Dragons Of Englor rb-24

by Джеффри Лорд

Then he passed two thousand feet, and the ground seemed to leap up at him. It seemed that he dropped a thousand feet between one breath and the next. He looked down again, saw that he was on target, jerked the rip cord on his main chute, and felt the reassuring, bone-wrenching jerk as it opened. He felt himself lose speed as the canopy filled, and then he was drifting down slowly, safely part of the world again.

  He looked up. There was no dome of white or camouflaged fabric drawn taut above him. The parachute was made of an experimental material, almost completely transparent. Only the faint blurring of a circle of blue sky told Blade that he was not held up by magic. From a distance there would be nothing at all to see, either now or after he landed.

  Far away to the north, he could see the fast-diminishing dot that was the reconnaissance plane. Even as he watched, it vanished completely. He knew that in about another ten minutes the plane would break out of the shelter of the hills on either side of the valley. Then it would register on enemy radar, and so would the decoys that it would be dropping.

  Man-sized, man-shaped, dropping at the same speed as men, the decoys would leave any radar operator or ground observer firmly convinced that he was seeing a landing of spies or saboteurs. There would be an alert. There would be helicopters, armored cars, and infantry patrols rushing about, using up fuel, wearing out machinery, losing sleep. There would be a tremendous flurry of activity, none of it closer than a hundred miles to Blade’s landing point, none of it anywhere near any of the underground’s bases or any part of its network. There was nothing in the area where the decoys would be landing except mountains and forests and the mountain herdsmen and lumberjacks who lived in them.

  Blade looked down again, saw that he was approaching a clearing, saw also that he was likely to drift right over it into the trees beyond. He pulled the shrouds on one side to spill some air from the canopy, and felt his descent quicken for a moment. That was enough. He came down two-thirds of the way across the clearing, landing so gently that he felt as if he were doing everything in slow motion. His parachute brushed against the branches of a pine tree and whispered down to the ground behind him. Then everything was still. Only the clouds crept across the sky above him, and only a faint breeze made small sighs in the treetops.

  Quickly Blade gathered up the main chute and took off the emergency one. He carried both into the forest until he came to a small gulley drifted full of pine needles. He buried both chutes in the needles and brushed the surface over them as level as possible.

  Then Blade walked back out into the clearing, took one bearing from the sun and another from the compass in his pack, turned his face toward the southeast, and started walking.

  Blade was on the move for thirty-six hours out of the next forty-eight. He had sixty-three miles to cover, over terrain that held him to an average of less than two miles an hour. It was a matter of simple arithmetic to conclude that he had to keep going.

  Blade moved steadily across the hills, with the agility of a mountain goat and with even more care for staying under cover. There wasn’t much in these high, bare hills, but he used every bit he could find. There were not only the Russlanders to fear, there were the people of these hills, the herders and hermits who treated every stranger as an enemy. On the morning of the third day he walked down the last hill and five more miles through the forest, to his rendezvous with the Rodzmanian underground.

  Blade’s contact was a man named Piedar Goron, a logging engineer by profession. He could build or repair almost any building or machine that a logging camp might need-barracks, generators, spillways, even the great trucks that took the logs to the sawmills. A man that skilled had a good deal of freedom to come and go when and where he pleased, even under the rule of the Red Flames. Piedar Goron took full advantage of all that freedom, and a little bit more besides.

  There were close to three hundred men in the underground network in this part of Rodzmania. Piedar Goron knew very few of them, and even fewer knew him. But he could give an order and know that it would reach all of them and be obeyed by all of them.

  «The Red Flames may someday be able to figure out a way of dispensing with people like me,» said Goron. «But first they will have to find people who are both loyal to them and who are good engineers. Either that, or they will have to shut down most of the industry of Rodzmania. Neither will happen before all of us are many years older.»

