Mamelukes

by Jerry Pournelle

  “At any rate, we’ve SLRs for all our men, which is probably a very good thing, given our ammunition situation, since it’s only semiautomatic. In fact, that’s one reason I argued against the M-16. I cannot believe the way some troops burn through their ammunition given the chance to fire fully automatic! As I implied earlier, we’re very light on anything approaching heavy weapons, however. We have two Brens, but only a total of six replacement barrels. Uses thirty-round rifle magazines, so at least we don’t have to worry about belted ammunition. No mortars, no recoilless rifles or rocket launchers. We do have a couple of hundred hand grenades—the L2A2, which is more or less identical to your own M26, I believe—and three Milkor grenade launchers. South African, again,” he added as Warner frowned. “Not a bad weapon at all, really. Forty-millimeter revolver launcher with a six-round drum. Unfortunately, we’ve only about eighty rounds for them, and they’re the heaviest firepower our ‘employers’ provided. I did have my Webley along—personal weapon; belonged to my father—and they deigned to procure three hundred rounds for it. Leftenant Cargill and Leftenant Martins had to make do with American issue, I’m afraid.”

  “Well, we can always use more forty-five ammo!” Mason observed, but Baker shook his head.

  “Sorry, Major. I know you Yanks have always had something of a fetish about the forty-five, but your Army adopted the Beretta nine-millimeter in ’85.”

  “Nine-millimeter?” Mason looked at him in horror.

  “’Fraid so, old chap.”

  “Crap. Almost makes me glad I wasn’t there to see it!”

  “At any rate, that’s pretty much our inventory, weapons wise. Of course, all of the men have their kukris—can’t separate a Gurkha from his knife!—but all told, we’ve only about two hundred rounds of rifle ammunition per man. Well, we’ve an extra three thousand rounds that I’ve earmarked for the Brens, as well, but that’s only about six minutes of sustained fire for one of them. We’re reasonably well kitted out for webbing, rucksacks, that sort of thing. And we do have some medical supplies.”

  “Medical?” Rick’s voice sharpened, and Baker nodded.

  “We don’t have anything remotely approaching a doctor, but I did lobby hard for a decent dispensary. Didn’t get everything I wanted, of course, but we’ve a fair supply of painkillers, medical supplies like bandages, field dressings, and splints, a decent surgical kit, and quite a lot of antibiotics.” He grimaced. “I suspect those were added to the list by Agzaral, actually, and there are rather more of them than I’d requested from our ‘employers.’ That’s one reason I think it was Agzaral; those bastards weren’t giving us anything they didn’t have to after they got caught with their fingers in the biscuit tin.”

  “McCleve’s gonna be happy to hear about that, Sir!” Mason said, and Rick nodded.

  “Yes, he is. And I promise we’ll use them wisely, Major. You wouldn’t happen to have added any Preparation H to that would you?”

  “Well, yes, Sir. Several dozen tubes, actually. I rather thought it might be needed if we were going to be spending the rest of our lives in saddles.”

  “You, Major Baker, are a very wise man,” Rick said fervently, reminding himself that Rank Hath Its Privileges. He contemplated that blissful thought for several seconds, then shook himself.

  “So, anything else?” he asked. “Aside from the radios, that is.” He smiled. “We noticed they’re not exactly Royal Army issue. More of that inferior American crap?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, Colonel,” Baker replied with an answering smile. “Though they are civilian issue and American. I wanted army-issue radios, since those are what we’re most familiar with and they’re just a tad harder to break than civilian models. But that wasn’t in the cards, either, I’m afraid. They seem solid, though. I believe they’re supplied to your firefighters, in fact, so they ought to be fairly tough and resistant to water damage, for example. And they equipped us with a crossband receiver base unit for them—gives us about eighty to a hundred and twenty kilometers’ range, depending on terrain and weather. I understand that many of your local emergency services in the States, especially in rural areas, use similar units. I’d be lying if I said I was fully confident in their durability, however, and we have only nine of them. In addition, we did get two RT-320 HF radios, as well, for long-range communications. Unfortunately, they’re outside the frequencies of our ‘firefighter’ units, so they’re not mutually compatible.”

