by John Bowers
Avila grunted with exertion as he caught up to Nick. Kopshevar and Aquino also caught up, and the four of them advanced in line abreast, pulses pounding, rifles ready. The rest of 1st Squad followed a few yards behind them. Jaeger’s voice came over the headsets again.
“Make sure they aren’t civilians! Do not fire unless you see weapons, or unless they fire first.”
Great. We have to give them the first shot.
The two squads slowed their approach. No longer running, they now advanced in a cautious skirmish line. Twenty yards. Fifteen yards. Ten…
A man popped up from the cotton rows ahead. Nick could see only his head and shoulders, but couldn’t tell if he was armed. He didn’t look like a Freak—instead of a white shirt and black hat, this man wore a dirty brown shirt with short sleeves—work clothing. Instead of a hat, he wore a ball cap.
“Freeze!” Nick yelled. “Hands up! Let me see your hands!”
The man came to his knees, his hands in the air.
“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”
A second man popped up, also raising his hands. He was holding something long and dark.
Avila opened fire.
With a stab of horror, Nick watched as Avila, firing on full automatic, chopped both men into fish bait. Nick lunged to his left and slammed into him, driving him to his knees.
“Hold your fire, goddammit! Those men are civilians!”
Avila swung the butt of his rifle into Nick’s gut, knocking the air out of him. Nick landed on his ass in the mud. Avila loomed over him, rage in his dark eyes.
“Don’t you ever fucking do that again! If you do, I’ll kill you!”
Choking for air, Nick shoved him away.
Avila stood up again and turned his attention back to the spot where the two men had appeared. DuBose and the rest of the squad had advanced to within three yards of the men and now stood over them, rifles aimed. DuBose was shouting.
“On your feet! Everyone, on your feet! Show me your hands! You have three seconds!”
Second Squad had also arrived, and as Nick moved forward to join them, he saw eleven men rise up out of the mud. They appeared to be all ages, from fifteen to sixty. The two youngest were sobbing with fear. The oldest, a leathery man with weather lines in his face, looked angry. He had the temerity to speak his mind.
“Star Marines, huh? Gonna liberate the planet, huh? Is this how you do it?” He lowered his hands and took two steps forward, until he was right in DuBose’s face. “Is this how you do it? ANSWER ME!!”
DuBose stared back at him, but didn’t reply. The man pointed to one of the bodies.
“That’s my only son. When we saw you coming up the road, he got really excited. He thinks the Star Marines must be angels of mercy. Looks like maybe he was wrong, huh?”
Tears slid down his leathery cheeks.
DuBose never took his eyes off the man’s face.
“Corporal! Front and center!”
Avila, looking surprised, stepped forward. DuBose reached out his hand.
“Give me your rifle.”
Avila handed it to him. DuBose turned to the farmer again.
“This is the man who killed your son. Avila, explain to the man why you did it.”
“What?” Avila looked confused.
DuBose turned to face him squarely.
“I said, explain to the man why you killed his boy. That’s an order, Corporal!”
Avila blinked. His lips parted in indecision.
“I thought… I thought he had a weapon. I saw a rifle in his hands.”
DuBose pointed at the two bodies.
“Do you see a weapon? Do you see a rifle in his hands?”
Avila stared at the bodies, his cheeks burning red. A Star Marine from 2nd Squad bent over and picked up a hoe. He brushed the mud off it and tossed it to Avila, who caught it in his left hand.
“There’s your rifle,” DuBose told him. “You better clear the chamber. We don’t want it to go off by accident, do we?”
Avila stared at him with glittering eyes, his confusion morphing to anger. He threw the hoe on the ground and took a deep breath. He looked at the old man again.
“I thought it was a rifle. I made a mistake.”
The old farmer glared at him, then turned to DuBose again.
“Are you done with us?”
“Not quite.” DuBose turned his head toward Wiebe and Carlson. “Search these men for weapons and ID. Let me know when you’re done.”
He turned to Avila.
“Go back to the road and sit down. Don’t move a muscle until I get there.”
Avila extended his hand.
“Need my weapon.”
“No, you don’t. Go sit the fuck down and wait for me.”
DuBose slung Avila’s rifle over his own shoulder. He turned to the old man again.
“Sir, I am terribly sorry about this. I know that doesn’t mean much right now—”
“Do you have kids, Sergeant?”
“No, sir, I don’t. But I—”
“Then don’t tell me you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear it.”
DuBose gazed into his eyes a moment, then chewed his lip and nodded.
“Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”
DuBose went to join Wiebe and Carlson. Nick Walker suddenly found himself standing alone in front of the old farmer. The man glared at him.
“Are you the one who stopped him? I saw you knock him down.”
“Yes, sir. We’re not all like him.”
“I hope that’s true.”
The farmer turned and knelt over his son’s body. Nick stayed put, but looked away out of respect.
None of the eleven captives was armed. Lt. Jaeger and Capt. Seals had them brought to the road for questioning. Interrogation revealed that the elderly farmer owned the cotton field and most of those around it. The younger men were his employees, just doing their daily job. They all lived in or around Cutler Crossing, four miles away. There was no reason to believe they were affiliated in any way with the Rebel Coalition.
