The Regiment-A Trilogy

by John Dalmas

  "On the other hand—"

  "Yes?"

  Nufkarm waved at the radio on a table. "Just this morning he announced a special sedition act. We'll need to tone down the Bulletin substantially."

  "He can't do that!"

  "Of course he can. We're at war, and the Conservatives control the Assembly."

  "But the Charter!"

  "Indeed the Charter. But there is precedent, and I repeat, the Conservatives control the Assembly. Think about it. And I strongly advise you not to publish underground leaflets to fill the gap. Given your social inheritance, you'd be the first one Engwar would suspect. Be prudent, dear Fingas; hold your peace. Engwar is digging his own grave, or rather constructing his own political—shall we say castration?

  "Do nothing rash. Stand ready. Take whatever safe steps present themselves. When he makes a serious mistake, we'll make whatever use of it we can. With patience we will bring him down. If we are impatient, someone else will bring him down later, but we won't be privileged to see it."

  51

  Subcolonel Jomar Viskon sat frowning at the papers he held: an invoice and a bill of particulars. "Who in Amber's name is Major Rinly Molgren?" he asked exasperatedly. With all he had on his desk today, he didn't need some off-the-wall crap like this.

  The sergeant major resisted telling him it was there on the sheets he held. "He's the C.O. of the stockade in Linna Commune, sir."

  "We haven't been looking for men like this for more than a year now."

  The comment hardly rated an answer, so the sergeant major said nothing for several long seconds, waiting. Finally he broke the silence. "The prisoner's in the waitin' room, Colonel. Manacled and guarded."

  "Well crap!" The colonel looked at nowhere, then focused and took a deep breath. "Have him brought in."

  "Yessir."

  The sergeant major left, and Viskon sat drumming his desk top. Ten seconds later a staff sergeant pushed the door open and held it. A rather large, hard-looking man stepped in, wearing manacles on his wrists, and followed by a corporal holding a pistol. Anyone who had to be guarded that closely wasn't going to be of use to anyone, Viskon told himself. When all three were inside, he spoke with exaggerated patience. "All right, Sergeant, seat your prisoner and close the door."

  He looked the prisoner over, scanned the bill of particulars again, then glanced up and found himself matching eyeballs with the man for a moment. The fellow was genuinely unperturbed, and he'd swear there was excellent intelligence behind those eyes. "Your name is Coyn Makoor?"

  "Yessir," Carrmak answered.

  "It says here that you were arrested for inciting to riot, assault on authorities, arson, grand theft, assault with a vehicle, murder, and inciting to murder. Is that right?"

  "I ayn't seen what you're readin', sir. So far's did I do those things; I dint murder no one, and I dint tell nor ask no one else to. The rest of it sounds about right."

  "Murder or not, I suppose you know what's likely to happen to you. What your sentence will be."

  "I can guess, sir."

  "And what would you guess?"

  "Likely they'll cut off my head."

  "They will indeed." The prisoner still didn't seem perturbed. Interesting. Perhaps he was someone to whom the future is unreal until it's at hand. "The officer who sent you to us was under the misapprehension that we were still recruiting for a special fighting unit. We are not."

  The man didn't respond. Viskon found himself wanting him to, and asked a question. "Why do you suppose Major Molgren thought you'd be suitable for such a unit?"

  "Umm. Four reasons: One, I'm dangerous in a fight. Two, men gen'ly do what I tell 'em. Three, I'm gen'ly in control of myself. And four, I understand what I'm told, else'n I ask questions."

  Viskon stared, then looked again at the invoice for the name. "Makoor," he asked thoughtfully, "were you ever in the army?"

  "No, sir. But I was with the Red River Sheriffs Department for three years. Promoted to senior sergeant. Then three sheriff's men 'rested my dad; brawk his face and knocked out an eye. Dint knaw who he was; said he'd been spearin' horse pike in the spawnin' season. Not that him and me got on so good, but I half killed the one in charge. Off duty it was, but they had to fire me for it."

  Viskon had never heard of the Red River District, didn't know where it was. But the training in sheriff's departments was partly military, and there was something about this man . . . He looked at the staff sergeant.

