Commands rattled down the ranks of the marching men. "Look like marines, damn you!" Ogilvie shouted.
"Falkenberg's showing off," Deane said.
"About time, too," Louis told him. "The fort is just ahead."
"Sound off!" Ogilvie ordered.
We've left blood in the dirt of 25 worlds,
we've built roads on a dozen more,
and all that we have at the end of our hitch
buys a night with a second-class whore.
The Senate decrees, the Grand Admiral calls,
the orders come down from on high.
It's "On Full Kits" and "Sound Board Ships."
we're sending you where you can die.
Another legion tradition, I thought. Over every orderly room door in Line regiments is a brass plaque. It says: "YOU ARE LINE MARINES IN ORDER TO DIE, AND THE FLEET WILL SEND YOU WHERE YOU CAN DIE." An inheritance from La Legion Etrangere. The first time I saw it I thought it was dashing and romantic, but now I wondered if they meant it.
The troops marched in the slow cadence of the Line marines. It wasn't a fast pace, but we could keep it up long after quick-marching troops keeled over from exhaustion.
The lands that we take, the Senate gives back,
rather more often than not,
but the more that are killed, the less share the loot,
and we won't be back to this spot.
We'll break the hearts of your women and girls,
we may break your arse as well,
then the Line marines with their banners unfurled
will follow those banners to hell.
We know the devil, his pomps and his works,
Ah yes! We know them well!
When you've served out your hitch in the Line marines,
you can bugger the Senate of Hell!
"An opportunity we may all have," Deane said. "Rather sooner than I'd like. What do they want with us here?"
"I expect we'll find out soon enough," I shrugged.
Then we'll drink with our comrades
and throw down our packs,
We'll rest ten years on the flat of our backs,
Then it's "On Full Kits" and out of your racks,
you must build a new road through Hell!
The Fleet is our country, we sleep with a rifle,
no man ever begot a son on his rifle,
they pay us in gin and curse when we sin,
there's not one that can stand us unless we're downwind,
we're shot when we lose and turned out when we win,
But we bury our comrades wherever they fall,
and there's none that can face us though we've nothing at all.
CHAPTER 3
Officers' Row stretched along the east side of the parade ground. The fort was nothing special. It hadn't been built to withstand modern weapons, and it looked a bit like something out of Beau Geste, which was reasonable, since it was built of local materials by officers with no better engineering education than mine. It's simple enough to lay out a rectangular walled fort, and if that's enough for the job, why make it more complicated?
The officers' quarters seemed empty. The fort had been built to house a regimental combat team with plenty of support troops, and now there were fewer than a dozen marine officers on the planet. Most of them lived in family quarters, and the militia officers generally lived in homes in the city. It left the rest of us with lots of room to rattle around in. Falkenberg drew a suite meant for the regimental adjutant, and I got a major's rooms myself.
After a work party brought our personal gear up from the landing boat I got busy and unpacked, but when I finished, the place still looked empty. A lieutenant's travel allowance isn't very large, and the rooms were too big. I stowed my gear and wondered what to do next. It seemed a depressing way to spend my first night on an alien world. Of course I'd been to the moon and Mars, but those are different. They aren't worlds. You can't go outside; you might as well be in a ship. I wondered if we'd be permitted off post-I was still thinking like a cadet, not an officer on field duty-and what I could do if we were. We'd had no instructions, and I decided I'd better wait for a briefing.
There was a quick knock on my door, then it opened. An old Line private came in. He might have been my father. His uniform was tailored perfectly, but worn in places. There were hash marks from wrist to elbow.
"Private Hartz reporting, zur." He had a thick accent, but it wasn't pure anything; a lot of different accents blended together. "Sergeant Major sent me to be the lieutenant's dog robber."
And what the hell do I do with him, I wondered. It wouldn't do to be indecisive. I couldn't remember if he'd been part of the detachment in the ship, or if he was one of the garrison. Falkenberg would never be in that situation. He'd know. The trooper was standing at attention in the doorway. "At ease, Hartz," I said. "What ought I to know about this place?"
