The Assault by Brian Falkner Page A

I were you. She’d chew you up and spit out the grisly bits for target practice.”
    “Wilton,” Brogan said, “no offense, but I wouldn’t feed you to my dog.”
    “Brogan,” Wilton said, “do you ever wish you’d been born a boy?”
    “No, how about you?” Brogan asked.
    “Ground mobiles, ten o’clock,” Price said. “Two of them. Small. Jeeps or Land Rovers. About three klicks out.”
    “Heading our way?” Chisnall asked.
    “Not yet,” Price said.
    “Let’s hope it stays that way,” Chisnall said.
    It didn’t.
    They were up out of the massive crater now. The light of the day was increasing with every minute and the clouds of dust from the vehicles were already visible without binoculars, rising in a red-gray plume to the northwest.
    “They’re turning,” Price said. “Must have picked us up. Coming this way.”
    Chisnall took a deep breath. This was it. Contact with the enemy. This was what they had trained for. “Okay, everybody stay frosty,” he said. “We’re just a Puke patrol returning with some prisoners.”
    “Think they’ll buy it?” Wilton asked.
    “No reason why they shouldn’t,” Chisnall replied. “Butthe action code is
dingo
. If you hear that, all hell is about to break loose.”
    “Booyah,” Wilton said. “Gonna kick some Puke butt today.”
    “Not unless I give you the code,” Chisnall said. “Otherwise, we’re just a Puke patrol. Now listen up. No English. Bzadian only. Try not to talk any more than you have to.”
    “Which dialect?” Monster asked.
    “This from the dude who can’t even speak English,” Wilton said.
    “Stick to Corziz,” Chisnall said. They all spoke at least three of the alien languages, but Corziz was the most common.
    “He’s serious, kids,” Brogan said. “Anything could trip us up. It might be something about our appearance. Or a word used in the wrong way. It might be the way you blink.”
    “If anything tips the alien patrol off that we are not what we seem, then the whole Angel program is for nothing,” Chisnall said.
    They were well trained. That wasn’t really what worried him. What worried him was the traitor. Would he or she say or do something to give them up to the patrol? He had to be ready for that. He had to be ready for anything. Without being obvious, he moved up close behind Price.
    The far-off plumes of dust grew in size, as did the lingering haze behind them. Two black dots turned into shimmering blobs, then morphed into toy cars, then into Land Rovers. Long-range patrol vehicles (LRPVs), three-seaters. A driver, a passenger, and a gunner position with a fifty-calibermachine gun mounted high behind the two front seats. The rear of the vehicle was a cargo tray.
    A few minutes later, the vehicles were close enough for Chisnall to see that they still had their Australian Army markings. The Land Rovers skidded to a halt in the soft dust alongside the Angels, enveloping them for a moment in a mini dust storm.
    Showtime
, Chisnall thought.
    There were no doors on the LRPVs. A tall Bzadian lieutenant swung his legs over the side of the vehicle and stepped down. His uniform had the insignia of the Republican Guards. Chisnall suspected that, judging from his height, he was probably a bobble-head.
    There were many races within the Bzadian species. The bobble-heads were one of the more easily identified races because of their unusually tall size (for Bzadians) and their odd habit of nodding while talking.
    Chisnall gave Bennett a harsh shove in his back as the lieutenant approached. The SAS man stumbled on his injured leg and fell.
Cruel but effective
, Chisnall thought. Fleming glared at him and helped Bennett back to his feet. The alien lieutenant glanced at the two SAS men and his nostrils flared with distaste.
    Chisnall breathed out slowly. This was the moment. The first real test of the whole Angel program. Years in development and years of training, bone remodeling, skin recoloring, learning language and culture. It