Two Space War

by Dave Grossman

  In the midst of their labor, they found themselves again with allies from above. First one little brown monkey appeared to help them, comically teaming up with two stalwart men to drag a corpse across the ground. Then another and yet another joined in. Soon there were hundreds, then thousands of the spider monkeys, all delighting in sending the invaders floating downhill. If they'd all come plunging out of the trees together they'd probably have frightened the little company, but in this gradual manner they slowly earned the trust of the men of Westerness.

  The slit latrines that had been dug on the downslope sides of their position were flooded. Sergeant Broadax put her most junior troops to work digging drainage ditches downslope from the latrines. The nasty stuff always did flow downhill, and rank did have its privileges.

  With the help of gravity, the deluge, and thousands of spider monkeys, all the ape corpses were soon removed. Only two were held back, along with a few dead spider monkeys, for Petreckski and their surgeon to dissect later.

  Melville's food-obsessed midshipmen were hunched around a cooking fire, roasting bits of some mystery meat skewered on sticks. Aquinar was handing up a tasty bit to his monkey, who chewed it eagerly. Not really wanting to know what they were cooking, he called the "young gentlemen" to him, and walked up to Broadax and Hans.

  The two NCOs were watching the removal of the last of the enemy corpses. "Sergeant Broadax, Chief Hans."

  "Aye, sir," they replied together, Hans spitting a stream of tobacco juice, and Broadax still clenching her seemingly indestructible cigar in her teeth.

  "I'm not too concerned about hypothermia; this rain still feels like a warm shower. But if it cools off tonight we may be in trouble. So I want a good fire going soon. Be sure it's tended all night. The men will need to debrief themselves after battle, and sitting around a fire will help. Tomorrow night will be even more important for debriefing, so be sure we have one then, too."

  "Aye, sir," they replied, again in unison. They knew exactly what he was talking about. For untold thousands of years, warriors almost always took the nights off. Across the millennia they "debriefed" themselves every night after combat, around the campfire.

  Then, in the twentieth century, starting with World War I, combat became a twenty-four-hour-a-day endeavor. From that point on, armies fought day and night for months on end, and the age-old process of nightly debriefings disappeared. Throughout that tragic century the price warriors paid for this, in psychiatric casualties and in post-traumatic stress, was profound. In the twenty-first century this process was reintroduced, using labels like "critical incident stress debriefings" and "after action reviews," but it was really something age-old made new again. It was a simple, universal human equation, first introduced by a classic science fiction author, E.E. "Doc" Smith: "pain shared equals pain divided, and joy shared equals joy multiplied." Sometimes it was even written as a formula:

  (pain shared = pain ÷) + (joy shared = joy x)

  As the warriors of Westerness talked that night, and on each subsequent night, they would divide their pain, and multiply their joy, making battle something that they could live with and could do again if they had to.

  "What I am concerned about is another attack. If they come at us again, or if this meat downhill draws carnivores or carrion eaters, we need to be on guard. The men will be tired, but I think it's necessary to keep double pickets tonight. Do you agree?"

  "Aye, sir," replied Hans.

  "Aye, indeed," rumbled Broadax, sucking deep on her cigar as rain pattered off of her helmet and ran down her beard.

  My God, thought Melville, how does she keep it going, even in this rain? It's not a cigar, it's a damned nuclear fusion reactor.

  "Good," said Melville. "Sergeant Broadax, your marines will do picket duty by themselves tonight. I have another task for our sailors. Can your men handle the duty by themselves?"

  The marine sergeant's eyes grew wide and she rocked back on her heels. "Sir! None o' my marines is solar powered or water soluble!" Then, with a scowl, "We'll handle it."

  Melville tried to hide a grin. "Crater," he continued, looking at young Jarad Crater, his senior midshipman, "You'll be the officer in charge of the pickets tonight. I suggest you listen very carefully to any suggestions the sergeant gives you."

  "Yessir!" gulped the midshipman, swallowing in wide-eyed horror at the thought of disregarding any of the Dwarrowdelf's "suggestions."