“Here’s where I get confused,” Seals told the old farmer. “Just minutes after we spot your work party, we come under artillery fire, which kills two of my men and wounds two others. Then we look around and you’re all lying face down in the mud, even after it’s over. That looks a bit suspicious to me. Care to explain that?”
The old farmer, who said his name was Freeman, didn’t even try to hide his hostility.
“When the artillery shells came, your men all flattened out. We did the same thing, for the same reason.”
“I understand that, but after it was over, you didn’t get up.”
“We didn’t know if it was really over. We’ve seen the rebels do that before, against the CDF. They fire a few shells and stop, then wait for the soldiers to show themselves and resume firing. For all I know, they still may open fire on this area.”
“How did they know we were here?”
“How should I know? You searched us, so you already know we don’t have any transmitters.”
Seals stared at him with troubled eyes, biting his lip.
“Could be insect drones, Captain,” Jaeger said. “These men look innocent to me.”
Seals, without taking his eyes off Freeman, nodded. He resumed questioning.
“Have you seen any rebels lately around Cutler Crossing?”
Freeman nodded. “They come and go from time to time. I haven’t tried to track their movements.”
“How many?”
“I dunno. They mostly move around in small units, maybe twenty or thirty at a time.”
“Do they have a garrison in the town?”
“Not a permanent one. There are some gun positions, but they’re empty most of the time.”
“Are the positions fortified?”
“No. Mostly just sandbags. I think they’re left over from the days when the CDF attacked them. The rebels took a stand in Cutler Crossing and drove them back.”
; Seals got to his feet, looking unsatisfied.
“Mr. Freeman, I am terribly sorry about your son and that other young man. On behalf of the Federation and the Star Marines, I formally apologize.”
Freeman shrugged.
“I’m sure that will help a lot when I tell his mother what happened.”
Freeman turned away to join his employees. Seals and Jaeger also turned away. They walked down the road to where DuBose stood over Cpl. Avila. Before they reached him, an HVM skimmed in from the southeast and landed beside the road. A corpsman jumped down and ran to join Starling; together they carried the four dead and wounded to the sled and loaded them aboard. Starling stepped back and placed a hand on his helmet as the sled, kicking dust in every direction, lifted off and headed back for the nearest field hospital forty miles away.
As the dust settled in the sled’s wake, the officers stood flanking Cpl. Avila.
“What do you have to say for yourself, Corporal?” Seals demanded.
Avila got to his feet. His eyes glittered with anger and his cheeks burned red.
“What the hell am I supposed to say, Captain? We told them to raise their hands, but that one guy was holding what I thought was a rifle. What was I supposed to do, let him shoot me? Or one of my men?”
“It wasn’t a rifle.”
“I KNOW THAT! But I thought it was. It was a mistake, that’s all. A simple mistake.”
Seals glared at him.
“Don’t raise your voice to me, Corporal! I am about one inch away from recommending you for a starcourt. If you make one more ‘simple mistake’, I’ll do it. Are we clear?”
Avila finally had the good sense to shut up.
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. Sergeant DuBose, I’m going to let you deal with this man. He is now a private, so when we camp tonight, I want you to collect his chevrons.”
“Aye-aye, Captain.”
Seals turned to Nick, who was standing a few yards away.
“Walker, you’re now a Private First Class. And you’ve got yourself a fire team.”
Nick’s mouth fell open. Unlike Avila, he didn’t have the good sense to keep quiet.
“Captain, I don’t w—”
“Walker! I’m not in a very good mood right now. Don’t piss me off.”
Nick heaved a sigh and nodded.
“Aye-aye, Captain.”
Seals turned and walked away.
Chapter 16
Cutler Crossing – Alpha Centauri 2
They spent the night in Cutler Crossing. Nick wasn’t sure why it was called Cutler “Crossing”, as there was no crossing of any kind that he could see. No rivers, no bridges. No one ever explained it to him.
When they first arrived, Seals ordered scouts to reconnoiter the town. The old farmer had said there were no Freaks in town, but he could have been lying…or there might be Freaks he didn’t know about. First Platoon fanned out and advanced in scattered fire teams, moving down streets, alleys, and across backyards. Cutler Crossing was small, no more than four thousand residents, and it only took a half hour to determine that no immediate threat seemed to be present.
Once the coast was clear, Seals ordered the rest of his company into town. Nick and his squad trudged down a dusty street looking like refugees from a garbage dump. Hot and tired, the only thing on Nick’s mind was a shady place to rest and a canteen of cold water.
Cold water, hell—he wanted ice water!
But the officers had their priorities, and after conferring with Capt. Seals, Lt. Jaeger issued an order.
“Third Platoon, move on to the west end of town and set up defensive positions. We’re going to cool our heels for a few hours, and I don’t want any surprises.”
First Squad set out again, walking right down the town’s main street. They kept to the sidewalk in case they needed to dive for cover. A few townspeople watched them with curious eyes, and Nick saw others peering out the windows of shops and stores. Some of those eyes might belong to Freaks, but it seemed unlikely. The mainstream citizens of Alpha 2 had little love for Coalition troops and would probably aid them only at gunpoint. That didn’t eliminate the possibility of danger, but did reduce it.
