The headmen of the other Siad clans completed the circle. Wad Mohammad, chieftain of the powerful Badawi clan, sat opposite Shabeli.
Wad Mohammad was the greatest threat to Shabeli's plans. The fearsome chieftain had never prostrated himself before Shabeli the Elder, and had sworn never to give the great man's son more honor than he had the father. It was most important to Shabeli that Wad Mohammad be kept under his eye, where he could work no mischief.
Among themselves the tribes spoke the various ancient languages of their clans—the Gaels and Sons an archaic form of English—but in conference they used modern English, the lingua franca of the Confederation. While none had—or would ever—accept a formal school system among them, with individual tutoring and a rude form of home schooling their young learned how to cope with life on Elneal. Leaders were expected to know not only the dialects of the other clans, but modern English as well. While the warrior tribesmen of Elneal hated government and the new ideas gradually filtering down to them from the other worlds in the Confederation, they realized the value of technology—and understood that to master technology, knowledge of English was mandatory.
Realizing this and wanting a secure base of operations for his clan, Shabeli the Elder had secretly contracted with the mining magnates to construct his underground complex and train a few men to run it. The subterranean complex had a modern communications center and more luxurious accommodations than most corporate dwellings in New Obbia and the coastal towns. Shabeli the Elder believed in austerity, but did not believe in being miserable. The son followed willingly in the father's footsteps. But the old man had been wise, and knew his son could benefit from knowledge of other cultures, so his military training was supplemented by the best tutors in the arts money could buy. His followers considered Shabeli's fondness for the literary arts and music his only weakness, but none ever dared say that in his hearing once he had succeeded to his father's place among the Siad.
Shabeli signaled for silence. "Brothers..." he began in a deep, resonant voice that filled the large meeting hall. He paused to wait for total silence. "Brothers, we have met here today to resolve the vision of our ancestors..."
Shabeli talked for the better part of an hour. During that time all eyes were upon him. He played his voice like a great musical instrument, and used it to express every emotion, intense adoration for the memory of his ancestors, pride in the mores and fighting spirit of the tribes—here he extended his arms wide to embrace all the men in the hall—and hatred of anyone who would dare interfere in the independence of the nomadic clans. His words were perfectly phrased, and complemented by gestures intended to accentuate them powerfully: vigorous pounding of fist into a palm to underscore a point; hands extended palms upward, appealing to the delegates for their support; fists slapping the table—boom, boom, boom—in time to his thundering sentences; arms thrust mightily toward the sky, beseeching the heavens for confirmation. At times he would shout in a voice so powerful it echoed in the huge room. At other times he whispered in a voice so low and sibilant the men had to lean forward to hear him. Not a man dared to breathe deeply as Shabeli thundered on and on, building to a stupendous climax. In the oral tradition of the Siad, this speech was one of the most stunning ever delivered.
"Brothers! Cousins! Listen to me! The vermin in the city and the towns," here Shabeli gestured toward the distant ocean, "the dregs of our race, have cast their lot with this Con-fed-er-a-tion." He spit the five syllables out upon the table as if they were poison. "And what is this Confederation?" His voice rose on the last syllable and his lips twisted in a sneer. Shabeli paused. He glanced left and right, his arms flexed, palms open, fingers wiggling, as if saying, "C'mon, c'mon, tell me, tell me!"
One of the Gaels involuntarily farted, and in the silence it sounded like a gunshot, but so intensely were the delegates following Shabeli's speech, only one person noticed. Moira cracked a very tiny smile, just a twitch on the right side of her mouth.
"It ... is ... an ... outhouse ... stuffed ... with ... constipated ... old ... men, long dead ... penises ... dangling ... in ... the ... shit!"
"Aaaarrrrgh!" One of the Gaels howled out his admiration for the original phrase, and the other men began pounding the table with the hilts of their daggers.
