Valour's Choice (21 page)

“We will not forget. We will not fail you.” It wasn’t the first time Torin had been the ranking Human. It never got easier.

“Staff.”

But then it shouldn’t get easier.
She held out her slate and sent the command.

The bags stiffened, then flattened.

The ash fit into small cylinders that slid into measured spaces inside Torin’s vest. The cylinders were virtually indestructible. Even if her body was destroyed in combat, the remains of these dead Marines would still be recovered. She found that strangely comforting.

* * *

Calculating how much longer it would be until he could get his
serley
boots off, Kleers took three steps to the Dornagain’s one. A collarbone broken in the crash had gotten him assigned to escort duty even though the doc had put things pretty much back together. Since the walking sucked just as much at the front of the column as at the rear, he didn’t really mind.

“There are those who say you can judge a civilization by how much respect they grant their dead.”

“Really?” He pulled a handful of soft fruit off a vine as big around as his wrist, wiped off a few splatters of mud against his vest, gave them a thorough sniff, and popped them into his mouth.

“If the dead has a large family, an internment on Dornage can take many days.”

Kleers took another three steps and reached for some more fruit. “Can’t say as I’m surprised.”

“How do the Krai treat their dead?”

“We cook them and we eat them.”

Thinks Deeply walked in silence for a moment or two. “And that is a sign of respect?” she asked at last.

“Well, I’d have to say that depends on who does the cooking.”

“I
f the ridge joinsss up with higher ground here...” Cri Sawyes drew a curved line in the dirt and then crossed it, “...then the buildingsss I sssaw from the air are here.” He drew a square toward the end of the crosspiece. “They could be asss near asss three kilometers or asss far asss five.”

“If this is a wilderness preserve, why are there buildings at all?” The nose filters the di’Taykan had been forced to wear made Lieutenant Jarret’s voice sound flat and angry.

It was a good question, though. Since the lines in the dirt were telling Torin nothing much, she looked up at Cri Sawyes.

“I have no idea.”

The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

“I’m not from around here.” His tongue flicked out. When neither the two officers nor the three NCOs squatting around the crude map seemed to appreciate the humor, he expanded his explanation. “Sssome of what we Sssilsssvisss do isss bound by biology and therefore relatively ssstandard planet-wide. All our young malesss are sssegregated until hormonal balance isss achieved and they—we—are able to control our aggresssion. Behavior within that sssegregation fallsss within biologically determined parametersss.” He glanced around the circle of light, checking that his listeners understood. When no one indicated otherwise, he continued. “There are, asss I’m sure you’re aware, many cultural differencesss even within a planet’sss dominant ssspeciesss and I believe that the buildingsss are one of thossse differencesss.”

“A useful difference if we can get to them,” Sergeant Chou muttered.

Heads nodded around the circle.

“The long-range scanner on the VTA placed the closest Silsviss at thirty kilometers to the northwest.” Lieutenant Jarret jabbed a stick into the ground. “Approximately here. As the buildings are southeast of our position, we can assume they’re empty.” He frowned up at Cri Sawyes. “Could you tell if they were intact?”

“At that altitude and that ssspeed? No. I only sssaw them for a moment.”

“But you’re sure of where they are?”

“Within reason.”

“Staff?”

Torin sat back on her heels and exhaled slowly. All things considered, it could have been worse. That she was fairly certain it was going to
get
worse didn’t actually impact on the current decision. “We can’t run away from a fight because of the wounded, so I’d prefer to have something solid between me and the enemy if we have to dig in.”

“So would I. At first light, send a fireteam out to scout the position.”

“Yes, sir.” A sudden commotion in the darkness on the other side of the camp pulled Torin’s attention.

“That sounds like Hollice,” Mike muttered, head cocked to better separate the voices.

The unmistakable sound of a KC discharging brought everyone to their feet.

“Sergeant Glicksohn!”

“On my way, sir.” He slapped down his helmet scanner and broke into a run.

Ghard shook off the lethargy he’d worn since abandoning the contaminated VTA to the swamp, dropped his weapon off his shoulder, and jerked the muzzle around toward Cri Sawyes. “Are they attacking?”

