Vankler looked as if he were about to have a stroke.
The Wanderjahrian commander was right where vanden Hoyt wanted him to be, and he made his ultimate appeal to Vankler's pride and vanity. "Sir, if we do not, I will report to my superiors that this battalion doesn't need our training."
Some of the red drained from Vankler's face. He glared down his nose at the taller Marine officer and snarled through gritted teeth, "Your platoon will be slaughtered. You will see that we have no need of your training."
Still calm, vanden Hoyt replied, "Yessir, we shall see." He looked toward the forest fronting the parade ground. The small ground fires he'd seen earlier seemed to have gone out. He turned to Bass. "Platoon Sergeant, if you will prepare the platoon."
Bass came to attention. "Aye aye, sir." He saluted, executed an about-face as sharp as the best of the Feldpolizei, and marched off the reviewing platform to the men of third platoon.
"Let's do this thing," Bass said softly as he reached them. The Marines grinned at him, and many of them made remarks about the gaudy Feldpolizei, remarks he ignored. He led them into the woods, to where a clump of palmlike trees was dense enough to conceal them from the parade ground. A few of the Marines, remembering the honking of something very large, eyed the woods cautiously.
The simulators third platoon brought with it were in one of the ground-effect vehicles that had carried them to the 257th base. Vanden Hoyt oversaw their distribution to the 257th's company officers, made sure the shift sergeants understood that the simulators made a crack like the discharge of a blaster when fired, and a humanlike scream when they registered a hit on the wearer. He brought a few simulators back to the reviewing stand to show to Commander Vankler and his staff, to explain their workings to them. Lastly, he wandered through the ranks of the battalion to make sure everyone was wearing the detectors right and had the shot simulators properly fixed into the battery wells, from which the firing batteries had been removed, and onto the muzzles of their weapons. It took half a standard hour to outfit everyone with the unfamiliar training equipment. Finally they were ready.
By then Vankler had regained his composure and again looked every bit the Prussian officer he imagined himself to be. "Line your men up," he snapped at vanden Hoyt. "This should only take a few seconds."
"Sir, my men are ready, but Marines don't line up and fight in the open any more than the guerrillas do. They're over there, in the trees."
"It doesn't matter. We'll make short work of them." Vankler turned to an aide and murmured something to him. The aide raced to von Holfmann to relay the commander's instructions. Vankler wanted to lead this demonstration himself, but couldn't if the Marine officer was leaving his command to his number two—and an enlisted number two at that! Almost, he thought, it was a waste to have this demonstration under an inspector; he should give it to his most junior lieutenant. But it was too late: von Holfmann was already barking the orders that put the battalion into its assault formation.
As before, two companies lined themselves into two ranks and the front rank dropped to one knee. Von Holfmann barked a command and the front rank's blasters crackled with simulated fire. Just as the second rank stepped between the kneeling men of the front rank, the sound of crackles came from the forest, followed instantly by a dozen very loud and piercing screams from the Wanderjahrian ranks. Troopers throughout the battalion formation jumped in surprise and looked about—mostly those near the men whose simulators screamed.
Von Holfmann and the company commanders had to bellow their commands several times before the battalion was again facing front and moving forward in their disciplined manner. But it took time, time the Marines in the forest used to shoot more of them. When the second rank stepped between the kneeling men of the front rank a second time, an entire platoon from the reserve company had to move forward to fill gaps in the ranks caused by the simulated casualties. The Feldpolizei fire had yet to reach the nearest trees.
Vankler was infuriated. He screamed at von Holfmann and waved an arm, trying to instruct him to forgo the advancing fire, to raise it so the shots would go into the trees where the Marines were. Von Holfmann looked at his commander and gave his head a bewildered shake before he understood. Several more simulators screamed by the time von Holfmann adjusted his men's fire. More than half of the reserve company was now in the firing ranks. Yet more simulators screamed as the battalion continued its methodical advance across the open field.
Vanden Hoyt listened carefully; it sounded as if only a squad was firing at the formation. He wondered if Bass had split the platoon. He wondered what Charlie Bass had up his sleeve and restrained a smile.
