Early Byrd (13 page)

Li frowned. "No, of course not. But—"

"But nothing," Rapput declared. "In this
issue I choose to 'pull rank', as you humans put it. The boys and I
shall defend this position with our lives. We three should be
enough. Set us a few traps about fifty yards out, then come back
and report where they are so we don't stumble on them by accident.
Meanwhile, my nephews and I will reshuffle a few rocks and make
this niche more secure. When all is in readiness, you can climb the
mountain and make your signal. Return with overwhelming force as
soon as it becomes available. As your superior, I command it!"

21

"As your superior I command it!"
I felt my
own mouth shaping Rapput's words over and over again after Li
nodded and obediently slithered into the night.
"As your
superior, I command it!"
And just that easily, Li—competent,
powerful, and most of all grown-up—had done as he was told without
the slightest argument. Was this what it meant to be an Artemesian,
I asked myself in the chill darkness as my feet throbbed and the
biting wind swirled. Rapput hugged Tim tight in the hope of warming
him enough to regain consciousness. Was this what it meant to be
part of a clan where status and rank not only counted for
everything but were also unquestionably obeyed?

Was this what it was going to be like to be
a Gonther? And if so, would it really be so bad?

Then Tim finally moaned and coughed, and
Rapput released a breath he probably hadn't realized he'd been
holding. Tim had been out a long, long time. "Hush, brave nephew,"
the alien whispered, cupping the top of my brother's skull
reassuringly. "There shall be no more climbing now. Only fighting,
at which I'm certain you shall excel."

Tim blinked and looked to me.

"We've holed up," I explained. "This is a
sort of cave-thingie. Li's gone to climb to the top alone, and
we're going to fight it out here."

He closed his eyes, and for just an instant
he looked like a terrified little boy. Then he reached for his
shotgun. "Right."

Rapput smiled and invited me into the huddle
with his good arm. "Come and warm up as well, Robert. We have time
to talk for few more minutes."

I accepted his invitation and snugged myself
in tight next to Tim, but for a long moment our uncle didn't speak.
"Battle," he said finally, "is for an Artemesian the ultimate
experience in life. Even the very
meaning
of life. It's the
culmination of all of our experiences, and the highest art form we
can ever know." His face grew stern. "As Gonthers, you shall be
expected to win victory after victory after victory. While setbacks
are acceptable and at times even unavoidable, the purpose of our
clan is ultimately to win and win and win, showering ourselves in
glory along the way." He met each of our eyes. "Do you understand
this?"

I nodded.

"Yes, Uncle," Tim replied.

I blinked—it was the first time I'd ever
heard him use the term.

"Good. Then let us begin your formal warrior
training," Rapput said. "Of all the weapons you’ve seen employed
since we were kidnapped, which do you think the most deadly?"

"Li's gun, Uncle," I replied without
hesitation. "It's fully automatic."

"Yeah," Tim agreed. "Either that or this
one." He held up his sawed-off shotgun, which made me frown. As
usual, he'd gotten the best weapon. His was a pump-action, while
mine was a mere double-barrel.

"Hrrrm," Rapput replied, tilting his head
first to the left and then the right in a display of deep thought.
"Both are good choices. And yet . . . What about Li's snares? The
ones that delayed our enemy enough to give us a head start after
the boat arrived?"

"They were pretty good too," I admitted
after thinking about it. "But . . . do they count as weapons?"

Rapput smiled, and I knew that I'd given
exactly the answer he desired. "I don't know. What
is
a
weapon?"

Tim and I looked at each other, but neither
of us had a good answer ready.

"Something you can use to hurt someone?" I
offered, going for the simplest definition I could think of.

"Hrrrm." He looked mock-thoughtful again.
"How about '
Anything
you can use to hurt someone?’"

My mouth opened to object; calling someone a
name could hurt someone, but was an insult a weapon? Then I thought
things all the way through. Taunts could cause enemies to make
stupid mistakes, or so Dad claimed. "Wow!" I said at last.

