Captain

by Rick Shelley

  "How's he doing?" Lon asked softly when O'Fallon got up to go for more coffee.

  Hoper grinned. "Raw around the edges, about like you were the first time out. But he'll do fine. They don't send us the rejects. And the men accept him."

  Lon nodded. "That's good." There were always rumors in the Corps. At times they seemed to be the motive force for the professional army. Hoper had been a lieutenant for a long time. He was due to get a company of his own, and a captain's pips, sometime in the near future. O'Fallon was, more than likely, to be his replacement as leader of Alpha's first two platoons.

  "You ready for hot weather?" Carl asked, watching O'Fallon return to the table.

  "As ready as I'll ever be," Lon replied. "At least it won't be steamy jungle like New Bali."

  "From what I hear, we're going to this area at the best time of year," Carl said. "Hot but fairly

  dry, near the end of the growing season."

  "The settlers have been there long enough to get crops planted and ready to harvest?"

  O'Fallon asked.

  Hoper merely nodded, but Lon said, "At least once."

  96

  RICK SHELLEY

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Carl asked, and O'Fallon looked expectantly at Lon, who shrugged.

  "Did you look at the recon video?" he asked.

  "Of course," Carl said, and Esau nodded energetically.

  "How about the earlier survey?" Lon did not wait for an answer. ' 'I saw some of the material for Aldrin before the contract was signed, those Mondays I was working at HQ. I think some of these fields have been planted for at least two or three years, maybe more." Lon spoke softly, even though there was no longer any secrecy about any of the Aldrin material.

  * 'West said that the 'new' intrusion of settlers was one of the reasons they wanted our help,"

  Carl said.

  "They did, but they were very careful not to say exactly when they arrived. And it wasn't until East started this invading army across the mountains that West finally convinced the Council to accept the contract."

  "I don't understand," Esau O'Fallon said.

  Carl shrugged. "West didn't tell us everything, kid. That's to be expected. A lot of clients tell us only what they want us to know about their situations. I'm sure the Council of Regiments took it all into account."

  "I know they did," Lon said without saying why he was sure. "But I think it's also part of why we've been told to go easy, why the Council still wants us to try to set up a peaceful settlement between the two colonies."

  "Couldn't we get in the middle and tell both sides to stop?'' Esau asked. Neither of the lieutenants with him laughed.

  "We couldn't be sure of getting paid that way," Carl said. "This is a business, in case you've forgotten."

  The battalion officers' call was held in an open field under a clear sky. The temperature hovered at about seventy, and there was scarcely a breath of wind. Lon noticed birds flying, most at some distance. There was a smell of plowed earth—something he remembered mostly from Earth—in the air.

  "We'll be boarding the shuttles in an hour or so," Col-CAPTAIN

  97

  onel Black started after telling his officers to sit and make themselves as comfortable as they could on the long grass. The attack shuttles had remained on the ground after delivering the men to this temporary bivouac. The flight crews had been among the first people served in the mess tent that morning. They had slept in then- shuttles. "An hour if the government people get here on time," he amended. "They'll have their own transportation. Fm not certain why they chose to rendezvous with us here rather than on the flight south." He shrugged.

  "Possibly just so they wouldn't have to be any prompter than they felt like. Civilian government officials." He spaced those last three words out carefully. "Not soldiers. At least that's what we've been told, but I have my doubts. I expect that there will be at least one senior representative of West's military establishment with the group." He hesitated, then shrugged. "Fm not faulting them for that. I'd probably do the same in that position." Black did not pace. He stood in front of his officers widi his hands behind his back, almost at parade rest.

  "We have one important restriction on our conduct in this area to the southwest,'' Black said.

