Dragonback 02 Dragon and Soldier (10 page)

"We've been through this, Uncle Virge," Jack reminded him. "It
isn't safe for Draycos to show himself around."

"But it's safe for him to drag you into a war zone?" Uncle Virge
countered. "Besides, if Draycos gets himself killed, what happens to
his people?"

"I will not be killed," Draycos said calmly. "Nor will I allow
Jack to be harmed."

"Big promises," Uncle Virge huffed. "How exactly do you intend to
make amends if you're wrong? A signed apology from the grave?"

"I'm not going to argue with you," Jack cut him off. He was
nervous enough without bringing up the subject of graves. "We're going,
and that's that. You want to hear the plan, or don't you?"

"Go ahead," Uncle Virge muttered, sulking now.

Jack laid it out for him. Uncle Virge was not impressed. "
That
's
the plan?" he demanded scornfully. "That house of buttered toast is the
best our poet-warrior can come up with? No wonder his people are losing
their war."

Jack winced, not daring to look down at Draycos. "Yes, that's it,"
he told Uncle Virge stubbornly. "The only question is whether we do it
on our own or whether you come along to help. Well?"

"Of course I'll help," Uncle Virge muttered, back to sulking
again. "You know where you'll be?"

"It's the Edge's November Six outpost," Jack told him. "According
to the map they showed us, it's just to the south of Bear Mountain in
the southwestern part of the Gray Hills. Can you pull up a map?"

"Yes," Uncle Virge said. "Yes, I have it."

"Basht said we'd be flying into a major Parprin town called
Mer'seb," Jack told him. "From there, our squad will take a transport
up to November Six. I'm guessing Mer'seb is where the Edge's HQ and
mainframe computer are, but you'll need to check on that. Got it?"

"Of course," Uncle Virge said.

"Okay," Jack said. "Incidentally, you weren't by any chance poking
around the training camp last—let's see—last Tuesday night, were you?"

"Certainly not," Uncle Virge said. "I'm right here in the
spaceport where you left me. Why?"

"Just wondering," Jack said. "There was a something off by the
fence that night that had the patrols stirred up for awhile, that's
all."

"Did it cause you any trouble?"

"Actually, it did us a favor," Jack said. "That's what opened up
the grounds and gave us a clear run at the HQ building."

"Where you weren't able to get what we needed," Uncle Virge said
pointedly. "Which is why we're going with this other lunatic plan. Some
favor."

Jack felt his lip twitch. "I suppose." "But I suppose we're stuck
with it now," Uncle Virge went on. "I don't suppose you happen to know
where the actual battle lines are drawn on Sunright?"

Jack glanced down at Draycos, got a sideways slide of the head in
return. "Not a clue," he said. "But we should be able to figure it out
once we see which direction the shots are coming from."

"Not funny, Jack lad," Uncle Virge said darkly. He had a point.
"Sorry," Jack apologized. " 'With tired arms,'" Draycos murmured, "
'and eyes fatigued, the soldiers stood to mark the deed.' "

"That isn't funny, either," Uncle Virge growled.

"Sorry for both of us, in that case," Jack said, frowning down at
Draycos. What had that been all about? "I have to go. We'll see you on
Sunright."

He clicked off the comm clip and tucked it away again inside his
shirt. "Well, he's not happy," he commented. "But he didn't go
completely frantic on us, either. That's a good sign."

"Or else he merely recognizes he has no choice but to obey."

"Maybe," Jack conceded. "What was that 'tired arms' thing you said
to him?"

"It was part of a poem," Draycos said. "I have been working on
translating my poetry into your language. I often recite parts of it to
Uncle Virge late at night, while you sleep."

Jack had to grin at that. Uncle Virgil had always despised poetry,
which meant that the computerized Uncle Virge probably did, too. "I'll
bet he just loves that. So what part didn't he think was funny?"

"It was a poem about the Battle of Chatii," Draycos said, his
voice low and grim. "There the K'da and Shontine held a bridge against
the Valahgua while a group of alien civilians escaped behind them. What
the warriors did not know was that some of the civilians had been
turned by the enemy, and soon they were being attacked from both sides."

