by Rick Shelley
"What happened?"
"They had too many people waiting for trauma tubes, Lieutenant," Ziegler said. "The way the medtech explained it, they kept you in the bare minimum necessary, then sedated you and moved you to a bed. You had a bad gash on your arm, and some smaller cuts from shrapnel. They said you lost a lot of blood." The medtech had been more emphatic than that, but Ziegler was not ready to tell Lon just how close his call had been.. "But you'll be all right now, sir. Good as new."
"The company?" Lon asked.
"Bad enough, Lieutenant, but not as bad as we thought it was going to be. Twelve dead, sixty-seven wounded, forty-two bad enough to need time in a tube, and twelve will need regen and rehab time before they return to duty."
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Lon blinked once. "Captain Orlis?"
"Back aboard Long Snake. Lost part of an arm and leg. He's one of the people needing double-R."
Finally Lon shifted his gaze back to Esterling. "Sorry to ignore you like that, Major, but I had to know about my people."
"Of course you did," Esterling said. "I'd have done the same if it were the prime minister wanting my attention. You and your lads did a bang-up job. One of the most remarkable feats of soldiering I ever hope to see."
"Is it over?" Lon asked.
Esterling shrugged. "Our piece of it—for now, at least. There are a few small bands of Westers running loose, but not close. Your people are chasing them down, last I heard. And your reinforcements will be on the ground in another three hours or so, so maybe the rest of it will end soon as well."
"Three hours?" Lon asked. "Just what time is it?"
"After eighteen hundred hours, Lieutenant," Ziegler said.
"I've been out, what, about fifteen hours?"
"Something like that. Like I said, sir, they could only give you the minimum time in a tube.
The rest you've been in bed here with the medbugs building new blood for you and finishing the patch job on your wounds."
"The medtech should be along to check you out any minute now, Lieutenant," Major Esterling said. Your people and mine have been working together—rather well, I must say.
It's only been in the past hour or so that some of them have been able to get off their feet for a few minutes."
"How did you make out in Hope?" Lon asked. He glanced to either side. Since he was in a building and not a tent, he assumed he was in the town.
Esterling chuckled in anticipation of the pun he could not resist. "We never lost Hope. Not one of the Westers got through ... not until he was a prisoner and the battle was over. I've no fault to find with my own men or with the civilian militia, but our safety was, in large measure, CAPTAIN
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due to your people. Without your lads we'd have been overrun for sure."
"Casualties?" Lon asked.
"Not as many as there might have been were we fighting alone, or if your people had been less. . . valiant, Lieutenant."
"I do want to thank you for coming to see me, Major," Lon said. "And I don't want to sound ungracious, but right now my greatest desire is to find a medtech to let me out of here. I've got men to see to."
The major grinned. "I'll see if I can't scare one up. I hope we get to talk again before you leave Aldrin."
"I do also. When I can set duty aside a little better."
Esterling left the room. Lon started to sit up, waving Ziegler around to the side of the bed as he moved. "Who has the company now?" Lon asked.
"Well, sir, I've been minding the store until you get back. Since we're out of the fighting, Colonel Black said he couldn't spare an officer to baby-sit us while you napped."
Lon shrugged. If Alpha Company was out of the fighting, they might actually leave him in charge until the regiment returned to Dirigent and permanent changes could be made. ' 'Are the men here in town, or back out at our previous luxury retreat?"
"In town, sir. Still in tents, but we're right in the plaza now, in the middle of everything."
"It can wait until we get out of here, but I'm going to want the casualty lists first off. Then talk to the platoon sergeants and squad leaders. Have I got anything to wear but this hospital throwaway?" Lon asked, looking at the disposable gown he was in.
"Yes, sir. On the chair, t'other side of the bed. I'll get them," Ziegler said. "But don't you think you should wait until the medtech makes it official?"
"Probably, but if he's not here pretty damned fast, I'm going to start without him. Him?" He looked at Ziegler.
