grim laugh, “as long as they don’t think we’re all dead in a snowdrift. So, putting a blocking force in is their best next option, and the lake is the obvious place to do so. In fact, it’s the only place they could get landers in and out safely given the shitty weather in these parts. The rest of the Gwyr Valley is too steep-sided. If they have troops in place, I don’t want to run into them. The bad news is that those of you with marines and spacers with covert ops experience in your sticks will have to hand them over. They will become my recon unit.”
A small groan went up from those affected, Michael included. Yazdi and Murphy had been the rocks on which his team had been built. To lose his two marines now would be a real blow.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Fellsworth acknowledged patiently when the muttering died away. “I would not want to lose them either, but not crashing into a Hammer patrol is a higher priority. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. The recon patrol will leave four hours before dawn. They will check the route to Lake Schapp. If the Hammers are there, they’ll pull back, and we’ll have to sit and wait them out. If it’s clear, the plan remains unchanged, but we’ll go a day later. I’ll get you the precise departure schedules sometime today when we’ve had a look at the injury list. The most mobile sticks will leave first, cut down to the Gwyr River, turn downstream, and continue on to set up camp past Lake Schapp tomorrow night. Bivouac there two days before pushing on. Any questions?”
After a brief flurry of questions, none of any significance, the briefing broke up. Michael got to his feet, pleased that he would have an extra day to recover. A day’s break would be wonderful. He had not gotten far when Fellsworth waved him over.
Michael’s heart sank. He smelled a new assignment, and he would bet his life that it would not be counting the rations. Michael walked over to where Fellsworth was sitting.
“Job for you, Helfort. I want you and Corporal Yazdi to make for McNair. We need to get word to the embassy there that there are survivors. And before you ask why I chose you, it’s because you’re both small enough to pass for Hammers. A few weeks of half rations and a decent layer of dirt and they’ll never pick you out as Feds,” she said confidently.
“Fine, sir,” was all Michael could say in reply.
“Good. Now, find Yazdi, get a plan together, and brief me in. . an hour’s time. Okay?”
Michael nodded. He shivered as he walked away to find Yazdi. It was easy for Fellsworth to be so sure; he wasn’t. Pushing on alone, just the two of them, against the most ruthless police state in all of human history, without money or identity cards, without the security and support the rest of the
But the thought of falling into DocSec’s hands again was a hundred times worse. It absolutely terrified him.
Wednesday, December 15, 2399, UD
Michael woke from an uneasy half doze with a start. “What the
Corporal Yazdi’s hand was clamped firmly over his face. “We’ve arrived. Civilization,” she whispered into his ear.
Michael was awake in a heartbeat. Taking great care to stay under his tattered chromaflage poncho, he rolled over carefully to make sure their crude log raft did not capsize into the icy water of the Gwyr River.
“Where?” he hissed, scanning the darkness. He could not see a damn thing, only the black of a moonless Commitment night.
“Not that way,” Yazdi hissed. “Downstream.”
Despite the predawn gloom, it was obvious what Yazdi had seen. In the distance, a single white cottage stood close to the riverbank, a thin bar of warm yellow-gold light spilling from one window and smoke curling out of a squat chimney. The sight almost overwhelmed Michael. Inside would be food, warmth, clean clothes, sleep-all the things he craved after those terrible days hurtling down the Gwyr’s viciously rock-tipped rapids. Even when they were clear of the worst the river could throw at them, there were two nerve-wracking days spent negotiating marine positions set up across the Gwyr Valley where it debouched into the O’ksander Valley. Senses dulled by fatigue, hunger, and cold, they spent one long Commitment day holed up only thirty meters from a marine company; Michael and Yazdi had all but stumbled into the marines’ position before realizing their mistake, saved only by a sentry more interested in taking a piss than in doing his job. Unable to retreat, they had been trapped, the marines’ fire, their food, and their warm dry tents mental torture of the most exquisite sort. Eventually, the marines had broken camp and moved on, leaving only a few pathetic scraps of food for Michael and Yazdi to scavenge in a desperate attempt to keep their never-ending hunger at bay.
Then there had been the endless hours spent in the darkness drifting along, lying under their ponchos, invariably wet and cold, always tired and always hungry, until the eastern sky lightened with the promise of dawn and forced them to steer their awkward craft into the riverbank to hide until night fell again.
“So what do you think?” Michael muttered. “Go past or lay up?”
“Lay up, I think.”
Michael nodded. “I agree. If we get reasonably close, we may be able to pinch some food.” His mouth watered at the thought.
“We should be so lucky. Still, let’s hope. Come on. Let’s get ashore.”
Yet another long Commitment day later, Michael and Yazdi pushed the raft back into the water. The river was black and oily in the darkness.
It had been a bad day. Despite Michael’s best efforts, their prayers had not been answered. They had caught no fish, their rabbit traps were empty, and the occupants of the house had refused to cooperate by leaving long enough for Michael and Yazdi to ransack it.
Michael’s head dropped in despair. The raft drifted slowly past the cottage unseen, to the casual observer just a clump of branches drifting aimlessly in the current. Slowly, the cottage fell away behind them, and the riverbank reverted back to endless forest.
“Corp?”
“Sir?”
“We can’t go on like this much longer. We’ve got to get off this damn river before it drowns us or freezes us or we starve to death. Or all three at once,” Michael added with a grim laugh. “Now, I’ve had a look at the map, and there’s a small town coming up on our left. Baboushan; it’s an old mining town. We should dump the raft, and then do a bit of breaking and entering. I think we’re far enough away from the camp. They won’t make any connection between a break-in this far from the camp and the
“I agree.” Yazdi’s voice betrayed her exhaustion. Michael nodded. It had been a long, cold, dangerous ride down the Gwyr, and it could not go on much longer. They had to bite the bullet. They had to get off the river. If they stayed on the damned raft, they eventually would drift out to sea, and what was the good of that?
“Good,” Michael said. “Let’s do it.”
Michael could not contain himself. The smile on his face stretched into a broad grin, and then his head went back, his laughter almost hysterical in its intensity. Corporal Yazdi, freshly washed hair bundled up in a towel, looked at him like he was a madman. Then she lost it, too; the sheer joy of getting off the river and into somewhere warm was too much to bear.
“Fuck.” Michael finally got himself back under control, his face wet with tears of pure happiness.
“Thanks for the offer but no thanks,” Yazdi replied. That did it; they were off again, the isolated house outside Baboushan ringing with shouts of laughter.
“Oh, Christ,” Michael wheezed when he finally got himself under control. “I can’t do that too often.” He wiped the tears from his eyes. “My ribs don’t appreciate the joke.”
“Not surprised,” Yazdi said. “Right. I’m going to have another snoop around. Back in a tick.”
Michael nodded. They had eaten well but carefully; their stomachs were so shrunken that both had difficulty putting away even the meager amount of food Yazdi had scrounged from the house. The place obviously had been
