by Chris Bunch
“He’s gone, now, and I’ve got to do what he’d want me to do. Marry good, think about havin’ kids, keep the dynasty going.”
“Gods, man, you’re not gonna turn into a dreek, are you?”
“Got to grow up sometime.”
“Who says?”
Kouro didn’t answer, but reached for the drink. He overbalanced, fell facefirst into a pool of liquor. After a moment, he began snoring loudly.
Jermy stared at him.
“Poops out at his own party. Hafta come up with some stories about what really happened for tomorrow morning, when he’s real hungover and needs some shame.” He stood, waved at the stage.
“Hey, girls! Hey. The party boy’s out, but there’s somebody over here still able to show you a good time!”
• • •
A foot tapped Garvin’s boot, and he forced himself awake, ignored groaning muscles, and tried to look alert and eager. The patrol lay in a large star formation, legs almost touching.
This was the day they’d “make contact,” or, in reality, reach the abandoned Musth base.
Garvin tried to decide if the mist was coming down hard enough to qualify as rain, decided it was, and that he hadn’t been this wet since the last time he went to the field.
He was incredibly dirty — they’d been out … and he had to count on his fingers … ten days now, and other than streams or when the near-constant mist became a drencher, nobody had bathed, and everybody wore the same combat fatigues they had on when they came off the Grierson. At least Jaansma had three pair of socks, one pair on his feet, another pair tied to his backpack being “washed” by the rain, the third just in the top of his pack supposedly drying.
This was the I&R way, and again he wondered why the company never seemed to lack for volunteers, had an even greater wonderment about why he remained in the unit.
Darod Montagna was again patrol leader, and made the mission briefing. Garvin had given her the data on where the patrol was and the situation posited by the exercise the night before, and now listened to her break it down.
Everyone listened intently, fingers moving from point to point on their maps. No one wrote anything down — a lost or captured map could doom them all if this were real.
“When we reach the target area,” Montagna went on, “Alpha Element goes on line, and I’ll indicate which way Bravo goes, left or right. Bravo will sweep the area, Alpha giving support fire. When the area’s secured, Alpha moves across the area, and both elements reassemble.
“If there is contact, each of you fires one unit of ammo. If the enemy’s stronger than we are, I’ll give the order, and we break contact, go for the RP …”
She gave the map coordinates of the rendezvous point, went on, “… commo … support … chain of command.” She finished, looked at Garvin.
“ ‘Kay,” he said briskly. “We eat, then move out. Now lemme give you the reality of what we’re coming on. It’s the old Musth headquarters, which’ll most likely be boarded up.
“You’re carrying live ammo, but pick a god to pray to if anybody rolls a ball out the muzzle for real and makes a hole in somebody else’s real estate. We’re not at war with the Musth, and it’d be real goddamned dumb for somebody to start it over a busted window when and if they come back.
“Same thing goes for souveniring, looting, or casual vandalism. The words are RTU if you do.”
RTU — Returned to Unit, the threat all of the trainees had been facing since they volunteered for Intelligence and Reconnaissance from their parent companies.
“Reality is we’ll sweep around the buildings, as Montagna said, then form up on the other side, call for pickup, and go home to a nice, hot bath.”
He hid a grin, wondering what the reaction would be when he told them sorrowfully that the Grierson had been driven off by enemy fire, and aw, hell, they’d just have to walk back, and how many trainees would just go flat and say “Screw it,” throwing away the last two E-months of sweat, strain, and not a little blood, not realizing they hadn’t come close to touching their last reserves, which was really what all the harassment and pressure of I&R training was supposed to teach.
Garvin reached in his pack, took out a block of something, put it in his mess tin, poured water from a canteen over it, and refilled the canteen from the rain trap he’d made with a small waterproof cloth. The block squiggled and became something moderately resembling a chunk of protein with something that might have been button fungi around it.
He doused the mixture with the hot sauce every experienced soldier carried, ate mechanically, scrubbed the small plate and his spoon with grass, and restowed everything in his pack.
