by Joseph O'Day
He sighed. “Anyway, I watched my parents starve themselves, trying to keep us kids alive until the harvest. They saved our lives, but only because the Emperor’s fleet arrived before the next harvest. The broadcast of our arrival on New Brazil had reached Earth only months earlier, and since the hyperjump had been discovered since our departure, the fleet made the trip in a matter of months.
“The insolent royalty of New Brazil was no match for crack starship Fusiliers,” Manazes continued with a sneer. “After they were dispatched, everyone was bonded to the Trading Company for four generations, but we were all granted status as freedmen. At least there were no more slaves on New Brazil! Best of all, by enlisting in the Fusiliers for ten years you could be assured of at least third-class citizenship.
“Skipper, you know what it’s like to be poor. But to be starving is something you got to experience to know what it’s like. No peasant had ever had a full belly before; now we had that and more—hope for the future.”
Manazes looked at Brogan. “In the latest scan from my sister, she said that she’s going to marry a merchant émigré from Tyre. It’s hard to believe that Sis is going to be a first-class citizen. Once I was sure we’d all starve, or be worked to death. Now it looks like we’ll both be citizens of the Empire. If these scum here on Peru II can’t understand what’s good for them, then that’s tough. I’ve got no sympathy!”
Brogan was silent momentarily. Then he said softly, “I don’t have any doubts about my allegiance to the Emperor, either. It’s just that my feelings are torn between the cause of the rebels, which seems reasonable and just, and their methods, which are often brutal and cold-blooded.”
“Like the rumors that they don’t take prisoners?”
“Yeah. And the reprisals they make on civilians who fail to support or harbor them. Remember that settlement we found last week? From what I hear, the mop-up crew found a mass grave full of bodies—men, women, and children. At first some thought it might have been our doing, but the medics established the time of death as just prior to our sweep.”
“Even more reason not to waste sympathy on ’em, skipper,” rejoined Manazes with fervor. “My philosophy is ‘Follow orders and keep your mouth shut.’”
“I understand that philosophy to a point,” sighed Brogan. “When I was growing up, our church directed that we should obey the lawful authorities.”
“Hey, I forgot you’re a Mennonite, Captain. How come you’re a military man, anyway? I thought Mennonites were against joining the army.”
“You know, I’ve wondered about that at times myself. But there’s always been a difference of opinion among Mennonites on Cirrus about military service. In the rebellion against the Trading Company, a lot of Mennonites fought side by side with the ‘new people’—that’s what our church called those who got to Cirrus by falsely professing our faith. My Uncle Charles was an example of a Mennonite who fought against the Trading Company. He used to tell such wonderful stories about it. I guess I was just drawn into the adventure of it all.
“My father, on the other hand, was somber and severe. All he seemed to want to do was work and pray. Well, I see things a lot different now. I think I’m beginning to understand why he was like that. Life was really difficult for him, what with having to shoulder the responsibility of bondage at such a young age and Uncle Charles slipping out of his share of the responsibility. It must have been hard for him to forgive Uncle Charles for that.”
Brogan rolled onto his side so that he was facing Manazes. “When I left home, I never looked back. I thought I’d never get homesick. But I am now. I miss the wide-open spaces and the dry climate of Cirrus. I’d like to see my family again.”
With a faraway look in his eyes, he added, “It probably broke my mother’s heart to see me run off like that.”
Silence descended on the two soldiers, and suddenly Brogan returned to the present. Hastily changing the subject, he turned on his back and swore. “This hot, sweaty planet sure doesn’t agree with me! It’s like a perpetual sauna!”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” mumbled Manazes.
Both men drifted off into their own private thoughts. Presently a movement startled them, and they looked up to see a disheveled lieutenant in Fusilier combat gear pushing his way into the room unannounced. His uniform was distinguished by Imperial Guard pips on his collar. He looked around in a confused manner. The two men jumped up.
“What do you want!” snapped Brogan, irritated at the man’s lack of protocol.
