by Rick Shelley
“His Majesty sent you, you said?”
“Yes, sir. Personally. I have had the honor of knowing both of your brothers. I have even seen combat at the side of the Duke of Haven.”
“Willy in combat? There’s a novel image.”
“He acquitted himself most honorably, sir, if I may say so.”
“He would. Willy puts everything into any endeavor.”
“All I know, sir, is that we spent time in dire straits and came through. He would make a rare fine Marine officer.”
After he had everything else ready, the prince donned his hunting vest. Its loops and pockets had already been stocked with shells for the morning. As he picked up the shotgun and his pack, he turned to Spencer.
“I am ready, Captain.”
“Yes, sir. I hope we don’t get in a spot where you’ll need that.” David pointed at the shotgun.
“But if we do, I can hardly send back for it and tell the Feddies to please wait, now can I?”
“No, sir. Of course not. I had no intention of suggesting that you leave it behind.”
“As long as I’m willing to carry it myself?”
“Since you mention it, sir, yes.”
“There is something that perhaps none of the others have thought of yet, Captain Spencer. We can carry much more than we could individually pack on our own backs. This hotel has a number of safari bugs, eight-legged walkers, very silent and able to move at least as fast as a man through the jungle.”
“We don’t dare use anything that could be scanned by Feddies, sir. That means nothing electronic. We won’t even use our helmet radios except in the most immediate of emergencies until we try to make contact with the fleet coming in.”
“Master Lorenqui should have a better knowledge of what sort of electronic noise the machines might leak. You might ask him if they could give us away.”
“Any active electronic signals could, sir, and that includes control mechanisms of any sort.”
“Very well. I accept your knowledge of such things. It was a thought.”
“Yes, sir. I hope you won’t hesitate any time you have a suggestion.”
“Oh, I can assure you of that.” George laughed. “I’ve never been good at keeping my opinions to myself. A family failing, I’ve been told.”
There were plenty of backpacks for the civilians. In a jungle hotel, that was inevitable. There were also all of the ancillary devices that well-paying guests might require for their excursions, including night-vision goggles. Shadda had thought to bring those out for his guests. And, in a back pocket, he carried a small automatic pistol. It would not have much effect on the larger varieties of indigenous wildlife, but it might do against a human target—especially at close range. The remaining members of the hotel staff had taken turns going off to get ready to leave. None had taken more than seven minutes.
All of the guests were quick to make their preparations and return. Ten minutes was the longest that anyone took away from the dining hall. When they returned, they congregated in the reception area of the hotel, well away from the windows—after being chased back by the Marine sergeant, who had been fairly gruff about it. “That’s it,” he told one man, “go and make a perfect target of yourself. A Feddie marksman could hit a target like you from six hundred yards off.” The man had moved quickly.
In less than thirty minutes, everyone was ready to leave. Only the continued flow of food from the replicators, packaged to go out into the bush, delayed the departure. The programming had been available. Shadda had known exactly what was required—food that would not spoil, thatwas high in calories and other dietary requirements without being overly bulky. He also found time to fill canteens for everyone, along with several spares.
“There, Captain,” Lorenqui said finally. “We now have enough to last the lot of us for five days. Including your people. You didn’t say whether or not your Marines needed food, but I thought that they might appreciate a change even if you have plenty.”
“They will indeed. Thank you. You are most efficient,” David said. “We’ll be off as soon as everyone gets loaded up.”
The loads were not divided equally. Some of the guests, especially among the women, were too small to carry a full share. But in remarkably few minutes everyone was ready to leave.
“Is there somewhere close where we can cross the river easily?” Spencer asked the manager.
“There is an easy ford just down the path.” Shadda pointed.
“That’s the way we’ll go, then.” David turned to Alfie. “Go out where the others can see you and get them moving. We’ll rendezvous at the river, or just on the other side.”
David and Prince George led the way out onto the veranda on the north side of the hotel. One fire team from the squad moved out ahead of them, jogging across the open lawn toward the river a hundred yards away. The other fire team held back to act as rear guard, and to make certain that none of their civilian charges started to straggle from the start. They also carried the bundles of food that Lorenqui had provided for the entire Marine Detachment. They had complained about the extra load until Alfie told them what they were carrying.
When Alfie returned, also jogging, he reported that the rest of the detachment was on the move.
The group was halfway to the river when the first of them heard the unmistakable sound of a military shuttle approaching. A Federation shuttle.
16
“Quickly!” Spencer called out as soon as he heard the Federation shuttle. “Across the river and into cover.”
None of the civilians could run with the loads they were carrying, but they hurried as best they could. The Marines did what they could to help, but the men with the civilians were loaded down as well—far more than any of the people from the hotel. David and Alfie turned their attention to the sky, looking for the first trace of the approaching shuttle. At night, they looked for it by scanning the visible stars, hoping that the shuttle would betray its presence by occulting one or more of the stars. Surfaced in nonreflective blacks, there would be no “glint of light” off the craft, and it certainly would show no running lights.