  Blade did not feel like replying. Whatever the Red Flames could or could not do in the end would make no difference to Piedar Goron. A man who put his life in danger as often as Goron did could not expect that life to be very long. Five years? Perhaps, with luck. Two years seemed more likely. If Goron had any children, they might live to see Rodzmania liberated from the Red Flames. He himself never would.

  Goron handed Blade a mug of beer and drew one for himself. There was silence in the hut until both mugs were empty. Then Blade put his down and said, «Very well, I’m here. What do you say is next?»

  Blade’s briefing had covered a dozen different plans. He also knew that the choice among them could safely be made only with the help of the man on the spot.

  Goron leaned back against the wall of the hut and lit his pipe. He made such a prolonged business of it that Blade began to suspect bad news. Goron only spoke after he’d taken several long draws on the pipe.

  «There is no way any more to take you and Rilla out along Route Green. Two days ago the Russlanders sent a battalion of security troops into Dungorad and arrested nearly four hundred people.»

  «How many of our-your people were among the four hundred?»

  Goron shrugged. «The network in that area was so thoroughly disrupted that we do not even know that. I suspect we lost enough so that those who were not taken are lying very quiet for the time being. There might still be enough to support Route Green. But if the people are too frightened to even send reports, they will certainly be too frightened to help bring you out.»

  That seemed likely. Flesh and blood could only stand so much, and when men and women had seen their neighbors dragged off in the middle of the night-well, what had happened was more or less inevitable.

  «What about the other routes?»

  «I think we would do well to rule out both Red and Gold,» said Goron. «They both run through the same province as Green, and I would recommend against going anywhere near it at the moment. We have a reliable report that two Russland rifle divisions have moved into the province.»

  Two rifle divisions was enough to comb the province town by town and practically house by house. It meant somebody fairly high up in the Red Flame command was giving the orders.

  It also meant two fewer rifle divisions the Eighth Army would be facing on the Gallic front. Fine. But that would not be much help to Blade and Rilla if they were caught, tortured, and shot while trying to make their way through those two divisions!

  «All right. We’ll cancel Red and Gold too. That leaves only Purple. Is it your recommendation?»

  «Yes. We have also had to develop a new variation for Route Purple. This has not been transmitted to Englor, so you would not know of it.»

  «When will I learn it?» said Blade.

  «You and Rilla will still make your rendezvous with the escort at one of three established pickups-either nineteen, twenty-two, or twenty-nine. Twenty-two is prime, the others are backups. You will be briefed on Route Purple Two when you have met your escort.»

  «I see,» said Blade. The local underground was imposing its own more rigorous standards of security. There would be mutterings in Englor when word of this got back there. But the local people were in the right. They knew better what were the dangers and what were the necessary precautions. A route that Special Operations HQ did not know was a route that no spy there could expose. A route that Blade himself did not know was a route he could not reveal under torture.

  Of course this could make things awkward for Blade and Rilla. If they missed all three of the pickup points, they would have no way of learning how to get to
the new extraction point at the far end of Route Purple Two. On the other hand, if all three pickup points were out, it would almost certainly mean the Red Flames had moved in. There would be no Route Purple left. Then the most likely route out of Rodzmania for Blade and Rilla would be through the poison capsules Blade carried in his pack.

  «All right,» said Blade. It wasn’t completely satisfactory, but then people who liked completely satisfactory solutions didn’t often go into espionage work. «We’ll use Route Purple Two.»

  Chapter 13

  Richard Blade lay on his stomach under a bush. He wore Russland Ground Forces camouflage battledress with the insignia of a Senior Sergeant in the Security Forces. He carried a Degorov automatic pistol in an imitation-leather shoulder holster. In fact, everything on his body was standard Russland issue. No one looking at him would be able to tell that he was not what he seemed.

  The only unusual item of equipment was the pair of binoculars Blade held to his eyes. They were a compact pair, magnifying six times and including a range finder and an infrared attachment. They were rather more sophisticated than anything the Red Flames had. Anyone examining them closely would quickly realize that Blade was certainly not what he seemed.

