'
Raj met it with a high parry, and saw the Berber's green eyes flare wide at the shock of the strength in the Descotter's wrist.
'Sorry, I've got business first,' he muttered, panting with the sudden adrenaline-wash of combat, noticing the bruises and scrapes of the quick plunge down the hillside. And the stinging in fingers; he shook his wrist. 'Never hit a man with your bare hand if you can help it.'
Silence fell, broken only by the whimper of wounded dogs; then a crackle of shots as the platoon finished them off. A pity to make so much noise, but nobody in their right mind would go within bayonet reach of a hurt carnivore that size if they could avoid it. Smoke hovered, blowing away in clots, as Foley's voice snapped orders.
'Get their water,' he said. 'Dump everything you've got on your saddles but weapons and water. Water the dogs now and feed them the last of the fodder.
The platoon sergeant came over to Foley; it was Fitzin Sherrek, one of the gentleman-rankers Raj had taken into the Companions.
'Sir,' he said to Foley. 'We've got a casualty.'
The three men scrambled down to the bush-shielded firing position. Raj could see at a glance that this was one man-boy, rather, he was probably no more than seventeen-who was never going any closer to home than this Spirit-forsaken gully. One of the new crop of boys out from the County to bring the 5th back up to strength, awed and envious of the veterans of El Djem and the Valley of Death, eager to prove themselves. The entry hole was through the lower stomach just to the right of the navel; not much blood yet, but nobody survived a wound like that. Although it might take days to kill.
'Ser,' he gasped, as Foley knelt by his head, then made a keening sound as two of his friends tried to move him. 'Ser,' he said again. The young Lieutenant gripped his hand; the trooper was grinning, a rictus as much as a smile, face grey with the effort and with pain, as the shock wore off.
'Know. . I'm gone,' the dying boy said to the living. 'I'st. . no priest. .'
'Don't worry,' Foley said, loudly and clearly; the injured trooper's eyes had not started to wander yet, but best to make sure. He reached inside his tunic and laid his own amulet in the other's free hand; it was a piece of circuit board, overlaid with gold and crystal. 'Any who fall defending Holy Federation achieve unity with Paradise.'
'Thanks. . ser,' the weakening voice said. 'Wayezgate Farm. . Messer Jorgtin's estate. . m'Da rents it. Tell 'im. . I died game.' The teeth spread wider. 'Mam said I'shd wait another. . year. Right jist loik allays.' A second's panting. 'Ye can't stay, ser. Finish it quick, would yer?'
The trooper brought the amulet to his lips and closed his eyes, praying in a breathy mumble. Suicide was a mortal sin, but if his comrades left him here he would likely live long enough for scavengers to find, or the enemy.
'I'll tell them,' Foley said, gripping tightly on the hand lying in his. 'On my honor.' The hammer of his pistol clicked back.
* * *
'I
Presumably he was speaking metaphorically, since only the stokers in the hold of the steam ferry were slaves and liable for private punishment of that extent. Suzette shaded her eyes with a palm and looked across the two kilometer width of the Drangosh, over to the cluster of shacks and the dirt ramp on the other side. Water threw back the noon sun with a hard blinking glitter that hurt her eyes, but she could see there was very little activity there, the few Colonists resident had pulled out weeks ago. The river marked the border, but the east bank here was too high to irrigate and held little population; most trade went down with the water, and the road was a minor one.
She turned to the ferry. It was nothing very complicated, a big flat barge with plank drawbridges on either side. The machinery was on the port, a two-cylinder steam rocking-valve engine driving a shaft that ran across the hull under the deck and worked two paddle wheels, one on either side.
'I,' she said, stepping closer to the sweating man in a mechanic's leather tunic and cotton-duck trousers, 'am Messa Suzette Emmenalle Forstin Hogor Wenqui Whitehall, Lady of Hillchapel. My husband is Honorable the Brigadier Messer Raj Ammenda Halgern da Luis Whitehall, Whitehall of Hillchapel, Hereditary Supervisor of Smythe parish, and commander of this territory under martial law.'
Her voice was very calm, almost friendly. 'Goodman, your employers can have you dismissed and beaten. My husband can
He bobbed wordlessly and turned, screaming at his subordinates to make steam,
'Hmmm, Lady Whitehall, it really would be easy for the ragheads to grab the ferry,' the artillery officer said. 'Wouldn't it be better to wait on this side?'
'No,' she replied. 'Time is important here. I have an idea.'
* * *
'Turn in here,' Raj said.
A map glowed between him and reality, an overview of the route back north up the east bank. The quickest way was picked out in green, and every time they came to a fork in the tangled, knotted chain of erosion furrows the light strobed about it. Their position was a bead, a cool blue bead that slipped northward, ahead of the green clump of their pursuers.
The column wheeled left into the entrance way of the gully, and M'lewis pulled up beside him. The Warrant Officer had draped a spare shirt across his dog's neck and soaked it in water from his canteen; it was growing brutally hot here, although not as bad as it would be up on the higher ground.
'Ser?' he said, puzzled and apprehensive. The sound of paws was muffled in the soft sand at the bottom of the gulleys; the walls were crumbly silt, a natural adobe laced with rocks.
'Yes?' Raj replied, blinking. It was necessary to rely on Center for this, but it still gave him a queasy feeling at the base of his stomach.
'Ser, how in t'dark are ye keepin' track of these wadis? We came south on the ridgelines over there-' he jerked his helmet to the right, eastward '-an' Spirit, it was slower but if we take a wrong turning. .'
The dust trail of the Colonist battalion was behind them, but not far; half a kilometer to the east, where the ground was not quite so broken.
'. . they'll get ahead of us.' He reached a hand under the rim of his helmet and scratched vigorously. 'I thoughts I had a good eye fer t'ground, but this! Cain't be no map, this ground must get fucked up fresh-loike every spring.'
'I watched them from the ridge coming south,' Raj said.
'In t'
'Haven't hit a dead end yet, have we, Companion?' Raj said, with a hard grin. The Warrant Officer's eyes