by Rick Shelley
“Captain?” Eddles said.
“Ankle and foot,” Keye replied. “And the heat. I was starting to lose it”–he had to drag in a long breath before he could complete the sentence–“before I hurt myself.”
The two men laid the captain on a stretcher. As soon as he was down, Hilo closed his eyes and again let out his breath. Being flat on his back came as a distinct relief. He could feel tension draining away. He heard Eddles thank the medic and then sensed that the medtech had knelt at his side. A medtech was more than a medic but less than a surgeon. Eighteen months of specialized training equipped him to perform anything less than major invasive surgery, but medical nanobots and trauma tubes meant that major invasive surgery was seldom necessary. And the military training would qualify Eddles for a civilian medtech’s license when his contractual tour of duty was over.
“I’m going to set up a drip before I work on your ankle, Captain,” Eddles said, his voice soft enough that it seemed to Keye to be almost part of a dream. “Got to get you rehydrated.”
Keye didn’t bother to answer. He felt as if he could slide into sleep, or something even deeper, but he felt no concern. Whatever happened . . .
* * *
Joe Baerclau felt sixty kilos lighter as he picked his way through the confusion in the hospital, heading back to his platoon. Since all of his combat gear had been taken off of him before he was carried to the hospital, he was significantly lighter. Rifle and gear added up to thirty kilograms, even allowing for the wire and grenades he had expended and two empty canteens. Dehydration would have accounted for perhaps another couple of kilos. Joe felt as if he were about to float off of the ground.
Other than feeling as if he were in low gravity, Joe felt exceptionally well. At the moment, he didn’t even feel particularly hot. Fluids had been pumped back into his body. Even now, medical nanobots were coursing through his system, neutralizing toxins and completing their repair work. But the heat was just beyond the next door.
Although Joe didn’t know it, the stretcher that he had vacated had been occupied less than three minutes later by Captain Keye, before Joe got across the room. Joe was eager to get back to his men, to show them that he was still in one piece and ready for duty, but he did hesitate before opening the door that would take him out of the hospital. The memory of the heat was almost as oppressive as the real thing. It wasn’t until the door opened and two men carried in a stretcher with yet another heat casualty on it that Joe took one last breath of the air-conditioned air and went outside.
He had been given precise directions on where to find his men, and he had also been assured that the entire compound had been secured, that there were no more Heggies armed and on the loose. He wouldn’t have let words alone reassure him, but the obvious presence of Accord soldiers along the side of the building did. If there were still Heggies around, there were more than enough friendlies to take care of them.
Looking along the avenue, Joe saw what remained of the warehouse that had been blown up from inside. Not much, that is. The buildings on the two nearer sides were both seriously damaged as well. Joe looked for a moment, then turned and walked the other way, north. He went to the corner, then crossed the open space to reach the shady southern side of the next building. Echo was supposed to be on the east side of that building.
Mort Jaiffer was the first man in Joe’s platoon to spot him. Mort was the only man in the platoon on his feet, leaning against the building while everyone else was sitting, or lying, in the growing patch of afternoon shade.
“We expected you a half hour ago, Sarge,” Mort said. His voice was flat, without the usual bantering tone.
“Couldn’t tear myself away from the good life,” Joe replied. “You got my gear stashed somewhere?”
“Better than new.” Mort pointed to a rather disorganized-looking pile. “Right with mine. Even loaded your canteens for you.”
Joe nodded. By that time Sauv Degtree had gotten to his feet and moved to meet Baerclau.
“The platoon’s yours again, Joe,” Sauv said softly. “And welcome to it.” None of the men had their visors down. This was as close to “off duty” as they were likely to get on an enemy-held world.
“Give me the report,” Joe said. He looked around for a place where the two of them might speak privately, but the shady zone along the side of the building was crammed from one end to the other, and Joe didn’t relish moving out into the sunshine any sooner than he absolutely had to.
“Twenty effectives now that you’re back,” Sauv said, lowering his voice. “Two men in hospital.”
Joe couldn’t help the narrowing of his eyes. Twenty plus two: that meant that the platoon had lost seven men killed.
Sauv waited until he saw Joe’s eyes start to relax. “Captain’s in the hospital. Twisted his ankle. Underwood’s back for duty. You know that I’m the only one left from third squad,” he said.
Joe nodded again. “We’Il have to reorganize, You’ll take over first squad, at Ieast until we get off this cinder. I don‘t have any idea what’Il happen then. Mort will be happy to go back to being assistant squad leader. Hang on.” He gestured for Mort to come over and told him what he was doing.
Mort’s nod was almost gleeful. “You can give somebody my corporal’s stripes too. Let me go back to being just a plain mudder.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Joe said. That was a continuation of a discussion that had been going on between the two men for more than a year.
“Jaiffer, I’m going to need your help getting to know what the others in the squad can do,” Degtree said. “You I know about.”
Mort almost blushed. “My reputation precedes me.” He had been feeling as low as he ever got. The talk was starting to revive him.
“It does,” Degtree agreed. He turned back toward Baerclau. “You need me for anything else right now?”
Joe shook his head.
