Kingdom's Swords
Page 34
"Say what?" Lance Corporal Joe Dean yelped.
"You heard me," Corporal Pasquin growled. "Saddle up, we're moving to a new position near Haven."
"Yeah, that's what I heard you say. What I didn't hear was, who's replacing us here?"
"The brigadier didn't think to mention that when he laid this on me over morning chow," Pasquin snarled. "How the hell am I supposed to know?"
"You're a corporal," Dean said defensively. "Corporals are supposed to be smart and know shit like that."
"Knock you upside the head," Pasquin snarled, but he didn't raise his hand. He was as bothered by the unexpected move as Dean was, and probably for the same reasons. They seldom caught the Skinks when they went after them, but the Skinks always broke off their attacks on the villages when the Marines showed up, so they were doing some good for the people anyway. And when they did meet the Skinks, they beat them. The problem with that, though, was when they fought, they always took casualties they couldn't afford. Guard duty near Haven would be easier, but there had been a major attack on the city. Would guard duty be more dangerous?
"Ready?" Pasquin hefted his pack onto his shoulder. They didn't have much with them. Packing had only taken a couple of minutes.
"Ready," Dean grunted, and picked up his own pack.
The soldiers of the 241st Defense Garrison looked hangdog as the Marines boarded the Dragon and left.
Third platoon took command of the 64th Defense Garrison, which was situated on a hill overlooking a crossroads five kilometers from Haven. If anything, Deacon Colonel Ramshorn, commander of the five hundred man unit, was unhappy at finding himself subordinate to an enlisted man.
"Deacon Colonel," Bass said as soon as Ramshorn made his displeasure known, "I don't give a damn if you don't like it. I wasn't impressed by the quality of the officers or the performance of the troops in the company-size Defense Garrisons my squads commanded. I don't expect to be impressed by you or this garrison. What I do expect is that you and your soldiers will obey the lawful orders I and my Marines issue."
"We neither want nor need you here!" Ramshorn blustered. "The demons haven't been active in this area. You should be someplace where you can be of use in defeating the demons."
"Your leadership thinks otherwise. So does mine. What you want or what I want doesn't mean anything. We have a job to do here, and we will do it. If you dislike it so much, you can go back to Haven. We can function quite well without you."
Ramshorn flinched. He wanted to say more, but the order placing the... some sort of senior sword in command of his battalion, was signed by Archbishop General Lambsblood himself. If he went back to Haven, he'd have to explain to the commander of the Army of the Lord why he'd deserted his assigned post. He knew he could not come up with a reason the archbishop general would find acceptable.
"You will keep me informed of everything you do before you do it." It was a feeble demand, but Ramshorn needed to do something to salvage the situation.
"Then you better stick close to me. When something needs to be done, I'm not going to take the time to find you before I do it."
Matters didn't get any better when Bass had his Marines begin training the Kingdomites. Along with the training, they patrolled aggressively. They also put out observation posts in a loose ring roughly two kilometers from the perimeter of the garrison's position.
"Gunny, you shouldn't be out here by yourself," Lance Corporal Claypoole said.
"I'm no more out here by myself than you are, Rock," Bass replied.
Claypoole was running a squad-size observation post some 2,200 meters north of the garrison perimeter, sited where it could watch a lengthy stretch of river that flowed out of a swamp on the horizon. Bass, accompanied by a lesser imam and five soldiers, was driving around in an APC to check the posts. Lance Corporal Dupont was with them. He kept watching his UPUD's displays.
"So how are things going?" Bass asked. He looked over the landscape instead of at Claypoole. The land leading to the river was farms; people and machinery were moving about.
"Quiet," Claypoole said. "Almost too quiet. You'd never believe this planet was under invasion from everything that's going on here, which is nothing."
Bass caught a worried note in his voice. "Except?"
"That over there. I wish we had someone in it." Claypoole pointed at a narrow stretch of forest that extended southeast from the swamp almost to the highway nearly a kilometer to his post's left.
Bass scratched his chin as he studied the woods. The wooded finger was a couple of hundred meters wide, though thinner or thicker in spots.
