"I've read it. Over who's authority was the request forwarded to us?"

"The deputy commandant, sir, General Aguilano. He's acting in the temporary absence of the commandant, who's on travel this whole month."

"You see! You see!" Porter slammed his fist on his desk, "There they go again, pa.s.sing the buck up the chain, putting the G.o.dd.a.m.ned monkey on my back! I haven't forgotten what happened to Wimbush, when that Aguilano commanded the ground forces on Diamunde! Oh, nosiree. Oh, yes, he's the guy who screwed up on Diamunde and then got old Wimbush axed over the whole affair. Well, they ain't getting this old salt."

"How high should we send this request then, Admiral?"

"To the G.o.dd.a.m.ned President!" Porter thundered. "First we go into the tank with it next meeting of the chiefs, then once I get their recommendation-I'm not taking sole responsibility for this-I'll take it to her with our advice. That's the way it works."

"But, sir, that'll take time. The chiefs won't meet again until next week and-"

"G.o.dd.a.m.ned right, C3! Next regularly scheduled meeting is soon enough. I won't call an emergency session for something like this!"

"-and the Marines have asked for an immediate decision," the C3 concluded weakly.

"Look, General, this is not some lighthearted comic opera we're running here, no G.o.dd.a.m.ned HMS Pinafore-always hated that nonsense," he added as an aside. "You know it's vital to Confederation security and stability that we keep this business with you-know-who quiet. If it ever gets out they're kicking a.s.s, the panic will never end, and worse, everyone'll know the government's been holding a G.o.dd.a.m.ned monster by the tail without warning anyone. We send in more Marines and that's just that many more people in on the secret. And what happens if they get wiped out too? No. Contain them-that's going to be my advice to the chiefs and to the President." Admiral Porter leaned back in his chair. "Now, General, on to something we can deal with: the CCS picnic next month!" The army general gave up and pocketed his reader. "Well, we've got Burnsides to cater for us..."

"That worthless a.s.s," General Aguilano muttered.

"Which one, sir?" the Marine Corps sergeant major, Bill Bambradge, asked. He was sitting in Aguilano's 195 195 office, enjoying a morning cup of coffee.

"Porter. Sturgeon's request for reinforcements, Sergeant Major. The Combined Chiefs won't even consider Sturgeon's request until the regular session the following week. I know Porter will take this to the President, Bill. He'd never act on something like this on his own authority." The sergeant major had not been read in on the Skinks, but he had a good idea what was going on with 34th FIST on Kingdom, and it was pretty much common knowledge at HQ Marine Corps that they'd had several contacts with sentient-and not very friendly-alien ent.i.ties. "Well, the commandant could go see him directly. If he wasn't away in China just now."

"Yeah," Aguilano mused. "Funny thing, isn't it, Bill? We send men to the stars, but Earth is still a big G.o.dd.a.m.ned place. Well, Sergeant Major, you know the old expression: It's better to beg forgiveness than to be blamed for doing nothing in a crisis."

"Yessir. I believe I invented that." Aguilano touched a spot on his desktop and his computer morphed out of it. "Deployment status of all Marine FISTs within thirty days' travel distance of the Kingdom of Yahweh and His Saints and Their Apostles," he asked. A short list of units appeared on the screen. "Dispatch a deployment order to Commander, 8th Fleet, requesting 126th FIST on Gambini be released immediately on a combat order to CM 327. Send it under my authority as Acting Commandant, Confederation Marine Corps. Standard annexes except under Operations Annex, 126th FIST to be placed under the operational control of Commander, 34th FIST. Standard distribution on information copies." The sergeant major laughed. "One twenty-sixth FIST will be on its way before the boys at the Combined Chiefs sort through their mail. But sir, you will be called on the carpet for this one, you know?"

"Yep, Bill, I probably will be. Probably have the cops down on me too. But you know what? Ted Sturgeon's FIST is in trouble, and G.o.dd.a.m.nit, I will not let him down. And you know something else? If they get these stars of mine, I'll go out with a big smile on my face because first thing I'm going to do is go over to the Combined Chiefs and kick old Joseph K. C. B. Porter right in the a.s.s." He grinned. "Give me one of your cigars, Sergeant Major!"

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE.