“Come on, Professor. Let’s go talk to the men,” Degtree said. He let Mort lead him over to first squad.
Joe trailed along. He strapped on his web belt, put the Corey belt over it, then picked up his rifle and other gear. He slung the rifle over his shoulder but just carried the backpack and the items that normally hung from it. He pulled down his visor long enough to make a quick call to the first sergeant.
“Where are you?” Joe asked.
“North end of the wall, just before the shade runs out.”
Walker said. “How you feeling?”
“Good as new. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.” Joe walked slowly. Even in the shade, it was oppressively hot, and there seemed to be no particular hurry. It was obvious that no one in the company had any news of impending action. I guess nothing is going to happen before the captain gets back, Joe thought.
“Take a load off,” Izzy Walker said when Joe got to him. The first sergeant indicated a patch of ground next to him, against the side of the building. His visor was up and his helmet tilted back at an angle. “This wall is almost cool,” he added. There was a space of almost three meters to the next man along the wall, the largest opening along the entire length of the building.
Joe sat before he spoke. “I’ve got seven dead and two in the hospital.”
Walker sighed. “I know. Degtree gave me the platoon report thirty minutes ago. The rest of the company’s been hit just as bad. Almost thirty percent killed or too badly hurt to get back to duty in the next twenty-four hours.”
Any injury that required more than four hours in a trauma tube was rare, and serious. Those were life-threatening injuries, the type that were usually saved only because of very prompt treatment.
“Why couldn’t we just sit back and let the flyguys and gun bunnies do the work? Hell, we coulda stayed on the ships until they leveled this place, just come in to clean up,” Joe said, his voice somewhat plaintive. “That frontal attack . . .” He shook his head. “That
was just plain suicide.”
“Time, Joe,” Izzy said. “These stone buildings, it would have taken days for the Havocs and Wasps to bring them down. The reccers cooked off a whole warehouse full of explosives, and hell, that didn’t do much damage to anything else but two buildings just on either side.” He paused before he added, “We’ve got a schedule here, and we’re far enough behind it now.”
“Farther north,” Joe whispered.
“Hopefully, that’ll still be a night action,” Izzy said.
“There’s another reason why we had to get Site Alpha taken before dark. Somewhere around here, there’s got to be a whole fleet of Nova tanks.”
“I heard that SI’s interrogating prisoners. They find out where those tanks are, or why they haven’t been used?”
Izzy shrugged. “Not as I’ve heard. The reccers are out looking for them. And every eye in the sky. One thing for certain, they’re not in this compound.”
“Where the hell is there to hide tanks on this rock pile?”
“Man who comes up with the answer to that, before the tanks come out and hit us, is likely to get a promotion on the spot, and enough medals to build a Havoc. Only thing anybody can figure out is that they must be underground–somewhere.”
“Scuttlebutt was that they can’t operate Novas in this heat, ’cept maybe at night,” Joe said after the two men had been silent for a minute or more.
“You noticed the Havocs weren’t spittin’ very fast,” Izzy said.
“I thought it was just me.”
“Even with cold air pumping at full speed it got so hot inside them buckets that they had to back off. Had a lot of heat casualties. I’ve talked to men who’ve looked over the insides of Novas. No air conditioning.”
“So, as soon as it gets dark, we’re apt to have trouble?” Joe asked.
“Wouldn’t surprise me.”
“We staying here tonight?”
It was time for another shrug. Izzy stretched this one out. “According to the plan, we’re supposed to be back on the shuttles before sunset today, moving to attack that next Heggie place on the west coast, north of here, northwest. Site Bravo.” He glanced at the sky, then out at the length of the shadow, stretching away from the building. “Nobody’s saying anything about moving now, though. I checked with the CSM.” The command sergeant major was Friz Duke, the ranking enlisted man in the 13th SAT. “Everything’s on hold.”
“For how long?”
“Until somebody says different. I just don’t know. I hope they’re not gonna try a dawn landing at the other spot. We try to work during the day at Site Bravo, it’ll be a hundred times worse than today.”
“And if we wait for tomorrow night, they’ll have that much more time to get ready for us.”
“That’s about the size of it,” Walker agreed.
Joe got to his feet slowly. “l’d better get back to my men.” He was shaking his head as he walked away.
ALTHOUGH OCEANS had ceased to be commercially important for human settlements thousands of years before, men still sought locations near them, on almost every world that was settled. Oceans were a constant: if a world was suitable for humans, between 50 and 80 percent of its surface would be covered by water. No matter the vagaries of weather, and the often serious threat of tropical storms, men sought the sea. The first settlements on any newly settled world were almost always near the mouths of major rivers as well. There were always excuses for both choices, some of them valid. Oceans tended to moderate climate. Rivers provided abundant sources of fresh water and made the natural growth of crops possible, In addition, if the local waters did not contain edible fish and other seafood, terrestrial varieties could be introduced and established. Although food replicators could provide virtually any crop, or meat, that humans had ever cultivated or craved–as well as novel varieties that had never existed in nature–few social groups cared to subsist totally on the provender of nano factories, preferring to keep at least a portion of their diet “natural.”
