Knox's Irregulars Read online

  Enough of a lead had been bought for the convoy; it was time to run. Randal called Pyatt, frustrated at the communication security measures preventing him from talking to the militia directly. "Pyatt, tell the mayor to start pulling back. We'll run interference for them."

  "Lucky us. I'll tell him."

  The armored infantry blew off their precious ammo freely, holding the enemy at bay long enough for the surviving militiamen to lose themselves in the mountain trails. Then it was only for Randal and his men to outpace their pursuers.

  ***

  "I still don't understand — they had us beaten. Why didn't they follow us?"

  Randal didn't have a good answer for the mayor; he took a bite from his dry ration bar and considered the question.

  Jeni leaned in past him, resting an elbow on his knee. "'Cause a bunch of raggedy civilian types don't worry them. They just needed to eliminate a potential strongpoint on their supply line. Once you lot became refugees there wasn't any sense losing more people coming after you."

  A memorial service for the dead had finished earlier and now sleeping families were spread out around the camp, bundled up against the frigid night air. The convoy was encamped in a depression surrounded by several good high points. The rest of the team was helping the militia set up a perimeter.

  Cupping hands over his mouth, Randal breathed out to warm his numb fingers, steam leaking between them. "Even so, the Abbies know you're out here somewhere. They might not commit ground troops to following you, but it would be a cinch to call in an air strike. One fuel-air explosive in exchange for a lot of dead infidels would seem like a good trade to them."

  The mayor looked between them, clearly out of his depth, wanting someone to make decisions for him. That look made Randal nervous. He didn't want the fate of ninety civilians on his hands.

  "What do you suggest then?" the mayor asked, as Randal knew he would.

  Rubbing at the tension lines developing on his forehead, Randal shrugged. "I'm suggesting that it's too risky trying to make it to Providence. Even without air strikes there's the possibility of an early snow. I don't want you ending up another Donner Party."

  "Another what?" Jeni and the mayor asked simultaneously, giving him uncomprehending looks.

  "It would just be bad."

  "Do you have a place in the mountains where you can hole up?" Jeni asked.

  The mayor scratched at his bald head, lifting the padded hunting cap he wore even inside his armor. "There's actually a fairly large cavern system not far off. We should head there. But this isn't going to be popular." The mayor rose, clapping Randal on the shoulder with a huge hand. "But popularity isn't what being a leader is about, is it?"

  That thought kept Randal awake for the next two hours.

  CHAPTER 6

  Avenge, O Lord, Thy slaughtered saints, whose bones

  lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold.

  —John Milton

  A few minutes in the cavern were enough to remind Randal how much he disliked enclosed spaces. The stretch he and his militia guide were inspecting was crammed with stalagmites and stalactites, hemming him in. The ceiling was low, seeming poised to press down upon him with its stony teeth. He would have given half a month's pay to see open sky. Worse was the strange, blue-glowing fungus coating the walls. "What is this stuff, Goodman Fisher? It's creepy."

  His guide laughed, stopping and scraping a sample free from an upthrust piece of rock, and then laying it out on his palm for inspection. "Phosphorescent lichen. Ghost lichen they call it. It's actually one of the few indigenous plants to survive the terraformers, sir."

  "Sir? Just call me Corporal. I tried out for officer once, but got rejected when they found out I had a work ethic." Randal plucked the fungus from the goodman's hand. "This stuff is a bit unsettling."

  "You get used to it, s—Corporal."

  "I hope not to be down here long enough for that to happen. Let's finish this section." They split up, picking their way through the large chamber.

  "There's a sizable crevice over here," his guide called. "We'll need to mark this one."

  "Got it."

  The system permeated much of the mountain, but the segment where the villagers would be resettling seemed secure. Teams of two had been organized to identify any physical hazards, as well as to remove any animals they found. This was necessary, as the terraformers had released higher-order predators into the mountains such as bears, wolves, and a feisty hybrid of the lynx and puma.

  "Let's head topside and give the all-clear for this section."

