“Nothing I know of,” Murphy said. “The Wanax couldn’t stop them.” He looked around at his colleagues. “And Colonel, I don’t think you can either.”
CHAPTER THREE
SCOUTING
“You wanted to see me, Colonel?”
Rick nodded. Technical Sergeant Harvey Rand had earned his promotion organizing madweed production. The army abandoned the rank shortly after World War II, though the Air Force kept it. Rick had reintroduced it so Rand wouldn’t be in the ordinary chain of command, but would still have the authority to get his job done.
But he’d been sent to the madweed fields as a prisoner, to work off a blood debt. He still wore the beard he’d grown in his years of independent service with Gengrich in the south. His clothes were locally made, local copies of the US Army field uniforms he’d lost down south, buttons rather than Velcro and snaps, but the camouflage dye was nearly as good as standard issue on Earth. He still had a Walther PPK, but his other weapons were locally made as well. Nothing fancy. Most of his pay went to compensate the family of the sentry he’d killed while Rand was part of the breakaway group. Rand’s bad luck was that the sentry had had noble family connections.
Rand stood at attention, relaxed, his face calm, a mild expression of curiosity but no more. Not rebellious, Rick thought. And not sullen. He took his punishment a hell of a lot better than I would have.
And I need him.
“At ease. Rand, I’ve paid off all your debts. You’re a free man. As free as any of us, anyway. Your pay’s your own from here out. As far as I’m concerned, you’re back in the outfit on regular duty. You can keep the rank.”
“Thank you, Colonel.” Rand spread his feet slightly but stood nearly at attention.
“You don’t wonder at what I want in return?”
“I think I’ve guessed, Sir.” He looked directly at Rick. “And you’ll tell me whether I ask or not.”
Rick noted the suppressed grin. Rand was working hard at being The Good Soldier . . .
“Let’s see. Rand, back in Africa you were about the best night scout we had. You still any good?”
“Maybe a little out of practice, Sir, but yeah, I think I’m pretty good. It’s not something you forget.”
“Right. Okay, you know what I want then. We’re up against something new, apparently a new group of mercs from Earth. I need to know how many, and what they’re equipped with, and anything else, like who sent them. Take anything and anyone you’ll need, and go find out.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“It may not be easy. Murphy says these troops have Mad Bear and his Westmen spooked.”
Rand nodded.
“Means night action, then. The Westmen’re as good as me in daytime, but they never were much good at night. I am.”
“All right. One more thing. I’d rather have a little information and a live trooper than no information and a dead one. Come back alive, Rand.”
“Colonel, I sure as hell intend to obey that order. Right now, I take it?”
“As soon as possible. Murphy’s troops have been keeping track of them, you can get there in about three hours.”
“Yes, Sir. I’ll set out in an hour then, and go in tonight, after the True Sun’s gone but before the Stealer sets completely. That’s late enough most will be trying to sleep, and I like dusk better than dark for slipping in.”
Rand was quiet for a while as he considered the task.
“Jack Beazeley just came in with Murphy’s people,” Rand said in a manner that didn’t sound like a question.
Rick nodded in reply.
“Good. I’ll want him to watch my back. I’ll need grease paint. And a couple of Mad Bear’s people to hold the horses. Nobody better’n them for keeping animals quiet. That ought to do it, if we can do it at all.”
“Good enough.”
“Skipper, this ain’t likely to be easy, if Mad Bear’s people can’t do it, maybe I can, and maybe I can’t.”
“I know. Come back alive, Rand.”
“You know it, Colonel.”
* * *
Rick was awakened by Sergeant Bisso.
“Rand’s back, Colonel.”
“He all right?”
“Seems to be. Quiet, though.”
“Okay. Orderly room in ten minutes,” Rick said. “Secure the area around it. And have some coffee ready.”
“Sir.”
* * *
“Gurkhas,” Rand said. He looked formidable in his camouflage outfit, leaves fixed to his hair and twigs poking out of his uniform, his face streaked with brown and green paint. “Gurkhas.”