As their simulated casualties mounted, the Feldpolizei moved less sharply and their fire became less coordinated. From the angles the Wanderjahrians were holding their blasters, the Marine officer saw that most of their increasingly ragged fire was either too high or too low to reach anyone in the trees. He still didn't smile, but he couldn't hold back a quick shake of his head.
Most of the reserve company was filling gaps in the front ranks by the time the battalion had crossed two-thirds of the distance to the trees. That was when all hell broke loose. Crackles so close together they blended into a screech came from two points somewhere in the vicinity of the small airfield opposite the reviewing stand, and were answered by a cacophony of screaming simulators in the battalion's rapidly thinning ranks.
Vanden Hoyt didn't restrain his smile this time—he might have known that Bass would have the men change into their chameleon uniforms as soon as they were out of sight—the Feldpolizei were being fired on by men they couldn't see to shoot back at.
"WHAT!" Vankler shrieked. "Where is that coming from?" He craned his neck and leaned from side to side, trying to spot the guns that were raking his battalion with enfilade fire. He saw nothing but the hopper landing pads. More and more of his men dropped as their simulators shrilled that they were hit. The troopers, rattled by the sound of fire from two directions, and dazed and confused by the piercing screams of the simulators, shouted screams of their own and looked about madly, unable to see who was shooting at them. After a few seconds one man, totally unnerved by the shrilling of so many simulators, threw down his blaster and ran, screaming. A few others, equally confused and unnerved, broke and ran with him. Soon the entire battalion was fleeing in rout.
The fire from the airfield stopped for a few seconds when the formation finally broke, then there was a short burst and all the simulators vanden Hoyt had brought to show to Vankler and his staff screamed.
Apoplectic, Vankler spun on vanden Hoyt. He thrust an arm out, finger pointed between the Marine's eyes. "You, sir," he sputtered, "are under arrest. I will have your hide at a court-martial!"
"With all due respect," vanden Hoyt said, "you can't do that, sir."
"I am the battalion commander here. This is my Grafshaftsbezirk. I can do anything I want!" He twisted around and screamed at a junior officer, "Tell Inspector von Holfmann to issue power packs and have the troopers load their weapons. All of these offworlders are under arrest!"
In response to a string-of-pearls radio call from Staff Sergeant Bass, Commander Van Winkle, 34th FIST'S infantry battalion commander, commandeered the nearest hopper and flew directly to the 257th Feldpolizei Grafshaftsbezirk. He left in such a hurry that only his sergeant major and three junior enlisted men as guards were able to accompany him. Van Winkle made three radio calls while in transit, one to Charlie Bass for an update on what was happening. When he arrived, some twenty minutes after Commander Vankler placed Ensign vanden Hoyt under arrest, he found a stalemate that had to be defused before it broke.
Commander Vankler and his staff, along with the "arrested" Marine officer, still stood on the reviewing stand. One company of Feldpolizei was nervously arrayed in front of it. The other two companies were in assault formation along the barracks side of the parade ground. Sensors in the hopper showed Van Winkle that chameleoned Marines were spread out inside the trees and
behind cover in the airfield. He knew from Bass's call that the Marines had also stripped off their simulators and were fully armed. If a skittery trooper accidentally pressed the firing lever on his blaster, a bloodbath would destroy any chance of the Marines gaining the confidence of the Feldpolizei. He ordered the pilot away from the airfield and had him land the hopper in the middle of the parade ground, which was almost a mistake; only a sharply shouted command from Commander Vankler kept his men from opening fire on the descending hopper.
Van Winkle jumped out of the bird while it was still several feet above the ground. Sergeant Major Parant was on his heels. As he marched toward the reviewing stand and looked at the men on it, he was glad he and the sergeant major had just returned from a reception. Their dress reds, bloodred tunics with gold trousers for the commander and navy blue with a broad red stripe down the seam for the sergeant major, would make a more positive impression on the gaudily dressed Feldpolizei commander and his staff than would Marine field—or even class A—uniforms. Nervous troopers shifted to make a path for the senior Marines.