"All I've seen in here were men, Lieutenant. Dispen-;8ary in the military compound." Ziegler grinned. "I've
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had complaints from a few of the men about that. Seems getting fixed up isn't enough for some of them. They want pretty nurses, too."
The medtech insisted that Lon drink a tall glass of orange juice before he would release him.
"It helps, sir," the medtech said. "Really it does." Lon was not certain about that. He still felt weak when he left the dispensary with Sergeant Ziegler at his side. It would not have been like that if he had spent a full four hours in the trauma tube. He would have wakened about ready for anything if that had been the case.
On the walk to the company's new bivouac, two hundred yards from the garrison's compound, Ziegler named the company's dead. He did not have to consult his portable complink. Lon listened to the slow roster. "They've already been transported up to Long Snake," Ziegler concluded, "along with the others the battalion lost." Both men were carrying their helmets rather than wearing them. Lon had not asked where his weapons were. He assumed they were being looked after.
"If trouble comes, how prepared are we to meet it?" Lon asked when they reached the tent that was the company command post. It had been Captain Orlis's tent. Now it was Lon's.
"We've got ammunition. We can muster four platoons, though they're all shorthanded,"
Ziegler said. "By morning we'll be in better shape, with the last of the wounded back from treatment, those not shipped up for double-R. And everyone will have a little more sleep by then. That puts the last fight farther back in the head, if you know what I mean."
"I know," Lon said quietly. Like a nightmare after waking, the horror of the battle would fade
... but never completely.
Lon sat at the folding table in the front half of the tent. Ziegler slid a complink in front of him, keyed to the casualty lists. While Lon was looking through those, Ziegler took out a meal pack, opened it to start it self-heating,
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and set in on the table next to the complink.
"The medtech said to make sure you get plenty to eat tonight and in the morning," Ziegler explained when Lon glanced up. "He said whether you want it or not." He pulled a canteen from a box on the floor and set it on the table as well. "Filled fresh this afternoon, here in town."
"As soon as I finish these lists," Lon said quietly. / don't want to eat while I'm reading about our dead and wounded.
He had not finished eating when a call came from Colonel Black. "Come on over to my HQ if
you're feeling fit," Black said. "Your lead sergeant can tell you where to find it."
Lon asked Ziegler after the colonel had disconnected. "Yes, sir. The colonel's got himself fixed up real good. The locals here let him use the back room at the pub. Swear to God, Lieutenant," Ziegler added when he saw the look of disbelief on Lon's face. "Got its own door, over on the side, just about due east from where we are now."
Lon nodded slowly. "I remember where it is. I'll want to talk to the platoon sergeants when I get back, and the squad leaders, too, if it isn't too late. Has battalion said whether we're supposed to mount sentries or anything?"
"Nothing was said, Lieutenant. I figured on two men at a time, plus a corporal here to keep us posted if anything happens. It's just us and Delta in town. Bravo and Charlie are still outside, along with 3rd Battalion, but 3rd i
s ready to move north, set to land just behind the shuttles from 12th Regiment."
Lon found his way to the side door of the pub without difficulty. A tent had been set up just outside. Battalion Lead Sergeant Zal Osier was in the doorway of the tent, talking to one of his clerks.
"Glad to see you up again, Lieutenant," Osier said. "The colonel is expecting you, sir. Just go right on in."
Lon said thanks, then turned the doorknob and went Into the pub's back room—now battalion headquarters.
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"Come on in, Nolan," Colonel Black said, looking up from the table he was working on. "You fit?"
"Yes, sir, good as new,'1 Lon said.
"Good, good," Black said, nodding his acceptance of the lie. "Have a seat. If you feel up to it, I'll ring for the landlord and see if we can't get a beer or something."
"A beer would go down nicely, Colonel," Lon said, grinning in spite of himself. "Very nicely."
