Altogether, a dozen soldiers rode the shuttle down. The rest of the troop compartment was filled with supplies, primarily food and ammunition. Cases were secured using the safety straps that would normally keep soldiers in place as well as added ties to make certain that loads did not shift or come loose. Dirigenter shuttles were designed to be versatile.
There was no talk among the men once they entered the shuttle and took their seats. Each of them had the visors of their helmets down, hiding their faces. Rifles were secured. Safety harnesses were fastened, tightened as far as possible.
Lon listened to the routine warnings from the pilot. The hangar was depressurized, the door opened, the shuttle pushed out into space. Lon expected the shift, anticipated being thrown against his straps. The moments of maneuvering to get away from Long Snake seemed routine now, and even the blast of the shuttle’s engines did not catch him by surprise this time.
Going in, he told himself as the lander made its first burn. The pilot was not quite so … enthusiastic as during the initial assault. The craft accelerated toward the ground, but the gee-forces were not what they had been during the first landing on Norbank—at least it did not seem nearly so extreme to Lon. Maybe I’m just getting used to it, he thought There was never the sense of breathlessness, the feeling that he was near to graying out at the tug of acceleration or deceleration. Lon did not even bother to stare at the nearest monitor to watch their progress.
The shuttle was in the upper reaches of Norbank’s atmosphere before a troubling thought came to Lon. How can we keep all emotion out of what we do? If we kill without emotion, what does that make us—machines, or something worse? He was distracted by memories of the talk in the mess hall. Maybe revenge isn’t the emotion we should have, but there should be some feeling, some realization of what we’re doing. He shook his head. The lieutenant was right. The time for philosophy is when we’re in garrison, back on Dirigent.
“We’re going in at Norbank City’s spaceport, just west of the town,” Lieutenant Taiters said, breaking Nolan’s chain of thought. “It will mean a bit of a walk to get back to the rest of the company, but you and I have orders to report to Colonel Flowers first, and he’s in the city now.”
“What does the colonel want from us?” Lon asked.
Arlan chuckled. “Major Black didn’t provide any details. He just said to report to the old man. You’re not still thinking that you’re in any kind of trouble, are you?”
“No, I guess not. But I can’t help but wonder.”
“We’ll find out soon enough.”
The shuttle braked early, then circled around to land on the improved strip of clay that Norbank City called a spaceport. Coming in for the landing, Lon was certain that the stresses were less than they had been the first time, though the shuttle still came in faster than a civilian shuttle would have.
“Make sure your safeties are on,” Taiters told the men. “We’re almost in town, at least two miles from any enemy.”
They did not race from the lander to take up defensive positions. Lon could see guards—mostly locals but with a few DMC soldiers at key locations—posted along the perimeter of the port, looking outward. A staff sergeant came out to meet them—specifically Lon and Arlan.
“I’m to conduct you straight to the colonel, sir,” the sergeant said after saluting. “Sorry, but we don’t have any transport but what you’re standing on.”
“Don’t worry about it, Sergeant,” Taiters said. “We’ve had our rest. The exercise will do us good.” The lieutenant told the other men to find a spot nearby and get some rest, that he would be back as soon as possible. No one complained about the delay in returning to the company … and possibly to fighting.
The walk was not excessive, perhaps a mile and a quarter. Lon saw differences from his first visit to the city almost at once. There were people out and about, even women and children. A few shops were open. A farmers’ market had been set up within a block of where the front lines had been. Since the rebels had lifted the siege, produce had been able to make it in from farms west of the city—those farms that had not been burned or robbed by the rebels.
“They’ll all be buttoned down tight by sunset,” the sergeant said, “but they’re making the most of a day with no snipers. Can’t tell what’ll happen after dark. There might still be rebels close, what with ‘em not using electronics the way we do.”
“Works both ways, Sergeant,” Taiters said. “They can’t tell where we are by our electronics either.”
Lieutenant Colonel Medwin Flowers was sitting in the shade next to a two-story building that bore the legend “Government House” over its entrances, drinking a pale yellow liquid from a tall glass. Two locals in fresh suits sat facing the colonel. They also had drinks. Major Black stood to the side. When the major saw the approaching trio of soldiers he pointed them out to the colonel, who then set his drink aside. Lon could see that the colonel said something to the two locals; then he stood and moved away from them. Black came with him.
When Lieutenant Taiters took off his helmet, Lon quickly did the same. Neither of the senior officers was wearing a helmet, though Major Black was sporting the earplug of a radio.
“Forget the formalities, gentlemen,” Colonel Flowers said before Lon could snap to attention and salute. “This is informal.” He grimaced and shook his head slightly. “You’ve had a rough go of it. But I want you both to know that I think you did a commendable job under the most trying circumstances. There’s no way to be certain, but it may be the actions of your platoon, Lieutenant, as much as what happened earlier, that broke the siege of this city.”
“Thank you, sir,” Taiters said. “Just doing our jobs.”