  "Hans," he continued, turning to the grizzled old sailor, "I don't want to impose upon the hospitality of our newfound friends, but if another group like this attacks us, a retreat up into the trees may be our only hope. Young Aquinar seems to have won their trust. I want you to work carefully with him to get some ropes up into the lower branches." The old sailor's eyes lost their focus and he began to scowl with deep thought. You could almost see ratlines and rigging dancing in his head.

  "Ultimately the goal is to prepare a method for everyone to move up into the trees quickly, but we've got to go about this gradually, earning their trust a bit at a time. If possible, I want Aquinar to spend the night in a hammock in the trees. Have the proper ropes, tackle, and supports ready to go for a larger operation on short notice. Tonight we'll get Aquinar in the trees, tomorrow night hopefully a few more can sleep there.

  "Aquinar will be in charge of all aspects involving interaction with the monkeys. He'll have final say in all such matters." Everyone nodded their heads soberly. Word of Aquinar's "miracle" had spread quickly. Aquinar nodded his head. He appeared to be completely untroubled by this profound new responsibility. The little spider monkey wrapped around his neck looked on sleepily.

  "Mister Archer." Here he turned and looked young Midshipman Buckley Archer in the eyes.

  "Aye sir?"

  "You'll be the officer in charge of the rigging and prep for movement into the trees. Remember, Mister Aquinar calls the shots on anything involving the monkeys, and I trust you to listen closely to Chief Petty Officer Hans' advice in all technical aspects of rigging." Like Crater, the young man's eyes went wide at the mere thought of disregarding such "advice." Chief Hans' grizzled face grinned appreciatively.

  "Think about how to get the wounded up, and how to get our supplies up if we have to. You have full authority to strip anything you need from Swish-tail's hulk. Understood?"

  "Aye sir," the young man replied, gulping at the responsibility and trying to think how he'd balance it all out. He was an unusually clever lad and Melville felt confident he could work it out, especial with Chief Hans' "advice."

  "All of you be sure you get some sleep tonight, and be sure your men get a chance to sleep. There are enough leaders and men assigned to each task to go turn-and-turn-about."

  Suddenly, Chief Hans interrupted. "Gawd a'mighty sir. Do ya see that?"

  By the last light of day they turned and watched, open-mouthed, as spider monkeys rode the corpses downstream, cheering and gibbering with high-pitched peeping noises, like baby chicks, while their macabre boats careened downstream to the far wood line. Some of them found sticks to serve as poles, and they used these to push and fend their ghastly rafts. As the corpses hit the wood line at the bottom of the hill, the tiny monkeys all leapt off, scampered up the slope, and found yet another "boat" that was about to embark downstream.

  When Melville saw the monkeys using poles to assist in their bizarre rafting, he realized that they were a tool-using species. They were tool users, possibly even sentient. And they were friends.

  As the last light of day ebbed away, Melville knew he'd achieved something. Just what they'd achieved this day wasn't clear yet, but it was more than mere survival. It was . . . significant. What more could a young man ask, than to do great deeds and be significant upon the stage of life?

  Chapter the 4th

  The Ship Returns:

  One Nameless,Tattered, Broken Man

  Though giant rains put out the sun,

  Here stand I for a sign,

  Though Earth be filled with waters dark,r />
  My cup is filled with wine.

  Tell to the trembling priests that here

  Under the deluge rod,

  One nameless, tattered, broken man

  Stood up and drank to God.

  "The Deluge"

  G.K. Chesterton

  The next morning the wet, rainy world slowly, sullenly dawned, and the men of Westerness began to stir. Every man in their little company was exhausted to the bone. The rain was still warm, but it was beginning to outlast its welcome.

  The wounded lay in the few dry spaces that could still be found within the hold of their little cutter. Beneath the branches of the mighty trees were more dry patches where the rest of the company slept.

  As they began to move around, some of them found that they had company. Somewhere in the night, soft little spider monkeys had joined them. Melville had his. Petreckski had one. Chief Hans and even Sergeant Broadax literally had monkeys on their backs.