Black ordered the beers. "Orlis is going to be out of action for at least two months," the colonel said while they were waiting for their drinks. "Damned inconvenient, especially after Alpha lost Hoper and O'Fallon, but there's nothing to do but make the best of it." He shook his head. "Hard luck all around for your lads," he said, more softly.
Black postponed the official talk until they had sampled their drinks and expressed approval of the beer, brewed right on the premises. "Brewed, not replicated," Black said. "That gives it high marks indeed to come out this well," Black told the landlord before he left.
"I don't like to do any unnecessary shuffling around of personnel," Black said when he and Lon were atone again. "Shift people around here, then have to shift again when we get back to Dirigent and do more permanent reorganization. Bad for morale if men get to thinking they've got their officer for a week or what. So, for now, I'm leaving Alpha in your hands. You assumed command in battle when your captain became a casualty, all good and proper. I see no reason to change that before we get back to Dirigent. Orlis will still be taking up his position as my full-time adjutant when he returns to duty. I can't give you two platoon leaders, though, just one lieutenant from Charlie Company, Jeb Rogers. He's junior to you by a year or so."
"I know Jeb fairly well, Colonel. I'm sure we can work together without difficulty."
"I don't know how much longer the mess here is going to last. We hurt West badly last night.
They're out three battalions of good soldiers, killed, captured, or broken into CAPTAIN
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small units on the run. The rest of the regiment has hurt West as well, up in the mountains.
With any luck, we've had our bit of fighting for this contract, but I can't give any guarantees.
You'll have to keep your men ready for whatever comes."
"Alpha has good men, Colonel."
Black's harrumph seemed so predictable that Lon almost laughed when it came. "There is
one other thing, Nolan," the colonel said, not meeting Lon's eyes. "In the dispatches and so forth that 12th brought out there was one item that might interest you. Corps finally vetted your marriage application. You can go ahead with the wedding as soon as we get home, whenever that is."
Lon blinked once, absorbing the news. "Thank you, sir."
Now all we have to do is get home, Lon thought as he walked back to Alpha's command post—his CP. But the prospect of an early return followed by a quick marriage left him with mixed feelings. He was still eager for the wedding, but... As soon as we get back to Dirigent, they 'II bring in a new commander for the company. A captain or a senior lieutenant who was due promotion. The odds were strongly against a lieutenant with only three years in rank being left in command of a company.
Lead Sergeant Ziegler was waiting when Lon got back. "The colonel has decided to leave me in command of Alpha until we get home," Lon said. "Captain Orlis still moves to battalion when he's fit again."
Ziegler nodded. "It's the only way he can make major."
"There is that," Lon agreed, nodding back. "Lieutenant Rogers is coming over from Charlie.
He'll have first and second platoons. I'll double as leader for third and fourth. That keeps the disruptions to a minimum." And paves the way for whoever they bring over to take over when we get home, he thought. He could go quietly back to simply being the leader of his same two platoons.
' 'Lieutenant Rogers should be here almost any minute,
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sir," Ziegler said. "I had a call from the lead sergeant over to Charlie to let me know he was on his way."
"Is there a tent set up for him?"
"In the works now, Lieutenant. I put three men on it soon as I got the word. Over with first and second platoons."
Lon smiled. "Someday I'm going to have to find out how sergeants get to be psychics, Jim."
Ziegler grinned. "Trade secret, sir. You have to be a sergeant to find out."
Jeb Rogers arrived fifteen minutes later. "They couldn't find transportation, so I walked," he told Lon as soon as he had "officially" reported. Rogers was several inches taller than Lon and just as lanky. He looked like, and was, a distance runner. That was how Loa had met him, on the track at camp on Diligent. He was two years younger than Lon.
"We are foot soldiers, Jeb. Take a load off." The two men sat in the tent, Lon on the edge of his bunk, Jeb on the chair. Lon explained the situation and the chain of command. "You're getting good men, but we've all had a rough fight."
"I know. My old CO gave me a complete briefing on the spot you were in last night; then he gave me the news to pack my kit and move."