Jack winced. "I can see why he didn't like it. Did they all—I mean
. . . die?"

"Actually, most of them escaped safely," Draycos said. "It was
your comment about not knowing where the battle lines were drawn that
brought that part of our war to my mind. So it was not Uncle Virge near
the camp that night."

"I guess not," Jack said. "I hadn't really thought he would have
been that careless, anyway."

"Which returns us to the question of what
did
stir up the
patrols," Draycos pointed out.

"I don't know," Jack said. "Maybe they were just jumping at
shadows."

"Trained soldiers usually do not do that."

"I suppose." Jack looked down at the dragon's head beneath his
shirt. "By the way, I want to apologize for what Uncle Virge said about
your people losing their war."

"No apology is necessary," the dragon said calmly. "I understand
his motivation. Having failed to argue us out of our plan, he was
attempting to shame us out of it."

"Ah," Jack said. Yes, that was definitely something from Uncle
Virgil's old bag of tricks. "Anyway, I'm sorry. I'm glad you didn't
take offense."

"I did not say I did not take offense," Draycos said. His voice
was still calm, but there was a thin layer of ice on it. "I merely said
I understood. Either way, though, the fault is not yours."

Jack swallowed. "Okay," was all he could think of to say. "Well.
Let's get back to the party."

The transports left the camp at precisely oh-seven-hundred the
next morning, bright and shiny and efficient.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said of their passengers.

Most of them, to quote one of Uncle Virgil's favorite phrases,
looked like death warmed over and stuck to the pan. Most were pale and
limp, some looked like they'd just done a twenty-mile hike, and a few
were practically sleepwalking as they stumbled aboard the transports.

Amid such company, Jack knew, someone as fresh and un-hungover as
he was would be a little too noticeable. He picked a role somewhere in
the middle of the spectrum, hanging his head as he shuffled along.
Occasionally, he made sure to bump into the person on either side of
him.

The transfer to the various spacecraft that were waiting for them
an hour later wasn't much better, but at least no one got accidentally
left behind. As far as Jack ever heard, none of them fogged their way
aboard the wrong ship, either.

The trip to Sunright took seven days. Tango Five Zulu was one of
three squads from their training group going to this particular world.
Sergeant Grisko and Lieutenant Basht were along, too, though Basht made
it clear he would only be staying long enough to write up a report on
the current situation there.

There were also two hundred regular Whinyard's Edge mercenaries
aboard, heading in to reinforce the eight hundred troops already there.

The numbers struck Jack as rather ominous. A twenty-five percent
increase in ground forces meant the Edge was either making a major push
for victory or scrambling madly to avoid defeat.

Either way, it was likely there was going to be shooting. Possibly
a lot of it.

Starting with the second day of the flight, after everyone had
recovered from their hangovers, Basht had Tango Five Zulu start their
equipment preparation. They now had the actual fold-top computers they
would be taking up to November Six with them, and it took the better
part of two days to load the various codes and data onto them from the
ship's main system.

The rest of the time was spent practicing the computer drills
they'd learned back on Carrion. They would continue practicing, Basht
declared several times, until they were able to run them in their sleep.

Jack wasn't sure they ever got
that
good at it. But he had
to admit that Basht pushed them at least halfway there. By the time
they reached Sunright, the whole squad was dreaming about the drills.

Finally, yet all too soon, they had arrived.

The town of Mer'seb was nestled into a narrow river valley, its
tightly packed buildings surrounded by tall, thickly forested hills. A
slow river wound lazily through the center of town from the east,
taking a sharp southern turn a half mile or so beyond the western edges.

Between the town and the river curve was a large area of mostly
flat stone. It was on this natural landing pad that the Whinyard's Edge
spaceship set down.

The adult Edgemen had obviously been through this routine before.
They lined up at the airlock hatchway in full combat gear, rifles and
machine guns slung for marching.

When the hatch opened, they strode out and down the ramp, forming
quickly into six-man ranks. Marching in step, they headed into the city
along a typically Parprin straight-as-an-arrow street. At Grisko's
direction, the three teenage squads fell in at the back end of the
column.

