Soldiers

by John Dalmas

  Leclerc pursed his lips, then grunted. "All right, you've made your case, Kemau. I'll post Wesley as commander of 2nd Platoon, B Company. But I want you to work with him. Help him with whatever he's short on. Give him some reading: The Infantry Platoon Leader; Working with Men; The Challenge of Command… And if he's willing, Gopal Singh's The Wise Leader. Then quiz him."

  Zenawi relaxed. "Thank you, sir, I will. And sir, if you were the CO of B Company, I believe you'd have made the same request I did."

  Leclerc stifled a smile. You got the old man to back down, didn't you, he thought. And now you're rubbing a little oil on. Well, it's healthy to back down now and then, when the case is good enough. But pick your spots carefully, Kemau.

  ***

  That had been high summer. Now they were at winter's doorstep. Esau was rereading The Infantry Platoon Leader when Jael came in. For months they'd been in different units, quartered in different hutments, living different lives. He hadn't seen her for weeks; didn't often think about her anymore. So far as he knew, they were still married, but it felt remote.

  "Hi, Esau," she said, walking over to him.

  He laid down his book and stood up. "Howdy, Jael," he answered smiling. "It's been awhile."

  Her voice sounded enough like her old voice now, Esau couldn't hear the difference. Normally, when a person signed a bot agreement, there were questions, the volunteer's answers were recorded, and they were asked to read selected lines. Then if they were bottled, they were given a cube of the recording, to help them learn their old voice again. Jael had learned without a cube, fitting her new voice to her personality, and to the "voice print" in her speech center.

  "How're you liking your new servo?" Esau asked. Lamely, it seemed to her, as if he had trouble finding something to say. It was the same model as her old one, which had been damaged by a heavy slammer bolt two weeks earlier, on night reconnaissance deep inside Wyz Country. It had torn up her left knee.

  "It's better than the old one," she answered. "It doesn't overheat." She paused to laugh. "The techs say that's because they've got them figured out. I told them it's the weather. Have you seen any action lately?"

  He shook his head. "I've heard some a time or two, off in the distance a ways. Maybe things'll heat up when we get snow." He chuckled at the incongruity of terms. "Snow can come any time now, and Captain Zenawi said the last supply run brought down skis. If it gets belly deep, like sometimes, we ought to get around on foot better than the Wyz do."

  "You folks still cutting timber every third week?"

  He shook his head. "Haven't for… it'll be four weeks on Sixday. Things are getting dull around here." He half grinned. "Now if they'd let me start making a farm… " It had already occurred to him he didn't want to farm anymore, but the old thought patterns were still there, semiactive.

  "If things keep going like they are," she said, "us and the Wyz might get so used to each other, we'll just say to Tophet with the war. You farm east of the river and we'll farm west of it." She didn't really want to farm anymore, either. Or live on New Jerusalem, where most women of childbearing age didn't live to see their thirtieth birthday (about thirty-nine Terran years). But she'd never thought of it as a cruel world. Most folks had been happy enough. And she'd accepted it-until she'd shared reminiscences with Terran women among the bots. Heard about their seventy-year-old grandmothers, even ninety-year-old great-grandmothers!

  She'd wondered how long she'd live as a bot. A long time maybe. There were two main theories in the bot camp. The first was, your CNS would finally wear out. And the second-you'd live till you died of boredom. To her, the first seemed most likely.

  Esau sat without saying anything, so she asked: "What're you reading?"

  He held the book up-a paper book-showing her the cover. "The Infantry Platoon Leader," he said. "This is the third time I've read it. Seems like there's stuff in it that wasn't there before. Like someone came in while I slept, and added new stuff to it. I've been reading others, too. Read three by Gopal Singh! Quite a lot different than the Testaments, but I suspect Elder Hofer wouldn't fuss too bad. Some of it-a lot of it-he'd probably like.

  "What you said about us and the Wyz getting used to each other… Nearly nine hundred years ago-when folks still fought each other a lot-Gopal Singh wrote that humankind was learning little by little to live in peace. And afterward, for a long time, folks did live in peace. Wouldn't be fighting today if the Wyz hadn't come along."