Staff Sergeant Wu led the dozen Marines of his recon squad through Haven's sewers. Their destination was the river behind the Skink locations, the river to which the Skinks would most likely withdraw when their attack on Haven was beaten off. The Marines had their faces covered by masks that tucked tightly inside their helmets and shirt tops. Even without having to smell the stench of the sewers or risk being overcome by them, the going was more unpleasant than the Swamp of Perdition had been. The Marines'

ears were constantly a.s.sailed by the shushing of fresh additions to the sewers' water, glugs and pops of gas bubbles that rose to the surface and burst, the gurgles and clunks of things better left unrecognized swishing about or punting against their bodies, the walls, or other objects. The water in places barely sloshed over the tops of their boots, and in places it was chest deep to a short Marine. Their infras showed strange shapes that corresponded to nothing they knew in the world above. Their light gatherers gave shifting and shimmering images Edgar Allan Poe might have seen in drugged dreams. The unaided eye saw the eerie glow of bioluminesence. The sewers didn't empty into the river, they fed into subterranean settling tanks. The river fed into the 196 196 sewers, to add purer water to the tanks and help the settling process. The river's water flushed into the sewers a kilometer and a half from Haven's border via a waterfall high enough that even at flood stage the sewers' water couldn't back into the river. Alongside the waterfall a ladder of metal rungs had been stapled to the ferrocrete wall.

The Marines climbed the ladder, and it was clear that no maintenance crew had gone that way for a long time; the rungs were slick with lichenous growths. Wu, leading from the front, climbed slowly, sc.r.a.ping the rungs bare, careful to drop the sc.u.mmy growth to the sides where it wouldn't slop onto the Marines who climbed below him. At the top of the ladder, Wu led the way into the coursing water from the river and let it wash away the things that stuck to their uniforms, let it wash away the stench of the sewers. After an hour-long trek that felt more like a full day, the Marines emerged into daylight and deployed. Team one went a kilometer upstream, team two downstream an equal distance. Team three stayed with Wu. The thirty-meter-wide river cut its way through a forest so dense that tree branches met over it and turned it into a tunnel. The ground under the trees was thick with fallen leaves, decaying their way into the underlying dirt.

The recon squad leader found a place that would mask the infrared signatures made by him and the five Marines with him. He listened to the crack-sizzle of Marine artillery in the middle distance. More distant and m.u.f.fled were the roars of Marine Raptors and Kingdomite Avenging Angels, low behind hills to protect them from the weapons of the Skinks. The weapons of the Skinks were inaudible, as were the reports from Marine blasters. There was no way to tell by listening how the battle was going. At least he didn't hear anything that might be that awful weapon the Skinks had. Wu set his men to placing detection devices; sound, motion, infrared, olfactory, seismic. In good time teams one and two reported they were in place, and then that their detectors were out. Wu made his report to FIST. FIST gave a one word reply, "Continue." In this case, it didn't mean move on, it meant stay in place and monitor. They sat tight and monitored. An hour later team one reported, "Approaching, fast." A moment later team two made the same report. Wu's monitors showed indications of large numbers of figures to his front moving riverward from Haven. He gave a three word report to FIST: "Approaching, full, fast." The monitors showed rapid movement toward all three recon teams.

The recon Marines tried to melt into the ground, to become one with the mulch. The last thing a recon Marine wants is direct contact with the enemy. If the enemy discovers him, his mission is compromised; he is normally vastly outnumbered and outarmed; he has relatively little chance of survival if he's discovered. They didn't want to be seen. Wu kept his eyes glued on the monitors, tried to make sense of what they told him. Hundreds of figures, mostly smaller than normal humans, though some were the size of exceptionally large men, were headed toward the river. Though their physical forms looked fully human in the dark of the forest, their infrared signatures indicated either much smaller ma.s.ses or significantly lower body temperatures. The sound monitors picked up a language that sounded like low growls and soft barks. Wu was so intent on his monitors that several nearby shouts and closer crack-sizzles caught him totally by surprise-they'd been spotted. A few meters away Lance Corporal Donat screamed in agony when a stream of acid hit him. Wu looked up in time to see a giant figure pointed, fired, and rolled as the sword arced down at him, slicing deep into the ground where he had been. He was momentarily blinded by the brilliant flash when the giant Skink vaporized. 197 197 By the time he could see again, the Skinks were all in the river and out of sight underwater. The sensors he'd left in the water showed them moving rapidly downstream. He called in his report. A few minutes later the Raptors were using the string-of-pearls guidance system to bombard the river downstream from the recon Marines, but there was no way of knowing what effect the bombardment had because the missiles' heat signatures picked up by the string-of-pearls through the trees that roofed the river were so brilliant they washed out any that might have been from flashing Skinks.

