The Scout team had done their job well. Within a short space of time they had blocked the road in three places using small explosives designed to mimic trees breaking naturally. The plan was that if the locals decided to visit they would have to clear the first blockage and then the second before they came to their defended position at the third blockage. In the daytime the position was easily defended but by the time the hunters arrived, the early morning mists had rolled in and everything was shrouded in cloud.

  “Do you think they’ll do anything, Sir,” asked one of the scouts.

  “I doubt it,” answered the leader, “Rudimentary communications combined with the short time of the hunt should make any organised response unlikely.”

  Satisfied, the trooper sat down and watched the approaches carefully, waiting for their extraction a few hours from now.

  ****

  After a short while, Harrick got up and went to his assistant’s body and moved it over to the side of the road. Removing all the weapons and equipment other than the communicator, he then hid the body in the undergrowth and covered him with some leaves and branches. When the hunting party was retrieved the body would be returned to the hunting ship and appropriate honours would be given then. For now, Harrick would continue with his duty.

  Returning to the Hunting Party he said, “We have certainly had an exciting time. I trust you are not bored, Sir Robert?”

  Sir Robert looked at Harrick disdainfully and ignored the question.

  “I advise we move in the opposite direction and see what we can find there. How does that sound?” Harrick suggested.

  Looking back to the scene on the road, the hunters looked at Harrick and agreed.

  “But what about my trophy?” asked Governor Randall, blinking his sore eye rapidly.

  “I’ll tag one of these fine beasts that you killed just before they reached you. That will make a fine trophy,” said Harrick.

  “Excellent idea,” agreed the Governor.

  Harrick went to the pile of cows and selected the cow the Governor had shot after it had died and placed a special Trophy Retrieval Tag on the body. It was marked with the identity of the hunter and would be retrieved into the special trophy reclamation area of the ship. This area was in the storage portions of the ship, was refrigerated and with no air. That way trophies would retain their quality for as long as possible.

  Director Alphonse asked timidly, pointing at the dead Dirtling, “What about the Dirtling we shot that came from the vehicle?”

  “Would you like to place your tag on him?” Harrick asked.

  Director Alphonse gulped and said, “Ummm, no. I am sure we will find something more suitable the way you suggested. I’ll wait.”

  “Are we ready?” Harrick asked and receiving no dissenting comment, led the group away from the truck, cows and all the excitement.

  ****

  Brian and Peter heard the sound of the truck crash in the still morning air and looked at each other.

  “What’s a truck doing in our valley?” asked Peter.

  “Bloody rustlers!” said Brian, “Let’s go.”

  They revved their bikes and raced off around the forest towards the road along well known paths. The bikes skidded onto the ragged edged bitumen road and raced in the direction of the sound of the truck crash. As their headlights caught the edges of the dead cows they slowed and stopped next to the bodies.

  “Damn,” said Brian as he stepped off the bike and approached the cows.

  “They’ve been shot!” said Peter looking at the burnt holes precisely placed just behind the ears of five of the cows, “And this one’s being shot thousands of times!”

  “But shot with what?” asked Brian, examining the wounds. “These are cauterised and not from some rifle. It looks like some sort of laser but who has laser guns? We’re not in the middle of a bloody Science Fiction film.”

  “Could it be those film guys? They’re all over New Zealand?” suggested Peter.

  Brian looked at the dead cows and took out his phone, “No. In all the movies they don’t harm animals. This is real, son.” He dialled 111, the New Zealand emergency services number.

  A bored officer’s voice asked, “Ambulance, Fire or Police?”

  “Ah, Police I think,” said Brian pondering the situation. Who should attend an alien attack? It’s probably not a common call.

  “One moment please,” said the operator.

  “Dad,” said Peter slowly, “Look over there.”

  Brian looked in the direction Peter was pointing and saw the dead body of Drongo.

  “Bugger,” he said as he considered the rapidly expanding bad news.

  “I’m sorry, Sir,” he heard the voice on the phone say.

  Brian hurriedly turned his attention back to his mobile telephone.

  “Sorry,” he apologised hurriedly, “We have a situation here. One dead body, six dead cows and a crashed truck. We heard distant sounds of gunfire and explosions. I think you need to come.”

  “Gunfire? Dead body?” queried the voice, “What is your location, please?”

