Return to Camerein

by Rick Shelley

  “I’d as soon it was a hundred miles,” Alfie told Ted Perth when they took over the point. “Anything to get away from that lot. A herd of monkeys wouldn’t make half the noise.”

  Perth’s fire team moved out in front, walking single file along the route Captain Spencer had dictated. Alfie’s fire team waited until there was a forty-yard gap between Perth’s men and themselves, then formed a skirmish line spread across twenty yards. Under the forest canopy, the floor was too open for there to be much danger of ambush except when they reached water or a treefall zone where new growth was struggling toward the light and low-growing plants had a chance to survive. The point squad always took considerable care about those areas.

  We should be hearing those shuttles again soon, Alfie thought after noting the time on his helmet display. It wasn’t quite this long the last time. He didn’t seriously consider the possibility that the shuttles might have givenup. It was far too soon to hope for that. They’ll keep it up at least until dark, and maybe for a time after that, hoping that we’ll be stupid enough to light campfires. Sunset was still several hours off.

  Visibility under the forest canopy was somewhat limited. In the distance, the accumulation of tree trunks and shadows put an edge to how far anyone could see. Everything blurred into a featureless backdrop. Paradoxically, the areas of dense undergrowth showed more clearly than the colonnaded run of uninterrupted old growth. Where treefall gaps or rivers gave run to lower plants, the greens became more intense. The scenes were often backlit even if wide shafts of clear sunlight could not be seen stretching from canopy to ground.

  Ted Perth spotted the new line of undergrowth forty minutes after taking the point and waited to point it out to Alfie. “Must be another stream,” Ted said, whispering. “It goes as far as I can see from one side to the other.”

  “Set up a line here. I’ll check with the captain, see if he knows what it is. We’re due for a break anyway.”

  “If my memory is correct, it should be a fairly sizable river,” Spencer said when Alfie told him about the line of dense vegetation. “And I don’t want to use a mapboard to check my memory, not with Feddies quartering the sky to spot us.” Without an active link to a ship or satellite, the emissions from a mapboard would be minimal, but the Federation’s detecting gear might be sensitive enough to pick it up. “I’ll check with the hotel manager and His Highness. Maybe one of them will know.”

  Prince George nodded when David put the question to him. “If you are correct about the distance we have traveled, we should be near the Rift River.”

  “The data in our chart files didn’t have topographical information in any great detail for this continent, sir,” David said. “Apparently, there wasn’t much available on Buckingham. Can you shed any light on what we can expect to find?”

  “I haven’t seen it myself,” George said, “but from what I have gathered, the river got its name because it lies along a rift. You understand the term, Captain?” When Spencer nodded, the prince continued. “It runs straight as a laser beam for two hundred miles. I fear it might pose an insurmountable obstacle for us, though. If the reports are correct, the south bank is sheer—and as much as a hundred feet high.”

  “It is,” Shadda confirmed. “I’ve seen it from the air, before the war. Before I became acting manager of the Commonwealth Excelsior, I was employed to survey remote locations to set up semipermanent camps for the convenience of hotel guests who might want more than simple day trips into the bush. There are no bridges across the Rift River, and it is too deep to ford even if you could find a way down to the bank.”

  “What about the north bank?” David asked.

  “Like any of the rivers in this jungle,” Shadda said.

  “I mean, it’s only on this side that there are cliffs?”

  “Yes, only on the south. The forest canopy on the north is at about the same level as the ground on the south side. What difference can that make, though, if we can’t cross the river?”

  David smiled. “I suspect that we might be able to cross this river despite your misgivings.”

  “Not unless you can teach the lot of us to fly,” Shadda said.

  “You’d be surprised what they teach us in commando school.”

  Prince George arched an eyebrow but said nothing. Shadda wore a look of total disbelief on his face. He could not even bring himself to ask the obvious follow-up question: What do they teach you?

