Test of Fire (1982)

by Ben Bova

  It took two days to get out of the city, and they had never penetrated close to the heart of it. Constant fighting, night and day, until the men and their ammunition were both exhausted. The only way they got out at all was to torch the buildings on all sides with the precious fuel they had discovered in a cargo truck. They built a wall of fire between themselves and the attacking barbarians, retreating slowly back toward the hilly countryside behind a curtain of flame and smoke.

  They left Pittsburgh on foot, nearly unarmed, limping, bleeding, smoke-blackened, totally exhausted.

  Of the fifteen men who had stayed with Alec at Oak Ridge, only six still lived. The three other members of his gaunt-faced band were newcomers: Ferret and two farm boys.

  They moved northward again. They stole or bluffed or bartered meager possessions for guns and ammunition. Ferret kept them well-fed, by his own standards. There was no extra fat on any of them. When Alec felt strong enough, they raided a few small villages, mostly at night. They even picked up a few more recruits.

  Alec learned from a woman in one village that the local raider band had been trailing them for several days and planned to destroy them. He retreated from the village hurriedly, leaving a plain trail for the raiders to follow. They walked into his forest ambush. Alec's fourteen men, using a mixture of weapons from automatic rifles to crossbows, killed eighteen and took the weapons from their bodies as their comrades fled in panic. Then he returned to the village and took what he needed.

  Now Alec travelled with a heavy automatic rifle either slung over his shoulder or cradled in his arms. Its weight was his comfort. He nurtured the weapon, kept it carefully oiled and working smoothly. It protected his life. He slept with it at his side, like a woman.

  Now it was autumn. They were in the lake country, the area where Douglas had been born and to which he had returned to carve out his primitive empire.

  Alec lay on the damp leaves with his rifle comfortably tucked beside him, watching the village down in the valley through his binoculars. He was convinced the village supplied Douglas with corn.

  "We'll hit them tomorrow" Alec told Jameson.

  "Take the village and hold it long enough to replenish our supplies, get fresh horses, and question them about Douglas' headquarters."

  "Maybe they've got a truck," Jameson said, almost wistfully. It was such a difference from his usual matter-of-fact tone that it startled Alec. He doesn't like riding horses any more than I do!

  "Maybe," Alec said, keeping his smile inward.

  "Tonight," Ferret hissed. "Go when it's dark, huh?"

  Shifting slightly in his prone position, enough to make the leaves crinkle under him, Alec disagreed.

  "No. Tonight they'll bottle themselves up inside their wall. Probably they'll have dogs out among the huts that would set up a yowl as soon as we approached. I wouldn't want to try to climb over that wall while the villagers are shooting at me."

  Ferret's narrow, pinched face pulled into a scowl.

  "We'll hit them tomorrow, when the men are out in the fields working. We can work our way through the corn right up to their gate."

  Jameson added, "We'd better also take that supply wagon while it's on the way into the village. Don't want anybody riding off to spread an alarm."

  "Good thinking," Alec agreed.

  The Sun was high in the early afternoon sky. The day was warm and drowsy with the buzz of insects. An old man, paunchy, mustacheoed, sat on a chair in the open gate of the village wall, his head on his chest, snoozing gently. An ancient shotgun lay across his lap.

  Alec lay prone at the edge of the cornfield, watching the old man, giving his other men time to work their way through the tall rows of corn. It had taken nearly an hour, inching through the field slowly, crawling on their stomachs, avoiding the men picking the corn down at the far end of the field.

  Now they were ready. Alec got to his feet and stepped out quickly, head ducked low, and snatched the shotgun from the old man's hands.

  "Huh . . . wha . . ."

  Alec handed the gun to Ferret, on his left, as he hissed, "Not a sound, grandfather. We don't want to hurt anyone."