“Any time you’re ready,” and the patrol moved off, feet squidging through the ankle-high waterlogged mosses, past the trees that rose like sentinels from the mist, through the marshland of the Highlands.
• • •
Music swept through the great temple, swirling around the packed benches, then died, and the orchestra lowered its instruments.
The Leader rose, walked to the podium, and his voice rolled forth:
“Brethren, this is a day of joy and happiness, for on this day, we celebrate, with our own bodies, the mystical union between the Creator and Ourselves, a day of wedding, an estate to be entered into soberly and with considered judgment.
“If there is any among you who knows of a reason these two should not come together in holy matrimony, let him speak now …”
• • •
The Musth building rose out of the mist, strange polygons apparently made of glass and onyx. They showed few signs of abandonment, nor any measures by the Musth to prevent damage. Here a panel was shattered from some Cumbrian animal’s curiosity, there a few moss-vines had begun twining up the walls.
Montagna signaled, and Alpha flattened in firing positions, weapons ready, even though the magazines were still tucked into their pouches.
Bravo came up, on command, moved forward, slowly, quietly.
Then one man went flat, flailed at the air with one hand, palm down, and the others obediently dropped, wondering what the hell was going on, if the goddamned alt was pulling some crappy game. The man signaled again, fist clenched, thumb pointing down.
Enemy in sight?
Garvin was about to start snarling, then a small box spun through the air toward them, and Jaansma saw a tawny paw disappear behind a building. The grenade hit, and small insectlike creatures swarmed out and flashed toward the nearest man. He screamed, clawed at himself, and died.
“Musth!” Garvin shouted, fumbled a magazine from his pouch, loaded his blaster.
“Load ‘em up!” was his command. “For real!”
A devourer-weapon chattered, and finger-sized bullets thudded into the peat, close to a trooper.
“Stop shooting, you Musth!” Garvin shouted. “We’re not attacking!”
Another blast came from another direction.
“Cease firing, goddamit! We’re not your enemies,” Garvin called again, even as his fingers found a blast grenade. His thumb reflexively clicked its timer four times, and he straight-armed it at the building.
Four seconds later, it went off, and most of a wall exploded inward.
A Musth appeared in the gap, spray-pistol hissing acid toward al Sharif, and the ‘Raum blew the alien in half with his blaster.
“Go in for real,” Montagna called, and in shock, but ground-in reflexes taking over, Bravo Element started toward the complex, zigging, crouching, firing at the buildings.
• • •
Loy Kouro and Jasith Mellusin met at the rear of the temple, then moved toward the Leader, who stood below the podium, waiting, as the music rose once again.
A striker rose to throw a grenade, and a Musth came up, fired twice, and the man dropped as a round struck him, then began writhing as the devourer-weapon’s creatures came out of the cartridge and began eating the flesh around the wound.
The Musth was about to fire again. Garvin shot him down
, then rolled twice as a grenade bounced and exploded a meter away from him. He waited for the stings, but the wasplike insectoids missed him.
• • •
“Wilt thou, Loy Kouro, have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after the Creator’s ordinance in the holy state of matrimony?”
“I will.” Kouro’s voice was firm.
“And wilt thou, Jasith Mellusin, have this man to thy husband, to live together after the Creator’s ordinance in the holy state of matrimony.”
“Yes,” Jasith said, and no one noticed the brief hesitation.
• • •
Garvin blew another panel open, diving through the ragged hole into the building. He heard shots from the next room, or bay, or whatever it was, ran through the door, past strange furniture, booted a doorway open, and the Musth turned, his pistol’s mouth sweeping toward Jaansma.
Garvin pulled the trigger twice, and the Musth fell forward, lay silent.
He heard more shots, a volley of them, a blast of two grenades, one Musth, one human.
“They’re down,” someone shouted, and another gunshot made him a liar, and more blaster rounds answered.
