Holing up in this place would be suicide if the rebels had any ground-support aircraft, Lon Nolan thought as he surveyed the top of Jeffrey Bald. There was no cover at all from air attack, and the rocks would set off ricochets that would double the effectiveness of aerial strafing. But against an enemy that was strictly infantry, it was still the high ground. It should do very well indeed, Lon decided. The only real danger would come from grenades, and the rebels appeared to have only hand grenades rather than grenade launchers, which could reach farther and more accurately.
As long as they haven’t been holding anything back, Lon worried. It was possible that the rebels had not yet shown everything they had. They had changed tactics, started to show increased discipline in the time that the Dirigenters had been on their world. There might be additional weapons—grenade launchers if not fighter aircraft.
Lieutenant Taiters spaced his four squads around the banana-shaped perimeter of the crest and had Captain Molroney fill in with his men. “No matter which direction the rebels come from, there’ll always be a core of my professionals with night-vision gear and years of experience close enough to face them,” the lieutenant explained. “And your men to provide raw firepower. Between us, I think we can hold off anything the rebels are likely to throw our way.”
Molroney’s grin had been rather grim. “I’m certain of it, Lieutenant,” he said. “Like I said before, this is the best spot for this sort of show anywhere in the area. We could hold out a long time here, no matter how many people they send.”
The first order of business was to improve what nature had provided, maximizing the defensive capabilities of the site. Then the men were given a chance to eat before being put on half-and-half watches—mercenaries and militiamen alike.
“Whenever you get a chance,” Arlan told Lon while they were alone for a moment, “talk with Molroney. See what you can find out about the situation here. He’s more likely to open up to you than to me.”
“You mean because I’m just an apprentice whose opinion doesn’t matter?” Lon asked with a grin, which Arlan returned.
“Because of that. I’ve told him that I’m going to leave you with him tonight to provide liaison. That way he and I can stay well apart. I explained the military advisability of that—little chance of both of us being taken out at the same time.”
“I’ll do what I can. I want to know more about this fight myself. Some of it just doesn’t make sense to me.”
Finding opportunities to talk with the militia captain was not simple. Molroney had a hands-on approach to leadership. If he was not eating or trying to rest, he was talking with his platoon leaders and sergeants, even chatting with men who held no rank at all.
“Now what was that you were asking before?” Molroney asked when the two of them finally settled in. “I’m too keyed to sleep anyway.”
“I was just wondering what it is that drives these rebels,” Lon said. “The other night, when they fought almost to the last man. That seems extreme just because of political differences.”
Molroney snorted. “Some politics is more important than others,” he said. “And, well, I guess it’s maybe a little more basic than that. I don’t know how much you know about us here … .” He looked toward Nolan.
“Not much at all,” he said, which was true enough. “All they told us was that there were two main waves of colonization, that your people arrived thirty years before this other group, and that they haven’t been very … cooperative from the start.”
“True enough,” Molroney said. “Says a lot, but nothing at all, really.” He stopped and looked directly at Lon—though it was too dark for him to see more than a vague silhouette. “Your lieutenant tells me you come from Earth. That true?”
“Left Earth less than a year ago,” Lon said.
“Then maybe our story will make sense to you,” Molroney said, “more’n it would to the number-punchers who seem to run your outfit. You see, we, the original settlers, came directly from Earth. The colony was funded and organized by the Charles and Emily Norbank Resettlement Foundation, and—one way or another—about a fifth of the original colonists were either Norbanks or related to them: kids, cousins, aunts and uncles, you name it. Charles and Emily didn’t come, not the ones with the foundation, even though it had been their lifelong ambition to escape from Earth. Charles died six months before the ship left Earth, and Emily stayed behind because she felt she was too old to make the trip out and start from scratch on a colony world, especially without her husband.”
Molroney lay back. “The Norbanks wanted to get away from all the overcrowding, the crime, and too much government, too many rules. I guess they was really fed up with it all, enough to spend a lifetime saving money and making plans. They also set up a charter for us—just the absolute minimum number of rules to let us survive and prosper, that was the plan. Everybody free to do pretty much whatever he wants, unless it interfered with somebody else’s freedom. At the top of the charter there’s a quote from somebody named Jefferson, back on Earth. It reads, ‘My freedom to wave my fist ends where your nose begins.’”