  "Sergeant, keep him here for a few minutes. I'll be back." He left then, walking down the hall to the general's office. When he returned, he had the prisoner taken to the local stockade and confined, until he could instruct Lieutenant Hesslor, the commanding officer of the Commander's Special Unit. If the new man proved to be an unacceptable problem, or lacked sufficient training to function in the unit, they could always imprison or execute him then.

  Part Three

  WINTER WAR

  52

  The leaves had mostly fallen in Linnasteth when the T'swa arrived. Their transport put down on Engwar's estate a few miles outside the city. Engwar wasn't there to meet it—it would have been unseemly—but he had the T'swa commander flown to the palace to a reception.

  Colonel Ko-Dan arrived without an entourage, beyond Captain Ibang, his aide. The T'swa have no dress uniform, but even walking through the palace in field uniform, Ko-Dan was the nearest thing to true royalty it had seen, though his father was a farmer and his mother a blacksmith's daughter. The servants glimpsing him (they hardly dared to stare) were awed, even a little frightened.

  Engwar's entourage included, besides attendants, his council and certain aides currently in his special favor. And Undsvin, who if not back in his cousin's good graces, was at least partly out of his doghouse. And as Commander of the Komarsi Army in Smolen, it was appropriate that he attend.

  The greetings were formal, held in the smaller receiving room. Then the participants relaxed, more or less, though first conversation with the guests was reserved for the king. The two T'swa unobtrusively ignored the canapes and drinks. Engwar noticed, but decided not to be offended. They were, after all, from a barbaric world, and presumably didn't do it to insult.

  What troubled Engwar more was their youth. It was unseemly that a regimental commander be, apparently, in his early twenties, regardless of how formidable he might appear physically. But if he was as good as the T'swa reputation . . .

  "You are not," Engwar commented, "the only mercenaries in this war, Colonel. We've been severely irritated, not to say injured, by the activities of a mercenary regiment employed by the Smoleni. My first job for you is to eliminate it. Wipe it out!"

  Ko-Dan smiled slightly, his large T'swa eyes unreadable. "We were told they're here, Your Majesty, in the situation briefing we received before we left Tyss. In fact I know something of them. They were in training on our world when we graduated. And had earlier earned a reputation in combat on Terfreya, though they'd trained only a year at the time."

  Ko-Dan's casual attitude irritated the king. "Yes? Well they're here now, and I want them gone! Killed, captured, driven out, whatever. But preferably dead. That is my first order to you: Get rid of them!"

  "Ah," Ko-Dan answered gravely. "Has Your Majesty read the contract he signed with our lodge?"

  "Read it? That's what I have a secretary for."

  "Did he read it to you?"

  Engwar's gesture expressed impatience. "I seem to recall that he did. Yes."

  "I'm sure Your Majesty signs many documents and can hardly be expected to remember each of them. Let me make a suggestion. Captain Ibang and I need to leave quite soon to see to the proper disposition of our troops." That wasn't true. They could make camp quite well without their commander, but Ko-Dan foresaw an awkward situation developing if he stayed. "I'd like to meet with you late tomorrow afternoon, or evening if you prefer. After we've had a military briefing, perhaps from General Tarsteng or one of his staff." The T'swa commander paused, just for a moment. "Meanwhi
le you'll have had a chance to review our contract again, perhaps with the general.

  "I should tell you now, however, that my regiment can be most effectively occupied in the demoralization of the Smoleni army. A regiment of mercenaries, even as capable a regiment as the Iryalans, will not defeat your army. If any force available to Smolen is able to do that, it is the Smoleni army itself."

  He bowed then, slightly. "Captain Ibang and I are most honored to have been so royally received, but we must return to our men now. Let us know when, tomorrow, we may meet with you to discuss business. We will be ready for your transportation at any time after 0800." He turned to the officer who'd escorted them. "Lieutenant, please return us to our encampment."

  * * *

  His mouth slightly open, Engwar watched them leave the room, then turned to his secretary. "What's in that contract?"

  "It's in my office, Your Majesty. Would you like to go over it now?" He flashed a hopeful glance at the general. "Perhaps Lord Undsvin could review it with us."