  Once the system was secure, the villagers were led inside. The mouth of the cavern extended tunnel-like for some distance before opening into a wide chamber. This chamber sloped downward at a slight grade to the bank of an underground stream. There were a couple of good fords to the stream. Beyond it the room rose once more, branching into a divergent series of tunnels.

  To the left of the main room was the side chamber Randal and his guide had inspected. The opening to it was narrow and entry easily controlled. Mayor Jowett stood nearby with the village elders. Inside the cavern he looked even more ursine in his hunched white armor. "This will be the village storehouse," he told them. "Get a group of men to stash the stores right away. We just received our wintering supplies, but rationing should still be strict. Set guards on this entry — best to keep temptation to a minimum."

  Dull yellow beams of light pushed back the darkness as the crawlers entered the cavern, gathering in the center of the main chamber. As the families disembarked the mayor did his best to keep order. "Goodman La Grange, your people will be in that far corner. Your children make up about half the school-age population, so take all the space you need. Ah, Goodwife Patel. How about here by the storehouse?"

  The families set about marking off and organizing their living spaces. Rolls of the polymer used to insulate the village orchard during cold months were passed around and used to line the floors of the family quarters.

  Pyatt and Van Loon joined Randal, lugging a chemlamp, a couple of mattresses and some other equipment. "Private Mireault wants us to set up an aid station over by that cave blister in the corner," Pyatt told him, passing off some of the load.

  "The what?"

  "The big white thing," Pyatt said over his shoulder as he headed in that direction. "It's made out of egg-shell calcite. Anyway, it looks like a good, dry spot for our medic." Randal joined the work on the improvised aid station. Afterward, they carried over a semi-lucid Nabil and laid him beside the mattress.

  Pyatt gave the room a gimlet eye, nodding approval. "It's an active cave, so they've got running water for drinking and sanitation. Between the geothermal air flows and the insulating rock, they won't freeze this winter. Food won't be a problem. They weren't planning on new shipments 'til spring anyway, not until the passes are unstuck. All in all, they're going to be more comfortable than we're likely to be."

  "What's that little medic talking with the mayor about?" Van Loon asked, gesturing across the stream.

  "Dunno, give me a sec." Randal donned his helmet, keying up the external pickups. Even with sonic filtration, the sound was still fuzzy. The acoustics were terrible inside the cave.

  "...alcove would be good. The last thing you want is a cholera or dysentery outbreak." Ariane brushed back her bangs in what Randal was coming to recognize as a nervous habit. "What do you have in mind for a latrine, Mayor? I can't see digging one in this rock..."

  "We can consolidate some of the plastic drums they use to ship our oils and grains to us. Cutting a few of those in half will do nicely for outhouses, and we can string up sheets for privacy. Thank you, Miss Mireault." The clap he gave her on the back rocked her a bit, in spite of her armor.

  Ariane smiled as she approached the aid station. It was a nice smile, Randal thought, but it only increased his impression that there was something melancholy just behind it. "The clinic looks great. I appreciate your help with this."

  It didn't look bad, con
sidering what they had to work with. They'd elevated the mattresses on storage crates. The Doc-in-a-Box sat on a pressurized juice keg next to the bed, alongside a chemlamp and a large plastic stand.

  "Let's see how our patient is doing." She inserted the electronic key into Nabil's suit once more and the breastplate opened. The men laid Nabil on the mattress and Ariane gave him a mild stimulant.

  After a few moments she knelt by the bed, touching Nabil's arm lightly. Since their time in the village his periods of consciousness were longer, but still confused. "Hey there. How are you feeling?" she asked gently, leaning in so the first thing he saw would be a somewhat familiar face.

  Nabil's eyes opened slowly, his pupils taking time to focus. A hint of recognition showed as he looked up at her, until the strange surroundings registered. "Where have you taken me?"

  "It's a cavern - you're quite safe."

  His thin face darkened. "The last time, you said I was wounded. How badly?" Nabil was one of the most intense people Randal had ever seen, his frame instantly taut, nearly vibrating with energy.