"Well, I don't have the people to put in there," he finally said, "but how about some sensors? I can plant a few on my way to the next post, leave the monitors with you now. How's that sound?"
Claypoole nodded. "It'll make me feel easier. You be careful in there, you hear me, Gunny?"
Bass grinned. "You ever know me to not be careful?"
Claypoole cocked his head and gave his commander a quizzical look. "You don't really want an honest answer to that, do you, Gunny?"
Bass laughed and slapped Claypoole on the shoulder. "Don't worry about me, Rock. I'll be fine. You're doing a good job out here. Keep it up."
"Aye aye, Gunny."
Minutes later, just inside the wooded finger, a couple of hundred meters from the road, Bass said, "Hold it up here."
The APC's driver brought his vehicle to a clanking stop.
"Put out some security," Bass told the lesser imam. "I'll place the sensors. It should only take about five minutes. Then we'll head on to the next post."
"Yes, Acting Deacon Colonel," the lesser imam said. He told his five soldiers to dismount and go fifty meters into the trees and keep watch. He didn't bother to place them himself.
Bass carried half a dozen sensors; infrared, motion, seismic, sound. Dupont carried one more of each of those plus olfactory and visual spectrum. Bass busied himself planting them, some stuck in the ground, others hanging in trees where they were hidden by clumps of leaves. He was halfway through when Dupont interrupted him.
"Gunny, the UPUD's picking up motion deeper in the trees."
"It's probably the soldiers, they don't have good field discipline."
"I don't think so, Gunny. I have them. What I'm picking up is farther into the trees."
Bass grimaced. "I don't trust that damn thing." He reached into his pocket for his personal motion detector, a piece of equipment he knew from long use worked right. He was bringing it to where he could see its display when something hit his wrist with such force it felt like his entire arm was being torn off. Simultaneously, another blow tore off his helmet. The blows spun him around and knocked him violently to the ground. He landed on the side of his face. He lay there dazed. A couple of meters away he saw two bits of gore, one laying on the ground, the other hovering above it. They struck him as very curious in a distracted kind of way. He attempted to focus his eyes on them and realized they were the ends of ankles sticking out of a pair of chameleon boots. He was pretty sure they weren't his; he certainly didn't remember taking his boots off. Idly, he wondered if Dupont had blisters on his feet and had taken his boots off to ease the pain. But if Dupont had taken off his boots, why had he left his feet inside them? That didn't make any sense. Maybe if he closed his eyes and rested for a moment he'd be able to shake his head and clear it.
Claypoole watched the APC disappear into the trees, then returned his attention to his duties. He was turning on the sensor monitors Gunny Bass had left with him to see if any were working yet when he heard the distinctive ripping sound of the weapon the Skinks had used against the Marines in the swamp—it came from the woods where Bass had vanished.
Immediately, he got on the command radio. "Gunny," he shouted into it, proper radio procedure forgotten. "Gunny, come in. Are you all right? Dupont, what's happening?"
Bass didn't answer. Neither did Dupont nor anybody else with him.
Claypoole called base, and Staff Sergeant
Hyakowa took the call.
"Hold your position," Hyakowa ordered. "Have all hands alert. Watch for movement in those woods. I'm sending someone out."
Claypoole didn't want to stay put. He wanted to go into the trees after Bass and bring him out. Instead he put his security squad on full alert. He watched the woods himself and kept trying to raise Bass on the radio. A few minutes later ten APCs sped on line toward the woods. The vehicles were spaced so widely that only the three in the middle entered the woods. The others ran along one side or the other of it.
"One and three, keep going until you reach the river," Sergeant Bladon, in command of the reaction company, ordered. "Come back if you don't make contact. Two, stop here. Kerr, get everybody in a defensive arc facing northwest, then join me."
It took less than a minute for Kerr to get his platoon into defensive positions in the woods. Bladon spent the minute staring in disbelief.
Two hundred meters from the highway the forest was chewed up. Chunks of metal, the remains of an APC, were flung about like fragments of a child's toy that had been frozen then shattered by something heavy. A couple of sensors lay on the ground, looking as if they'd been dropped before they could be placed. Blood and bits of bone and flesh were scattered everywhere. Nothing seemed to live save the small carrion eaters that were already congregating on the human remains.
