by Rick Shelley
“Straightaway?”
David shook his head. “Let everyone get a few minutes rest first, time to get the kinks out and grab a bite. Fifteen minutes, say.” He let his head droop forward and stared at the ground. “If I thought there was any difference, I’d say get Alfie and Will to pick the fire teams that are in the best shape, but … we’re all dragging.”
“I’ll check with them anyway,” Hopewell said.
“Yeah, do that.” David stripped off his pack and harness and flopped back onto the ground. Hopewell got up and limped off to talk with the platoon sergeants. A moment later, Lead Sergeant Naughton came over and squatted next to the captain.
“If you came to tell me that everyone’s beat to hell and around the corner, save your breath,” David said. “I know.”
“I have had two men ask if they should start digging their own graves,” Naughton said.
David turned his head to look more directly at Naughton. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m not, and I’m not sure they were.” Naughton adjusted his position, sitting and stretching his legs. “We’ve set some sort of record, I think, Cap. A hundred and twenty or thirty miles in four days, most of it through jungle, temperatures near a hundred every day, and survived several firefights in the process. I doubt there’s a man among us who hasn’t lost at least twenty pounds. A few of the lads are starting to look like walking cadavers.”
“We’re almost there, Mitch. Lieutenant Hopewell is going to send two fire teams to watch the hotel until sunset. We’ll move in then, unless the scouts see anything that says we shouldn’t.”
“Saying we go in and find people, including the one we’re looking for in particular, what then? We really haven’t talked about that. You haven’t said what we’re going to do then.”
“If he’s there, we’ve accomplished half our mission,” David said. “The rest is to keep him, and anyone else we find there, safe until we can get them off-planet or into safer hands. Since we haven’t had any contact with Avon, we have to assume that we’re going to have to wait for the regiment to arrive. Once we turn our charges over, our job is done.”
“It’s not just that we’ve lost Avon, one way or another,” Naughton said. “The Feddies know we’re in the area. If they haven’t already visited this hotel, you can bet they will before much longer. Cor, they have to know it’s there. Even if—by some bloody miracle—they haven’t pulled all the folks out of it seven years back.”
“I know. We can’t just check in and take a bit of holiday until the regiment shows. I wish we could. God, do I wish we could. Before we left the ship, I thought maybe we would be able to. This whole thing has been a bad dream. A bit crackers. Despite what I was told the last contact I had with Avon, I suppose the most likely scenario is that we’ll find that the hotel has been abandoned since the beginning of the war, that there’s nobody left and no way to guess what happened to them. If so, our entire mission is a bloody waste, and a lot of good men have died for nothing.” Spencer was unaware of the way his voice had changed while he was talking, getting harder, louder.
“If the hotel is empty, deserted, and the Feddies knowit, then we might be safe there for a day, or at least for the night,” Naughton suggested, lowering his voice as a hint to the captain. “And if himself is there, then we’re going to be bloody heroes. Like when your old lot saved his brother on Buchanan.”
David snorted. “If it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t be here now. Some other poor bastard would have the headaches. And good riddance. I don’t think I’ve ever hurt so bad, not even the two times I’ve taken bullets.”
“Getting back to what I was saying, Cap. Supposing they are there and we make contact. What then?”
“They are there, Mitch.” David sighed. “Avon reported seeing at least one person on the lawn before we lost contact. I was just … letting my pessimism run away with me before, I guess. We get the civilians out of the hotel as quickly as possible and find a place in the jungle to set up camp and wait, someplace we can defend if we have to, but with any luck, a place where the Feddies won’t find us before the regiment lands and gives them too many other problems to worry about besides us.”
“If the prince is there, he might not take kindly to the idea of abandoning the hotel for a night or two outside.”
David actually managed a smile. “Then I’ll have to pull rank on him, Mitch. My orders come from his brother.”
