“Santa Maria. Part of San-San.”
“I been there once. San-San, not where you come from. Here.” He handed Mark the cigarette and struck a match to light both.
They smoked in silence. It wasn’t all tobacco, Mark found; there was a good shot of burl in the cigarette. Mark avoided inhaling but spoke as if holding his breath. Cal sucked and packed.
“Good weed,” Cal said. “You should have brought some when you run off.”
“Had to get out fast.”
“Yeah.” They listened to the sounds of the jungle. “Hell of a life,” Cal said. “Wish I could get back to Earth. Some Welfare Island, anyplace where it’s not so damned hot. I’d live in Alaska. You ever been there?”
“No. Isn’t there—don’t you have any plans? Some way to make things better?”
“Well, the Boss talks about it, but nothing happens,” Cal said. “Every now and then we go raid a place, get some new women. We got a still in not long ago, that’s something.”
Mark shuddered. “Cal?”
“Yah?”
“Got another cigarette?”
“You’ll owe me for it.”
“Sure.”
“Okay.” Cal took out paper and tobacco and rolled two more smokes. He handed one to Mark. “Been thinking. There ought to be something better’n this, but I sure don’t see what it’ll be.” As Cal struck his match, Mark shut his eyes so he wouldn’t be blinded. Then he lifted the rock he’d found in the darkness and brought it down hard onto Cal’s head. The man slumped, but Mark hit him again. He felt something wet and sticky warming his fingers, and shuddered.
Then he was sick, but he had to work fast. He took Cal’s rifle and knife, and his matches. There wasn’t anything else useful.
Mark moved from the rocks onto the narrow strip of flinty ground. No one spoke. Mark ran into the jungle. He did not know where he was going. He tried to think. Hiding out until morning wouldn’t help. They’d find Cal and come looking. And Juanita was back there. Mark ran through the squishy mud. Tears came and he fought them back, but then he was sobbing. Where am I going? Where? And why bother?
He ran on until he felt something moving beside him. He drew in a breath to cry out, but a hand clamped over his mouth. Another grasped his wrist. He felt a knifepoint at his throat. “One sound and you’re dead,” a voice whispered. “Got that?”
Mark nodded.
“Right. Just keep remembering it. Okay, Ardway, let’s go.”
“Roger,” a voice answered.
He was half-carried through the jungle from the camp. There were several men. He did not know how many. They moved silently. “Ready to walk?” someone asked.
“Yes,” Mark whispered. “Who are–”
“Shut up. One more sound and we cut your kidneys out. You’ll take a week dying. Now follow the man ahead of you.”
Mark made more noise than all the others combined, although he tried to walk silently. They went a long way, or so it seemed to be, through knee-deep water and thick mud, then over harder ground. He thought they were going slightly uphill. Then he no longer felt the loom of the trees. They were in a clearing.
The night was pitch black. How do they see? Mark wondered. And who? He thought he could make out a darker shape ahead of him. It was more a feeling than anything else, but then he touched it. It was soft. “Through that,” someone said.
It was a curtain. Another was brought down behind him as he went through, and still another was lifted ahead of him. Light blinded him. He stood blinking.
He was inside a tent. Half a dozen uniformed men stood around a map table. At the end of the tent opposite Mark was a tall, thin man. Mark could not guess how old he was, but there were thin streaks of gray in his hair. His jungle camouflage uniform was neatly pressed. He looked at Mark without expression. “Well, Sergeant Major?”
“Strange, Colonel. This man was sitting guard with another guy. Neither one of them knew what he was doing. We watched them a couple of hours. Then this one beats the other one’s brains out with a rock and runs right into the jungle.”
Mercenaries, Mark thought. They’ve come to– “I need help,” Mark said. “They’ve got my—my wife in there.”
“Name?” the Colonel asked.
“Mark Fuller.”
The Colonel looked to his right. Another officer had a small desk console. He punched Mark’s name into it, and words flowed across the screen. The Colonel read for a moment. “Escaped convict. Juanita Corlee escaped with you. That is your wife?”