"Where's the Gunny?" Kerr asked as he joined Bladon. He carefully scanned the ground.
"I dunno. We gotta find him," Bladon said numbly.
"There." Kerr trotted a few meters to where Dupont's boots waited, one standing, the other on its side. A helmet, visible from the blood smeared on it, lay near the boots. A few meters from it he found a broken, bloody identity bracelet. He read its inscription and closed his eyes to shut out the pain that washed over him. Slowly, he walked back to Bladon and handed him the bracelet.
"Moses, Jesus, and Mohammed," Bladon murmured when he looked at it. The bracelet had Charlie Bass's name and service number engraved on its outer surface.
Corporals Dornhofer and Chan reported they'd reached the river without contact and were returning.
"Roger. Dismount when you get here," Bladon told them dully. He had to give orders, otherwise he'd dwell on the loss of his platoon commander, a man with whom he'd been to hell and back more than once.
"Get your platoon on its feet and follow that," Bladon told Kerr. "Find out where it goes." "That" was the small tunnel the Skink weapon had bored through the trees and brush when it fired at Bass and his security squad.
"Aye aye. Second platoon, on your feet!" Heavy-hearted, Kerr left Bladon. He needed action and purpose as much as Bladon did.
"Where's Gunny Bass?" Corporal Doyle asked when Kerr joined the platoon.
Kerr merely shook his head.
"The Gunny's dead? The Gunny can't be dead!" Doyle's eyes grew wide and turned wet. His pupils closed to nearly pinpoint, his voice rose to a squeak.
"Marines die," Schultz said, thick-voiced. "Get used to it."
They found where the Skinks had lain in ambush, but found neither Skinks nor their weapons.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Conorado called out Marta's name. No response. The apartment was empty. He set his bags in the hallway and walked into the bedroom. The sleeping accommodation was neatly made. At least Marta's clothes were still in the closet. He walked through the rest of the tiny dwelling. Everything neat as a pin. For the first time in his life he had put personal business above the business of the Corps, and look what it got him. "Goddamned women!" he said aloud. He picked up a small bag and left.
Captain Lewis Conorado had returned to Thorsfinni's World via a series of very boring hops, taking whatever ship was headed in that general direction. He finally made it to New Oslo on another of the Sewall Transportation Company's vast cargo ships—the voyage on that ship reminded him poignantly of the outbound trip—and then a suborbital flight to Mainside.
Now, as he boarded the shuttle bus to Camp Ellis, he got his second shock. The driver, a seaman third class, announced, "You got a long trip ahead of you, Captain! Thirty-fourth FIST's on deployment. You a replacement?"
Sure enough, Camp Ellis was a ghost town. Conorado stood in the swirling dust as the empty bus headed back to Mainside, and stared out over the grinder. He wondered how long the FIST had been on deployment and where they'd gone. He trudged over to FIST headquarters. A young lance corporal he didn't recognize was on duty in the foyer. He snapped to attention as Conorado entered.
"Where is everybody?"
"On deployment, sir. Left me behind, sir, because I lost my leg in a training accident." Surreptitiously the lance corporal reached down and switched off the trid he had been watching.
"At ease, Lance Corporal. I remember that accident. Colonel Ramadan was injured too. Is he still here?"
"Yessir. Up in his office, sir. We're both coming along just fine, sir, and hope to go out to the FIST any day now, sir."
Where'd they deploy to?"
"Never heard of it, sir. Place called Kingdom Something-or-other. Sir, are you a replacement?"
"No. I'm Conorado, commander of Company L. I'm just back from business I had on Earth. Now I'm going out to join the FIST. We'll all go together, maybe."
"Fine by me, sir. This place is really boring. And sir?" The lance corporal leaned forward over his desk and lowered his voice. "They've had some action! Some guys been lost. I don't know who or from which companies, but damn, I just can't sit around here any longer. Mike's my company, sir."
"We'll go back together, then. You continue your outstanding job holding down this desk, Lance Corporal, while I go up and report in to Colonel Ramadan."
