Chapter Ten

Make every shot count. Each one you kill now will be one less to fight tomorrow.

—Commandant Jean-Michel Soubiran,
to the guerrillas on Devereaux,
Fourth Foreign Legion, 2729

Subaltern Leonid Narmonov flipped down the faceplate of his helmet and called up the light intensifier display. Details of the dark streets of Ourgh suddenly became as clear as if he had switched on a searchlight.

The planet’s slow rotation made the nights seem endless. More than fifteen hours had passed since the nomad attack on the fort, and that had been just after sunset. It was still night, and would be for several more hours.

Nights that lasted close to a full standard day were just another petty irritation of life on Polypheme under normal circumstances, another strangeness that drove men to le cafarde. But this night was worse, far worse.

“Sergeant,” Narmonov said, keying in his private comm channel to his platoon NCO. “I want the recon lance to check out those lights on the northeast perimeter.”

“Sir!” Platoon Sergeant William Carstairs always sounded like the stereotypical noncom from an old historical holovid. Rumor in the platoon claimed he had been an actor before joining the Legion, a victim of the decline in live-action entertainment now that dreamchips and other computer-generated diversions had taken over such a large share of the market. Narmonov could believe the stories. Carstairs had a flair for the dramatic gesture. But he made an efficient platoon sergeant nonetheless.

He studied the flickering lights through the image-intensifier, but the range was too great to allow the system to resolve many details. He thought the light was coming from torches, and it looked like a large number of wogs were moving around. Hopefully his recon specialists could give him a better estimate of the threat, if any.

The evac had already run into more than enough glitches. Seafarms people had been ready enough to move out, but it had turned out that they had a lot more equipment and cargo to send to the Sandcastle than anyone originally had planned for. Two full loads of evacuees had already left Ourgh, and the third was gathering on the starport field in anticipation of the convoy’s return. The extra time meant exposing legionnaires and civilians alike to the dangers posed by the natives.

And those dangers were getting stronger with each passing hour. An angry delegation of Elders had come to the port making demands. Narmonov hadn’t been present during the meeting, but the rumors spreading through Alpha Company hinted that the city-dwellers were accusing the Legion of withdrawing and leaving Ourgh at the mercy of the nomads. Apparently there were questions about the fate of their earlier envoy, too.

The Project Director and her assistant had gone to meet the Council face-to-face, over the objections of Lieutenant Gage. Despite the guarantees of safe-conduct offered by the lokes, the Lieutenant had been afraid it was a trap to take valuable hostages, but by all accounts she’d been unwilling to force the issue and risk friction with the civilians.

It sounded like an unwarranted risk to Narmonov. He wondered how Captain Fraser would have handled it.

If the Elders were turning hostile, how much longer would the dwindling human population be safe? He thought about the riot that had nearly killed Fraser, and shuddered.

Behind him Narmonov heard a low-pitched whine. He turned as the Toel shuttlecraft lifted off from the landing field, the only ship in port. Apparently they’d finally given in to arm-twisting by the Seafarms people to cut their commercial mission short. That was one less problem, at least. No one would have welcomed the Toels as refugees inside the Sandcastle. The Toels were a long way from popular in Commonwealth circles.

“Sir?” Carstairs said over the comm channel. “Sir, Corporal Haddad is in position. Do you want a verbal report or a vidfeed?”

Narmonov thought for a moment before replying. “I’ll take a vidfeed,” he said at last. He motioned to Legionnaire Mattea, his C3 technician. “Link to Haddad,” he ordered.

Seconds passed. Then, suddenly, his view of the spaceport faded as the helmet display switched over to showing the screen relayed by Corporal Haddad’s camera.

Unlike Narmonov, Haddad was using infrared imaging, and the sudden shift was disorienting. Even processed through helmet-mounted microcomputers, the IR view was distinctly different from an LI display.

Torches flared bright over the mass of wogs. They were not obviously armed, nor did they appear especially agitated. Haddad’s radio picked up their shouts and chants, but not clearly enough to allow Narmonov to translate.