“He’s dead!” someone shouted.
“Are there any more of the bastards?”
Silence, then:
“No! We’ve killed them all!”
• • •
“O Eternal Creator,” the Leader said, “Creator and Preserver of all Mankind, send thy blessing upon these thy servants, and recognize the ring the man hath given the woman is a symbol of their eternal troth and the covenant between them.”
• • •
“What’s the count?” Garvin said.
“Three of ours dead … two more wounded,” Montagna said. “We have six dead Musth. No wounded. We tried to help one of them, and he shot himself before we could get to his gun.”
Her control broke, now that it was over, and she tried to keep tears back.
“God damn it, why’d they shoot at us? What did they think we were doing? We aren’t fighting them! What the hell’s going on, anyway?”
“When you figure it out,” Garvin said grimly, “be sure and let me know.”
• • •
“May the Creator preserve and keep you, look down upon you and fill you with all spiritual benediction and grace; that you may so live together in this life that in the world to come you may have life everlasting.”
• • •
“Lance, this is Sibyl Six Actual,” Garvin said into the mike, proud that his voice was calm, emotionless. “I shackle XRAY VELDT RANGE, repeat, XRAY VELDT RANGE. Attacked by Musth. All aliens killed. Need immediate medic flight, request Grierson extraction, two heavy hitters and standby reaction company. Musth were evidently part of some spy operation — extensive com gear found.
“We’re in very deep shit now.”
• • •
“Loy Kouro, you may kiss your bride.”
CHAPTER
4
“So here the Musth were, sending whatever reports they were sending,” Caud Rao said. “Lord alone knows what data that was, since nobody’s reported seeing any furry guys skulking around since the Musth officially pulled out.
“You come booming through the brush, and naturally, they think the worst and start shooting.”
“Yessir.” Garvin’s eyelids were bouncing together. It was well past dark, and the I&R trainees were either in bed or hospital. “My fault — ”
“Bullshit your fault,” Angara said. “I approved the exercise, and they fired the first shot. Caud, I think our alt needs sleep more than anything, and this is the fourth time we’ve put him through the wringer. Jaansma, get your ass out of here, and die until you wake up. Don’t pay attention to anything but loud explosions.”
“But …”
“That’s an order. Go. Yoshitaro’s outside, and he’ll point you toward your bunk, maybe hose you off a little first. Now get gone.”
Rao, Angara, and Hedley waited until Jaansma staggered out.
“Now what?” Angara asked.
“Hedley, that’s your department,” Rao informed his Intelligence chief.
“We flipping disperse like we’ve never dispersed before, making as rotten a legion of targets as we can,” Hedley said. “None of the offplanet warning stations detected any transmission from the Musth when the patrol hit them, but they never picked up anything before, either.
“So we’ve got to assume they punched a message through on some unmonitored freq, and if their fuzzy brothers weren’t on their way back to Cumbre with a case of the ass like they promised to have after the ‘Raum War, they surely must be by now.
“Plus let’s not forget Our Friend Redruth has, or had anyway, somebody reporting to him that we’ve never tracked down. So that’s another country to be heard from. Lord knows what the Kurans are going to do, but I think we should assume flipping unpleasantries.”
“Who knows if you’re right,” Rao said, “but we can’t assume you’re wrong, so we’ll move this instant.
“Here’s what we’ll do: Keep Headquarters and Support, less the units I’m going to detach next, here at Mahan, along with I&R Company and their proprietary air. That’ll have to be our reaction force, pissyass though it is. Mahan’s almost completely underground and hardened against anything short of prolonged nuke bombardment, so we should be covered there.
“Pull one infantry company from a regiment and get it across to Mullion Island’s airbase as their security element, plus all pilots who’ve been involved with our hideout fleet.