"Well, this is fun," Jommy muttered under his breath from beside
Jack as they marched past the first row of houses at the edge of town.
"They planning to walk us the whole way to the outpost?"

"Probably just to the main Edge HQ," Alison said from Jommy's
other side. "It's on the far side of town."

"How do you know where it is?" Jommy asked suspiciously.

"I saw the flag from the top of the ramp," she said mildly. "You
really need to pay more attention to details, Randolph."

Jommy muttered something inaudible under his breath. "Oh, come
on," she chided him. "Frost up, okay? It can't be more than a mile or
two."

"Yeah, but what's the point?" he growled.

"They're probably showing us off," Alison said. "Look at the
people."

Keeping his face forward as he'd been taught, Jack threw a
sideways glance at the Parprins lining the street. Quite a few of them
had come out to see the parade, all right. Mostly females and their
children, though there were also a few of the taller males mixed in.

He frowned, taking a second look. The thin Parprin face always
seemed sad to him; but these Parprins looked even sadder than usual.
The children huddled close by their mothers, and the males tended to
stand in groups of two or three, talking softly together. "They don't
look very happy to see us," he pointed out quietly.

"Maybe they don't know we're here to help them," Jommy muttered
sarcastically.

"Or maybe they think this whole thing has gotten out of hand,"
Alison suggested slowly. "Maybe they don't think their mine is worth
all this."

"Isn't worth what?" Jommy scoffed. "Defending from poachers?"

"Not worth completely scrambling their lives for," Alison
countered. "My father used to say that lawyers and soldiers came out of
the same expensive box. If you couldn't settle things without them, you
weren't going to like what it cost to settle things with them."

Jommy grunted. "Your dad must have been a real kick to grow up
with."

Alison didn't answer.

They continued on in silence. Jack kept his eyes moving, wishing
he knew how to read Parprin faces better. Maybe he was only imagining
their discomfort.

Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that they looked like people
watching an occupying army march through their town.

They reached an area of three- and four-story buildings, obviously
the town's main business district. Here the females and their children
were replaced by Parprin males, many of them wearing the brightly
colored robes of shopkeepers or the only slightly drabber sparkle-cloth
of businessmen. There were also quite a few aliens of different species
represented in the crowd, and even an occasional human. Apparently,
Mer'seb was a trading center for many of the alien enclaves and
colonies scattered around this region of the planet.

Again, it seemed to Jack that a lot of the Parprins were
whispering together as the mercenaries marched past. The rest stood in
silence, watching the procession. The other aliens, in contrast, mostly
glanced at the spectacle and then moved on. No one cheered or waved.

"I got it," Jommy said suddenly. "They just don't realize it's a
parade, that's all. We should have brought a brass band with us."

"That's funny," Alison said scornfully. "Personally, I was just
thinking about how much I was enjoying the silence."

And at that instant, almost as if on cue, the silence of the crowd
was abruptly broken. From all around them, the city erupted in noise:
the distant thunder of small rockets, the closer rattle of machine gun
fire, the shouts and screams of the injured and the dying and the
terrified.

The Whinyard's Edge was under attack.

The chatter of gunshots filled the air. The deeper, slower rhythm
of heavier weaponry and small explosions added counterpoint, the noise
echoing from the sides of the buildings. The entire column of soldiers
was under attack.

And like the raw recruit that he was, Jack just stood there in the
middle of it.

"Move!" Draycos snarled, his whole body aching for action. An
attack. Soldiers being shot at and probably killed where they stood.
Civilians possibly caught in the line of fire, with nowhere to escape
to.

And he, a poet-warrior of the K'da, lying uselessly in
two-dimensional form against Jack's skin.

It was a horrible situation. A horrible, shameful situation. For a
K'da warrior in the midst of combat to sit idly by, not lifting a claw
to help, was a violation of all he'd ever stood for.

But he had no choice. To move now, to give in to the urge to
defend and protect, would doom the K'da and Shontine to ultimate
destruction.