  “What sort of range does your—RT-320, you said?—have?” Rick asked.

  “Depending on the antenna, more than two thousand kilometers,” Baker replied. “That’s with a static antenna using sky-wave communications. Under normal conditions with a two-and-a-half-meter whip antenna, it’s good for a ground-wave range of at least forty kilometers.”

  Two thousand kilometers? That’s right on twelve hundred miles! If Tylara and I each had a radio—

  Rick shook that thought aside—for the moment—and shook his head at Baker.

  “All of that sounds good, Major. Obviously, I wish you’d gotten everything you asked for, but I’m not surprised they didn’t fully equip you after Agzaral intervened. And speaking of Agzaral, you mentioned that he had further plans.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  PLANS

  “They were planning another expedition,” Baker said. “One authorized by Inspector Agzaral. It wasn’t going to be large, but it would be well equipped, and your employers were paying for it. The notion was to send instructors to assist you so that there would be more product to claim.”

  “When would they arrive?” Rick asked.

  “About the same time we would,” Baker said. “Possibly before. Agzaral wasn’t certain. Apparently he couldn’t obtain the transportation he’d expected to use, and had to rely on someone else. I gather he wasn’t entirely happy with what he was stuck with.”

  “Reinforcements. New equipment,” Rick said. “Nothing of the sort’s come . . . ”

  “Those lights off Nikeis—” Warner exclaimed.

  Rick looked thoughtful, then nodded.

  “I think so. In fact it’s pretty clear that’s exactly what happened. Our reinforcements went astray and ended up in Nikeis.”

  “Sure how I see it, Colonel,” Warner said.

  Art Mason looked thoughtful.

  “So what do we do?” he asked.

  “We go get them.”

  “Uh, begging your pardon Colonel, but Nikeis is an island, and none of us knows crap about naval operations,” Mason said and Rick nodded, then grinned.

  “But our new comrades are islanders,” he said. “It’s in their blood.”

  “Not so sure about that,” Baker said. “And I’ve never seen a ship on this planet. I’d guess they’ve come to the galley stage?”

  “Something like that,” Rick agreed. “I don’t know a lot about them either. Fortunately the Romans do. They operate a small navy and they have records. I asked Publius to meet us at Taranto, the Roman port city. Of course that was before this dustup, but I expect he’ll be there. He’s as interested in what’s happening in Nikeis as I am.”

  “So that’s our plan?” Lieutenant Martins demanded. “We pack, forced march to the coast, learn about naval operations somehow, and invade this island nation? Do they have a lot of experience with ships? We certainly have none.”

  “Makes it interesting,” Baker said. “Meanwhile, how are we going to integrate our units?”

  “We keep them as separate units, of course,” Rick said. “None of my people know anything about commanding Gurkhas. You’ll stay together as a unit. Of course we’ll merge the logistics functions.”

  “In other words, we turn over our ammunition,” Baker said.

  “Well, all that the men don’t normally carry with them,” Rick said.

  Baker looked thoughtful for a long moment.

  “Very well. Sir. I’ll give the orders in the morning.”

  Martins opened his mouth.

  “That will do, Ri
chard,” Baker said. “I understand thoroughly. But either we accept this arrangement with Colonel Galloway, or we don’t. If we do, being cagey about it won’t help. We’re already at his mercy.”

  “Sir?”

  Baker pointed to the wine bottles.

  “Poison? Of course not, but it was possible. And I note that Sergeant Bisso commands a section of men with automatic weapons. Meanwhile, our men are being charmed by comely women. Do you really think we have had any alternatives since we sat down to this dinner?”

  Martins frowned.

  “Exactly. Relax and enjoy it, Leftenant. Incidentally, I expect you’ll make captain in Colonel Galloway’s service long before you would have in the Queen’s. Now have another glass of port.”

  * * *

  There were sounds from outside.