"Your platoon sergeants will be along in a couple of minutes. I'll introduce you, and you can go off and get acquainted with your men. With 12th Regiment about to land and our 3rd Battalion going north, maybe West will come to its senses and we won't have any more fighting of our own on this contract."
"We can hope," Jeb said.
It was barely twenty-four hours later when that hope was dashed.
Second Battalion's shuttles landed south of Hope just after sunset. Colonel Black had just completed his officers' call for the battalion, and given the officers time to get back to their company with the news.
"Our job is to neutralize their number two air base," Lon told the men of Alpha Company. "It's just outside Port Orca, eighty miles west of their capital. If fleet intelligence is anywhere near correct, they have only minimal ground assets to guard the aircraft and support facilities. The troops normally stationed there are in the east, involved in the fighting in the mountains. Our opposition should be, at most, one company of regular infantry, perhaps a company of the
air wing's ground support crews, and a few odds and ends." / hope it's not more than that, Lon thought. We're not up to handling much more.
Colonel Black had skirted the same thought in his briefing. "It may be too soon for an offensive landing like this, but the Westers seem to be settling in for a fight, and our regimental commanders decided that the more pressure we put on rapidly, the better the odds of changing their minds. We go in tonight. If necessary, East will bring a battalion of troops across the mountains in Corps shuttles tomorrow evening for a landing near the Wester capital. The idea is still to force negotiations, but it now looks as if the Westers may need a lot of persuasion."
"You've got forty-five minutes to eat and get ready to leave," Lon told the company. "Don't forget the meal. Hard telling when breakfast will be."
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Then he went over the plan of attack on mapboards with Jeb Rogers, Jim Ziegler, and the platoon sergeants. The latter would brief their squad leaders, who were getting their men ready. "We come in northeast of the air base, deploy our initial perimeter, then move against the hangars and barracks." Lon indicated each of the salient points on his mapboard, a cursor on each of the other mapboards slaved to his so there could be no mistakes.
"There's only one br
idge across this river that runs between Port Orca and the air base,"
Lon noted, his cursor lingering on the bridge. "We can't count on Shrike support for the landing, though Colonel Black said we might have two to cover us against air attack. That means we've got to take care of the bridge ourselves." Lon shrugged. "The last shuttle in, from Delta, will launch rockets at the bridge before it lands. The way the timing goes, those rockets should be hitting as we're landing."
"A wake-up call for the locals," Jeb Rogers said. "If they don't see us coming, they'll know we're there when the bridge blows."
"It may cause enough confusion to give us a breakthrough," Lon said. "We'll be coming in on the far side of the base, two miles in the opposite direction. If they think the explosions mark where the attack is coming, it could give us a few minutes unhindered to deploy. And the rest of the shuttles will hit the buildings inside the air base after they drop us off, unless they're running from enemy fighters."
After the platoon sergeants went back to their platoons, Lon ate his own supper with Jeb and Jim.
"You'd have thought that the colonels would have given West more time to digest their situation before ordering us in," Rogers said. "Hell, it's politicians who need to figure out that they can't win. They need more than one day to jawbone themselves into realizing what they're up against."
Lon shrugged. He had no real argument with what Jeb said. "Maybe the colonels don't want to give the enemy
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time to regroup, not after the fight they've been putting up," he said.
"Cuts both ways, sir," Jim Ziegler said. "We wait, and maybe the Westers have time to convince themselves that maybe they hurt us so bad we'll be extra careful, and maybe they can talk their way into a better deaf."
Lon boarded a shuttle as company commander for the first time. The knot in his stomach felt the size of his battle helmet. Don't let me fail my men, Lon thought, his eyes held closed for an instant behind the tinted faceplate of his helmet. It was as close to a prayer as he could come. There was a final check from Colonel Black before the shuttles were buttoned up, ready for takeoff. Lon checked with Rogers and Ziegler. The platoon sergeants and squad leaders were tending to their men. Lon stayed out of that. He had already given his own brief