Kingdom's Swords

by David Sherman

  Lieutenant Humphrey signed off after getting Sergeant Bladon's report and called out on the company command circuit.

  "Bladon thinks they're organizing to overrun his squad," Humphrey told his platoon commanders and platoon sergeants. They could all hear firing and the Skink voices. Heavy fire sounded from the positions of the other two companies, but the only shooting Company L was doing was in the direction of third platoon's second squad. The Skink voices were all in that direction, and sounded closer to the isolated squad than to the perimeter. "We have to send someone out there to help them."

  "Those are my people, Skipper," Gunnery Sergeant Bass said immediately. "I have to go."

  "Charlie, you only have one blaster squad and your gun squad. That's not enough, we don't know how many of them are between us and your squad."

  "It's enough if we hit them fast and hard. They probably won't expect us. We can break through and bring my people back before they can organize to do anything about us."

  "Skipper," interjected Lieutenant Rokmonov, the assault platoon commander, "I've got a very pissed-off section leader breathing down my neck. He wants to take a squad outside the perimeter and raise some hell."

  "That would give me a lot more fire power than a full-strength blaster platoon," Bass added before Humphrey could nix the idea.

  There wasn't time for further discussion, and Humphrey was reluctant to pull a platoon from a different part of the perimeter.

  "Do it," he ordered. "Rokmonov, place a section to cover third platoon's sector."

  It only took two minutes for third platoon to get ready for its rush and for Staff Sergeant daCruz to arrive with a squad from his section. Fire and voices rose toward a crescendo at second squad's position.

  Bass made sure the assault squad with its heavy gun was on the platoon circuit, then gave the order. "Nothing fancy, people, this is a roundhouse blow. We go out at the double and don't stop for anything. Hold your fire for my command unless you see a target. Kill anyone and anything that isn't a Marine. Ready?" He didn't ask for questions. "Let's go!"

  Twenty-four Marines ran on line toward second squad's position. The rate of fire and the alien shouts there were furious. As he ran, Bass radioed to Bladon that they were on their way. He no sooner said that than a swarm of dim red smears showed on his infra.

  "THIRD PLATOON, FIRE!" he shouted loud enough that he didn't need his helmet comm. "Second squad, get down!" He opened fire.

  The assault squad set up its gun and fired into the midst of the Skinks massed before second squad's hollow. The night lit up with the flashes of so many dying Skinks, the Marines had to raise their light gatherers. The crack-sizzle of blasters combined with the whine of the assault gun to drown out all other noises.

  "Second squad, on me!" Bass shouted as he flared three charging Skinks before they could get off shots of their own.

  "Squad leaders, make sure you've got everybody, then withdraw," Bass ordered as soon as second squad joined him. He didn't comment on the body his infra showed one Marine carrying, or the irregular gaits of several of the others.

  "On the double, people; Mama doesn't want us staying out all night."

  They ran.

  "Oh, man, did you see that?" Lance Corporal Claypoole said excitedly. "It was like a fireworks show out there! Our weapons were the Roman candles and their flashes were the bursting stars!" His adrenaline was still pumping.

  Lance Corporal Dean just stared at him. It had been horrendous. There were so many Skinks out there that if third platoon hadn't caught them by such complete surprise, the slaughter would have gone the other way. His adrenaline had stopped pumping and he was feeling the letdown.

  "You're lucky you're not in my fire team," Corporal Pasquin snarled.

  "What do you mean?" Claypoole asked, grinning.

  "You're so damn dumb that if you were in my fire team I'd just have to smack you upside the head. You're not, so I can't. That's Corporal Dornhofer's job." Pasquin reached out and thumped the back of Dean's helmet.

  "Ow! Wha'd you hit me for?" Dean yelped.

  "Because you're listening to that dumb turd. Besides, you're mine and I'm allowed to."

  "Good thing you didn't hit my favorite turd, Pasquin," Dornhofer snarled as he rapped his knuckles against Claypoole's helmet. "I'd have to hurt you bad if you did."