It looked like nothing so much as a protest march, heading from the center of town in the general direction of the starport.

For now, it was orderly enough, but a mob like that could easily turn violent.

“Corporal,” Narmonov said. “Withdraw your lance to the port at once.”

“Yessir,” Haddad responded. The image on the faceplate display lurched abruptly, and Narmonov knew the corporal was turning to organize the five men in his unit.

Narmonov flipped up the faceplate. “Discontinue, Mattea,” he ordered. Then, switching back to the command channel, he said “Sergeant Carstairs!”

“Sir!”

“Pass the word to the platoon to prepare for riot control.”

“Yes, sir!”

“How’s the work going along the perimeter fence?”

“Three more minutes,” Carstairs replied. Narmonov had ordered some of his men to jury-rig a connection between the fence and the port’s generator facilities. It wouldn’t work for long, but in an emergency they could electrify the perimeter and buy some time.

But that would have to be a last resort. If there was an accident, the native reaction would be to turn actively hostile.

“Tell them to make it two minutes, Sergeant,” he said. “But they’re not to switch on until Lieutenant Gage or I give specific orders.”

“Sir!”

Narmonov cut the transmission and turned back to Mattea. “Get me the Lieutenant,” he said.

It would be a relief to let someone else start making the decisions.

O O O

“All right, Subaltern,” Susan Gage said slowly. “You’ve done well. Keep monitoring the situation and report to me if anything changes. But do not engage the rioters unless absolutely necessary for the safety of the port or the evacuees. Understood?”

“Understood, Lieutenant,” Narmonov’s grave voice replied. She thought she could detect a trace of his native Russian accent. There was a joke in Alpha Company’s officer’s mess that Narmonov spoke better Terranglic than anyone else in the unit. He only showed traces of his Ukrainian boyhood when he was especially worried or distracted.

She thought he had every right to be worried. With the exception of Gage, Valko, and their C3 specialist, Massire, Narmonov’s platoon was the total Legion force available in Ourgh right now. And it was understrength, too, from the casualties they’d taken in fighting at the Sandcastle. If there was trouble now, twenty-six soldiers wouldn’t buy the civilians much time.

“Good,” she said at length. “Roundup Command, clear.” She glanced across the command van at Legionnaire Massire. “ETA on the convoy?”

“Ten minutes, Lieutenant,” the C3 specialist told her. “Longer, if they have more trouble with that barge contraption.” His teeth showed very white against his dark skin in the dim-lit compartment.

The barge that Seafarms had improvised had all the promised capacity, but one of the magrep generators was faulty. It had already broken down once, during the first trip out to the Sandcastle.

Damn the Seafarms people and their “extra equipment.” If they’d been properly prepared, everyone would be safe back in the Sandcastle now. She’d been tempted to tell Jens to ditch the gear, but Fraser’s instructions on keeping Seafarms happy had held her back. Now she was regretting the decision.

She remembered her feelings in the battle inside the Sandcastle, her horror as Bravo Company had been pinned. If there were more casualties today, it would be her fault again.

Damn Seafarms!

That reminded her of Jens and Barnett. They had opted to stay with the Elders as long as possible in hopes of convincing them to stick with the Commonwealth. It was time to get them back to the port so they could come out with the rest of the evacuation.

“Get me the Project Director,” she told Massire abruptly. As he bent to work at his communications console, she swiveled her seat to face Gunnery Sergeant Valko. “What do you think of putting up a recon drone to keep an eye on that crowd, Sergeant?” she asked.

“Good idea,” Valko replied, nodding. “I’ll get on it.” He paused. “You may want to reroute the convoy through either the east or the south gate, Lieutenant. Just to keep them clear of the lokes.”

Gage gave a nod. “Yeah. That makes sense.” The first two convoys had come and gone through the main gate, the one that faced north toward Ourgh. It was larger, and with most of Narmonov’s security concentrated on that side it made it easier to use. Now, though, there was too much chance of trouble. “We’ll use the east side for now, but keep the south gate for a bolt-hole. Massire, I’ll talk with Sergeant Franz while you’re trying to raise Citizen Jens.”