  “Sergeant of the Guard! Post Number Two!”

  “Main gate,” Art Mason muttered. More commotion. Rick tried to keep a calm expression until Bisso came in.

  “Armed party approaching, Colonel. Claims to be from Wanax Ganton.”

  “How many?”

  “Maybe five lances,” Bisso said. “Give or take a few supernumeraries. You’ve met the leader. Lord Enipses. He’s got a chain of office I’ve seen before.”

  Rick frowned the question.

  “Looks like the medallion Lady Tylara used to wear.”

  “Enipses as High Justiciar. Interesting. Make them comfortable, but keep them together,” Rick said. “And invite Lord Enipses to come join us, if he pleases. Put it that way, be elaborately polite, Sergeant.”

  “Sir!”

  “And then ask Tech Sergeant Rand to scout around. It’s dark out there, might be interesting to know if anyone else knows where our headquarters is.”

  “Perhaps I should have some of my lads take a look,” Major Baker said. “They’re passable as night scouts.”

  Warner suppressed a giggle.

  “Do that, Major,” Rick said. “But just scouting, please. Right now we have to be very careful about who gets killed.”

  “I’ll do just that.” Baker gestured to Cargill to follow and went out.

  “Bisso.”

  “Sir?”

  “Make sure Rand knows there’ll be Gurkhas prowling around out there. And he’s to keep that garrote in his pocket.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “And now we wait. Be seated, gentlemen. There’s still a bit of port left.” And I’m sounding more like Baker every minute . . .

  * * *

  A few minutes later a boy came into the dining room. He wore expensive court clothing and had a bronze carbine slung over his back. He stood nervously in front of Rick.

  “I come from Wanax Ganton, with a message for the Warlord of Drantos.”

  “I recognize you, young master Dridos. Speak.”

  “Lord Enipses, High Justiciar of Drantos, awaits your leave to speak.”

  Rick frowned.

  “Warner, does this make sense to you?” he asked in English.

  “No, Sir. It’s a new kind of formality from anything I’ve seen.”

  “High Justiciar,” Rick said. “When Tylara was Justiciar she outranked me except in actual battle. I’m guessing this puts Enipses as top dog, and they sent a page I’d recognize to make sure I believed it.”

  “Sounds about right to me,” Warner said. “You suppose he has orders for you?”

  “His own or the King’s.” Rick turned back to the royal page. “Bid Justiciar Enipses to come in, if it pleases him.”

  The page bowed and turned slowly, then ran out of the room. A few moments later Enipses, in full mail armor covered by an embroidered tabard, strode in, the page at his side. He wore his chain and medallion conspicuously.

  Enipses held his helmet under his left arm, but his face was framed by a mail hood. His expression was stern, almost grim, but his eyes betrayed a touch of fear as he examined the others in the room. He looked directly at Rick.

  “At the command of the Wanax the Justiciar of Drantos stands before the Warlord of Drantos.”

  “You do indeed,” Rick said. “Congratulations on what must have been a recent appointment. Tell me, My Lord, why I am so honored at this late hour?”

  “His Majesty has received disturbing information,” Enipses said. He eyed Lieutenant Martins with suspicion. “That you have been joined by new star lords, some previously in the service of the Five Kingdoms, yet you have made no report to His Majesty about these newcomers.”

  “As you see, this is all true,” Rick said. “As to why it has not yet been reported to the Wanax, it is, like your appointment, a very recent development. There has been neither time nor need.”

  Enipses opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it. He swallowed hard.

  “My Lord, I would have thought there is a very great need for a report to the Wanax.”

  “There is. Now,” Rick said. “Not previously.”

  Enipses stood in silence, and Rick took pity on him.

  “Until very recently it was not decided what status the new star lords would have,” he said. “Now they have entered into my service.”

  “Your service,” Enipses said.

  “Yes. Into my service as Colonel of Mercenaries. They have sworn no allegiance to Drantos or its Wanax.”

  Enipses took a moment to digest this. Then he turned slightly.

  “Dridos!”