  They stood him up and marched him inside the gate. "Close it," Alec ordered. The old man did it, with help from one of Alec's men. Alec left the youngster there to watch the old man and marched the rest of his troop past the quiet huts toward the center of the village. He could hear the horse-drawn wagon clattering and creaking up ahead, but could not see it because the narrow village street twisted between rows of huts. Then a man's deep voice rumbled, "Hey, what the hell's going on here?"

  Quickening his pace, Alec made his way to the cleared area at the center of the village. Jameson was standing atop the wagon, an automatic rifle resting casually on his hip, its muzzle pointing at the handful of villagers who stood in the clearing, looking shocked and alarmed. Gianelli and the other men whom Alec had sent out to capture the wagon were already fanning around the edges of the clearing. Down the lane by which the wagon had come, Alec could see two of his young bowmen swinging shut the village's other gate.

  Most of the villagers in the clearing were women. A few small children clung to their mothers, already frightened. A couple of older men were easing back away from the wagon, their eyes on Jameson and his gun.

  From behind them, Alec said, "You'd better stand still, all of you."

  They jumped with surprise, then froze. Alec walked past them, up to the horses that pulled the wagon. They stood stolidly, placid-eyed, neither knowing nor caring about the games the humans played.

  "We don't want anyone hurt" Alec said loudly enough for everyone to hear. "We don't intend to hurt any of you."

  Standing under Jameson's protective gun, Alec ordered, "Gianelli, take your men and search every hut. I want everyone out here in the open. If there's any trouble," he pointed to the three men who now stood glaring at him, "these three will be shot immediately. Then the others." Alec said it without looking at the women and children.

  "There won't be any trouble 'less you make it," one of the women spat. She was lean and hard and splintery-looking as the logs from which the huts were made.

  "Good," Alec said. "Then we'll get along fine."

  They secured the village quickly, Gianelli's men rousting out another half-dozen old men and women and a few more children. Plus a fair-sized array of guns, including a carbine and a submachine gun. And many crates of ammunition, all new-looking. Made in the past year, Alec thought.

  Then Alec had his men reopen the gates and stay out of sight behind the wall, awaiting the return of the village men from their fields. The villagers were returned to their huts and ordered to stay quietly inside them.

  Jameson, satisfied that everything was under control, jumped down from the wagon. "Not bad," he said. "Twenty minutes to seize, search, and settle the prisoners."

  Alec relaxed enough to grin at him.

  "Got a surprise for you," Jameson told him, starting for the back of the wagon.

  "Did you have any trouble taking the wagon?"

  Alec asked.

  "No. Driver and two gunners, same as the past few days. Coming in for corn and hay. They didn't put up a fight, they saw they were covered; Got them in here ..."

  He dropped the wagon's rear panel and pulled a ragged covering off the three lumpy shapes back there.

  "Angela!"

  She was lying on the wagon's floor with two young men, all of them bound with their wrists behind their backs, their ankles tied together.

  Gags stuffed their mouths. She looked furious.

  "She was one of the gunners. Tried to shoot me, too, before the driver convinced her she'd only get all three of them killed," Jameson said, a respectful smile on his face. "I thought you'd want to talk to her."

  Alec jumped up on the wagon and pulled the gag from her mouth.

  "I should've shot you," she snarled at Jameson.

  "If I'd thought you'd do this to me . . ."

  "Quiet," Alec snapped. "Ron acted
under my orders. We didn't want the wagon crew to give the villagers an alarm." He started to untie her wrists.

  "I would have, too!" She yanked her hands free of the loosened cords and sat up, reaching for her ankles.

  "What are you doing on a job like this?" Alec wondered.

  "What's wrong with a woman on guard detail?" she raged. "I was the only one with guts enough to fight." She glared at the other two prisoners, still helplessly bound and gagged.

  "That would have caused a lot of shooting. Here in the village and out in the fields, too. A lot of people would've gotten hurt. We're not trying to hurt these people."

  "Not much!" She pushed him away and scrambled to her feet. "You're just trying to steal their food and weapons. Leave them hungry and defenseless."