  ' 'We do not initiate hostilities. We defend ourselves as necessary. We respond, but we don't start anything, especially anything involving the civilian settlers. Any Eastman military

  units will be given the choice of withdrawing peacefully—that is, to return home—or disarming and accepting the sovereignty of Aldrin West. We are to protect the representatives of West from attack, by either the military or civilians. We are also—and this is to be kept quiet for now—to keep the representatives of West from doing anything overly drastic to the intruders, civilian and military. Once we are settled on the ground near the disputed settlements, our representatives will again attempt to make contact with the government of Aldrin East, and will also press West. The object is still to establish a truce and a peaceful means of settling the differences between the colonies. Our hope is that it will be easier to convince both sides to enter negotiations now that we are on the ground 98

  RICK SHELLEY

  and the invading column of East's army has been turned back.

  "I can't give you detailed instructions on what we will be doing once we ground. We will land and establish our normal defensive perimeter, then play it by ear. Questions?"

  Matt Orlis got to his feet. "Yes, Captain?" Black said.

  "I know a lot of this has to be off the cuff, Colonel," Orlis started, "but it sounds as if we're going to be standing around with our butts hanging out, waiting for something to happen.

  Are we going to get anything more precise in the way of rules of engagement?"

  "Once that is possible, yes. Going in, the rules of engagement are these: One, we do not shoot first at anyone in the area, but we do respond—with the minimum necessary force—to any attack against us; two, we set up our defensive perimeter and keep the Eastmen out, but with minimal force, again without firing first. Beyond that, it will depend on what we find and how we are received. Just tell your men to keep their butts, and heads, down as much as possible until we know more."

  Matt Orlis nodded and sat.

  "We will retain three shuttles on the ground," Colonel Black said. "That will give us a little extra firepower if we need it. And we will be in constant contact with regiment and with CIC

  upstairs. If things get out of hand, we can have Shrike support in thirty minutes and ground reinforcement in hours. Or," he added slowly, "retrieval almost as quickly as we can get Shrikes in, if that proves necessary."

  It was a sobering note to end the conference on, but there were no further questions.

  Lon did not really listen to the banter among his men during the shuttle ride. He had the radio channel open, but with the volume low, the chatter became background. Lon kept his helmet faceplate down, and the tinted visor hid his expressions. Part of the time he brooded, thinking back over the officers' call and the chance that they might be exposed to danger that could be avoided . .. under different rules of engagement. Let them shoot first, then respond. Target practice for anyone who wants to take the first shot. Maybe it would work.

  Maybe it wouldn't. It was the uncertainty that bothered Lon.

  And memories of Sara. At first, those were intrusions on his worries. Then, slowly, he concentrated on her, memories and plans, and the expression on his face softened.

  Eventually, and without his awareness, he smiled behind his faceplate. / should have taken time last night to write her. Add a few lines to the message chip I've been working on. We might get a chance to send mail out soon. They'll be sending an MR back to Dirigent with progress reports. He couldn't write in the shuttle with his men around, but he did start to compose a message in his head. It did not matter if he remembered the precise words later. The thought was there, and it helped pass the time.

&n
bsp; There were few interruptions. Weil Jorgen had a question. The shuttle pilot passed along updates on their progress, especially as the landers approached their destination. The shuttles were not going in "hot." Lon gave the routine orders. Weapons would be loaded—just in case.

  99

  100

  RICK SHELLEY

  "Safeties stay on," Lon reminded his men. "We handle this like a drill, set up the perimeter and watch, but no firing without orders. Keep your heads down and your eyes open."

  It was only in the last few minutes of the flight that Lon had to—reluctantly—put Sara out of his thoughts. There was too much to do. He opened his mapboard to look at the landing zone. It was open savanna, wild grasses and a few stands of trees, several miles from the nearest settlement but not as far from their cultivated fields. Even if they react as soon as they see us, we should have time to get out into our perimeter before they can get to us, Lon thought. It was some reassurance.

  "I want the men out and in place faster than we've ever done it before," Lon told his noncoms. "No slacking off just because this isn't the usual thing." He thought that his voice sounded property firm and disciplined, military, not indecisive or nervous. It's okay to be nervous; just don'/ let the men know.