“Uh, Second Lieutenant Josh Mogul reporting for duty,” the man responded in a surly manner. “sir,” he added as an afterthought. Then he plopped down on Manazes’ cot.
Brogan was outraged. “Is that the way you learned to report at CIO School? Get on your feet, Lieutenant!”
Mogul looked up, and slowly and reluctantly pushed himself off the cot. As he did so Brogan’s memory stirred over the familiar features. Carl Mogul’s brother! his mind shouted.
“Never got to that school, Captain, sir. And before you go making any mistakes, you better know who I am.”
“I know who you are, Lieutenant! You’re the younger son of Second Minister Kepec Mogul and the brother of the highly ambitious Carl Mogul. You are a member of royalty and an officer in the Imperial Guard. But before you go making any mistakes, mister, you better know that none of that matters in my outfit. If you’re looking for special treatment, you’re in the wrong place. Now get your carcass out of my quarters and report to the first sergeant. He’ll assign you a bed. Oh, and Mogul!” Brogan added for emphasis. “At least try to act like a soldier while you’re on my staff. You’re dismissed.”
Mogul’s face grew dark. “You can’t talk to me like that! I’ll see you nailed to the wall if you don’t treat me like I deserve!”
“You will be treated like you deserve, Mogul—just like any other officer in my charge.” Brogan reached into his bag and tossed an issue scan to Mogul. “Read the parts on that scan about insubordination in a combat theater before you get too big for your pants. I think you’ll find life in a combat unit to be quite different from what you’ve been accustomed to.” Brogan paused. “Now get out of here before I really lose my temper!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.
Mogul stumbled backwards, grabbed his gear and made a hasty, if not dignified, exit. Manazes laid back down on the cot and grinned at Brogan. “I think you smoked his tail some.” He pursed his lips. “Seriously though, don’t you think you’re taking a chance coming down so hard on his royalness?”
“Nope. Looked like he was high on some kind of zombie juice.”
“No kidding! You could have busted him right on the spot! Nothing could have helped him!”
“You may be right. Maybe I should have. I might regret not stuffing the bum before he could cause us any trouble.”
Brogan sat down heavily. “I can’t believe this is happening to me. Of all places in the known universe, why did that jackass have to end up in my unit? And an Imperial Guard at that. I wonder how many strings his family had to pull to get that accomplished? Well, the Moguls are a powerful family, so I’ve got to be more careful. I’ve already made his brother my enemy. Now this lousy excuse for a soldier is probably going to cause me trouble, too.
“Tell you what, Manazes,” Brogan said, getting up off his cot, “I’m going to run over to the Club and see if Darkhow is there. I’ve got to find out what’s going on. Maybe he can give an assist.”
*
“From the look of your ugly mug, my guess is you haven’t brought good news,” observed Manazes when Brogan returned from the Officer’s Club. “I suppose we’re stuck with the royal creep.”
Brogan threw his jacket on the cot and sat down hard. “The Company’s stuck with him alright, but you aren’t. You get your wish to return to Earth, you big lug.”
“CIO School?” Manazes sat up abruptly, all levity gone.
“Yep. The Top is cutting your orders right now. You report to the shuttle in two
hours. You just have time to pack and turn in your combat gear. Something big is up,” continued Brogan. “A ship just brought in replacement troops and is heading straight back to Earth with the wounded and lucky stiffs like you.”
Manazes shook his head. “This is what I’ve been hoping for, Captain. But I can’t leave now, not with that worthless Mogul here and a bunch of green troops to boot. You need me. This may be the big push we’ve been hearing about, and you need all the experienced help you can get. This war may be over soon, and I can go to CIO School then.”
“No go, Manazes. You’ve got to go now, or wait almost two years for the next enlisted class. And you know you can’t get any more promotions until you graduate. You want to be a lieutenant all your life?” Brogan put on a grin.
“No, I don’t. But I’m not going to leave when you need me the most. You’ll probably go and get yourself killed if I’m not here to look after you. When are we moving out?”