  “Pleasant Valley, two hours North of Wellington, near Simmons Farm,” Brian answered quickly.

  “We have your phone number and will be out shortly,” replied the operator curtly and cut the connection.

  Brian stood up and raced forward with Peter close behind stopping to kneel down next to the body, placing his head to the chest.

  “No sound of breathing and he’s gone cold,” said Brian, “He’s dead.”

  “But,” started Peter.

  “The same way as the cows,” said Brian, “Shot with some sort of laser thing, with lots of hits.”

  Brian started searching the body and found Drongo’s wallet and began to read the cards.

  “His name was Philip Carson and he’s from Wellington. What’s he doing here?” Brian said to Peter and then looked up realising Peter had moved on to the truck smashed into the tree beside the road.

  “Hey Dad!” yelled Peter, “You favourite cow is here!”

  Peter unfastened the side bolts holding the tailboard of the truck and then lifted the ramp from the ground and placed it on the edge of the truck rear.

  “Come on girl, come on,” coaxed Peter, bringing the two cows down the ramp onto the road. He checked out Cow and then examined the other cow.

  Brian leaned in close to Cow and asked, “Are you all right Cow?”

  “Why yes, farmer,” replied Cow quietly, “We have come through fine. First rustlers and then aliens. It’s been rather a trying night.”

  “What?” cried Brian, startled at the news, “Aliens?”

  “What was that Dad?” asked Peter at the sound of his father’s outburst.

  “Nothing,” Brian said, “Just glad Cow is OK.”

  “Don’t you think we should just tell him?” suggested Cow.

  Brian chewed his lip and considered.

  “Peter,” he called, and beckoned his son over.

  “Cow is OK but has some news for us,” Brian said.

  Peter raised an eyebrow and said, “Sure, Dad.”

  Turning to Cow he added, “So Cow. What’s news?”

  “Well, Peter,” said Cow, “We were captured by cattle rustlers and then aliens attacked us killing one of the rustlers. That’s him lying on the ground there.”

  Peter stood back, his mouth wide open, looking at Cow and then at his father.

  “Dad?” he said in wonder.

  “Yep,” said his father.

  “The cow!” said Peter.

  “Yep,” said Brian.

  “Does Mum know?” Peter asked.

  “Of course she knows,” said Brian, “We’re married.”

  Peter pointed at Cow and then his Dad and finally closed his mouth.

  “It’s been a year hasn’t it?” Peter asked.

  Brian nodded.

  “Was uncle John right? Cow abductions?”

  “He’s still an idiot,” said Brian, “But in this one case … he was right.”

  “And aliens?”

  “Laser fire, talking cows. What more proof do you want?” Brian asked.

  Peter shrugged and looking at Cow in amazement and then his father in wonder and went back to the truck and examined the front end.

  “Dad?” he called out a moment later, “The truck hit something hard and I don’t think it was a deer.”

  Brian and Peter examined the truck and then looked further down the road. With the aid of the headlights of the farm bikes they noticed the skid marks of the assistant’s uniform and the dried blood on the road where he had stopped.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Brian pointed his boot at the spot, “It hit here after skidding all the way after flying over the truck.”

  “But where is it now?” asked Peter and then started looking at the sides of the road.

  Cow went to the edge of the road and with the other cow started grazing on the delicious fresh grass growing beside the forest.

  “Peter, it’s here,” called out Brian to his son.

  Peter raced over and watched his father use his foot to move a pile of leaves away from the body of … something.

  “An alien,” said Peter.

  “Yup,” said Brian.

  “And taking cows,” said Peter grinning.

  “Yup,” said Brian, “Do you have your phone? Start taking photos.”

  ****

  “Sir, why are we going into Pleasant Valley?” asked Private Philson, “Isn’t it the job of the local fire brigade to clear up road blockages?”

  “Son,” said the tough Maori Sergeant Aara, “We are doing what we are ordered to do. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sir,” said Philson, “But…”

  “No buts, Private!” yelled Sergeant Aara, “There are reports of guns firing and explosions. The Fire Brigade does not respond to those type of problems. And as we are in the area doing joint training operations with the Fire Brigade, they have sent us out to investigate. Now suit up!”

