The Stainless Steel Rat eBook Collection (45 page)

“I’m not smuggling this damn bird and getting caught and shot!” I shouted.

“You must do it for
the sake of all mankind,” the bird said, eyes glowing wildly. “Reactivate by pressing the bill twice. Out.”

The glow died and it went limp. I jammed the bag shut as footsteps approached.

“Into the transport!” the colonel ordered. “We are on our way!”

There was very little time to sit around and relax. As fast as the officers were spewed out of the supply depot, staggering under the weight of all their combat gear, trucks appeared to carry them away into the night. Groaning and complaining, with the rest of the groaners and complainers, Morton and I heaved our bags and weapons over the tailgate of a truck and clambered after. When
it was filled to capacity, and slightly more, we lurched away.

“And to shink that I just reenlishted. Voluntarily,” an officer expostulated leaning heavily against me. There was a gurgling sound from an upended bottle.

“Share the wealth, share the wealth,” I muttered as I pried the bottle from his shaking grasp. It was pretty foul stuff, but was rich with alcohol.

“You still don’t drink?” I
gasped at Morton, holding up the rapidly emptying bottle.

“I’m learning fast.” He gulped then coughed, then gulped again before relinquishing the bottle to its original owner.

A deep rumble washed over us and we had to close our eyes against the glare as a spacer took off. The invasion was on. We swayed into each other as the truck squealed to a halt and a now familiar and loathsome voice ordered
us out. Our nemesis, the pressgang colonel, was waiting for us. He was backed up now
by a radio operator and a gaggle of noncoms. Behind him companies, battalions of soldiers, were marching in good order to the waiting transports.

“Now hear this,” the colonel bellowed. “Those are good troops back there, and they need good officers. Unhappily all I have for them are you fat-bottomed desk types,
the dregs of the base. So I’m going to split you up, one to every company, in the hopes that you will maybe get some experience before you get dead.”

This was not good. I had promised Morton I would look after him. Which I could not do if we were in different companies. I sighed. I would have to break the first rule of military survival. Although it violated the primary army axiom—keep your mouth
shut and don’t volunteer—I volunteered. Stepping forward smartly and slamming my bootheels down as I snapped to attention.

“Sir! My bottom is lean, my gut is flat. I have field experience. I fire sharpshooter, I instruct unarmed combat.”

“And I don’t believe you!” he roared into my face.

I threw him onto the ground, put my foot on his back, took away his gun, shot out one of the streetlights,
helped him to his feet and handed back his weapon. His fierce glare melted almost to a smile as he wiped pebbles from his uniform.

“I could use a few more like you. You get a combat company. Name?”

“Drem. I respectfully request Lieutenant Hesk here as exec. He is young and dumb but I have been training him.”

“You got him. Move out. Any more volunteers?”

I grabbed up my bags before he could
change his mind and hurried off toward the transports with Morton stumbling behind.

“I thought that I was going to die when you knocked him down,” he gasped. “You took some chance.”

“Just being alive in the modern world is taking a chance,” I pontificated, “what with all the carcinogens and traffic accidents. And I think we can stop and put the bags down. Help has arrived.”

An eager-looking
sergeant, with a bald head, large moustache and two privates, came trotting up and I returned his salute.

“I am Acting First Sergeant Blogh. If you are Captain Drem you are the new CO!’ the sergeant said.

“Right both times, sergeant. Get those men on these bags and let’s go.”

“Last of the company boarding now. We blast off in ten minutes.”

“We can make it. Let’s move.”

The loading ramp vanished
from behind our heels and the outer lock began to grind shut. We had to climb over boxes of equipment bolted to the deck to reach the stairs. Two flights up was the company, sprawled from wall to wall on their G pads. We dived for ours and were just horizontal when the red lights began flashing and the engines came to life.

As takeoffs go, it went. They poured on a lot more G’s than a commercial
transport would, but that is what the army is all about. When the acceleration dropped to one-G I stood and waved the sergeant over.