“Are who attacking?” Jarret demanded.

“His people!”

“It’s not the Silsviss, sir.” Torin turned slowly so as not to startle him into pulling the trigger. Tentative friendship aside, they needed Cri Sawyes alive—he’d already proved a valuable resource. “We’re close enough to the VTA that all implants are still online and mine registered no perimeter violations.”

“Nor did mine.” Jarret stepped forward and gently pushed the other lieutenant’s weapon down toward the ground. “And the sentry’s helmet scanners are slaved to Staff Sergeant Kerr’s. If there was anything, anyone advancing toward us, we’d know.”

Ghard reluctantly moved his hand away from the trigger. “Then what was Corporal Hollice shooting at?”

* * *

“A snake, Sarge.”

“A snake?” Glicksohn repeated.

Hollice nodded and moved aside.

“Holy fuk.”

“You know, Sarge, that’s just about exactly what I said.”

The snake was as big around as a man’s arm and over three meters long. A tight beam of light played down its length picked out dull green diamonds bordered in mud brown. Difficult to spot in daylight, it would have been almost impossible to see at night. Almost. The tip of its tail was a brilliant orange, and it had two stubby orange legs a handspan back from the bloody stump where its head had been.

“It must’ve crawled up from the swamp, Sarge. I heard it slithering.” Hollice kicked at the body and shivered when the dead weight merely rocked slightly, absorbing the blow. “I hate snakes.”

“Was it poisonous?”

“What’s left of it isn’t,” Ressk answered from the shadows.

There were a number of regulations pertaining to the use of weapons within a camp perimeter. Looking down at the snake, Sergeant Glicksohn considered and discarded all of them. “Nice shot,” he said.

* * *

The night passed without further incident.

“Sleep well?” Mysho asked, passing a red-eyed Hollice on her way from the di’Taykan’s communal tent to the latrine.

Hollice shoved his fist up against a yawn. “I’m not sleeping until we’re off this stinking planet,” he snarled.

The Krai and Cri Sawyes had snake for breakfast.

* * *

It was midday by the time they finally got clear of the swamp. Torin didn’t know who the morning had been harder on: the Dornagain, who’d struggled to keep moving at nearly twice their normal speed, or everyone else who’d had to fight the urge to leave all four of them behind. Even the stretcher bearers had been moving faster, and she’d be willing to swear they’d been passed by the local equivalent of a slug at least twice during the early part of the morning’s march.

Having seen to the security of their makeshift camp, Torin stood and looked back down the ridge into the shallow valley that held the swamp. From her vantage point, she could see that dumb luck had dropped the VTA right next to one of only three fingers of higher land. Torin had never been a great believer in luck, preferring to trust in training, preparation, and strong artillery support, but it was impossible to deny the good fortune that had caused them to crash precisely where they had.

Good fortune and crash in the same sentence... that’s something you don’t hear every day.

Running her hand back through damp hair, she tried not to think of how wonderful a bath would feel or how badly they all needed one. Even one of the torrential downpours they’d been pummeled by at every
other
landing site on the planet would have helped, but the sky was almost painfully clear. Designed to repel dirt, the uniforms were surprisingly clean—the Marines wearing them were not. Even with an only Human sense of smell, Torin suspected the di’Taykan had removed their nose filters a little early.

Over the years she’d fought the Others on every sort of terrain imaginable, a number of them significantly more dangerous than the ground they’d just crossed, but she couldn’t think of a battlefield that had smelled worse. Fortunately, as the land had risen, the ground had dried and thick stands of sharp-edged grasses had begun to take over from the multilayers of rotting vegetation. By the time they reached what turned out to be the edge of a low plateau, the ground cover had become nothing but grass and an occasional clump of low bushes. Nothing in the immediate area smelled worse than they did.

Which was a mixed blessing at best.

At least the lieutenant’s scavenging parties won’t have any trouble finding their way back to the VTA.
She could see the muddy scar of their crash from where she stood.

And if she could see it, so could anyone else.