Rapput gave an approving smile
. "Projectiles, blades, beams, poisons,
vehicles
. . . even rude gestures. And the list grows from
there, as the implications of 'hurt' are explored more and more
thoroughly. A financial contract can definitely be a weapon—your
kind has perfected the art, in fact. There's no limit—even a mere
concept, carefully chosen, can serve as a fine weapon indeed."

My head began to hurt. A concept as a
weapon?

"To an Artemu," he continued, "life is
almost nothing but a long series of battles of varying degrees of
intensity and lethality, and every single thing that exists
anywhere is either a weapon or a potential weapon. All the world is
a battle, and therefore all the world is also a weapon." He looked
each of us in the eye in turn. "This is the most crucial lesson you
must ever learn. Do you understand it?"

Tim nodded.

"I . . . I
think
so," I replied.

Rapput nodded. "I think so, too. In fact, I
suspect you've understood in your hearts ever since you killed your
first wild game. Nature is an excellent teacher. Now . . . try
again. What is the most dangerous weapon you've seen employed since
the kidnapping?"

"Propaganda?" I suggested. "That's what
motivated the Free State people."

Rapput shook his head. "A good attempt,
however."

"Secrecy," Tim offered. "Or else maybe
planning. The Free State people had to have a good plan and keep it
secret to take us captive in the first place."

"Also good answers," Rapput replied. "But
not the
best
."

I sighed and shivered. Despite Rapput's
warmth I was far from comfortable, and things showed every sign of
getting a lot worse before they got better. Tim apparently felt the
same way, because except for his chattering teeth he sat silent as
well.

"Well!" Rapput replied at last. "You
disappoint me! And after you gave such spectacular examples of
using this weapon yourselves!"

I blinked, then shrugged. Tim shrugged too.
"Sorry to let you down, Uncle," I said.

"It's quite all right. You're cold and
hungry and in pain, while this is a lesson most commonly taught in
a warm, comfortable classroom. Not that for a moment I think you'll
ever wish you'd learned it any other way." Our adopted uncle
squeezed first Tim's and then my skull in succession. "Right there!
That's your best weapon of all!"

"Our minds?" I
asked.

"Your creative, trained, focused,
determined, and relentless minds," he corrected me. "Determined and
creative, you both proved yesterday to my complete satisfaction.
So, let us begin on 'trained.
'
" He leaned forward and gently turned us to face
outward, into the cruel wind. Then he pointed. "Notice how the
scrub reaches out to approach our position just over there..."

22

It was all so easy, once Rapput explained what
"putting down a field of fire" and "military crest" and stuff like
that meant. In ten minutes or less, Tim and I had a handle on how
to read terrain and cover in the tactical sense. It was as easy as
hunting deer, or maybe even easier. "So," I heard myself asking as
I pointed. "The bad guys are going to try and set up right over
there?"

"And there as well?" Tim chimed in, pointing
at a pile of rocks further off.

"That'll be their base of fire," Rapput
said. "Where they'll place their heavy weapons." Then he nodded at
me. "And you've picked out their point of assault. The place where
the final charge, covered by the base of fire, will almost
certainly come from."

I scowled into the darkness. It all made so
much sense, but . . . "Uncle? I mean . . . if this is all so
obvious, then wouldn't they know that we know and try to set up
someplace else? Or at least scout things out?"

"Experienced troops would," Rapput replied.
"Or an experienced commander would see to it that they did, more
correctly. But both history and my personal experience demonstrate
again and again that battle is an art learned only slowly. Rookie
small-unit leaders tend to be so frightened and overwhelmed with
details that they revert to the simplest principles. In other
words, they become predictable." He smiled. "Whereas I have much
experience indeed."

And so it was that Timothy and I found
ourselves lying silent in the dark, wrapped tightly in our
comforters and waiting, waiting, waiting for the right moment. It
was hard not to fall asleep after such a poor rest the night
before, and to be truthful I suspect I did nod off a few times. But
the first snapped twig followed by a mumbled curse brought me
around quickly enough.

"Shut up, Millson!" another voice replied, a
bit louder and more exasperated. "How many times do I have to warn
you?"

"It's goddamned
cold!"
a third voice
snapped back. "We've got good coats, and we're practically frozen.
The people we're chasing have to be either dead or dying by now. I
say let's just light a fire and hole up until dawn. T
hen
we can recover the bodies after
sunrise."