"They flit about like pretty little insects," Shabeli continued, "telling other men—telling us—what is good for us, what is best for us, what is right for us! And when they are done," here Shabeli raised his arms and looked about at the assemblage, "when they are done, brothers, when they are done, they will take away your arms, and you and your children will live as farmers, and people from the city will tell you when and where to shit!"
The room broke into pandemonium. Most of the delegates shouted their defiance at the cities and the Confederation and begged Shabeli to continue. Not the Shan, though. Those men held expressions so rigid it seemed their faces were veiled. The Euskadi wore expressions of disgust and murmured in their unintelligible language. Only Wad Mohammad among the other delegates maintained a dignified mien. In time the hall grew quiet again. "Well, brothers, that won't happen," Shabeli said in a quiet, determined, controlled tone of voice. "Our ancestors came here to live free, in the old ways, and we will, we will, we will!" Again pandemonium reigned—with the previous exceptions.
When a semblance of calm returned to the gathering, the Great Khang, headman of the Shan, rose to his feet. "Shabeli the Magnificent," he began, looking at everyone present except the man he was addressing, "you are a fool. I think you do not understand the power your plans will bring against us. The Confederation is monstrously strong. The only way we can treat with them is to go to the sea, or into the mountains and fight them in small bands there, where they cannot mass their forces against us. If you make any attempt to wage open war, you will guarantee that we will be vassals of the Confederation."
While talking he turned his gaze to Shabeli. "If you bring the Confederation against us, all the work and plans of the Shan will be for naught. We are close, very close, to concluding an arrangement with Consolidated Enterprises to export our drugs. If you will join with us in this enterprise, we will all become wealthy beyond your dreams. If you persist in your plans, you will bring poverty and ruination on us all."
The Great Khang signaled the rest of his delegation and led them from the cavern. None of them looked back at the disdainful eyes that followed them.
Shabeli raised a restraining hand before anyone could make a motion toward the departing Shan. What the Shan did was no more than he had anticipated. "Any other dissenters?" he asked.
Raymondo Itzaina, the head of the Euskadi delegation, stood. "The only safety for free men," he said, looking at no one because to look at a man other than a relative or a friend was to challenge him to a fight, "is in isolation. I trust the Shan no more than I trust the Confederation, no more than I trust the Gaels, no more than I trust Shabeli, no more than I trust anyone else who is not of my blood." Now he looked directly at Shabeli, and there was fierce challenge in his eyes. "If you mix with the Confederation, you will die. Just as treating with the corporation that controls the New Obbia government will ultimately kill you." He turned his head to look at the other delegates, the same challenge in his eyes. "All of you." He didn't have to signal the other members of his delegation; they were on their feet and moving with him before he completed his first step from the table.
Shabeli hadn't expected this from the Euskadi, but neither did it surprise him. He looked expectantly at the rest of the delegations.
The Gaels all stood and offered Shabeli their side arms in the universal gesture of fealty among the Clans. "None should speak of our being defeated by mere off-worlders," their leader growled.
Instantly, the other delegations rose and performed the same gesture. These men were no fools. They knew that their only safety lay in numbers. They knew Shabeli wanted something for himself out of the alliance, but they also knew that Shabeli was a leader and a fighter. Later, during the war c
ouncils, cooler heads would prevail and Shabeli knew he would have to use a different form of persuasion to get their cooperation, but right now, in this hall, after that rousing speech, the delegates of these tribes, the only ones who mattered, were committed.
"Did you hear the fart that bastard let during your speech?" Moira asked Shabeli. They lay snuggled under skins Shabeli had taken from the animals he killed on his hunting expeditions in the mountains over the years, watching an ancient flat-vid of a funny woman, her handsome husband, and their elderly neighbors. Shabeli laughed in genuine amusement at the exaggerated comic predicaments the woman got herself into. "What do you expect from a man who lives on potatoes and beer?" He laughed.
"What," Moira asked as she massaged one of Shabeli's nipples gently with a forefinger, "are you going to do?"
