by Ward Wagher
“Yep. Give the bag to Jones. You’ll need to get the squad settled in. Two hours okay for you, Jones?”
“Two is fine.”
Smith and Balto eased their way back down the hill to the waiting Montoran squad.
Chapter Thirty-One
Frank and Wendy were just sitting down to dinner when Guard Captain Nesmith eased into the room.
“A moment of your time, Sir?”
“Of course, Alex. Why do I think I am not very glad to see you?”
“Sir, Sergeant Smith reports two platoons worth of men camped just the other side of Beluga Pass.”
“I could go into business as a medium.” Frank grimaced and shook his head. “It just never stops. Okay, Alex, what are the details?”
“There are not many yet, Sir. As I said, the Sergeant reports about two platoons worth and they have camp fires going.”
“What is he doing up there, anyway?” Wendy asked.
Nesmith looked at Wendy. “He and Jones took a squad of my guards up for winter weather training. Sergeant Gage from the Regiment is with them too.”
“Balto is up there?” Frank said. “I’ve heard about him. Supposed to be as sharp as they come.”
“What is going to happen, Frank?” Wendy said.
“I don’t know, my dear. Alex, is Commander Ciera in the keep?”
“No, Sir. He has not returned from Cambridge as yet.”
“Okay.” He started to stand up. Wendy put her hand on his arm.
“There is nothing so urgent that you cannot have your supper, Frank. It may be a long night.”
Frank grinned at Nesmith. “As usual, my wife is smarter than I. Please ask major Boodles if he can come over in an hour or so. Then notify Sergeant Smith we will talk to him then.”
Nesmith dipped his head. “Of course, Margrave.” He clicked his heels together and left the room.
“When did he learn to do that?” Wendy said.
“Do what?”
“With his feet. It’s so… Prussian.”
“I suspect the influence of the Baltic Regiment is rubbing off on our house guards. Not a bad thing, I think.”
“The tourists will appreciate the spit and polish.”
“I am mainly interested in improving their abilities to keep us alive. If the duke has managed to talk somebody into running around in the winter up here, things will get lively come spring.”
“You think the duke did this?”
“Don’t you?”
She shrugged. “When you put it that way…”
Frank rocked his head back and forth and raised his eyebrows. “Since my lady commanded, we probably should eat. Besides, Mrs. Marsden keeps peeking in to see why we haven’t started yet.”
“And Mrs. Marsden is more to be feared than two platoons of soldiers.”
Frank laughed.
The Nymans sat around the dining table with Major Boodles and Guard Captain Nesmith. Mrs. Marsden had cleared the table with a disapproving frown. Holding meetings in the dining room was apparently just not done.
A hand comm was open on the table and was set so everyone could participate in the conversation. Smith was on the other end of the connection.
“Cold up there, Sarge?” Frank said.
“Too right it’s cold,” he said. “We are all tucked into our arctic bags and buried under the snow, so it’s cozy – other than having to stick your nose out to breathe.”
“I guess we added a little excitement to the trainees’ day.”
“If we have to take action up here, Sir, we do not have a lot to work with.”
“What was the marching time, Sergeant?” Boodles asked.
“About four hours on foot. I would not suggest putting a shuttle in here, as the noise would alert the gomers.”
Frank tapped the table with his fingers. “I think we need more information before we start planning force levels.”
“You are right, Sir,” Smith said. “Normally I could go in for a little sneak and peek, but Balto put his foot down on that. There is very real danger of getting lost in the snow and freezing.”
“I understand, Sergeant,” Boodles said. “The regimental weather wizard suggests the cold snap will hold at least a couple of days. Are you equipped to sit tight?”
“No, Sir. We had planned an ‘out and back’ with minimal equipment and supplies. I think we will need to be reinforced.”
“How are you armed?”
“Each is carrying his rifle and four clips. Not enough for any kind of an extended action.”
Boodles sat back and thought carefully. “Sergeant Smith. I will put together a team and have the shuttle drop them about halfway to you. If we start this thing first thing in the morning, they can probably get to you by nightfall. They will not be first line troops.”
“I hate to do this to you, Major,” Frank said. Your people are supposed to be retired from the infantry.”
“It is what we signed up for when we came here, Margrave. If the other side is unprofessional enough to show camp fires, I think we can handle them, if it comes to it.” Boodles leaned forward again. “Sergeant, are you within range to drop mortars in on them?”
“Oh, easily, Sir. But it would be backbreaking work for your people to hump a mortar and ammo through the snow.”
“Sergeant, remember I am Logistics. Let me worry about that.”
“I read you, Sir.”