Nace Jeffries had made corporal and been given his squad’s second fire team only weeks before, when his predecessor made sergeant and took over the entire third squad of 1st Platoon. Twenty years old, Nace had three years in uniform. Wartime easing of requirements had let him enlist at seventeen, and an adolescent stirring of patriotism had given him the desire. Serving in the Marines had more appeal than any of the real alternatives. His school marks had not been exceptional enough to offer much hope of achieving anything he thought he might like to attempt. Likewise, his athletic prowess had not been enough to offer him the slightest hope of becoming a professional soccer player, the great dream of his childhood. In his thirty-five months inuniform there had been many times when he had wished that he had been more diligent in either his studies or his soccer training. His four days on Camerein had been filled with such moments.
“There’s no point arguing,” he told his men after Sergeant Edwards gave him the orders. “On your feet. Let’s get the job done. You can bitch all you want to later.” His legs hurt enough that he didn’t have to act to sound grouchy. Both calves had been cramping repeatedly.
Terry “Curls” Murphy, Zol Ketchum, and Igor Vilnuf filed past him, toward the edge of the detachment’s position. As soon as the last man went by, Nace started moving as well, only slowly returning to his place at the head of the column. On the other side of the perimeter, another fire team was also moving out. Nace gave them only a brief glance.
Nine hundred yards. If we had a little more time, I’d think about crawling it, Nace thought as he led his men away. Give some different muscles a chance to hurt.
He did not set a blistering pace. Ten minutes of rest had not been enough to do anything but ease the first edge of pain from sore feet and cramped leg muscles. There was a good path through the jungle. Nace kept his eyes open against the chance that the Federation might have planted mines, or an ambush, on the approaches to the hotel, but he was not all that alert. He tried, but the past four days had taken too much out of him.
Before the fire team had gone a hundred yards, Nace had seen clear signs that humans had walked the trail. Footprints had dried in what had been mud. He pointed out the three impressions to his men as they went past him.
“They don’t look like military boots,” he whispered to each man, “but be ready for anything.”
As much as it rains around here, those prints can’t be too old, he thought. Maybe only a few days. He worried at that; it gave his mind something to think about besides the way his body was screaming for relief. Those prints had time to dry out. Bloody miracle that anything can dry outin this jungle. We’ve hit rain since we’ve been here. Maybe they didn’t have any right here, though, or not enough to turn the path back into mud.
Thoughts did not detract from watching the trail in front and the jungle to either side. At the minimal level of alertness he could manage, the two were able to coexist. The hotel was supposed to be just over a half mile from where the patrol had started. There was supposed to be a wide lawn around the hotel—if it had been kept up through seven years of isolation and warfare. If not, the jungle might have reclaimed that ground, moved right up to the hotel and its outlying buildings. Vines might have covered the structures, started to bring them down, without regular maintenance.
Once Nace estimated that they had covered two thirds of the distance, he slowed the pace even more, taking a few steps and then stopping to look through every gap in the trees ahead, wanting his first glimpse of their goal as early as possible.
It was twenty-
five minutes after leaving the rest of the detachment before he saw anything but jungle.
Nace held up his right hand to stop the others behind him. His first glimpse of the hotel was a patch of white between two trees. He held his breath and listened. All he heard were the normal sounds of this jungle, the sounds he had been hearing for four days—when there wasn’t any shooting going on.
After a moment, he gestured to the left, away from the path. This last stretch, there had been considerable undergrowth in the jungle, as if in protest of the wide open area around the hotel.
Nace found a spot where his men could move away from the path without crawling or hacking an opening through underbrush. Getting fifteen yards from the trail took ten minutes. But by the end of that time, the four men had a much better view. Beyond the next trees and a last barrier of vines and bushes they could see the manicured lawn of the Commonwealth Excelsior, and much of the hotel itself.
“Scoot in and get yourselves comfy, close enough to see anything happening, but not out where anybody can see you,” Nace whispered. “Keep a couple of yards between you, and keep your eyes open. We’re not here to take a nap. I catch anyone kipping out and he’ll answer to me in a big way.”
