Starfist: Lazarus Rising (22 page)

"Your cooking is justly famous, ma'am," he said.

He was a handsome lad, strapping, with coal-black hair. His bright blue eyes fastened on Comfort, and she found it difficult to concentrate on her food, which was all she wanted to concentrate on, handsome as Benjamin was. The two had known each other since childhood, and Comfort in her teens had thought it most likely that of all the boys her age—most dead by then—Benjamin or Spencer would someday be her husband. Now, having met a man of the world, she wondered how she could have been so naive.

"I think the crisis may be over, Benjamin," Zechariah said as he cut his meat.

"Charles will lead an expedition to Haven soon, reestablish contact with the outside world. I think it's fair to assume the devils have been thwarted."

"It was not devils, sir, who destroyed the black woman's people," Benjamin remarked.

"Indeed, indeed. That is a troublesome affair now, but in wartime mistakes do happen. I'd want to know more about the situation before I'd accuse the Army of the Lord of criminal acts. That they are still operating is actually a good sign. You are on watch tonight, Benjamin?"

"Yessir. At dark."

"Well, plenty of time for us to finish the meal and—and visit."

Zechariah glanced at his daughter, then continued.

"I have heard good reports about you, Benjamin. Is your father getting his crops in?" He knew every detail of what was going on at New Salem, but wanted to make conversation and get Benjamin to talk more.

"Yessir. Well, with so few cultivating machines and so little fuel, we've had to share, and that has slowed everyone down. And since Charles has forbidden us to cultivate the gardens behind our houses..."

At the mention of Charles's name, Comfort's neck reddened.

"Well, sharing is the bond of this community, Benjamin," Zechariah said. "This crisis has strengthened that age-old bond. Marriage is another bond. Have you thought of your future in that regard?"

"Yessir!" Now the back of Benjamin's neck colored. "I have thought about it very seriously. After we've finished at table, sir, I would like very much to talk to you about—my future." He grinned at Comfort, his face turning a bright red, his blue eyes sparkling.

"Daughter, you are quiet this evening. Please, engage us. Have you thought of your future recently?"

"Father, I—"

Klang, klang, klang!
The warning signal for an approaching aircraft echoed through the settlement.

"Dear God, it's an air raid," Zechariah shouted, and bolted for the door.

Amen Judah, the only other person to carry a shot rifle besides Charles, was at lunch with his family when the alarm sounded. Moments later, before they could retreat to the interior of the house, a reconnaissance drone hummed by the kitchen window. The Judahs froze in fear as the machine cruised slowly by, its optics gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. It was small, about the size of a small dog or a chicken, with stubby wings and a whirring rotor. It teetered along, seemingly unsteady in flight as its operator, sitting at his console far away, maneuvered the device between the houses. Then it sped off in the direction of the clanging alarm.

As one, the family took refuge underneath the kitchen table.

"Did it see us?" Abigail asked nervously.

"I don't think so," Amen whispered.

For long minutes they crouched beneath the table while their food grew cold.

Finally, Judah stood and stretched. "I think it's gone. Let's finish eating." He jacked a round into the chamber of his shot rifle and moved to the window to close the blinds when suddenly the tiny machine was back again, this time hanging suspended in air,
looking through the window directly into his eyes!
Slowly, it edged closer to the window as Amen stood there, mouth open, gaping at the thing. If I only stand completely still, maybe it won't see me, he thought. The device resembled an enormous metallic bumblebee.

Without thinking, he threw his rifle to his shoulder and fired.

"Well," Charles said, examining the wreckage, "this thing was made by men. Look at the patent marks on this fragment." He held up a piece of shredded metal so the small crowd could see the marks:
Patent Pending, No. 4437-A-563, July 2049.

"We're in for trouble now, folks," he added. He turned to Amen. "Why in
hell
did you shoot the thing down?"

Amen shrugged apologetically. "I—just—well, the goddamned thing interrupted my lunch, and that just pissed me off, Charles!"

Someone in the crowd gasped and another muttered, "He's talking like Charles now!"

"Well," Charles replied, laying a hand on Amen's shoulder, "nothing we can do about that now. Everyone into the fort! We're due some visitors, and mighty soon, unless I miss my guess. By the way, Amen, damned good shooting!"

