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gouging into the asphalt, its curving surfaces shading the street and almost
touching the buildings on either side. An oily black stain on the white hull,
back near the tail, marked where Schaefer's RPG had hit it.
"Well, what do you know," Schaefer said. "Company! "
34
For a few seconds everyone on the street or huddled in the doorways stared
silently up at the ship. It had not landed; it had simply appeared. Rasche
realized it must have landed while still invisible, and once it was down, the
aliens had turned their gadget off.
He felt a sudden renewed chill. If the creatures were giving up an advantage
like that . . .
Then the first blast struck-one of the police cruisers exploded in blue-white
fire and, an instant later, exploded again in yellow flame as the gas tank
detonated. Cops ducked and dived in all directions, looking for cover.
That had apparently been a test shot; before the echoes had died, away the
actual barrage began. Blue-white flared up on all sides as vehicles were
scattered like toys and building facades crumbled.
Schaefer ran, dodged, and dived for cover, landing beside Rasche in the
sheltered doorway of the camera shop.
"Jesus," he said as he sprawled on the sidewalk, "I think they're upset."
"This isn't just for fun, Schaefer!" Rasche shouted. "They're going to bring
down half the city!"
Schaefer looked at him, then rolled over and looked up at the ship and the
ongoing pyrotechnics. He saw that the buildings on both sides were still
standing; the aliens were shooting at the vehicles in the street, and at the
entrances, but they weren't really doing anywhere near as much damage as they
might have.
Schaefer had seen what a group on foot could do when they'd taken out
Eschevera's camp; he'd seen a ship reduce Carr's building to rubble in a
matter of minutes. Somehow he suspected that the ship out there could have
done a lot more damage if that was what the bastards really wanted.
"You know," he said thoughtfully, "maybe I was wrong-maybe they aren't upset.
I think they're just clearing the area so we won't ambush 'em as they emerge.
Hell, if they chase enough people away, maybe I'll finally be able to afford a
decent apartment! "
Rasche was too shocked to react to Schaefer's attempt at humor.
Out in the street Captain McComb crouched by one of the cars that was still
intact and shouted into the radio, "Sweet Jesus, we need help up here! I've
never seen anything like it-that son of a bitch Philips . . ."
Then, abruptly, the barrage stopped; echoes rolled away down the avenue and up
the streets on either side.
In the sudden silence the survivors on the ground peered cautiously from
whatever shelter they had found.
"Now what?" Rasche asked.
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"Now they come out after us," Schaefer replied. "That was just to drive us
back. Look."
Rasche looked and saw an opening appear in the side of the ship. Something
shimmered in the shadow there; then the shimmer dropped to the street below.
A second shimmer followed, and a third . . .
Rasche ducked back out of sight.
McComb didn't notice the shimmerings; he didn't know what to look for. He saw
the door open, but he didn't see anything emerge.
"What do you want?" he shouted. "You want someone to come in there and parley?
Is that it?"
"Is that it?" his own voice called back.
And then, suddenly, one of the creatures was standing over him, looking down,
its face hidden behind a metal mask.
"What . . . what are you?" McComb gasped.
The monster didn't answer. The black thing on its shoulder swiveled, aimed,
and fired, blowing a hole through Captain McComb's chest.
"There's one of 'em!" one of Carr's men shouted. "Over there!" He lifted his
Uzi and sprayed bullets at the creature standing over the dead cop.
It flickered and vanished.
The hood stopped firing, lowered the gun, and stared. "Jesus," he said, "he
disapp-"
Then the blue-white bolt from the shoulder cannon tore through his side,
spinning him off his feet; he was dead by the time he hit the sidewalk.
"McComb's dead!" Rasche shouted.
"And we're next, if we don't keep moving," Schaefer said. He stared through
the mask. "They're not keeping any kind of formation, they're just milling
around out there, picking targets at random-if we can lay down a fire pattern,
drive 'em back. . ." He looked around for allies and spotted a cluster of
Carr's men, spraying bullets in all directions.
"Lay a pattern, " he shouted. "Push them back toward the ship!"
The thugs paid no attention; Schaefer swore and charged out toward them,
firing wildly to cover his own movements.
He had almost reached the group of outlaws when the shape of one of the
aliens, red and gold through the mask, reared up before him.
"Oh, shit . . ."
The thing hit him with the back of its hand, sending him flying; then, when he
landed, it stepped over to him, reached down, and snatched the mask away from
him.
That finally got the attention of the nearby humans, and a barrage of
gunfire drove the monster away before it could finish him.
"Damn!" Schaefer said as he crawled for shelter. "helmet's gone-we're blind,
and they know it!"
Blue-white cannon fire took down two of Carr's recruits, and in the instant's
distraction Rasche dashed forward to help Schaefer up from the pavement.
Together, the two ran for shelter.
A wild shot tore through Rasche's shoulder, and he fell back, shattering what
remained of a broken display window. Schaefer called his name and looked
wildly about for somewhere he could take his fallen partner, somewhere safe.
He didn't see anything like safety, but he did see reinforcements coming.
At least he hoped they were reinforcements.
A squad of men in olive drab were charging up Third Avenue, M-16's firing.
And one of the men, Schaefer saw, was General Philips.
"Schaefer!" the old man called. "Goddamn you, you son of a bitch, you had to
do this the hard way! The shit's really hit the fan now!"
"What's next, General?" Schaefer shouted back. "Gonna take out my boys for
'em? Still hoping to negotiate?"
"Shit," Philips said. "Maybe that's what they want down in Washington, but I
was never much of a diplomat. I may not have shown it, Schaefer, but I do know
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what side I'm on, and it isn't some goddamn monsters'-I've got gunships,
helicopters, coming this way."
"Think it'll help?" Schaefer asked. "You know how many ships they have, where
they are?"
"Nope," Philips replied. "Can't track 'em that well-they make our stealth
technology look like bright-red billboards with targets on 'em. But goddammit,
it's our planet!"
The second-story wall blew out of the building above them just then; neither
man had seen whether alien cannon fire or a wild shot from one of the
defenders' heavier weapons was responsible, but they both bent over and
sheltered their heads with their arms as debris pelted them.
Then Philips looked up and looked around.
"Can't see a goddamn sign of 'em," he said. "These damned foreigners are
really starting to stick in my craw-why don't the yellow bastards show
themselves?"
"Why should they?" Schaefer asked as he scanned the street. "It's . . . Wait a
minute." Something had caught his eye, and combined with a memory. "You watch
Rasche," he said.
He ran forward into the street before Philips could react, and began pawing
through the wreckage of one of McComb's cruisers. He found what he wanted-a
fireman's wrench. He hefted it and ran for the nearest hydrant.
He twisted the cap off the front, then turned the hydrant on full.
Water sprayed out, against the side of a burning cruiser, and then up, arcing
into the street; as the water showered back, blue sparks crawled across
shimmering outlines, and two alien monsters appeared.
Carr, a block away, saw what Schaefer had done; he didn't have a wrench, but
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