Even on Tamkailo, a world where no human food crops could grow, where no terran animals could graze, the Schlinal settlers had chosen sites near the sea. All three Heggie bases were within a few kilometers of ocean, situated on or near major rivers. The rationale, in addition to natural tendency, was clear on Tamkailo. All three settlements had started out as penal colonies. Oceans provided a clear limit to the directions an escapee might take. To a lesser extent, so did major rivers.
It had scarcely occurred–or mattered–to the planners of these penal colonies that there was no place for an escapee to run to on Tamkailo. Leaving the isolated settlements was certain suicide. Absolutely certain. If the heat didn’t kill the escapee, he would die of hunger. Nothing grew on the world that would sustain human life. But proper reverence had to be paid to the traditional Schlinal methods of operation.
* * *
Only four Wasps were in the air. The 8th SAT was currently providing that air cap. The rest of the planes were on the ground undergoing routine maintenance. Their pilots did what they could to remain cool. They had eaten. Most tried to sleep while they could, but the heat made that difficult. Still west of the captured Schlinal base, the pilots and their support crews did not have cavernous stone buildings to shelter in. They had to make do with tents and open pavilions for cover from the late afternoon sun. Mechanics had jury-rigged a few large fans, but those provided only minimal relief.
The Havocs of the two SATs were also idle, parked around the Schlinal base. The artillery crews were inside buildings, or on the shaded sides of those buildings. Nearly a third of the men from the gun crews were in the hospital. being treated for heat exhaustion or worse. The Havocs had suffered no losses from enemy fire during this attack–they had never been close enough to enemy infantry to worry about shoulder-launched missiles, and the Wasps had kept all of the enemy Boems well away–but one loader in the 8th had died from the heat before his crewmates could get help for him.
Jimmy Ysinde was back with the rest of Basset two after spending two hours in the hospital. He still looked pale and felt weak, but the medtech had cleared him for duty.
“I was off in some neverland,” Jimmy said as he sat in the corner of a building that contained a dozen industrial food replicators, stacks of raw materials for them, and finished meal packs. The others stared at Jimmy. For a moment, he stared at the floor between his feet. When he did look up again, he said, “It was hell coming back.” The strained look on his face was more than just a reminder of his physical suffering.
“But you are back,” Karl Mennem said, worried at the way Jimmy sounded–almost as if he regretted the return trip.
“Yeah. But what about next time?”
“Hey, they know how vulnerable we are now,” Eustace Ponks said. “Some of the crew chiefs are working on a way to make things easier for us. Rosey said there ought to be a way to rig a third air cooler in each of the guns.” Rosey Bianco headed the maintenance crew that serviced Basset one and Basset two.
“There enough spares for that?” Simon Kilgore asked.
“Rosey says yes,” Eustace said. “Maybe even a fourth in some of them, but I think the chiefs want to keep a few handy for replacements.”
“That might help here,” Jimmy said, “but we’re going closer to the equator for the next operation. Will It be enough?”
No one could answer that.
* * *
The chief regimental surgeon kept Colonel Stossen in the hospital for nearly six hours. The only way he could do that was to keep Stossen unconscious until right near the end. No sooner was Stossen awake than he wanted his helmet so he could get back in touch with what was happening. He still had a minor headache. Still, or again. Stossen was aware of it as soon as the nanobots scrubbed the last of the sleep patch’s medication from his system and he woke up.
“Just take it easy for a few minutes, Colonel,” the s
urgeon said. “You came close to not waking up at all.”
“But I am awake,” Stossen said. “And I’ve got a command to see to.”
“Soon enough. Look, this battle is over. You’re inside what used to be the Heggie base. We’re secure. The exec knows what shape you’re in. He’ll be here to pick you up in a few minutes. Until then, you just lie there and let the knitting finish. I should have kept you out and in the trauma lube for another hour. In any case, I’m not releasing you for duty until Parks gets here.”
Stossen took a deep breath. The surgeon did have that authority, even over him. “So I’Il stay,” he said. “At least let me communicate.”
“Not a chance, Colonel. A radio puts you back on duty.” He looked around, as if he hoped to spot Lieutenant Colonel Parks coming into the hospital. Actually, he hoped that the executive officer would stall as long as possible.
“Just a link to General Dacik then.”
“Colonel, you’ve had a rough time. You spend much more time trying to wheedle me out of doing my duty and you’re not going to be fit to do yours. Is that clear, sir?” The surgeon stared at the colonel without bliriking until Stossen nodded.
“I get the message.” Stossen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe it’s just as well, he thought. We’re in the Heggie compound. Things must be. going okay here, or the doc wouldn’t keep me down so long. Maybe.
As he relaxed, the ache in his forehead started to ease.
Faster than he would have thought possible, Stossen started to drift back toward sleep. He didn’t even try to fight it. Then, just as he was ready to cross the divide, he felt as if he were suddenly falling, and that snapped his eyes open.
Dezo Parks was standing over him.
“Doc tells me you haven’t been very cooperative,” Parks said.
“That’s his business. Mine’s running the 13th,” Stossen growled. “You here to spring me?”
