''Good. You have them start digging. You see the other group of locals coming in from the west?''
''I got them marked, sir.''
''Leave your corporal to look after this crew, and you ride over to them and invite them to the fun. Same rules. Dig holes alongside the main road. Then shoot if it comes to that. But dig first.''
''Sir, I don't think these farmers understand how much a light infantry man loves his shovel.''
''Can't think of a better man to teach a man to lust after his shovel than a Marine sergeant.''
On the causeway, an occasional shot rattled the silence and sent winged things back into flight. Jack doubted they were hitting anything, but he couldn't be sure. He should have everyone's vitals showing up on his battle board. Not today.
Today, he'd have to wait and see who showed up at the rally point. What a way to make war. That this had been the norm for most of the history of warfare did not make Jack feel one bit better.
He took a last look at the scene across the water from his borrowed ''fort,'' then unplugged himself from the temporary net and headed for the back of the cave. A newly dug exit put him on the surface among a lot of broom trees and brush. He had a two-mile walk for a truck.
He enjoyed it.
26
Cortez wanted to get the first word in when Thorpe came over the horizon, but ''What are you doing parked on that causeway?'' came before the colonel could get to his slumping command van. He took the call in the open with his staff around him.
Cortez went through several choice retorts,
''Don't you have any untangle spray?''
''Not in the budget.'' That drew a snarl of responses from Major Zhukov and Captain Afonin of the Guard Fusiliers. ''You might want to take that up with that Whitebred fellow. I know I would if he was within my reach.''
Thorpe took that under consideration for a moment, or maybe he was distracted by other matters. His next comment was, ''I'm getting strange readouts from your transportation.''
''Yeah, I know. We've been attacked.''
''Casualties?''
Cortez failed to suppress a snort this time. ''You don't see any hostage bodies lying around do you? Not a single casualty.''
''I also don't see any dead attackers' bodies.''
''I suspect you're right, though I don't have the fine sensors you have. As I recall, I don't have any sensors.''
''But you must have seen something. You were attacked.''
''Yep, sniper rounds whizzing by for all of two minutes.''
''So, they didn't kill any of you, and you didn't get any of them?'' Thorpe sounded incredulous.
''Well, it wasn't as if nothing got hit. Those strange readings you're getting are from my transport.''
''Yeah.''
''Every truck, every combat rig is dead.''
''Dead?''
''Not a radiator in one of them isn't shot out. Most tires are flat. There are two reasons we're sitting here. Half a company is listening to their tangle net dry. The rest of us have nothing but our boots to take us anywhere.''
''And you're throwing in the towel because of that!''
Colonel Cortez so wished he'd gotten out of general view before Thorpe started talking. Surrounded as he was by Zhukov and Afonin and a few others from Torun Guard Fusiliers, his options for throwing a fit were limited. It had been a rough forty minutes since the firefight. Now the great Navy father in the sky was accusing him and his command of cowardice. Oh, how Cortez wanted to scream at someone.
Cortez held on to his temper with his fingernails, and asked through gritted teeth, ''What makes you think I'd do that?''
Captain Thorpe must have sensed he was only millimeters away from crossing a line that should never be crossed among warriors. He had the good sense to say nothing more explicit than ''Ah …'' Then added, ''You haven't suggested anything.''
''Then let me suggest that we hold a council of war between my officers, you, and the representative of our financiers. Is Mr. Whitebred within hearing?''
''I'll get him. Wait one.''
There was a long silence. Maybe the mess they were in was sinking in on Thorpe. Maybe it wasn't.
Then Whitebred squeaked, ''Yes, you wanted to talk to me?''
Cortez quickly outlined what had happened to his command since they checked in last orbit. The space side of the conversation did not interrupt, even for clarification.
''That sounds bad,'' Mr. Whitebred said at the end.
Was the man so dumb that he lacked any idea just what an understatement that was? ''Our situation is not hopeless, but it could be a lot better,'' Cortez answered.
''What would you suggest?'' Whitebred asked.
Not for the first time Cortez wished this conversation was taking place on visual. It would be interesting to see how Thorpe looked as he swallowed his silence.
