The Stainless Steel Rat eBook Collection (46 page)

The sergeant came back with a twenty liter jerry can, which
with added water would make forty liters of hundred proof drink which, in turn, should make this voyage more bearable.

We clanked mugs and drank deep.

“This stuff is pretty repulsive,” Morton said holding out his empty cup for more. “Can you now tell us what you found out?”

“I have some good news and some good news. The first good news is that we are going to invade and occupy an incredibly
rich and heretofore unknown planet named Chojecki. Secondly—they don’t appear to have any defenses of any kind. No military, no police, nothing.

“Impossible,” the sergeant said.

“Anything is possible in the fullness of time and the width of the galaxy. Let us hope the report is correct because it will certainly make for an easy invasion.”

“I think it is a trap.” The sergeant still wasn’t buying
it. I nodded.

“The general seems to think the same thing. He is sure that there is a secret army in hiding.”

“Not necessarily,” Morton said. “Before entering the army I was a student of history. So I can tell you. Diverse are the ways of mankind. As you have so truthfully stated, captain, in the fullness of time and the width of the galaxy there have been many kinds of societies, forms of government
…”

“You got governments you got armies. That’s the way it’s got to be.”

The drink was making the sergeant pugnacious and Morton maudlin. Time to close the bar.

“Right.” I climbed to my feet and kicked the jerrycan of alcohol out of sight under the table. “Sergeant, get the noncoms together. Tell them what I told you about the invasion, have them pass it on to the troops. That will be all for
now.”

The door closed behind the sergeant and Morton dropped his head onto the table and began to snore. He was sure a cheap drunk. I finished the repulsive, though certainly lethal, orange-alcohol mixture and heard my stomach rumble in protest. Or was it hunger? A long time and a lot of distance had gone by since that half-eaten steak in the officers’ club. I dug into my
pack and found some
of the rations that we had been issued. A reddish tube was labeled HOTPUP MEAL. In smaller print it stated that it would feed two and could be opened by puncturing the white circle on the end. I pulled my combat knife out of my boot and stabbed the thing enthusiastically. It instantly grew exceedingly hot and burned my fingers. I dropped it onto the table where it rumbled and hissed and began to expand.
I kept the knife ready in case it attacked me. There was a ripping sound as the casing split open and it expanded into an arm-long sausage. It looked repulsive but smelled quite good. I hacked off the end, impaled it on my knife and ate. The only thing missing was some beer.

Life continued in this manner. Day followed day like the flapping of a great red sausage. As good as the hotpup had tasted
at first bite, I grew to loathe the sorry sausages. As did we all since, due to some bit of mismanagement in the rush to load the transports and be away, hotpups were the only food that had been put aboard. Even the general had to eat the repulsive objects and he was not pleased.

We had meetings and briefings, all of which I duly passed on to the troops. We cleaned and recleaned our weapons,
sharpened our knives, had shortarm inspections to keep the medical officers on their toes, worked our way down through the alcohol until fifteen days had passed and the officers were ordered to yet one more meeting.

This one was different. The knot of field officers around General Lowender was buzzing with talk and much consultation of maps. As soon as we were all assembled the general stood—and
hammered his fists down on the table.

“The invasion has begun!”

He waited until the cheering had died down before he continued. “The first scouts have gone down and report no resistance. As yet. But we must be wary because all of this could be a dodge to suck us into a trap of some kind. You all have your orders, you know what to do—so there is nothing more to be said. We touch down in two hours.
Set your watches. So that is it. Except, boys—give ‘em hell!”

More wild cheering followed before we hurried back to tell the troops what lay ahead.

“About time,” was Sergeant Blogh’s comment. “The troops get soft, lose their edge lying around on their chunks like they been. About time.”

“Get the noncoms and we’ll go over the attack thoroughly just once more,” I said, spreading out the now-familiar
map. With the landing this close I had their undivided attention.

“Here is where we are supposed to touch down,” I said, tapping the map. “Now how many of you believe that the military pilot flying this thing will actually land on the correct spot?”