Van Winkle bounded up the stairs to the reviewing stand. Barely glancing in his direction, he said to vanden Hoyt, "I'll speak with you later. Ensign." He stopped at attention directly in front of Vankler.
"Sir, I am Commander Van Winkle, battalion commander of these Marines. What happened?"
Gratified to have an officer of proper rank on whom to vent his spleen, Vankler roared in a voice that carried to fully half of his men, despite the fact that the man he was addressing stood less than arm's length in front of him.
"These insubordinate underlings of yours have made a mockery of a combat tactics demonstration by my battalion. First they mocked my battalion as being parade ground troops rather than fighters, then they denigrated their parade ground sharpness. Then these—these offworlders had the effrontery to tell me, in the presence and full hearing of my staff, that our tactics, which were developed by the commissioner of the Feldpolizei himself, are ineffective against bandits!" He had to pause briefly because the roar of an approaching V/STOL aircraft drowned out his words. "The very bandits against whom my men have won the field repeatedly!" Vankler's face was rigid when he began, but grew florid and animated as he spoke; his voice rose in pitch as his animation increased.
"Then as a final insult, this ensign of yours had his men dress in chameleon uniforms and arm themselves with guns, neither of which the bandits have, and assault my battalion from unexpected directions!" Vankler was nearly screaming when he finished, which seemed a fitting accompaniment to the roar of the V/STOL aircraft that was settling on one of the landing pads in the airfield.
Van Winkle ignored the spittle that sprayed his face and retained his composure during the eruption. When the other concluded his tirade. Van Winkle said in a steady voice at, normal speaking volume, "This is a very serious matter indeed, Commander. Might we retire to your office to discuss the situation and what to do about it?"
"I will see him court-martialed." Vankler stuck his arm out at vanden Hoyt.
"You and I, we will determine exactly what steps we must take to reach a satisfactory resolution to the humiliation your battalion suffered today."
"We will indeed." Vankler pivoted and marched off the reviewing stand, toward the administration building, which was between the main gate and the barracks. He ignored the ground vehicle that was racing toward the reviewing stand from the airfield.
Van Winkle gave vanden Hoyt a hard look, but said nothing to him. Instead he turned his attention to the man who got out of the car and climbed onto the reviewing stand. The Feldpolizei officers snapped to attention and saluted the newcomer.
This officer, even more splendidly decked out than the 257th's officers, swept his gaze over the Wanderjahrians and demanded in a crisp voice, "Who's senior man here?"
"I am, sir," one said, and swallowed. "Inspector Bladhortz. I'm the executive officer."
"Well, Inspector, it appears we have a situation on our hands."
Bladhortz swallowed again. "Yes sir, it does."
"And you must be Commander Van Winkle," he said to the Marine.
"I am, sir. And whom do I have the honor of addressing?"
"Chief Inspector Kleinst. We spoke on the radio."
"Yessir. Thank you for getting here so quickly." Chief Inspector Kleinst was the commander of all Feldpolizei forces in Arschland.
"We have a matter and a man which must be dealt with. I am the man to do it." Kleinst looked toward the administration building in time to see Vankler disappear into it. "Let us first defuse matters here." He included Bladhortz in what he said next: "Shall we have our men stand down?"
"I think that would be the best, sir," Van Winkle said. "Yessir," Bladhortz said. "A splendid idea, sir." While Bladhortz left the reviewing stand to see to the unloading of the weapons of the Feldpolizei, Van Winkle turned to Parant. "Sergeant Major, will you see to our men, please?"
"Aye aye, sir." Parant leaped off the reviewing stand and strode toward the airfield, which was where he thought Bass was most likely to be. "You stay here," Van Winkle said to vanden Hoyt. "You don't move." He said it loudly enough for all of the Feldpolizei officers to hear.
"Aye aye, sir," vanden Hoyt replied.
Van Winkle and Kleinst marched to the administration building.
Sometime later a runner came with a summons for Ensign vanden Hoyt.
