March Upcountry

Theoretically.

* * *

Julian had just discovered that grappling with something with four arms and the size and disposition of a wounded Terran grizzly was a losing proposition. The Mardukan had him in a bear hug, and the knife was inching closer and closer to his throat when the world seemed to explode.

He and the native were thrown sideways into a tree, but the chameleon suit reacted to the strike, hardening to take the damage and puffing to pad the impact point.

The native wasn’t so lucky. The explosion of the grenade tore off its head and one shoulder.

Julian stumbled to his feet, favoring his left hand, and looked around for his weapon. He finally found it under a pile of leaves thrown up by the explosion, then tried to get his bearings.

Throughout the ambush site, other Marines were doing much the same thing. Whoever had been firing the grenade launcher had apparently walked the things all the way down the ambush, and there were bruised Marines and dead scummies everywhere.

Pahner saw Julian and walked over to him.

“Sergeant, assemble your squad and sweep this area. Then move out another twenty meters and establish a perimeter.” He started to move on, then stopped when Julian didn’t start moving. “Sergeant?”

Julian shook his head and took a breath. “Roger, Sir. Will do.”

Pahner nodded and moved on down the line, shaking the occasional Marine into coherence or calling for a medic. Most of the injuries were the result of the fighting with the Mardukans, not the grenades from whatever maniac had peppered the fight. Whoever that had been was not going to enjoy the ass- chewing he had coming.

As the captain reached the end of the line of impacts, he saw the prince striding towards him, appropriated grenade launcher propped on his hip like a big game hunter surveying his kill.

“Did it work?” Roger asked with a grin.

Kosutic eeled out of the brush and looked around. The firing had died to nothing, and she’d found no sign of the scummies in the area beyond the ambush. It looked like the company had reacted so quickly that it had gotten every one of its attackers.

She walked over to Captain Pahner and was just opening her mouth when she realized he was rigid and shaking. She’d occasionally seen him perturbed, even angry, but she’d always wondered what he would look like if he was furious. Now she knew.

“What happened?” she asked.

“That arrogant, intolerable, insufferable little snot was the one with the grenade launcher!” Pahner said tightly.

“Oh,” Kosutic said. Then: “Oh. So, was he an idiot or a genius?”

“Idiot,” Pahner said, calming just enough to make a rational judgment. “We’d already taken most of the casualties we were going to take. The Mardukans were either going to run away or stay in place as we passed through. Either way, we could have taken them with aimed fire. Now we’ve got half a dozen broken wrists and cracked ribs, not to mention shrapnel wounds.”

“So what now?” Kosutic asked. She had her own opinion of the prince’s actions. And she suspected that the captain’s might, eventually, moderate.

“Reassemble on the trail.” The captain ground his teeth. “Move back to drier ground to make camp, send out parties to recover the pack beasts, and dig in. I think this was the group that was going to hit Q’Nkok, but that doesn’t mean that we’re out of the woods.”

“Nope,” Kosutic agreed, looking around at the vegetation flailed by the grenade launcher and the scattered bodies of the Kranolta attackers, “it sure don’t.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Cord examined the blade in the firelight.

The weapon was a Mardukan two-handed sword. At nearly three meters in length, it would have been ridiculously oversized for a human, but its proportions were lean, lethal, and graceful, and its silver-and-black patterning and elaborate engravings reflected red in the flickering light.

“Beautiful craftsmanship,” Cord whispered. “Definitely Voitan work.”

Much of the pattern was covered in a patina of rust which had been inexpertly scrubbed in places, damaging the very artistry the scrubber had meant to reveal.

“Damned Kranolta,” the shaman added.

“Yeah, but it’s useless for us,” Lieutenant Jasco said, shaking his head. His arm was cradled in a sling with a broken ulna as a result of the ambush. Fortunately, his quick-heal nanites were on the job and he’d be out of it in a day or two, none the worse for wear.

Others hadn’t been as lucky.

Captain Pahner appeared out of the darkness. He tossed a short sword or long knife point-first into the ground beside the shaman and nodded to the lieutenant.

“True,” he agreed. “But this will work just fine, and most of them were carrying at least one of them.” He paused, looking speculatively at Cord, and then cleared his throat. “And a bunch of them were carrying something else, too. Horns that looked . . . sort of familiar.”

The shaman clapped his true-hands in agreement with a shiver of disgust.

“The Kranolta take the horns of kills as souvenirs. They prefer the horns of champions, but in fact, any will do. The souvenirs of lesser enemies are made into musical instruments,” he added, examining the knife before he tossed it down dismissively. “Well crafted, but it’s only a dagger.”

“Maybe for you Mardukans,” Pahner replied, taking a seat by the fire. “But for us, that’s a short sword. Combine it with large shields and a javelin, and I think we’ll show you a thing or two.”

“You’re planning on using the Roman model?” Jasco asked. The need to use local equipment was a foregone conclusion. The ambush they’d just survived had depleted nearly ten percent of their plasma rifle rounds. At that rate, they would be “fired dry” before they made it to the next city-state, and that didn’t even consider what had happened to Corporal Bosum. They had to start training on local equipment as soon as it could be obtained, but Q’Nkok, unfortunately, hadn’t had sufficient supplies of human-sized weaponry to outfit the company.

Jasco had been arguing in favor of a technique using longer swords and smaller shields: the “Scottish model.” He felt that the longer swords would be more effective against the reach of the Mardukans. Of course, against a weapon like the one the shaman was examining, any possible human reach with a sword wouldn’t matter.

“I think the Roman model will be easier to learn,” Lieutenant Gulyas put in. The Second Platoon leader joined the group gathered around the fire and took a seat as well. He slapped a bug on his neck and shook his head. “Not that it will help worth a damn, if today is any example.”

The company had taken heavy casualties, particularly in First and Second Platoons. And while the majority of the deaths were from the spears and swords of the attacking Mardukans, there were numerous minor injuries from the grenades of the prince’s bombardment. Reactions to Roger’s actions were mixed. It came down to those who’d been saved by his intervention being in favor of it, and those who’d been injured by it being against. The only undecided were those like Sergeant Julian, who’d been saved while being injured. He said he would make up his mind after the ribs healed.

“We survived it,” Pahner said stoically. The company had been devastated by the ambush, and had lost Lieutenant Sawato, a platoon sergeant, and two squad leaders. But that didn’t mean the mission was a failure. Or impossible. “We need to move smarter. From now on, we’re going to put a squad out front on a three-pronged