Reluctantly replacing her helmet, she flipped down the scanner and pivoted slowly a hundred and eighty degrees. There were no registered species—Confederation species or Other—within the five-kilometer range. Which had to be considered good news although Torin would have preferred to know exactly how close the young males of the preserve had come during the night. Only an idiot would assume they weren’t planning to investigate the crash.
And I can guarantee they’re making better time than we are.

Glancing over at the Dornagain, she watched Strength of Arm lick up the last dregs of something they’d reconstituted the moment the lieutenant had called a rest. Finishing, she set the large bowl carefully aside and sagged almost instantly into sleep. From the state of her companions’ bowls, it looked as though exhaustion had won out over hunger.

In contrast, the Mictok, affected by neither the mud, nor the heat, nor the distance were chittering cheerfully to themselves just out of range of her translator.

Well, it sounds cheerful anyway,
Torin acknowledged. They could have been discussing ways to bisect the politician who’d sent them to Silsviss and was therefore responsible for getting them into this mess.

The Charge d’Affaires and her one surviving aide were grooming matted feathers. Dr. Leor was at the stretchers— every now and then Torin could hear Haysole’s voice rising in a question. She hoped it was distance and position muting the doctor’s answers and not the seriousness of Haysole’s situation. Cri Sawyes had stretched out in the sun and, except for the team on watch, the Marines were stretched out by the stretchers, sharing a thin slice of shade. Lieutenant Jarret had given the di’Taykan specific orders not to wander off in search of a little privacy.

And considering how little privacy a di’Taykan needs...
Torin cut off the thought before it took her places she didn’t have time to go.

Thumbing a dribble of sweat out of her eyebrow, she decided that a few moments in the shade might be a good idea. As she walked past the piles of discarded gear, the pair of boxed emmies caught her attention. The targeting scanner on an EM223 covered between fifteen and twenty kilometers depending on conditions. Unfortunately, since the Silsviss had been considered an ally...

“Ressk.”

The Krai lifted his head and blinked blearily at her. “Staff?”

“Can you download the data on the Silsviss from your slate into the emmy?”

“Sure.” As he rolled up onto his feet, he pulled his slate from his belt. “But it’s not targeting data.”

“Can you reprogram the scanner to work with it?

That stopped him cold, and a number of the others raised their heads to better follow the exchange.

“You want me to reprogram the scanner?”

“That’s right.”

“To target an allied species?”

“Yes.”

“It’s against regs,” Ressk reminded her gleefully.

“So’s being overwhelmed by a pack of adolescent liz... Silsviss,” she corrected quickly, “and being beaten to death with sticks. Do what you can and do it quickly. The lieutenant wants us to move out as soon as the report’s in on those buildings.”

“The lieutenant wants?”

Torin caught his gaze, held it, and slowly lifted a brow. It had taken an implanted learning program to teach her the trick, but she’d never regretted the lost sleep.

Ressk’s ridges flushed. “Sorry, Staff. I’ll, uh, start working on the emmy.”

* * *

The fireteam sent out to recon Cri Sawyes’ buildings reported both intact and one nearly filled with large cloth bags of grain.

“And water?” Torin asked.

“There’s a well, of sorts. Not a lot of water, but what’s there is clean. The Krai can probably drink it straight.”

Jarret flipped down his own mike. “Is it a position we can defend if we have to?”

“It’s the best position I’ve seen since we grounded, sir.”

Which wasn’t saying much.

Before reprogramming, the targeting scanner found no enemies to lock onto. Had the Others shot down the VTA, they were apparently satisfied with the result and seemed uninterested in finishing the job.

That was the good news.

After reprogramming, it showed Silsviss only 7.3 kilometers away.

“Trouble is,” Ressk admitted, around the disassembled piece of the emmy he had clamped between his teeth, “I can’t get the program to tell me if that’s one Silsviss or a hundred.”

“Or if it’s the local teenagers or the local army,” Ghard added.

“I’ve already considered that, sir.” Torin stepped between the lieutenant and Ressk before Ghard could make a grab for the targeting screen. “The Silsviss military knows what we’re capable of; we’ve been doing demonstrations all over the planet. If that,” she jerked her head toward the screen, “was an army, they’d be opening fire with artillery by now.”