  Nobody was likely to try to make that close examination. Here in Rodzmania, even a private of the Russland Security Forces was a figure to inspire terror or at least discourage casual curiosity. Even senior officers of the Security Administration frequently carried out important missions disguised as junior officers, civil servants, or NCOs. Not even regular Russland military personnel were likely to ask embarrassing questions of men in Security insignia.

  So Blade was confident of his chances of moving around freely and safely. Of course he might meet some real Security troops. That was always possible in any land where the Red Flames ruled. But the nearest large Security bases were on the Russland border sixty miles away in one direction, and in the town of Karbo ninety miles away in another. Here in the resort country it would be very bad luck to meet anything more formidable than Ground Forces men on leave or local Rodzmanian constables, who would not be willing to have anything at all to do with any Russlander if they could possibly help it.

  There was one other danger. A Security man wandering around alone might be a tempting victim for someone who hated the Russlanders beyond reason. The Red Flames had ruled in Rodzmania for more than a generation, and in that time they had given literally hundreds of thousands of people cause to hate them with a terrible passion. The Russlanders took terrible vengeance for any attacks on their men, but there were certain to be people careless of possible consequences. It would be ironic for Blade to be picked off by some demented Rodzmanian patriot, but it would be just as final as any other death.

  Blade found a stone digging into his ribs. He shifted position, pried it loose, pushed it to one side, then went back to watching the lakeshore in front of him.

  He would not have needed the binoculars merely to watch for Rilla Haran. If she came today, she would come down to the little gravel beach just below the wooded bluff where Blade lay in hiding. He wanted to make sure that no one else was coming along with Rilla. The geneticist’s habit of coming down to this secluded cove to swim and sunbathe was well known. It was unlikely that anyone would suddenly become curious or suspicious about it, but Blade was taking no chances.

  He stared out from under the bush at the green forests, the silver blue water of the lake, and the grayish white gravel on the beach. They stared back at him. The water rippled and the branches swayed under a gentle breeze. Nothing else moved in the water, on the land, or in the air above them.

  The sun crept up in the sky and grew warm. It might have become uncomfortably hot and airless in the close-grown forest where Blade lay hidden. Fortunately, enough of the breeze off the lake trickled in under the bushes to make Blade’s wait almost comfortable.

  Blade’s journey to the lake had been simple enough, since he was disguised as one of the crew of a big logging truck. At least it would have seemed simple to the average man. Blade knew how much organization and planning had gone into making his journey so simple. He also knew far too well how much danger there had been at each moment of the two days-danger to himself, but even more danger to all those in the underground who had done their work so well.

  Suppose his forged identity papers hadn’t stood up to inspection? Suppose some Russlander had decided to scan the truck’s load, log by log, with a metal detector? Blade’s gear and far too much else that was fatally compromising lay concealed snugly inside a hollow log at the bottom of the load. Of course a bomb also lay there, powerful enough to clear half a city block if incautious hands started working on the log. Blade knew there was much to be said for a quick death, especially when one considered what the Red Flames might do otherwise. There was even more to be said for a long life. It had been a relief to reach the end of the journey, climb down from the truck, pull on his gear, and vanish into the woods for the last leg of his journey.

  Now he was here, waiting for his first rendezvous with Rilla Haran. She did not know when he would be meeting her, but she did know where and she did know a basic recognition code. That was all the underground had been able to get to her at the resort, but it should be enough for today. They could talk for however long it took to arrange the details of the next rendezvous, when Rilla would slip out of her cottage by night to meet Blade in the forest. After that would come the journey to one of the pickup points for Route Purple Two, the journey along that route, and at last the trip back to Englor.

  Blade had just finished this mental summary when he saw movement between two trees just above the beach. He swung the binoculars for a closer look, pressing the focusing adjustment. The trees sprang out sharply, and so did the tall woman standing between them, looking out at the lake. For a moment she was half lost in the forest shadows, so that Blade could not recognize her. Then she came down the slope toward the beach, moving with a powerful but graceful stride. The sunlight caught her dark red hair so that it seemed to glow. Now Blade had no trouble at all in recognizing the woman he sought.