  The band of dense growth was very narrow above the south bank of the Rift River, but there was almost a solid wall of greenery climbing from ground level to the canopy. A few trees grew out at an angle, over the river, claimingsunlight in that fashion; some of them seemed to be held in place by vines connecting them to upright trees above. Small trees and bushes survived at the edge of the precipice, most of their leaves on the north—the sunlit—side. Epiphytes hung from branches, some nearly reaching the ground. Rooted vines climbed along any available pathway from ground to canopy. Some spread from tree to tree. The overall effect was almost that of thatching or a basket-weave over an intricate lattice.

  By the time the group reached that barrier, news of what Spencer had said had filtered through to all the civilians. None of them could answer the question that Shadda had not asked. How? It seemed impossible. Or suicidal.

  Spencer left the civilians, guarded by most of his Marines, twenty yards south of the dense growth. He went forward with Alfie and Mitch Naughton to have a look.

  Alfie whistled softly when he saw the drop to the river.

  “I know what you’ve got in mind, Cap, and I’m not sure I care for the idea. I’m damned certain that none of our civies are going to like it at all.”

  “The more impossible it looks, the better,” David said. “Maybe the Feddies will think it is impossible and just look for us on this side of the river.”

  Naughton got down on hands and knees before he ventured near the edge. He edged forward carefully, hesitating often against the possibility that he might venture out on a thin overhang that would not support his weight. “It looks like eighty or ninety feet down and maybe sixty feet across to the far side,” he said. He went flat on his stomach and slid forward a little more, until his head was just over the edge. Alfie got down to hold Naughton’s legs in case the ground gave way.

  “Absolutely sheer,” Naughton said when he slid back away from the drop. “A man would have to rappel down, then swim the river dragging a rope.” He hesitated for an instant. “You weren’t planning on everyone going that way, were you, Cap?”

  Spencer shook his head. “Just one man to carry the lineand secure it on the far side. The rest of us will slide over one at a time. We can tie the wrists of our civilians over the transit line so there’s no danger of them falling. Have several of our men waiting to put the brakes on for them when they get to the bottom. Rig a double length of rope so we can pull it in after us, not leave a sign for the Feddies to spot.”

  “I think Alfie had it right,” Mitch said. “We might have to coldcock some of our guests to get them down a rope that way.”

  Without a hint of a smile, David said, “If that’s what it takes, that’s what we’ll do. I’m not going to leave anyone behind.”

  “If we’re going to do it, we’d best get our fingers out and start. We want good daylight for this ropey go,” Alfie said.

  There was no difficulty in finding enough rope. Each commando carried fifty yards of thin, strong cord. That, and a pair of clamps designed to lock two sections of rope together more securely than any knot, contributed only seventeen ounces to a Marine’s combat kit Three-sixteenths of an inch in diameter, the rope could support three tons without breaking.

  After some discussion among the sergeants, Zol Ketchum was allowed to “volunteer” to be the first man across, the one who would have to do the hard work. He was the best swimmer left in the detachment and above average in mountaineering skills, both part of the curriculum in commando school.

  Stripped to his boots
and field skin, with his sheath knife strapped to one arm, Zol secured a doubled line to two stout trees. He rappelled down the face of the cliff carefully. There was no low bank at the bottom. It was sheer, right into the water, with the strongest current apparently close to the southern bank. Before he could get oriented, the current started to carry him west. He had to swim against that current without losing the rope.

  The first twenty yards were the most difficult. After that, the current eased and Zol was able to make headway with less exertion. When he pulled himself up on the opposite shore, he still had the rope. For a moment, he rested on hands and knees, head down, dragging in deep breaths.

  It shouldn’t have been that hard a go, he thought. I guess I’m not in the shape I thought I was.

