by Eric Flint
"We've been trying to track him down."
Van Klomp put on a suitably mournful expression, and tried to ignore the camera. "Major Fitzhugh was unfortunately caught in a Magh' deadfall, when he was bravely leading the troops in deadly chamber-to-chamber, hand-to-hand combat. He's been severely injured."
"Are his injuries life-threatening, Major?"
"Fortunately not. The medics assure me he has an absolute one hundred percent chance of recovery." That should stop General Cartup-Kreutzler attempting to have someone silence Fitz.
For the next hour and a half Van Klomp hammed it up, as large as life and twice as natural. He gave them a graphic-if fictitious-version of "the commandos' " heroic capture of the brood-heart, and their rescue of none other than the late chairman's daughter. He told of the race to rescue these heroes. He had some of his men reenact the final assault on the brood-heart. He let them photograph the dead alien. And he got them a few interviews with troops who had seen action with Fitz. They had had a number of those already. And just to make doubly sure it all got out, he had them escorted onto a captured hover-artillery piece and flown out of the combat zone. In the interests of their safety, of course.
He was just getting up to go and see Fitz when a patrol brought in another couple of reporters. This pair had sneaked in past the patrols by coming through the minefields, proving reporters to be entirely crazy.
"They must be as thick as flies around the old front lines," muttered Van Klomp. "You'll just have to wait," he said to the pair from Interweb. "I'm going to see someone in the field hospital."
He went down to see Fitz in the makeshift field hospital.
By Fitz's expression, it looked as if it was a good thing the major was immobilized. A terrified-looking MP lieutenant was standing against the far wall, doing his best to pretend that he wasn't there at all. "Ja boykie? Lazing in bed while the rest of us work, eh?"
"Bobby, tell this lot they're to stop terrorizing the kid," said Fitz, jerking a thumb at the MP, not bothering to rise to the bait Van Klomp trailed.
"Don't you think I have done enough?" asked the paratrooper cheerfully, making the makeshift bed groan as he sat on it. "I had to save the Lieutenant Colonel Jeebol from a lynch mob. Sent him sneaking home in a plain coat with his hair shaved off, and his tail between his legs."
Fitz was not to be distracted. "It's not fair on the boy. I was planning to go and hand myself over."
"I know," Van Klomp said cheerfully. "So, that was why, when you got injured, I sent some of my men back to fetch you an MP. Seeing as you couldn't go to them, they've come to you. My boys found several of them ornamenting the old front line. So: the record reads that you surrendered to them, to the best of your ability, and I assisted the MP." Van Klomp beamed broadly at the idea.
The young MP had finally had enough. "Your men brought us here by force, Major Van Klomp. They held a bangstick to my head!"
"My men forced you?" Butter would have frozen solid in Van Klomp's mouth. "But you had orders to arrest Major Fitzhugh, didn't you? What did they do but to bring you to him? He's in no fit state to come to you. The way it looks, you were being derelict in your duty."
"We… we don't have slowshields," protested the MP. "We're not supposed to be front-line soldiers."
"Ah!" exclaimed Van Klomp, beaming. "Now I understand, Lieutenant. There's been a misunderstanding. My men weren't abducting you. They were protecting you. If you find it irksome, they won't do so on the way out."
"Lot of Maggots still on the loose out there, aren't there, Major?" said one of the patients with a nasty smile. "I wonder if the loo-tenant knows what a 'scorp-sting does to a man?"
"It's an awful way to die," said another. He issued a truly histrionic moan. "Excruciating agony. I've seen a soldier snap his own spine with the pain."
"And those aren't the worst-" said Ariel.
"That's enough, Ariel," said Fitz, "or I'll ration your chocolate, no matter how many times you protest that I don't love you any more." He turned on the others, ignoring her outraged sniff. "Stop winding him up, you lot. Lieutenant. Pay no attention. I'll see you get a safe escort out of here. With me."
Van Klomp laughed. "Mind you, I'm not sure who is guarding who. The doc tells me he has had to quarter the other MPs in the spare ward. The troops outside were rather nasty to them."
The MP shifted, his expression angry. "I don't want to be here, and I certainly don't want to arrest the major. I'm just obeying orders."
