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Cain's Land

Page 14

by Robert Frezza


  Kekkonen watched the Imperial soldiers for a few moments before replying. “They look serious.”

  “Good enough. Keep us posted. Snyman out” Snyman turned to Hiltunen. “Double or nothing?” Hiltunen shook his head.

  A corvette roared into the upper atmosphere over the hill. Snyman watched it pass and felt the hum of his radio.

  “Coldewe here. Corvette Jintsu just simulated dusting the top of the hill with chicken seed. Major Meagher will assess casualties.”

  “That won't take long,” Hiltunen commented “You want me to start moving?”

  “Yes, you have the farthest to go so you might as well get started. I'll call you if the Imps spring any surprises.”

  Hiltunen nodded and left.

  A few moments later, Kekkonen provided a follow-up report. “Thee shuttle's back. They're opening chutes at about two thousand meters into a light crosswind and coming down all over the potato patch. It’ll be another hour before they form up, maybe two. Hope you can work in some jump training for them. Kekkonen out.”

  TRAVELING JUST BEHIND HIS LEAD PLATOON, MAJOR AICHI paused to get a position reading from the warships overhead. Progress through the thick undergrowth that separated ridge lines was agonizingly slow, and his sections were finding it difficult to maintain their intervals. The heat and humidity of the forest was already causing problems, and Aichi paused to adjust the thermal conttols on his battledress.

  To Aichi's intense discomfort. Hans Coldewe, who had nominated himself as chief umpire for the exercise, scribbled yet another note to himself, all the while murmuring lines from The Yeoman of the Guard.

  He was well into the second act.

  Abruptly, Aichi came to a decision. Pulling in closer the two sections detailed as flank security, he checked his map and directed his men to walk down the spine of the ridge in the gaps that separated the towering fern trees. His point team entered a small saddle that separated the ridge from a slight elevation.

  Seconds later, the point team was obliterated by an 88mm recoilless round, and the elevation erupted in a hail of s-mortar fire. As Aichi shouted orders into his radio, he felt a laser beam strike his shoulder. Immediately, his radio and weapon ceased to function.

  Cursing, Aichi squatted and looked down to where the fabric of his battledress had turned itself red. Coldewe gestured sympathetically. Feeling stupid, Aichi checked his wrist mount, which registered 25 percent disabled.

  A first platoon rifleman noticed his plight He stopped trying to return fire at unseen enemies and crawled over to bandage Aichi's shoulder. As soon as the soldier taped an electronic “compress” over the “wound,” Aichi gave Coldewe a hard look and ordered his second and third platoons into the low ground on either side of the ridge to flank the enemy ambush.

  As they did so, hell broke loose from the dense vegetation.

  Aichi yelled, “Point Akita. Break. Aichi here. Platoon leaders, report!” A moment later, he realized to his horror that all three of his platoon leaders were down.

  Firing intensified as he tried to make sense out of the situation. A moment later, he felt something touch him in the back.

  Recognizing that he was “dead,” Aichi stripped off his mask with numbed fingers as the No. 10 platoon soldier who had shot him went by in a low crouch looking for other targets.

  The firing died away to a series of single shots.

  Coldewe spoke rapidly into his wrist mount. Then he shook his head and looked at Aichi. “This one's over. You all right?”

  Aichi replied, “Yes, sir,” automatically. He picked up his face shield. Then he looked for his rifle and found it on the ground.

  “There is something about walking into an ambush that concentrates the mind marvelously. Rest a minute, then round up your people. The sequence to unlock your radios is 34782.” Coldewe glanced at his wrist mount. “I want the officers from both sides for a postmortem. Anton has been monitoring Jan's radio net, so he should be here in a few minutes.”

  “We went up against a company,” Aichi said stupidly.

  Coldewe nodded. “This was your introduction to the Neighbor task group. You were, of course, followed. These ridge lines are as good as trails--one of Suid-Afrika's peculiarities—and Jan Snyman knows it. Two sections from No. 9 platoon let you have it from the hill there. When you went for the cheese, No. 10 platoon and the rest of No. 9 fired you up from the low ground, and some people from the recon platoon rolled you up back to front when the people who were supposed to be providing you with rear security allowed themselves to be distracted. It’s one of Jan's favorite stunts. It’s about the only way you can ambush somebody from three sides, but it takes very, very good fire control to keep from shooting your own people.”