  "No," Alec said firmly. "What I want is what I came to Earth for: the fissionables. We've fought our way across the country all summer to get here. I know he's not far from here, and the fissionables are here too." He took her by the arm.

  "Where is he?"

  She looked at him. There was a silly scrap of straw clinging to her cheek. She brushed it away.

  "He's not far," Angela said. "And when he finds out what you've done he'll find you."

  "That's fine," Alec said. "One way or the other, it doesn't matter. But I still want to know where he is now and where the fissionables are stored."

  Angela shook her head. "It wouldn't do any good, even if I told you. You'd just get yourself killed. You can't storm the base with a dozen men."

  "I can get more."

  She turned away.

  "All right." Alec hopped off the wagon, then turned to help her down. She jumped down on her own. Frowning, he turned to Jameson. "Find an empty hut and lock her into it."

  Chapter 20

  The Sun swung down and touched the western hills. In small groups the village men came back from their fields, to be taken and disarmed—their faces slack with shock—by Alec's men. By nightfall the entire village was safely under guard.

  "Hey!" Gianelli shouted in the flickering light of the fire they built in the center of the village square. "We found the wine!" He waved a wicker-covered jug over his head, then put it to his lips.

  Alec was sitting by the fire, eating with Jameson. "Better make certain that no more than a couple of those jugs are opened," he said. "Put the rest under guard or break them. And keep the villagers inside their huts. I don't want any of our men grabbing their women. I want to stay as friendly with these people as we can."

  Jameson nodded, finished scraping his plate clean, then moved off into the shadows.

  Alec spent a fruitless couple of hours questioning the village men. None of them admitted to knowing where Douglas' headquarters were, except that it was west of their valley. For years they had been sending grain over the western road in exchange for protection.

  They spoke seriously and politely. They shared the wine from several jugs together. They would reveal nothing. They spoke of Alec's father as "the Douglas," like "the Lord."

  "You can see," Alec said, being careful to allow a long time between sips of wine, "that he isn't keeping his end of the bargain. Where is your protection?"

  "It will come," one of the elders said sullenly.

  "Protection should protect" Alec countered, "not revenge. My men could have burned your village, raped your women, murdered all of you."

  "Ahhh ..." said the old man who had been napping by the gate. "The Douglas knew that you were no ordinary raiding band."

  "What?"

  "He told us weeks ago that his son might pass this way."

  "Shut up, you old fool!" a younger man snapped.

  But Alec waved him down. "Douglas came here and warned you that his son might raid your village?"

  The old man looked troubled now, uncertain.

  "Eh ... it was something like that . . . perhaps I've got it wrong ... I forget a lot nowadays ..."

  So he's expecting us, Alec thought.

  They changed the subject, or tried to. Alec steered it back to the location of Douglas's headquarters.

  Jameson joined the circle around the fire, but still the villagers would admit nothing.

  Finally Alec bade them goodnight; they got up and returned to their huts.

  Watching them drift into the darkness, Jameson murmured, "Be easier to guard them if we packed them all into one or two huts."

  "Let them sleep in their own beds," Alec said.

  "We have their weapons, and they don't want any trouble."

  Shrugging, Jameson said, "They didn't tell you much, did they?"

  "Not much," Alec admitted.

  "We have the wagon crew. They know where Douglas' headquarters is."

  "Yes."

  "And they know that we know. A little persuasion would open them up."

  Alec said nothing.

  "I could . . . um, talk with them. The two men, that is. I wouldn't bother the girl."

  "Til talk to her" Alec said, "Maybe I can convince her ..." He let the thought trail off.

  "Alec," Jameson said, his lean face hidden in the shadows, "What do we do if she tells us where he is? We can't just walk up to Douglas and expect him to hand us the fissionables."

  "No—but we can call down as many men as the settlement can provide. And I think we can recruit some of the people around here. They can't all be totally loyal to Douglas. They'll join our side for a share of the loot, especially when they see the army we can put together."