“It’s not coming in hot, anyway,” Alfie commented as he moved past David. They had their faceplates down but were not using radio links. If the shuttle had been coming in “hot”—fast, the way it would for a combat landing—the first sound the people on the ground would have heard would have been a sonic boom.
Alfie sent two men ahead to cross the river and mark the goal for the rest. After they reached the far bank, the two men stood with their weapons ready, watching the sky more than the people coming toward them on the ground.
David looked back toward the hotel. The main floor, at least, was still well lighted. Good job we didn’t turn them all out, he thought. This way, maybe the Feddies will figure it’s still just civilians inside and play it soft.
He dropped to the rear of the line of civilians. They were strung out over thirty yards, stretching farther with almost every step. “As fast as you can,” he urged the ones who were farthest back. “We don’t want a firefight if we can avoid it.”
Mentioning the possibility of combat lent some speed to the civilians. None of them were carrying half the load that a Marine considered routine—except perhaps Prince George with his shotgun and several dozen shells—but it was more than they were accustomed to. It had to be hard for some of them. David recognized that, but he also knew that they had to move quickly, especially now, before they were spotted by the incoming Feddies.
“Northeast, just over the trees,” Alfie called out in a stage whisper. “Can’t be more than two hundred feet up.”
The last civilians and Marines were at the edge of the river. Alfie detailed two men to stay behind as rear guard, to cross after everyone else was on the far bank and moving under cover of the jungle. They had a path in front of them, but trees overhanging on either side, and moderately dense undergrowth on the far side of the river.
“We could take them,” Alf
ie suggested. “A couple of rockets before they get out of the lander.”
David shook his head. “No, that would just draw more of them in fast: If we do nothing, they might not be certain how long we’ve been gone.”
He splashed out into the water. It was less than two feet deep at the deepest spot, over a firm, rocky bottom.
The last civilians were climbing out of the water when the shuttle appeared over the tops of the trees to the right and about two hundred yards away. David’s rear guard hurried across the stream, moving with gliding steps that minimized the disturbance. As the shuttle settled in to a soft landing on the hotel lawn, the final Marines were disappearing into the jungle, moving to the sides of the path and hurrying forward.
The rest of the men, coming from their posts surrounding the hotel, had stayed out of view. Spencer did not worry about them. They would move around to rendezvous. Commandos would have no difficulty finding the civilians and their escort.
Once they were out of sight of the hotel, in the dark of the jungle, the civilians’ pace slowed drastically. Thanks to the night-vision goggles Shadda had provided, they could see well enough, but their exertions demanded a slowdown—and begged for a halt, even after so few minutes. But David and Alfie kept them moving until they were more than two hundred yards from the river.
“Five minutes only,” David whispered softly, repeating himself several times as he moved along the path. “Keep as silent as you can. The Feddies might have sound detection gear with them, and we’re not far enough away to be safe.”
When he reached Prince George near the head of the column, David took time to explain the situation more carefully. “As soon as the rest of my men catch us up, sir, I’ll have a squad drop back as rear guard, keep them well behind us to slow the Feddies in case they do mark our trail and follow.”
“Whatever you think best, Captain,” George said. “I would not presume to tell you your business.”
David nodded, then moved back along the column again. The other civilians watched him closely, their eyes and heads tracking his movements. Some of the people were obviously hoping for a longer reprieve before they would have to start moving again.
When he reached the tail of the column, David needed only a few seconds to tell Alfie to pick out a squad when the rest of the detachment arrived, to put them back a hundred yards behind the rest, just in case.
“You want them to rig a few traps?” Alfie asked.
Spencer didn’t hesitate. “Yes, but tell them not to wastea lot of time with it. Just enough to make the Feddies move damn carefully if they do follow. One or two the first good spot, then maybe a reminder a mile or so farther on. And get those food packets from the hotel distributed.”
“We had to leave some of them behind, Cap,” Alfie said. “What with the rush of Feddies coming in.”
David shrugged. “Can’t be helped.”
“How hard do you think we can push our charges?”
David shook his head. “Not very, not without having half of them drop out by morning. We’re going to have to feel this out as we go, find the best pace they can hold, with frequent breaks. We can’t afford to have stragglers.”
“Twelve hours and the Feddies should have too much on their minds to worry about us,” Alfie said. “We could go off another three or four miles and then kip out until the invasion starts.”
“No. I want to put more distance between us and the hotel. In the morning, I’ll go off to the side two or three miles before I try to make contact. If the invasion is contested strongly, it might take some time to make contact with our people, and more time for them to get shuttles down to pick us up. The fleet will be dancing in and out of Q-space if they have to.”
“It sounds like you don’t think our troubles will be over that soon.”
“I just don’t want to take any chances. Even with an invasion on, the Feddies might wonder what the hell we’ve been doing here, and who we pulled out of that hotel. Once they get a look inside, it won’t take long to get some of the answers. If they do any kind of a search, they’ll know about His Highness, and then we’ll have as many Feddies in after us as they dare.”
