by Joseph O'Day
“Well, we figured it would take ’em three months to get a relief force here. That didn’t give us much time to get ready for ’em. But we put that time to good use. Our leaders trained us for war, sharpened our senses, and strengthened our bodies. We knew we were in for a big fight and that we might very well come up the losers. But we had one advantage. We had our backs to the wall, and we were fightin’ for our freedom.”
Timothy kept catching himself as he fell asleep, but the best part was coming up, and he was determined to hear it one more time before he shipped out for Earth. “Not everybody took our side. Some, like your pa, didn’t cotton to fightin’ and killin’. We didn’t hold it against ’em none, but it did hurt the cause. We were only able to muster just over 4,000 men by the time they came. And it took ’em a whole lot longer to come than we expected.
“Turns out our timin’ couldn’t ’ve been better. Earth was havin’ a famine. The Emperor’s tight-fisted ways had gotten him into trouble, and food wasn’t comin’ in fast enough for the demand. Civil war broke out, and it was almost seven months before they could get reinforcements to Cirrus. And when the army did get here, it was only 10,000 strong and not heavily supported. That was a big break for us.
“Well, we were ready. When they landed, we retreated, burning everything as we went. Scorched-earth tactics they called it. We had set our defenses on that big hill over there. Battle Hill they call it now. You can see it in the distance, about forty kilometers this side of the mountains. The Emperor’s men thought we were just hayseeds, a ragtag outfit that was goin’ to be easy. We were countin’ on that.
“When they came to the hill, there was nothin’ but burnt, open ground for kilometers all ’round. Overconfident as they were, they just charged right in, with no cover, and, as they say in them army tactics manuals, we had a clear field of fire. We’d mow down one wave and the next would just climb right over ’em and keep on comin’. Before they got within two hundred yards of the outer perimeter, over a third of ’em were down. That’s when they hightailed it.”
Uncle Charles paused to catch his breath, and Mathias, Timothy’s eight-year-old brother cut in. “What happened then, Uncle Charles?” They all knew what happened next, but Uncle Charles enjoyed being urged on in his storytelling.
“Well, them soldiers were either inexperienced or were still underestimatin’ us, ’cause after they had retreated out of range and dug in, they set up only a half-circle defense. You bet our leaders took quick notice of that. We moved our wounded to the perimeter positions where their job was to make noise. Then after dark, we muffled all our equipment for silent marching and started down the back of the hill. The plan was to march ten kilometers in a wide circle and come up behind the enemy encampment. All but four or five hundred of us made the march, and it was real tough to do, especially in the pitch dark like that.
“It took us a good six hours, and dawn was approaching when we finally arrived in position for the assault. When it was just light enough so you could see your hand in front of your face, we charged. Mind you, most of us had never fought in real hand-to-hand combat before. That first engagement had been long-distance fightin’. Now we had to fight face to face.
“Some of us from old Scotland carried a sword called the claymore. We had read of our ancestors stridin’ over the moors with their claymores slappin’ on their legs. So we made some for ourselves. Mine’s still hangin’ over the mantle at home.”
“Would you bring it with you next time?” pleaded Luke.
Tousling his head, Uncle Charles feigned shock. “Your Aunt Martha wouldn’t like that. She’s not so sure the rebellion was a good thing, and,” he added with a wink, “she cares little enough already for my fillin’ your heads with sinful stories. But on with the storytellin’.
“I’ll tell you true, there’s no more disgustin’ work than killin’ your fellow man face to face. When we reached the camp at a dead run, we all started whoopin’ and shoutin’ and scared the livin’ daylights out of them Imperial soldiers. We killed a lot of ’em, but in their confusion and panic and because of the bad light, they were as likely to shoot down their own men as us. When it was all over, I just laid there on my back, exhausted and battered, splattered with the blood and gore of friend and foe alike. I was too numb even to get sick, though I never felt more like it in my life.
“We lost nigh on a thousand men, but the Imperials lost more than half. By the time they surrendered, less than four thousand remained. Our victory was complete.” Uncle Charles paused for effect.