  Pasquin laughed. "Yeah? You and what army?"

  Dornhofer leaned close, jutting his jaw. "Ain't nothing no damn army can do a Marine corporal worth his salt can't do better by his lonesome."

  "Now now, children," said Sergeant Ratliff, first squad leader, "play nice or you don't get any cookies with your bedtime milk."

  The two corporals looked at him indignantly, then leaned in close together.

  "One of these days we have to do something about him," Dornhofer whispered.

  "Yeah," Pasquin whispered back. "Sergeants. Promote a corporal to sergeant and he looses all humanity. They need to be taught some humility once in a while."

  PFC Godenov, the third man in Pasquin's fire team, laughed to himself through the entire exchange. PFC Hayes, Dornhofer's third man, on only his second deployment and in his first real combat, looked on wide-eyed.

  The mood in second squad wasn't so high. Watson was dead, and Linsman, Rodamour, and Kerr had wounds. Longfellow needed to be evacuated. The corpsmen wanted to evacuate Schultz, but the big man leveled his blaster at them and told them it was his arm, not a leg, he could walk, so patch him up well enough to stay with the squad. The corpsmen complied. They knew Schultz would respond to the battalion surgeon the same way, so there wasn't any point in sending him to the battalion aid station.

  Fighting continued around the perimeters of the other two companies, but Company L's area was quiet.

  "I think your second squad broke up an assault on us," Top Myer said. He sipped the steaming caf he was sharing with the third platoon commander in the company command post. Bass had already debriefed on second squad's patrol and his own rescue mission.

  Gunny Bass listened to the fighting around the other two companies. "I think you're right," he agreed. "That's one reason we send patrols out when we're in night positions." He blew on his caf and wished again that Myer hadn't served so much time on ship's complement—he'd gotten used to navy coffee and brewed his own the same way. As near as Bass was able to figure out, the navy made coffee from the sludge that remained behind after they scrubbed old paint from their ships.

  "Gutsy thing you did then, charging out there with an understrength platoon."

  "They're my people, Top. No way I could abandon them."

  Myer nodded. That was a big part of what made Charlie Bass such a good commander—he took care of his people. The Corps needed more officers like that. Now if only he could convince him to accept a commission.

  "Just because they aren't hitting us now doesn't mean they're not going to later," Myer said.

  "Got that right. I'll make sure my people are ready." Bass poured out the dregs of his caf and left the company command post.

  Myer stared at the space Bass had just occupied and sipped at his caf. Yes indeed, that Charlie Bass would make a fine FIST commander someday. If only he'd let the Corps turn him into an officer.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lew Conorado considered the five men who boarded the Cambria at Siluria a bit odd but not so out of the ordinary that he had reason to think them suspicious. They just did not act like miners. It was his experience that men who made their living in danger's way were garrulous and lived hard when off duty. Such men were loud, raw, and earthy, like Marines. These men were not like that. They spoke politely when spoken to but never initiated a conversation and kept largely to themselves.

  That the miners were religious men was evident at the first meal served in the common dining area. They sat together in a far corner of the galley and before they ate their simple meal, held hands as they said grace over their food. The antique ritual caused some brief comment among the other diners at first,
but by the second day the other passengers had taken to ignoring the five strangers, which seemed to suit the five just fine.

  It took several days to load the Cambria's holds. Conorado spent much of the time on the bridge, observing the operations. Hundreds of lighters soared up from the planet's surface to unload cargo into the ship's yawning bays. The passengers were allowed to visit Siluria's surface if they wanted to, but Conorado was content to stay on board. Besides, the crew, especially its young systems engineer, Jennifer Lenfen, were required to remain at their stations until the loading was completed, and Conorado felt a need to be near her.

  Their chance meeting on the bridge that night before the ship reached Siluria had developed into a sort of friendship. They had even taken to eating their meals together when Jennifer was off duty. The more time he spent with the young technician, the more he liked her. Besides, when he was with her, his own problems, marital and official, receded a bit and he was actually able to relax and enjoy himself.

