The Throg task force struck the Terran Survey camp a few minutes
after dawn, without warning, and with a deadly precision which
argued that the aliens had fully reconnoitered and prepared that
attack. Eye-searing lances of energy lashed back and forth across
the base with methodical accuracy. And a single cowering witness,
flattened on a ledge in the heights above, knew that when the last
of those yellow-red bolts fell, nothing human would be left alive
down there. His teeth closed hard upon the thick stuff of the
sleeve covering his thin forearm, and in his throat a scream of
terror and rage was stillborn. More than caution kept him pinned on
that narrow shelf of rock. Watching that holocaust below, Shann
Lantee could not force himself to move. The sheer ruthlessness of
the Throg move-in left him momentarily weak. To listen to a tale of
Throgs in action, and to be an eye-witness to such action, were two
vastly different things. He shivered in spite of the warmth of the
Survey Corps uniform.
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