“And greater than we ever dared hope for. To our amazement, one of the captured was none other than the crown prince himself, Henry the Strong. Well, sir, I’ll tell you, that was quite a prize! Now we had some real bargainin’ power. Henry himself turned out to be highly uncooperative. He didn’t want to make any deals and give back what he had hoped to take from us by force.
“How well I remember when the big break came weeks later. I was standin’ guard over the Imperial communications equipment when a powerful transmission came in. I sent for the CO, and he brought the prince with him. The transmission was from a newly arrived emissary with a vital message for Henry from Daniel Mizpala, First Minister. He said simply, ‘The Emperor is dead! Long live the Emperor!’ Henry’s father had been killed by rebel forces in the civil war on earth. It was done by suicide squad sent right into the royal residence with a small fission bomb.
“Well, let me tell you, it didn’t take long for Henry to come to terms with us. All of a sudden, we were small stakes. He had to hightail it home on a more important matter: consolidatin’ his new position as Emperor. The political situation on earth was far too fragile and unstable for him to sit around hagglin’ with a bunch of nobody offworld farmers. And we were just as eager to help him on his way. If he couldn’t make good his claim, our treaty would be invalid.
“So, kids, that’s the story of how we won freeborn citizenship for everyone on Cirrus and forced the Trading Company to honor its commitments.”
“But,” queried Matthias, “why didn’t you get the bondage agreements canceled altogether? You could’ve gotten anything you demanded.”
Uncle Charles drew himself up to his full six feet and stuck out his chin as he always did when about to proclaim some basic tenant of honorable conduct. “Our bondage was a just debt. We Mennonites always discharge our just debts.”
“Time for dessert,” chimed Aunt Martha as she poked her head through the kitchen door. The children made a dash for the kitchen, and Timothy, who had virtually succumbed to his weariness, rolled over and shook out the cobwebs.
Cocking a scornful eye at Charles, Aunt Martha hissed, “Old fool! Filling the heads of these children with your awful stories of war and killin’! You ought to be ashamed!”
“Well, I’m not! It’s our history and their heritage, one they can be proud of.”
“Heritage!” she sniffed. “Some heritage! You’d do better telling them Scripture stories.”
“What a splendid idea!” beamed Charles. “Next time we’ll talk about Sampson and how he slew a thousand Philistines with the jawbone of a donkey.”
Aunt Martha rocked back on her heels, her face turning different shades of purple. Timothy sat on the floor amazed, but also a bit amused. He had never seen Aunt Martha so flustered. He watched as she turned and fled into the kitchen, gasping and wheezing and shaking her head. Uncle Charles just chuckled and followed her in.
*
Some nights later Timothy lay in bed, staring at the dark ceiling. For an hour now the house had been quiet. But still he waited. Finally he rose silently, crept to his closet, and retrieved the small roll of possessions he had cached there earlier. Slipping quietly through the house, he reached the back door and stepped outside. At once he began striding purposefully away from the house when he heard his name quietly spoken. He froze. His heart caught in his throat.
“Timothy . . . I wanted to see you off.” It was his mother. Coming up to him out
of a black patch of night, she looked up at his startled expression.
“How did . . . What are you . . . uh, what do you mean?”
“How did I know you were leaving? You’d be surprised what a mother knows. But don’t worry. I’m not going to stop you. Come, let’s move farther from the house.” Taking his arm she started walking with him.
“I knew you would leave sometime. You’re too restless to be happy on the farm . . . too much of a dreamer. If I made you stay, you’d resent me, and you’d be miserable. I want my children to be happy.” She paused to look at him, her normally confident eyes rimmed with misgiving. “I hope the course you’ve set for yourself does make you happy.”
“I’m sure it will, Ma. I’ll send you scan letters all the time. And anyway, I’ll be back. You know I wouldn’t walk away forever.”
“Things change, son. You can never really return to things that were.” Pausing she added, “But it’s hard knowing you were going to leave without a good-bye or anything.”