"I don't know, zur."
Which meant he was a newcomer, or he wasn't spilling anything to officers, and I wasn't about to guess which. "Do you want a drink?"
"Thank you, yes, zur."
I found a bottle and put it out on the dressing stand. "Always leave two for me. Otherwise help yourself," I told him.
He went to the latrine for glasses. I hadn't known there were any there, but then I wasn't all that familiar with senior officers' quarters. Maybe Hartz was, so I'd gained no information about him. He poured a shot for himself. "Is the lieutenant drinking?"
"Sure, I'll have one." I took the glass from him. "Cheers."
"Prosit." He poured the whiskey down in one gulp. "I see the lieutenant has unpacked. I will straighten up now. By your leave, zur."
He wandered around the room, moving my spare boots two centimeters to the left, switching my combat armor from one side of the closet to the other, taking out my dress uniform and staring at it centimeter by centimeter.
I didn't need an orderly, but I couldn't just turn him out. I was supposed to get to know him, since he'd be with me on field duty. To hell with it. "I'm going down to the officers' mess," I told him. "Help yourself to the bottle but leave two shots for tonight."
"Zur."
I felt like an idiot, chased out of my own quarters by my own batman, but I couldn't see what else to do. He was clearly not going to be satisfied until he'd gone over every piece of gear I had. Probably trying to impress me with how thorough he was. They pay dog robbers extra, and it's always good duty for a drinking man. I was pretty sure I could trust him. I'd never crossed Ogilvie that I knew of. It takes a particularly stupid officer to get on the wrong side of the Sergeant Major.
It wasn't hard to find the officers' club. Like everything else it had been built for a regiment, and it was a big building. Inside I was met by a marine corporal from the detachment we'd brought with us. I started to go into the bar, where I saw a number of militia officers, and the corporal stopped me.
"Excuse me, sir. Marine club is that way." He pointed down the hall.
"I think I'd rather drink with the militiamen, Corporal."
"Yes, sir. Sergeant Major told me to be sure to tell all officers, sir."
"I see." I didn't see, but I wasn't going to get into an argument with a corporal, and there wasn't any point in being bullheaded. I went down the hall to the marine club. Deane Knowles was already there. He was alone except for a waiter-another trooper from our detachment. In the militia bar the waiters were civilians.
"Welcome to the gay and merry life," Deane said. "Will you have whiskey? Or there's a peach brandy that's endurable. For God's sake sit down and talk to me!"
"I take it you were intercepted by Corporal Hansner," I said.
"Quite efficiently. Now I know it is Fleet practice to carry the military caste system to extremes, but this seems a bit much even so. There are, what, a dozen marine officers here, even including our august selves. So we immediately form our own club."
I shrugged. "Maybe it's the militiamen who don't care for us?"
"
Nonsense. Even if they hated our guts they'd want news from Earth. Meanwhile, we find out nothing about the situation here. What's yours?"
"I'll try your brandy," I told the waiter. "And who's the bartender when you're not on duty?"
"Don't know, sir. Sergeant Major sent me over-"
"Yes. Of course." I waited for the trooper to leave. "And Sergeant Major takes care of us, he does indeed. I have a truly formidable orderly-"
Deane was laughing. "One of the ancients? Yes. I thought so. So is mine. Monitor Armand Kubiak, at my service, sir."
"I only drew a private," I said.
"Well, at least Ogilvie has some sense of propriety," Deane replied. "Cheers."
"Cheers. That's quite good, actually." I put the glass down and started to say something else, but Deane wasn't listening to me. He was staring at the door, and after a moment I turned to follow his gaze. "You know, I think that's the prettiest girl I ever saw."
"Certainly a contender," Deane agreed. "She's coming to our table."
"Obviously." We got to our feet.
She was definitely worth looking at. She wasn't very tall.