  Sergeant Aara and his squad of seven privates donned their protective gear and got into their New Zealand Lightly Armoured Vehicle (NZLAV). They would normally have just been in a normal vehicle but that was in for a regular service and this joint training mission was thrust upon them. His team needed some rest after spending time in Afghanistan and this looked like an enjoyable mission. “Bah, ‘Mission’!” thought Sergeant Aara, “I need more of a break if I am calling everything we do missions.”

  The PR guys figured it would be good public relations to go in one of their few armoured vehicles. The NZLAVs were eight wheel all drive armoured assault vehicles which had a capacity for eight soldiers and was armed with a turreted 25mm auto cannon and two roof mounted machine guns. The hatch at the rear could drop to the ground quickly, allowing the occupants to spill out and carry out their missions efficiently. They weren’t the most comfortable to drive but all the more comfortable vehicles were being repaired or serviced and once the PR boys had an idea it was hard to shake them loose.

  So the army group followed the Fire Brigade emergency vehicle into Pleasant Valley to see what all the commotion was about. The local Police decided to join in the fun and sent a patrol car with two officers along as well.

  Sergeant Aara muttered, “Why not bring along an ambulance and make it a proper 111 call.”

  “Maybe they should do a 1111 and we can be the last 1, hey sarge?” suggested Private Philson.

  “Shut up, private and pay attention to the road,” answered the Sergeant.

  An hour later they came to the downed trees and the fire brigade stepped out with chainsaws and efficiently cleared the blockage. Rather than wait in the vehicle, the sergeant ordered his men out to stretch their legs and he examined the base of the trees that had fallen across the road. Curious, he took a closer look and recognised the pattern of the crack in the tree. His father had been a logging worker and had taught his son a lot about trees when he was growing up.

  “That’s clear!” yelled one of the Fire Brigade and they all piled back into their vehicles and continued onwards, the sergeant mulling over what he had seen.

  They arrived at another blockage and this time Sergeant Aara spoke to his men, “Men, there is something wrong about these fallen trees. Arm up when we leave this vehicle and watch out for anything suspicious.”

  His men glanced at each other and did what they were told. You just didn’t question an order from Sergeant Aara.

  They fanned out in pairs either side of the blockage as the Fire Brigade men with chainsaws went to work. The Fire Brigade workers watched them curiously but shrugged and continued to clear the fallen trees. A short time later the trees were moved to the edge of the road and they made their way back to their vehicles.

  Sergeant Aara stopped the returning firemen and spoke to them all, “These trees were deliberately dropped using some type of small explosive. We had reports of gunfire and other explosions. We will lead and you follow. Is that clear?”

  The Fire Brigade men swallowed hard and agreed quickly, as did the police officers. They all returned to their vehicles and once more drove along the road, this time with the armoured vehicle in front. Sergeant Aara pointed at one of the privates, “You. Get up and man the turret gun. That 25mm cannon can do wonders.”

  “But Sergeant,” said Private Philson, who Sergeant Aara had never been able to completely keep quiet, “We’re not in Afghanistan now, we’re at home.”

  “It never hurts to be too careful, son,” said the Sergeant taking up position in the turret next to the private at the gun.

  As they approached the next downed tree, Sergeant Aara called down to Private Philson, “Stop right here!”

  “Scan for signs of any activity!” he ordered and they all looked into the slowly lifting mist and saw no movement. The Fire Brigade and Police car stayed well back. If the army were getting nervous they were quite happy to stay where they were.

  “You two,” said Sergeant Aara, “And you two. In pairs exit the rear and carefully approach that tree blockage with weapons ready. Assume hostile intent and have your weapons armed.”

  “And you,” he said, tapping the private next to him in the turret, “cover their sorry behinds!”

  The two pairs of soldiers stepped quickly out of the rear exit and raced away to right and left. There was no fire from anywhere. Sergeant Aara liked this opportunity to give his boys training, even if this all turned out to be a false alarm. His time in Afghanistan had taught him to take these opportunities whenever they presented themselves.

  The four men in the vehicle watched out of the vision slits and the two fire teams started to move carefully forward. One of the fire teams reached the base of one of the downed trees and stood up, “All clear!” he called and then fell down as a laser bolt punched through his chest armour, killing him instantly.