  Rilla Haran would have looked like a stocky peasant girl if she’d been any shorter than her actual five feet ten. As it was, her broad-boned, well-fleshed body had a regal quality, particularly when she moved. There was nothing dainty or fragile about her-she was lushly, impressively female. The brilliance and the skill she showed in her work seemed to be reflected in the perfection of her body and the grace of her movements.

  Blade hoped his judgement of her was correct. Ever since he’d learned he was bringing out a woman, he’d hoped she was the sort who could hold her own on any journey or in any fight. Rilla Haran certainly looked like a woman who could react intelligently and handle herself well in a wide range of situations outside her laboratory.

  Blade pulled a small signal light out of one pocket and clipped it to the binoculars. The light was activated by the same switch that controlled the infrared viewer, and threw a tightly focused beam of light wherever Blade looked. At night it was difficult and by day it was almost impossible for anyone not directly in line with the beam to see it. It was one of the handiest devices for field signaling that Blade had ever used.

  As he finished clipping the signal light in place, Rilla reached the water’s edge. She wore baggy brown slacks, a dark blue blouse, and sandals. She carried a ragged gray blanket and a green sweater folded over one arm, and a small canteen slung on one hip.

  She kicked off her sandals with two neat jerks of her long legs, spread the blanket on the gravel, and put the sweater on top of it. She walked down for a few more steps, until the chill clear waters of the lake washed around her ankles. An almost blissful smile crossed her round, freckled face, making it look even more cheerful than before. Then she stepped back up onto the dry gravel and began stripping off her clothes.

  She undressed so swiftly that to Blade she seemed to go from fully clothed to totally nude in a moment. The last thing she did was to un
do the ribbon that held up her hair. Unbound, her hair flowed down over her shoulders and halfway down her back. It did not conceal the fine lines of her neck, the faint dusting of freckles on the evenly tanned skin of her shoulders, or the magnificent breasts that swelled so superbly. On a woman with smaller bones, those breasts would have made her seem almost top-heavy. On Rilla Haran they were perfectly in proportion, part of her robust beauty. Blade found himself wondering how all this solid, well-shaped flesh would feel in his arms.

  Now Rilla threw her head back and raised her arms toward the sky, as if she were worshiping the sun. She bent backward with a grace that would have made an ugly woman seem sensuously desirable. It made Rilla Haran positively breathtaking. Her skin held the same even tan and light dusting of freckles all over. Some of the hair in the dark bush cradled between her round thighs had been bleached to a lighter shade by the sun. That subtle highlight somehow added still more to the erotic effect.

  Blade carefully put aside all the sensuous visions that kept chasing one another through his mind. He raised the binoculars again, aimed them at Rilla, and pressed the switch for the signal light. He wanted to make contact as fast as possible, before the woman got too relaxed and lazy in the sun to be alert or before any unwanted visitors showed up.

  The light flicked on. Blade watched Rilla, saw a little circle of light appear on her left breast, and raised the binoculars until he saw the light flicker across her face. She blinked and started to back out of the beam. Then Blade could almost see memory awaken in her. She stopped in mid-stride and stood motionless, her arms dropping to her sides, her eyes very wide, and her lips drawn into a tight, pale line.

  He had her attention now. Blade began pressing the switch to transmit the letters of the recognition code. Each letter was a sequence of dots and dashes.

  B-U-K-E

  — and then the numbers:

  1-5-9-7

  Blade went through the sequence twice. He was starting it a third time when Rilla suddenly raised her hands and pressed both palms against the sides of her neck. That was the acknowledgment signal. Then she began to reply with the agreed-upon sequence of hand signals, keeping her hands in front of her body so that Blade and no one else could see their movements.