Brogan stood up authoritatively. “The Company moves out at ten hundred hours tomorrow morning. But you are leaving on that ship if I have to tie you up and carry you on board myself!”
“Captain, it ain’t right! You need me in this operation! That Mogul pup will be dead weight, and things are likely to get pretty hot out there.”
“Manazes, I appreciate your concern. But that is my problem, not yours. Your problem is getting through CIO School in one piece. Then you can race off to die for the Emperor in some other great and glorious cause. Now get your gear packed up and report to your transport. That’s an order, mister!”
Brogan began walking out of the room, then he turned and said, “I will miss you, though.” And with that he was gone.
*
That night Brogan returned to his bunk and read a scan that had arrived from home. It came in on the ship that brought Josh Mogul and the other reinforcements. The scan contained film footage of his brothers and sisters and parents and an audio recording made by his mother. As he ran the scan Brogan realized that the passage of time was making his brothers and sisters strangers to him. The musical voice of his mother stirred a longing for home far stronger than he had imagined possible. Memories tugged at the edges of his mind: the dusty, sweet smell of freshly cut wheat; the sharp stubble ripping at bare feet; the aroma of lilacs at the back door.
His mother’s narration continued. “Then John married that youngest Müller girl—Anna. They have a farm over near the mountains. You wouldn’t believe how the number of farms has grown since you left. All the prairie right up to the mountains is almost all under cultivation.”
Brogan recalled the few camping trips he had made to those mountains. Once again he could smell the fish frying over an open fire in the crisp mountain air at dawn.
“Mary and her husband live in town. They had such a nice wedding last week. I wish you could have been here. Hasn’t Mathias grown? He looks just like you did when you were fifteen. But we don’t have to worry about Mathias becoming a soldier. He’s entering Deacons School next year in preparation for the ministry. Father finally has a disciple of the Orthodox Mennonite Church.
“Ever since the rebellion, the church has been modifying its stand on military service and on allegiance to the Empire. Your joining the Fusiliers helped lead them to recognize military service as the duty of a good citizen. So your father and some other men organized a new church by researching Mennonite history in an effort to return to their religious heritage.
“Luke is ten now and doing very well in school. It doesn’t look like Luke will be a farmer, either. I guess John may be the only one left in the family. Rachel was only a baby when you left. Isn’t she a young lady now? I can’t believe it’s already been seven years! I wish we could write you more often, but we can’t afford to have our own scan recorder. We have to use one of the recorders at John’s church.”
Brogan made a mental note to send his mother another recorder. The first one must have gotten lost in transit. He also didn’t understand why they were so strapped for money when he had been sending a significant part of his wages home for years.
“Timothy, do you remember that nice Adriel Swartz?”
He certainly did. He hadn’t entirely been able to get her off his mind these last six years. He recalled the rescue incident on the freighter, her auburn hair flying in defiance, her brown eyes blazing, her slender body pinned under the rebel.
“Apparently she’s gone off to some dreadful place called Peru II, where they’re having some horrible civil war or something. I hope you’re not there.”
Brogan jerked bolt upright. Adriel here? That’s amazing! I wonder where she is? Then another thought struck a chord. Ma must not have gotten my last scan yet, if she doesn’t know I’m on Peru II.
“You probably know that she joined the Relief Corps as a nurse. But I do hope she’s alright. Her parents are concerned about her safety. Well, John insisted on taking some footage of me, so here I am. I know I don’t look quite myself. I was feeling a little tired when this was taken.”
Brogan was taken aback. He was shocked at how much older his mother looked. She couldn’t have changed so much in a few years! Her hair was a bedraggled gray, and deep creases lined face and hands. Only her eyes still held the life and energy he remembered so well.
“Think of us at home, dear, and if it happens that we never see you here again, we will be together again at the Master’s feet. God bless you, son.”
Brogan put down the scan. His mother’s comments greatly troubled him, as did her appearance. Trying to read between the lines only made matters worse. He tried to shake the feeling that he would never see her again, but it persisted. He determined that he would get leave time to visit his family as soon as this conflict was over.