It didn’t take long to update the Transport Section commander on the situation and order the change of route. When Franz acknowledged the orders, Gage leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers on the armrest. The two executives were taking their time about answering Massire’s call.

Damn them!

O O O

The commlink shrilled again, but Jens ignored it as she listened to the Elder with the missing eyestalk.

“Unsatisfactory! Unsatisfactory! None of your answers can be proven!” His words were echoed in English by a whisper only she could hear. Although she’d chipped advanced courses in the city-dweller dialect, Jens felt safer letting the computer translate.

The Elder sat down, and Jens formed the reply she wanted to make in her mind. The implant fed her a sentence that took into account not only the literal meaning of her reply, but subtleties of emotion and mood.

“Please, Reverend Ancient !Broor!, this is not fair. We have dealt in good faith from the beginning, Reverend Elders,” she said slowly. “The Reverend Ancient Houghan!! accepted our words before he died. Fighting for us, for the safety of one of our people.” Actually, Houghan!! had never said that he believed the Terrans, but Fraser’s account of what had happened during the nomad attack made it clear that the Elder had recognized the Terrans as friends in the end.

“We have only your word for this,” another council member said. “And for the hostility of the nomads to your kind, for that matter!”

Jens felt the anger surge inside her. “Then come to the Sandcastle and see the dead, damn it!” she flared, not bothering to wait for the computer to provide suitable words.

“And walk into a trap,” !Broor! said flatly. He rubbed the scar where his missing eyestalk should have been. “Nomads did this to me thirty winters ago. I’m not giving you a chance to turn me over to them now, the way you did with Houghan!!.”

The commlink shrilled again, and Jens looked down at it irritation. Damn the legionnaires! she thought. Couldn’t they carry out the evacuation without bothering her with petty details every ten minutes?

“Your pardon, Honored Elders,” she said with a sigh. She picked up the commlink. “Jens. What the hell do you want this time?”

Lieutenant Gage sounded as annoyed as Jens felt. “Pack it up and get back to the port, Citizen. The last load mags out of here in less than half an hour.”

“That’s not convenient,” Jens said. “Can’t you hold it up for a while longer?”

“There are rioters assembling outside the perimeter fence,” Gage replied. “The longer we stay, the more likely we get involved in an incident nobody wants. We pull out as soon as everything’s loaded.”

“Then I’ll follow in my floatcar with Edward when I’m done here.”

“Negative, Citizen,” the lieutenant said sharply. “My orders say everyone comes out now.” There was a pause. “Please, Citizen, don’t complicate this any further.”

“If I leave now, we may never get the Elders to cooperate again.” She tried to keep a reasonable note in her voice. “I’m sure Captain Fraser—”

“Lieutenant!” someone’s voice interrupted her, faint but distinct. “Lieutenant, we have trouble on the north perimeter. Shots fired!”

“All right, that’s it,” Gage said firmly. “We’ve got hostiles outside the port, Citizen. Get back here right away. No arguments!” The channel went dead before Jens could frame a reply.

She glanced up at Barnett, then looked at the Elders arrayed at their semicircular table facing the two Terrans. “Reverend Ancients,” she said slowly, trying to find the most diplomatic way to end the meeting. “I assure you again that the nomads are as much our enemies as they are yours. But it is clear that we cannot convince you of this tonight. As you know, my people are withdrawing to the old Toel base. We believe … We believe that the presence of Terrans in Ourgh may have much to do with the nomad attacks in this area. Perhaps once you have seen that they are concentrating on us instead of you there will be a chance to reach a new agreement.”

“They shouldn’t be allowed to leave!” one of the council members, somewhat younger than the rest of the Elders, shouted, slamming a fist on the table. “Once the Terrans are safely out of the city they can launch the nomads against us without fear! Keep them here!”