“But we do need to determine how to discover their intentions. I don’t want to start dropping shells in on them and find out they are innocent.”
“Do you really believe that, Smith?” Frank said.
“Not really. But we need to consider it.”
“I suppose we could drop a warning shot in and then warn them off,” Boodles murmured. “But we are now going to have to garrison the pass. That does not make me happy.”
“Let’s go with that assumption, Sir,” Smith said. “If your team gets here at sunset, we can shake them during the night and warn them to stay away. Hopefully they’ll break and run.”
“Anything else, then?” Frank said.
Nobody suggested anything, so Frank closed the comm connection.
“What are you doing here, Major?” Sergeant Smith squinted into the low afternoon sun at the group following Boodles to the camp site.
“I couldn’t ask these people to do anything I was not willing to do.”
“The people who count in the regiment have no problems with you, Sir. When the subject of rear echelon chair warmers is raised, you do not immediately come to mind.”
“Thank you, Sergeant, but I needed to be here.” They paused and looked as a floater whispered by with weapons crates aboard. “And I need a sitrep.”
“The wind had settled enough for me to do a pre-dawn exploration. It would seem our friends down there are Paravens.”
“From Castle Paravel?” Boodles said. “They are a long way from home.”
“That’s the truth. Somebody dropped them in here. It’s the next thing to six-hundred miles out to that side of the continent – probably closer to a thousand if you had to wind through the mountains.”
“How are they armed?”
“You won’t like this, Sir. In addition to their shoulder weapons, they have mortars and I think maybe some rockets.”
“You are right. I don’t like it. I loaded up heavier than I originally planned, and that is probably a good thing. If it drops into the crapper, we will have to hit them hard and fast.”
“So you are planning to guide the fracas, Major?”
Boodles looked at Smith carefully. “I know what you are asking Sarge, and the answer is no. My specialty is getting the matériel up to you. Your job is getting it on target – just so we understand each other.”
Smith smiled at Boodles. “I think we understand each other just fine. Let’s just fervently hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“From my understanding of previous engagements, the odds do not favor that.”
“Yo
u are so right. Okay, Sir, the way this will work, you will give me the objectives and I’ll make it happen.”
“Concur, Sergeant. What we want to achieve is for the Paravens to pull back on their own without any injuries on either side. Barring that, if we have to shoot, I want you to hit them fast and hard. If they ask for quarter, then we will stand down and take prisoners. There are too many people involved to cover this up successfully.”
“Understood, Sir. I saw the mortars on the floater, right?”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
“Is Ghormley with you?”
Boodles gave Smith an evil smile. “Do you honestly believe I could pull mortars out of the armory without Ghormley finding out about it and coming along?”
Smith chuckled. “The man is an artist with the mortar. But the trek up here had to be rough on a seventy-five year old.”
Boodles laughed. “Ghormley could walk me into the ground. He nearly did this afternoon. I thought I was in shape, but…”
“You know, Sir, I do not want to minimize the serious nature of what we are doing here, plus the risks to the margrave. But, this is probably the most fun some of these retirees have had in years.”
Boodles had an unreadable expression on his face. “I think you are right, but it will stop being fun the moment one of them catches lead.”
“I don’t know, Sir. How much do you want to bet any of them would rather die in bed?”
Boodles laughed again. “That’s a sucker’s bet, Sergeant. Okay, I need you to get me up on the hill to look for myself. Then I would like you to review your plans with me. Colonel Putin has tasked me with the defense of Montora and I suppose I should see how a professional does it.”
Nightfall in the winter mountains of Montora comes quickly. The troops settled into order. The retirees were excited to be back in harness and the younger guards were thrilled to associate with the old hands. Boodles was proud of them. He spoke briefly with Frank over the comm and assured him it would be over with by dawn – one way or the other.
Three hours later Martin Boodles lay on the edge of the hill looking at the Paraven camp with a night-vision magnifier. He wouldn’t have believed it, except that the others had confirmed – the Paravens had gone to bed and not left sentries.
A communications tech lay next to Boodles. “Midnight, Sir.”
“Very well,” Boodles said. “Execute.”
With a muted whumpf, the star shell left the mortar tube. It deployed at eight-hundred feet above the Paraven camp, bringing an early dawn to the valley. A pair of micro-grav units held it in position. Rather than a flare, with its associated thermal signature, the shell used cold light. That and its small size made it nearly impossible to shoot down.
“Very good, Corporal,” Boodles said. In fact, he thought it was outstanding. For entertainment, the regiment’s non-commissioned officers would sometimes set up a target in a deserted area and drop dummy warheads into it. Corporal Ghormley routinely placed his shot within a fifteen foot circle. They used to pick up spending money from other mercenary units this way, however, the pickings were definitely slimmer now as Ghormley’s fame grew.
