Fourth Vector Ch. 03

Below them, Jack heard the sound of the ship whining as it shifted along the deep sand and rock. The scraping of the hull from the rocks below provided hope that they would soon free her, but to everyone's disappointment, the ship remained rooted in its spot.

"We're never going to get off this bloody sandbar," muttered Jack as the last combined towing/wedging effort failed.

"What else could we possibly do?" asked Vicky while biting her lip. "Call back to Quiller's Cove?"

"We might have to but that would take weeks before they got something else back out here. Longer if there's nothing there that could tow something as large as theTiger while having a shallow enough draft not to get stuck. We might be here for some time."

Vicky gritted her teeth. "If that's the only option we have, we'll have to take it."

"Not the only option," said Jack softly.

"No. Don't even go there. That's not something I would consider," she said, shaking her head vehemently.

"It may be the only option we have. Especially if we keep getting attacked," said Jack.

She turned to face him, a steely determination in her gaze. "There must be something we can do."

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving him to motion to the sailors below to come back aboard for a regroup. They were running out of options and without a new idea soon, they'd have to call back to base for aid.

"Man, do you look pissed."

Jack turned around to see Greg walking up to the railing and resting against it.

"Not pissed. Just wondering what the hell to do about this ship," said Jack.

"I take it the wedging idea didn't work?"

Jack shook his head.

"Damn. I'd hate to be in your shoes right now," said Greg with a grin.

"Thanks, dick," quipped Jack, earning a chuckle from the other man.

"You want to take a breather for a while? I'm about to head to shore and get my afternoon situation report from the patrol. Want to come with me?"

"Sure, why not. I'm obviously not doing anything good here," said Jack with a simple nod.

*****

Corporal Rodney Anderson waited until the small launch boat nestled into the shore before hopping over the side. Standing up straight, he yawned at the thought of another perimeter patrol. His first two patrols—yesterday afternoon and early this morning—were beyond quiet and just a little boring. Yet, until their ship was freed, there would be no end in sight to the patrols.

"Did you not get enough beauty rest, Anderson?"

Rodney looked over to see the determined smirk of Sergeant Brandon Michaels. While technically outranking him, Michaels was only a single grade above him and the two men had known each other since their enlistment began ten years ago.

"Luckily for us, it's almost time for my rest now," quipped back Rodney.

The sergeant pursed his lips. "Don't get too relaxed out there. You know those people are still out there. Don't forget what they did to the sailors yesterday."

"I doubt they'd find a way to mess with marines though. They should know better than to start shit with us," said Rodney proudly.

"It's that kind of attitude that'll get you killed," said Brandon in a serious tone.

"Just relax, will you? We'll protect the perimeter like the chief ordered and then get some shut-eye once we're back on the ship."

The sergeant let out an approving nod. "Just watch your back out there. And if you see anything, call for help."

Rodney nodded his head several times and then started into the forest. He walked carefully, watching each step in the thick foliage until he reached the picket line, finding another Marine positioned next to a large tree.

"Harrison, your time's up. Head back to the ship," said Rodney, setting his rifle next to the tree along with his pack.

Harrison sat up and stretched, reaching his hands high into the air. "Man, it's about time. I thought I was beginning to see shit out there."

"Anything I need to know about?" asked Rodney.

Harrison shook his head. "There were some weird rustling sounds just beyond that low hill over there, but they stopped about a half hour ago. Haven't seen shit though in my entire four hour watch."

"Good enough for me. Go get some rest. You'll be back on for the early morning shift."

Harrison grabbed his rifle and slung it over his shoulder. "Hope your time is just as quiet as mine!" With that, the young marine disappeared through some bushes on his way back to shore.

"Great, here we go. Four hours of miserable fun," muttered Rodney as he hopped into the foxhole. Setting his rifle to the side, he first took in his bearings, looking around at the trees and landscape in front of him. This stretch of the forest looked much like the others he had been in earlier. Internally, he wondered if all stretches of forest looked the same if you spent enough time there.