Nick blew his breath out through puffed cheeks and kept walking. Sooner or later they would get to sit down, he thought. That would fulfill half his heart’s desire, but he wasn’t sure if he would ever get the cold water.
They walked six blocks, their eyes scanning every window, every surface car, but saw no threats. When they reached the town square, every man in the squad slowed his walk, staring in fascination at what awaited them. Nick forgot his thirst and fatigue and his eyes narrowed. He moved out of the column and picked up his pace, reaching the square ahead of the others. He stopped…and stared.
The square looked a little like the one in Goshen, except it had no park, just a few shade trees and half a dozen benches. The street parted to flank it on both sides. As the rest of the squad caught up, Nick was still staring at what stood in the center of the square.
“What the hell are those?” Rudy Aquino asked, echoing the question in every man’s mind.
Nick felt his skin crawl. He had read a lot of history over the past few years, but rarely did he encounter things he had read about. Like the gallows in Goshen, this was an exception.
In the very center of the square, someone had erected six vertical poles about eight inches in diameter. Each pole was three or four feet from the next one; five feet above the ground, horizontal boards had been attached to the uprights, two boards between each pair of poles. The boards, about one inch thick, were cut to the same width, and fitted together one above the other. Half circles had been carved in the boards; when fitted together, they formed holes, three in each pair of boards. The center hole was larger than those on the ends. Between the six upright poles were five pairs of boards.
Nick stared at them in disbelief, feeling almost numb.
Sgt. DuBose walked up and stopped beside him.
“Walker, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. What is it?”
Nick pointed. “Do you know what those are?”
“No, never seen anything like it. What are they?”
“They’re called pillories. I’ve never seen one either, and I never expected to.”
“What’s their purpose?”
“Corporal punishment. Back in the Middle Ages on Terra, village and church elders used them to punish citizens who broke minor laws.”
Nick walked around the structure and studied it from the other side. DuBose followed.
“If someone committed a minor infraction, or maybe stole a loaf of bread, he was locked in one of these things for anywhere from a few hours to a few days. The top board lifts off so you can get someone’s head and hands into the holes, then it settles down again to lock them in place. The person can’t move until he’s released.”
“Jesus!” DuBose truly looked shocked. “Can you imagine being locked into that thing for several days?”
“I know. If you need to piss or take a shit, you just have to let it happen. What’s worse is that people would taunt the prisoners, throw things at them. Fruit, maybe, or rotten vegetables. Sometimes, rocks. The humiliation was probably worse than the discomfort.”
DuBose wiped a hand over his mouth.
“What the hell are they doing here?”
“Well, I’m guessing the locals didn’t build them. But they can probably tell us who did.”
“The Freaks. They set up a gallows in Goshen and were hanging people. Maybe Cutler Crossing didn’t have enough offenders to justify that, so they used these instead.”
Nick nodded. He took a step back, still staring at the barbaric structure.
“You or the officers might want to question the townspeople. If anyone is planning a war-crimes trial, this might qualify.”
The squad milled about for another five minutes, then DuBose sent them on their way again. When they reached the edge of town, Nick had forgotten all about his wea
riness…and the ice water.
They found some of the infantry positions the old farmer had described, what he called “gun positions”. They were nothing fancy, no electronics or range-finding equipment, no cement reinforcement. No shrapnel shields. Each was about the size of a large shell crater, three or four feet deep with old-school sandbags stacked around the perimeters. Gaps in the sandbags provided firing ports. Each position was big enough to accommodate six to eight men, and were connected by slit trenches deep enough to walk or crawl from one position to the next. Lining the street that bordered the west end of town, they found sixteen such positions, more than enough for 3rd Platoon.
“Wow, look at this!” Kit Carlson said. “Damn decent of the Freaks to build them for us.”
“Yeah, no shit. Maybe we can get some decent sleep tonight,” Kopshevar said.
DuBose began dividing up his fire teams and placed one in each of three positions. Nick stood back, feeling a disquiet in his gut.
“Hey, Sergeant?”
“What is it, Walker?”
“You can call me a pessimist, but…”
“What? Spit it out.”
“Since the Freaks built these and abandoned them, what are the odds they have them zeroed with artillery? We occupy them, then around midnight or so, they let fly with one or two salvoes. They could wipe us out in thirty seconds.”
DuBose stood silent a moment, his expression suggesting that he should have thought of it. Without a word to Nick, he chinned his helmet mike.
“Lieutenant? Can you come forward for a minute? Need your advice.”
Lt. Jaeger arrived three minutes later. DuBose explained the problem to him and they walked about for a few minutes, discussing their options. Finally DuBose nodded and returned to the squad.
“Okay, everybody out. We’re going to move about fifty yards out and dig new defensive positions.”
Everyone groaned.
“Foxholes?” Avila complained. “Didn’t those go out with the horse cavalry?”
“You don’t have to dig one,” DuBose told him. “You’re welcome to sleep on top of the ground.”
The bitching continued as the men proceeded into a field just west of the border street, pulled trenching tools off their field packs, and began digging.