Her head came about to my chin, so that with the slight heels on her sandals she was just taller than Deane. She wore a linen dress, blue to match her eyes, and it looked as if she'd never been out in the sun at all. The dress was crisp and looked cool. The few women in skirts we'd seen on the march had worn long, drab, cotton things. Her hair was curled into wisps and hung around her shoulders. She had a big golden seal ring on her right hand.
She walked in as if she owned the place. She was obviously used to getting her own way.
"I hope you're looking for us," Deane intercepted.
"As a matter of fact, I am." She had a very nice smile. An expensive smile, I decided.
"Well, you've excellent taste, anyway."
I don't know how he gets away with it. I think it's telepathy. There's no particular cleverness to what he says to women. I know, because I made a study of his technique when we were in the academy. I thought I could learn it the way I was learning tactics, but it didn't work. What Deane says doesn't matter, and how he says it doesn't even seem important. He'll chatter along, saying nothing, even being offensive, and the next thing you know the lady's leaving with him. If she has to ditch a date, that can happen too.
I was damned if it was going to happen this time, but I had a sinking feeling, because my determination before hadn't done me any good. I couldn't think of one thing to say to her.
"I'm Deane Knowles. And this is Lieutenant Slater," Deane said.
You rotten swine, I thought. I tried to smile as she offered her hand.
"And I'm Irina Swale."
"Surely you're the governor's daughter, then," Deane said.
"That's right. May I sit down?"
"Please do." Deane held her chair before I could get to it. It made me feel awkward. We managed to get seated, and Private Donnelley came over.
"Jericho, please," Irina said.
Donnelley looked blankly at her.
"He came in with us," I said. "He doesn't know what you've ordered."
"It's a wine," she said. "I'm sure there will be several bottles. It isn't usually chilled."
"Yes, ma'am," Donnelley said. He went over to the bar and began looking at bottles.
"We were just wondering what to do," Deane sighed. "You've rescued us from terminal ennui."
She smiled at that, but there was a shadow behind the smile. She didn't seem offended at us, but she wasn't really very amused. I wondered what she wanted.
Donnelley brought over a bottle and a wine glass. "Is this it, Ma'am?"
"Yes, thank you."
He put the glass on the table and poured. "If you'll excuse me a moment, Lieutenant Knowles?"
"Sure, Donnelley. Don't leave us alone too long, or we'll raid your bar."
"Yes, sir." Donnelley went out into the hall.
"Cheers." Deane raised his glass. "Tell us about the night life on Arrarat."
"It's not very pleasant," Irina said.
"Rather dull. Well, I guess we expected that-"
"It's not so much dull as horrible," Irina said. "I'm sorry. It's just that-I feel guilty when I think about my own problems. They're so petty. Tell me, when are the others coming?"
Deane and I exchanged glances. I started to say something, but Deane spoke first. "They don't tell us very much, you know."
"Then it's true. You are the only ones coming."
"Now, I didn't say that," Deane protested. "I said I didn't know-"
"You needn't lie. I'm hardly a spy. You're all they sent, aren't you? No warship, and no regiment. Just a few hundred men and some junior officers."
"I'd have thought you'd know more than we do," I pointed out.
"I just don't give up hope quite as quickly as my father does."
"I don't understand any of this," I said. "The governor sent for a regiment, but nobody's told us what that regiment was supposed to do."
"Clean up the mess we've made of this planet," sighed Irina. "And I really thought they'd do something. The CoDominium has turned Arrarat into sheer hell, and I thought they'd have enough-what? Pride? Shame? Enough elementary decency to put things right before we pull out entirely. I see I was wrong."
"I take it things are pretty bad outside the walls," Deane said.
"Bad? They're horrible. You can't even imagine what's happening out there. Criminal gangs setting themselves up as governments. And my father recognizes them as governments! We make treaties with them. And the colonists are ground to pieces. Murder's the least of it. A whole planet going to barbarism, and we don't even try to help them."