Sighing to himself, Rodney pulled his helmet down low on his brow and reclined into the foxhole, trying to get comfortable. Crossing his arms around his torso, he sat and listened for something to develop.

The first half hour went by uneventfully. There were no sounds except for some random, human noises within the perimeter—mostly coughs, sneezes or grunts.

It was about forty-five minutes into watch that Rodney noticed a bush about thirty yards in front of his position begin to shake in a most unnatural way. The bush occupied the low rising that had been identified by Harrison before he left, and Rodney found himself training his eyes to watch the movement. Because of the angle, he couldn't see beyond the bush, and it remained too thick to see what was causing the rustling.

Just as he shifted to grab his rifle, the rustling stopped abruptly and the bush stopped moving. Rodney furrowed his brow in confusion, his hand still gripped tightly on the rifle to his side.

"What in the hell is that?" he whispered to himself.

Something was now making a noise just beyond the bush. It was a low-pitched sound and it immediately made him sit up and pay attention. The noise kept getting louder and louder until eventually a flash of red and yellow just beyond the bush caught his gaze. Suddenly, Rodney found himself looking into the eyes of many different men.

"Shit, we're being attacked!" yelled Rodney right as something small and hard hit him just below his right eye. The corporal screamed in pain, falling forward as the entire world went red. Around him, screams of the native warriors surrounded his position as they rushed forward and attacked the entire perimeter. The sounds of gunfire opened up all around him but just as quickly, the guns fell silent as the screams of men pierced the late afternoon air.

Rodney hazarded a look at his hands with his remaining eye, almost fainting at the sight of so much blood.

His blood.

He reached out to grab his rifle to mount a defense but found himself flailing about with only limited control over his limbs.

Rolling over to his side, he struggled to find his rifle. His hands covered the ground around him in search of the weapon until they found something warm to land on. Rodney looked up with his bloody face and found him looking right at a native warrior peering down at him. He had grabbed the man's foot and the native had cocked his slingshot, aiming directly for his face.

"Please don't shoot," begged Rodney, holding his hands up in front of him. The warrior simply sneered in his response.

He never heard the sound of the warrior releasing the shot.

*****

"That's about it, Major. It's been quiet so far on this shift. We'll send along another report in the next hour," replied the steely staff sergeant from his command post on the left bank of the channel.

"Good work, Bates. Keep me informed," said Greg with a crisp salute as Jack looked out across the small inlet to the beachedTiger.

"Glad to hear it's been quiet for the men so far," said Jack as soon as Greg had rejoined him. "Although I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of those natives."

Greg chuckled. "Let them come if they dare. My boys will be ready. Anyway, let's get back to the ship. I'm starving and could use a meal right about—"

The sound of a bloodcurdling scream stopped both men in their tracks, and they whipped around to face the forest. All around the defensive perimeter the sound of the native war cry erupted followed by several bursts of the automatic NT-12 rifle.

"What the fuck is that?" swore Greg as he quickly slung his rifle off his shoulder.

"It looks like they're back! Let's get in there and help the men out!" yelled Jack as he clutched his own rifle in hand and darted into the forest.

"I'm right behind you!"

Both of the men slipped into the heavy foliage toward the sounds of screams and gunfire. It wasn't hard to locate where the action was going down and the muzzle flashes from the rifles led them right to a small outpost not far from the beach.

"What the hell is this? The perimeter was set a good fifty yards forward from here," asked Greg as they slipped into a small ditch occupied by two marines as well as two dead ones.

"They got us surrounded, Major!" yelled the panicked marine. "Half of my squad is dead. They managed to get behind us and shoot at our backs!"

"Get me in front of these fucks," growled Greg. "It's time for some retribution!"

"Look just on ahead. There they are!"

Jack grabbed a rifle from one of the dead marines and brought the scope up to his eye, firing off several rounds at the advancing warriors. From what he could see, these men were dressed in much the same way as the dead warriors from the day before.

Wave after wave of warriors assaulted their small position, each of them getting mowed down in turn while the four men fired their weapons at the advanced parties. Eventually, the natives wised up and stopped charging, preferring to hide behind trees and fire their slingshots from a place of protection.

