Piranha

Three more up near Squad Four.

“Floyd, you have three natives on your right, above that ridge there. Everybody else is in the hut, or the pen—those are animals in the pen. I don’t have Squad One and Two in view. Hang tight.”

Da

Waiting was conservative, but it meant giving the people in the village more time to man weapons, plan a defense.

“Three and Four move in,” Da

“Aw, shit,” said Powder.

“Hawk Leader, another run, further east,” Da

“Copy that,” said Fentress.

The Flighthawk came over again—two people were walking south toward Liu’s team. Da

“Take us there,” Da

“Go, go, go!” Bison was yelling. Da

“Quick Birds, hold your fire,” said Da

He clicked into the feed from Bison—the trees moved swiftly, then he saw ground, smoke—an old tree trunk in front of his team member.

The machine gun.

“Shit fuck,” said Bison.

“All right, everyone relax now, relax,” said Da

“Got two guys here,” said Powder. “Older than the hills.”

“Powder, watch it—natives coming at you,” said Liu.

“We’re on it.”

Da

“Can you get us down?” Da

“I can hover over that roof there,” he replied. “You’ll have to go down the rope.”

“Yeah, do it,” said Stoner.

“Do it,” said Da

There was gunfire to the right of the helicopter. The pilot hesitated, then pitched his nose toward it, steadying into a firing position.

“Hold off,” said Da

“Wild stinking dogs,” said the sergeant. “Mean motherfuckers.”

“What about the people?”

“They’re all right,” he said. “We’re okay. We have two, three natives secured. No resistance, Cap. ’Cept for the barking dogs. Man, they bug the shit out of me.”

Da

By the time Stoner got to the ground, the village was secure and the huts had already been searched. The unrehearsed, ad hoc operation had gone remarkably well, so well, in fact, Stoner thought the Whiplash people might actually give his old SEAL team a run for the money.

A run, nothing more.

Even the Marines had done well. The only casualties were six dogs, probably kept by the villagers for food.

The locals were sitting grim-faced in a small circle in front of one of the huts. They were all old, easily in their fifties if not well beyond. The place was what the girl had told him it was—a refugee village started by people who had fled from another island.

Captain Freah was consulting with his people, dividing the surrounding area into quadrants for a detailed search. To Stoner, it seemed a waste of time, though he wouldn’t bother pointing it out.

“Looks pretty clean,” said Da

“We have to hit the atolls,” said Stoner. “Sooner rather than later.”

“Yeah,” said Da

“We’ll go out through the beach,” said Da

“We can use the Marines,” said Stoner.

“I have an okay for an armed recon already,” said Da

“I do.”

“Then let’s do it.”