  "A... a flechette was lodged in your intestine. I took it out. But there's still a fever. I'm trying to keep it under control." Her words came off apologetic. Randal couldn't blame her. Nabil seemed to have the same effect that peace officers did, making you feel defensive whether you'd done anything wrong or not.

  "Unimportant. How soon until I can fight again, girl?"

  Ariane stared a moment, nibbling at the skin of an index finger. Randal could see the nail was already chewed down to the quick. "Euh... Two weeks?"

  "Bah!" Nabil slapped the mattress. He tried sitting up. Randal knew the pain of the wound would lay him flat almost immediately. Somehow it didn't. Face contorted by the pain in his abdomen, Nabil sat on the edge of the bed.

  "Please, you'll tear the sutures. Lie back down."

  Reluctantly, Nabil reclined, letting out the breath he'd been holding. "Perhaps a couple of days' rest. But no more."

  Ariane asked lightly, "Do you have an engagement to rush off to or something?"

  "I need to kill those—" he said something in his mother-tongue that Randal was grateful not to understand. "First though, I will show them pain." The grim upturn of his lips was chilling.

  "You hate them?"

  Nabil spat on the ground beside the bed. "Hate is too weak for what is in me. I would rip the hearts from them if I could. All of them — from baby to babushka."

  Ariane looked back at Randal and the others. He thought she might ask for help, but instead she turned back to her patient. "Please try to stay calm, Private al-Hise. Getting worked up is the last thing you need right now." She took a deep breath, and then said quietly, "My pastor once said that hate is like taking slow-acting poison, and then waiting for the other person to die."

  His glare set her back a step. "Stupid girl. You know nothing of what's been done to me, or to my people. Za kneiss, glupaya devka." Randal moved closer, half expecting Nabil to make a grab for the medic.

  "Forgive me, Private al-Hise..." Ariane said, turning and pushing through Randal and the others in her haste to leave.

  Randal could feel Van Loon's eyes on him. He made a sour face. "I know... I know. I'll go talk to her." Trotting after the girl, he caught her up near the far wall. She looked ready to crack. There was more bothering her than just Nabil, but he wasn't about to delve into whatever it was. Keep it simple. "You uh, you alright, Ariane?"

  Her arms were folded around herself. "Yes, Corporal. But that was idiotic back there, the way I handled things."

  Randal scowled, glancing over at the aid station. "That guy's a psychopath. You didn't do anything wrong."

  "No, I did. I jumped in with advice before even listening to him. I'm always trying to fix people. No matter how right my thoughts might be, they're just going to sound like platitudes to him, you know?"

  Platitudes were something he understood. Right then, they were all Randal could bring to mind. "He'll be in your aid station for the next two weeks. That's plenty of time to listen." All the same, Randal doubted Nabil would have anything to say worth listening to.

  ***

  In order to keep everyone's circadian rhythms in order, the village elders established light's out at 2200. For an eight-hour period each night chemlamps were hooded and noise kept to a minimum. Reverend Hauptmann organized a prayer vigil for the hour before lights out. Randal was pleased to see nearly all of his team represented, with the exceptions of Nabil and Pyatt. The former was sleeping fitfully at the aid station. The latter, he was a different case.

  It irked Randal that Pyatt was so convinced the rest of the team was a bunch of unregenerate heathens simply because they differed with him on peripheral issues. He looked forward with bemusement to the look of shock on Pyatt's face one day when the two met in Heaven. Most of the First Century types were fully expecting to have the place all to themselves.

  He felt badly for Pyatt. The First Century Movement's radical emphasis on individual experience denied them the fullness of Christianity. Randal had his own spiritual struggles, but he knew it was in covenant fellowship that the presence of God was most fully felt.

  The murmuring of the crowd died as the reverend took his place. "I have no sermon for you tonight. No words of wisdom or easy answers. All I have to offer you is my faith, my sure knowledge that our God is not a God afar off. He will hear the prayers of his people."