"They're getting smarter! We need to flank that position if we're going to stop this," said Jack, pointing to a small grove of trees that held a group of about ten warriors.

"Jack, you and I are going this way," said Greg, pointing to the left. "You two, give us some covering fire until we get there!"

"Yes, sir!" roared the marines as they peaked up beyond the ditch and began to pour some lead against the tree.

Both men rushed about to another position off to the left, temporarily safe from fire as the pinned down natives clung to their safety. Jack was able to find a small grove of trees some fifty feet away and in so doing, found a vantage point that allowed him to see the side of the warriors near the tree.

"Let's show them how we do it in Java," whooped Greg as his rifle opened up fire. The startled natives were caught completely by surprise as five of them went down with his first bursts of lead. The rest of the group never recovered, becoming wiped out almost to the man from the vicious counterattack. As the last man hit the grass below, their barrels fell silent.

"I haven't had this much fun in years," said Greg, wearing a crazed grin on his face.

More gunfire erupted from deeper in the forest in a position that couldn't have been more than a hundred yards away.

"Hope you're ready for more of it because it sounds like they aren't quitting just yet," said Jack as he rushed up from his position.

They followed the sounds of gunfire to find another foxhole nearby. Jack could tell by the depth of the hole that this was one of the prepared positions, the original perimeter of this bank of the shore. Inside was a sight out of pure hell. Four wounded or dead marines lying prone against the ground while another one attended to the only man that was still moving. One of the poor bastards had taken a shot directly to the face. The damage to it alone meant the shot probably occurred at a close range.

The only man still capable of holding a rifle was firing repeatedly, trying to prevent the natives from overrunning their position. Jack and Greg hopped into the hole and opened fire on the attacking warriors.

"Goddamn, I'm sure glad to see you two!" gushed the marine in between rifle bursts. "I thought we were goners there for a second!"

"How long have you been pinned down?" asked Jack, firing a few bursts of his own at one particularly fat warrior who just rushed out from behind a tree and stood poised to release his slingshot. Instead, the man crumpled easily and the slingshot fell harmlessly to the ground.

"It felt like a while but probably no more than five minutes. They just keep coming, sir! Every one that I kill seems to make two more appear! And I'm running low on ammunition."

"Here, take this," said Greg, grabbing the rifle from one of the dead men and tossing it to the marine. He caught it in a hurry and switched out, opening fire once more.

"Keep your eyes peeled! They may soon figure out they can't take us head on and attempt a flank!" yelled Jack.

"Damnit, look up!" roared Greg as his rifle swung toward the branch in front of them. One of the natives had tried to climb the tree and sat poised with his slingshot to take them out. He nearly managed to get off the shot before a round slammed into his gut, making him fall from the tree.

"Good shooting, Major," yelled Jack as he mopped up the rest of the surviving war band. Just as quickly as they had appeared, the natives began to melt away and soon their barrels fell silent.

"Is that it? Are they done?" asked Greg, holding his rifle in a ready position.

"Let's hope so. We need the brief respite to reload," answered Jack. Seeing that the marine in front of him was hunched over his rifle, Jack placed his hand on the man's shoulder. "Better reload now while you have the chance, son."

When the man didn't respond, Jack pulled back on his shoulder. He nearly flinched when he saw the man's face. The marine who had just been fighting had a large bloody gash that ran the length of his cheek. The look on his face easily told Jack that he was dead. He let go of his grip on the man and he crumpled to the ground beneath him.

"We're going to make these bastards pay for all the marines they killed today," growled Greg. "We should check on the wounded." He cocked his head back to the marine that was still alive just behind them. "How are those boys doing back there, marine?"

When the man didn't respond, Greg turned around. "Did they get you too, man? Why so quiet? Oh, shit."

Jack looked at the major from the corner of his eye and saw him begin to lower his weapon with a look of disgust and shock on his face. Turning fully around, Jack's mouth fell open at the very sight in front of him.

They had indeed been surrounded. About ten different warriors stood a mere feet from them. About two each had their slingshots trained on Jack and Greg, while the others watched their backs. The serious looks on their yellow and red-painted faces suggested that one wrong move meant instant death.