"Lew!" Ramadan exclaimed as Conorado entered his office. "We knew you were on your way back but had no ETA." He came around his desk and shook hands with Conorado. "Lew, you've got a lot of catching up to do. Come on, let's sit down and I'll brief you first and then you brief me on what happened back on Earth."
Conorado listened silently as Ramadan told him about Marta's adventure. The more of the story he told, the whiter Conorado's complexion turned. When he was finished, Ramadan laid a hand on Conorado's shoulder and said, "Lew, that Marta, she's a Marine wife if ever there was one!"
Conorado cleared his throat. Marta a hostage, and she'd killed one of them? Goddamn, he thought, that's just what he'd have expected of her. Marta was a fighter. "I stopped by the quarters, sir, and she was gone. Looked like no one's been there in a while. I thought, well, I thought..."
"She's probably over at the hospital, Lew. They're treating her on an outpatient basis now. Hey, she's back together again! Looked pretty damned new to me, last time I saw her."
"Colonel, how can I thank you for—"
"Ah, rubbish! I had the time of my life, rescuing Marta! I suppose you're anxious to get over to see her, but first, how'd things go back there? With you?"
"Well, I'm back in one piece." He pulled a box out of the bag he'd brought with him. "I thought you might like these."
"Anniversarios! Lew, thanks, thanks a lot! But damn, man, this must've cost you a bundle. Let me pay you back."
"No, sir. Those are a gift from General Cazombi and the others who were on my side. I want you to have them. Of course, I'd like one right now."
They smoked the cigars as Conorado told Ramadan as much as he could about the Cambria and the trial.
"Lew, I know about the Cambria. We got an ultrasecret message on the incident that I passed to Ted. He has a need-to-know. The guys who pulled that stunt represent a dissident group on Kingdom that believes the depredations they're experiencing are a plot by the Confederation to bust up their cozy little theocracy. They thought blowing up the Cambria and everyone on board would focus attention on what they believed was a clandestine plot by the Confederation. Dumb bastards didn't count on having a Marine on board. Oh, I know what you did, Captain Conorado." He held out his hand and they shook.
"All that talk about jail and everything—"
As Conorado went down the list his face turned white. He got to third platoon. "Ah, Jesus, Schultz wounded? Kerr wounded again? Thirteen men down out of the platoon? Colonel, this is worse than Diamunde! Who the hell are they up against?"
"Skinks."
"When do I leave?"
"Soon. As soon as we can lay on transport. Here, this just came in." He handed Conorado another flimsy. "Twenty-Sixth FIST been ordered to deploy to Kingdom. We'll go to Gambini and join up with them. I know the commander, Colonel Jack Sparen. Good man."
"Good outfit too. I notice they've been put under the operational control of 34th FIST."
"Draw your gear and then go home, Lew. Marta needs you. You know what she said when we dug her out of that snow bank? She looked up at me and she said, ‘Lewis, I'm so glad you've come home.’ Go on home. Meet me at Mainside passenger terminal at eight hours fifth day."
Ramadan stood and offered his hand to Conorado again. "Welcome back, Lew. And Lew, we'll have to stay on our toes out there. This is a bad one."
Marta was reading when Lewis walked back into their apartment. Her first reaction was to put the reader in front of her face so he couldn't see the plastic surgery that had replaced her nose, but then she threw it down and jumped to her feet.
"L-Lew, I'm so glad you've come home! I—I'm all messed up, Lew."
"Martie, you've been around Marines too long!" He took her in his arms and kissed the top of her head, then looked into her face. "Hey! You actually look better than when I left you! Maybe if I stayed away longer you'd have turned into a movie star!"
Marta began to laugh between her tears. "I got into a little scrape, Lew..."
Conorado laughed. "I heard. Me too. Little scrape. Met some interesting people too." He was about to blurt out the old Marine joke, "and killed them," but decided not to since he wasn't too sure how Marta was taking the fact that she'd recently killed someone herself. He paused, thinking how he would say what had to come next. "Martie, I—I didn't know if you'd be here when I got back, after—after what we said when I left—and I've got some things to tell you that you should know."