  For Melville it was an eerie feeling. He'd turn his head, and there'd be an upside-down face staring solemnly back at him. Broadax seemed slightly embarrassed by hers, but she opted to ignore it, acting as though it wasn't there.

  Little Aquinar still slept in his hammock, a full five yards off the ground, warm and dry next to the bole of a great tree. His little fawn-colored monkey still clung tightly to his neck. Dozens of other monkeys also shared his hammock, sleeping contentedly.

  Melville didn't have the heart to awaken the little midshipman, but he did climb up to be sure the boy was still alive, that the monkeys hadn't killed him in his sleep. Melville was horrified at the boy's peril, but he was their best ambassador to the little monkeys. Aquinar was a boy, but he was also a warrior and the right man for this job. Like a loving father checking on his young child in the middle of the night, Melville watched to see that the boy still breathed. Reassured, and observed by sleepy monkeys who seemed completely unbothered by his presence, he slid back down.

  At this point the huge Corporal Kobbsven strode up to Melville. He was clearly a man with a mission. "Sir! I am happy to report that there is now vater in the vell that vee bin diggin'!"

  Blink. " . . . Yes. Good. Thank you, Corporal."

  Their first duty that day was to bury their dead. Everyone took turns digging the graves of their comrades. Melville took his turn and made sure that each of his young midshipmen did as well. Little Aquinar awoke and descended from above in time to help dig one of the dogs' graves.

  Six large holes and four smaller ones were dug. The bodies of their comrades were lovingly wrapped in sailcloth shrouds and lowered one-by-one into the graves. They'd traveled far across the shoreless seas of Flatland to reach this world, and now they'd be planted here. They would gain immortality in this land that they had discovered and died to defend. Immortality such as every sailor dreamed of. Future settlers would remember their names. Cities and mountains would be named after them. It would be a fit and proper ending for one who traveled the hidden land forlorn. Provided their mother ship returned and their sacrifice was not in vain.

  Now it was Melville's time to say Words. He'd never felt so inadequate. All he could do was reach back into their heritage and set forth the Words, those ancient Words. Ten thousand applications to the griefs of a thousand years had carved these Words into their cultural consciousness. Thereby giving them the power to heal and strengthen lives in times of sorrow and loss.

  Melville's personal hero, the warrior poet Lord Wavell, once wrote that, "Long funeral pieces . . . become tedious . . . by their length. Heavy mourning, deep black edges, long widowhood, unrestrained grief are out of fashion, as they must be to a generation which has indulged in . . . war." The key was "economy of words."

  And so Melville chose simply to say this, as his company looked on. Above them countless thousands of monkeys, like a heavenly chorus of fawn-colored, eight-legged angels, also gazed solemnly from the trees.

  "Here dead lie we because we did not choose

  To live and shame the land from which we sprung.

  Life to be sure is nothing much to lose;

  But young men think it is, and we were young."

  He turned to Petreckski. "Brother Theo," he asked, "could you say a few words?" The crew wasn't a particularly religious bunch. Yet, like the sailors of Old Earth, most of the men who sail in two-space have some spiritual aspect to them They came from many and diverse faiths, but when the mystery of life and death was upon them, the Words of a cleric, even an unordained monk like Petreckski, could be comforting.

  Like Melville, Petreckski reached back to the old, strong Words that resonated in the heritage and souls of these lonely men on this distant, alien shore. In his clear, pure tenor voice he began to sing a song that was a particular favorite to sailors, and the company joined in.

  "There's a land that is fairer than day,

  And by faith we can see it afar;

  For the Father waits over the way

  To prepare us a dwelling place there.

  In the sweet by and by,

  We shall meet on that beautiful shore.

  In the sweet by and by,

  We shall sing on that beautiful shore,

  And our spirits shall sorrow no more,

  " . . . on that beautiful shore. Amen."

  Then the dead were left to their own affairs, and the living got on with theirs. Or, as Old Hans put it, "Those who git ta live, should."

  Only a few more days passed before their Ship returned, not with joy, but with more sorrow and tribulations. With yet more challenges for young lieutenant Melville.