  His team mate was hit in the arm as he dived behind the protection of the tree base.

  “Bloody hell!” shouted Sergeant Aara, as the private began firing the 25mm cannon in the direction from which the laser bolt came.

  “Who the hell has lasers?” shouted Private Philson, “Where to Sergeant?”

  “Forward!” he yelled, “Go to full 8x8 mode and drive over that tree!”

  “James, fire the roof machine gun!”

  The other fire team had leapt to cover behind the tree as laser bolts erupted around them. One bolt burst through the tree and scorched the helmet of one of the men who dropped down further onto the ground. His team mate quickly popped up, fired and dropped again, just as a laser bolt ripped through the space he had been moments earlier.

  With a roar, the NZLAV rushed forward and drove over the downed tree. Laser bolts fired from both sides and one burst through the armoured sides of the vehicle and hit the gunner in the stomach, knocking him screaming to the floor of the cabin. Sergeant Aara jumped into his place and fired the cannon at the source of the fire and was satisfied to see whoever was firing at them explode in two as the automatic cannon found its target. The wounded soldier on the left wing fired at another assailant hitting him in the leg as they began to retreat into the woods. The soldier with scorched helmet popped up to fire another shot and was hit in the upper chest and fell down groaning.

  “Move! Move! Move!” yelled the Sergeant, as they were past the blockage and waited for the unwounded soldier to jump back into the vehicle.

  “Get him out and behind the tree!” yelled Sergeant Aara, pointed at the gunner who had been shot in the stomach, “We’re moving forward. The Firies can take care of him for now.”

  The soldier pulled the injured man to relative safety behind the tree and leaped back into the NZLAV as it raced forward, as the rear doors lifted back into position. Occasional laser shots were fired at the vehicle and the troops fired back in a slow running battle.

  “Slow down,” said Sergeant Aara, “Let’s see what they’re doing. Hold your fire and wait until you spot your targets.”

  An explosion sounded and a tree dropped just in front of the vehicle.

  “Go!” shouted the Sergeant, “you two cover either side of the road with MG fire, and I’ll see what I can blow up. Come on, you bastards.”

  He spotted one of the enemy jumping behind a tree and he fired, cutting the tree in two and knocking down the … what was it? In the quick glimpse he had of the figure he had just hit, it didn’t move like a normal man and the head was a strange shape.

  The machine gun on the left fired into the woods, “They’re retreating back into the woods, Sir,” Private James said, “One of them dragging the one we wounded earlier.”

  “Right,” said Sergeant Aara, “Just wait here while we take stock of the situation.

  ****

  Harrick had been happily leading his party to the relative safety away from the road when he heard the distant sound of explosions. His communicator beeped and he smiled towards the Hunting Party as he stepped away and spoke quickly into the communicator, “What is going on?”

  “The Dirtlings have armoured units and attacked us after breaking through the two first road blocks. We have two down and I am approaching your position with myself and one wounded.”

  Harrick was stunned. The scouts were professionals and should have had an easy time of defending their position. Perhaps they had been too confident. Next time he would arm them more appropriately.

  “Set up traps and then make your way here,” said Harrick and looked at his Hunting party, “We will stop here for a picnic.”

  Turning to the hunters, he smiled and said, “This is a good time for a meal break. The explosions you heard were some of our scouts enjoying themselves and having a little hunt of their own.”

  The hunters were relieved to stop walking and Director Alphonse quickly brought out a large checkered cloth and laid it on the ground and begun unpacking a variety of delicacies in front of him. Harrick watched, fascinated, as a feast was eventually laid out in front of him.

  “Happy?” he asked as he saw the sumptuous feast.

  “Very,” answered Director Alphonse honestly, “I was getting rather peckish.”

  “Good show,” said Sir Robert, “As was I.”

  “Me too,” said Governor Randall, and Director Hiss just smiled and nibbled a number of special delicacies.

  Harrick nodded politely and stepped away and tapped his communicator, “Progress?”

  “We’re about five minutes away and see no sign of pursuit.”

  “Good,” said Harrick, “We’ll see you shortly.”

  Harrick looked at his countdown timer and saw he had ten minutes before their retrieval time. That should work nicely.

  ****

  Sergeant Aara popped out the back with Private James and called back into the NZLAV, “Philson, stay at the wheel, and you, cover us with the cannon!”