“What?”
“Yeah, Colonel, you heard me right. Gurkhas. Fewer’n eighty, more’n thirty. At least three white officers, Brits by their accents, I got close enough to hear them talking but I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.”
“They’d have to be Brits with Gurkhas,” Bisso said.
“No, Colonel,” Warner said. “There are Gurkha regiments in the Indian Army.” He frowned. “What I never heard of was any Gurkha mercs. I mean, yeah, they’re all mercenaries, but they only hire out to governments. Britain and India.”
“Sultan of Brunei,” Bisso said. “He had a regiment of Gurkhas with Brit officers. I know, ’cause a buddy thought of hiring out to him once.”
Rand looked quietly amused.
“The officers are white,” he said. “The troops aren’t.”
“Rand, you’re sure these are Gurkhas?” Rick asked.
“Yes, Sir. I heard them. I know what the language sounds like. And I have pretty good night glasses, I could see them. Short little Indian-looking bastards, big grins, FN rifles, kukri knives, white officers. They’re Gurkhas all right, Colonel.”
“How close did you get, Harv?” Bisso asked.
“Close enough to see that much,” Rand said. “If you mean did I sneak around in their camp, hell no!”
“Don’t blame you,” Bisso said.
“No wonder my poachers couldn’t get close to them,” Murphy said. “Colonel, I don’t mind tellin’ you, this is a little scary.”
“Anybody have experience with Gurkhas?” Risk asked.
Headshakes.
“Spent three days on a troop train with one of the Brit Gurkha outfits,” Rand said. “That’s how I know what they sound like. But mostly I’ve just heard stories.”
“So has everyone else,” Bisso said. “Damned scary stories.”
“Okay,” Rick said. “What do we know for certain about them? Larry?”
Warner struck a lecturer’s pose.
“They’ve been associated with the British Army for over a hundred years. They come from Nepal up in the high Himalayas. Hindu religion. There are at least five tribes they recruit from. Real rugged country, everybody’s poor. They serve out their enlistments and go home with their retirement pay, and that’s the main support of their villages. There were like ten regiments of them when India got independence. The Indians took on about half, and the Brits kept the rest. I don’t know how they get along with the Indian Army, but the Brits have always had a kind of love for them. They served in nearly every war the Brits had after about 1850, and everybody I’ve talked to says they’re the best light infantry in the world.”
“So what are they doing here?” Rick demanded. “Freelancers? Did the British government send them?”
“Don’t seem likely,” Murphy said.
“I’ve never heard of freelance Gurkhas,” Warner said. “They’re recruited directly into their regiments, and only the British and Indian governments have recruiting rights. And Murph is right, it’s unlikely either the British or Indian governments sent them here.”
“Nothing else seems likely either,” Rick said. “Well however they got here, they’re our problem now. Anyone know a weakness? What spooks them?”
“Skipper, the way I hear it nothing spooks them,” Bisso said.
“They’re not our only problem,” Warner said. “They’re the toughest p
art, but are we forgetting there’s a whole Five Kingdoms army out there? And our army is scattered. Skipper, I’m not so sure we can handle the Fivers with what we’ve got.”
“He’s got a point,” Murphy said sourly. “They’ve been building up with those supply wagons. Is that Matthias any good?”
Rick nodded. “Yes, I think so.”
Murphy went on, “So the bottom line is, there’s an army out there bigger than ours will be if we can round up everyone. It’s commanded by a good man. So far, no big deal, the Colonel’s pulled us through much stickier situations than that.”
Warner nodded.
“Combined arms,” he said. “Use our firepower combined with locals.”
“Only this time it’s the other guy who can use that trick,” Murphy said. “Face it, if Ganton fights this Matthias without us, he’s going to lose. And if we fight those Gurkhas we’ll probably lose, there being more of them and assuming they got ammo, and why wouldn’t they? They haven’t had to do much shooting. So the way things stand we lose to the Gurkhas and Ganton loses to the Fivers.” He shook his head. “So what do we do about it, Skipper?”
