Return to Camerein

by Rick Shelley

  “But I always hunt cachouri in the morning,” George said, his voice innocent and surprised. Slowly, he seemed to focus on David’s face. “They are such a blasted nuisance, after all. One must do something.”

  God help us, he’s gone completely round the bend, David thought, squeezing his eyes shut for an instant. That’s allwe need. He let his breath out softly. What the hell can I

  do?

  Vepper Holford came up to the prince’s side before David had decided what to do or say next. “It’s all right now, Your Highness,” Vepper said softly, leaning close to the prince’s ear. “These weren’t our cachouri after all. We escaped those birds. These won’t bother us again.”

  George turned. He appeared to need ten seconds or more to focus on the face of his longtime traveling companion. “You should have said earlier, Vepper. I’ve annoyed our host.”

  “I’ll see to His Highness, Captain,” Vepper said, turning toward Spencer. “It won’t happen again.”

  Too bloody right, it won’t happen again, David thought. We should have taken that shotgun away right at the start. He’s not about to get it back now.

  “Please stay right with His Highness, Mr. Holford,” David said, controlling his voice with difficulty. “One of my men will take care of his shotgun.”

  Vepper nodded.

  “Now we’ve got to get moving, quickly,” Spencer said. All of the civilians were awake. Most were on their feet, staring at the scene. Too many of the Marines were also watching their captain and the prince, rather than looking out as they should have been.

  “Let’s just hope that there weren’t any Feddies within five miles,” David said before he turned and walked away.

  The invasion was twenty-four hours late. All that Spencer knew was that the Federation garrison on Camerein knew that there were intruders on the ground.

  We’re an itch they’ve got to scratch, hard, David thought as the march resumed. I might be almost ahead of the game if I picked our direction of march at random. The Feddies have apparently been able to guess my choices. His only intention now though was to put as much straight-line distance as possible between his people and the last fight—and the place where Prince George had started shooting at birds.

  A new flash of irritation disrupted David’s thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder. The prince was now closely hemmed in by Holford, Lead Sergeant Naughton, and Private Kaelich. Lieutenant Hopewell had the shotgun, and someone else had the cartridge vest. Neither item was anywhere near His Highness.

  Crazy as a loon. David shook his head. Small wonder after seven years locked away here with no news of anything and no way out. They’ll all want psychiatric help, I expect.

  As he got the chance, he warned Hopewell and the senior noncoms to pay close attention to the behavior of all the civilians. Radio silence was back in order, so the briefings took some time to complete.

  Spencer pushed the pace through the morning. He constantly expected some sign of the Federation—if not soldiers on the ground, then shuttles or fighters overhead searching. But there was nothing in the first three hours, and the group managed to cover nearly eight miles—an excellent distance considering the civilians, David thought.

  By midmorning, when he allowed a fifteen-minute stop, the air was sweltering. It was always hot in the forest, despite the deep shadows. There was not a breath of air moving, and the stagnant heat was humid. The pace would slacken. There was no way to avoid that. Even the commandos would have moved more slowly during the hottest hours of the day under those conditions.

  As long as we move faster than the Feddies think we can. That’s still the ticket. David got to his feet and moved along the line of civilians. It was obvious that most of them had been moving just on willpower, or fear. Only Prince George appeared untroubled. The look on his face was one of utter serenity, as if he no longer had any idea what was going on. Maybe he doesn’t, David thought, looking from the prince to Vepper. Holford could not meet Spencer’s gaze. He looked away quickly. He seemed … ashamed, asif he considered Prince George’s aberration to be his fault.

  The easy way out, David thought, looking to the prince again. David used hand signs to get the column moving again. One squad had already been sent ahead, farther in front of the main body than Spencer had posted the point before. “If there are Feddies waiting for us, I want to know early enough that we can detour around them,” he had told the squad leader and his assistant. “But don’t get so far ahead that the Feddies can slip a battalion in between you and us.” There were also flankers out on either side and a rear-guard squad behind.

  First Platoon’s third squad had the point. The fire teams were moving parallel to the line of march, about fifty yards from each other. Nace Jeffries’ fire team was on the right.

  Igor Vilnuf was in front, followed by Nace. Zol Ketchum was third, with Curls Murphy bringing up the rear. Terry Murphy did have quite curly hair, but it was rare that anyone got a chance to see it. In garrison, and at the start of a campaign, he wore his hair clipped almost to the scalp. In the field, it was allowed to grow until he got back aboard ship following a mission, when it was cropped again.

  The point squad did not keep in a straight file. Nace and his men formed the points of an irregular quadrilateral. The jungle was open enough to permit that, except near treefall gaps and the occasional watercourse. When necessary, the fire team straightened up the column but still kept at least a dozen yards between men. That way, a single mine or grenade could not take out the entire squad at once.

  During the first hour, Nace forced the pace. They didn’t have to hold back to keep from losing civilians. Once they got out as far ahead as the captain wanted them, they would be able to take it easier, giving themselves longer breaks than the five minutes each hour that the main group would have. As long as nothing happened, the fire team would be effectively on its own for at least three hours. Radio silence could be broken only in case of firm enemy contact, if it was clear that Federation troops had seen them.