"Air out the meeting hall?" he replied. "I will kill many people," he continued, his voice serious now. "We will work out the details in council, but I'll start with an all-out campaign against the cities and the farmers who support them."
"That is what the Confederation has been waiting for," Moira said.
"So you've told me many times, my love. And as always, you are right. The Confederation will send in its Marines. They'll have to: The people we don't massacre outright will be starving, and I will control the mines. Molycarbondum is the key, my dearest Moira. I'll draw the Marines into our deserts and mountains, pick them off one by one, pin them down, embarrass their leaders. It will cost me the lives of many men, but in time I'll conclude a truce with the Confederation. Then you shall be Madam President, and when I am in complete control—"
Moira moved her hand lower and exclaimed in mock surprise, "Why, what in the world is this thing?"
Shabeli laughed. "It is the staff of life, my dear, something for you to write home about," he said, referring to her former career as a journalist. "And," he added, "the shaft of the Confederation Marine Corps." They both laughed at the pun. On the vid the funny woman was stuffing handfuls of candies into her mouth.
Chapter Fourteen
When Reveille sounded, most of the men of Company L were already up, putting the final touches on the gear they expected to take into the field in the next hour or two. Their preparedness was wasted.
Staff Sergeant Charlie Bass stepped into his platoon's squad bay and announced in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear even through closed doors, "The training exercise has been canceled. Stand by for further orders. Until we receive new orders, we will conduct normal garrison duties. That is all." Then he turned and left before anybody could ask what was going on.
So the men of the platoon asked each other what was happening.
"We're mounting out, that's what's happening," Claypoole told Dean and McNeal with an air of superiority.
"Where are we going?" Dean asked him.
"What are we going to do?" McNeal added.
"We're going where the Marine Corps sends us and we're going to do what the Marine Corps tells us to," Claypoole replied haughtily. "Someone, somewhere, is going to pay a price for doing something they weren't supposed to do." He paused to glare at the two only slightly less experienced men, then continued, "When the Marines get called out, people die. You had best remember everything you've been taught, or you might be the ones."
Hammer Schultz walked over to the three and clamped a possessive hand on McNeal's shoulder. "New Guy," he said, the first time in weeks anyone had called Claypoole by that name, "I've seen to it that Freddy here knows everything he needs to. You worry about yourself." Holding McNeal's shoulder firmly, he turned and marched back to the fire team's room.
Claypoole swallowed. Even though Schultz never seemed to get out of line in garrison, the other men in the platoon used tales of his combat prowess to frighten those who hadn't yet had to fight. Schultz was not someone Claypoole wanted to be on the wrong side of.
Goudanis snickered.
Corporals Leach and Kerr had also been watching. They looked at each other.
"We're going to have to talk to Rabbit about that young man," Kerr said.
Leach nodded agreement. "He needs to get a couple operations under his belt before talking that taut."
Despite everyone's curiosity about what was going on, the next couple of hours progressed routinely enough. Between Reveille, at 06 hours, and 07 hours, when the company lined up to march to the mess hall for morning chow, they cleaned the barracks again, even though none of them thought it necessary. At 08 hours they were again in formation behind the barracks for roll call. They had to wait a little longer than usual for Gunny Thatcher to come out of the barracks and take his position front and center. Bass came out with him and took the platoon sergeant's position in front of his platoon. His passive face gave his men no clue about what was happening. The men of the company fairly buzzed, certain that they were about to be given orders to mount out on a campaign.
Except for the men of third platoon. They exchanged quick glances, wondering why Bass was in this position instead of coming out with the company's officers.
At Thatcher's command to sound off, the platoon sergeants each called out, "All present and accounted for." Gunny Thatcher about-faced just in time to salute Captain Conorado, who came out of the barracks a few paces behind him. There was a stranger among the company's officers as they took their positions behind the company commander. The stranger was an ensign who didn't look quite old enough to be an officer. The company's officers were all dressed in garrison utilities; the stranger was wearing the officers' dress uniform, scarlet, stock-neck tunic over gold trousers. One row of ribbons was arrayed above his shooting badges.