“First Regiment will disperse to Leggett, somewhere back of the Heights; Second to Aire; Third to Taman City; Fourth to Kerrier. Split up Artillery and Gunship Battalions, plus support, into the usual elements with each regiment so they’re independent. Have them bivvy outside the cities, using what bunkers are available, building more. We’ll run showers and field kitchens out to the regiments. I’ll have PlanGov commandeer some translifters to shuttle the troopies back and forth from the boonies to Mahan in a week or so for some time off.
“We’re screwed if anybody hits us and we have to react quickly in force, but we’ll have to take the chance. I’d rather be spread out than sitting in a big happy pile waiting to get massacreed.
“From now on, no passes, no leaves, one-third on alert. I can hear the troopies scream now.
“Oh yeh. How many of those Musth attack ships do we have flying?”
“Four aksai are at full readiness. Maybe five in a day or so. And we’ve got ten pilots trained on them fairly well. They probably’d get nailed in a dogfight with experienced Musth pilots, but I think they’d at least give the furry ones a tough way to go for a few minutes.”
“Good. Disperse those to Balar, with their pilots, and give the force one of the freighters for a mother ship. Offworld, they can maybe be a bit of a hole card, and give us an inch of the gravity well if we’re attacked, or anyway some surprise. Put three or four Zhukovs, the patrol craft, and a couple of the yachts with ‘em.”
“Yessir.”
“One more thing I should’ve taken care of — with all these extraneous aircraft, we’re a bit short on pilots. Tell the regimental commanders to link up with the local flight schools for support — they can invoice PlanGov with their expenses — and get any of our soldiers who want to fly into training. Also, get our recruiters banging the drum for recruits who’ve got any sort of flight experience or who’re interested in leaving a perfectly good planet behind.
“And we’re going to have to figure out some way to start building a navy. But that’s for PlanGov and me to figure out.
“That’s all I can think of.”
“What about the civilians, sir?” Angara asked.
Rao thought for a moment. “That’s PlanGov’s department, but I don’t see what good we can do telling them the shit’s going to come down maybe soon, except start a wave of hoarding and maybe panic. Plus I don’t think … emphasis think … the Musth will s
tart strafing the innocent. At least, not in the beginning.
“So wake up the hundering third, and get them rolling.”
“On my bike, sir.” Mil Angara hurried out, and a few seconds later alarms began to gong monotonously. Rao pictured soldiers tumbling out of bed, cursing and wondering where the hell their blasters and alert gear were.
“You know any prayers, Hedley?”
“Not a flippin’ one, sir.”
“Me either. This may get interesting.”
• • •
Normally, graduation from Infantry and Reconnaissance Qualification was a private, verbal ceremony, followed by a three-day pass and extended drunkenness.
Six days after the fight with the Musth, Caud Rao ordered Headquarters onto the massive parade ground at Camp Mahan, plus representatives from the fielded regiments to return for the ceremony.
Five men and women stood at attention in front of Caud Rao, with Jaansma and Yoshitaro flanking him. All wore full-dress uniform: midnight blue trousers, belted tunic and kepi, yellow piping on trousers, cap, and epaulettes.
Next to the five were three blasters, stuck muzzle down into the ground. Hung on their stocks were the dress kepis of the recruits who’d died in the Highlands, their highly-polished boots in front of the weapons.
There was a pickup, casting the ceremony to the two soldiers graduating long-distance and on their backs in the Force hospital.
“You made it,” Jaansma said. “Things got a little grimmer than usual, but that’s the way soldiering always seems to go. Congratulations. You did well, all of you. I’m proud to welcome you to the company.”
Yoshitaro just nodded, said nothing.
Rao’s remarks were almost as brief.
“Striker Darod Montagna, for bravery and coolness when brought under fire by an element of the Musth race while on a training maneuver, you’re given the Order of Merit, and promoted to finf. Striker Baku al Sherif, you’re awarded the Combat Legion award. All of you are promoted Striker First Class, and your performance commended in dispatches. Those who died in the line of duty, Strikers Joanes, Zelen, Hathagar, and those who were wounded, Strikers Mahue and Seelam, are awarded wound stripes.