  He paused, looking over his little flock, obviously feeling more than he had words to say. "We'll begin with a responsive reading, and then anyone who feels burdened can pray. I'll close with a passage from our Book of Common Prayer. Come, let us seek our God together."

  From memory he recited:

  "We sinners do beseech Thee to hear us, O Lord God."

  "We beseech Thee to hear us, Good Lord."

  "That it may please Thee so to rule in the heart of your servant, the Prime Minister, that he may above all seek thy honor and glory."

  "We beseech thee to hear us."

  "That it may please thee to defend the fatherless children and all who are defenseless and oppressed."

  "We beseech thee to hear us."

  "That it may please thee to forgive our enemies, and to turn their hearts."

  "Have mercy upon them, O God."

  "Amen."

  For the next hour everyone took turns praying, some for the war effort, some for national forgiveness and others for more practical worries. Many of them cried, kneeling in the muddy wetness of the cavern floor, paying it no mind.

  Randal wished he could be like them. All his life he'd watched people give themselves over to God completely. While he would never share the fact with anyone, his heart could never make the leap. There was a reserve inside of him, put there by his father, which held him back. From his earliest days his father molded him to be a future Prime Minister. Randal had no doubt his father loved him, but he was ruthless in his goal of perfecting his son. As a defense against the constant barrage of trials and criticism, Randal had evolved a deep stoic streak. He just refused to let it touch him.

  Unfortunately, he knew he'd done the same thing with God. He'd come to see Him the same way — a Cosmic Taskmaster he to whom could never measure up. It was hard to trust someone you viewed that way.

  The sound of muffled laughter brought him from his thoughts. Jeni's hand was cupped to Johnny's ear, and both of them were making commentary from the back of the gathering. It took only a moment to find the source of their amusement. Ariane wore a look of serenity, obviously given over wholly to the prayer. Hands at her side, she swayed slightly, lips moving silently. She reminded Randal of a holo he'd seen of Thayer's Angel.

  In time the volume of prayers slowed, and the reverend raised hands in supplication over his people. "O Lord, God of Hosts, stretch forth thine almighty arm to strengthen and protect the soldiers of our country. Support them in the day of battle. Endue them with courage and loyalty; and grant that in all things they may serve without reproach; t
hrough Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen."

  ***

  Through the clinging fog of sleep Randal heard voices speaking rapidly in Russian. Abkhenazi? Still half asleep, he rummaged through the bedroll for his sidearm. After a moment, his mind cleared enough to remember that his 10mm Kinyo was packed away and the voices were familiar ones.

  Cracking his lids, he saw the rest of the cave was already up and about. He must have crashed hard. Making a face at the sour taste in his mouth, he tugged on fatigue pants before leaving the sleep sack.

  He wandered over to the grounded PSV. Lebedev and Jeni sat atop it, staring into an open access panel and chattering in Russian. Jeni's intel training emphasized the dialect of Russian spoken by most Abkhenazi. While pockets of them clung to Tadzhik, Kazakh or Farsi, they were unified around Russian as the language of commerce.

  Randal's Russian was worse than his French — he caught perhaps every third word as he approached. "Something wrong, Jeni?"

  The slender Korean woman looked up with an exasperated huff, shaking a spanner at him. "We can't send or receive LR messages. We took the drone outside and I tried all morning to raise HQ Providence. Nothing."

  Lebedev wiped at his nose with the back of a hand and gave Randal a wave. He was really suffering in the caves. It was bad enough out in the field — he was the first infantryman Randal had ever met who was allergic to dirt itself — but the spores from the phosphorescent lichen were torturing him. "I've looked over the drone, Kapral Knox. Is working fine. But ship's receiver is bad. Without a new one, we're kak po-angliskiy? Out of luck."

  "Have you checked for spares?"

  Jeni cut the Belarusian off before he could answer. "Yeah. We don't have any."

  "You're quite sure? Let me check. Second set of eyes and all that." Randal popped the hatch to the main storage compartment.

  "That's not necessary. Really."