“Yes.”
“And you had a falling-out with the Free Staters.”
“No. It wasn’t that way at all.” Mark blurted out his story.
The Colonel looked back to the readout screen. “And you are surprised.” He nodded to himself. “I knew the schools on Earth were of little use. It says here that you are an intelligent man, Fuller. So far you haven’t shown many signs of it.”
“No. Lord God, no. Who—who are you? Please.”
“I am Colonel John Christian Falkenberg. This regiment has been retained by the Tanith governor to suppress these so-called Free States. You were captured by Sergeant Major Calvin, and these are my officers. Now, Fuller, what can you tell me about the camp layout? What weapons have they?”
“I don’t know much,” Mark said. “Sir.” Now why did I say that?
“There are other female captives in that camp,” Falkenberg said.
“Here,” one of the other officers said. “Show us what you do know, Fuller. How good is this satellite photo map?”
“Christ, Rottermill,” a third officer said. “Let the lad be for a moment.”
“Major Savage, intelligence is my job.”
“So is human compassion. Ian, do you think you can find this boy a drink?” Major Savage beckoned to Falkenberg and led him to the far corner of the tent. Another officer brought a package from under the table and took out a bottle. He handed the brandy to Mark.
Falkenberg listened to Savage. Then he nodded. “We can only try. Fuller, did you see any signs of power supplies in that camp?”
“No, sir. There was no electricity at all. Only flashlights.”
“So it is unlikely that they have laser weapons. Rottermill, have any target seekers turned up missing from armories? What are the chances that they have any?”
“Slim, Colonel. Practically none. None stolen I know of.”
“Jeremy, you may be right,” Falkenberg said. “I believe we can use the helicopters as fighting vehicles.”
There was a moment of silence; then the officer who’d given Mark the brandy said, “Colonel, that’s damned risky. There’s precious little armor on those things.”
“Machines not much better than these were major fighting vehicles less than a hundred years ago, Captain Frazer.” Falkenberg studied the map. “You see, Fuller, the hostages have always been our problem. Because of them we have kept Aviation Company back and brought in our troops on foot. We’ve not been able to carry heavy equipment or even much personal body armor across these swamps.”
No, I don’t expect you would, Mark thought. He tried to imagine a large group traveling silently through the swamps. It seemed impossible. What had they done when animals attacked? There had been no shots fired. Why would an armed man let himself be killed when he could shoot?
“I expect they will threaten their prisoners when they know we are here,” Falkenberg said. “Of course we will refuse to deal with them. How long do you think it will take for them to act when they know that?”
“I don’t know,” Mark said. It was something he could not have imagined two years before: men who’d kill and torture, sometimes for no reason at all. No. Not men. Beasts.
“Well, you’ve precipitated the action,” Falkenberg said. “They’ll find your dead companion within hours. Captain Frazer.”
“Sir.”
“You have been studying this map. If you held this encampment, what defenses would you set up?”
“I’d
dig in around this open area and hope someone was fool enough to come at us through it, Colonel.”
“Yes. Sergeant Major.”
“Sir!”
“Show me where they have placed their sentries.” Falkenberg watched as Calvin sketched in outposts. Then he nodded. “It seems their Boss has some rudimentary military sense. Rings of sentries. In-depth defense. Can you infiltrate that, Sergeant Major?”
“Not likely, sir.”
“Yes.” Falkenberg stood for a moment. Then he turned to Captain Frazer. “Ian, you will take your scouts and half the infantry. Make preparations for an attack on the open area. We will code that Green A. This is no feint, Ian. I want you to try to punch through. However, I do not expect you to succeed, so conserve your men as best you can.”
Frazer straightened to attention. “Sir.”
“We won’t abandon you, Ian. When the enemy is well committed there, we’ll use the helicopters to take you out. Then we hit them in the flanks and roll them up.” Falkenberg pointed to the map again. “This depression seems secure enough as a landing area. Code that Green A-One.”
