— 1 —
Bull Bromley paced the room, counting the four paces to himself unconsciously. As he reached one end, he made a smart rear march and continued on without pausing. His rugged features were slack, his eyes vacant and body forgotten as he asked himself again and again why he had done it.
There were two cots in the room. Shelves with some cans still on them betrayed the fact that this was once a storage room. The cots had been thrown in as hastily as the two men, and were neat with clean sheets and blankets; the men were disheveled, with cuts and torn uniforms. The second man appeared perhaps more disheveled than Bull Bromley, but little could be discerned at the moment since he was facedown, asleep on his cot.
First Lieutenant Braddington "Bull" Bromley knew what the face of the other man would look like. He had no doubt that the man had a whopping black eye, because he had put it there. He also knew that his parade-dress uniform was ruined beyond repair, and that never in the history of the regiment had any such thing occurred.
Pacing, he thought back to the start of his troubles, when Hammer's Slammers first came to this planet and its war.
Maffren was a jewel among the heavens. With its large metal deposits and lush lands, it was no wonder that many were attracted to the planet. All who came later placed second to the original colony ship. The newcomers found themselves in need of food and shelter that only the original colonists could provide. And, like every new planet, Maffren had dangers that only experience could expose.
It was perhaps to be expected that settlers arriving on Maffren after the original colonists found themselves in both financial and spiritual debt to those who had come first. Over the years the hold of the First Ones over the Laters became more pronounced and less benevolent. When iridium was discovered in the craggy peaks of Parradayne, none of the rich First Ones were inclined to investigate, preferring the comfort of their ancestor's wealth. Newer blood, some coming fresh on planet, explored the Crags of Parradayne and shed blood for every mistake.
These Crageens, as settled folk in Maffren called them, did not see why they should pay any of the "thanks" that the First Ones levied on the planet. Disagreement escalated until force was used. In their mountainous country, the Crageens were difficult foes, but they had no skill in pitched battle.
The situation stagnated for several decades until many of the lowland Laters also began to question their need to pay "thanks." A full-scale war bloomed as many of the Laters joined the Crageens in rebelling against the rule of the First Ones.
The fighting blood of the First Ones had thinned while their wealth had grown. They sent for Colonel Hammer's regiment. The price was right.
News of their decision quickly reached the men of the Crag Mountains. Their wealth was scarcer although potentially the greater. But no mercenary unit would consider such potential payment. No unit except one.
Jebbitt's Raiders had once been an acceptable outfit. They still were, according to the Bonding Authority. The fact that they left their last job with more haste than was thought necessary, and that there was still an investigation into the handling of their last contract (nuclear weapons had become exceedingly unpopular) was of little import. But even though they had nuked with little concern over whom they hit, the Raiders had not been on the side of the victors in their last battle. They were, in a word, desperate. Desperate enough to take on the Slammers on the promise of a percentage of the spoils.
They lost . . . badly. Badly can have several meanings, and the Raiders explored most of them. They lost almost all of their equipment. They lost many men, and they lost their respect for the most fragile of conventions: the Rules of War.
There is a town on the plains of Tegara where no one will smile again. Their jaws were all shot off.
There is a town in the high crags of Kiltoween where no children will ever be born again. All the males were castrated and all the women impaled.
In spite of such atrocities and their desperate attempts to wrest money from the poor and war-trodden, the Raiders lost. They lost so badly that, even on the eve of their last battle, when Gesparde Jebbitt, self-styled General of Maffren, proclaimed that he would inflict the same calamity on the Slammers that had been "inflicted on my gallant men," those self-same gallant men vanished.
Or rather, they attempted to vanish. Slammer's Team Foxtrot barred the way. Of the five thousand men who formed Jebbitt's Raiders, four thousand found themselves surrounded by a bristling hive of tanks and skimmers that had inexplicably appeared in their line of retreat. The "Fighting Fox" had done it again. Two platoons, just four tanks and four squads of infantry, had outwitted the might of Jebbitt's Raiders.
The members of Team Foxtrot were not supermen. They merely applied once again the lessons of Guderian and O'Connor by being where their enemy knew they could not be. They had gone by back roads and taken many detours. They had foregone sleep and food to get where they had to be, where First Lieutenant Bull Bromley said they had to be.
