Rear Echelon

by Darryl S Ellrott

  “That’s not the first time you’ve dropped hints, señor. You and I are both too old for spook stories. Just what is it about this Pericu that gives it such a bad reputation?”

  The old man gave a wry smile. “As I told you, the Libera did not build the Wall, nor this causeway we travel. The men who built Pericu made them, and we are not sure if they were men at all. We know only that they were here before the Libera, and the stones they left behind are their only monuments. The Wall itself is only the last remnant of an vaster edifice that sank beneath the sea thousands of years ago.”

  “So, what about the city?”

  “All I know is what our codices tell us. They say that the Askurans who were here before us were utterly evil. The Pericui and their servants, the lagarijos. worshipped the Evil One, who they called their Dark Master. Their atrocities were an offense to Madrios. They met their fate long ago. Since then, Pericu has been a haunted citadel. The Libera give it a wide berth.”

  By the time night fell, the party had rounded the marshes and was headed westward towards the river. Hardesty had spent the day monitoring the pack train, making sure the Askuran mules were bearing up under their burdens. That red-headed secretary Gloria was with them, and she made herself useful by ferrying instructions back a forth to Chavez, their last remaining Spanish speaker. He and Josso made sure everything ran smoothly with the Asilyan warriors who were tagging along, all seventy-five of them. As evening approached, the advance scouts reported that they would reach the rendezvous point by morning.

  One of the Bandits roused him out of his fighting hole at around O-five hundred. The morning watch had reported the call sign. As Hardesty was adjusting his field cover, Captain Bainbridge, accompanied by Prince Nahuatl, came striding into the campsite.

  Bainbridge returned the sergeant’s salute.

  “Welcome back, sir,” said Hardesty.

  “Thank you sergeant. What’s the condition of your company?”

  “We’re one hundred percent, captain. We’re ready to eat our own guts and ask for seconds.”

  “Outstanding. You’re going to need it. Things have changed.”

  “No plan ever survives contact with the enemy,” Hardesty quipped.

  “You said it. Break camp immediately and prepare to move out. We’ve got to be across the river and in position by midmorning.”

  “What’s up, Captain?”

  “The enemy’s moving quicker than we expected. They’re bugging out.”

  “We’ll be ready, sir.”

  Bainbridge clapped him on the shoulder. “I have every confidence, Top. Assemble your staff. We’ll have a briefing in ten minutes.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Oh, by the way. We need this analyzed.” he handed Hardesty a black helmet with some drying blood splashes on the side. “One of the Asliyans took this off a sentry. We think it’s their version of night vision. We’ll to know how it works.”

  “I’ll get McCaskey on it. He’s a wizard with that sort of thing.”

  The captain and his men went to get chow, while Hardesty began shouting orders to break camp. Prince Nahuatl went to find Josso. He was glad to see the men of Asilyo again, but first he had to tell the priest about his daughter. Ahead of them lay the river crossing, and then the final sprint to the assault. He wondered again if Travis and Ressa were alive and well. He hoped they were.

  Chapter 20

  “Come on!” called Ressa. “Don’t they have hills where you’re from? Come on, lazy.”

  “Not where I’m from, sweetheart,” he called. Travis Buckley trudged up the mountain tail and cursed the day he’d ever met the girl. She was in her element, leaping like a mountain goat up the switchbacks and breathing easily in the thin air. Travis, on the other hand, was gasping and feeling faint. Bright red blotches stood out on both cheeks, and it was only his training that was keeping him going.

  “Come on, we’re almost there,” she called, delighted.

  The hunting party had been climbing all morning through a lush cloud forest until they reached a valley shrouded in perpetual fog and surrounded on all sides by two nearly vertical peaks. Travis shivered in the morning chill. After living for weeks in wicked tropical heat, the coolness of the mountain climate was bracing.