CHAPTER 16

The first Seventh Day afternoon after 34th FIST's return from Kingdom finally came.

Lance Corporal Zumwald and PFCs Shoup, Gray, Fisher, Little, and Tischler were more or less integrated into third platoon's barracks life routine—Zumwald, Shoup, and Gray, having joined new units a couple of times before, more than the others.

Officially, they'd been on liberty since the evening before. Unofficially, everyone in the FIST was still busy squaring themselves away and nobody left the barracks except to go to the mess hall.

Sergeant Ratliff, third platoon's first squad leader, got the silent signal he was waiting for. "That's it," he said as he looked around the squad leaders' quarters. "I'm as squared away as I'm getting. All this garrison mickeymouse has given me a thirst."

He looked at Sergeants Linsman and Kelly. "Are you two about ready or what?"

Linsman, the second squad leader, looked at him, then at Kelly. "We've been sitting on our duffs waiting for him to get his shit together, and he wants to know if
we're
ready."

Kelly, the gun squad leader, shook his head sadly. "Do you ever get the impression the wrong man is next in line for platoon sergeant?"

Linsman nodded sagely. "I think you're right. Rabbit must be bucking for a rocker. Either that or he's getting dumb in his old age." He ducked out of the way as Ratliff swung the flat of his hand at his head.

"Getting slow too," Kelly observed. "If that was me swung at you, you couldn't have gotten out of the way in time."

Linsman jabbed at Kelly, who dodged the blow.

"It's all in the reflexes," Kelly said.

Ratliff took advantage of their distraction to step in and smack both upside the head. "If you two are through grab-assing, let's get out of here."

Linsman and Kelly bounded to their feet and poked Ratliff on his shoulders.

"You're senior, you go first," Linsman said. "We've just been waiting for you."

"Age before beauty." Kelly opened the door to the corridor and bowed Ratliff through.

Ratliff snorted as he strode out. "First squad!" he bellowed. "If you love the barracks so much, I know where there's some brightwork that can use some polishing!"

Linsman shouldered past him. "Second squad!" he boomed. "I'm heading for Big Barb's. Last man there pays for my reindeer steak!"

Kelly roared louder than either of them. "Guns! What are you doing cluttering my squad bay? Drop 'em and get your asses out of here! I don't want to see any of you in this barracks until morning formation on Second Day!"

All along the corridor doors popped open and Marines looked out.

"You mean we can go outside and play?" someone shouted back.

"We're not grounded anymore, Dad?" someone else yelled.

"Mother, may I?"

"Can I have the car keys, Pop?"

"All I want to see is elbows and assholes," Ratliff roared. "Last man out stays for fire watch!"

Instantly, the heads looking into the corridor vanished and a racket erupted as the Marines of third platoon jumped into their civvies and grabbed whatever they needed to head into Bronnoysund for the night. In less than a minute they began streaming out, headed for the stairway to the first floor, bouncing off walls, caroming off each other.

"Now that's the clearest demonstration of Brownian motion I've ever seen,"

Linsman said. The other two laughed.

Elsewhere in the barracks other platoons were also scrambling to leave on liberty.

When the last of their men had left, the squad leaders followed at a more dignified pace. The clatter and yelling of Marines happy to be on their way off base diminished and stopped by the time the three were halfway down the stairs. Only Ratliff had any idea why. He was right. The other two found out when they exited the barracks to the company assembly area and found the company standing in formation before Gunnery Sergeant Thatcher. It was an odd sight, a Marine company in civilian clothes standing at attention in front of the company gunny, who was also in civvies.

"Nice of you gentlemen to join us," Thatcher said dryly. "If you will take your places, please."

The squad leaders glanced at each other, wondering what was going on, and hurried to their places in the formation. In a couple of minutes the last of the stragglers came out and took their places.

Bent forward, his hands clasped behind his back, Thatcher paced back and forth in front of the company. No expression appeared on his face as he looked each man in the eye. He turned at a sound from the barracks and came to attention—Captain Conorado, the other officers, and Top Myer were marching toward him. They also were dressed in civilian clothes.

"Sir!" Thatcher barked in his parade ground voice. "Company L, all present and accounted for." He wasn't in uniform and remembered not to salute.