  Nace and his men were careful even when they were moving their fastest. The men moved from tree to tree, taking some care about cover. Even without much undergrowth, visibility was limited by the accumulation of trees along any line of sight. That worked for and against the commandos. It restricted the distance at which they might be seen, but it also limited the distance at which they might see the enemy. Each man had his special responsibility, a section of the perimeter to watch.

  The four men were almost absolutely silent. Sound discipline on the march was not just a matter of not talking. They were cautious about where they placed their feet and how they moved as well.

  Sometime today, we ‘re going to run into Feddies. Nace was certain of that. He had a feeling, one that took no special psychic ability. It was a logical, almost inescapable, conclusion. The Federation garrison on Camerein wasn’t going to let go. They had lost too many men. That would look bad, especially if they could not even the score by eliminating the interlopers.

  The only question was how soon, and Nace thought that it would be sooner rather than later, just as quickly as they could locate the Commonwealth group again and move troops into place.

  “It will most likely come from deep cover,” Nace whispered to his men when they took their first break on point. “Treefall gap or stream, where this turns into a real jungle.” He paused. “Not that we can let up when we’ve got the easy going. The Feddies might be ready to try something different.”

  “Where the hell is the rest of the regiment?” Vilnuf asked. “They’re a day and a half late. Aren’t they coming at all?”

  “I don’t know any more than you do, but I’m not yet ready to give up. They might be delayed, but they’re sure not going to leave us hanging the way Feddies might leave their blokes.”

  “Not as long as we’ve got his nibs with us,” Curls said.

  “With or without him,” Nace said. They were all whispering, and even while they took their rest, each man remained a
lert, scanning the forest, situated so that their entire perimeter remained under observation.

  “Come on, let’s get moving again.” Nace stood. He had allowed seven minutes for the rest. “We’ll have to hold the pace back a bit so we don’t get too far ahead.”

  It’s been too long now since we saw Feddies, Nace thought as his fire team resumed its movement west. They’ve had time to move an army into place, and we haven’t even heard a shuttle out looking for us. He liked to have his enemies in known positions. No matter the odds, he preferred to face them openly rather than wonder where in the blazes they might be hiding.

  Two more hours brought no hint of Federation activity. They might not even be on the continent from anything the point fire teams had found. It was time for a longer break. The squad waited for the main body to reach them. Afterward, it would probably be another squad’s turn for the duty.

  “Half an hour,” Alfie Edwards said when he reached the squad. “Lunch.”

  Nace didn’t waste time answering. He was already sitting. Now he pulled out a ration pack.

  “This is our last day on full rations,” Alfie said, speaking just loudly enough for the entire squad to hear. “If our lads haven’t shown up by morning we go on half rations and start looking for whatever we can find to help them last longer.” Privately, Alfie thought that they should have done that as soon as it was clear that the regiment had not arrived on schedule. He had suggested it, but David had shook his head and said, “Not yet. Give them a bit of time. We can manage if we have to. The five days worth of extra rations we got from the hotel should make the difference.”

  “Maybe one of those soddin’ snakes?” Curls suggested, only half in jest. There had been enough meat on the one that had moved in close to give the entire platoon a full meal.

  “If we do, I’ll see they save the ropey hind end for you, lad,” Alfie promised.

  By sunset, the lack of any hint of enemy troops was getting to David Spencer. There hadn’t been a trace, not so much as the distant rumble of a shuttle doing a search pattern.

  “It just doesn’t make sense.” He had Hopewell and Naughton with him, away from the civilians and the rest of the commandos. The platoon sergeants were making defensive arrangements. David had decided that it was time they took another long stop. It would be three hours or more before they moved on—unless the Federation forced a change in plans. “By now, they could have put a cordon right around us, around the entire area we might have reached since the fight last night.”

  “Maybe they’re far shorter of men than we’ve allowed for,” Hopewell suggested.

  Spencer shook his head. “Remember all the shuttles they had looking for us? Even if they were ferrying men over from the other continent, they could have brought in as many as they might need and had us served up on skewers long since.”

  “I say count our blessings,” Naughton said. “The whole idea is to evade and avoid them until our lads come to collect us, isn’t it, sir?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “One thing that might help, if we could get back across the river during the night, without being seen. We could even move back toward the hotel. If the Feddies haven’t set up shop inside we could go in and have the staff fix up extra meal packets all round.”

  “We can’t spare the time to scout along the river hoping to find a spot where we could get our guests up that cliff, and that supposedly runs for two hundred miles without a break.”

  “Just a thought, sir,” Naughton said. “Are you going to try the radio again?”

  David shook his head. “Not unless we’ve got Feddies poking up our nostrils. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Even if the invasion is off, for whatever reason, they’ll send someone for us, as soon as Avon turns up way past due with no word,” Hopewell said. “If this was important enough to send us in, it’ll be important enough to try to collect us once they know our ship was lost.”

  “We lost three ships here seven years ago, and Avon was the first vessel sent in since,” David said. “With another ship gone missing in the same place, they might decide that they can’t do anything until they can put an overwhelming force in.”