  Jael nodded. "To start farming here again, the womenfolk would have to come back. And might be lots of them wouldn't want to."

  "Yeah."

  There was silence for several long seconds before he added, "I sure do miss… some of the things you and me used to do together."

  "Me too. But not as much as you do, I don't suppose. I don't have the juices I used to. I'd settle for being able to cuddle and nuzzle. But I'm afraid cuddling wouldn't do much for either of us anymore. The way I am now."

  Esau rocked a little on his unmoving chair, before saying: "Sometimes I've wondered if we oughtn't have chosen a labor battalion, instead of the army. Then, when it was over, we could have been-still really married. Had those children we never got."

  He looked and felt absolutely bleak now. Not healed, he thought. Not healed. Just scabbed over.

  Reaching, Jael touched his arm as gently as if she were still flesh and blood. "Esau dear, don't regret. We always did the best we could, and had lots of good times. Back on the farm, and on Luneburger's World, and even here in the war.

  "And there are other girls besides me. Organic girls, flesh and blood. Indi girls in tanks and floaters, Burger girls wiring and carpentering. Terran nurses at the hospital."

  The door opened and two Sikhs came in. Then Jael said she needed to go. "Even bots need their sleep," she told him, and left.

  Her walk back to the bot hutment was five minutes of depression. That first time Esau had come to see her, at the bot shop, he'd been so sweet, and she'd been so happy to see him. It had seemed to her they'd get used to one another again, and if they lived, make a life together.

  You were dreaming, Jael, she told herself. The old Jael was killed at the Pecan Orchard. Now you've got a new life, and it's the one you've got to live, because you can't get the old one back.

  ***

  On the following Sixday, at evening muster, the troops were told that General Pak would speak to them at 1900 hours. There'd been no rumor of any plans, and the army had gotten used to relative peace and quiet. Something was bound to happen sooner or later, of course. They knew that. The Wyz were still there, and had to be rooted out.

  With more time to reflect on matters, the Jerrie troops had come to realize how little New Jerusalem felt like home anymore. Too changed. Nearly every one of them had wondered if he could even find where he'd lived, so thoroughly had the Wyzhnyny changed the face of the settled land. As if they'd deliberately undertaken to eradicate all signs of the humans who'd lived there before them.

  Now it seemed as if they were going to be given another job to do. And at seven o'clock, they were in their mess halls, expecting to hear their general outline an offensive. The screen was rolled out; its power light glittering green. Captain Zenawi gave the order, "At ease, men," and the picture popped on, showing General Pak seated at his desk.

  "Men and women of the New Jerusalem Liberation Corps, I have important news for you. And a confession. Eight days ago, I was informed that the 1st Commonwealth Fleet had destroyed the Wyzhnyny fleet in battle." He paused. There wasn't a sound in B Company's mess hall. "The Wyzhnyny warships fought till none were left." Again he paused. "My confession is that I kept the news from you until I knew what this meant to us out here.

  "Their warfleet fought to the death, but that doesn't mean the Wyzhnyny here will. Because the Wyzhnyny's non-fighting ships surrendered. More than three thousand of them are parked in the fringe of the Eridani System, defenseless. Snooze ships, supply ships, factory ships-all of them. And they've signed a treaty
of peace with the Commonwealth. They've turned over all their ordnance, and our fleet is in the process of sending it plunging into the sun.

  "The Wyzhnyny have colonies on forty-seven Commonwealth worlds, and the peace treaty agrees that those colonies are also to surrender. The question now is, will the colonies believe and accept that? Let's hope they do. If they don't, Commodore Kereenyaga is to send down both his Dragons to wreck the Wyzhnyny caves here. Then any survivors will get another chance to surrender. If they don't, the war will not be over for us; we'll have to dig them out. But our enemy will be fewer, his firepower greatly reduced, and we'll have the support of the Marine wolfpacks. And winter will arrive any time now.

  "For those of you who care to, I suggest you now pray silently with me that they do surrender."