“Canteens full?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let them drink, but no food for awhile …”

There was a roar of sound from the speakers followed by an overly-amplified voice. “All commanding officers to deck two now. All COs, now.”

“Lieutenant,” I called out to a very queasy-looking
Morton. “Take over until I get back. Let the noncoms do all the work.” I bent and added in a whisper, “Don’t let that bird-bag out of sight. If it is opened we will really be in the cagal.”

He moaned slightly and I hurried away before he began to feel too sorry for himself. There were other officers climbing the gangway, all of them curious and expectant.

“Maybe now we will find out what this
whole thing is about.”

“They got to tell us something—we been living on latrine rumors for a year.”

The dining hall was not that big, so only the first arrivals got seats. The rest of us crowded in between the tables and leaned against the walls. An ancient sergeant checked us off his list when we came in. When he was satisfied he reported to
a two-star general at the top table. The hum of conversation
died down as the sergeant called for our attention.

“For them of you newly transferred to this division this here is your commanding officer, General Lowender, and he has an important announcement to make.”

There was silence as the general turned to us, nodded sagely, and spoke.

“This is it, men. H-hour, D-day, the moment you have all been expecting, nay, looking forward to eagerly. The captain
of this ship has reported that we are on course, with no chance of turning back now. So the secret orders can be opened.”

He took up a large envelope heavy with red seals and tore it asunder, the sound of ripping paper loud in the silence. He held up the red-bound volume inside.

“This is it. You will have heard rumors that we plan a defensive action against Zemlija. That is wrong. Security planted
those rumors to mislead the enemy. Our offworld enemies are many and their spies everywhere. That has explained our great need for secrecy. That need is passed. As you can tell we are now in space and heading toward a new world. A rich world. A world that lost contact with the rest of the galaxy thousands of years ago. And, more important, a world only
we
know exists. It is inhabited, but the
natives are backward and do not deserve to have this verdant world for their own greedy selves. Is the machine ready? Good. General Zennor, the discoverer of this rich planet, will tell you about it in his own words.”

My pulse hammered and I started to sink down before I realized that it was just a recording and I did not have to worry about being recognized. The lights dimmed a bit, the general
took a digital recording from the envelope and slipped it into the projector. Zennor’s repulsive hologramed features floated before us.

“Soldiers of Nevenkebla, I salute you. You are now embarked on the greatest venture ever conceived by our country. Your victory in the field will enrichen and strengthen our fatherland so that none will ever dare consider an attack upon us. The riches of a new
world will be ours. The riches of this world—Chojecki!”

There was a blare of tinny music as Zennor vanished to be replaced by the blue sphere of a planet floating in space. But if we were spared his image his flatulent voice still hammered in our ears.

“Chojecki. Rich, warm, fertile. It was a chance in a million that we discovered it. The ship I commanded was being followed by the killers of
the League Navy and we used a random, untraceable jump to escape them. This noble planet was what we found. Perhaps there is a higher power that guided us to our destiny, perhaps the needs of our noble land were divined by benevolencies unknown to us.”

“Perhaps that is a load of old cagal,” someone whispered and there were mutters of agreement in the darkness. These were combat officers who preferred
truth to propaganda. But there was no stopping Zennor.

“We landed and made a survey. It is a rich planet with immense reserves of heavy metals, abundant forests, untapped rivers to supply hydroelectric power. If there is anything at all wrong with Chojecki it is the present inhabitants.”

We listened now with interest because there was an edge of irritation that Zennor could not keep out of his
voice.

“They are disgusting people, with vile attitudes and strange perversions. We approached them openly, extending the hand of friendship. We offered them aid, companionship, trade, contact with a superior civilization. And do you know what we got in return? Do you know what they did?”

The anger in his voice was obvious now, his audience eager.

“I’ll tell you what they did. They did nothing!
They completely ignored us, turned away from us—rejected all civilized contact.”

