The Omicron Legion by Jon Land Page B

inconceivable.
    Blaine recognized that the means by which the Wakinyan had dispatched Norseman’s team had changed Johnny’s view of them. Their use of such a brilliant stratagem revealed them to be clever tacticians as well as murderous monsters.
    A faint rustling reached Blaine in his self-made crypt. Not a sound so much as a disturbance in the ground he had become a part of. It was no more than the here-and-gone ruffle a small creature would make as it went its way in the underbrush. And yet it belonged to creatures powerful enough to savagely murder seven Green Berets.
    He could feel the ground stir directly above him.
    One of them’s right above me…
    Gone, though, before he could even complete the thought. Somehow that slowed Blaine’s heart. The test had been passed. Johnny’s plan, this part anyway, was going to work.
    But a fresh fear washed over him like cold water down the back on a hot summer day. He had made the world of the enemy his own world in Vietnam, in Israel, in a dozen other countries. He had felt his heart lurching for his throat and his guts twisted into bag ties to hold in his breath. The feeling that had just passed over him now was not the black cold he remembered. It was more like a frigid void, a white noise darkening in the night, as if a vacuum were walking above.
    Blaine hardened his resolve to keep from trembling. He almost retched, and his sense of time deserted him. With his other senses already stifled, the vise of panic tightened around him.
    Fight it, dammit! Fight it!
    Forming that resolve coherently was enough to do the job. The shallow breathing he allowed himself steadied. Blaine flexed his fingers to regain physical control.
    Then a hand drove down into his hollow. McCracken kicked for freedom as it pushed for his face.
    Blaine recognized the hand as Johnny’s just in time to still himself.
    “We must move quickly, Blainey. They will be back before long.” Wareagle helped McCracken to his feet and watched him stretch the life back into his limbs. Then Blaine leaned back over and retrieved the range finder from his hollow.
    Beep, beep, beep…
    “Moving away from us, Indian.”
    “Not for long.”
    The red blips continued to move farther from the center of the grid.
    “So, what now?”
    “We use more of their medicine against them. We set a trap, Blainey. With us as bait.”
    “Because Ben Norseman was kind enough to leave us with the snare we needed,” McCracken said as he pulled the fuel air explosive cylinder from his pack.
    “The Wakinyan who walked upon our graves will meet up with the rest soon,” said Wareagle. “When they backtrack our way, our own personal hellfire will greet them.”
    “Gonna piss off a lot of conservationists, Indian.”
    “The land will understand, Blainey. Something must die if the balance of nature is to be preserved.” Wareagle gazed through the dark jungle in the same direction the range finder was aimed. “They’re coming.”
    “Pretty decent breeze. What do you make for direction?”
    “At our backs now; blowing west to east.”
    “And say two to three minutes for the Wakinyan to cover the five hundred yards the range finder gives us.” He turned the cylinder over to work the timer. “I’ll set the timer for a minute and a half. Catch them dead in the center that way.”
    “Not right here, Blainey.”
    “Why?”
    “The shock wave could still catch us. We’re in a valley right now, but we can make that work for us by climbing out after setting the charge near the rim.”
    “I like your thinking, Indian.”
    Heading west, they soon reached the point where the valley began to slope upward. Blaine’s eyes darted furiously from the trail to the range finder, which so far had shown nothing.
    “Get ready, Blainey.”
    McCracken handed the range finder to Johnny and pulled the explosive cylinder from his pack. It was heavier than it looked, and he lowered it to the ground to set the timing and release mechanism. The whole