The silence was complete.

“Right. I feel the same way. We are supposed to touch down at dawn which means it will probably be dark—or raining, or
both. We will be first out because we’ve got the longest way to go. I will lead in the command car which if it is dark and unless we are fired upon, will have its lights on so you can see it.”

Sergeant Blogh frowned and touched his clipboard full of papers. “A specific order here from the general states that no lights are to be used.”

“Correct. And the general will be the last one to leave the
ship and we will be first, and we have to get clear at once because there are tanks right behind us.”

“Lights to be on!” the sergeant said, firmly.

“I will proceed to the nearest hill or highpoint to check the map and see if we have landed where planned. If not I shall determine just where the hell we are and where we are going. The lieutenant here will muster the troops and follow the command
car. When I know where we are going we will go there. Here. To the dam. To the generating plant that supplies the unpronounceable city of Bellegarrique with electricity. Our job is to seize and secure. Any questions? Yes, corporal?”

“Can we leave hotpup rations here and live off the countryside?”

“Yes and no. We take the hotpups in case we should run across the supply officer so we can stuff
him with them. But we seize some native food soonest. It will be brought to me for testing before distribution. Anyone else?”

“Ammunition. When do we get the ammo?”

“It’s on the disembarkation deck now. You will be issued with it when we go down there. You will see that each man is issued his lot. You will also see that no weapons are loaded. We don’t want any guns going off inside this ship.”

“We load after we hit the ground?” the First Sergeant asked.

“You load when I tell you to. We do not expect any resistance. If there is no resistance we don’t need to shoot any of the locals. If we don’t shoot the locals the invasion will be an instant success. If the weapons aren’t loaded they cannot shoot. The weapons will not be loaded.”

There was a murmur of protest at this and beetle-browed
Corporal Aspya expressed their mutual concern. “Can’t attack without loaded weapons.”

“Yes you can,” I said in my coldest voice. “You can do what you are ordered to do. One weapon will be loaded.
My
weapon will be loaded. And I will shoot any man—or officer—who disobeys orders. More questions? No. Dismissed. We proceed to landing positions in thirty minutes.”

“They are not happy about this ammunition
thing,” Morton said when the others had gone.

“Tough cagal. I am not happy about this killing thing. No ammo, no shooting. This will stop accidents happening.”

He adjusted the straps on his pack, still worrying. “They should be able to defend themselves …”

“Morton!” I ordered. “Look in the mirror. What do you see? You see Lieutenant Hesk staring back and you are beginning to think like him.
Remember, Morton—you are a draft dodger, a man of peace, a reluctant soldier. Have you forgotten? Have you ever seen anyone killed?”

“Not really. My aunt died and I saw her in the coffin.”

“A man of the world … I’ve seen them die and it is not a nice thing to watch. And when you are dead you are dead forever, Morton. Remember that when you listen to the men of violence, the dogs of war, the
sellers of hate. Do you want to die?”

As I said this I placed the point of my knife against his throat. His eyebrows went up and up and he gasped out a
No!
My knife vanished as quickly as it had appeared and I nodded.

“You know what—neither do I. And neither does anyone else on that planet down there where we are landing with thousands of military numbskulls, and I wonder how I ever got involved
in all this!”

Morton sighed. “Like me, you got drafted.”

“And how we did! Like always, old men send young men to war. They ought to make the minimum draft age fifty-five. That would put an end to warfare pretty quickly let me tell you!”

An alarm sounded and all the lights blinked. I looked at my watch.

“This is it. Let’s go.”

The disembarkation hold was a red-lit hell of men, machines and
equipment. I struggled between them to my command car which was poised at the top edge of the ramp. I kicked the shackles that held it down.

“They’re explosive,” Sergeant Blogh said. “They blow loose as soon as the ramp drops.”

“Seeing is believing. It is going to be very hard to drive out of here if they don’t. Has all the gear been loaded on this car like I ordered?”

“Just as you ordered,
sir. Extra ammo under the back seat.”