  "I wanted to join the navy after college," she told him at lunch the second day after making the jump into hyperspace from Siluria, "but my family is not very well off. This job pays more, and between contracts I have plenty of time to spend with my folks and sisters and brothers."

  "How many in your family?" Conorado asked.

  "Nine of us. I'm number seven." Conorado raised an eyebrow and said something about how he'd have liked to have had a family that size.

  "Well," she responded, "old traditions die slowly. The Chinese have always favored large families, especially if the kids are boys. But I haven't done badly for a girl."

  "Where do you come from?"

  "My ancestors were among the original settlers on T'ai Chung at the end of the last century, but I got my engineering and computer science degrees at M'Jumba University on Carhart's World."

  Conorado smiled. "I don't know T'ai Chung, probably because you don't have any need for a Marine expeditionary force there, which is just as well. M'Jumba's a good school, I've heard. A professor of history there helped us out once with some badly needed advice. It was on the Diamundian Incursion. Do you know about that operation?"

  "I remember reading about it. Who was the professor?"

  "Jere... Jere..."

  "Benjamin! Yes, I had him for an elective course!" She sat up and snapped her fingers. "Old Jere Benjamin! Golly, he was a character! But could he teach! We all loved the old bird. What's he doing now?"

  Conorado hesitated a moment. "He passed away, Jenny," he answered softly. At the look of real sorrow that crossed the young technician's face, Conorado wished he'd lied and said he didn't know what had happened to the professor. "Well, there was heavy fighting on Diamunde, and unfortunately Professor Benjamin was killed. It was quick and he really was a brave man, Jenny, as brave as any of my Marines." He was not about to tell her that Professor Benjamin had been tortured to death by Marston St. Cyr. "I'm really sorry, Jenny, I wish—"

  "Oh," she sighed, "that's okay, Lew. It was just unexpected news, that's all. Besides, who'd ever have thought the two of us would meet like this and that we'd have these common points of interest?" She was quiet for a moment and then brightened again. "Say, Lew! Have you gone on a tour of the ship yet? I'm scheduled to take some of the diplomatic personnel out tomorrow. Would you like to come along?"

  "Not only yes, but hell, yes! as we say in the Corps! You just tell me when and where and what the uniform is and I'll be there!"

  Jennifer laid a hand softly on Conorado's forearm, "Lew, I want you to come along, and thanks for taking the time to sit with me and talk like this." She wanted to rush on and say something awkward like, "I've never met a man like you before!" but she was not that stupid. "We're assembling on the bridge at four hours tomorrow."

  Conorado laughed. He had almost blurted out what he was really thinking: that he couldn't think of anyone he'd rather take a tour of the ship with than Jennifer Lenfen. But he would never embarrass a woman like Jennifer. Instead he said, "I have nothing else on my schedule for tomorrow that can't be moved to another day. I'll wear my utilities."

  Conorado whistled softly as he walked back to his stateroom. This trip to perdition—or whatever fate awaited him back on Earth—was not turning out to be half as bad as he'd anticipated.

  A car was waiting about a hundred meters up the alley.

  "Who are you?" the man asked as he shoved Marta along.

  "My name is Conorado and I am the wife of a Confederation Marine officer," she answered. "And who are you?"

  "Ah?" the man responded. "That is excellent! Excellent!" He pushed her toward the car but did not give his own name. The foul stink of the vehicle's internal combustion engine brought tears to Marta's eyes and she began to cough. The driver shoved open the rear door from inside. From the main street behind them several men appeared, running, weapons drawn.

  "Halt or we shoot!" one yelled in Norse.

  "You shoot, I kill the woman! She is the wife of a Confederation Marine officer," the big man yelled back. Holding Marta firmly by the hair, he twisted her around so the policemen could see her face before he roughly shoved her into the back of the car. He slid in beside her. Looking out the back window, Marta saw the police hesitate for a moment and then run quickly back out into the main street. The driver gunned the engine, and they were off down the alleyway before the doors were fully closed.