“And the rebels?” Lon asked when Molroney went silent for more than a minute. “They don’t accept your charter?”
“Never have. They’re Divinists.”
Lon whistled softly.
“I see you’ve heard about them,” Molroney said.
“Of course I have. We studied the Divinist Uprising at The Springs, the North American Military Academy. I didn’t know that any large groups of them survived, though, or got off Earth.”
“Sure wasn’t because we wanted them here. Didn’t know they was coming till they arrived; didn’t know who they were or what they was about till later than that. The Confederation of Human Planets dumped them on us. I guess we were still small enough and unimportant enough that they didn’t much care what we thought. Well, the Divinists set up their own colony, up the river from us, and stayed to themselves—I mean, with a vengeance. They wouldn’t have nothing to do with us in Norbank City, wouldn’t let our people visit, wouldn’t do no trade or anything. All we ever got from them was religious propaganda.”
“What made the situation change?”
“They decided that it wasn’t enough for us to live on the same world and stay apart, and they weren’t about to accept our rules. They demanded that we acknowledge they had all the right of it and that they were meant to rule us all. No way we could accept that. Well, then the troubles started. It wasn’t no big thing at first, but it kept getting worse and worse, and then—finally—it went to all-out fighting.”
“Back on Earth, even their women and children fought,” Lon said, speaking as much to himself as to his companion. “But we haven’t come across any women or children casualties here.”
“Nope, ain’t seen that here, leastwise, not yet,” Molroney said. “But I expect we will, before it’s done.”
A few minutes later, Lon made excuses that he had to try to get some sleep and rolled over, away from the militia captain. He lay silently, listening to Molroney roll and squirm. Eventually the captain stopped moving and Lon called Lieutenant Taiters, speaking subvocally so that Molroney would not overhear.
Taiters had never heard of Divinists. “Religious fanatics from Earth,” Lon explained. “Some seventy-five years ago they tried to secede from the authority of the world government, said that they had their own ways and laws and that no one else had any right to govern them. They tried to fight off the whole world, and it took more than two years to put the rebellion down. There aren’t any official numbers, but I guess that more than a hundred thousand of them died rather than surrender—men, women, and children. Apparently the Confederation of Human Planets back home dumped the survivors here. And they’re trying again.”
Five minutes later, Taiters called Nolan back. “The colonel knew about Divinists, but not that they’re what we’re up against here. The Norbankers never mentioned that apparently. It doesn’t change the plans, though. We’re still to keep moving east until we draw the rebels into an attack, then we hold them until the colonel can bring in reinforcements.”
Lon did not sleep the rest of the night. It was almost a relief when Molroney got up to roam the perimeter again, giving Lon an excuse to get up as well. The militia leader had lost some speed. The lack of sleep was beginning to tell on him.
“I don’t mind a good fight,” Molroney said, “but I wish they’d quit playing around and get on with it.”
You might not think that once you get in it, Lon thought, but there was no point in saying it. It would be a waste of energy, and energy was one thing he no longer had to spare.
At dawn, third platoon and the militia company prepared to break camp. “There’s no call to hurry about it,” Taiters told Molroney, “but we have to move on this morning. If we stay put, the rebels won’t be in any hurry to head us off.”
“I guess you’re right, Lieutenant,” Molroney said with obvious reluctance, “but I sure do hate to lose Jeffrey Bald.”
Taiters sent the entire platoon of his men out first, to make certain that no booby traps had been placed across their presumed path during the night, and to look for any ambushes along the first mile. As soon as negative reports were back from the squad leaders, Taiters gave the word to move out.
“We’ll pick up my men along the way,” he told Molroney as they left the hilltop. “The point and flanker squads will be in position, and the rear guard will fall in behind us.”
Molroney looked around while they were descending the slope, as if trying to spot the mercenaries.
Taiters chuckled. “If you can spot them from here, they’re not doing the job I know they’re capable of, Captain.”