"But surely your militia can do something," Deane suggested.
"Not really." She shook her head slowly and stared into the empty wine glass. "In the first place, the militia won't go outside the walls. I don't suppose I blame them. They aren't soldiers. Shopkeepers, mostly. Once in a while they'll go as far as the big river bend, or down to the nearest farmlands, but that doesn't do any good. We tried doing something more permanent, but it didn't work. We couldn't protect the colonists from the convict gangs. And now we recognize convict gangsters as legal governments!"
Donnelley came back in and went to the bar. Deane signalled for refills.
"I noticed people came out to cheer us as we marched through the city," I prompted.
Irina's smile was bitter. "Yes. They think you're going to open up trade with the interior. Rescue their relatives out there. I wish you could."
Before we could say anything else, Captain Falkenberg came in. "Good afternoon," he said. "May I join you?"
"Certainly, sir," Deane replied. "This is Captain Falkenberg. Irina Swale, Captain. The governor's daughter."
"I see. Good afternoon. Brandy, please, Donnelley. And will the rest of you join me? Excellent, another round. Incidentally, my name is John. First names in the mess, Deane. Except for the colonel."
"Yes, sir. Excuse me. John. Miss Swale has been telling us about conditions outside the walls. They're pretty bad."
"I gather. I've just spent the afternoon with the colonel. Perhaps we can do something, Miss Swale."
"Irina. First names in the mess." She laughed. It was a very nice laugh. "I wish you could do something for those people but-well, you only have 1000 men."
"A thousand Line marines," Falkenberg corrected. "That's not quite the same thing."
And we don't even have 1000 marines, I told myself. Lot of recruits with us. I wondered what Falkenberg had in mind. Was he just trying to impress the governor's daughter? I hoped not, because the way he'd said it made me feel proud.
"I gather you sympathize with the farmers out there," Falkenberg said.
"I'd have to, wouldn't I? Even if they didn't come to me after Hugo-my father-said he couldn't help them."
"And I've tried to do something for the children. Do you really think…" Her voice trailed off.
Falkenberg shrugged. "Doubtless w
e'll try. We can put detachments out in some of the critical areas. As you said, there's only so much 1000 men can do, even 1000 marines."
"And after you leave?" Irina asked. Her voice was bitter. "They are pulling out, aren't they? You've come to evacuate us."
"The Grand Senate doesn't generally discuss high policy with junior captains," Falkenberg said.
"No. I suppose not. But I do know you brought orders from the Colonial Office. Hugo took them into his office to read them-and he hasn't spoken to anyone since. All day he's been in there. It isn't hard to guess what they say." Irina sipped at the wine and stared moodily at the oak table. "Of course it's necessary to understand the big picture. What's one little planet with fewer than a million people? Arrarat is no threat to the peace, is it? But they are people, and they deserve something better than-sorry. I'm not always like this."
"We'll have to think of something to cheer you up," Deane interjected. "Tell me about the exciting social life of Arrarat."
She gave a half smile. "Wild. One continuous whirl of grand balls and lewd parties. Just what you'd expect on a church-settled planet."
"Dullsville," Deane sighed. "But now that we're here-"
"I expect we can manage something," Irina said. "I tend to be Dad's social secretary. John, isn't it customary to welcome new troops with a formal party? We'll have to have one in the governor's palace."
"It's customary," Falkenberg agreed. "But that's generally to welcome a regiment, not a random collection of replacements. On the other hand, since the replacements are the only military unit here-"
"Well, we do have our militia," Irina said.
"Sorry. I meant the only Line unit. I'm certain everyone would be pleased if you'd invite us to a formal ball. Can you arrange it for, say, five days from now?"
"Of course." She looked at him curiously. So did the rest of us. It hadn't occurred to me that Falkenberg would be interested in something like that. "I'll have to get started right away, though-"
"If that's cutting it too close," Falkenberg interrupted, "we-"
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