“Yes, and doing them better than anyone has a right to demand,” Flowers said. “It’s regrettable that the price was so heavy, but … it does happen.” Flowers turned to face Lon then. “I’ll be glad to welcome you as an officer in the battalion when we get home to Dirigent, Nolan. You’ve shown your worth. I think you have an excellent future ahead of you in the Corps.” He smiled more broadly. “If it were in my power, I’d pin the red and gold pips on your shoulders now, but Corps regs say that can’t happen until we get home.”
“When we get back to Dirigent is soon enough for me, sir,” Lon said. “I’m learning not to rush things.”
Flowers nodded as he turned again, including both of them in his gaze. “The other reason I wanted to see you is that I want to pick your brains. I want you to tell me about that engagement you had, just how it went, and what sort of impression you got of the rebels you were facing. The more I can get inside the heads of these rebels, the better things will be for us.”
The colonel kept them for an hour, questioning every detail of their memories of the engagement. Drinks were brought for Lon and Arlan, the same fruit ade that the colonel was drinking. Long before the inquisition was over, Lon found himself sweating profusely. It was not just the temperature and humidity. Although both were above eighty, the men were seated in the shade, with a moderate breeze. Remembering what had happened, going back through every minute of the fight and the events leading up to it, brought back some of Lon’s fear and tension, and that brought on the perspiration. He started looking around, as if he were concerned that those same rebels might be sneaking up on him again. The only relief that Lon found was that Arlan Taiters seemed to be affected almost as much by the questioning.
“Sir, may I ask a question?” Taiters asked once Flowers indicated that he was finished. The colonel nodded. “It’s obvious that the rebels have managed to get military weapons in from someplace, either directly from Hanau or through some third party, and I got the impression that the rebels must also have had at least minimal training by professionals,” Arlan said by way of preface. “Do you think that they might have a cadre of mercenaries on-planet, professionals we might come up against ourselves?”
Medwin Flowers’ brows curled into a look of concentration, almost a frown. He was slow to answer. “I agree with your assessment about the weapons and training. I’ve asked myself the same question you asked. We have no evidence of mercenaries operating on behalf of the rebels. There was no indication of that before we came. There is no sign of any other shipping in the system or military aircraft operating, or we would have had opposition to our shuttles. And we have not detected any sophisticated electronics.” He paused, shaking his head slowly. “We can’t rule out the possibility that there might be a few professionals providing training and advice for the rebels, but there can’t be any significant number, perhaps no more than a squad or two. It’s more likely that the rebels have a few of their own people who have served as mercenaries somewhere and then come home. That might also explain the weaponry. Those hypothetical veterans might have had the contacts to expedite procurement of military weapons. Either way, it shouldn’t impact our operations any more than it already has.”
Arlan nodded once, slowly, an unconscious gesture. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “I was just wondering.”
“We’re monitoring this as closely as we can,” Flowers said. “We’re not taking anything for granted.”
“Yes, sir. I guess we should be heading out now. The men we came down with are waiting, and we need to get back to the company.” Taiters stood, as did Lon.
“I’ve never gone through a grilling like that before,” Lon said once he and the lieutenant were well away from the battalion commander. “Not even back at The Springs.”
“I’m sure the colonel is concerned,” Arlan replied. “We’re obviously up against fanatics, people who aren’t deterred by taking heavy casualties. I imagine he’s got people trying to find out everything possible about the animosity between the two groups of settlers here. This feels like something more than mere political squabbling. When a conflict gets this bloody, this intense, it’s more likely to be over religion, or basic philosophies. If there was rational leadership, the rebels would be looking for peace talks by now, some sort of compromise.”
“Are you saying that the fight might go on until there’s no one left to fight on one side or the other?”
“It’s possible. If neither side is willing to accept anything less than total victory. But I hope we’re not stuck in it that long. Our job is to break the armed rebellion and train the government militia. Then we can go home.”
“But what happens after we leave?”
“I don’t know. The colonel might try to sell the rebels on the idea of a contract to guarantee the safety of non-combatants against reprisals, but if this is really a deep ideological fight, they probably wouldn’t accept any offer from us.”
“Even if it means they risk being butchered?”
Arlan cracked a grin. “They have one thing going for them. It may be a good thing that we had to get the weapons and ammunition to the government forces early, before the revolt was put down. They might use most of that ammunition up, not have enough left to do serious damage to the rebel civilians. Especially after we finish training the militia. And I’m sure that the colonel will be in no hurry to put through a contract for more ammunition. We can’t guarantee peace here forever, but that would buy the rebels time to think about getting outside protection—from someone else if they won’t trust us—or time to recover from the fighting and replenish their own supplies.”
On the rest of the walk through Norbank City, Lon stared at the civilians intensely, as if his gaze might penetrate their masks to discover what they were thinking. They gave no indication of being religious or political zealots. They appeared no different from people he had seen elsewhere, on Earth or Dirigent, or Over-Galapagos—if anything, they were more rustic than people he had seen anywhere else.
What drives you? he wondered whenever the eyes of one of the civilians met his. And what drives your rebels?