  In the last thirty seconds before touchdown, Lon checked his own weapons, rifle and pistol—loaded magazines, rounds in the chambers, safeties on. He closed his eyes for the length of two deep breaths, then opened them. He was as ready as he could be.

  The DMC shuttles touched down together, in formation. Pilots reversed engine thrust and the landers skidded to a noisy halt, not one of them more than thirty yards out of position.

  The shuttle carrying the government team from Aldrin West came in twenty seconds later, separately, landing behind the last of the mercenary craft.

  Lon followed his men out, moved with them out to their normal position on the battalion perimeter. The shuttles always landed in the same formation. The men always had the same relative section of the perimeter. By the time the Aldrinian shuttle came in—five hundred yards away— Lon's men were where they belonged, scraping out slit trenches to give them additional cover from any enemy. The delayed approach of the final lander created a delay CAPTAIN

  101

  in getting the full perimeter closed. The men who were assigned to that section of the oval LZ had to wait until the people from Aldrin West were down.

  The heat was apparent immediately as Lon left his shuttle, but it took a moment before it sank in. The heat from the shuttle engines was always there after a landing, and could be fairly oppressive no matter what the ambient temperature of the LZ. Lon felt perspiration rise on his skin, and dry almost immediately. The air was not desert-dry, but it was closer to that than to jungle wet. The deep grass of the savanna was turning brown, flowering heads open to release their seeds. Only down near the ground, the bottom five or six inches, was there any green left. That portion of the grass was a little cooler as well. Lon felt it in his hands.

  There was no time for more nature observations. The first minutes after a landing were far too busy for any DMC officer. Lon had his men to see to. He had to coordinate with the platoon leaders on either side, and keep track of what Captain Orlis and battalion headquarters had to say ... while digging his own slit trench and watching for any approaching threat. He worked back and forth among half a dozen radio channels, keeping track of as many conversations. Controlled chaos.

  At least, this time, the chaos was not multiplied by an enemy attack. Around the perimeter word came back quickly that there was no sign of any locals within a thousand yards. The approach of the shuttles, if not the landings themselves, had to have been observed by the Eastman settlers. Sooner or later they would react—one way or another.

  Colonel Black waited ten minutes after the landing before he released those shuttles that were not being held with the battalion. Part of the perimeter had to give way to give those craft room for takeoff. Once they were gone, burning for orbit, the perimeter closed again.

  By that time the initial rush of work and worry had eased off. The battalion was in place and ready for anything. Colonel Black had his command post in the center of the triangle 102

  RICK SHELLEY

  formed by the three remaining DMC shuttles, at some distance from the smaller Aldrinian

  shuttle.

  The next orders were for each company to send out a single squad to scout and plant electronic snoops in a wider perimeter around the battalion. In Alpha Company, first platoon drew the assignment, and Lon heard Captain Orlis tell Carl Hoper to send his cadet with the patrol. / know what that's like, Lon thought. O'Fallon would catch every sort of combat detail, and so would the squad he was assigned to, just because he was a cadet, working to earn a lieutenant's pips. The red and gold badge of rank was not given to anyone. No man who had not been through combat could command others in the Dirigent Mercenary Corps.

  "Hoper, Nolan, come over to me," Captain Orlis said on the channel that connected him with his lieutenants.

  Lon was content to leave his excavating. His trench was not complete, but he had made a good start. With a little luck, perhaps one or more of his men would finish the job while he was with the captain.

  Captain Orlis had his company CP in the center of the section of perimeter he was responsible for, thirty yards behind the line. His headquarters squad had already excavated a sizable bunker and were extending telescoping poles across the top to hold a roof of sod.

  The captain was behind that area, sitting in the tall grass, his mapboard open on the ground.

  He gestured for the lieutenants to sit. Lon and Carl flanked their captain, close enough to see the mapboard easily.