Wu called for reports from his teams. Five Marines were down; one of them would probably die if he didn't get immediate attention. Now that the mission was complete, the recon squad leader turned his attention to the sword that had so narrowly missed him. He yanked it out of the ground and held it for inspection. Its blade shimmered, and he marveled at it. A sword. It was the middle of the twenty-fifth century, and a soldier in an opposing army had just tried to kill him with a sword. He realized he understood the Skinks even less than he'd thought.

Not long after the attacking Skinks withdrew, Brigadier Sturgeon and Amba.s.sador Spears were again summoned.

"I have sent for more Marines," Sturgeon told the five religious leaders.

"How long will it take for them to get here?" Ayatollah Shammar asked. He was somewhat chastened after the Skink attack on Haven. He did not look at Kingdom's other leaders. Swami Nirmal Bastar gazed speculatively at Sturgeon; he no longer resembled a ferocious ancient G.o.d. Venerable Muong Bo looked serene. Cardinal Leemus O'Lanners's fingers twiddled as though he was worrying beads. Bishop Ralphy Bruce Preachintent fidgeted, but he kept his own counsel. Sturgeon had already calculated the wait for reinforcements: two months for the drone to get to Earth, a week for General Aguilano to get the message and get orders issued, a total of three months for the orders and an amphibious ship to reach the base of another FIST and for that FIST to reach Kingdom; pad in a few weeks for delays anywhere along the line.

"About half a year, standard," he said.

"If you withdraw your Marines from the countryside, can you defend Haven from the demons for half a year?"

"We can try."

"Then do so."

"Immediately, Revered One." As he and Spears left the chamber, Sturgeon couldn't help but remember a time not so long ago that he'd been less than a.s.sured when General Aguilano said he'd "try." Marines have a saying, "Don't try, don't do your best. Do it." Brigadier Sturgeon had just said he'd try. 198 198 "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 h.e.l.l am I supposed to know?"

"You're a corporal," Dean said defensively. "Corporals are supposed to be smart and know s.h.i.t 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," Ba.s.s said as soon as Ramshorn made his displeasure known, "I don't give a d.a.m.n 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 bl.u.s.tered. "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 199 199 Haven, he'd have to explain to the commander of the Army of the Lord why he'd deserted his a.s.signed 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 Ba.s.s 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," Ba.s.s 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. Ba.s.s, 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?" Ba.s.s 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." Ba.s.s 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. Ba.s.s 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?" Ba.s.s grinned. "You ever know me to not be careful?" Claypoole c.o.c.ked his head and gave his commander a quizzical look. "You don't really want an honest answer to that, do you, Gunny?"

Ba.s.s 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." 200 200 "Aye aye, Gunny."

Minutes later, just inside the wooded finger, a couple of hundred meters from the road, Ba.s.s said, "Hold it up here."

The APC's driver brought his vehicle to a clanking stop.

"Put out some security," Ba.s.s 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. Ba.s.s carried half a dozen sensors; infrared, motion, seismic, sound. Dupont carried one more of each of those plus olfactory and visual spectrum. Ba.s.s 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." Ba.s.s grimaced. "I don't trust that d.a.m.n 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 Ba.s.s 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 Ba.s.s 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?" Ba.s.s didn't answer. Neither did Dupont nor anybody else with him. 201 201 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 Ba.s.s and bring him out. Instead he put his security squad on full alert. He watched the woods himself and kept trying to raise Ba.s.s on the radio. A few minutes later ten APCs sped on line toward the woods. The vehicles were s.p.a.ced 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, b.l.o.o.d.y ident.i.ty 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 Ba.s.s'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 h.e.l.l 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 Ba.s.s 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.

202 "Where's Gunny Ba.s.s?" 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. "G.o.dd.a.m.ned 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 cla.s.s, 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." Surrept.i.tiously 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." 203 203 "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 d.a.m.n, 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? G.o.dd.a.m.n, 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 d.a.m.ned 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 d.a.m.n, 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 Cambria and the trial. and the trial.