  When he got to his feet, he looked for a place to tie off the rope. He knew what was needed; a strong tree not too close to the water, without too much undergrowth around it. It also needed to be as short a run as possible, as near directly across from the high end of the line as practical. He looped the end of the rope around the trunk he decided on three times, as high as he could reach without shinnying up the tree, then tied his knots before snapping on one of the clamps. Before signaling to the other side to start sending people across, Zol jumped up to grasp the line in both hands. Then he pulled himself up along it, hand over hand, until he was near the water’s edge.

  Can’t know for sure if it’s all secure till somebody comes across, but that’s as strong as I can make it. He stood in clear view at the water’s edge and made a pumping gesture with his right hand. On the bluff across the river, Captain Spencer echoed the signal.

  “It couldn’t be simpler, or safer,” David told the prince and the civilians. They were all clustered together, facing him. “I’ll send two squads of Marines across first to prove that the rope isn’t going to give way. We’ll fasten your wrists over the rope so you don’t have to worry about holding on or falling off. And there will be several men to catch you on the other end, slow you down gently before you go thumping into the ground or into the tree.” There were objections, but Spencer dealt with them swiftly. “There is no alternative,” he said, and—after several minutes—the objections ceased.

  Alfie took his squad across first. Lieutenant Hopewell crossed with 1st Platoon’s second squad next. There wereno mishaps. Most of the civilians had moved close enough to watch at least a few of the crossings.

  “Looks a bit of a lark,” Prince George said, loud enough that all the people who had shared his exile could hear. “Almost a carnival ride, don’t you know.”

  David nodded a silent thanks. “You can go first after I’ve got enough lads on the other side to protect you, sir.” Only three men had made the crossing at the time.

  “Glad to,” George replied cheerfully.

  He was the first of the civilians to cross. After the Marines at the bottom slowed him to a stop and removed the length of cord that had joined his wrists and served as a runner, he moved out into plain sight and gave a thumbs-up gesture to those who were watching from the other side.

  “If he can do it, I can,” Marie Caffre said, moving forward to be the second to cross.

  Her husband followed her, and after that there was only minimal hesitation from a few of the others. Shadda Lorenqui held back until all the people who had been at the hotel had gone. “It is my duty to be the last, to make certain that all of those I have been responsible for have made it first,” he told Spencer when he finally stepped up to have his wrists tied over the rope. “Now, my place is on the other side, with them.”

  Once all the civilians were across, the rest of the commandos followed quickly. By the time one man touched the north bank, the next was tied in place ready to follow. Only the last man faced any greater danger. Before sliding down the rope across the river, he had to remove the clamps that held the two strands of rope together around the upper end of the circuit so the line could be pulled free and retrieved, and he made the slide holding the short cord, without having his wrists tied together over the rope. But there was no mishap.

  From beginning to end, the operation—including Zol Ketchum’s rappel and swim—had taken only fifty-five minutes. Sunset was still an hour away.

  • • •

  “Do we move on or stay here for a time?” Lieutenant Hopewell asked after the last men were across.

  David glanced toward the river and the gray cliff on the far side. “I think we can afford to take time now, even spend the night here. If the Feddies know we’ve got civilians with us, they’re not likely to think of looking on this side of the river until they’ve eliminated every other possibility.” He had tried again to make contact with any Commonwealth ships before making his own crossing, still without success. “I’ll try for the battle group again in the morning, just before we move on.”

  “Aren’t you afraid that might give us away?” Hopewell asked.

  David shrugged. “Not if I go right over by the water’s edge. They’d have to be looking right down at us, so to speak, to pinpoint the transmission that closely. If they’re not thinking about this side of the river, they should assume that we’re still up there.” He gestured vaguely. “Maybe it won’t be necessary. We’re still close enough to the hotel that a signal from a ship will probably reach us, even on a narrow-band transmission. Maybe the fleet will call before morning.” I hope it does. Maybe even within the next hour or two.