His thoughts turned again to Adriel. To his knowledge she was not with the Relief Corps that was helping the Imperial forces. And he certainly hoped that she was not aiding the enemy forces. If so, it could be bad for her when the war ended, for the Empire was sure to win. Brogan shrugged it off. Well, it’s not my problem anyway. She didn’t want my help six years ago, and she’s certain not to want it now.
Brogan decided he’d turn in early. Tomorrow was a big day, and the extra sleep wouldn’t hurt. But Brogan’s sleep was troubled. He dreamed that he was racing toward the distant mountains of Cirrus. But the wheat kept wrapping around his legs, whipping at them and slowing him down. Smoke billowed around him, and he realized that he was running from a wheat fire set by Josh Mogul. The mountains meant safety; his mother was there and so was Adriel. But he felt he was running in slow motion. Mogul was laughing at him. He was not going to make it. The flames began licking at his legs. Brogan was surprised that he felt no pain. The mocking face of Mogul grew larger and more hideous as the flames engulfed him.
Brogan lurched awake drenched in sweat. His heart was racing, and his head was swirling. “Most vivid dream I ever had,” he mumbled as he got up to change into some dry clothes.
The sky was beginning to lighten, so Brogan decided to stay up and get a head start on getting the company ready to shove off. It would help him get his mind off the dream, which had made him apprehensive for the first time since his very first operation. I’ll just have to be more careful than ever before, pay attention to details, and be thinking all the time.
The men needed a cursory check, even though the platoon leaders had already done that. A second check by the company commander was a morale booster, for it confirmed the good job already done. Then he had a gaggle of details to go over with the first sergeant before he briefed his officers about the approaching mission. Shrugging off his forebodings, Brogan grabbed a bite to eat and launched into the myriad details of getting a combat company ready for action.
9
Once again the flames engulfed him. This time, however, the pain was real. But dreams aren’t supposed to have pain, Brogan reasoned. Josh Mogul was laughing as the flames ate his body and filled him with agony. Then Brogan felt a coolness. Along with the coolne
ss came a soothing voice he knew—Adriel’s! The flames fell back before her soft cadence. He became dimly aware of someone speaking warm tones beside his bed. I can’t be in bed, protested Brogan. I’m on a mission with my men. His jumbled thoughts drifted back to the conflict.
*
“Captain, the flankers sweeping the south ridge report no enemy contact,” reported Johnston. First Lieutenant Johnston had succeeded Manazes as XO. He was a competent officer but still a little uncertain in his new position.
“Very good, Johnston,” responded Brogan. That was good news in a way, but Brogan was concerned. He had expected to run across enemy troops by now, and being in the dark about their whereabouts was almost as bad as being in a pitched battle. The flanker droids had come up empty in spite of continual sweeps with heat seekers, enhanced optical scans, and audio snoopers. But Brogan was as aware as anyone of the many defensive ways to confuse such technology. He had reached the point where he must make a difficult decision.
“Johnston, we’re going to have to send a platoon to sweep the point and precede us as a vanguard into the mining village. I hope my suspicions prove wrong, but I’m afraid that the enemy has prior knowledge of our destination and has dug in and camouflaged themselves from droid sweeps. But if I’m right, we need advance men to flush ’em out before the whole company is trapped. Have Lieutenant Mogul report to me at once.”
“Yes, sir.” Johnston hurried off to find the new replacement.
It had become quickly evident that Mogul was an unreliable officer. Because of that Brogan had given him the best platoon sergeant he had. To this point he had also given him the safe and easy assignments. But Brogan couldn’t continue to allow Fourth Platoon to sit back and take it easy while the other platoons took all the risks. Morale was primary in combat, and if the other platoons felt he was playing favorites, the whole unit would suffer. Still, he didn’t want to make a mistake he would later regret. Now he believed he had finally come up with an assignment Mogul would not be able to botch.
