"We're counting on you to hold this perimeter. If they get past you, they'll be able to take us in the rear. But even more importantly, the entire colony will be open to them. We will be busy fighting the main body, and we won't be able to protect your homes and families. That's going to be your job.
"Do not try to take prisoners. This is a suicide raid, pure and simple. They had their funeral ceremonies before they left. Wounded or not, if a nomad offers to surrender, it will be so he can get close enough to attack you with his bare hands and teeth. He will gladly die if he can take a star man with him."
The General's own remaining troops were arranged in a semicircle focused on the choke point of the bridge. His men and women were good, but there was no doubt that at least some of the fanatical attackers would get through to them. The troops knew it, too, and they sported an assortment of personal, unofficial lethalities, from hand blasters and pocket needlers to vibroblades and even tomahawks traded from the militias, as well as their official fighting knives.
"They're saddling up," the militia colonel calmly told the General as the first, faint rays of dawn began to lighten the gloom of night. A moment later, "Here they come."
"Good luck," the General replied just before the colonel clicked off. The main attack, he knew, would not come at once. The nomads would be listening for their comrades' cries and the clatter of battle. Still, though, they would wait. The whole purpose of the diversionary attack was to draw the defenders away from the bridge area.
So, by the time the main attack was launched, the morning sunlight would be bright, the charge instantly visible. The General had warned that he would court-martial any trooper who fired before the attackers reached the center of the bridge. He wanted to make certain there were no stragglers to slip away and turn bandit, preying on the people of Nirvana. The guards on the bridge were ready to fire a single volley and then run back to their lines. They had small chance of making it, but they were all volunteers, and if the bridge appeared empty, the nomads would know they'd been detected.
On the north perimeter, a line of dinos suddenly appeared silently out of the gloom, running at top speed. It would have been a chilling sight, if the defenders hadn't been expecting it. It was still a chilling sight.
The Colonel's voice calmly said, "Fire," and the early-morning gloom disappeared in a maze of actinic lines, each terminating in a dino. The line stumbled, and then dissolved as falling dinos threw their riders, sometimes beneath their own falling bodies. Furious, grief-stricken nomads scrambled to their feet, screaming their hate and charging their foe.
The laser bolts thinned as militiamen sought the smaller targets of dismounted men. One by one the nomads fell. But none slowed or stopped. The charge continued. Thirty meters. Twenty. The lasers were joined by blasters now, and the battlefield that had been silent except for the cries of the nomads erupted in the shriek of tortured air.
At the bridge, the dimly heard battle cries signaled the main attack. But there was no immediate charge. Instead, twenty minutes later, men who'd waited all night in the river scrambled up the banks and charged the bridge guards on foot, javelins in hand. The guards had been warned, but they'd expected a cavalry charge, so there was surprise. But these were well-trained spec ops troops. In seconds the attackers were dead, and the guards were sprinting toward the General's line at top speed. The guards wore only their armor and personal weapons. The packs they'd been carrying had been empty, and it took only a second to slip out of them.
Of the six guards, four made it back to the lines as dinos appeared on the far side of the bridge, charging at their incredible speed toward the bridge.
Tran watched as the first rank of dinos raced for the bridge. The bridge was wide enough for ten dinos abreast, they had decided. The first across would stay near the bridge, milling about causing confusion and alarm while more and more of the Free People crossed into the soft underbelly of the star men.
He was startled when there was a flurry of the light-that-kills and the first rank fell. The star men had been warned! But how? Suddenly he remembered the roar in the night, and his heart fell. He spurred his mount north, to better see what was happening.
He frowned. The star men were hiding like cowards, killing without even showing themselves, much less challenging the Free People. The second rank wilted. The fallen first rank had made a barrier for the second, slowing their charge. But there was something else . . .
Dinos! There were far too many dinos lying dead on the bridge, and none milling about. They were killing dinos! His outrage was monumental. What kind of man made war on dinos? It was true, then. The star men had no honor. They were monsters. They should be slaughtered without mercy, like serpentines!