  “You do realize that we can’t keep this lark up forever,” Hopewell said. “Our lads would take it for as long as necessary, but before long the civilians are going to mutiny. And who can say how much longer His Highness will prove … tractable.”

  “That’s probably a damned good reason to stay on this side of the river. The problem would be worse if the civilians thought they could just hike back to that hotel and go back to life as it was before we came.” David was sitting where he could watch their charges, and most particularly the prince. “Besides, our orders don’t allow us to abandon our guests, especially him.”

  David closed his eyes for a moment of hard thinking. He knew how tired he was. He could imagine how much more tired the civilians had to be. He sighed and opened his eyes. “Unless there’s a compelling reason not to, we’ll spend the night here, or at least close to here. It’s the only hope of keeping everyone moving tomorrow. Tony, send Alfie with a squad to find us better quarters, not more than a half mile off. The civilians won’t like moving, but when they hear that it’s to find a place to stay the night, I don’t think they’ll object too much.” He rubbed at his face with both hands. “If nothing else, we’ll be able to think more clearly in the morning, assess our options.”

  Hopewell got up and walked off to find his platoon sergeant. Mitch Naughton stayed where he was.

  “If we’re still here in the morning, if we’re still alive,” David whispered, so softly that Naughton could almost convince himself that he had only imagined the words.

  24

  While he ate, Prince George moved his head slightly, in time with the music he was hearing, one of Angus Duncan’s Beethoven violin concertos. The music could not have sounded better if it had been real. To George, it was real, perhaps a replay of a concert he had heard nine or ten years earlier, in Westminster. The translucent china he ate off was heavily decorated in gold, and the flatware was also gold. Light from a half dozen large chandeliers sparkled through crystal mobiles. The wine was served in delicate crystal glasses. One held them gingerly—so—by the stem, because one could hardly help but think that two fingers pressed against the same spot from opposite sides might melt a hole through the crystal or crush it.

  The reality was a packaged meal from the Commonwealth Excelsior and very warm water from a canteen; a background of nocturnal birds and insects making their common sounds.

  Vepper Holford was the only one who suspected just how far his master had drifted from reality. He sat a few feet away and heard George’s table talk—comments about the imagined banquet and the music, as well as a gently satiric critique of the clothing worn by the several dozen courtiers he mentioned seeing. Vepper did not try to tellthe prince the truth. He tried to limit himself to noncommittal remarks, but when George pressed, Vepper fell into the charade. He knew the people, the music, and could respond to comments about the imagined food.

  All the while, Vepper kept looking about, worrying that the others might hear. Some of them did hear parts of what George said. Since early morning there had always been at least one or two Marines close enough to intervene if the prince did anything else as bizarre as shooting off the shotgun.

  Out of his flippin’ mind, Walter Kaelich thought. He shook his head minutely, not wanting the prince or Holford to see. Stuck for seven years in this hole. No wonder. Walter shared the first watch. As before, headquarters squad’s responsibilities were more the civilians than watching for the enemy. Feddies would be a lark after watching this dotty old sod, Walter thought.

  He had already eaten, trying to savor each mouthful. Lead Sergeant Naughton had informed the squad that they would go on half rations in the morning. With that to look forward to, supper had tasted especially good. The packets brought from the hotel would run out soon, and the Marines’ regular food not long after. Walter knew that it w
ould not take long before he would miss field rations as much as he missed his mother’s cooking.

  The civilians and the men of Walter’s squad were in a small clearing surrounded by dense underbrush. The Marines had hacked out a place, since no one had been able to find a natural clearing that was so secluded. The rest of the commandos were farther out, along a narrow creek that was completely covered over by the forest canopy, and in a semicircle extending thirty yards out from the creek. The men were dug in. Since the captain planned to spend the night, he had ordered defensive excavations.

  Walter had scooped out a shallow trench for himself. Slightly better “accommodations” had been prepared for the civilians, trenches surrounded with the dirt excavatedfrom them, topped by tree trunks and thick branches, with small branches stuck into the dirt to offer some slight camouflage.

  Walter didn’t care to have so much greenery close by. He wanted clear space, room to spot any legless intruders. Thinking about the snake gave him nightmares even when he was awake.

  Before he let himself get off his feet, David toured the defensive positions his men were preparing. He inspected each section with the respective platoon sergeant. “Get every mine and snoop we have left planted farther out,” he told the sergeants. “If we move in the morning and have time, we’ll collect them and take them along, but I want the lot in place before anyone settles in.”

  “We’ve haven’t had a glimmer of Feddies in nigh on twenty-four hours, Cap,” Alfie reminded him.

  “Maybe that’s why I want to take such care now,” David said. “We should have had something by now. There’s no way they could be so incompetent as to lose all trace of us that quickly. That means they could be planning something … massive.”

  “Will you answer me one question as honestly as you can?” Alfie asked when they were momentarily away from anyone else. “What do you think happened to the regiment, to the invasion? Was it called off, postponed, or were the whole lot just zapped coming in?”