Nace got down and used elbows and toes to move forward under a tangle of vines that looked nearly as formidable as a roll of concertina wire, with thorns that were as sharp as the barbs on the wire. They pricked into his shoulders and rump through battledress and field skin, but he didn’t hear either ripping. Nace slid his rifle along in front of him, moving it from side to side until he had a little more visibility, and clear fields of fire—just in case.
Once he was as comfortable as he was likely to get, Nace pulled his binoculars from their case. The compact seven-power glasses had eyepieces that could be pressed against a helmet’s faceplate so that it would not be necessary to lift that. The first thing he did with the binoculars was check the distance to the hotel. His eyes were one hundred twenty-four yards from the nearest wall of the building. The glasses gave the distance to within inches, but Nace wasn’t interested in anything that precise.
Next he did a survey of what he could see without crawling out into the open. His location was good, giving him a view of two sides of the building and most of the lawn, down to the river on his left. The other patrol had been sent toward the right. They should be able to see the south side of the building, and some of the lawn behind. There would still be a portion of the lawn and hotel that neither group would be able to see though, a cone of invisibility if there were any Federation troops sneaking around.
But the Feddies couldn’t know which side has the area we can’t see, Nace assured himself.
He continued to watch, doing a series of slow scans. At first, there was no sign of anyone in or near the hotel, but the fact that there was still a hundred-yard swatch of mown grass around the building made it overwhelmingly likelythat there were people around. Even the best automated lawn-care machinery would not operate for seven years in jungle conditions without a mechanic to perform routine maintenance.
When someone came out of the hotel and walked to the railing that bounded the porch, Nace still nearly gasped aloud in surprise. He focused on the person—a man—and looked closely, as if he thought there might be a chance that he could identify whoever it was.
They were right! There are people here, he thought, amazed. Seven bloody years and some gent comes out to have a look at the bloody river. Nace pulled the binoculars away and looked toward the hotel without them. The figure was still there.
I’ve got to tell the others, Nace decided, although he knew that they were supposed to maintain radio silence. It’s either call or send someone back, and I don’t want to tempt a mutiny.
He opened the channel that would connect him to Alfie Edwards and whispered, as if that might lessen the chance of discovery.
“Sarge, Nace. There’s someone in the hotel. A civie from the look, out on the porch, just standing there.”
“Right. Keep watching, and get off the air.”
Alfie hurried over to the captain as rapidly as his sore feet and aching legs would carry him.
“I just had a call from Nace Jeffries, Cap,” he said before he dropped to the ground. “He’s spotted one person at the hotel, standing on the porch. Said he looked like a civilian.”
David had been more than half asleep, drifted off to a level where his aches and pains had not seemed so immediate. But he sat up quickly when he heard what Alfie had to say.
“You’re sure?” he asked.
“That’s what he said. I didn’t even holler at him much for breaking radio silence.”
“I don’t know if I dare believe it.” David shook his head. Even the report from Avon had not completely convinced him. “It seemed so bloody unlikely.” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm himself. He was as excited as Alfie, and excitement—any emotion—could cloud judgment. His first impulse was to forget his plan to wait for sunset and take the men in now, or at least send the one fire team in to make contact immediately.
“Any change in orders?” Alfie asked.
David hesitated before he opened his eyes and shook his head. “No, we’ll wait until sunset, give everyone a chance to rest. You told Jeffries to keep watching, didn’t you?”
“Of course.”
Spencer got to his feet slowly. He stretched, taking care to extend the calf muscles in each leg. Both still hurt, but not nearly as much as they had an hour before. “We’ll wait,” he repeated. “Once the shadows get thick in here, we’ll move in, put a ring around the hotel.” He paused. “Cover three sides at least. Then I’ll go in with one squad to make contact.”
“You?” Alfie asked.