Major Jeremy Savage held a match over the bowl of his pipe and inhaled carefully. When he was satisfied with the light, he said, “Close timing needed, John Christian. Ian’s in a spot of trouble if we lose the choppers.”
“Have a better way, Jerry?” Falkenberg asked.
“No.”
“Right. Fuller, can you navigate a helicopter?”
“Yes, sir. I can even fly one.”
Falkenberg nodded again. “Yes. You are a taxpayer’s son, aren’t you? Fuller, you will go with Number 3 chopper. Sergeant Major, I want you to put a squad of headquarters assault guards, full body armor, into Number 3. Fuller will guide the pilot as close as possible to the cave where the Boss is holding the women. Number 2 with another assault squad will follow. Every effort will be made to secure the hostages alive. Understand, Sergeant Major?”
“Sir!”
“Fuller?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good. When the troops are off, those choppers must move out fast. We’ll need them to rescue Ian’s lot.”
“Colonel?” Mark said.
“Yes?”
“Not all the women are hostages. Some of them will fight, I think. I don’t know how many. And not all the men are– not everybody wants to be in there. Some would run off if they could.”
“And what do you expect me to do about it?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Neither do I. Sergeant Major, we will move this command post in one hour. Until then, Fuller, you can use that time to show Captain Rottermill everything you know about that camp.”
It isn’t going to work, Mark thought. I prayed for her to die. Only I don’t know if she wants to die. And now she will. He took another pull from the bottle and felt it taken from his hand.
“Later,” Rottermill said. “For now, tell me what you know about this lot.”
VII
“They’ve found that dead guard.” The radio sergeant adjusted his earphones. “Seem pretty stirred up about it.”
Falkenberg looked at his watch. There was a good hour before sunrise. “Took them long enough.”
“Pity Fuller couldn’t guide that chopper in the dark,” Jeremy Savage said.
“Yes. Sergeant Major, ask Captain Frazer to ready his men, and have your trail ambush party alerted.”
“Sir.”
“I have a good feeling about this one, John Christian.” Savage tapped his pipe against the heel of his boot. “A good feeling.”
“Hope you’re right, Jeremy. Fuller doesn’t believe it will work.”
“No, but he seems to agree this is her best chance. He’s steady enough now. Realistic assessment of probabilities. Holding up well, all things considered.”
“For a married man.” Married men make the kinds of promises no man can keep, Falkenberg thought. His lips twitched slightly at the memory, and for a moment Grace’s smile loomed in the darkness of the jungle outside. “Sergeant Major, have the chopper teams get into their armor.”
“Is it always like this?” Mark asked. He sat in the right hand seat of the helicopter. Body armor and helmet gave strange sensations. He sweated inside the thick clothing. The phones in his helmet crackled with commands meant for others. Outside the helmet there were sounds of firing. Captain Frazer’s assault had started a quarter of an hour before; now there was a faint tinge of reddish gray in the eastern skies over the jungle.
Lieutenant Bates grinned and wriggled the control stick. “Usually it’s worse. We’ll get her out, Fuller. You just put us next to the right cave.”
“I’ll do that, but it won’t work.”
“Sure it will.”
“You don’t need to cheer me up, Bates.”
“I don’t?” Bates grinned again. He was not much older than Mark. “Maybe I need cheering up. I’m always scared about now.”
“Really? You don’t look it.”
“All we’re expected to do. Not look it.” He thumbed the mike button. “Chief, everything set back there?”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
The voice in Mark’s helmet grew loud and stern. “ALL HELICOPTERS, START YOUR ENGINES. I SAY AGAIN, START ENGINES.”
“That’s us.” Bates reached for the starting controls and the turbines whined. “Not very much light.”
“HELICOPTERS, REPORT WHEN READY.”
“Ready aye-aye,” Bates said.
“Aye-aye?” Mark asked.
“We’re an old CD Marine regiment,” Bates said. “Lot of us, anyway. Stayed with the old man when the Senate disbanded his regiment.”
“You don’t look old enough.”
“Me? Not hardly. This was Falkenberg’s Mercenary Legion long before I came aboard.”