  He shrugged. “You have about a dozen privates left. Jan lost about half a dozen people, but judging from some of the things that his company sergeant is saying right now, a couple of them were 'own goals.' Somebody didn't shift fire, and Hiltunen is so upset he's stuttering. It’s traditional for the loser in one of these to police up the battlefield, but you may have help.”

  Aichi was stunned. “A half a dozen,” he repeated slowly, feeling disoriented.

  ”From what I saw, your boys were mostly shooting up tree tops. That’s another reason Jan arranged to hit you from below. Green troops tend to fire high to begin with, and you trained where, Go-Nihon?”

  Aichi bowed his head.

  “Go-Nihon has 104 percent of Suid-Afrika's gravitational pull and half the humidity, so the ballistics are different. Not much. but enough. I'll bet you didn't adjust for that on the trip over, did you? That’s one of the tricks.”

  “I thought that we were to attack one platoon,” Aichi said in a strained voice

  “And instead, I hit you with two platoons plus the recon platoon to scout. I wanted to see how your people would react to something unanticipated.” Coldewe's eyes hardened. “One problem with taking on an entire planet with two companies is that you can't expect to have odds in your favor.” He patted Aichi lightly on the shoulder. “Come on. We've got work to do. Put on an inscrutable face and get your people rounded up. As Suntzu used to say, a little self-knowledge is a useful thing.”

  A tilt-rotor transport aircraft appeared overhead. As Coldewe watched, the plane slowed and gradually tilted the engines on its wings from horizontal to vertical so that it could hover. An abseille rope appeared from the left rear door and fell between trees. Hooking himself to the rope, Anton Vereshchagin slid down, grunting when his knees absorbed the modest shock of landing. Piotr Kolomeitsev followed him down a few seconds later.

  Coldewe walked over. “You really should leave this sort of thing to the younger generation.” He handed Vereshchagin his notes as Aichi's company gathered itself, sullen and uneasy.

  Vereshchagin read through them. “I see.”

  Aichi saluted stitlly. “Sir, I accept full responsibility.” Vereshchagin smiled. He took Aichi by the arm.

  “Their confidence is shaken,” The Iceman remarked to Coldewe.

  “Jan's company hammered them pretty hard. He was a little too cute about it, which is something the two of us will discuss.”

  The Iceman, who had seen more combat as a company officer than any other man, allowed his eyes to smile. “If I know anything of my old company, money will change hands.”

  Although technically, the official language of the Imperial defense forces was English, Vereshchagin chose to address Aichi's men in Japanese. Coldewe observed him critically for several moments and shook his head. “He has them, Piotr. How does he do it?”

  The Iceman didn't reply.

  COLDEWE SAT BESIDE VERESHCHAGIN ON THE FLIGHT BACK. “Anton, an old lagg called last night with a tongue-tied request to come along.”

  Vereshchagin closed his eyes as if he knew what Coldewe was about to say. “Obviously, if this were a normal request, you would have simply made a decision.”

  Coldewe grinned “It’s Prigal
, of course.”

  Formerly a driver in Paul Henke's light attack company, Prigal had left the battalion at the rank of recruit private having been promoted to the rank of superior private a total of fourteen times in his fourteen years of service.

  “What is Prigal doing with hiniself these days?” Vereshchagin asked

  “He's a short-order cook.”

  “I thought he was driving a taxi.”

  Coldewe tried to maintain a straight face. “I asked. He didn't seem to want to discuss the details.”

  From the other side of the aircraft, Piotr Kolomeitsev, a silent witness to the conversation, eyed the two of them. “Prigal?” he inquired.

  “Prigal!” Coldewe assured him.

  “I trust you are not serious.”

  Coldewe held up one finger. “In the fullness of time, I have learned that you cannot make a sow's ear out of a silk purse, and there are some things in war for which an idiot is indispensable.” “Prigal is certainly that.” The Iceman said.