  “If not, well, everyone should be rested and ready to go after twelve hours here. I’ll make the call in the morning, and if we don’t get any response, we’ll push the march as hard as we can for a few hours. By the time the Feddies figure out that we did cross the river, we should be far enough away to give them fits trying to find us. This forest goes on for another eighty miles without a significant break, if I recall the charts correctly.”

  “I’m sure it’s at least that far,” Hopewell said. “I just hope we don’t have to walk it all, not with our guests.”

  “We’d be about out of food by then, even with the extra packets from the hotel,” David said, very softly. “Living off the land, and likely not too well.”

  “I’ll get the outposts set, tell everyone to grab a meal, and that we’re here for the night …”

  “Unless circumstances change,” David interrupted.

  Hopewell nodded. “If the change is our ride out of here, I doubt that anyone will object.”

  After he ate, David took off his boots and spent several minutes rubbing his feet. They hurt. He could imagine how the civilians must be aching. He was used to long hours of walking, carrying a heavy load. They weren’t. It wouldn’t take many days to really put them to the point of mutiny.

  If the fleet doesn’t show up soon, I’ll play hell keeping everyone together, he thought. He tried to avoid the next step in his mind, but could not. What if the fleet never comes? What do we do then? They couldn’t go back to the hotel. It wasn’t just that the Federation would keep an eye on it—if they didn’t like what they saw so much that they moved right in. There was simply little chance that they would be able to get the seventeen civilians back up that cliff. Marines could scale it, and simply call it part of the day’s work, but the civilians made a difference. At dire need, the commandos might be able to hoist the civilians, one at a time, back to the top, but it would be extremely difficult, dangerous, and time-consuming.

  Before long, we wouldn’t have any choice but to look for Feddies to surrender to. That was not a pleasant thought. If we hoped to have any chance at all to survive, we’d have to find garrison troops to surrender to, and there won’t be any of those closer than Como Nairobe, and that’s still close to seven hundred miles away. Garrison troops would be more likely to take prisoners, rather than kill them to save themselves the bother. But their food wouldn’t last through one fifth of that distance, no matter how frugal they were. After that it would be catch and collect whatever came within reach. No cooking fires.

  Try to get close enough to Como
Nairobe to send the civilians in and keep my lads out in the wild? David hated to think about surrender, knowing how rarely the Federation bothered with prisoners. I can’t even send the civiliansin. I have to stay with His Highness, no matter where that leads.

  He thought his way through a short prayer. The essence of his plea was simple: Please let our fleet show up soon!

  Once the worst of the aches were gone, David put his boots back on, though he would have preferred leaving them off through the night. If action came, he didn’t want to be running around with only the field skin covering his feet.

  It was near sunset, almost night-dark in the forest. Most of the civilians were asleep, or attempting to get there. David took a quick tour of the camp, then went with Mitch Naughton to check the outposts that had been set up away from the civilians. The perimeter was thin, but should be adequate. Electronic bugs had been planted farther out, and if enemy soldiers triggered them, or any of the few scattered land mines, the commandos would have time to pull back into a more adequate defensive ring.

  We should do fine tonight, David told himself. The Feddie search must be thirty miles off by now. We haven’t heard any of their shuttles for more than three hours. After returning to where he planned to spend the night, he sent Naughton off to get some sleep. “I’ll take the first watch,” Spencer said. The lead sergeant did not argue the point

  Little more than two hours later, David had just turned over the watch to Tony Hopewell and gotten to sleep. That was when the alarm sounded. Feddie soldiers were approaching the camp on foot.20

  20

  The idea popped into Spencer’s mind as soon as he received the warning that Feddie soldiers were approaching from two sides. They must have spotted us crossing the river. There was no other possible explanation. They had been caught out by a chance observation even though the odds had to have been long against it. A shuttle or an orbiting spyeye must have seen some of them sliding down the rope across the river. Then enemy troops had landed far enough away that their shuttles weren’t heard, and the men had moved in on foot That explains why we didn’t hear the searchers go by again, David decided.