Commander Van Winkle leaned back in Commander Vankler's chair, behind the Feldpolizei commander's desk, fixed vanden Hoyt with a steely gaze, and let the junior officer stand sweating at attention for a long moment. The chair swiveled and tilted, had a high back and armrests, and—most amazing—was upholstered in some sort of splotchy green leather. He had been surprised when he first entered the battalion commander's office. All the furniture was upholstered in leather in colors he'd never seen on a live animal. One visitor chair was an iridescent blue, another was yellow with mauve stripes, a settee was speckled orange. Even the desktop was covered with a red and beige skin. An impossibly large lizardlike head hung high on one wall.
Van Winkle drummed his fingers on the desktop; the skin that covered it was amazingly hard. Abruptly, he leaned forward. "Whose bright idea was it to turn invisible and then hit those amateurs from the flank with guns?"
"Sir," vanden Hoyt barked stiffly, "it's my responsibility."
"Yes," Van Winkle said slowly, "you were the officer in charge, it was your responsibility. But that's not what I asked. Whose idea was it?"
Vanden Hoyt said nothing.
"Ensign, did you issue the order to change into chameleons? Did you issue the order to make that flanking maneuver?"
"No, sir. But I'm responsible, sir."
Van Winkle shook his head. "We've already settled that. Whose idea was it?"
"Sir, I wasn't privy to that decision."
Van Winkle looked at him expectantly.
"Sir," vanden Hoyt said when the silence stretched long enough to make him uncomfortable, "I can only assume it was Staff Sergeant Bass's idea. I haven't had communications with him since I sent him to put the men in the trees for our demonstration."
Van Winkle nodded. "Thought so. It has all the markings of a Charlie Bass operation." He added softly, as though speaking to himself, "If it wasn't for stunts like that, he'd probably be a colonel today." Then briskly he said, "Sit down, Ensign. You're not being court-martialed. Vankler doesn't have the authority to arrest you, and you know it."
Vanden Hoyt sat gingerly on the edge of a chair upholstered in pebbly-surfaced gray leather with ochre markings.
"Relax, Ensign. We lucked out." Van Winkle stood. "No, no, sit." He waved vanden Hoyt back down when the junior officer jumped to his feet. "You're off the hook. Drink? You probably need one." He went to a cabinet and examined its contents. "Hmmm. No, we're going to stay away from thule. Surely he's got something alcoholic in here." He pulled out two glasses and rooted about among the bottles and cans of various grades, brands, and flavo
rings of thule and its attendant paraphernalia. Then, with an exclamation of victory, he pulled out a nearly full bottle of an amber liquid. He read the label, then turned with a smile. "Scotch. Real Earth scotch. Single malt! Is that all right?" He poured.
Vanden Hoyt nodded in confusion. What was going on? Vankler wanted to court martial him. Where was the Feldpolizei commander? For that matter, where was Chief Inspector Kleinst?
Van Winkle served a glass to vanden Hoyt, then pulled a visitor chair close to him and sat. "Well now. Without talking to any of the Feldpolizei other than Vankler, I'd say your platoon made a very dramatic impression on the 257th. Would you agree?"
Vanden Hoyt sipped at his scotch and nodded. "Yessir."
"As the situation turned out, you made a strong impression on Chief Inspector Kleinst, as well."
"Ah, sir, where is he? For that matter, where is Commander Vankler?"
Van Winkle grinned. "That's where we lucked out. The chief inspector is in another room, reaming Vankler a new one. You see, Vankler is a close adherent of Commissioner Schickledorf's theories of warfare. Chief Inspector Kleinst thinks Schickledorf's tactics are more dangerous to their practitioners than to whoever they're being used against. The way your platoon devastated the 257th today is all the proof Kleinst needed to scrap Schickledorf's doctrine in Arschland. And Vankler's outburst is exactly the excuse Kleinst needed to fire him. Which is what he's going to do when he finishes reaming him out. This means Company L will have a free hand in its training of the Feldpolizei in Arschland. I hope I have similar luck in the other Staats I'm responsible for." He knocked back the rest of his drink, stood, and held his hand out.
School of Fire Page 9