But the barricade of bodies was growing rapidly. Soon, no dino would be able to leap it. Was the noble attack to simply wither away in disgrace?
He gathered a dozen of the men waiting to charge the bridge, and headed north. Half a mile up the river, they tethered their mounts. Dinos were poor swimmers, but so were the Free People. Grasping desperately at branches, they slipped into the river. Two of his men were swept helplessly away, but ten of them managed to cross the river.
They would have to attack on foot, dismounted. He shook his head. It didn't matter. If these people had no respect for animals, the dinos would simply have been butchered like those on the bridge. He raised his head cautiously, and looked over the bank.
He could see the backs of the star men! He gathered his men. They would creep upon these honorless monsters from behind them and slaughter them like the serpentines they were!
One of the men argued quietly. "It is not honorable to attack a man who is not looking," he said. "That is not war. It is murder."
Tran waved his hand. "Do you not see what they are doing? They are killing dinos! Not accidentally, but purposefully. These are not men of honor," he continued contemptuously, "they are serpentines, and should be treated as such! All know that serpentines are deadly when aroused. Who does not use stealth to kill them?" He scanned the surrounding faces. "We can still save many of our people, and still destroy these honorless animals. Who will join me?"
The man who had spoken up had followed Tran's pointing finger. "It is true! They are killing dinos!" He said. "These are not men. I will join you with pride!"
His ten men grasped their javelins, and crept over the bank as though hunting wild dino. Ignoring the screams of wounded men and dinos that tore at his heart, Tran led his men closer to the star men, who had still not seen or heard them.
The men they were stalking wore the strange hard clothing of the star men, but all knew that it did not protect the neck. As he crept forward, the man he was stalking sensed something and started to turn. With a silent grimace of hate, Tran rammed the blade of his javelin into the unprotected neck. The man slumped, and Tran looked around. Nine of the enemy were down. Suddenly there was a squawking sound, and helmeted heads began to turn. His javelin was jammed in his victim's vertebrae. No time to lose. Tran snatched the man's weapon.
The weapon was the same as that Fron had taken from the dead star man. Tran had examined it closely. This was clearly intended for grasping, and that put his finger on this. He pressed it, and a line of light speared another star man. Then it faded. Tran released the small lever and squeezed it again in frustration. Another line of light flared. Ah! One pressed this, and then released it, and pressed it again! He spun, slashing the beam as quickly as possible. But after only a moment, pressing the lever no longer worked. The weapon's magic was gone. He dropped it and grabbed another.
********
There was a problem at the north end of the line. Somehow, the General was told, some nomads had gotten behind them, and were using lasers to kill!
Ochoa-Mariden had no reserve. He had to blockade the bridge. If the nomads got past him, the colony was finished. But the trouble at the north end was causing the laser fire to slacken, and the nomads had now begun pushing the wall of dino and human bodies
, slowly but surely getting ever closer to the near end of the bridge. The barricade that had stopped their charge was now protecting them. He called six men out of the line, and sent them to the north end of the line, but he could do no more. Once that pile of bodies reached the near end of the bridge, the nomads would swarm from behind it and the fighting would become hand to hand.
And that was beginning to happen when a roar that grew to a physical pain announced the arrival of Zant Jenfu and King Karel's militia. Zant set down almost on the end of the bridge, instantly crisping over a dozen nomads. The Din-class's quickfirers scanned for targets, but the star men, nomads, and now the arriving militia were too intermingled for such wholesale weapons.
Ochoa-Mariden headed north. With the fighting general and hand-to-hand, there was little need for generals. But from the sound of it, there was a great need for fighters at the north end!
There were four of the nomads left when he arrived, but they were fighting like a battalion. They whirled, ducked, and grabbed weapons from the living and the dead. As he approached, one of them pointed a laser at him and pressed the trigger. But the charge was exhausted. The young man threw the weapon away and pulled his belt knife. Ochoa-Mariden grabbed a tomahawk from a dead trooper's belt without stopping and headed for the nomad.