"Noted," the voice I'd tentatively labeled
as "Officer" replied. Then he sighed, took two steps . . .

. . . and something made a great whooshing
sound as it flew upward in the night. One of Li's traps! Someone
began screaming.

"Millson?" the officer demanded, all
attempts at stealth abandoned. "Was that you?"

"No sir," the first voice I'd heard replied.
"It's Crawford. And her leg . . . Uh . . ."

"Medic!" the officer shouted in frustration.
"Over here!"

The moon was high in the sky, so if I
strained my neck far enough I could just make out a swirl of
individuals maybe twenty yards downslope. Soon a hunched figure
came bustling up and disappeared into the mass. "Her ankle's
broken," the medic reported. "She won't be able to walk a step
anytime soon."

"Shit," the officer declared. "First we had
to leave a guard at the boat. Then we lost Grammond to the other
trap. And now . . ." He sighed. "Millson, you'll remain here with
Barb. The enemy can hear you barging about from a mile off anyway.
We'll pick you both up and improvise a stretcher on the way
back.”

"Yes, sir!" Millson replied, clearly pleased
to be spared from further stumbling about in frigid darkness. "I'll
take good care of her, sir!"

Much stirring about and rattling of gear
followed as the officer rearranged everyone and everything.
"Remember," he warned his newly-assigned scouts. "They're
well-armed. They could turn on us at any moment and do considerable
damage. If that happens, just take cover and keep them pinned down.
Your job is to make contact, not destroy. That's what the rest of
us are here for."

I frowned and checked to make sure my
brightly-colored comforter was still properly covered with pine
needles and mud and such. While the travois was simple to track
even when Rapput wasn't riding in it, my goal was to be much harder
to find than that. I laid my equally-camouflaged head down on my
muddy arms and, as instructed, waited as calmly as I could for the
enemy column to pass me by.

And pass me by they did, though every minute
felt like forever and there were far more of the enemy than any of
us had anticipated. We'd only ever seen the handful in the boat,
but at least fifteen marched past my hide. I had no way to count
them accurately—Rapput had explained that my nearly-white face sort
of glowed in the moonlight and that it was vital for me to keep it
lowered to the ground as much as possible. Everything—literally
everything—pivoted on Timothy and me remaining undetected. Then,
while an extra-large pair of combat boots was passing just in front
of my nose, the Free State people stopped.

"Sir!" a scout reported. "The tracks lead
into a cave. They don't seem to come out."

Then it happened, right before my
unbelieving eyes. Everything, down to the tiniest detail, went
exactly as Rapput had predicted. And as Li would've predicted as
well, I was fairly certain from his conversation with Rapput on the
subject.

"Chilman! Dobbs! Van Decker!" the officer
ordered. "Set up the heavy stuff in those rocks right over
there—see how they'll offer a good field of fire? The rest of you,
settle in here until the others are ready. Then we'll send forward
a scout."

Was it really that easy to out-think an
enemy, or had Rapput merely gotten lucky? Great generals don't win
only from time to time; they emerge triumphant again and again. So
probably he really was just that good.

By then my heart was thumping away at a
hundred miles an hour in my chest, and I panted in excitement. "Not
yet," I whispered to myself. While my prey was offering an
excellent shot indeed, it'd get better still in time. "Not yet . .
."

I watched extra-close as the heavy-weapons
people took up position directly in front of where I'd seen Tim dig
in, fingers trembling on my weapon's twin triggers. If they
detected him, my orders were to take my best shot and then take
advantage of the confusion to move to his aid. But they didn't.
Instead they lined up even more prettily than they had for me, dead
across his sights at practically zero range. Now, all that was left
was the final, toughest wait.

The Free State people had no way to be
certain that anyone was in the cave until they actually sent
someone to
look
. Rapput
had assured us that no weapons would be fired until they were sure.
"The shots will give away their position for miles around," he’d
explained. "The reports and flashes both. Plus ammunition is heavy,
especially the kind you humans use. They won't be carrying a
terrible lot of it for fear it'd slow them down. So they'll make
sure first. That's why at least one of us has to wait here."