I looked in and nodded agreement. I had filled a number of canteens with our hundred proof orange juice and stowed them in this ammunition box. Also stowed in the box, under a false bottom, was that talking spy bird I had been lumbered with. I could not leave it lying about for someone to find.

The floor pushed up at me and I kept my legs bent. We were doing
a slow two G drop for the last part of the landing since we could not be lolling around on deceleration couches before going into combat. Except for superior officers, of course. I pushed hard and worked my way into the command car and sat down heavily next to the driver.

“Ignition on,” I ordered. “But don’t hit the starter until the ramp drops.”

The seat of the car came up and hit me just as
the roar of the ship’s engines stopped. We bounced on the springs and there were loud explosions from all sides. Hopefully the shackles blowing loose. With a great creaking the ramp moved—then dropped.

“Start her up!” I shouted as rain blew in from the darkness outside. “And turn on the lights so we can see where we are going!”

The command car roared down the ramp and hit the ground with a great
crash and splash as we plowed through a puddle. Nothing was visible ahead except for the rain sheeting through the beams of the headlights. We churned on into the darkness. When I looked backward I could see the files of laden soldiers coming after us.

“There is an awful lot of water ahead, sir,” the driver said, slamming on his brakes.

“Well turn you idiot, don’t drown us. Turn right and move
away from the transport.”

Lightning split the sky and thunder rolled dramatically. I pounded the driver on the shoulder and pointed.

“There’s a hill there, a rise of some kind, beyond that row of trees. Get us to it.”

“That’s a fence there, captain!”

I sighed. “Ride us over it, driver, this is an armored combat vehicle not the little bicycle that you left at home with your mommy. Move it!”

When we ground to a halt on top of the low hill the rain was still just as fierce, but the sky was beginning to brighten with the first light of dawn. I moved the glowing map about to try and figure out where we were. At least I now knew where west was. Since, naturally, the sun on this planet rose in the west.

The rest of the company had reached the hill by this time so I had the vehicle’s lights
turned off. I could see better now, but the only thing I could identify was the towering bulk of our transport behind us. Columns of men and machines were still pouring from it and rushing off into the rain. As the light grew I became aware of a range of hills on the horizon and I
tried to find them on the map. It was broad daylight before I had our position pinned down.

“Right!” I said, climbing
down and smiling at my damp troops. “I know that you will all be pleased to hear that the pilot of our craft made an error in our favor. We are over halfway to our objective.”

A ragged cheer followed and I held up the map.

“A close reading of this map also indicates that the rest of the troops that are now on their way to occupy the city of Bellegarrique have a very long way to go. Made longer
by certain errors in navigation. If you will look after their disappearing ranks you will see that they are going in the opposite direction to the one they need.”

There was enthusiasm in their cheering now. Nothing builds the morale better than seeing someone else in the cagal. And the rain seemed to be lessening, changing to a sort of soupy mist. The rising sun touched this with red and revealed
a distant white object above the trees. I climbed onto the hood to make sure. It was.

“All right, men. We are moving out. If you look in that direction you will see the dam which is our objective. The command car will follow. I shall lead you on foot as a good commander should.

“Advance!”

Some celestial switch was thrown, just after sunrise, and the rain stopped. A light breeze blew away the clouds as we strolled on through the steaming landscape. We had been cutting across country, but came now to a paved road that appeared to lead toward the not-too distant dam. I sent out scouts, who reported no enemy activity—or no enemy at all for that matter. We followed the road
which meandered down a gentle hillside planted with trees on both sides.

“Report from one of the scouts,” Sergeant called out. “He is in that orchard and says that the trees are covered with ripe
aval-gwlanek.”

“Sounds repulsive. What are they?”

“A kind of fruit they grow in Zemlija. Delicious.”

“Tell him to bring a sample for analysis and evaluation.”

The scout quickly appeared with his
helmet full of ripe peaches, or at least that is what we called
awal-gwlanek
on Bit O’Heaven. I picked one up and smelled it, then looked at the scout’s streaked face.