Play Time

Vance Argon stopped among the thickest brush, listening intently. Not far off, perhaps as close as the tree line, they were coming in after him. A dozen troopers, maybe more, and they were headed in his direction.

Being here in the woods now gave him the advantage. He could move more stealthily than the armored troops. With the canopy above blotting out the sunlight and the sky swiftly darkening in the West with the approach of the storm, it would soon be dark as night in the forest.

He could not stay hidden in the woods forever. He had to make it to the town by night or he would be out of luck. If he did not meet with the other resistance leaders soon, they would vacate, fearing capture of their own. He had to press on.

A sound to his left, the not-so-subtle crunching of brush beneath booted feet, gave Vance a start. The troops were closer now, possibly even aware of his location, and coming in his direction. He could hear them, their commander giving orders. Too close. He had to hide.

Dropping to his stomach, he crawled under the low hanging branches of an evergreen, pressing himself up against the trunk. Fallen needles from the tree scratched at his exposed skin, pierced his clothing in spots, but they were a minor irritation. Discovery and interrogation in an enemy stronghold would be much more of an annoyance.

He concealed himself just in time. From his hiding spot Vance could see several pairs of boots emerge from the bushes, stopping where he had just stood moments before. They were speaking in hushed tones, betraying their nervousness. Despite their greater numbers, Vance knew they believed the rumors about this old, black forest. Spirits of the damned haunted these woods, outsiders were told. Even the bravest of souls sometimes failed to emerge from this dark place. Great beasts, hungry for man-flesh lurked here. Even the trees are carnivorous, one old local had told him.

Vance did not believe the legends, but from the whispered, urgent voices he heard, he knew his enemy did, and that was something else he could use to his advantage. If he could ever get out from under this tree.

He blinked sweat from his eyes, not daring to move to wipe it away, lest he make enough noise to give away his position. The weather was not very warm, but the humidity pushed ahead of the approaching storm made the air thick with moisture. In the distance, thunder announced the nearing of the storm. It was echoed by the cry of some wild forest creature.

The troops seemed to start at the feral sound, and their discussion became more urgent. The commander barked an order and the group started off again, splitting into two groups. One marched deeper into the forest, but the other group headed in the direction of the village that was his destination.

Vance waited until he could no longer hear them, then waited another ten minutes before emerging from his hiding place, lest they be lying in wait for him. He made a cautious survey of the area, cocking his head and listening intently for any sound of the troops' return, or of possible ambush. Nothing. They did indeed seem to have moved on.

Brushing the dirt and evergreen needles from his clothes and skin, he pulled his blaster from its holster and checked its charge. Satisfied, he then checked the rifle he carried. That too, had ample power. He took stock of the other weapons available to him.

A fight was inevitable now that the troops were between him and his destination, but their numbers were down by half, and he had an advantage. They thought he was still ahead of them. Striking from behind, and playing on their fears, he had a better than average chance.

He hefted his rifle. "Play time."

He made good time, despite his continued stealth. He knew exactly where to go; the troops were not cautious about covering their tracks. Soon they were within his view; six of them tromping through the brush, making no attempt to hide their position.