Ha! They must be winning! The star men were sending old men into battle! Tran pulled up the star weapon, but the magic was gone. He threw it away. There was no time to grab another; the old man was almost upon him. He snatched his belt knife as he saw the man swoop with surprising grace and snatch an odd axe from a dead man's belt. The old man did not slow when he saw Tran's knife. Perhaps the old man was a worthy opponent, after all. Still, he was a star man, not a warrior, and deserved no courtesy. Tran whipped the knife to his shoulder and let fly.
This man was not wearing the hard clothing, and the knife sank into his chest. The man grunted, and paused for a moment, but then resumed his march toward a now openmouthed Tran. The last thing Tran saw was the axe swinging toward his head. He never felt the General fall on top of him.
********
King Karel looked down on the body of Coronel-General Ferdinand Ochoa-Mariden, still grasping the tomahawk buried in the skull of the young nomad. He nodded. "In the end, a brave man."
"He always was, your Majesty," replied Zant. "He had all the military virtues, but he lacked the human ones. I trust you agree, sire Perez?"
Perez nodded. "A dour, rigid man, but faithful to his own concepts of duty and honor. That's why the Council didn't remove him from command. As it turned out, that was a very wise decision."
'How many did you lose?" Zant asked. "We lost about twenty of King Karel's militia."
"We lost twelve of the colony militia at the north perimeter," Perez replied. "And we lost two med techs who tried to help wounded. As you can imagine, there was little enthusiasm for treating their wounded after that. All of the nomads are dead, now.
"At the bridge?" he shrugged. "It's easier to count the survivors. Less than twenty of the General's special operations troops survived, and three of those are still in the med center."
King Karel smiled. "We cannot say they were pleasant people," he said, "but they were brave and steadfast. What will you do with them now?"
Perez shrugged again. "They are of course welcome to join us, though they might find our placid pace of life boring. I have already discussed with their remaining officer assuming command of the colony militia, since the General and the Colonel are both dead. Why do you ask?"
"It occurs to me," King Karel replied, "that it might be wise to try to hire a few of them to teach Our guardsmen. Sire Zant and sire Cale were quite eloquent about the extensive training of these spec ops? soldiers."
King Rajo's eyebrows lifted. "An interesting thought. There may yet be work for them on Jumbo, as Our plans develop."
Zant grinned. "I would not hire more than a few each," he said. "Some of them would make excellent instructors, but the rest will cause endless trouble in peacetime, with their drinking and wenching. Unless they're fighting, spec ops types are a royal pain in the neck."
Cale nodded. "I would recommend discussing it with that officer of theirs. He'll be able to give you the names of worthy candidates. I suspect you'll find them willing. Beating up locals in the name of 'training' will definitely be more appealing than watching a bunch of plants grow."
"Then it's over?" Dee asked as they headed for orbit and Cheetah. "For good?"
Cale grinned, "If you mean is war gone from Jumbo forever, the answer is 'no', as long as humans inhabit it," he replied. "But if you're asking whether there is finally peace on Jumbo, I'm delighted to say the answer is 'yes', at least for now. The General is dead, along with most of his spec ops troublemakers, and the nomads left the last of their old campsites two days ago. They are now officially exploring new lands.
"Our friend King Karel now has the largest domain on Jumbo, and King Rajo doesn't seem to resent it. The two of them seem to be getting along famously, though relations were strained for a long time over Valhalla's reluctance to share their technology. Now, though, Karel has the colony, with its library and a school, and I think they'll be cooperating in the development of Jumbo. They've both signed treaties with the colony, and I understand Perez is heading to Whitan soon to talk to King Gralen.
"Yes," Dee asked, "What about the Greeners? Will they be all right?"
Cale shrugged. "I think so. They're finally managing to settle down to farming, without worrying about megalomaniac generals and world domination."