The man in front, who was obviously the oldest of the group with his long, grizzled beard, gestured several times to Jack and Greg and more specifically their rifles. From his gesture, it was determined he wanted them to drop their weapons.

"All right, you old fuck," muttered Greg as his NT-12 hit the floor. Jack followed suit shortly after and once their rifles were firmly on the ground, the small band pulled them out of the foxhole along with the only other marine that was still alive, a seriously wounded man named Ulysses.

The natives stripped them of everything they had, including their radios, and they were left with only the clothes on their backs. Silently, restraint cords were tired around all three pairs of hands, even though only two of them were in any condition to resist. Jack noted how it would almost be comical to see the small race of people restraining them as their size difference alone ensured that even though the men were under control, they were still targeted by the slingshots.

Around them, the sounds of gunfire started to die down as the group began to march deeper into the forest. At first, Ulysses was merely dragged by his arms by a pair of warriors since he was unable to move on his own strength but no more than a mile from their foxhole, he was dropped and the man fell to the ground.

Jack watched as one of the warriors leaned over the wounded man to take his pulse before looking up to the elder, bearded warrior. He then shook his head from side to side.

"Leave him if he is dead," said the elder man. At once the rest of the natives left the man in the mud and resumed the march.

"How do you know he's dead? Maybe he's just unconscious!" yelled Greg.

"Unconscious men still have pulses," muttered the elder as they resumed the march. "He did not."

"So what! He's under my command! You must bring him!" Greg tried to shrug his way out of the restraints causing two more warriors to attempt to get control of him once more.

"We don't need any dead weight. Leave him and let's go," said the elder as they dragged the struggling Greg along with them.

Jack looked at the elder man. "You speak our tongue."

Slowly, he nodded. "All Lishkerrans speak the common tongue just as you humans do, yes. Now it is time for silence, Galician."

Jack pursed his lips, wondering what the hell a Galician was but didn't ask any more questions. The feel of the sling pressed against his back indicated the stakes were already too high.

The small group continued their walk through the forest. Jack would get glimpses of the sun shining through overhead, and based on its position, he deemed them to still be walking in a westerly course to the other end of the island. It took a good hour to reach their ultimate destination, their pace only speeding up once they left the dead Ulysses behind. Finally stepping out from the forest, both men gasped at the sight in front of them.

Having reached the western sea which they had cruised along just two days prior, they found a stunning city perched right along a small cliff. It was unlike any city that Jack had seen before, having no equivalent in Java or any of the Eastern nations. Perched along the cliff, the city was a decent size, being large enough to house several thousand people. Along the land approaches to the city occupied a semi-circular defensive wall that couldn't have been more than seven feet tall. Along the entire wall stood guard towers spaced in intervals all the way to the coast.

Inside, Jack could see what looked like a giant palace right in the middle of the settlement, unique for having a large thatched roof and gigantic wooden walls. It dominated the entire settlement and only the small hovels around the flanks of the palace served as a reminder that other people lived there too.

"How? How is this possible?" Jack asked, breaking the silence. "We sailed along the coast and didn't see any of this!"

The elder turned to glare at him. "We have ways to prevent ourselves from becoming extinct at the expense of humans. That includes shielded our cities from prying eyes. They only become visible when we want them to. Otherwise, they'll appear to your eyes as pristine nature, not worthy of a second look."

Jack stood gaping in amazement, wondering what kind of magic could have removed the entire city from their view. The group began to move again, approaching the main eastern gate and entrance into the city. Along the walls, warriors stopped to gawk at the sight of the humans being led into captivity. Jack noted that they all wore the same red and yellow paint scheme on their bodies.

Once inside the gate, the party began its procession directly to the heart of the city—the grand palace. It dominated the view from the main street and far dwarfed the size of the hovels lining their way. From what Jack could tell, the tiny structures seemed to be divided into their own distinct neighborhoods. Many of them were pitifully unadorned from the outside, being simple dwellings, but the main scene of activity seemed to be the marketplace.