Chapter 7 Field Training
“Scott Nolan, Antoinette Duval, Jay Perrin, Tracker, report to the Briefing Room.”
Antoinette looked up from her work with Doctor Carter. “Steve, what should I do?”
He shrugged. “Mission calls take priority over everything else, so go. I’ll clean up here. Do you know how to get to the Briefing Room?”
”Oui, Steve. Good bye.” The door closed behind her as she ran lightly down the hall.
Colonel Carfield sat relaxed in a chair at the head of the table as she entered the Briefing Room. Tracker and Scott were there, too. As she sat down beside Tracker, Jay hurried in, closing the door behind him.
The colonel smiled at her. “Very good, Miss Duval. You arrived in good time, even though you had no one to direct you. This is another outdoor training mission for you.”
He glanced at Jay. “You’re in charge this time.”
Jay looked startled. “But –”
”I know, it’s your first time in charge. Scott is more experienced, so if you aren’t sure, ask him. But you are in charge.” Jay swallowed, then nodded.
”Good,” the colonel said. “You and Scott will fly cover in Aircar One, while Tracker and Antoinette are on the ground. You’ll keep them in scan but intervene only in the event that something goes wrong.
He looked back at Antoinette and Tracker. “The aircar will drop you two on Chickamauga Creek, about twenty kilometers south of town. You will hike along the creek back into town to the Hammil Street bridge, where the aircar will pick you up. The Training Room staff have placed several robots along your path, radio-controlled from the hovervan. You’ll need to evade or dispose of them as you make your way back. Any questions?” The two shook their heads.
”Okay then. Aircar One is waiting. We’ll see you back this afternoon.”
Half an hour later, Tracker and Antoinette were standing on the bank of the stream near what was left of Ringgold, Georgia as the aircar lifted off. They watched until it was lost above the forest canopy. “Antoinette, go ahead and change. Let’s get started.” She handed her clothes to Tracker, then shapechanged. He put her clothes in his sporran, then led off downstream.
They moved rapidly, staying far enough from the bank to avoid the heaviest underbrush while staying under cover. Tracker stayed alert as they travelled, ears and nose quivering as he scanned for anything that could be considered a threat. The six hundred pound tigress moved like a ghost, several yards further from the stream where the going was easier.
A man stepped out from behind a tree and fired at them with a laser pistol. Tigresse snarled as the laser stung her. At the sound of the man’s footfall, Tracker sprang to one side and activated his forcefield. Drawing his sword, he charged in to the attack. The blade spun, then froze, edge first, in front of the man’s eyes. “Robot down,” Tracker said. The humanoid robot collapsed. Tracker straightened and sheathed his sword. Tigresse, who had begun a charge towards her attacker, stopped in confusion.
”Come, Tigresse,” Tracker said. Tigresse edged towards the fallen robot, neck outstretched as she cautiously sniffed the robot. Tracker could also smell the robot, a scent composed of metal, oil and hydraulic fluid, overlaid with human scent from the clothes and from small scent pads under the arms and in the groin of the robot. Tigresse reached out with one paw and touched the robot, ready to spring back if it moved, but it didn’t. Tigresse relaxed and stood up, looking at Tracker. He motioned ahead and they resumed their trek.
The next attacker fired at them from high in the branches of a large oak tree. Tracker flicked on his forcefield and drew his valtan, leaping up into the tree with the speed of a monkey. He bounded from branch to branch, climbing steadily and keeping the trunk between himself and the shooter. The robot tracked him, gouging chunks from the tree as it fired at the exposed bits of the fast-moving fox.
Tigresse sprang, fluid as water. She went insubstantial, the branches passing through her body, and turned solid, front paws on a branch just below the gunman. Her back legs scrabbled on the branch. Her claws got purchase and she launched herself upwards, bowling him off his perch and sending him plummeting towards the ground. As the man fell through the branches, she went insubstantial again, letting the branches pass through her as she fell back to the ground. Just before she touched down she became solid again, soaking up the impact of landing on bent legs then springing onto the gunman with a roar, raking him with her hind claws.
Tracker leaped from the tree. “Robot down,” he said. “Tigresse, disengage.”
Tigresse rose and shook herself. “Good, Tigresse,” Tracker said, scratching her head. She purred, a throaty, raspy sound.
After a few more minutes of stealthy travel, Tigresse halted. A low growl sounded, deep in her throat, her gaze fixed unwaveringly on a spot somewhat ahead of them. Tracker focused his bionic vision on the spot and, after a moment, saw a motionless form crouched on a small outcropping of rock at the edge of the water. He motioned to her, and they faded left into the tangle of scrub and brush, emerging to rejoin the stream several minutes later, safely beyond the ambusher.
