West of Honor c-2

by Jerry Pournelle

  We reached the map point Falkenberg had designated, and the troops rested in place while the rest of the column caught up with us. The guns were just moving in when Falkenberg's command caravan roared up. The ground-effects machine could move across the muddy fields with no problems, while we had to sweat through them.

  He sent for Deane Knowles and had us both come into the caravan. Then he sent out all the NCOs and enlisted men. The three of us were alone with the map table.

  "I've held off explaining what I've been doing until the last minute," he explained. "As it is, this is for your ears only. If something happens, I want someone to know I haven't lost my mind."

  "Yes, sir," I replied. Deane and I looked at each other.

  "First some background," Falkenberg said. "There's been something peculiar about the Allan Valley situation for years. The convict groups have been too well armed, for one thing. Governor Swale was too eager to recognize them as a legitimate local government. I think both of you have remarked on that before."

  Deane and I looked at each other again.

  "This morning's satellite pictures," Falkenberg announced. "There's too much mist to show any great details, but there are some clear patches. This strip was taken in the area south of Mr. Bonneyman. I invite your comments."

  He handed us the photos. Most were of patches of mist, with the ground below completely invisible. Othars showed patches where the mist was thin, or there wasn't any. "Nothing at all," Deane said.

  "Precisely," Falkenberg said. "Yet we have reports of troop movements in that area. It is as if the hostiles knew when the satellite would be overhead and avoided clear patches."

  "As well they might," Deane said. "It shouldn't be hard to work out the ephemeris of the spy eye."

  "Correct. Now look at the high resolution enlargements of those clear areas."

  We looked again. "The roads are chewed up," I said. "Mud and ruts. A lot of people and wagons have passed over them."

  "And recently, I'd say." Falkenberg nodded in satisfaction. If this had been a test, we'd passed. "Now another datum. I have had Sergeant Jaski's people monitoring all transmissions from Allansport. It may or may not be significant that shortly after every communication between 501st headquarters and outlying commands, there has been a transmission from the governor to the palace at Harmony-and within half an hour, a reply. Not an immediate reply, gentlemen, but a reply within half an hour. And shortly after that there is traffic on the frequencies the Association forces use. I invite your comments, gentlemen."

  There wasn't anything to say to that. The only explanation made no sense.

  "Now let's see what the hostiles have in mind," Falkenberg said. "They besiege the governor in Allansport. Our initial orders are to send a force to relieve him. We don't know what they would have done, but instead we devised a complex plan to trap them. We take the initial steps, and what happens? The hostiles invite us to continue. They do nothing. Later we learn that a considerable force, possibly the major part of their strength, is marching northward. Their evident objective is Mr. Bonneyman's mixed group of marines and ranchers. I point out that the elimination of those ranchers would be significant to the Association. They would not only be rid of potential opposition to their rule, but I think it would in future be impossible to persuade any significant group of ranchers to rise against them. The Association would be the only possible government in the Allan Valley."

  "Yes, sir, but why?" Deane said. "What could be- why would Governor Swale cooperate with them?"

  "We'll leave that for the moment, Mr. Knowles. One thing at a time. Now for the present situation. Centurion Ardwain has done an excellent job of simulating a large force cautiously advancing into Allansport from the north. Governor Swale seems convinced that we've committed at least half our strength there. I have further informed him that we will now bring the balance of the 501st from its present position directly east to the river bank, where we will once again divide our troops, half going south to aid Mr. Bonneyman, the other half into the town. The governor thought that a splendid plan. Have you an opinion, Mr. Slater?"

  "It's the dumbest thing I ever heard of," I said. "Especially if he thinks you've already divided the force! If you do that you'll be inviting defeat in detail-"

  "Precisely," Falkenberg said. "Of course Governor Swale has no military background."

  "He doesn't need one to know that plan's a bust," I said. "Lousy traitor-"

  "No accusations," Falkenberg said. "We've no proof of anything. In any event, I am making the assumption that the association is getting decoded copies of all my transmissions. I don't need to know how they get them. You'll remember that, whenever you use radio signals that might be overheard."

  "Yes, sir." Deane looked thoughtful. "That limits our communications somewhat."

  "Yes. I hope that won't matter. Next problem. Under my assumption, the hostiles expect me to send a force eastward toward the river. That expectation must be met. I need Mr. Knowles to handle the artillery. It leaves you, Mr. Slater. I want you to take a platoon and simulate two companies with it. You'll send back a stream of reports, as if you're the main body of the battalion reporting to me at a headquarters left safely out of the combat zone." Falkenberg grinned slightly. "To the best of my knowledge, Irina's opinion of me is shared by her father. He won't find it at all hard to believe that I'm avoiding a combat area."

  "But what if I really have a message?" I asked.

  "You're familiar with O'Grady drill?" Falkenberg asked.

  "Yes, sir." O'Grady drill is a form of torture devised by drill sergeants. You're supposed to obey only the commands that begin with "O'Grady says." Then the sergeant snaps out a string of orders.

  "We'll play that little game," Falkenberg said. "Now your mission is to get to the river, make a short demonstration as if you're about to attack the southern edge of Allansport, and then move directly south, away from the town, until you link up with Mr. Bonneyman. You will then aid in his defense until you are relieved."