"Major Van Klomp!" A runner panted from the door. "There is some kind of alien skycraft setting down on the roof of the scorpiary dome."
"Shit!" Van Klomp was up and running.
They were met in the upper corridors by another of Van Klomp's men. "It's Korozhet, sir. They say they're military advisors. They got some major general and a couple of brigadiers from headquarters with them. They came in a Korozhet landing craft because of the weather. Those babes have real all-weather flying ability."
"Hmm. Well, I suppose I had better go up and meet them." Van Klomp straightened his uniform. He lacked Fitz's patience and tact. Fitz had put up with months of being sidelined and ignored at Military Headquarters. Bobby Van Klomp had a shorter fuse. To deal with this lot he wished he had some of Fitz's patience. He was glad he didn't suffer from Fitz's honesty!
***
The official party of observers and brass were still on the roof in the gentle rain that had set in again. They were looking at the small, jagged-edged hole in the scorpiary roof, and the rope ladder going down.
"Good day, gentleman, ma'am. Alien friends," said Van Klomp as he hauled himself up it.
The major general and his team of factotums in their dress uniforms surveyed the major. "Who are you, Major?"
"Major Robert Van Klomp. First HAR airborne."
"Airborne? I thought you chaps only did display jumps at parades," said the female brigadier. She had a very credible sneer, Van Klomp thought, for someone whose makeup was running in the rain.
"We are supposed to be the army's elite assault troops, ma'am. Which I assume is why General Cartup-Kreutzler decided to use us in his attempt to get the commando forces out. We didn't expect them to be so successful."
"The general wasn't even involved in this fiasco!" snapped the brigadier. "It was all that blasted intelligence officer. The one who always had a rat in his pocket. Fitzhugh."
"The orders were signed by the general. I don't know which of his staff planned it, ma'am, but it was a brilliant operation on the general's part, if I may say so." Van Klomp was one of those people who enjoyed rubbing salt into the wounds of people he detested. He was finding this whole situation a little on the cheery side, actually, for all his tenseness. "The most-in fact, the only-successful recapture of territory from the Magh'."
"Strategically a very poor idea," said one of the Korozhet.
"Exactly," said the major general. "No matter what it looks like to you junior officers. This operation had absolutely nothing to do with General Cartup-Kreutzler. It's a complete botch. Now, we and the Korozhet need to get down to the Magh' command room. The area must be sealed."
"Certainly, sir," said Van Klomp doing his best to restrain a grin. He had, he suspected, been quite right to order everything in the chamber loaded up and sent off to HARIT's Alien research unit. "My men have secured the area. If you'll follow me down the ladder, I'll lead you there."
The major general, who was as round as a grease spot, looked at the ladder swaying down into the lumifungus-green-tinged darkness. He was fifty-five if he was a day old, and looked as if he hadn't done any exercise more violent than riding a golf cart for the last twenty years. He blanched. "There must be another way. Our Korozhet friends can't manage that."
"Oh, I have it on good authority that they're very agile on their spikes, sir," said Van Klomp, with a face that would have won him any game of poker he ever played in. By what Private Connolly and the others had said, the Korozhet who had kidnapped Virginia Shaw had definitely be
en hand in glove with the Magh', not humanity. Young Chip Connolly had shown a remarkable degree of good sense about that part of their story. He'd said that he didn't think it was going to be popular with the powers-that-be.
Van Klomp was ready to bet large sums of money that it wasn't going to be. The scary part, to him, had been the information that there was a built-in pro-Korozhet bias in the soft-cyber implants in the heads of mankind's warriors, the rats and the bats. Connolly had explained the linguistic dodges which the rats and bats had been using to circumvent the bias, but it all sounded awfully dicey to Van Klomp.
"Pish-tosh, man! Anyone can see they're too round for climbing," said the circular major general. "And what good authority was this, eh?"
"Ms. Virginia Shaw, sir," replied Van Klomp smoothly. "She had a Korozhet tutor. His remains are below, sir."
There was an agitated clattering from the spines of the assembled Korozhet. The air was thick with a sudden smell of naphthalene. The major noticed that at least two of them had raised slightly thicker spines to point at him. What was it that Private Connolly had said? Harpoonlike darts, and gas secretion? The Pricklepusses gave out that they were peaceful vegetarians, but he'd put the testimony of Connolly, and the rats and bats, above the veracity of the aliens.
