So there seemed to be no harm. And the boredom was becoming intolerable.
Qetjnegartis reached out a tendril and wrapped it around the white stick. The action seemed to surprise the prey-creature because it jumped back and made a loud noise. Qetjnegartis ignored it and dragged itself closer to the black panel. Remembering the proper symbol, it took the stick and awkwardly scratched:
2
* * * * *
Cycle 597,845.5, Holdfast 32-3
“The prey-creatures are not pursuing us, Commander,” said Davnitargus. “I have led scouting expeditions as far east as City 3-118. The prey-creatures are there in considerable strength and they have their own scouts sent out nearly to the mountains, but there is no evidence they are preparing for a major expedition westward.”
“That is very odd,” said Tanbradjus. “They must surely know they hold the advantage. Why do they not exploit it?”
“The local winter is coming on,” said Davnitargus. “The prey-creatures have difficulty functioning or feeding themselves in low temperatures. Experience shows that they probably will not attempt any major operations until warmer weather returns.”
“That is good to know. It gives us a chance to rebuild our strength.” Tanbradjus paused and then went on. “I am relying on those of you with experience on this world to guide me when necessary. With the regrettable loss of Qetjnegartis, I will be relying on you in particular, Davnitargus.”
It regarded the new commander closely. Was this some veiled statement that it doubted its trustworthiness? “I serve the clan and Race, Commander,” it replied.
“As do we all. But I shall speak plainly, Davnitargus.”
“That is usually best.”
“It is known that those budded on this world lack the inherent submission to superiors that exists on the Homeworld.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes. Some find this extremely disturbing. But the situation is what it is. You are the senior most of all those budded on this world. I will expect you to keep the others in line. Can I trust you to do that Davnitargus?”
“Of course, Commander.”
For now.
* * * * *
December, 1912, Little Rock, Arkansas
“Merry Christmas, Becca.”
“Merry Christmas, Frank.”
They didn’t have champagne, they didn’t even have wine. They were forced to clink tin cups half-filled with bourbon, but neither one minded. They were alive and together and nothing else really mattered. The 5th Cavalry was stationed in the remains of Little Rock now. The town was slowly being rebuilt and refortified. The rail connection east had been repaired and concrete fortresses were being built all along its length. Two divisions of infantry were defending the place along with four battalions of steam tanks and a lot of artillery.
The cavalry had been conducting scouting missions west all through the fall to keep an eye on the Martians, but aside from small scouting parties, they hadn’t seen much. Half of their job had been to turn back parties of civilians who somehow thought the recent victories meant they could go home again. It wasn’t easy convincing them that it would be a very bad idea. Becca had gone along on those scouts and no one had complained.
“Remember our first Christmas together?” asked Becca.
“The one in the Pueblo cliff-dwelling?”
“Yes, we didn’t even remember it was Christmas until the day was nearly over. No tree, no presents - no bourbon.”
“I’ve spent nicer ones, that’s for sure. I wonder whatever happened to those people,” said Frank. “The civilians we picked up who wouldn’t go on to Ramah with us.”
“Dead probably.” She got up and went over to the fire and poked at the logs and threw another one on. The army had taken over a lot of the abandoned property in the town - the buildings which hadn’t been too badly damaged. Frank’s captain’s rank had rated him a modest town house with a nice parlor. There was no electricity or running water, of course, but they made do.
They made do. They were sharing the house and no one said a thing. Becca’s mother - or her aunt - would have been absolutely scandalized, but neither one of them gave a damn about such things. Frank had asked to marry her, and she’d said yes, but then when they checked the regulation, they found that as a married dependent she’d technically be barred from serving with the 5th out in the field. But as a camp follower, well, the regulations were reassuringly vague about it. So they’d let things be.
“Oh, speaking of presents,” said Frank. “I have something for you. Came last week, but I’ve been saving it for today.” He pulled a sheet of paper out of his tunic pocket and handed it to her.
“What is it?”
“Read it.”
She unfolded it and held it so the firelight fell on it. She squinted, frowned, and shook her head. “It’s written in army, Frank, what does it mean?”
He laughed and took it back. “Congress recently approved a bill to give veteran army nurses officer’s rank. So they could boss enlisted men around, I guess. When I heard about it, I had a little talk with Colonel Schumacher. He pulled some strings and this, young lady, is your commission as a second lieutenant in the Army Nurse Corps.”
“Really?” She snatched it back, a look of delight on her face. “A lieutenant? Me?”
“Sure enough; you’ll get the pay, too. ‘Course you already were a lieutenant with your sharpshooters.”
She snorted. “A make-believe rank for make-believe soldiers.”
“You sell yourself - and all your girls - short, Becca. They fought and some of them died. Nothing make-believe about it.”
“No. you’re right. Some of them were good soldiers, too.” She held up the paper. “But this is for real? I’m a lieutenant?”
“Well, in the nurse corps you are. You can’t really command troops in a combat situation.”
“That’s all right, don’t really want to. As long as it means I can keep comin’ along and fightin’, I’m content.”
“As long as Schumacher is colonel that’s what it means.”
“Then we’ll have to make sure he stays alive!” She held up her cup. “To Colonel Schumacher!” They clinked them together and drank.
“So what happens now?” she asked.
“Well, I was thinking we’d get drunk and then go to bed.” He reached out a hand and pinched her.
“I meant with the war, you goof!”
“I doubt much will happen during the winter. They’ll want to get everything fortified and set up for a spring offensive.”
“So we’ll be movin’ west in the spring?”
“Seems likely.”
“Good,” she said. “We took some of ours back this year. But we ain’t gonna stop until we have it all.”
“Amen to that.”
* * * * *
January, 1913, Washington, D.C.
“Happy New Year, dear,” said Andrew Comstock. He took his wife in his arms and kissed her.
“Happy New Year, love,” replied Victoria. She smiled, but he could see that she was troubled. The birth of their daughter three months earlier had gone well. Little Arthur and Elizabeth were sleeping soundly despite the noise of the revelers roaming the streets of Fort Myer. So that wasn’t the problem.
“I’m sorry about the new assignment, but it will be months before they’re ready to take the field. We’ll see a lot of each other.”
“But then you’ll be going back to the war.”
“I’m a soldier. It’s my job.”
“You had a job in the Ordnance Department. Not a combat command.”
“My Ordnance job didn’t exactly keep me out of harm’s way.”
“No, it didn’t! But why do you have to be in the front lines? Just the other day you told me that that pilot friend of yours…”
“Tom Selfridge?”
“Yes, him. You said he’d been taken off flying duty and sent back to train new pilots. Why can’t you do something like that?”
He
shook his head. “Piloting is the most dangerous job there is, love. They have about a seventy-percent casualty rate. Tom barely survived the battle at the Martian fortress. The high command thought he had taken enough risks. But my job is different; the land ironclads are the most powerful and safest combat command I could have. We took on seventy tripods with only three and won. I’ll be commanding a whole squadron. Six of them. I’ll be as safe as any soldier can be.”
She sniffed and turned away. “How much longer will this go on?”
“It is going to take a while to clear the Martians all out. But we will.”
“We’re really winning? There are all these statements from the President, from the government, but I don’t know what to believe.”
“Yes, we are winning. We hurt them very badly this year. We’ll hurt them even worse in the spring. Someday the war will be over and we are going to win.”
She moved into his embrace again. “You promise?”
“Yes, I promise.”
The End
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