David sat down again. “When the king gave me my promotion, he said it was because some folks thought it wouldn’t be proper to have his brother rescued by a mere lieutenant. I really don’t think I have any choice. I’m supposed to be the one who goes in and sees if he’s really still there.”
“You might be walking into a trap,” Alfie said. “The Feddies have had time to go in, nab anybody there, and set up something nasty to see who walked in. Even the bloke out on the porch could be bait. Just because we haven’t run into any more ambushes doesn’t mean that there won’t be one at the end.”
“I still don’t have any choice, Alfie. It goes with the territory.”
“In that case, the squad you go in with will be mine, and I’ll be there with you. You and I have been together since this war started. I’m not about to let you go off byyourself and get into God only knows what kind of trouble.”
David laughed softly. “That’s a dangerous habit you’ve picked up, Alfie, volunteering all the time. You used to know better.”
Dark green shadows were thick, edging into the blackness of night, when the detachment moved in toward the Commonwealth Excelsior. Spencer separated his platoons, sending one off on each of the trails that the first fire teams had taken. Lead Sergeant Naughton was with 2nd Platoon and the headquarters squad. Lt. Hopewell would remain with 1st Platoon when David went in with its first squad.
David had taken time to check with the leaders of the fire teams that had been watching the hotel, breaking radio silence. Both teams had seen people in the hotel. There were interior lights on, at least on the ground floor, and there were a number of people present, including at least two women.
“No way the lads would be mistaken about that,” Alfie said when David told him.
So near the goal, the Marines moved at a casual pace. When they neared the edge of the clearing around the hotel, the remaining squads of 1st Platoon were moved to cover the west side. Farther off, 2nd Platoon would cover the south and as much of the east as they could without stretching the line too thin. The north side held the river. David and Alfie’s squad waited on the path until everyone was in position. Each squad leader gave a terse report when his men were ready.
“Well, Sergeant Edwards, are you ready?” David asked.
“Aye, Captain Spencer, as ready as I’m ever likely to be. What do we do, just walk in and ask if our rooms are ready?”
“Not to mention a drink and a hot tub,” David said, suddenly feeling a little giddy.
“And an even hotter masseuse,” Alfie replied, determined not to be outdone. He had not suddenly decided thatthere was no danger after all, but—somehow—much of the weight of the war and his responsibilities seemed to have eased, if only briefly.
David and Alfie walked across the lawn together, no more than six feet separating them. Each had his rifle at his side in one hand. Half of the squad walked on either side in a loose skirmish line, weapons at the ready, but loosely.
“We don’t want it to look as if we’re the first assault wave,” David had said when he outlined how he wanted to approach the hotel. “If anything does happen, just go flat and let the rest of the lads take care of the immediate response.”
There were stairs leading up to the porch, or veranda, on both sides of the hotel that Spencer could see. He headed toward the nearest set. No one was outside, at least not visible, but there were indeed lights on inside the hotel, and by the time that David had crossed half of the hundred-yard lawn, he could hear the faint sound of music emanating from the building.
“You don’t suppose they’re holding a bloody dance, do you?” Alfie asked in a forced whisper.
“I don’t know. Do you remember how to waltz?”
David took a deep breath and let it out. This escapade suddenly felt incredibly bizarre, something out of a lunatic fantasy. Reality seemed to dance and spin away, faster the harder he tried to grasp it. He stopped walking for an instant, trying to gather his wits. If they’re in costume for a fancy dress ball, I’ll go straight out of my head, he thought. At the moment, it would not have surprised him.
“You all right, Cap?” Alfie asked.
David nodded. “I think so. Let’s get in there and get this over with.”
David went to the left side of the stairs and used the railing for support as he climbed to the porch. He found himself treading softly, as if a step might creak and bring unimaginable disaster down on their heads. Alfie was at the otherside of the fifteen-foot-wide stairway, but he did not use the rail. He had both hands on his rifle now.