Orders of Battle (Frontlines, #7)

by Marko Kloos

When we pass the valley a few moments after takeoff, the pilot does as promised and puts the ship into a slow left-hand turn to circle the area. I watch the feed from the hull cameras as the terrain pans underneath the ship. The spot where the Lankies lost half a dozen of their group is now an almost perfectly circular patch of disturbed soil and shredded vegetation. For a moment, I am worried that even five hundred feet of altitude may not be sufficient to keep us in the clear, but the pilot finishes his turn before I can voice that concern over the radio. Whatever is lurking underneath the soil down there is big and strong enough to seize a three-hundred-ton Lanky and drag it under, and it’s cunning enough to lay deliberate traps for them. There’s no telling if something of that size even registers humans as a potential threat or food source, but I am not curious enough to find out right now. When the pilot levels out the ship and climbs above two thousand feet, I slowly let out a breath of relief.