chair.  The instructor had to face the direction of the light.  Perhaps the instructor couldn’t scan more than one area at a time.
    “Dante, I want you to try and hit the furthest tree on your left you think you can hit.  Everyone else, I want your heads down, eyes on the ground and no movement until I say so.” Brent whispered his command.
    As Dante sized up the distances, Brent readied for his own throw.  Dante pulled his arm back and tossed the branch as hard as he could without making a sound.  As soon as the branch left Dante’s hand, Brent threw his own branch.  Dante’s hit first, and the west facing light aimed at the tree as did the south facing light a few moments later when Brent’s branch hit its target.  The instructor’s chair swiveled, stopping first on the west facing.  The instructor studied his display for an excruciating amount of time.  Then the chair to swiveled to the south facing.  Brent turned his head and stared at the ground.  He knew that his eyes would reflect and become two beacons of light on the instructor’s display.
    However, he was right.  The instructor could only view one direction at a time.  The tree he had hit was only a few feet ahead of him and his squad.  Most likely the instructor was looking directly at them, hopefully without knowing it.  Brent and the entire group remained perfectly still, holding their breath awaiting the bellow of the instructor when he found them.  The beating of his heart became thunder in his ears.  He wondered if the instructor’s equipment could hear it.
    Out of the corner of his eye he saw the west facing light start its patrol pattern again, but Brent dared not lift his head yet.  He noticed the movement of the south light, but it was too slow to be on the patrol pattern.  The instructor must be controlling it directly. Each second hung as the light slowly panned around Brent, searching for the group.  Without warning a loud thud could be heard from his right.  The south facing light paused for a moment, then began moving at its normal patrol speed.  Brent ventured a small glace ahead.  The east facing light was targeting a tree, and the instructor had rotated to face it.  Owen must have thrown a branch.
    “All right, move on, but slowly, and