"Company L, all present and accounted for, sir!" Gunny Thatcher boomed when the Skipper raised his hand to return his salute.
"Have the company stand at ease, Gunny," Conorado said at the conclusion of the formality.
Thatcher about-faced, scanned the company, and called out, "Company! At ease!" The men relaxed their positions from rigid attention to something slightly more relaxed than parade rest.
The captain stepped forward, two paces to the right and one to the front of Gunny Thatcher. He stood easy, with his hands clasped behind his back. "I have one piece of new company business this morning, then Gunny Thatcher will turn you over to your platoon sergeants for the day's training."
A quick, almost inaudible buzz swept through the company, since it didn't sound as if the Skipper was going to tell them why the field exercise was canceled.
Conorado paused to look over the company; the way his eyes moved, it seemed that he looked directly at everyone. "As you have probably already noticed, we have a new officer in the company." He glanced over his shoulder, and the stranger stepped forward to take a position one pace to the right and front of Gunny Thatcher, next to the company commander. "This is Ensign Baccacio," Conorado said when the young officer took his place. "Ensign Baccacio reported in a few minutes ago. Over the next few days, as he gets settled in here, he will take command of third platoon." The men of third platoon exchanged quick glances and looked at Bass. Bass didn't move a muscle at the surprise announcement. "I have to apologize to Staff Sergeant Bass and the men of third platoon for letting them know in the company formation, but as I said, Ensign Baccacio reported in literally a few minutes ago and there was no opportunity to tell them in advance.
"This is Ensign Baccacio's first duty assignment as an officer, though he has notable experience as an enlisted man behind him. He was meritoriously promoted to lance corporal after only a year and a half of duty—that was on a bandit-chasing campaign on New Serengeti, where he earned a Bronze Star with starburst for valor under fire. A year ago, on a peacekeeping mission on Saint Brendan's, he was awarded a second Bronze Star, without starburst this time." A muscle visibly knotted in Baccacio's jaw when Captain Conorado mentioned the lack of a second starburst, which meant it was awarded for bravery other than in combat. "And he was selected for officer training. He also holds a Meritorious Unit Citation, as well as the Mar
ine Expeditionary Medal with comet device for a second campaign." Everyone in the company noticed that the new officer didn't have a Good Conduct Medal. That must mean he had been selected for officer training well before he'd been in the Corps long enough to earn one, which was very unusual.
"I know that you will all make Ensign Baccacio feel welcome, and will help him quickly integrate into the company. Especially third platoon," Conorado added pointedly.
"That is all." He took a step back and turned to face Gunny Thatcher to hand the company back to him, but was interrupted by Top Myer, who ran out of the barracks to thrust a sheet of paper into his hand. The captain scanned the paper once quickly, then read it through more slowly. Finished reading, he faced the company again.
"Belay that last," he said. "You've probably been wondering why our planned field exercise was canceled." He paused briefly while a few men laughed nervously, but gave no other indication he was aware of an interruption. "Well, here's the reason," he said when quiet was restored.
"Thirty-fourth FIST has received orders for an operation. When you are dismissed from this formation, you will return to your squad bays and saddle up. The entire FIST will be heading off-planet on a humanitarian mission. Company L will be the vanguard. We will board a fast frigate for transport later today. The remainder of the FIST will follow along in the next few days. You will pack expeditionary." He paused briefly. "These orders don't say what our destination is, only the general type of mission. We'll get the rest of the information in transit. Right now, all I can tell you is be prepared for anything." Conorado faced Thatcher. "Company Gunnery Sergeant, the company is yours," he said, and returned Thatcher's salute. He hurried back into the barracks with the company officers in tow. An anxious-looking Top Myer held the door for them.
"Company, ah-ten-HUT!" Thatcher called out. He looked at each of the platoon sergeants. "You heard the man, saddle them up. Dismissed."
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