“Why? Why join mercenaries?”
Bates shrugged. “I like being part of the regiment. Or don’t you think the work’s worth doing?”
“LIFT OFF. BEGIN HELICOPTER ASSAULT.”
“Liftoff aye-aye.” The turbine whine increased and the ship lifted in a rising, looping circle. Bates moved to the right of the three-craft formation.
Mark could dimly see the green below, with light increasing every minute. Now he could make out the shapes of small clearings among the endless green marshes.
“You take her,” Bates said. His hands hovered over the controls, ready to take his darling away from this stranger.
Mark grasped the unfamiliar stick. It was different from the family machine he’d learned on, but the principles were the same. You never really forget, Mark thought. The chopper was not much more than a big airborne truck, and he’d driven one of those on a vacation in the Yukon. The Canadian lakes seemed endlessly far away, in time as well as in space.
Flying came back easily. He remembered the wild stunts he’d tried when he was first licensed. Once a group from his school had gone on a picnic to San Miguel Island and Mark had landed in a cove, dropping onto a narrow, inaccessible beach between high cliffs during a windstorm. It had been stupid, but wildly exciting. Good practice for this, he thought. And I’m scared stiff, and what do I do after this is over? Will Falkenberg turn me in?
There were hills ahead, dull brown in the early morning light. Men huddled in the rocky areas. The Catling in the compartment behind Mark crackled like frying bacon. The shots were impossibly close together, like a steady stream of noise, and the helicopter raked the Free State with its lash. The small slugs sent chips flying from the rocks. The other choppers opened up, and six tracer streams twisted in crazy patterns intertwining like some courtship dance.
Men and women died on that flinty ground. They lay in broken heaps, red blood staining the dirt around them, exactly like a scene on tri-v. Only it’s not fake, Mark thought. They won’t get up when the cameras go away. Did they deserve this? Does anyone?
Then he was too busy flying to think about anything else. The area in front of the cave was small, very smal
l—was it large enough for the rotors to clear? A strong gust from the sea struck them, and the chopper rocked dangerously.
“Watch her–” Whatever Bates had intended to say, he never finished it. He slumped forward over the stick, held just above it by his shoulder straps. Something wet and sticky splashed across Mark’s left hand and arm. Brains. A large slug had come angling upward to hit Bates in the jaw, then ricochet around in his helmet. The young lieutenant had almost no face. Get her down, Mark chanted, easy baby, down you go, level now, here’s another gust, easy baby…
Men poured out of the descending chopper. Mark had time to be surprised: They jumped down and ran into the cave even as their friends fell around them. Then something stabbed Mark’s left arm, and there were neat holes in the plexiglass windscreen in front of him. The men went on into the cave. They were faceless in their big helmets, identical robots moving forward or falling in heaps…
Lord God, they’re magnificent. I’ve got to get this thing down! Suddenly that was the most important thing in his life. Get down and get out, go into the cave with those men. Find Juanita, yes, of course, but go with them, do something for myself because I want to do it–
“BATES, STOP WASTING TIME AND GET TO GREEN A-ONE URGENT.”
God damn it! Mark fumbled with the communications gear. “Bates is dead. This is Fuller. I’m putting the chopper down.”
The voice in the phones changed. Someone else spoke. “Are the troops still aboard?”
“No. They’re off.”
“Then take that craft to Green A-One immediately.”
“My—my wife’s in there!”
“The colonel is aware of that.” Jeremy Savage’s voice was calm. “That machine is required, and now.”
“But–”
“Fuller, this regiment has risked a great deal for those hostages. The requirement is urgent. Or do you seriously suppose you would be much use inside?”
Oh, Christ! There was firing inside the cave, and someone was screaming. I want to kill him, Mark thought. Kill that blond-haired bastard. I want to watch him die. A babble filled the helmet phones. Crisp commands and reports were jumbled together as a background noise. Frazer’s voice. “We’re pinned. I’m sending them back to A-One as fast as I can.”
There Will Be War Volume III Page 38
