They could see his eyes, like two blue stones. He stopped for a moment, lifting his fieldglasses to his face. The Russian began to hurry, sliding down the hill, his boots sinking into the heaps of gray ash, trying to keep his gun up. He played with his pistol, glancing at Leone. Now he was only a few paces from the bunker. Bare trunks of trees jutted up occasionally the ground was level and bare, rubble-strewn, with the ruins of buildings standing out here and there like yellowing skulls. The sky was overcast, drifting clouds of gray particles. He reached the top of the hill and stopped, panting, staring around him. The Russian increased his pace, kicking ash and piles of debris out of his way. The Russian was close, moving rapidly, almost running. "Want him? Or can I have him?" He adjusted the view sight so the Russian's features squarely filled the glass, the lines cutting across his hard, somber features. From time to time he reached up a gloved hand and wiped perspiration from his neck, pushing down his coat collar.Įric turned to Corporal Leone. He glanced around him, licking his dry lips, his face set. The Russian soldier made his way nervously up the ragged side of the hill, holding his gun ready. But when they began to imitate their creators, it was time for the human race to make peace-if it could! The claws were bad enough in the first place-nasty, crawling little death-robots.
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