  ***

  After the prayer, the general announced a party at 2100 hours, to be held in all the army's mess halls. He'd heard of the Jerrie penchant for bachelor folk dancing, and the Indis and Burgers would have their own ideas about partying. He knew that Burger cooks had been fermenting mash, and distilling and stashing liquor.

  B Company folded and stacked most of their tables, converting mess halls into dance halls. Other tables were placed strategically along the sides, and loaded with sandwiches, cookies, and urns of hot chocolate-something the Jerries had learned about in the army. At 2050, the company was already gathering. Two accordions, two fiddles and a harmonica had arrived, but so far not Captain Zenawi, with his bass guitar. Lieutenant Hawkins, now B Company's XO, was setting up his keyboard.

  A bot ducked in-not surprisingly. Seven bots treated B Company as their other family. This bot was Jael; Esau and no doubt others knew her by the necklace of dried, orange-painted bank beans she'd put on. And who else would bring two female organics with her? They paused just inside the door, then Jael's eyes found Esau, and all three women started toward him.

  Esau met them halfway, stopping before Jael. "Will you dance with me, ma'am?" he asked. From her elevation, he looked more dutiful than eager.

  "I'd love to," she said. "I do believe you're the best-looking man here. But first I'd like to introduce my friends. This is Sergeant Ruta Mossland, Headquarters Company, 1st Indi Armored. And this is Ensign Bjorg Aribau, 12th General Hospital. Bjorg was born on Terra, but grew up on Indi Prime. She was Ensign Hawkins' nurse, and she wanted to meet the man who saved his life."

  Blushing, Esau bowed and shook each young woman's hand in turn. Then Ensign Hawkins called out above the crowd buzz.

  "Captain Zenawi will be here in a few minutes. He says don't wait." He gestured at the other musicians. "We've only played together a few times, so I don't know very much of the music they'll do. They'll start off, and I'll join in when I can. Consider the party officially started!"

  Then a caller named the dance, and pairs of laughing soldiers walked to the middle of the floor. All were men, except for Jael and the two women she'd brought. Ruta and Bjorg had accepted eager partners.

  When they'd formed lines, the caller and the music began. The dance was energetic, and the two women were totally unfamiliar with it. Do-si-do meant absolutely nothing to them. But the confusions created were treated as fun, not problems, and before the number ended, everyone was laughing and sweating.

  Almost everyone. Esau had discovered how awkward it was dancing with someone twenty inches taller and twice his mass. So before the next number began, they left the dance floor and went to one of the benches.

  "Seems like we don't dance as well as we used to," Esau commented.

  "It does, doesn't it? But we can still laugh together. And you can dance with Ruta and Bjorg. Actually I brought them for you."

  The statement didn't surprise Esau. "I wish you wouldn't have," he said.

  She nodded. "I thought you'd feel like that."

  "Why then?" His voice was pained. "Why did you?"

  "Honey, because I love you. And I want you to get used to touching other women. Organic women. I'm not trying to matchmake, although they're both heavyworlders, and very nice people. And pretty, don't you think?"

  "Not as pretty as you."

  "Why, Esau, what a nice thing to say! This model 7C warbot servo does look quite nice, and maybe in peacetime they'll let me polish it. But I never thought of it as pretty."

  Esau had no reply. After a moment, Jael stood. "Let's go outside," she said quietly.

  He didn't meet her gaze. Together they walked out into the now-freezing evening. "Esau," she said softly, gently, "please don't pout. It hurts me, especially when I'm trying hard to do what's right."

  She stood with her hands on his thick shoulders, her large hands, larger than any organic human's, and crushingly strong. "This is a party, honey. It looks like the war may really be over, and the killing and dying done with. What I'd like best to do is sneak off with you somewhere-a water-heater room would be fine. But I can't… do… " Her voice broke unexpectedly, hitting him like a heavy punch in the chest, in the heart. "I can't do… the things we did any longer." She recovered herself quickly though. "I just can't be… your wife, your lover, any longer. No matter how much I'd like to. And I want you to find someone who can." Her fingers had tightened, and realizing it, she let her hands fall. Crouching, she peered earnestly, urgently into his eyes. "Do you see, honey?"