“Oh, Ma!” Timothy hugged her hard. “I’m sorry if my leaving hurts you, but I’ve got to go. I’ve got to!”
“I know.” She patted him on the chest. “I only wanted a last look at my firstborn son before he left. Here, take this with you.” She thrust something into his hand.
“What is it?”
“It’s the O’Leary family Bible.”
“But, Ma!”
“I’m the last of the O’Learys, so I’m giving it to you, my eldest.”
“Ma!”
“No arguments. Take it.” Timothy took it and shoved it into his pack.
“Listen, Ma, I can’t stay any longer. I’ve joined the Fusiliers, and I’ve got to catch the shuttle to go to the Military Academy on earth.”
“I suspected as much. Yes, go on. Hurry. And God go with you.” Giving him a quick kiss, she turned and hurried to the door.
Timothy dashed out of the yard and did not see the tears gleaming on his mother’s cheeks. She stood rooted by the door, watching him until he was out of sight. Then slipping inside, she returned to a sleepless bed.
*
His breath exploded rhythmically from his burning lungs, searing his tortured throat. His chest felt on fire. All he could think about was the pain he felt from head to foot and from skin down to bone. His breath tore steadily yet spasmodically from his parched mouth and rent the air as he vainly fought to replenish his body’s oxygen. He was glad his stomach was fairly empty, else he’d have lost its contents long ago.
Not much farther now, he told himself through the haze. When he took the effort to lift his head, he could see the spaceport in the distance. For thirty clicks he had been running and walking, and time was getting short. It must be almost 6:30 by now. He had considered taking a short cut across the wheat field, which would have carved nearly five clicks off the trip. But the freshly cut stubble would have torn the skin of his bare feet to shreds.
As he stumbled forward at the limits of his endurance, he shifted his pack on his raw shoulders and prepared to sprint the last leg of the race. One foot in front of the other. Don’t stop. Keep going. Only a few more steps. With sheer effort of will he forced his legs to keep pumping. Suddenly, out of the fog of his exhaustion, the silhouette of the guardhouse rose up to meet him. He slowed to a stumbling walk and nearly fell down. His legs had turned to rubber.
“Halt! Who goes there?”
Timothy Brogan stopped and slumped over, his hands on his knees, breathing harshly. “I’m . . . Timothy . . . Brogan,” he gasped out, feeling the bile rise in his throat, “reporting . . . for shuttle . . . transportation . . . to Earth.”
Coming forward a few steps, his weapon at the ready, the guard took a closer look at the solitary figure. “To Earth? What’s a ragtag hayseed like you going to Earth for?” he sneered. “To provide some comic relief?”
Though still out of breath and groggy, Brogan felt the stirrings of anger. “I’ve been accepted . . . in the Fusiliers. . . . This is my last chance . . . to get to . . . the Military Academy,” he panted out.
The soldier guffawed. “That’s a good one!” Again he laughed gruffly, slapping his leg. Then he sobered quickly and advanced on Timothy in a threatening manner. “Go on! Get outa here before I stop thinking its funny.”
Brogan failed to see the humor in the situation. Time was running out, and this buffoon was going to ruin his last chance. Beginning to catch his breath, he straightened up and said, “Captain Darkhow ordered me to report here . . . by 0630 hours, on the 15th, private!” He began to weave with vertigo, wishing he had something to grab hold of.
“You gonna be smart about this, huh? Just where does a hick like you get off talking down to me like that? I think I’ll just—”
The guard was interrupted by a sharp question from behind. “What’s all the ruckus about out here?”
The Corporal of the Guard came up to stand beside the private. “Who are you?” he ordered, looking at the intruder.
Brogan could not believe how immaculate the COG appeared. The creases on his trousers were sharp as a knife and not a wrinkle showed anywhere. His few ribbons sparkled in the reflected light. His boots shone. Timothy became conscious of how ragged and unkempt he looked. He clutched at his clothing and looked from soldier to soldier.
“Come on, boy. Speak up!” the COG enjoined.