  There, nestled on the mountain’s shoulders, was Copalta, a city of stone that seemed a feat of impossible engineering. Innumerable contoured granite terraces crept, one on top of the other, up a nearly vertical face. The city itself was a honeycombed labyrinth of temples, plazas, living quarters, industrial buildings, passageways, and ceremonial paths. The sound of running water and the cries of birds could be heard everywhere. This city in the clouds had been built by extremely sure-footed people, people who now crowded around them to welcome their expatriate daughter home and get a good look at the newcomer.

  “So, what do you think?”

  “This is your hometown, eh?”

  “Yes,” she sighed. “I never thought to see it again when Joachim and I left for Asilyo. I grew to love the city behind the wall, but to breathe the mountain air again! Marvelous! We can get some rest here, and some food and new clothes,” Ressa spared a rueful glance at her mud-drenched form and torn dress, “and then we see my father.”

  “Oh great,” groaned Travis. “This will be the second time I’ve met your parents.”

  “Don’t worry so much, encantado,” she said, “I’m the ninth out of ten, remember? My father barely noticed me growing up. He disapproved of my first marriage. Bringing you home won’t be any worse.”

  “Don’t bet on it.”

  Travis awoke with start. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. Sunlight streamed through a window whose shutters had been thrown back to admit the afternoon breeze. He sat up and looked around, getting his bearings. He lay on a simple wooden bed frame with a corn straw mattress in a square room made of finely crafted stone. His boots sat unlaced near the bed’s foot, and his machete and knife were close at hand.

  His clothes were gone, but he was quite comfortable. He lay sandwiched between a brightly patterned wool blanket, and one of the most luxuriant wool throws he had ever seen. It resembled an alpaca pelt, and would have gone for hundreds of dollars back on Earth.

  He yawned, his hand sliding over his now-smooth cheeks. He’d never shaved with a straight razor before, but the servants who had taken away his clothes had provided him one, along with a bronze mirror and a cake of soap. He hadn’t chopped his face up too badly.

  It was good to be the guest of the king. For the first time since he had left the Halsey he was clean, washed in a wooden tub with real soap and real hot water. After the bath he had fallen into bed and was out like a light. He had no idea how long, but it was the same afternoon as their arrival.

  His hosts had left him some replacement clothing while his BDU’s hung drying on a line somewhere. It was a simple sleeveless, woolen tunic with a hole for his head and a sash to tie around his waist. My God, there was even a bowl with some fruit and what looked like corn pancakes in it on the small table where he had shaved. He made the food disappear to the last crumb while he tied the sandals he had found to his feet. Now all he had to do was stick his knife in the sash, and he was ready to meet with the king. Instead, he went in search of Ressa.

  As he left his guest room, he saw her coming towards him across the small courtyard that was the centerpiece of the six room complex. Rest, food, and new clothes had done her wonders. She was dressed all in green, and though she was still bruised and wan from her ordeal, her raven hair had been restored to its original luster, and it was now bound by a green and white scarf around the forehead. In the center rose double feathers of a magenta hue, the mark of her royal heritage.

  “You look so much better,” she said, smiling at him and taking his hands in hers.

  “So do you.” He was drowning in those big, dark eyes again, words deserting him. He wrenched his eyes away from hers and tried to change the subject. “What time is it? How long were
we asleep?”

  “What time is it? I don’t understand. It’s late afternoon on the day we arrived, if that’s what you mean.” Travis had to remind himself that she came from a culture that didn’t have wrist watches and alarm clocks. “Come on,” she said, “Business for now. We have an audience with my father. The palace isn’t far.” Travis followed her out of the courtyard and down a stone walkway.

  Copalta could be unnerving to anyone not raised on the side of a mountain. Though wider in the agricultural areas, the city terraces could be quite narrow. It seemed he was always walking on a ledge next to the abyss, and it made him dizzy. He kept his eyes on Ressa and tried not to look down too much.