It was more show than reality, but through the first several hours of the morning, the mercenaries played a game of hurry up and wait, getting ahead of the militia, then settling down until the Norbankers drew close again. The idea was to create the impression of a pattern—a pattern that could be broken to good effect later if necessary. Lieutenant Taiters stayed in almost constant communication with Captain Orlis. The captain kept him informed not only of the movements of the remaining platoons of Alpha Company, but also those of the rest of the battalion and the other militia companies—and, when there was anything to report, aerial sightings of rebel movements.
There were few of those, most coming as the result of luck more than anything else. The rebels were showing that they had learned their lessons well. They knew they were vulnerable from the air and did all they could to conceal their movements.
“It looks like they are keeping close track of us,” Taiters told Captain Molroney when the militia stopped for lunch. “They’re staying well out, but seem to be paralleling us on both sides. And since two small groups have been seen more or less racing east, our Combat Information Center thinks they’re setting up something for us, somewhere up ahead.” Taiters had his mapboard out and was indicating where the sightings that morning had been. “We can’t tell yet when they might hit us with sizable opposition. If they don’t think they’ve got enough people in position to handle us, we might start running into ambushes designed to slow us down while they move more troops.”
“You fellows got any guess on numbers?” Molroney asked. “How many of them are we like to run into?”
Taiters shook his head. “CIC won’t even guess. The data are too fragmented, too inconclusive.”
“What’s the farthest east any of these sightings have been?”
Arlan hesitated for a second, then pointed to a blinking red spot on the mapboard. “Right there, about an hour ago.”
“I don’t have any fancy computers to digest questions and spit out answers, but I can make a good guess where they might hit us.” Molroney dragged a finger along the screen of the monitor. “You see this water? That’s Anderson Creek, named after the first family that settled along it. Heading toward the rebels’ homeland, we’ve got to cross that creek. The last three quarters of a mile to First River, there’s no way to ford the stream, too deep and too fast. But upstream from there, there are several good fords, this time of year, before the rainy season gets really cranked up.” He pointed them out. “And if we wanted to take a big loop north, beyond this point”—he stabbed his finger at a spot three miles above the last fordable area before the river—”we could cross just about anywhere.”
“If we were making for the rebel homeland, which ford would we be most likely to take?” Taiters asked.
“If we weren’t worried about anyone trying to stop us, it’d be this one, the next-to-last one before the river. There’s almost a good path there. It was made by the local wildlife, but it’s been used by hunters off and on for about another twenty miles. If we were looking for a safe crossing, or safer, at least, and didn’t want to go too far out of the way, we’d make for this place here.” He tapped that location several times. “This time of year, the water’d probably be a bit more than waist-deep, moderate current, but there’s good cover on both sides of the water. ’Course, that cuts both ways.” He shrugged.
“Either way, they’ll have time to prepare,” Taiters said. “Assuming that they’re watching us, they’ll know which ford we’re making for by the time we get to this point.” The spot he indicated on the mapboard was about a mile and a quarter from either ford. “Which end of this hill we head for.”
“What’s that give them?” Molroney asked. “Fifteen, twenty minutes tops to switch if they’re at the wrong place, or to bring their troops together if they’re watching both.”
Taiters shook his head slowly. “They could have a lot more time than that, Captain. All they’d need is a handful of hero types to get out and slow us down, sniping, throwing grenades, or just setting booby traps across our path. They might have both routes buggered for us already.”
“The idea is to have at them, isn’t it, Lieutenant?” Molroney asked. “Make them fight us.”
“Without giving them a walkover, if we can, Captain. We do want to get home from this. If nothing else, making it too easy for them would be sure to make them suspicious.”
“Then this is the way to go,” Molroney said, tapping the location he had said would give them better cover. “The undergrowth is something else. Big vines like a maze all over the place, tangles sometimes as much as ten, twelve feet high, spreading from the shore back up onto the slopes on both sides along there. When the rainy season reaches its peak, the vines will stretch out over the water as well, but not now.”
“Sounds like a real mess,” Lon said.
Molroney chuckled. “It can be. Fellow can get lost as hell in those thickets. Now, you boys, with your night-vision stuff and all the electronic gear, it’d be no problem to you, even in the dark, but I sure as hell wouldn’t want to get caught in one of them at night—not if I had to get out before morning.”
“They dry enough to burn?” Taiters asked.