And they were all looking at Rick Galloway.
* * *
Rick sketched out what he knew of the Gurkhas in a letter to Tylara. It wouldn’t be welcome information. Nor would the rest.
“I am summoned to meet with the Wanax. The Black Rod Usher was deferential.” Rick briefly considered crossing out the last word and substituting another, but decided that Tylara would have no problems with it in context. “‘His Majesty requests that you attend him,’ he said, and he was very respectful. We can both remember when he’d use a different tone. I’ll go, but I don’t know what the heck I’ll tell our Wanax. This is a tough situation, and I don’t have advice for him. I wish I had you here to advise me. For other things, too. I sure miss you.
“I’ve heard legends of Gurkha troopers all my life. Probably as much legend as fact, but if half of it is true they’re going to be hard to beat. And whatever happens, it can’t be a good sign that there’s fresh star troops on Tran. Who sent them? Why to the Five Kingdoms? If the Galactics are taking a hand in this, God help us.
“Then there’s the situation in Nikeis. More evidence of Galactic activity. But I’ve heard nothing on my transceiver and neither has”—he stopped himself before he could write Gwen’s name—“anyone else. I await word from our Roman allies who have sent spies in droves to Nikeis, but I can’t wait too long. My comrades won’t like it if I just write off Clavell and Harrison. Neither will I. And we have to know just what came down from that starship. If you have any way of finding out what’s going on in Nikeis, it would be well to do that.
“Everything is a bloody mess.” He crossed out the last sentence.
“I love you, I miss you. And the children. Kiss them for me. Be sure Mikhail learns his lessons. He’ll have to take my place one day. And we can hope Isobel can marry for love. And that she’ll be as happy as we are. And now I am off to see the Wanax. God bless us all. Rick.”
He folded up the parchment and sealed it, then dripped on more wax and used his ring to seal it again. This wasn’t the kind of thing he wanted to send by semaphore. Some of those operators knew more English than they let on. It wasn’t an urgent message, not urgent in that sense. It wouldn’t do Tylara a lot of good to get it fast—but it was important that she get it if he didn’t come back from his meeting with Ganton.
I’m not really worried, he thought. Not really.
But he called in a wounded horse archer who was being invalided home with comrades, and charged him to deliver it in person to the Lady Tylara.
Just in case, Rick thought. Just in case.
So what now?
Well, we can’t beat them. And if you can’t beat them—
CHAPTER FOUR
BLOODY HELL
Ganton’s encampment was small, a field camp with no pretensions of luxury. It was concealed in a hollow a dozen miles from where the leading elements of the Fiver army had made camp. Rick noted the light cavalry patrols and pickets around the camp and nodded approval. The boy king was learning his trade.
Sanitary arrangements look good, too, Rick thought. He’s definitely learning.
This time a page held Rick’s stirrup as he dismounted in front of the royal pavilion. Of course it wasn’t a pavilion, hardly more than a miner’s tent, something that could be struck away in moments at need, but it did have the royal banners. Ganton came to the entrance himself. He was bareheaded, and his armor was dusty. Doesn’t look so regal now. Rick shook that thought off. He’s still the Wanax.
“Welcome, Warlord of Drantos,” Ganton said formally. “Welcome, Lord Rick, Eqeta of Chelm. Welcome, Rick Galloway, Colonel of Mercenaries. And welcome, friend. Have I left off anything important?”
Rick couldn’t help smiling at that.
“Nothing, Majesty. It’s good to see you again.”
“I could wish under better circumstances.” Ganton gestured towards a table with chairs. One of the chairs had a thick cushion. “I know you do not like to sit on the ground,” he said. He gestured towards the cushioned chair. “And you will have had a hard ride. Do you need refreshment?”
“Wine and water, I think,” Rick said, and Ganton nodded.
“I guessed as much.” He clapped his hands, and a steward brought in a tray with bottles and goblets, set them on the table, and left. Ganton poured water and wine into goblets and indicated that Rick should choose which he preferred. There was a small tray of sugared cakes. Ganton ate one himself.