Boodles looked at the comm tech. “Okay, open the connection.”
“Live mic, Sir.” They had placed four high-gain audio drivers along the top of the hill and Boodles' throat pickup was connected.
“Soldiers of Castle Paravel,” his voice boomed across the valley. He wondered if they would hear it back in Montora Village. They would certainly see the light from the flare, if anyone happened to be out and looking. In the back of his mind he decided Frank Nyman was very likely on the battlements of the keep looking in his direction.
“You are trespassing on the Margraviate of Montora. You are required to lay down your arms. After we have secured your weapons, you will be allowed to depart. Do not resist!”
The ancient analogy was it looked like someone had kicked over an ant hill. But to Boodles, that is what it really looked like. The Paraven troops boiled out of their tents and scurried aimlessly in the camp. Boodles heard a thunk to his left and saw a spurt of snow about fifteen feet over. As he turned to look he heard the shot ring out.
“That was close, Sir,” the communications tech said. All this talk about catching lead, it would be poetic justice if I got in the way of something, Boodles thought.
“Corporal,” he called over to Ghormley, “can you drop a round into one of the camp fires?”
“Sir.”
Ghormley keyed the controls on the mortar tube briefly, then there was another whumpf. Boodles watched the camp carefully. Under the light of the star shell, the camp was displayed in stark detail. One of the camp fires erupted in a gout of sparks, burning embers, dirt and snow. A few moments later the loud bang of the exploding mortar shell reached him. For the next several seconds he heard the report echoing off the surrounding mountain sides.
“That was your warning shot,” he said over the link. “Lay down your arms!”
The response was the crackle of gunfire. Then a mortar shell landed twenty-five yards to his left. Somebody is on the ball down there, he thought. “Fire for effect,” he called. “And keep it out of the woods.”
The two mortars began coughing out rounds and the troops began firing their shoulder weapons. Ghormley knew his business and immediately dropped a shell into the gun pit of the Paraven mortar. The fireworks of the ordinance detonation was clearly visible upon the hill.
“Get me Smith,” Boodles told the Comm tech.
“Major?”
“Status, Sergeant?”
“Nominal. Suggest cease fire in five mike.”
“Concur. Boodles out.”
It was not an entirely one sided battle, but so far, it appeared no Montorans had been hit. Smith had a small team hiding in the woods near the camp, in case they were needed. So far they were undetected. Boodles waited five minutes and opened the general channel. “Cease fire!”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Frank Nyman stood on the snow-swept field of the Montora Shuttleport and watched the Paraven prisoners shuffle aboard the shuttles. While the Montoran forces had come out of the short battle without injury, the Paravens had suffered forty percent casualties and fifteen dead.
To Frank’s right Major Boodles and Hai Ciera stood at attention. Besides the guard force, about one-hundred people from the Regiment showed up in uniform. They stood formation along one side of the tarmac. To Frank’s left stood a white-faced Earl Paravel. As a condition for the release of the prisoners, Frank had demanded the earl come personally to accept their release.
Joe Wilson had admitted he had engineered the attack as part of a scheme to share the profits with the duke. In spite of the earl being caught out like this, Frank knew he had made another enemy. Perhaps it had something to do with my recording our conversation. He really hates me now.
The last troops entered the shuttles and Frank turned to the earl. “Well, My Lord, it’s a sad ending, but I hope we now have an understanding to avoid acts of aggression and bloodshed.”
The earl gave him a curt nod and then strode off to the shuttle.
“There goes an unhappy man, Margrave,” Ciera said.
“An understatement, Hai. I could hear him grinding his teeth.”
“Do you think he’ll have another run at us sometime?” Boodles asked
“No, I think the drubbing he took has convinced him to leave us alone. But he won’t be doing us any favors in the future.”
“I can live with that,” the major said.
“Concur, Major. Now we have to wait for the other shoe to drop – when news of this gets to Admiral Krause.”
“Hm,” Ciera grunted.
“Certainly he cannot blame you for this, Sir,” Boodles said. “The collected evidence is damning. We even got a confession out of the Earl.”
“Krause will cast this as entirely my fault. I failed to keep the peace.”
“And I predict the admiral will be in rare form,” Ciera sa
id. “Nobody expected the duke to settle down, but I guarantee you the admiral expected us to behave.”
“That is not fair, Commander,” Boodles said.
“As you know, Major, life is not fair,” Hai said. “And for that matter look at it from the earl’s point of view. Talk about being suckered. I guarantee you as badly as he dislikes the margrave, his hatred for the duke will be much, much deeper.”