  With that she broke entirely, sobbing and shaking despite having no tear glands. Esau watched silently dismayed, spilling enough tears of his own to do for both of them. Finding her hand, he led her farther from the mess hall, to the shelter of a large tree, where they embraced, metal against flesh. Without warning his control melted, grief surging out, grief he hadn't known was still there. Surged violently enough, bitterly enough, it snapped Jael out of her own grief. "It's all right," she murmured, a large hand patting him gently. "It's all right."

  Half a minute sufficed him; then they separated. He discovered he didn't have a handkerchief, so he pulled out a shirttail, mopped his cheeks, then blew his juicy nose with his fingers, and wiped them on his pants, behind the thighs.

  "There," he said, and surprised her with a shaky laugh. "I believe that's it. Sorry I was so messy. I still forget to carry a handkerchief sometimes." He smiled ruefully. "What d'you want to do?"

  "We need to get an annulment. Not a divorce, an annulment. They're different. I talked to Sergeant Major Rinaldi and she checked with the chaplain." Jael paused. "But, honey, I want you to dance with those girls that came with me. I know them both. They're really nice. And if either of them makes a play for you-I'd feel so… " For a moment it seemed she might break again, but she rallied. "I'd feel so pleased if you'd go along with it."

  Esau met her gaze. It was… metallic. There was a soul there, and goodness, and love, but the eyes weren't really eyes. He nodded. "I'll dance with them if you'll dance with Isaiah. He just now went in. I think it was him."

  Now it was her turn to stand silent a moment. "All right," she said, "I will. But I need to tell you, dancing won't be the same wearing-this." She gestured at her body. "Not even with someone else my size. Now let's go back."

  ***

  Esau danced with both women, several times during the next hour, but it was Ensign Aribau who made a pass at him. Ensign Gaughan, Esau's hutmate, saw them leave the mess hall, and told himself to stay away from the hut till the party was over.

  Meanwhile, dancing with Isaiah was more enjoyable than Jael had expected. Moving her body-gracefully!-in time with the quick and lively music, was enjoyable by itself. Enough that she didn't notice Esau leave with Bjorg. When she realized they were gone, she felt warmly fond of them both. It was a milestone for her.

  Epilog

  Soldiers has been the story of a war, and with the Treaty of Eridani Prime, the war and the story were over-officially, and pretty much in fact. But whether human or Wyzhnyny, those who'd survived had futures, reset by the war itself, and by the treaty.

  The war had never been named, officially or otherwise. It was just "the war." There was no other. Ther
e hadn't been since that earlier turning point, that long-ago fraternal conflict known as the Troubles. In his speech announcing the peace agreement, President Chang asked that it not be referred to as the Wyzhnyny War. The surviving Wyzhnyny would become part of the Commonwealth, and their integration would not be eased by naming the war after them. Describe it as it was, he said, but call it simply "the Invasion."

  A millennium earlier he'd never have gotten away with a suggestion like that. But now, near the end of the third millennium, his request was very largely complied with. Gradually over the centuries, humankind had become increasingly civilized, with a civility beyond political correctness. A consensus civility. Without it, civilization and quite possibly humankind would not have survived in the Sol System long enough to meet the Wyzhnyny. There was still significant and occasionally noisy social discord, but all in all, people were remarkably and comfortably civil.

  Even on the hundreds of colony worlds settled by reclusive ethnic groups, and religious, political, and philosophical sects, civility tended to be the rule-at least as long as they were left alone, to live as they pleased.

  Among the people of the forty-four human worlds conquered and depopulated by the Wyzhnyny, cultural disruption had been extreme. But the people lacked the passion, the zeal of their expatriate forebears. Many of the evacuees harbored bitterness or grief, but few felt gnawed upon for revenge.

  And most did go home, arriving to find it unrecognizable. With Core World help they rebuilt farms, villages, and towns, but it would never be the same. The genie didn't fit in the bottle anymore. Their cultural realities had been irreparably changed by the war and their brief exiles.

  ***

  On Terra, a number of antiwar activists had already been tried for terrorism. A remarkable phenomenon: antiwar terrorists! And among the Terran public, zeal had become even more distasteful than before.