All the amenities, Rick thought. I still wish Tylara were here. She’s on to this court intrigue stuff.
“As you see, I took your counsel,” Ganton said. “I thought to move swiftly to Aachilos before the opposition could rally. The result has not been to my liking.”
Rick nodded.
“I offered to come with you.”
“You did, and I thought long on that. It was known to all what the Great Council decided, that I should seek to be heir in the Five. Worse strategists than you might see my best chance as an immediate march north. They would be preparing for that, possibly make peace with Strymon and ask him to command the defense. But if I seemed to dismiss you, perhaps even to be angry with you for the suggestion that we march north, word would go out. Aachilos would not send for Strymon. Word would go to the Green Palace, and Strymon would not keep his forces ready to march. Not having you would be a high price to pay, but deceiving the Five including Strymon would be a reward worth a high price.” He shrugged. “So I thought. It has not worked as well as I planned. Yet—had you been with me, would the result be different?”
“I don’t know, Majesty.”
“It might have been worse. You might have been killed in ambush. Do you know these new star men, My Lord Rick?”
“No, and I had no word of their coming. I know no more of whom they serve than you do. But I do know who they are.”
“And?”
Rick sipped at the goblet of wine. May as well get this over with.
“On my world they are called Gurkhas, and they are said to be man for man the finest soldiers in the world,” Rick said.
“This is no comfort.”
“No, Majesty, only truth.”
“Can you defeat them? You must defeat them! With them removed we face no more than the Five, and against that force I can make a good retreat and hold my borders. You and I together might do much more than that. But against those—Gurkhas—I can do nothing.” He looked up to heaven. “I have no soldiers who will stand and face them. Except you, Lord Rick.”
Rick nodded.
“Where is the rest of your army? Scattered?”
“Not so scattered as my enemies believe,” Ganton said with a thin smile. “Many units are together and I know where they are. Messages come and go to me even if the units do not always find each other.”
“You retained the division structure you used at the Ottarn?”
“I did. Their units are dispersed but each leader knows how to find his own. I can assemble an army in four days’ time, Lord Rick, but until those—Gurkhas—are defeated, that would only give them a tempting target. Or so I thought. What advice have you for me?”
“I have to think on it. You say in four days you can have an army again.” Optimistic, Rick thought. But it’s a number to start with. “It won’t be much longer before the reinforcements I’ve ordered appear at the Ottarn. With proper handling we can certainly win a defensive battle against the Five. We might indeed do better than that.”
“Except that we face more than Matthias and his forces,” Ganton said. “I asked once if you could defeat these Gurkhas. You did not answer. I ask again.”
Rick shook his head.
“No,” he said flatly.
Ganton didn’t look surprised.
“Then we are lost.”
“Not quite,” Rick said. “I can’t do it alone, but let’s see what you and I can do together.”
“You have a plan?”
“Perhaps.” Not so much a plan as a course of action, Rick thought. And one I’m going to hate.
* * *
The True Sun had risen a little more than an hour earlier. The wails of the women and children were heart rending. Rick sat upon his horse impassively as he watched the wretched column of villagers form up. There were few men. The Five Kingdoms commanders had summoned the ban and the arrière ban, all the young men and many of the older ones. The women and children might have been able to eke out a miserable existence among the ruined crop fields. Now they wouldn’t have even that hope.
I hate this.
“Everybody’s out,” Bisso shouted, and Rick nodded.
“Do it.”
Riders with torches rode from house to house. Smoke curled up from each house as they passed. Foragers gathered anything edible including many things Rick wouldn’t touch. No one would be living off this land, not now and not this year.
“Move ’em out!” Bisso ordered.
Tamaerthan footguards grimaced horribly and waved their weapons, shouting terrible threats and striking the villagers with small sticks, driving them away from the smoke and flames that had been their homes. The wretched column moved slowly up the dirt track of a road, northward towards the Gurkha encampment.
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