Glancing back to the speaker, Brogan screwed up his courage and said, “Sir, I have orders here from Captain Darkhow to report to this gate at 0630 hours on the 15th.” Offering the orders, he added, “I’m a candidate for the Imperial Military Academy.”
Looking at Brogan skeptically, the corporal took the crinkled paper and scanned it. “That paper is wrinkled almost as much as you are,” the private scoffed with a vicious laugh.
The COG glared at him. “Be quiet, private!” The soldier snapped to attention. “Your job is to guard against unlawful entry, not to harass people or make Imperial policy!”
Turning to Timothy he said, “Your papers seem to be in order, Mr. Brogan. If you’ll come with me to the guard shack, I’ll check on the status of the Shark.” Brogan followed obediently. Some shack, he thought with awe as he entered behind the corporal. This is more grand than our house!
“Have a seat while I give ’em a shout.”
Turning to the transmitter, he called the interstellar ship. “H.M.S. Shark, this is COG, Gate Three.”
Presently a voice replied, “This is Shark, Gate Three. State your business.”
“I have a recruit here reporting for trans-shipment to the Imperial Military Academy. Are you ready for boarding?”
“Roger, Gate Three. Send him on over.”
“Shark, he seems a little short on gear. Do you have any on board he can use?”
“Negative, Gate Three. Issue him equipment out of your stores. I’ll send an ensign over to administer the oath of allegiance.”
“Roger, Shark. Gate Three out.”
Turning to Brogan, the corporal stuck out his hand. “I’m John Manazes.”
Rubbing his wet, dirty hand on his equally soiled trousers, Brogan gripped the soldier’s hand. “Timothy Brogan. B-but you know that, don’t you?” he said, grinning.
“Come on.” Manazes smiled back. “Let’s see if anything in here fits you. But first jump in there and grab a quick shower,” he said, pointing to a doorway. “You’ve got three minutes.”
*
“These are the finest clothes I’ve ever seen,” marveled Brogan as he put on his army issue four minutes later. He picked up the leather shoes and stroked them. “Nobody around here wears shoes in the summer months. There just isn’t enough leather. The hunters got here ahead of us and killed off most everything that was good for making leather. And the imported simulated stuff is too expensive.”
“Listen, I know how it is. I’m from a frontier world myself—New Brazil. We’re not all like Private Cruz. He’s Earth born. Thinks himself superior to offworlders.” Timothy started feeling more at home.
He was dressed and waiting when the ensign arrived. Turning on a small recorder, the ensign said, “I am about to administer the oath of allegiance to the Emperor. Is there any reason you cannot take this oath?”
“No, sir.”
“As a commissioned officer in the Imperial Navy, I am empowered to induct you into the Armed Forces of his Imperial Majesty, Henry III. Raise your right hand, and repeat after me. ‘I do solemnly swear to defend with my life the person of his Majesty, the Emperor, and all his possessions. I pledge to defend the citizens of the Empire as directed by the Emperor himself or by my superior officers. I freely subject myself to the Uniform Code of Military Conduct as prescribed in the Covenant of 2226. All this I pledge on my most sacred honor.’“
After repeating the last phrase, Brogan added, “so help me God.”
“That was not required,” noted the ensign.
“It was for me, sir,” replied the new recruit.
“It is permitted,” he said, picking up the recorder and handing it to Manazes. “Take his fingerprints, then his retina and voice patterns.” Turning to the new recruit, he said, “Welcome aboard, Private Brogan. I’m Ensign Dar Unger. We need to get moving ASAP. The Shark is due to depart soon.”
In a few minutes Brogan and Unger were on their way to the ship. When they had left, Cruz sidled up to Manazes and asked, “What’s the idea of making me look like a fool in front of a country bumpkin?”
Giving him a glance, Manazes replied, “Cruz, you might live long enough to make corporal, but I doubt it.”
“What d’ ya mean? What’s wrong with havin a little fun?”
“If I were Private Brogan, I would hold it against you. If he makes it through the Academy, he might make it hard on you some day. But even if he doesn’t, what does a little kindness cost after all?”