  The king’s chambers lay in the upper reaches of the city near the central fountain. Travis thought Ressa must have gotten her looks from her mother. Her father wasn’t especially tall, and he wasn’t especially handsome, though Travis was taken aback by the steeliness of his gaze and the ruthless lines around his mouth. He wore regal robes of crimson and three golden feathers stood up from his forehead, bound there by a cloth of gold. He carried a tall, jewel-encrusted staff with a golden headpiece, and Travis noticed the arm that held it was corded with the muscles of a veteran warrior.

  Despite being the king’s daughter, Ressa did a deep curtsy, dropping all the way to one knee for a moment before popping up. Travis didn’t know what the etiquette was for him, so he did a short bow from the waist. That appeared to satisfy the king, so he handed off his staff and took a seat atop his dais, crossing his feet in front of him. Travis and Ressa made themselves comfortable at the foot of the dais.

  The king spoke not a word of English, nor did he speak espa. The Copaltan dialect, Ressa explained, was called “etchua,” and was only spoken by the mountain tribesmen.

  The king’s pointed questions were punctuated by Ressa’s longer narrative explanations. Travis tried to be as truthful as he could without giving away any information Captain Bainbridge might consider classified. The story of Arnac’s kidnapping, their crash landing, Ressa’s rescue, and the destruction of the lizard’s lair got retold and the details dissected several times over. Travis was nervous throughout the interview, but the king seemed more personable and less forbidding as the afternoon wore on.

  After a long while, Ressa turned to Travis and said, “You must wait in the courtyard. My father wishes to speak with me alone.”

  “Is everything going okay?”

  “Better than I thought. He is impressed by your bravery and honesty, and feels indebted to you for my rescue. He must hear me out, then consult with his councilors. But rest assured: if my father says we fight, then we fight. We will see.”

  Travis spent an hour or so twiddling his thumbs in the courtyard while he watched the sun go down over the mountains. The guards said nothing, but Travis made sure to return their challenging stares with his own. No sense in them thinking he was weak.

  Finally Ressa emerged from the palace, and she was not alone. The King came with her, and at her side was another veteran warrior. “This is Acahuana, one of my father’s generals.” She was beaming ear to ear. “Tomorrow at dawn, we depart for Pericu with one hundred fifty warriors.”

  Travis jolted awake for the second time. He reached for his pillow knife, then stopped short. The full moon’s light came in the open window, and it was easy to see the slender female form that stood in the doorway. Her long hair was around her shoulders, and she was covered only in a blanket. Their eyes met. Travis pulled back the corner of the alpaca pelt, and she was in his arms and her blanket was on the floor. His lips found hers, tasting her. They broke apart. “Mi amor,” she breathed.

  “Oh my God,” he groaned as her hands found him, and all thought was lost. Above them, clouds covered the moon, and the room filled with shadow.

  Chapter 21

  Struts McCaskey wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to prepare himself for death. For a while this thing had been fun; now it wasn’t fun at all. He had enjoyed breaking down the functions on the Machai sentry’s helmet. It had taken him several hours to do what would have taken a lab team weeks, but hey, everybody’s good at something.

  The things it could do! With the visor down and the heads-up display engaged, a soldier could see comfortably in any light condition, from the merciless glare of a white-hot sun to near-total darkness. Under combat conditions there were all kinds of cool targeting functions that increased accuracy for a shooter, and there was even some kind of mind/body interface built in. It could, of course, detect a body’s heat signature, but it was really good at detecting the minute electrical fields generated by living things, just like a shark.

  The device was going to be tough to deceive, and their initial diversion required deception. He, Hardesty, and the prince had spent a short time going over the diversion plan, with Struts making some helpful suggestions. Then Hardesty had kicked him in the guts – figuratively. Instead of being in the rear with the gear, he, Struts McCaskey, would help lead the diversion team. “We need somebody who can operate a modern firearm and knows how these helmets work,” explained Hardesty, sizing him up. “You’re it.”

  Prince Nahuatl, who was squatting beside him in their covered position about fifty yards from the wall, grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t look so worried, amigo,” he said. “My men do this sort of thing on hunting parties all the time. Hey! This isn’t your first battle, is it?”

