March Upcountry

Once they were in the river, the beasts started to swim. The line run to the taut “bridge” kept them from being swept downstream, and the alternate heaving and belaying of the team on the ropes drew them across whether they wanted to cross the river or not.

In the meantime, the expected wave of carnivores arrived. The Mardukan crocodilia were just pleased as pie to have all those big, toothsome flar-ta come into their area, and they decided to welcome them with open jaws. Roger and company, however, had a surprise for them.

Roger was glad he’d brought a couple of cases of ammunition down from DeGlopper. He’d thought it was ludicrous to bring more rounds on the expedition than he’d ever shot in his life, but he and his faithful loader Matsugae shot out all the rounds they had in the tree plus a hundred more Roger had asked Despreaux to get for him before the last flar-ta was out of the water.

Not all of them hit, of course. Even he missed the occasional shot, but at one point there had been fifty carcasses floating in view, more than two-thirds of them with an 11-millimeter entry wound. That had been the worst point—after the smell of the blood had gotten downriver and attracted the fast-swimming swamp beasts.

Roger, followed silently by Cord, walked up as Julian grunted, “One hundred and fifty-seven . . .”

“I think that’s adequate, Sergeant Major,” the prince said. He stood his rifle up against a tree and sat on the ground.

The far side of the river had turned out to be higher and drier, for which the company was giving elaborate thanks. Already, in the midst of constructing a fortified camp, uniforms and allegedly waterproof rucksacks were being dried out.

“We’ve all had a tough few days,” Roger added. He picked up the rifle again and broke open the action to clean it, but that was as far as he could get. “God, I’m tired.”

“Let me clean that for you, Sir,” Corporal Hooker offered. The lance corporal held out her hand for the rifle. “I’ve got mine to clean, anyway.”

“Oh, thank you, Corporal, but we’re all tired,” the prince demurred. “I’ll get it.”

Dogzard walked over to where he sat and sniffed to make sure he was okay after the river crossing, then spun around and curled up against his side. The lizard was growing like a weed. She’d gained at least fifteen kilos in the last two weeks, and it was all Roger could do to prop up her weight.

“Let her take it, Your Highness,” Kosutic said. “You probably need to go coordinate with the Old Man while I finish ensuring that the Sergeant here learns to keep his mouth shut.”

Roger had opened his mouth to protest, but shut it with a clop and a laugh.

“Very well, Sergeant Major. They say ‘Never argue with the Gunny.’ I presume that goes double for a sergeant major.” He handed the rifle to the lance corporal. “Thank you, Corporal.”

He looked at Julian, who gasped: “One hundred and seventy-eight . . . !”

“And to you, Sergeant Julian,” the prince said with a twinkle, “good luck.”

“ . . . can expect an increase in attacks on this side of the river,” Lieutenant Gulyas said.

The briefing was taking place in the command tent. The sides were rolled up to let in a bit of breeze, but the troops still kept their distance. Sometimes it was better to get the word through official channels rather than as a rumor.

“Do we stay here and let them concentrate to hit us while we’re dug in?” Roger asked, flicking a bug off his pad. “Or do we move on, hoping to cut down on the contacts?” Even with the sun still high, the gray light through the perpetual overcast was dim under the trees. He squinted at the pad, then rolled up the light level. Better. Still not great, but better.

“They can probably figure out that we’re headed for Voitan without any difficulty,” Pahner said. “And there’s something to be said for letting them come to us in a prepared position. But this isn’t the sort of location I’d want to defend.”

The area was a flat, heavily forested plain, higher than the swamp, but still prone to flooding. The flat plain, however, did not provide anything in the way of terrain features to use in defense. The company could, and had, cut down most of the secondary growth trees to improve their perimeter and fire lanes, but that was about it.

“If we reach Voitan,” Cord said, deliberately, “we’ll have many places to defend. Not only should there still be walls in places, but the quarries behind the city offer numerous fortifiable spots.”

“What do you think, Captain?” Roger asked, yawning. Everyone was exhausted, including him. He just needed to drive on.

“I think that in the morning we pull out carefully, then make the fastest march possible to Voitan. We’ll pile the packs on the beasts again and force the pace. I doubt they expected us to cross the swamp here. They probably have a crossing place they use, and if they’ve begun to assemble to hit us, they’ll probably be assembling there. Unfortunately for them, we were too stupid to use the ‘good’ crossing.”

“So we make a run for Voitan,” Kosutic said.

“Right.” Pahner considered the situation for a moment. “If it’s as close as Cord thinks, then we should arrive by mid-afternoon.” The long Mardukan day would work in their favor for once.

“And if it’s not?” Kosutic asked.

“Then we will have exhausted ourselves for nothing,” Pahner told her grimly.

Matsugae sampled the stew and gave the mahout who was stirring it a thumbs up. He walked on to where a Mardukan female was turning strips of meat battered with barleyrice meal on a large metal sheet over a fire. He pulled one of the strips off and blew on it to cool it enough to taste without burning his mouth. Again, he smiled and gave the cook a thumbs up.

The captain had backed the camp up against the river, and the company had spent the remainder of the afternoon digging in and cleaning up. Matsugae, for his part, had spent the same time working hard to put together a decent meal for the first time in three days. Many of the swamp beasts had been lassoed or hooked and dragged to shore. Although there was good flesh all over the carcasses, there were three or four particularly good cuts, and with all the bodies floating in the river, the mahouts had ended up taking only the skins and the very best of the meat.

Most of the mahouts were preparing the skins. The swamp beasts were fairly rare, and their skins brought a high price. The company, possibly Roger alone, had shot the cost of two or three pack beasts in one afternoon.

Matsugae grinned. The mahouts had been picking up the skins of all the beasts that the company shot along the way. The captain had nearly offered them to the drovers as a free benefit, but Matsugae had convinced him not to do that. The mahouts were being paid a straight rate, just as they would for any caravan. The skins, however, even after processing, were the property of whoever shot the beasts they came from. Give the mahouts a bonus for their work, certainly, but the skins of those predators were valuable. The beasts that had harassed them would help pay the company’s way, and that gave the valet a simple sense of pleasure.

The dog-lizard wandered into the outdoor kitchen and sniffed at the strips on the fire. The Mardukan female tending them shooed her away, so she wandered over to Matsugae, looking pitiful. The beast had grown steadily since Roger adopted it. It was nearly the size of a dalmatian now, and its growth showed no sign of slowing. In addition, its tail was thickening. The flar-ta, which were similar to the dog-lizard in many ways, stored up reserves in their tails, or so the mahouts claimed. Certainly, they were skinnier now than when the company had left Q’Nkok. Apparently, unlike the pack beasts, the journey had been good for the dog-lizard.

Matsugae consulted his toot and smiled as he tossed the dog-lizard the last bit of damncroc tail. Nearly time for dinner.

“Kostas, that was wonderful, as always.” A yawn interrupted Roger’s compliment, and he grimaced. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, Your Highness,” Pahner said. “We’re all beat. I hope like hell we don’t get hit tonight. I don’t think Bravo of the Bronze could hold off a troop of Space Scouts tonight.”

“I think you underestimate them, Captain,” O’Casey said. The chief of staff had begun to adjust to the brutal regimen of the trip, shedding fat and putting on muscle. When she got back to Imperial City, she intended to