“Now, I haven’t seen that patch at all this year, so I can’t say for absolute sure, but I doubt it. Those berry thickets are just found near good water like Anderson’s Creek. Sometimes I think their roots all run straight into the water. They stay green and grow even when everything else is parched.”
“Edible berries?” Lon asked.
“Sure, but this time of the year it’s second growth, and those aren’t nearly as sweet as first growth. That comes at the end of the rainy season, about six months from now. Then the berries are bright red, and near the size of your thumb. Now they’ll be a blackish purple, and only about half the size.”
“How solid is the cover in this mess?” Taiters asked, frowning at the irrelevant distraction of the berries. “I mean, if we’re in there, can they just sit up on the hills here and shoot down into us?”
“Now, they do much shooting, they’ll get some break, but not at first. Those vines have leaves the size of your helmet, and a lot of ’em. But after a time, they’d be able to shoot up the cover so’s they could see us. If we stay in there long enough.”
“Where would we have to go?” Taiters demanded. “If we’re coming across the creek here, through the thicket on one side and then into the thicket on the other, and the rebels are on the slopes in front of us, that doesn’t give us many options.”
“Well, this path sort of goes between two hills, into a more open area. Like I said, those vines stick close to water.”
“Run a gauntlet?” Taiters asked. “Try to go between two enemy concentrations, with both of them able to shoot down at us from high ground? I don’t think so.”
“Anywhere we can cross Anderson’s Creek, the rebels are going to have the high ground, Lieutenant,” Molroney said. “We get through the thicket, there’s trees and other sorts of stuff lower on the slopes. Give us a chance to fight our way up to high ground, or try to move past the rebels. The only other choice is to send just enough men across to draw the rebels’ fire while the rest stay on the high ground west of the creek and have a long-distance duel. That more to your liking?”
“If we tried that, Lieutenant,” Lon said, “what’s to stop the rebels from just leaving enough guns on the next ridge to keep us pinned down? They could move the rest of their people off and we might have trouble finding them again.”
Taiters stared at Nolan. “I think we’re going to have to bite the bullet on this one, but Colonel Flowers is going to have to make the decision.”
The choice seemed inevitable to Lon, but when Colonel Flowers made it official, it was still a shock. “Go in. We have to run the risk. But we’ll get help to you as quickly as possible,” Flowers had said after taking time to consult with his own staff and with CIC aboard Long Snake.
Additional air reconnaissance appeared to confirm that the rebels planned to contest any crossing of Anderson’s Creek. Hard numbers were still lacking, but from the increased number of sightings, it seemed possible that the rebels might be moving the majority of their forces into position, either to contest this crossing or to meet additional advances.
Video and still photographs were taken of the creek and its banks near both of the primary fords, in both visible and infrared frequencies. Computer enhancements gave the mercenaries some idea of what to expect when they reached the extensive thicket—a child’s playground maze gone absolutely mad.
A snake could tie itself in terminal knots in there, Lon told himself after studying the final product for several minutes. The only guide to direction would be a slight slope toward the water. That might not always be apparent. I wouldn’t want to try it without electronics.
Just before three o’clock that afternoon, Lon lay atop a hill with Taiters and Molroney, looking down at the thickets and the creek that ran through the middle of them. The vine leaves were a brilliant, glossy, emerald green that seemed to reflect the sun almost as well as a mirror. Even with the full magnification of his visor, Lon could not pick out a route through the tangle, could not see ground beneath the vines.
“I caught a glint of sun on metal, on the next ridge,” Molroney whispered after a couple of minutes. “Maybe just a degree or two off to my right, above that notched tree trunk. See where I mean?”
Lon and Arlan both looked. It was thirty seconds before both saw another glint. “I see,” Taiters said. “Can’t tell if it’s one man or if they’ve got a company or more waiting for us.”
“If it ain’t a company or more right there, I’ll bet they’re not more’n a couple of feet below the ridge on the far side,” Molroney said. “Waiting for the lookouts to give the word that we’ve moved out there. Hell, they may have people down below, waiting for us to come into the thicket.”
Cheery thought, Lon thought with a grimace.
Lieutenant Taiters had one radio call to make before he gave the order. Colonel Flowers and Captain Orlis were both on the channel. “We’re ready to move in,” Taiters reported.
There was only a slight hesitation before Flowers said, “Go.”