  “Besides,” Coldewe added, “Jan Snyman wants him along for training purposes. Jan thinks he qualifies as an intelligent alien life-form.”

  Vereshchagin began tapping the bowl of his pipe against his knee in a rhythmic fashion. “Are you seriously suggesting that we take him?”

  “Well, we haven't turned down any Tokyo vets yet.”

  “On your head may it be. Prigal has baraka. He will be our good-luck charm. In the fullness of time, he will once again be the galaxy's oldest recruit private. He may come. As a cook.” Although Vereshchagin had a well-deserved reputation for infallibility, he did on occasion make small errors. Although Prigal was employed as a cook, Coldewe hadn't told Vereshchagin that Prigal was a good cook.

  ”I suppose that this is as good a moment as any to bring up the subject of the puppies,” Vereshchagin said.

  Coldewe nodded. “I want to bring half our trained canines, which is eight pooches.”

  “I will trot out the obvious objections. This is an entirely alien planet, which is to say that from the moment they touch its surface they will be subjected to an overwhelming barrage of unfamiliar sights, sounds, and smells. The recon teams we dispatch will have little margin for error.”

  “Let me mention points in their favor. The logistical requirements are minimal--the fattest dog on my list weighs in at 2.1 kilograms--and it’s a lot easier for a one-and-a-half-kilo dog to maintain surveillance than it is for a seventy kilo man.”

  As hundreds of Suid-Afrikan children looking for free pets had discovered over the years, Coldewe's standards were high. Even four generations into his breeding program, eight of every

  ten puppies teste9 were deemed unsuitable.

  “Obviously, there is no way of knowing whether they can do the job on Neighbor,” Coldewe continued stubbornly, “but my recon teams will sleep better with a third set of trained eyes along.”

  “And besides, it is good for morale,” Vereshchagin concluded for him.

  “Well, that too. Some of my guys don't realize that the dogs are dogs,” Coldewe confessed. “Besides, you've got to take them if you take Prigal. 'They're at least as smart, and a lot better trained.”

  “Peace,” Vereshchagin said, looking at Kolomeitsev.

  When the aircraft touched down, Coldewe left Aichi and Snyman to organize retrieval of their remaining men and went to find Battalion Sergeant Beregov.

  Still spry, although easily tired, The Iceman accompanied him. As they entered Beregov's room, Prigal hastily leaped to his feet and assumed a position of attention. Beregov looked at Coldewe indulgently.

  Coldewe rubbed his hands together. “Prigal. I come as the bearer of glad tiding. The Variag has approved your plea, and you are once again restored to our bosom. How would you like to be a superior private?” He stopped. “Is something troubling you?”

  “Well, sir, I don't know.” Prigal looked at Beregov, “About being a superior private, I mean. It doesn't seem right somehow.”

  “I understand,” Coldewe said, nodding his head.

  Prigal blinked his eyes several times earnestly. “I'm not sure I want all that responsibility.”

  “I understand. Recruit Private Prigal,” Coldewe assured him, conscious of the depth of humor in The Iceman's cold, gray eyes. “All right, Prigal, repeat the oath after me.”

  After Coldewe said the words and Prigal made appropriate responses, Battalion Sergeant Beregov laid a large, reassuring hand on Prigal's shoulder. “Welcome back. Prigal.”

  “Yes, Battalion Sergeant.”

  “A few words,” Beregov whispered. leaning close. “You'll be aboard ship for a long, long time. And Company Sergeant Wanjau intends to make keeping track of you a duty and a pleasure.”

  “Yes, Battalion Sergeant.”

  “If you do anything that remotely resembles manufacturing a still, out the air lock you go.”

  “Yes, Battalion Sergeant.”

  “If you do anything that remotely resembles adjusting the temperature controls, out the air lock you go.”

  “Yes, Battalion Sergeant.”

  Coldewe and Kolomeitsev discreetly made their departure. Coldewe observed. “Bery is wasting his time. Prigal's beauty is that he never repeats mistakes; he finds new ones. He is a well of creativity, ever flowing.”

  “If you will keep him far from the control room and the fusion bottle, I will sleep better for it,” The Iceman replied.