"Thank you, Gunnery Sergeant," Conorado said. "I have the company. You may take your place."

"You have the company. Aye aye, sir." Thatcher about-faced and marched to his position two paces to the front of the far end of first platoon. Top Myer and the officers took their places behind Conorado.

The company commander quickly looked over the company, then said, "At ease,"

in a voice that easily carried to the ends of the rear rank. The Marines, uncertain about what was happening, shifted to parade rest but didn't quite go into full ease.

"I've been in this man's Marine Corps longer than most men in this company,"

Conorado said in the same voice he'd told them to stand at ease. "You know I've seen my share of action." They'd all seen the rows of campaign and expeditionary medals he had, which indicated a full career's worth of campaigns for an infantryman. "Some of the toughest campaigns I've been on were right here, with Company L, 34th FIST. Many of you were on those campaigns with me, so you know what I'm talking about.

"The one we just came off of wasn't the biggest—that was the war on Diamunde, which probably still gives some of you nightmares. But the war on Kingdom was the widest spread, the campaign that demanded the most versatility from you. You functioned as members of a line company, as trainers for a thoroughly demoralized and poorly led army, and as officers and NCOs in a foreign army. You fought on plains, forests, mountains, and caves. You encountered an implacable enemy who fought fanatically with unfamiliar tactics and weapons. And you bested him.

"You have earned the biggest blowout you can get. The brigadier and Mayor Evdal of Bronnysund met yesterday. The entire FIST has seven day's liberty, beginning at eighteen hours today. All food, drink, and lodging in Bronnysund are paid for this week. Women," he cracked a smile, "well, you're on your own there.

You don't have to pay for anything else, so go ahead and splurge on the ladies. If you want to go somewhere else, it's on your money."

He had to pause while the Marines cheered. Elsewhere in Camp Ellis, other units of the FIST could also be heard cheering.

"COMP-ney, ten-HUT!" he bellowed after a moment. The Marines in their ranks stopped yelling and snapped to. Conorado turned his head toward Top Myer, who stood with his fingertips pressed to his ear.

Myer nodded and said, "They're coming, sir."

Conorado faced front again. "In a few minutes transportation will be here to take you into Bronnoysund. Now..." He looked from one end of the company to the other. "What are you doing standing in formation? You're on liberty." He had to raise his voice to be heard over the hubbub as he added, "Platoon sergeants, keep your people together until transportation gets here!" He was grinning when he turned around and swept an arm toward the back of the barracks. The officers and top NCOs were grinning as well as they joined him in his return indoors.

"What are you doing for the next week, Skipper?" Myer asked as they walked side by side.

"Marta and I are heading for New Oslo. I booked a room at the Royal Viking.

What about you?"

"Maybe we can have dinner together some evening this week. I know this lady in New Oslo. She told me she got very lonely while we were on Kingdom." Just because he had every intention of remaining single until he retired from the Marine Corps didn't mean he couldn't have a lady friend.

"We're back!" Sergeant Linsman shouted as he bounded through the entrance of Big Barb's.

"Home away from home!" Sergeant Kelly cried out as he entered on Linsman's heels.

The local sailors and fishermen who bought their supplies and did their drinking at Big Barb's combination ship's chandler, bar, and bordello looked up from their drinking, eating, and flirting and raised schooners in salute to the Marines of third platoon who were crowding their way through the door and spreading throughout the main room. Both groups shouted greetings. Big Barb's girls—those who weren't otherwise occupied—squealed and sped to fling their arms around the Marines, welcoming them back from their long absence as though they hadn't seen them at the big party in Camp Ellis just a few days earlier.

"You come home! Velcome! Velcome home!" Big Barb's voice boomed over everyone else's as she waded through the mass of locals like a bulldozer through a landfill to envelop between her massive arms and humongous bosom any Marines she could reach. "It has been so qviet here mitout you." She stopped hugging Marines and turned to her girls. "Vat you standink dere for? Der Marines thirsty, gid dem Reindeer Ale!" Turning back to the Marines, she added, sotto voce, "Price de same, ain't raised it vile you gone for so long. But you don' vorry aboud dat, you don' pay dis veek anyvay."