"Actually," he continued, "I think the one who will have the most immediate and far-reaching effect on Jumbo will be Tonio. Farming doesn't really interest him, but he's been on primitive planets before, and he knew what to expect, so he came prepared. He's going to stay in Valhalla and partner with King Rajo and Hiraf. I think Tonio is going to be Jumbo's first modern magnate, and Rajo and Hiraf are going to be his partners. He's buying out the River Port installation, and hiring all sorts of craftsmen to start on developing a factory to make arrows, bolts, and that black powder explosive of theirs for rifle ammunition. He's even started minting coins to pay his workers in silver, steel and copper."
"Then there are the powersats. Tonio took Zant's advice, and brought two of them, though he's only planning to use one for now. We'll position it before we leave, focused on River Port. He and Hiraf have been working on drawing copper into wire, so they can run a power feed to Valhalla Town so Hiraf can work on his airship.
"In the meantime, they're talking to Perez about leasing the Greeners' fusactor. Since Zant sold them the powersat, the Greeners have considered the fusactor a spare, and left it stored on the space station. Tonio and Hiraf want to lease it and set it up at Valhalla Town until they can get a power grid built between River Port and Valhalla Town."
Dee smiled and nodded. "And with the nomads gone, Tonio will be able to use the river for deliveries. So, I guess we don't have to worry about our poor ivory-tower professor's future!"
Cale shook his head, grinning broadly. "I'm wondering if he's the one that will end up taking over Jumbo! So," he continued, "That's what's new on Jumbo. But you've been in King's Town for weeks. What do you have to tell me?"
She smiled. "Well, I suspect Donord is now the richest innkeeper in King's Town, and the Sergeant's Privy is the unofficial hangout of all of King Karel's guardsmen. He's started complaining about his competitors spying on him, trying to learn the secret of distillation. They've even sicced some wizards on him; but he's been able to afford to buy them off. Oh! And Blue-eye!"
"Blue-eye? The girl that was raped?"
Dee nodded. "She learned that she made a lot more ounces after she returned from the colony. She even had men telling her how 'good' she smelled. She started using my bathtub once a week. She's been making more ounces, and so has Donord. When she learned I'd be leaving, she asked me for the bath tub. I'll bet she's got Donord bathing within a month. And married within a year."
>
Cale looked at her curiously. "I've been meaning to ask about your opinion of prostitutes, now."
She nodded seriously, frowning. "Well, I was taught that prostitutes were either poor girls forced into a life of disgusting degradation and shame, or a lower life-form, hard, disgusting creatures catering to the basest instincts in men.
"But I've known four of them, talked with them daily for over two months. And I've learned that there is a lot more to them than simple stereotypes. Well, at least in a culture like this one. Prostitution on Jumbo carries no stigma. Aside from servant girl, it's just one of very few occupations open to women. And here, even 'servant girl' often has a sexual component. One of the girls is openly hunting for a husband. Another is just a young girl who likes the excitement of the night life at the inn, and is having herself a fling before settling down into marriage. The third was running away from an abusive husband, and found she liked sex, when it didn't involve a beating. The other one, believe it or not, just really likes sex. She's having the time of her life, and says she's learning a lot about men. The only thing that really scares all of them is pregnancy. On Jumbo, pregnancy can be dangerous."
Cale grinned. "Not to mention inconvenient, if you're husband-hunting."
Dee shook her head. "Nope. It seems inn girls are most likely to get marriage proposals when they're pregnant. Apparently, it's proof they're fertile; and that's more important to Jumbo men than beauty."
"Did you learn anything else interesting, besides how to make whiskey?"
She sniffed. "If you mean did I pick up any hints or new techniques, well, you're just going to have to wait and see. But I have even more evidence that no matter their culture, men are still pigs!" A blinding grin took the sting from her words.
"So," she continued, "you think all of Jumbo's problems are over?"
The Privateer 2: AN HONEST LIVING Page 38