"Her remains… they have been left in public for the Underphyle to gawp at!" huffed one rather vermillion-spined Korozhet. "Outrage! Disrespect! Punishment!"
Another one of the prickly ones clattered spines, hastily. The clatterer was larger and a purpler shade of red than the one who had made the furious outburst. The smaller one lowered its spines.
"My apologies, if we've caused affront," said major general. "I'll see that the appropriate censure is given, Advisor Tirritit." He turned back to Van Klomp. "Now, Major, the sooner we can get the Korozhet down to their dead, the better. We need an alternate route."
"Certainly, sir. We've opened up a track from the front lines. It is rather rough, sir. But we've been able to get specialized ATVs through in about three to four hours. If you would like to fly back there, I'll have vehicles waiting for you. I'll get men to prepare a mine-free landing area, and put down some beacons."
"What? But that's miles, man!" snapped the general. "And I'm not having our VIP guests bounced around for three hours. There must be a closer way. If there isn't, make one!"
Van Klomp nodded. "I believe a request for engineers has been put in to HQ, sir. I'll happily set my men to blowing a more accessible passage. But our experience with this Magh' adobe hasn't been good, sir. We certainly can't guarantee your safety. We're soldiers, not structural engineers. The stuff tends to collapse, sometimes immediately, sometimes for no apparent reason, later. We've had a couple of nasty accidents with it. If we tried to cut you an access we might end up killing you, sir."
Van Klomp paused thoughtfully. "We could always get a cargo net and lower you down. That would be the quickest and easiest." And it would be most tempting to cut the rope, he thought, but did not add.
"Hmph. Would it be safe?"
"Safe as an elevator, sir. I'd let them lower me first," said Van Klomp earnestly.
"Set it up then," ordered the general. "As quickly as possible. An elevator would be acceptable."
"Right away, sir. Excuse me."
Van Klomp went down into the smelly belly of the Magh' mound. It still stank less than up on top. A ten-ton truck with a winch and a cargo net brought along as close as possible did the trick. Van Klomp's paratroopers scurried about attaching anchors and setting up a tripod with a pulley in it. A plank, Van Klomp knew, would have made it more comfortable, but he wasn't feeling generous.
"Uh, Major," interrupted a private, tentatively. "Those two reporters. They're still sitting in your 'office.' "
Van Klomp smiled nastily. "Bring 'em here, boy. Let them interview some top brass."
The private looked at the arrangement and the careful measuring of rope. "Major… you're not giving them the whoah-belly, are you?" he asked suspiciously.
Van Klomp's expression of saintliness should have gotten him instant canonization. "Me, Private? You know as well as I do that the winch only winds in. That you have to pull cable out. The brake does stop it being entirely unwound and perhaps damaging the cable or drum. I do promise I'll tell them that it is a bit jerky at times."
The private struggled to run and fetch the journos, he was laughing so much.
It was a two-hundred-foot drop, straight down, to the level where the ruined bridge led to the brood-heart chamber. The "moat" that protected the chamber meant that there was still another drop of five hundred feet below that. By swinging the rope ladders in and attaching them to a stick-out bastion, it was a forty-five-foot climb. Not un-strenuous, but not that long, either. But, if they wanted an elevator, by all means let the brass have one. In comparison to the whoah-belly Van Klomp had set up for training the recruits, this was a lollapalooza. He couldn't wait to try it out himself.
But then, he was an adrenaline junkie with a long-established habit.
***
Van Klomp stood rigidly to attention as the hysterical major general shrieked at him. "You said that it was safe! I'll have you court-martialed! Reduced to the ranks!"
"It's as safe as houses, sir. You were warned that it was jerky and I did offer to arrange transport around. You refused and insisted on doing it this way, sir. I explained that the cable winch only wound in, but used a speed-governed brake to prevent sudden jerk stresses from damaging the cable or drum. I've been up and down it twice now, and I can't say I found it unsafe. I'm sorry you found it distressing."