  "But-Captain, you're assuming they know your orders."

  He nodded. "Of course they'll put out an ambush. In this fog it will be a natural thing for them to do. Since they'll assume you have a much larger force with you, they'll probably use all the force that left Allansport this morning. I can't think they're stupid enough to try it with less."

  "And we're to walk into it," I said.

  "Yes. With your eyes open, but walk into it. You're bait, Mister Slater. Get out there and wiggle."

  I remembered an old comic strip. I quoted a line from it. "Don't much matter whether you catch a fish or not, once you been used for bait you ain't much good for nothing else nohow."

  "Maybe," Falkenberg said. "Maybe. But I remind you that you'll be keeping a major column of Association forces off Mr. Bonneyman's back."

  "We will so long as we survive-"

  "Yes. So I'll expect you to survive as long as possible."

  "Can't quarrel with those orders, Captain."

  The fog was thicker when we reached the river. The troops were strung out along almost a full kilometer route, each maniple isolated from the others in the dripping white blanket that lay across the valley. The troops were enjoying themselves, with monitors reporting as if they were platoon sergeants, and corporals playing centurion. They kept up a steady stream of chatter on the radio, while two men back at Falkenberg's headquarters sent orders that we paid no attention to. So far it was easy enough, because we hadn't run into anything at all.

  "There's the city wall." Roszak pointed leftward. I could barely see a darker shape in the fog. "We'll take a quick look over. All right, Lieutenant?"

  "Yes. Be careful."

  "Always am, sir. Brady, bring your squad. Let's see what's over there." They vanished into the fog.

  It seemed like hours, but it was only a few minutes before Brady returned. "Nothing, sir. Nothing and nobody, at least not close to the walls. May be a lot of them farther in. I got a feeling."

 
Roszak's voice came into my command set. "Moved 50 meters in. No change from what Brady reported."

  "Did he have your feeling, Brady?" I asked.

  "Yes, sir."

  I switched the set back on. "Thank you, Roszak. Rejoin your company."

  "Aye aye, sir."

  There were distant sounds of firing from the north. Ardwain's group was doing a good job of simulating a company. They were still moving into the town house by house. I wondered if he was running into opposition, or if that was all his own doing. He was supposed to go cautiously, and his men might be shooting up everything in sight. They were making a lot of noise. "Get me Falkenberg," I told Hartz.

  "Yes, Mister Slater?"

  "Captain, Monitor O'Grady reports the south end of the town has been abandoned. I can hear the A Company combat team up at the north end, but I don't know what opposition they've encountered."

  "Very light, Mister. You leave a company to assist A Company just in case, and continue south. Exactly as planned, Mr. Slater. No change. Got that?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Having any trouble with the guns?"

  "A little, sir. Roads are muddy. It's tough going, but we're moving."

  "Excellent. Carry on, then. Out."

  And that, I told myself, is that. I told a monitor to dig in just outside the town and continue making reports. "You've just become B company. Centurion," I said.

  He grinned. "Yes, sir. Save a few of 'em for me."

  "I'll do that, Yokura. Good luck." I waved the rest of my command down the road. We were strung out in a long column. The fog was a little thinner. Now I could see over 20 meters before the world was blotted out in swirling white mist.

  What's the safest way to walk into an ambush? I asked myself. The safest way is not to do it. Bar that solution and you don't have a lot of choices. I used the helmet projector to show me a map of the route.

  The first test was a hill just outside of town. Hill 509, called the Rockpile, a warren of jumbled boulders and flinty ledges. It dominated the road leading into the southern gate of Allansport. Whoever owned it controlled traffic into and out of the town.

  If the Association only wanted to block us from moving south, that's where they'd have their strongpoint. If they were out to ambush the whole battalion, they'd leave it bare and set the trap farther on. Either way, they'd never expect me to go past it without having a look.

  Four kilometers past the Rockpile there was a string of low hills. The road ran through a valley below them. It was an ideal place for an ambush. That's where they'll be, I decided. Only they must know we'll expect them to be along there somewhere. Bait should wiggle, but it shouldn't too obviously be bait. How would I act if I really had most of a battalion with me?

  Send a strong advance guard, of course. An advance guard about as strong as the whole force I've got. Anything less won't make any sense.

  "Roszak, start closing them up. Leave the wagons and half a dozen men with radios strung out along the line of march, and get everyone else up here. We'll form up as an advance guard and move south."

  "Aye aye, sir."

  When I had the troops assembled I led them up on the Rockpile. Nothing there, of course. I'd gauged it right. They were waiting for us up ahead.

  Roszak nudged me and turned his head slightly to the right. I nodded, carefully. "Don't point, Sergeant. I saw something move up there myself."

  We had reached the hills.

  "Dammit, what are they waiting for?" Roszak muttered.

  "For the rest of the battalion. They don't want us, they want the whole 501st."

  "Yes, sir."