So the war ended. Colonel Hammer decided to retain the two platoons of Team Foxtrot with the Training Battalion for a week while the remainder of the Slammers embarked for their new contract on Darien. Training time was hard to come by, and Hammer would also be able to see how suited Bromley was to a company of his own. If Colonel Hammer had other reasons, he didn't mention them.
Other problems concerned him in the interim. The damned freighters were late again, and his forward intelligence units were once again giving him the gloomy truth about the new contract they would soon work. While the bulk of the Slammers awaited their transport, Hammer decreed that Team Foxtrot and other select units could take a four-day pass.
With stern warnings and some jokes, Bull Bromley had released his proud men for their pass. The people of Maffren were willing hosts. Second Lieutenant Peter Smyth had joined him shortly afterwards, having similarly released his infantry platoon. They knew where they were going, both of them to the same place: a small town at the base of the hills called Cullea. But they had both gone to see the same woman.
Smyth had seen Bull walking up the path to Donna Mills's house. If Bull had seen Smyth first, the fight might never have happened. Bromley had won the fight—at least he was still standing and Pete Smyth wasn't. He had been about to do what he'd set out to do when a detachment from Security, doubtless called by worried townspeople, arrived on the scene.
And now he was here, pacing the small space. It had been a supply room before being hastily converted into a cell. Pete Smyth still lay facedown on his bunk. Bromley wondered if he could ever work with Smyth again, or worse, if either of them would ever work again, especially after Smyth had slept through the huge explosion that awoke Bull.
Bromley wondered what had caused the explosion. It didn't sound like one on the transports lifting. He'd slept through enough of them already that night. Yet it didn't sound like artillery or small-arms fire. The sound of keys jangling in the lock broke his musing. The door opened to reveal Security Sergeant Mungren. He was looking strangely perturbed.
"The Colonel wants to see you two immediately," Mungren explained. With a glance to the other cot he added, "Better wake up the lieutenant, sir."
Bromley nodded and nudged Smyth. Startled, Smyth's hands came up to combat ready as Bromley explained, "The Colonel wants us."
Smyth's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Already? I thought he would let us stew awhile."
Outside, Bromley was struck by the unusual amount of activity in the camp. A glance from Smyth confirmed his opinion that the normal activity of embarkation had been augmented by something else, something that added a frantic note. The amount of activity around the communications shack was awesome.
The two guards outside Colonel Hammer's office came to attention as the officers passed by, causing Bromley to wonder if they'd behave the same way when he returned. Colonel Hammer gave the two men only a cursory glance when they entered, motioning to the aide who was talking with him to leave. Bromley pulled himself to attention and rendered a clean salute. He sensed Pete Smyth doing the same a few feet to his rear, but Colonel Hammer did not return their salute. After a few moments he snorted and tossed off the most indifferent salute anyone had ever seen him give.
"At ease," he growled. Bromley and Smyth relaxed a trifle, only to tense again as Hammer continued. "You two ought to be proud of yourselves!" With a bang of his fist, he added, "Stars' sake! I was going to promote you!
"It doesn't matter now," he continued. "I've got a mission for you. If half the regiment weren't already en route to Darien, I'd keep you locked up until you were screaming, but they are and I'm in a hurry. Besides," he added in a different tone, "you two were the best team we ever had."
An expression of intense pain and sorrow crossed his face. "One of the . . ." He paused. "One of our transports has crashed. The Vindictive was carrying two tank companies, a company of combat cars, and an infantry company. We've had word from the survivors. The situation is grim."
"Sir!" The words were torn from Bromley's mouth. His friends were on those transports, maybe even his troops.
"Not yours, Bromley," the Colonel reassured him. "Part of your company all the same. But that platoon sergeant of yours, Lewis, wouldn't let me load your platoon until either charges were brought or you were released. I nearly had him put in with you!"
"The wreck of the transport is bad enough," he continued. "I've got wounded men out there, lieutenants, men who don't fight with each other." Again a painful pause. "We've also heard reports that some of our former enemy have decided that the war isn't over yet. They're attacking the survivors.
"From what we can gather, the wreckage is strewn over a wide area. Most of our tanks are buried in the wreckage. The few that are in operation are without ammo. Our men are running out of small arms ammunition and are desperately in need of medical supplies."
Colonel Hammer is leading up to something.
If Bull lets him continue, turn to section 2.
If Bull volunteers to lead a rescue mission, turn to section 3.