He was interrupted by a terrible shriek from above. The brigadier, hurtling down in the free-fall stage, obviously also found it distressing. No sense of adventure, these brass-hats.
The brake slowed the net bag's descent, and then began allowing it to accelerate again. The brigadier whizzed past them, the pitch of her shriek beautifully displaying the Doppler effect. At the next braking the winch operator hit the retrieve button, and gently winched the gibbering wreck back to level with the platform. A paratrooper leaned out with a crudely made boathook and hauled her in. The winch operator cut the power providing the final undignified drop into the arms of Sergeant Harris. Two troopers cut the net loose from the cross brace at the top. The brigadier, released from the support of the net and Harris' arms, fell to her knees and was sick.
"General, do you want me continue bringing your staff down with the hoist?" asked Van Klomp calmly. "They seem to find it rather alarming. Colonel Pumbrey has come around from his faint, by the way." The major felt rather well disposed toward the colonel. If he'd yelled instead of being silently paralyzed with terror when he and Van Klomp had done the first descent together, the general would never have dared come down. "I don't see why they should suffer unnecessarily."
"If I had to do it, they will," snarled the general.
"Very well, sir. However, I'll send a man up to tell them they've no need to worry, but that your aides have found it slightly alarming. I want a volunteer, men. Raise a hand, someone who is willing to go up. Tell them part of the descent is rather worrying, but the general says they are to come down. And warn the Korozhet too. I'm not sure how their physiology would stand up to it. If they feel that there is any danger they'd better not try this."
Every soldier present shot his hand up-even those who Van Klomp knew were not fond of the whoah-belly. Obviously a lot of enlisted men were eager to show the brass that they didn't scream or lose their lunch. The major picked on one of the smaller men-one of the most acrobatic and steel-nerved of his troops-and sent him up. "In the meanwhile one of you go and see if you can find the general some new trousers," he added cheerfully.
"Major General Fredricks?" asked the reporter, stepping forward out of the shadows. "Mike Sherry from Interweb. Can we ask you a few questions for our viewers?"
It was a great psychological moment to interview someone.
Van Klomp knew that giving the general an
d his staff the whoah-belly ride was a rather childish and ultimately self-defeating pastime. But it had been very sweet.
It was also nearly terminal. Private Oliver had reported back, saying that the Korozhet had said that they were capable of surviving far greater physiological stress than endoskeletal species, and were certainly not frightened. By the private's description, it was the smaller, redder one who had gotten very upset by the thought of the dead Korozhet being looked at by what, if Van Klomp understood it right, amounted to "lesser species."
The smaller, vermillion-spined Korozhet came down next. The Korozhet did not scream. But as the paratrooper swung it in with the boathook, it pointed those thickened spines at him through the net. If Van Klomp had not been primed by Connolly's description of this event, the young trooper would have been dead. As it was, Van Klomp hit the spine with a bangstick, and hauled the youngster aside. The edge of the dart gashed across the young paratrooper's arm, before striking the Magh' adobe, sending a spray of fluid across the ground.
The net bag swung wildly back into space as the vermillion Korozhet fired its second dart. It missed completely as a result. The winch operator had a moment of genius and hit the power switch. The Korozhet rose steadily, swinging wildly, hissing like a kettle that was about to explode.
"Stay away from that stuff," snapped Van Klomp, pointing to the liquid that had spilled out of the protoplasm-hosed harpoon. He was hastily tying a tourniquet onto the trooper's arm. "With any luck you won't have the poison in you, son. But let's keep it to the arm. Winch! Stop that bastard about halfway. Let him dangle until we can deal with this." He'd never forgive himself if his practical joke on the brass cost this kid his life or even his arm. "Let's get this soldier to the medics."
"It's just a gash, sir," said the paratrooper.
"It could be poisoned, Private. That liquid definitely is." He poured perfectly good booze into the wound, washing it thoroughly. He turned to look for the major general.
By all reports, Fredricks had joined the army twenty years ago, on the clear understanding that it was a nice secure job with no heavy lifting, requiring, principally, the ability to march in step. Lately, it had required the ability to play politics and golf, drink whiskey and kiss butts. It had obviously ill-prepared him for this sort of action. He cringed nervously next to a wall, surveying the nearest thing he'd seen to actual combat.