  Esko Poikolainnen caught up with them in operations. “Colonel Coldewe, there is a woman here to see you.”

  “Dear gods---a scorned wife or an abandoned mother?” Coldewe touched his brow, hoping it wasn't Professor Dr. Anneke Brink. “I still need to talk with Simon. Is this something Jan can handle?”

  Poikolainnen shook his head resolutely. “She's waiting in your room.”

  “All right,” Coldewe said, understanding him. When he reached his door, he stopped and knocked.

  A woman's voice, musical, answered. “Come in.”

  Coldewe walked inside. “Elise.” He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Then he held her hands. “I live here. Don't we have this backward?”

  Elise Beckman, née Loux, laughed. Her dress was red, matching her hair, with green velvet trim. Her face was unmarked by lines, and her eyes were blue and clear.

  “You're looking well. I like you in red”

  “The dress or the hair?”

  “Both, actually.” Coldewe cleared his rucksack off a chair and held it for her. “Sorry about the wait.”

  “Not at all, your Sergeant Poikolainnen was very kind.” Her eyes twinkled. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  Beckman accepted a seat from him. She folded her hands in her lap, clutching her green suede gloves tightly. “You're packing, I see.”

  “Yes, and I'm having the devil of a time figuring out what to take. I told Esko to burn anything I can't stuff in a rucksack.” He spotted a black hat in his closet and reached down to pick it up. “Want a cowboy hat?”

  She laughed and took it from him. “Charmer. I told Sergeant Poikolainnen about the night we met, when you blew up my house and asked for my phone number.”

  He grinned foolishly, remembering. “How is your family, Elise?”

  “They're all well. I told my husband I wanted to see you off.”

  “Thanks. It means a lot. Tell me about everyone. How old is your daughter, now?”

  “Babette just turned eighteen. She is at the stage where her parents are inarguably stupid.”

  “In a few short years she'll be shocked at how much they've learned. There is a boy involved, of course.”

  “Of course. The usual gawky, unshaven lout. She will grow out of it, and so will he.” Coldewe grinned. “I never did.”

  “I know. Peter, my husband, is well, and so are the twins.” She looked up at him with a bright, unblinking stare. “I had almost caught up with you in age when you went to Tokyo. This time, when you get back I wi
ll be an old woman.”

  “Never!”

  “What will you do when you get back?”

  ”I don't know. I've never really fit in here, you know, and I can't be a soldier all my life. Now that we're on speaking terms with the Imps again, maybe I'll look around for a planet that suits. Is Peter treating you well? You married him so-”

  “Hastily, is this the word you are looking for? Two weeks and three days after our last stormy fight?” She laughed. “Peter is a dear. Without understanding me in the least, he loves me as much as any man can, and we have had eighteen good years together. There are times when I feel that I haven't been quite fair to him, but in my own way, I love him very much, and we make do. I suppose I haven't been quite fair to anyone.”

  “Good. Good. I'm very glad to hear that,” Coldewe said, rubbing his hands together.

  “I thought for a while that you and Marta were going to make a go of it.”

  Coldewe refused to meet her eyes. “A war got in the way.”

  “So I heard. I thought about coming to find you before you went to Tokyo, but the time was not right”

  “Well, I'm glad you caught me here.”

  She smiled. “Would you have dropped me the way you dropped Marta?”

  Coldewe shrugged. “Probably.”

  She laughed. “You were always honest.” She fumbled with her purse. “Let me show you my pictures.”

  Coldewe examined the first few. “These are the twins? How old are they?”

  “Eleven and twelve,” she said with a perfectly straight face. He raised one eyebrow. “I sent you a card. didn't I?”

  “You did, and it was sweet of you.” She handed him another. “This is Babette.”

  Coldewe looked and nodded. “Very pretty girl. She'll break a few hearts.”

  “She does favor you that way.”

  Coldewe's face froze.

  “Peter has always known, but be loves her as much as if she had been his own daughter.”

  “Why didn't you ever tell me?”

  “There wasn't any reason for you to know. But she has your eyes, and your temper. She was a little devil, if you must know. I have made my life and I am happy with it. Would it have made any difference if you had known?”

 

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