!Broor! answered, “No, Traur!, no. Let them leave. We will not be the ones to start hostilities, Terran, but we will be ready for any tricks you may use against us.” He paused. “I hope that you are telling the truth. But even if you are not helping our enemies, you have been poor friends. Any new agreement we make with you will have to redress the wrongs your people have done. Now go, before there is further trouble.”

Jens rose slowly, grateful that the old councilman was honorable despite his obvious distrust. “I thank you, Reverend Ancient,” she said. “And I hope those wrongs can indeed be redressed.” She looked at Barnett. “We have to get back, Edward. Right away.”

As they left the Council Chamber Sigrid Jens wondered if there would be any way to make a fresh start with the natives on Polypheme. It was plain that Seafarms had underestimated the problems of dealing with the locals—perhaps fatally.

O O O

“Switch power to the fence!” Narmonov shouted. “Now, goddamn it! Now!”

Something whooshed in the distance, capped by a small thunderclap. “That sounded like a Fafnir, Sub,” Corporal Haddad said.

“Yeah, or like one of those strakking rocket guns the wogs were using at the Sandcastle,” another legionnaire added.

Narmonov keyed in his helmet commlink. “Chandbahadur! Are any of your men firing?”

Corporal Chandbahadur Rai, the little Gurkha who commanded one of the platoon’s two heavy-weapons lances, answered promptly. “No, sir. We’ve had no orders to fire.”

He knew that Chandbahadur’s lance was the only unit that could have been using Fafnir missile launchers. The other heavy-weapons lance, commanded by Legionnaire First-Class Lynch, was helping to sort the Seafarms people among the convoy vehicles that had set down in the compound only a few minutes earlier.

“Maintain status,” he ordered the Gurkha. Switching off the commlink, he shot a look at Carstairs. “It’s not our people, Sergeant.”

Carstairs had his faceplate down, so it was impossible to see his features. He was facing toward the sounds of the rockets, his whole body tense, straining. “Sir,” the exactor said softly. “I’ve got a party of what look like nomads on the city wall, bearing three-five-four. They’re firing into the crowd.”

“Into the crowd!” Narmonov flipped to image-intensification and lined up on the bearing Carstairs has indicated. Several natives were clustered on top of the mud-and-stone wall. In the magnified firelight their tribal tattoos showed up plainly. As he watched, one raised a rifle and fired.

The projectile dipped before its rocket engine ignited, sending it into the civilian mob below.

“What the hell are they doing, Sub?” Haddad asked.

“Getting the townies to do their dirty work for them,” Narmonov said slowly. He raised his faceplate. “If the city wogs don’t know who’s attacking, they’re going to assume it’s us.…”

“God,” Carstairs breathed, his role forgotten for once.

“Where’s your sniper, Haddad?” Narmonov asked the recon lance commander.

Haddad grinned wolfishly. “Killer! Time to go to work!”

Legionnaire Second-Class Arnold Kelso looked more like a scholar than a legionnaire, slender, almost meek, despite his battledress and field kit. But his deadly accuracy with the Whitney-Sykes HPLR-55 laser rifle had earned him his nickname. “What’s the target, Corp?” he asked, as he joined the others at Narmonov’s makeshift command post.

Haddad pointed out the nomads and Kelso nodded. Unfolding a bipod on the front of the laser rifle, he set it up carefully on an upended, empty cargomod and carefully scanned the nomad position through his helmet II gear. Then he plugged a lead into the rifle sights and into his helmet, feeding an electronic image directly to his faceplate display. Narmonov dropped his own faceplate back down.

It seemed to take forever before the man finally squeezed the trigger. There was a crackle, a tang of ozone as the laser beam ionized the air, but no flash or telltale beam. But a nomad on the wall suddenly fell, with a neat centimeter-wide hole punched directly through his braincase. An instant later a second nomad went down, then a third. The remaining natives scrambled for cover.

“Carstairs! Get to the vehicle park. I want spotlights turned on that position now. Got it?”