  “Yes, Grand—Yes Lord Justiciar!”

  “Bid the gentleman usher to attend us.”

  The boy darted out, and returned a moment later accompanied by the Black Rod Usher who had summoned Rick to the council on the Ottarn battlefield. He carried his rod of office proudly.

  The usher looked to Enipses, then approached Rick and bowed.

  “Lord Rick, Warlord of Drantos, the Wanax has bid me say that he both needs and desires your counsel, and therefore summons you to his presence at your earliest convenience.”

  “Interesting way to put that,” Warner said sotto voce.

  “Indeed,” Rick said. “Our earliest convenience is now. We will all travel together. Major Mason, please assemble a suitable escort of forces to accompany me and Senior Warrant Officer Warner. As senior officer you will command here, with Major Baker as second-in-command.”

  “I will inform His Majesty,” Enipses said.

  “No, My Lord, you will not,” Rick said. “There’s no need. The summons said our earliest convenience. Surely His Majesty will not be astonished if we come immediately, and we travel together.” He turned to Art Mason. “I’ll thank you to arrange that escort for me. Also, signal Rand to come in, and tell both Rand and Major Baker I’d like a word with them before I go.”

  Mason nodded.

  “I don’t like this much,” he said in English. “Something odd here.”

  “Agreed, Art, which is why I need to speak with Rand and Major Baker.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AMBUSCADE

  Rick’s escort consisted of five star lord mercenaries under Sergeant Bisso. All were mounted on horses except Private First Class Passavopolous. Ark rode a mule and carried the light machine gun cradled across his saddle. His shoulders were covered with ammunition belts.

  In addition, Captain Lord Arwel, son of a Chelm baron, commanded a group of mounted archers, some Tamaerthan clansmen, others Chelm recruits. They carried short compound bows, and constant practice had made them proficient at using their bows from horseback. They were grouped with half a dozen Tamaerthan infantry archers. The clansmen looked awkward enough when mounted, but they carried longbows and full quivers, and no one observing them on foot doubted their capability.

  One more detail, Rick thought. Longbows could be improved by horn backing, but persuading the clansmen to use compound bows in preference to their native simple bows was difficult. Compound bows had a bad habit of delaminating in wet weather, while self bows endured the wet at a cost of stretching bowstrings. On the other hand, it took years to learn to use a big self longbow that had
a range anywhere near that of a good compound bow.

  Ah, well, Rick thought. One day someone will develop a good foot archer compound weapon that outranges the longbows. Longbows might be superior to muskets, but skilled longbowmen were much harder to find than competent musketeers. We better develop it first or the Tamaerthans will be in trouble. Steel bows and wire? How do you make those? But by then we’ll all be using rifled muskets anyway. Romans are certainly on their way to using muskets. I wonder what a legionary with a musket will be called . . .

  Everything’s happening at a faster pace. Can I keep up with all this? It’s all getting away from me, and I don’t have time to think it through. I need someone to think about these changes. Gwen can do that at the University, but she needs Warner, and I need him with me, and—and it’s time to get on with this. My mind wanders a lot lately.

  “Where is His Majesty’s encampment, My Lord?” Rick asked, turning to Enipses.

  “I will lead you there,” the new High Justiciar said, then looked back at Rick’s escort. “Surely you do not need so many?”

  “We aren’t that far from the enemy, My Lord,” Rick said. “And we’ve seen suspicious activities, mysterious riders, in these hills. Indeed, my scouts detected someone just outside our perimeter not half an hour ago.” Rick frowned sternly. “My Lord Justiciar, surely you’ve heard that when I returned from my visit with His Majesty just weeks ago, I was set upon by enemies who wished to kill me. I barely survived, and since that time I’ve always traveled with a sufficient escort.”

  Enipses scowled, but had nothing to say. The Firestealer had set, and the only light was the grim glow of the Demon Star, just bright enough to cast dim shadows in the gloomy dark. Enipses pointed to the east gate of the camp. The camp path joined an east-going road that was just visible beyond the gate.