Predator Concrete Jungle 18

Eschevera was one of those who turned to look, and then turned again as a second white fireball blew the head off the rifleman on his right.

"Son of a bitch!" he said, staggering on his bad leg, trying to see what was happening.

Then a real barrage began, and the riflemen scattered. Other men began pouring from the buildings. The their guns around and watchmen in the towers had swung now began spraying machine-gun fire into the surrounding jungle, but Schaefer, remembering the dead monster's camouflage device, doubted that any of the gunners had a clear idea what they were shooting at, or where it was. He noticed that the fireworks came from more than one direction. So the guide had been right, after all-the dead one must have had friends, and now they'd come to play.

Eschevera was shouting orders at a group of men doing something to a small outbuilding near one of the far corners of the courtyard; as Schaefer watched, the walls of the building fell outward, revealing an antiaircraft battery. Eschevera really had been ready to fight off just about anything, up to and including a full-scale military assault-but how could he have prepared for what he was up against?

The heavy guns began firing, throwing shells randomly into the bush. "¿Dónde demonios esté el?" one of the gun crew shouted. Eschevera's men couldn't see the enemy, and it was spooking them. And in the excitement and confusion, they'd forgotten all about Schaefer. Still, Schaefer hesitated for a moment longer. Even if Eschevera's men were drug-dealing slime, those outer-space things had no right to treat them as playthings, animals to be killed for sport.

Then a line of white fire stitched across the courtyard, walking up to the antiaircraft emplacement, cutting men down, and Schaefer realized this wasn't sport. They weren't playing around anymore. They were pissed. The guide had been right. Those things didn't like losing tourists. But on the other hand... they were still doing this up close and personal, they weren't just sitting back and nuking the camp from orbit, and somehow Schaefer didn't think that was because they couldn't. It might not be sport, but it wasn't war, either, and he remembered those drunken hunters back home, long ago, pumping shells into that deer.

The heavy guns exploded then, distracting him from his thoughts; the shrapnel took down a dozen men. Eschevera had been hobbling about, trying to organize resistance, but now he fell headlong on the dirt. After the battery went, the concerted alien fire focused on the watchtowers, and within seconds two of the four were flaming ruins.-pg.189-190 chpt.25