  "You really think Kobol's going to bring down an army for you?"

  "Not for me," Alec said. "For the fissionables. They'll have to." And he added silently, to himself, Even if Kobol's gained complete control of the Council he'll have to come here for the fissionables.

  In the dwindling firelight, it was impossible to see the expression on Jameson's face. He said slowly, "Listen, Alec . . . some of the men don't think we'll ever get back to the settlement. They think we've been written off."

  "That's not true!"

  "It's what they think," Jameson said. "And . . . well, they're not all that unhappy about it. This is a big world here. We could carve ourselves a nice chunk of it, if we wanted to. Some of the men have even been wondering why we don't join up with Douglas . . ."

  Alec almost swung at him. At the last instant he managed to check himself, already leaning toward Jameson with his fists clenched and ready.

  Forcing his voice to remain calm, Alec asked, "Join the traitor? Let the settlement die?"

  "They've left us to die."

  "They'll send all the help we need, when we're ready for it."

  Jameson made a low, sighing sound. "It better be soon, if you expect to have any of these men following you"

  "It will be," Alec snapped. He was blazing hotter than the fire now, not trusting himself to say any more. He started to walk away.

  "Wait," Jameson called. He unbuckled his gunbelt as he walked up to Alec. "If you're going to go strolling in the dark, you'd better have at least a pistol. Don't trust anybody."

  Alec's anger softened. "All right," he said.

  "Thanks." He strapped the gun to his hip.

  Walking down a crooked lane between two rows of huts, Alec saw that the stars were gleaming brightly. He recognized Orion rising sideways above the southern horizon. It'll be winter soon, he thought. We've got to get the job done before the snows start.

  He paced along the bare dirt path slowly, thinking, planning, trying not to think of confronting Angela and questioning her. I've got to find a power source for the radios. Douglas must have a few tucked away here and there, this close to his headquarters. Find one, make a raid, stay long enough to get a message off to the satellite.

  A sound pulled him up short. A gasp, scuffling, heavy breathing. He flattened himself against the rough logs of the nearest hut and slid the pistol from its holster.

  Again. A muffled sound, almost a groan, but stifled.

  Carefully, Alec edged along the log wall. A dim light glowed faintly from
a doorway in the next hut. He tiptoed for it. More gasps, whispers, then a low voice saying:

  "C'mon cutey . . . come across . . . you won't look too good if you don't ..."

  Alec stepped into the hut, gun level at his waist.

  In the wavering light of a single candle, he saw one of his own youngsters holding Angela's arms pinned tightly behind her back with one brawny arm, his other meaty hand over her mouth.

  Gianelli stood in front of her with a long, slim knife. Her shirt was torn away and three long welling red slashes streaked down one breast to the nipple. Her eyes were wide with pain and terror.

  "Gianelli!"

  He wheeled around. The knife blade was red.

  "You want to find out where your father is, I'll find out for you," Gianelli said, his voice low and shaking with excitement. "I'll get a lot more out of her, besides."

  "Get away from her."

  The kid let his hand drop from Angela's mouth, but still held her arms.

  "Listen," Gianelli said. "I've had a bellyfull of your orders. I'll get what you want from her and then I'll get what I want."

  The gun's blast was deafening in the tiny hut.

  Gianelli slammed back against the wall, his mouth open in a silent "Ooohhh . . ." He dropped the knife and slid to the floor.

  The kid stepped away from Angela, toward Gianelli's crumpled body. "I . . . he told me . . ."

  Alec fired once more and the kid's face dissolved in an explosion of blood. Angela screamed and Alec grabbed her, pulled her out of the hut into the clean night air, leaving the stench of gunsmoke and blood behind them.

  "They . . . they . . ." she gulped.

  "They're dead," Alec said. He still held the gun.

  His hand was trembling so badly that it took three tries to slide it back into his holster.