“Sir!” The sergeant left at a flat-out run. Searchlights might dazzle the wogs up there … and they might draw attention to the nomads, and defuse the mob before it got ugly. Shouts echoed through the night, then crashes and a harsh crackling noise. A stench of burning meat made Narmonov choke on his rising gorge.

The rioters were attacking the fence. It was too late to turn them aside now.

O O O

“Forget the rest of the equipment,” Lieutenant Susan Gage said. “Get everyone else on board the convoy now.”

“I’ll tell them, Lieutenant,” Massire replied. “But I hope the Seafarms people don’t screw it up.”

Gunnery Sergeant Valko cleared his throat. “Would you like me to explain it to them, ma’am?” he asked with a predatory smile.

“Do it,” Gage said shortly. The sergeant left the APC hurriedly. “Massire, what’s the status on Jens?”

“On their way, Lieutenant,” he told her. “But with that mob in the streets, they’ll have to be careful.”

She rubbed an eye as she thought. “Order Bashar and Karatsolis to break through the mob with their Sabertooth. Find Jens and get her party out of town. Abandon their floatcar—we don’t need it for the evac now.”

“Got it, Lieutenant,” Massire said, reaching for the communications panel again.

She turned to the monitor displaying the recon drone’s view of the city. Viewed from above, the mob looked like some bizarre single-celled organism flowing hungrily toward the perimeter fence. So far the generators Narmonov had hooked up were still feeding power, and it was holding them back.

The southern side of the port was still clear of lokes. She hoped that the FSV could get out that way and circle around the worst of the mob. The alternative was unthinkable: letting the Legion vehicle cut through the rioters. It would be a massacre.

Gage prayed she wouldn’t have to give the order that would trigger that bloodbath.

O O O

The south gate swung open to allow the Sabertooth to exit, and a legionnaire at the gatehouse leaned through the window to wave the vehicle through. Bashar gunned the rotors, raising a dust cloud as the FSV sped through.

They were out of the port.

The Terran enclave nestled on the south side of Ourgh, with the starport on the very edge of town. Beyond were farmlands leased by Seafarms, where local workers grew Terran foodstuffs under contract to the company. Bashar was happy to have some maneuvering room. On Hanuman, the last time he’d driven a Sabertooth in a combat situation, the dense jungles had been a major problem. Here, at least until he had to move back into the city, he could push the vehicle to the limit.

“Look sharp, Spear,” he said over the intercom. “The Lieutenant said there are nomads out here, and I don’t want to tangle with them if I can help it.” So far, their arsenal hadn’t included anything that could threaten the Sabertooth, but if they had kept something more lethal in reserve …

“I’m watching on IR,” Karatsolis replied. “And I’ve got a fix on the floatcar. Feeding to your terminal now.”

“Thanks, man,” Bashar said. That was the most the Greek had said since the start of the operation.

The trace for the floatcar lit up on a computer display map of Ourgh. Bashar nodded approvingly. The Seafarms vehicle was moving well, and it was headed for a gate in the city wall well clear of the fighting. That would make things easier.

“Targets! Targets!” Karatsolis warned sharply. “Straight ahead—range fifty meters!”

Bashar cursed as he wrenched the Sabertooth hard to the left. “Fifty meters! How the hell did you miss them?”

“They just popped out of nowhere!” Karatsolis said. “Damn it! More targets. Straight ahead at seven-five meters.”

“Allah!” Bashar turned again and cut the vehicle’s speed. “Go to LI and pop a flare, Spear.”

The image on his external monitor changed subtly as the light-intensifier setting cut in. “Flare!” Karatsolis announced. The launcher at the rear of the FSV thumped.

A second later the flare glowed, not a harsh or particularly bright light, but a soft, steady radiance that was just enough to illuminate for the LI gear.

Bashar used a joystick to manipulate the external camera view. As he swung through a full circle around the Sabertooth, he heard a sharp intake of breath through his headphones. Karatsolis had seen the same thing he was looking at.

The farmlands were riddled with long, shallow pits, each one deep enough to conceal several wogs … and each one a potential obstacle to a magrep vehicle.