  He moved across to the edge of the forest and moved carefully towards the body of the thing he had hit with his cannon. As he approached he was sure that it wasn’t human. The body was definitely the wrong shape and when he darted to the other side of the tree he saw that the head was … a rat!

  “Is your helmet cam working James?” he asked the Private.

  Private James tapped his helmet camera and checked his feed, “Yes, Sergeant. Filming now.”

  “Aliens. Bloody aliens. With laser guns,” muttered Sergeant Aara as he poked and prodded the body and the equipment scattered around the shattered body.

  Once they had seen enough he stood up and tapped Private James on the shoulder, “Right! Let’s get the rest of them!” and proceeded back into the NZLAV.

  “Philson, Pull up the Sat Nav and show me this forest. Can we get around them?”

  Private Philson activated the satellite navigation system and zoomed to their position, “Behind this tree line is open space and we can get right around the woods. But we can’t drive through those trees, they’re too thick.”

  Sergeant Aara eyed the trees, then climbed into the turret and fired a burst of cannon fire cutting three trees down.

  “Now go!” he instructed.

  Private Philson revved the engines and raced forward around the forest. They made good time and in about ten minutes were on the other side of the forest. “I see some movement ahead, Sergeant,” said Philson, pointing to a group of people at the edge of the woods, “They look to be having a picnic?”

  Sergeant Aara looked in the direction indicated and saw the group ahead. Adjusting his binoculars he had a closer examination and said, “More bloody aliens. What do they want in this remote spot in New Zealand? Shouldn’t they be in America?”

  One of the aliens spotted them and raised his long weapon in their direction. Private Philson reacted quickly and swerved right, back into the protection of intervening trees as a laser bolt exploded mere feet away from the front tires.

  “Good driving Private!” encouraged the Sergeant.

  ****

  The two scouts reached Harrick just as the Dirtling vehicle came into view. As Harrick fired at the vehicle he looked at his communicator and saw it was almost time for retrieval. Once he had fired and the vehicle had served into cover, he tapped the communicator, “Ship! Are you ready for us?”

  “Why, certainly, Hunt Master,” came the slow reply, “We’ll just get everything ready for you. One moment please,” and the communications were cut.

  Harrick tapped the communicator again but only received an engaged signal.

  “Bah!” he cried, “Everyone, picnic is over! Let’s move back into the woods.”

  Smiling he ushered the confused hunting party back along the way they had just come.

  “Come on, come on,” muttered Harrick as he smiled and encouraged the bemused hunters.

  “Is that scout hurt?” asked Director Alphonse, looking at the wounded scout holding his injured leg.

  “Just a trip while running in the forest. Nothing serious,” replied the Scout leader, looking at Harrick who nodded in approval.

  They heard a loud engine noise as the Dirtling vehicle suddenly reappeared and was coming straight towards them and the dirtling cannon started to fire …

  And the shells burst harmlessly in the area where the aliens had been.

  “Where the hell did they go?” asked the Sergeant.

  “Looks like they were beamed up,” suggested private James.

  “Beamed up, eh?” said the Sergeant, ‘Well, it’s been that kind of day. Let’s explore the area and turn on your helmet cam James.”

  ****

  The party reappeared on the Transmission Pad and the Scouts quickly exited out of sight.

  “Did you have a good hunt?” asked the Service Leader, pretending to ignore the injured scouts and missing assistant.

  “Oh, it was acceptable,” said Sir Robert languidly, “But I am glad I came.”

  “Excellent, Excellent,” said the Service Leader, leading the hunting party to their seats, “Let’s return to the Hunting Lodge and enjoy some special refreshments in our five star restaurant.”

  The Hunting Lodge shuttle turned away from Earth and returned to the Hunting Lodge.

  ****

  Later that evening Harrick sat with the surviving members of his scouting party. They had examined the bodies of the killed compatriots and discussed options for future hunts.

  “One thing is for certain,” said Harrick grimly, “Next time we’re going better armed.”

  “I want a PEC!” said the Scout Team Leader. He was sure a portable energy cannon would have made all the difference in his brush with the Dirtling armoured vehicle.

  “A PEC it is,” said Harrick, already planning for the second hunt on Dirt.