  Engwar turned to his cousin. "By all means do, Undsvin." He turned again to look at the door the two T'swa had left by. "Those strange black men are damned inscrutable." Or is it insolent? he added silently. "I wonder if they realize how much I paid for them. They damned well ought to do what I tell them to! Especially isolated here, a very long way from their home world."

  Undsvin had done his homework. "Cousin," he said mildly, "the T'swa are not only the best fighting men in human space, they are the smartest. At least half of their value to anyone is their military judgment. I might say their military wisdom."

  He paused, assuming a more clearly respectful and subordinate attitude. "As for their isolation here— About four hundred years ago, I forget on what planet, some kingdom hired one of their regiments, and for whatever reason, the ruler there became angry with them. So he had them surrounded and shelled heavily and at length, then sent troops in to kill the survivors. Not the sort of thing we'd do, of course.

  "About a year later, several T'swa regiments descended on the kingdom with Level Two weapons, and with cold ferocity destroyed the king's army. The king himself they delivered to his enemies, who, as I recall, executed him publicly."

  Engwar looked at his cousin alarmed. "Really!" he said.

  "It's described in a book I have, if you'd care to read it. They are not an offensive people, nor do they easily take offense. Their interest is only in fighting, never in cruelty, and they have no fear at all of death."

  The king frowned, not angry now but a bit bewildered. "Remarkable! I will take your word for it." He turned to his secretary. "Let us look at that contract together. Bring it to my office now. Undsvin and I will be there momentarily." He looked around as the secretary left, and beckoned to the first butler, who was in charge. "Aljin, these others may stay as they please. Undsvin, I've decided I feel quite sanguine now, with the arrival of these T'swa. I believe my fortunes are about to turn."

  53

  Sergeant Jak Fenssen was not your stereotypic informer. About five-feet ten, he was a brawny if somewhat overweight 230 pounds. His face showed the marks of fighting, mostly during his younger years. He seldom fought now. Not that he was unwilling, when it came down to it. Rather, over the years, while developing his fighting reputation, skills and insights, he'd also shed any hesitation to kill or maim. He was seldom challenged.

  Nonetheless he informed; it was a duty assigned him by Colonel Viskon.

  Fenssen was first sergeant of the Commander's Special Unit, which had been having particular difficulties since Gulthar Kro had left as its commanding officer. He therefore reported to Viskon, confidentially of course, on how things went there. Its current C.O., the third since Kro, was a Lieutenant Hesslor, arguably the strongest man in the unit. Hesslor had begun his command by having two men executed, which had established his willingness. The effect had worn off, however. Now the unit existed in a kind of tension bordering on murder.

  If Viskon could have, he'd have disbanded the unit and had most of its men imprisoned for various good reasons. Which would have ended the headache. But that wasn't an option Undsvin had given him. Actually, Undsvin had decided to do just that, more than once, but the basic idea of an elite unit at his personal call still held a strong attraction for him. He no longer had any illusion that this collection of men would work out, but he'd keep it, for the time at least, tinker with it, and perhaps learn from the experience.

  From time to time Undsvin would have an idea, which he'd have Viskon translate into action. Viskon was a bright young man; the challenge and exasperation both would do him good. Viskon, in attempting to cope with the responsibility, occasionally proposed an idea of his own, such as the possibility that Coyn Makoor, already Sergeant Makoor, might be the kind of material from which a commander could be molded.

  That week two things had happened in the unit, which was down to only forty-two men. Hesslor had killed a man with a table leg—a man who'd given him particular trouble—had smashed his skull. Later the same day, the man's two best friends had cornered Hesslor with knives, undoubtedly to kill him. Hesslor, however, had a small pistol in his pocket—perhaps he'd foreseen the confrontation—and had killed them both. It's impressive how deadly even a small caliber slug can be when fired at the breastbone at point-blank range.

  Judging from Fenssen's comments, morale was at its lowest. Viskon and Undsvin had discussed the deteriorating situation, and Viskon had had a suggestion. Undsvin had told him to go ahead with it. Now Viskon looked at Fenssen appraisingly. Fenssen felt the gaze and sat unperturbed. He was a rock, exactly as the first sergeant had to be in a unit like his. "Anything new about Makoor?" Viskon asked.