“Probably knew just what they were doing,” someone said and the general shouted for silence. The planet popped out of existence and Zennor’s image returned. His temper was under control now but there was a baleful look in his eye.

“So you officers will understand that what we are doing is for their own benefit.
Ours is an old culture and a wise one. We extended the hand of friendship and aid and it was rejected. We have been insulted, offended by these peasants. Therefore,
for their own good, we must show them that Nevenkebla pride does not take insult easily. They have asked for this and they are going to get it. We come in friendship to aid them. If they reject our aid they have only themselves to
blame.

“Long live Nevenkebla!”

“Long live positive peace!”

The lights came up and we were all our feet cheering like fools. I cheered as loud as anyone. Trumpets blared and a rather dreary piece of recorded music began playing. Everyone snapped to attention and sang the words of their despicable anthem.

Long live Nevenkebla,
Land of peace,
Land of goodness, land of light.
Long live our
leaders,
Sweet men of mercy.
Long shall we preserve
Liberty’s right. But dare to attack us—
And you got a fight!

There was more like this and I hummed along and was exceedingly happy when the singing ended. A holomap now hung in the air and General Lowender poked it with his finger.

“You will all be issued with maps and detailed orders. We will meet again tomorrow after you have studied them.
At that time we will go over the plan of attack in detail. But as an overall approach—this is what will happen.

“This division, the 88th, known as the Fighting Green Devils, has the honor of liberating this industrial section of the largest city called by the barbaric name of Bellegarrique. There are mines here and here, warehouses, a rail transportation system and here, ten kilometers away,
a dam at the end of this lake that provides electricity for the city. For the benefit of these selfish people we will occupy all of these targets. We will liberate them from the futility of their rejection of our reasonable needs.”

“A question, general,” a colonel called out. The general nodded. “What kind of defenses can we expect? How large is their army? How modern?”

“That is a good question,
colonel, and a vital one. We must be prepared for anything, any variety of attack, any kind of surprise. Because these people are very subtle, tricky, wily, treacherous. It seems that, well, in all of the contacts made by General Zennor, all of the investigations made by skilled agents, it seems that something very suspicious was found to be happening. It appears, on the surface that is, that
these treacherous people have no army, no defenses—they do not even have a police force!”

He waited for the hum of excited voices to die down before he raised his hand for silence.

“Now we all know that this is impossible. A country needs defenses against attack, therefore every country must have an army for defense. The criminal elements in society would plunder and destroy were they not curbed
by the police. Now we know that those are realities. We
know
that these treacherous people are hiding their cowardly armies from us. Therefore we must proceed with armed caution, ready for any sneak attack. We must free them from themselves. We owe that to them.”

I have never in my life heard such a load of old cagal—but it impressed my military mates who cheered wildly at the thought of all
the nice mayhem to come.

While I wondered what disastrous future lay in store for these simple people about to be liberated from their stupid and peaceful ways.

Liberation by destruction was on the way!

We would free them even if we had to kill them all to do it!

I returned to my company, clutching the package of sealed orders and holding tight to the idea that this was the most insane endeavor I had ever heard of. Morton looked up when I entered the cabin.

“You are wearing a very worried look,” he said. “Something personal—or should we all be worried?”

“Anything I can do for you, captain?” Sergeant Blogh asked, popping in the door behind
me. They all wanted to know about the meeting. I threw the package onto the bed.

“Sergeant, what is the position regarding strong drink on troop transports about to go into action?”

“It is strictly forbidden, sir, and a court-martial offense. But one of the spare tanks on the command car is filled with ninety-nine.”

“Ninety-nine what?”

“Ninety-nine percent pure alcohol. Cut half with water
and stir in dehydrated orange juice.”

“Since we are going into combat I am making a field appointment. Acting First Sergeant Blogh you are now First Sergeant Blogh.”

There was a rattle as Morton dropped three canteen cups onto the table, a thud as a bag of orange crystals followed. I could see where he was getting adjusted to the army.