Alfie gestured along the trail. “We’d best get moving then, before our guests settle in. Here come the rest of our lads.”
Only a few of the Marines had not seen a member of the royal family in person before—at least at a distance—butapart from the three men who had been with the unit since it was the intelligence and reconnaissance platoon of 1st Battalion, the only one who had actually come face to face with royalty was Lieutenant Hopewell. He had been introduced to the Duke of Haven at a Commonwealth Day reception. David Spencer, Alfie Edwards, and Will Cordamon had all spent considerable time with the Duke of Haven. Hopewell longed for the sort of advantage that Spencer had derived from his contacts—going from squad leader, a sergeant, to captain and command of the 2nd Marine Commando Detachment in five years.
Most of the lower ranks were curious about Prince George. Those with the opportunity gave him an occasional sidelong appraisal, watching to see how royalty would perform. The rest of the civilians were merely numbers, people who had to be shepherded along and kept safe, if possible. Prince George was the purpose of the mission. Every man in the detachment knew that his own survival was secondary to protecting His Highness. So many of their mates had died just trying to get to him. If twice as many died getting him to safety, the price would be paid. That gave a deep intensity to the looks the men gave him.
With the rest of the Marines close, the civilians felt safer—in varying degree. There was a man in uniform near each of the people removed from the Commonwealth Excelsior. More Marines were out in front, and behind, human shields between the civilians and danger.
There were few words from any of the civilians, but in spite of that their sound discipline was poor. Some breathed noisily with the effort of walking and carrying their packs. There were grunts and muffled curses as people tripped over roots or their own feet. And when the jungle closed in tightly on the trail, branches occasionally snapped.
Apart from the effort of walking, and always being prodded to a little more speed by their escorts, the civilians had good cause to be tired. They had left the hotel at the end of the day. Most had been up for a dozen hours or more, some considerably more. They had been looking forwardto an hour or two of leisurely pursuits, sitting around until it was time to retire, not to a forced march in the dark carrying clothing and several days worth of food.
By the time they had spent two hours walking, all of the civilians felt that they had done more than a fair day’s work. Even Prince George felt tired. He said nothing about that, though. Throughout, he had attempted to be the perfect rescuee, doing whatever the Marines asked, speaking only when their captain needed a reply. He was prepared to go on for as long as necessary without complaint, until he dropped if it came to that—until they had put as much distance as possible between themselves and the immediate threat, the load of Federation troops who had apparently descended on the hotel.
The pace was not outrageous, George decided. The Marines were as solicitous as they dared be, stopping for five minutes every thirty or forty. Whenever one of the civilians stumbled, there was always a helping hand to make sure that the person did not actually fall or do serious damage to himself or herself.
Very professional, and then some, George thought. But I do wish we could rest for more than five minutes. Some of these people simply won’t be able to keep going all night
The same thought had been a frequent visitor to David Spencer’s mind, almost from the start. The youngest of the people from the hotel had to be near forty. The oldest might be more than twice that. For civilians with the wherewithal to take long vacations at remote resorts like the Commonwealth Excelsior, being an octogenarian need pose no physical limitations, and need not offer any visual clues. Anyone could maintain the physical appearance of a twenty-five-year-old, and even those who did not bother with the cosme
tic side of things would likely retain the inner vitality of youth. The only deterioration apt to show in anyone younger than one hundred would be the flabbiness and loss of muscle tone of a sedentary lifestyle. None of these people seemed to have spent any great effort at keeping fit through exercise.
After two and a half hours, David started watching the civilians more closely, trying to gauge how much longer he could keep them moving. The pace, never hard, had fallen off considerably. They had scarcely made two miles in the last hour, and the next hour the civilians would cover even less ground.
At three hours, David decided that it was time to stop. There was no hint of pursuit. The rear guard had not been caught by the Federation. There had been no sound of the enemy hitting the booby traps that the rear guard would have planted. And there had been no sounds of shuttles or fighters overhead.
“We’ll rest here for a bit, sir,” Spencer told the prince. “I’ll send a squad off to the east to try to find us a better location close by. If possible, we’ll camp and stay in one spot until we can arrange pickup. I can’t guarantee that, though. If we have any enemy activity anywhere close, we might have to move on, but … well, sir, you know how it is.”
“I can imagine,” George said. “You said that your regiment is due in this morning?”
“Morning on this side of the world, but they’ll be landing around sunset on the other side. I don’t have any idea how much opposition they’ll face, or how long it will be before whoever is in command feels that it’s safe enough to send shuttles for us.”
Prince George nodded slowly. “Once we go to ground, I do hope you’ll find time to put me in the picture, Captain. We have all been out of touch with the rest of the galaxy for seven years. We haven’t the foggiest idea what might have transpired.”
“I’ll try, sir. I do appreciate your patience. As soon as I think it safe, I shall give you my complete attention and try to catch you up on the war and so forth—as far as I know myself, that is.”