  "Did you get him?" the driver asked as she guided the vehicle out of the alley into another main thoroughfare and directly into a heavy stream of traffic. Despite the squealing of brakes and desperate maneuvering of the other drivers, she weaved in and out of the traffic expertly. She saw an opening and raced for it, pressing her passengers into the backseat as the car accelerated.

  "I got him, but he wasn't alone. There were people with him."

  "Goddamnit, Bengt! Did they recognize you?"

  "No. I wore the mask."

  "Who's the woman?"

  It was clear to Marta that he'd not planned to take a hostage after whatever it was he'd done. He just snatched the first vulnerable person he'd seen on the street. "I am Marta Conorado, wife of Captain Lewis Conorado, Confederation Marine Corps!" she shouted over the roar of the car's laboring engine. "It's just my luck," she added in Norse, "to be kidnapped by a couple of morons who can't even pull off a—a—job without fucking it up!"

  "Oh?" the man called Bengt responded as he shoved the gun into her ribs and fired.

  Jennifer Lenfen was surprised so many of the passengers showed up for her tour of the Cambria. All five of the grim men who'd boarded at Siluria were there, as well as Jamison Franks and several of his staff, including James Palmita, who never took his eyes off her. None of the others seemed to notice or care, so it was with a sense of relief that she went to stand beside Lew Conorado when he finally showed up.

  "Gentlemen," she began, "welcome to the bridge of the starship Cambria. I am going to introduce you to the crew on duty up here and explain how the bridge of a starship operates. Then we will tour the ship. Along the way you'll meet other members of our crew. Please get to know them. Every one of us is dedicated to serving you while you are a passenger on this vessel."

  "You can ‘serve’ me anytime, baby," Palmita muttered.

  The five miners seemed particularly interested as Jennifer explained the workings of the bridge. She was surprised at how intelligent their questions were and gratified by the interest they expressed when she explained her own responsibilities. She had no way to know, but one of the miners, who introduced himself as Epher Gospel, actually knew quite a bit about starship navigation, and another, Lordsday Sabbath, was, like Jennifer, a computer systems engineer.

  "Miss," one of the miners said, "we had the obligatory emergency evacuation orientation when we came aboard, but would it be possible to see one of the lifecraft on our tour today?"

  Jennifer was caught off guard by the question. "Well, yes, sir, we can, we can, but you know, spaceway regulations only require that passengers be brief
ed on a ship's evacuation plan. The crew is responsible for the lifecraft, and it is not necessary that you even see one for us to get you inside in the most unlikely event—I assure you—that they are needed. Even if we were holed many times for whatever the cause, the Cambria has a self-sealing system that can immediately—"

  "Yes, miss, I understand that, but just curious. I would just like to peek inside a lifecraft." Several of his companions nodded their agreement.

  "Yeah, Jenny," Palmita added with a grin, "let's you and me climb inside one of those things and make a breakaway."

  Jennifer studiously ignored Palmita. The grin quickly faded from his face at the glare Conorado gave him.

  "Gentlemen," she addressed the miners, "certainly we'll take a look inside one of our lifecraft. Now, are we ready to board shuttles and visit the first of the Cambria's five cargo modules? They are all full of the ore we loaded on Siluria, over one million metric tons of it, destined for the refineries of Luna. We will conclude the tour at the propulsion plant. All told, it will take us about five hours to make the circuit." She clapped her hands eagerly. "Is everyone ready?" she asked. Conorado smiled. She was acting just like an activity director on a cruise ship, inviting everyone to a game of shuffleboard.

  "Lead on, Miss Lenfen, and damned be he who cries, ‘Hold, enough!’ " Jamison Franks III said with a dramatic flourish and a bow.

  Palmita laughed. "I got up real early this morning, just for you, Jenny."

  Colonel Ramadan unglued his eyes and looked at the time: 0315 hours! "Goddamn," he muttered as he punched the comm unit. "Ramadan here."

  "Sir, Ensign Joannides, staff duty officer, naval district HQ. Sorry to wake you up, but top priority message from New Oslo, a relay from the embassy. You'll need your visuals."