a short conference with Norton, he turned to Joan.
“Very well, Miss Allen. The children will go in the airship. I’m sure that Mrs. Wilson will be only too glad to leave some of her clothes to make room for them.”
“Thank you, Major.” Joan said, making no attempt to gloat over her victory.
“Now, Captain, I understand that most of the military stores have been destroyed and that the men are ready for embarkation,” Chapelle went on hurriedly, addressing himself to the captain of the Sun Maid. “We will have about three hundred and twenty, no… about three hundred and thirty passengers for you.”
The captain shook his head doubtfully, “It’s a big load. I hope we can make it without any trouble.”
“Well, then,” Chapelle went on, “We’ll go aboard during the day after we complete the destruction of the stores and facilities. The native troops under Lieutenant O’Shaughnessy will cover our embarkation and then convoy the civilians as far as the Suzi swamps. Afterwards they will march overland to Fort Craven on the Little Texas border.”
Terrence had never had any urge to be a hero. He had always pictured himself retiring at a ripe old age as a Colonel or Brigadier and raising canal oranges on Mars, but suddenly the memory of the Narakan Rifles rushing down the street with bugles blaring and flag waving right into the Rumi line of fire rose before him. The thought of O’Shaughnessy, even with his new lieutenant’s commission, leading the blundering troops along the two hundred miles to Fort Craven was too much for him.
“I beg your pardon, Major,” he heard himself saying, “But as the Narakan Training Officer, I think that I should remain in command of the unit in its overland march.”
The Major was dumfounded. Norton looked as if he were sure the Narakan climate had proven too much of a strain for the lieutenant.
“Lieutenant O’Mara, are you sure….” began Chapelle.
“Are you nuts, O’Mara? Do you know what you’re asking for?” demanded Norton.
“Yes, sir. I feel that since Colonel Upton appointed me Training Officer for the Narakan Rifles, it is my duty to stay with them until I am relieved.”
Chapelle’s look of astonishment had changed to one of relief. It would be far easier to explain the hurried abandonment of the Narakan Rifles to the native representatives at New Chicago if a Terran officer were to remain with them.
“Well,” he said, “I could, of course, relieve you of your responsibility but if you feel that….”
“I do, sir.” Terrence said quickly lest he be tempted to back out.
IV
Later in the day as he sat in the shade of the command post’s overhanging roof with his back against a stack of sand-bags, he cursed himself for sixteen kinds of an idiot as he watched the evacuation begin. Beta was dropping low over the pink Maldo hills as the long line of earthmen filed up the gangway into the big airship.
“Hello,” said a voice behind him. He turned to find Joan Allen standing there clothed in radiation armor and holding a small canvas bag in one hand. “I thought… I mean… I came to say good-bye.”
“Hello, yourself. I thought you were on board with the rest of them.” He got up hastily.
“No. I got the kids on board but I wanted one more look at the schoolhouse before we shoved off.”
Somehow he was holding onto her arm, “I guess it meant a lot to you, that schoolhouse,” he said.
“Yes, it did. I… I was afraid that I wouldn’t get to see you when you get to New Chicago.”
“There’s no danger of that, Joanie. If and when I get there, I’ll be looking for you… that is… if you want to see me.”
“If you think you can stand an old maid school teacher, I’ll be looking for you.” She was very close to him now. “Why did you do it, Terrence? Why are you making the march with the Narakans? Fielding says your chances aren’t very good.”
“I’ll thank Fielding to keep his big mouth shut! I don’t really know why, probably kind of an Earthman’s Burden, noblesse oblige… you know… something like the sort of thing Kipling used to write about.”
“Hell,” she said, surprising him with her vehemence, “you don’t believe that guy any more than I do. It was old when Kipling wrote it and it’s even older now. I think that somewhere under that tough Irish skin of yours, there’s a sentimental fool hiding.”
She was still closer now with her hands pressed lightly against his chest and suddenly his arms went around her, he lifted her protective visor and forced his lips down hard on hers. All of her primness had disappeared as she leaned against him, returning his kiss with a burning eagerness which a more experienced woman might have controlled.
There were tears running down his cheeks and he knew they weren’t his. He released her slightly and looked down into her tear streaked face, wondering how it was possible for them to have been at the same post for six months without really knowing each other.
“I guess I’m kind of crazy about you, teacher,” he said.
He had lifted her off her feet and she clung there with her arms around his neck. “Terrence, I can’t leave you… I….”
As Terrence bent over to kiss her again there was a loud cough and Bill Fielding was standing there dressed in full battle armor. He grinned and said, “Much as I hate to break this up, I don’t think Chapelle is going to hold the Sun Maid much longer.”
Terrence set Joan gently on her feet and she turned and fled toward the waiting ship. He watched until she was on board and then turned to stare at Bill. Still grinning broadly, Bill clapped him on the shoulder as he said, “I could never have faced those bartenders on Dobi Street if I had gone back without you. We better get going, hadn’t we? Sergeant Polasky’s down with the men. He couldn’t bear to leave his Bannings.”
“Well, I’ll be damned!” was all O’Mara could find to say as he watched the big airship lift itself in the fading light, circle and pass through the smoke of Dust Bin for the last time.
Throwing their gear over their shoulders, the two officers crossed the parade ground to where the two hundred khaki clad figures of the Narakan Rifles stood waiting with Sergeant Polasky clucking slightly as he fussed over his Bannings.
O’Shaughnessy was wearing his new lieutenant bars and a pith helmet and was carrying a large piece of wood in imitation of Norton’s swagger stick. Terrence took one look at him and at the two orderlies who stood behind him holding his field kit. He strode toward him scowling, placed his fists on his hips and stood glaring up at the Greenback as he roared, “So! It’s delusions of grandeur you’ve got, is it? Where are Hannigan and O’Toole and their patrols? Why aren’t they back?”
O’Shaughnessy stiffened to attention trying to pull in his great stomach. “They are back, Mr. Lieutenant Sir…. I forgot. They had nothing to report… no contact.”
Terrence looked him up and down, “If you foul up just once more… I’m going to… I’ll split your gizzard, stuff it with To-To leaves and send you to the Rumi for their breakfast with my compliments!”
O’Shaughnessy shivered at the dire threat as O’Mara turned to Rev. Goodman who stood with his people clustered about him. “All right, Reverend, you can move out with your flock. I’ll throw patrols out in front of you and bring up the rear with the rest of the Rifles. We’ll see you as far as the edge of the swamps.”
In a long straggly line, the refugees started out with the native police keeping order and Goodman marching at their head. The two drums and the three bugles of the Narakan Rifles struck up a badly mangled version of Back to Donegal, and the column followed on the heels of the civilians. Once or twice Terrence glanced back at the smoke and flame that had been Dust Bin before he turned his face forward across the miles of grasslands to where the Suzi swamps lay.
Darkness had fallen but progress wasn’t difficult until one of those sudden, lashing storms for which Naraka was famous hurled itself upon them, flattening the tall grass, raising swirls of dust and finally turning the dust into thick, clinging mud.
As suddenly as it had come, the storm was gone. But by that time they were in the swamp itself. Night in the Suzi swamps. Swamps composed of a sticky, gray mud and heavy tangled undergrowth. The night was as black as the day had been bright. The column which had left the civilians at the edge of the swamp was pushing slowly forward. The Narakans glided along on their bare, webbed feet and the Terrans pushed along on snowshoe-like glides attached to their boots.
Bill Fielding, bareheaded with his helmet thrown back over his shoulder, floundered along beside Terrence.