  “Of course not!”

  The prince chuckled and spoke to his men, who began to laugh.

  “We thought so,” he said. He clasped hands with Struts. “Don’t worry. The men of Asilyo will protect you.”

  “Thanks. Is everybody in position? Are we ready?”

  The prince nodded. “Give the signal.”

  Struts spoke into his earpiece, and the fun began.

  Michael Franks and his friends in Alpha Elite had been trained demolition men. They crawled around the outsides of spacecraft during firefights and planted bombs on the hulls, among other things. Creeping up to the walls of Pericu with Driveway and Guererro was not a major challenge. In the last hour they had planted several shaped charges at the base of a section half way between the main gate and rear gate of the city. When he heard to go order from Bainbridge, he set them off with a muffled bang that shook the ground and sent an amazing cloud of dust and debris into the air. The ancient masonry could not take the strain, and a fifteen-yard section began to slowly collapse.

  “Excellent!” said Captain Bainbridge. He touched his own earpiece. “Top, let’s soften them up a little.”

  Behind him Struts could hear repeated heavy thumps as the mortar crews, comprised of remaining Bandit personnel, began to lob high explosive and armor piercing rounds into the city. Ten rounds, along with some white phosphorous, created plenty of smoke and racket. The Asilyans started when the explosions began, but they held their ground.

  The alarm brought Acrisius running just before the explosions at the wall. He heard the initial thump of the shaped charges, but was puzzled by a wall that only partially collapsed. Then the Centurion began barking orders to the Machai and lizard men who began streaming past him. He glanced back in time to see his second, Decimus, followed the Prelate himself.

  “Hah! They couldn’t even knock the wall down. The lizard men will make mincemeat of them.”

  “I don’t think they’re finished, my lord – “

  He heard the whistle of incoming ordinance, and threw himself to the side as a mortar shell exploded nearby with terrifying roar. He drove Decimus and the Prelate backwards into a nearby doorway as rounds began thundering down inside the wall’s partial opening. The lizard men and Machai who had rushed to the scene paid with their lives.

  Struts counted to nine and tried to control his shaking. “Pretty good, eh?” cried the prince. “Boom!” He mimed an explosion with is hands, laughing. Struts looked at him as though he was crazy.

  The tenth shell was launched, and as he followed the tell-tale whistle,
Nahuatl grinned at him.

  “You ready?” he yelled.

  “Oh, God – “

  “You ready?” he screamed.

  “Oh, yeah!” answered Struts.

  “En la brecha, los hombres!” roared Nahuatl, and his men roared with him. With Struts McCaskey leading the way, the men of Asilyo broke their cover and drove howling into the breach.

  The Prelate was first out of the doorway, holding his hands over his abused eardrums. He looked around at the reinforcements arriving from both sides of the wall breach.

  “Get them!” he screeched, “kill them all!” His minions leapt to obey, pouring into the breach after the oncoming attackers. The Prelate whirled around as Centurion Acrisius clamped a strong hand on his cloaked shoulder.

  “My lord, we must stop! It’s a trap. This is an obvious feint, designed to draw us away from the main gate and into the open field. We must call them back!”

  “What are you babbling about, fool? Now is our chance to crush them. Open fire!” he called. The Prelate drew his own blaster and began to fire indiscriminately into the smoke, hitting his own men as often as not.

  Struts had leapt over some initial rubble and then opened fire. He could barely see some signs of movement coming at him through the smoke. They had to draw the enemy through the breach and into the field. Kicking aside a detached lizard arm, he began spraying three-round bursts all around in a 180 degree fan. “Come on!” he yelled, motioning to the men behind him.

  The Asilyans screamed in triumph as they saw their hated reptilian foemen coming to meet them. They had taken the bait and left the safety of the wall. For a few terse minutes there was good axe work to be had, with obsidian-edged clubs sinking into skulls and torsos. The lizard men coming up from behind crawled over their fallen comrades to join the bloodbath.