  We moved on ahead. The fog was lifting; visibility was over 50 meters already. It wouldn't be long before it would be obvious there weren't any troops following me, despite the loud curses and the squeals of wagon wheels back there. It's amazing how much noise a couple of wagons can make if the troops work at it.

  To hell with it, I thought. We've got to find a good position and try to hold it. It would do no good to keep walking farther into their trap. There was a rocky area ahead. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best spot I'd seen in half an hour. I nudged Roszak. "When we get up to there, start waving the men off into the rocks. The fog's thicker there."

  "What if there's hostiles there already?" Roszak demanded.

  "Then we'll fight for the ground, but I doubt they'll be there. I expect they've been moving out of our way as we advance. They still think there's a column a whole klick long behind us." Sound confident, I told myself. "We'll take up a defensive perimeter in there and wait the war out."

  "Sure." Roszak moved to his right and spoke to the next man. The orders were passed along the line.

  Three more minutes, I told myself. Three minutes and we'll at least have some cover. The area I'd chosen was a saddle, a low pass between the hills to either side of us. Not good, but better than the road. I could feel rifles aimed at me from the rocks above, but I saw nothing but grotesque shapes, boulders dripping in the fog. We climbed higher, moving steadily toward the place I'd chosen.

  Maybe there was nobody up there watching at all. They might be on the other side of the valley. I had only seen one man. Maybe not even a man. Just something moving. A wild animal. A dog. A blowing patch of fog.

  Whatever it was, I couldn't take this much longer. I didn't have to. Another minute. That boulder up there, the big one. When we reached it, we would be finished. Don't run. Keep it slow-

  "All right, you can fall out and take a break," I shouted. "Hartz, tell the column to rest in place. We'll take ten. Companies should close up and gather in the stragglers. They'll assemble here after the break."

  "Zur."

  "Better get a perimeter guard out, Sergeant."

  "Sir," Roszak called.

  "Corporal Brady, how about a little coffee? You can set up the stove in the lee of that rock."

  "Right, Lieutenant."

  The men vanished into the fog. There were scrambling noises as they found hiding places. I moved out of the open and hunkered down in the rocks with Corporal Brady. "You didn't really have to make coffee," I said.

  "Why not, Lieutenant? We have a while to wait, don't we?"

  "I hope so, Corporal. I hope so. But that fog's lifting fast."

  Ten minutes later we heard the guns. It was difficult to tell the direction of the sound in the thick fog, but I thought they were ahead of us, far to the south. There was no way to estimate the range'

  "O'Grady message from Captain Falkenberg," Hartz said. "Lieutenant Bonneyman's group is under heavy attack from the south."

  "Acknowledge." From the south. That meant the columns coming north out of Dennisburg had made contact with Louis's ranchers. Falkenberg had guessed that much right. Maybe this whole screwy plan would work after all. "Anything new on Ardwain's situation?"

  "No messages, zur."

  I thumbed my command set to the general frequency. "All units of the 501st. There is heavy fighting to the south. Assemble immediately. We'll be moving south to provide fire support. Get those guns rolling right now."

  There was a chorus of radio answers. Only a dozen men, but they sounded like hundreds. I'd have been convinced it was a battalion combat team. I was congratulating myself when a shaft of sunlight broke through the mist and fell on the ground at my feet.

  CHAPTER 15

  Once the sun had broken through the fog lifted fast. In seconds visibility went from 50 meters to 100, then 200. In minutes the road for a kilometer north of us was visible-and empty. One wagon trudged along, and far back in the distance a single man carried a radio.

  "O'Grady says hit the dirt," I yelled. "Hartz, tell Falkenberg the deception's over."

  And still there was nothing. I took out my glasses and examined the rocks above and behind us. They were boiling with activity. "Hell," I said. "Roszak, we've run into the whole Allansport outfit. Damn near 1000 men! Dig in and get your heads down!"

  A mortar shell exploded on the road below. Then another, and the
n a salvo. Not bad shooting, I said to myself. Of course it didn't hit anything because there was nothing to hit except the one wagon, but they had it registered properly. If we'd been down there, we'd have had it.

  Rifle bullets zinged overhead. The association troops were firing at last. I tried to imagine the feelings of the enemy commander and found myself laughing. He'd waited patiently all this time for us to walk into his trap, and all he'd caught was something less than a platoon. He was going to be mad.

  He was also going to chew up my 60 men, two mortars, and four light machine guns. It would take him a little time, though. I'd picked a good spot to wait for him. Now that the fog was clear I saw it was a better place than I'd guessed from the map. We had reasonably clear fields of fire, and the rocks were large and sturdy. They'd have to come in and get us. All we had to do was keep our heads down.

  No point in deception anymore. "O'Grady says stay loose and let 'em come to us."

  There was a chorus of shouted responses. Then Brady's trumpet sounded, beginning with "On Full Kits" and running through half the calls in the book before he settled onto the Line marines' March, A favorite, I thought. Damn right. Then I heard the whistle of incoming artillery, and dove for the tiny shelter between my rocks as barrage after barrage of heavy artillery dropped onto our position.

  Riflemen swarmed down onto the road behind me. My radiomen and the two wagoneers were cut down in seconds. At least a company of association troops started up the gentle slope toward us.