  "For now, sitting is about all we do," Orlis said, glancing up. "We've got eyes overhead watching that town closely. If there's any significant movement, we'll know fast. Colonel Black is meeting with the government people over there." He gestured with a thumb, vaguely in the direction of battalion headquarters. "The general idea, as I understand it, is that they're going to announce our arrival to the settlers, make their claim of sovereignty, and give instructions to the locals." Orlis tried to keep his voice free of any inflection that might seem editorial, but

  CAPTAIN

  103

  he was not completely successful. "If the locals accept the ultimatum, fine and good. If not..."

  He shrugged.

  "We're going to keep patrols out, but they won't go near the town or farms." He made a gesture over the mapboard, indicating the prohibited areas. "At least not before dark. The duty will be rotated, but I doubt that we'll be sitting here long enough for every squad to get a turn." He paused. "I could be wrong, but I don't think so. And unless the colonel changes his mind, we'll only have two squads out at a time, instead of the four we have out now. Once your men are dug in, make sure everyone eats, then give your squads a turn at sacking out.

  Keep one on watch and let the others flake off. They're not going anywhere."

  "How long do you think this might last, Captain?" Carl Hoper asked. "The sitting around, I mean."

  "As far as I'm concerned, the longer the better," Orlis replied. "But I expect the Wester officials to give the settlers some sort of deadline to accept the ultimatum. If they don't accept it, we'll probably have to go to town. Honestly, Carl, I haven't been told more."

  "Do we know where the Postman troops are?" Lon asked.

  Orlis shook his head. "There are no unidentified sources of military electronics. East has them, about on the same level as West, but if they do have soldiers here, they're maintaining electronic silence. They could be anywhere, maybe billeted with the settlers, maybe out camped under trees somewhere close."

  ' 'Are we taking the presence of Eastman troops solely on the say-so of West, or do we have independent intelligence?" Lon asked. "How certain is it that there are enemy troops around?"

  A grunt was the captain's first reply. Then he said, "It's likely that there are at l
east some enemy soldiers in the region. That's the best I can tell you. Yes, it's mainly on the word of our, uh, paymasters that we anticipate that, but not entirely. There were radio transmissions the

  day

  104

  RICK SHELLEY

  we reached Aldrin, that were, shall we say, suspicious in nature."

  "Which means we don't have any real idea how many we might be facing," Carl said.

  "I wouldn't go that far. I think we can be fairly comfortable with the estimate that it's not more than the equivalent of one or two companies. Unless, of course, the settlers are also soldiers, perhaps chosen on that basis."

  / don't like waiting, Lon told himself as he finished his trench. With too much time and too little else to do, he dug as if he were establishing a permanent residence, making the hole deeper than he would have under other circumstances, angling the sides of the hole enough to prevent cave-ins, piling the dirt and sod around the edge to give him even greater protection, and scooping out grenade traps at the bottom.

  This waiting seemed worse than most. Over his years of military service on Dirigent, and his nearly four years as a student at the North American Military Academy on Earth, he had become almost inured to the inevitable waiting that sometimes seemed to occupy 90

  percent of the waking hours of any soldier. Waiting in formation, waiting to eat, waiting for...

  everything. Then there was the more intense sort of waiting that came on contract, when a man knew that combat might be close. A whole different beast, Lon thought. But this waiting with no idea of when or how it might end was particularly trying.

  Finally Lon stood in the center of his slit trench, knowing it was time to stop. Before someone makes a track about me trying to tunnel through to the other side of the world. He shook his head. He might already be setting a bad example. After three years, the men who had been with him since the start could read his moods with uncanny accuracy. He climbed out of the hole and stood behind it, stretching to take the kinks out of his back and shoulders. He did a couple of knee bends then.

  CAPTAIN

  IBS

  "Hard work'll do that to you when you're not used to it, Lieutenant."