  "No, sir," Fenssen answered.

  There was seldom anything anecdotal about Makoor. The man had no cronies and no enemies. He stood apart without seeming aloof, and for whatever reason, no one had seen fit to pick a fight with him. There was something about him. Fenssen had already told Viskon all those things. He'd also told him that, inexperienced or not, Makoor was the best soldier of the lot. An opinion which he, Fenssen, kept to himself was that Makoor had been in the army before, and deserted. Perhaps as an officer, despite his freedman dialect.

  "The general has something different he wants you to do for him."

  Fenssen didn't reply, just sat stolidly, waiting.

  "Incite Hesslor to fight Makoor. Do you think he'd do that?"

  "If he could catch him off guard, or had enough advantage." Fenssen grunted then, with a sort of grimace, as close as he ever came to laughing. "Maybe another table leg."

  "Who do you think would win?'

  "It'd depend on Hesslor's advantage. He's bigger and meaner, but in a straight fight, Makoor would prob'ly win."

  "How might you go about getting Hesslor to attack him?"

  Fenssen didn't hesitate. "I'd tell him Makoor said he was going to be C.O. himself some day."

  "That would do it?"

  "Prob'ly."

  "What sort of advantage do you think Hesslor would create for himself?"

  "No way to know."

  Viskon sat pondering. He preferred not to waste Makoor, and felt uncomfortable with such a large degree of uncertainty. Nor did it help that he didn't understand men like these.

  "Do it," he said.

  Fenssen nodded. "Yessir."

  "That's all for now, Sergeant."

  Fenssen got to his feet, saluted, and left the room. Viskon watched the door close behind him. It seemed to him that the first sergeant would make a good C.O. for the unit, and he'd suggested it to the general. Who'd refused to consider it. That had been just before Hesslor. "Men like those," the general had said, "need a good first sergeant more than they do a good C.O. Any company does, and these men more than most. But what they really need is both. We've got the one now, and I'm depending on you to find me the other."

  * * *

  The subcolonel hadn't expected it to happen so soon. The next afternoon, the report came that Hesslor had be
en killed in a fight. His killer was in custody. Viskon called Fenssen in and asked him what had happened.

  "I did what we agreed on: told the lieutenant that Makoor was after his job—that he'd told me so. The lieutenant went in his office and didn't come out for about an hour. When he did, he had a bat he'd took to carryin' sometimes, and ast me where Makoor was. I told him off duty, prob'ly in the barracks.

  "Bisto came in about ten minutes later. He said Hesslor had gone in the barracks with the club in his hand and told Makoor to go outside with him. He motioned that Makoor should go out first, which meant Makoor had to turn his back on him. While they were going to the door, Hesslor raised his club to hit him from behind, and Makoor killed him."

  The sergeant shrugged, and grunted again. "I questioned four different men, separate; they all said the same thing. 'Cept for how Makoor did it; nobody agrees on that. What Bisto said was, it was so quick, it took 'em by surprise."

  "Surely someone must have said something. Warned Makoor what was happening."

  Fenssen shrugged again. "I ast 'em that separate. They all said no one did."

  "Do you think they were telling the truth?"

  Fenssen shrugged again. "They all agreed. And they'd had no chance to talk to each other from the time I questioned the first one till I'd done with 'em."

  "Umm. All right, Sergeant, you can go now. And thank you."

  * * *

  A written order from the general got Sergeant Makoor's prompt release, and Fenssen told him the colonel wanted to see him. Standing now before Viskon's desk, Carrmak seemed as calm and unruffled as when he'd first been questioned, weeks earlier. Viskon wondered if such calm might be a symptom of something pathological.

  "None of the witnesses seem to agree on how, precisely, you killed Hesslor. How did you?"

  "It was too quick to think abawt," Carrmak answered. "I din't trust him, so I give a little look back over my shoulder and seen him raise his club. I spun and moved inside the swing, and did whatever it was I did."