  "Sir! Sir!" called Midshipman Archer. "Kestrel has returned! Lieutenant Fielder has come down!"

  Lieutenant Daniel Fielder and two sailors had descended from two-space, and were striding down the hill. The rain had finally stopped but clouds still hung low in the sky. The wounded were laid out to take the air.

  Fielder was dark haired, thick set, with a florid face and bushy sideburns. He was junior in rank to Melville, but he'd spent many more years as a midshipman and was the older man. Melville always considered him to be a bit of a bully, and now Fielder tried to assert the authority of his years. "My God, Melville, everything has gone straight to hell, and now you've made a hash of it here!" he said, looking at the wounded. "Your company has been torn to hell!"

  Perhaps Fielder would have succeeded in turning the men from Melville, but every heart was turned against him the moment this mean-spirited insult left his lips. He severed all chance of winning them over with one further thoughtless comment, as he looked at the little eight-legged monkey peering over Melville's shoulder with its comical upside-down face. "And what is that clinging to your necks? We've been in a running battle, the Ship is shot to hell and here you are playing with the local critters? Have you all gone native?" The monkey and Melville turned their heads to look at each other, and it seemed as though they were sharing the same thoughts as they nodded to each other reflectively.

  Lieutenant Fielder continued his rant, "We were attacked without warning by an overwhelming force of Guldur. We gave them the slip, but they will be upon us in a few hours. The Kestrel is dying. Everyone senior to us is dead. A third of the crew is dead or wounded. I'm in charge. We have to abandon ship. We'll flee down to this world and scuttle the Ship. Then we'll uproot the Pier. That's the only way we can be safe. We have to hurry!"

  Melville was stunned but he quickly rallied. In the end it was protocol, procedures and principle that empowered him. He replied softly, "Aye, we can evacuate the seriously wounded. But if Captain Crosby and the first officer are dead then I am senior to you, Mr. Fielder, and I will make the decisions here. I will inspect the Ship and the crew while you begin movement of the wounded."

  Fielder screamed, "You're insane! We can't fight! I told you, the enemy force is overwhelming, our Ship is dying!"

  Melville became even more calm. "I'll judge that for myself. If we are capable of inflicting damage upon our foe, then we are duty bound to do so."
>
  "Now I know you're mad! You're filled with your poetry and it has twisted your brain!"

  Melville took a deep breath and tried to reply calmly. He raised his voice so that he could be heard clearly by the sailors and marines around them, "If anything has influenced me, I hope it's duty and honor. Aye, as befits a warrior of Westerness. Duty and honor haven't 'twisted' me, they have shaped me so that I cannot and will not turn from a fight while we have the means to hurt our foe. I am the senior man here Mr. Fielder, and you will by God obey my orders!" Then Melville turned his back and walked away. Like all bullies, Fielder backed down when the odds were against him.

  "Lady Elphinstone?" Melville asked their surgeon as he walked into the aid station.

  "Yes?" she responded, stepping forward.

  "Decide who among your charges can be released immediately for light duty, and have them sent up to Kestrel. Then join us on the Kestrel and evacuate anyone who is too injured to assist in battle." She calmly nodded her assent.

  "Mr. Crater?"

  "Sir!"

  "Work with Sergeant Broadax and the marine detail. You'll be responsible for the movement of all wounded from the Kestrel. Draft the marines on the Ship if you need assistance. Evacuate only the individuals the surgeon designates." He looked briefly at Midshipman Crater, but mostly he watched for the marine sergeant to nod her understanding.

  "Yes, sir!"

  "Mr. Archer?"

  "Yes, sir?"

  "You work with our sailors to set up the rigging to lower the wounded down onto the Pier. Work with Chief Petty Officer Hans, but release him to me as soon as you're sure that you can complete the task on your own. I will be inspecting the Ship. Don't draft any assistance from the Ship for this duty. Complete this duty as quickly as you can and then return all sailors to their sections aboard the Ship." Again, Melville was addressing and looking at Archer, but he was also watching for Hans' nod.