_Those crazy, sloppy, frog-like Narakans ... all thumbs and
six-inch skulls ... relics of the Suzi swamps. Until
four-fisted Lt. Terrence O'Mara moved among them--lethal,
dangerous, with a steady purpose flaming in his volcanic
eyes._
* * * * *
Terrence O'Mara lay flat on his back trying to keep his big body as
still as possible. Despite the fact that he was stripped to his
regulation shorts, a large pool of sweat had formed on the cot
underneath him. The only movement he permitted himself was an
occasional pursing of his lips as he dragged on a cigarette and sent a
swirl of smoke upward through the heavy humid air. Then he would just
lie there watching as the smoke crept up to mingle with the large
drops of water that were forming on the concrete of the command post.
"Damn! Damn Naraka, anyway! Outpost of civilization! Who'd want the
blasted place except the Rumi?"
[Illustration]
At the words, Terrence moved his head just a fraction of an inch and
his eyes only a little farther to look across the room to where Bill
Fielding was twisting and turning on his cot. All he could see of the
other man was the wet outline of his body under a once white sheet and
a hand that every so often reached into a bucket of water on the
floor and then replaced a soaking T-shirt over a red head.
"You'll feel it less if you lie still," Terrence said, distressed at
the necessity for talking.
"Feel it less! My God, listen to the man! What difference does it make
if you lie still or move around or even run around in the suns like a
bloody Greenback? Dust Bin will get you one way or another ... and if
it doesn't, the Rumi will."
The visible hand lifted the T-shirt and began to pop salt tablets into
an open mouth like they were so many peppermints.
"I wonder where Norton is. Out reviewing the troops?"
"Reviewing, my eye. He's up at Government House sitting in that cool
living room drinking one of Mrs. Wilson's icy drinks and admiring Mrs.
Wilson's shapely legs. From a discreet distance, of course. Being
temporary Commanding Officer of even Dust Bin has its privileges!"
There was a rattle of drums and the blare of one or two off-key
instruments from outside.
"Then why," asked Terrence, "are those poor beggars marching up and
down in this blasted heat?"
"The Greenbacks? They love it! It would take more than a little heat
to get under those inch-thick skins of theirs. They like to play
soldier when it's a hundred and thirty under water."
There were a few more straggling notes and then the semblance of a
march began.
"Listen to that, will you?" Fielding moaned, "They can't even keep
time with a drum! They can't march, they can't shoot, they can't break
down a Banning; they're all thumbs and six-inch thick skulls. 'Train
local forces to take over'! Bah! Did those desk jockeys back in New
Chicago ever see a Greenback? Did they ever try to teach a Narakan to
fix a bayonet to the proper end of a rifle or to fire a blaster in the
right direction?"
* * * * *
Terrence was lighting another cigarette with as little exertion as
possible. "Yes, but they keep trying. Ten hours a day. You don't have
to drive those boys. They want to learn. Listen to O'Shaughnessy
barking out orders."
"Sergeant Major O'Shaughnessy of the First Narakan Rifles!" Fielding
murmured sarcastically. "A year ago he was squatting in a mud cocoon
at the bottom of Suzi swamp with the rest of the frogs. Now he's got a
good Irish name and he's strutting around like a Martian Field
Marshal."
"I thought the names might give them a sense of self respect. Besides
we couldn't pronounce theirs and I was tired of hearing Norris yell
'Hey, greenboy!' at them."
"Well, they picked the right guy when they made you Training Officer.
You and those damn frogs get along like you came from the same
county!"
"They aren't any great shakes for brains but you can't take anything
away from me boys for willingness."
"Willingness! Hooray! They're willing, so what? So is a Suzi Swamp
lizard. What'll it get them? A week after they pull the Terran forces
out, the Rumi will gobble up the lot of them. Maybe they'll gobble
them and us before we pull out. Who could fight in this place? Who'd
want to fight? I say, to hell with Naraka! It's so near to hell
already with those two blasted suns blazing sixteen hours a day. Let
the Rumi have the stinking planet! Let them have the whole Centaurian
System!"
"Speaking of pulling out, I wouldn't be surprised if Dust Bin wasn't
the next place we let go of...."
Fielding raised himself on one elbow, "No kidding? Where did you hear
that?" His sunburned and blistered face was alight with excitement.
"Well, you know how it's been. When we first came here twenty years
back, we drove the Rumi out of all this country and more or less took
their cat feet off the Narakan's backs but now that so much of the
Earth garrison has been pulled all the way back into the Solar System,
the Rumi are acting up again. So much so that the dope I got is that
we may be pulling everything back into the Little Texas peninsula to
wait for reinforcements and it will take four years for those to come
out from Mars."
"Great! Great! But.... Ah, it's too good to be true. Can't you just
picture Fielding and O'Mara parading down Dobi street in New Chicago
with their first lieutenant bars on their collars? Say, you don't
suppose that's why the _Sun Maid_ is sticking around out here, do you?
Imagine, free transportation! A two hour trip to New Chi!"
"I'd sure hate to march those two hundred miles at this time of year!"
"March? Through those swamps? Every time we run a patrol through
them...."
Fielding was interrupted by a knock on the door and a skinny young
Terran with sergeant's chevrons on his shorts stuck his head through
from the other room and said, "Major Chapelle's on the voice radio,
sir. He's calling from battalion headquarters and wants Captain
Norton."
"Tell him Norton's up playing footsies with the Resident's wife,"
Fielding said, "You'd think those people down at the river would have
enough to do without bothering us in the heat of the day, wouldn't
you?"
The sergeant looked shocked and started to withdraw his head. Terrence
frowned Fielding into silence and called to the sergeant, "Just a
minute, Rogers. I'll talk to the Major."
Major Chapelle was a thickset, balding man in his late forties. Even
the blazing suns of Naraka hadn't succeeded in burning the sickly
yellow color off his face. In the vision screen he looked like a man
on his last legs. Whatever was wrong with him didn't help his temper,
Terrence thought as he lowered himself gently into a seat before the
screen.
"O'Mara! Where in hell is Norton?" he demanded.
"Well, sir, you see...." began Terrence.
"Never mind! I've a pretty good idea where he is. A fine time to be
chasing skirts! Well, get this straight, O'Mara. Orders have come
through and we're pulling the battalion out. We're ordered back to
Little Texas. We're going to give up these positions along the river
tonight and pull back into Dust Bin. The _Sun Maid_ will stand by to
evacuate us. You people are to come too. Everybody has to get out,
both the military and civilians. All hell's broken loose down river.
The Rumi are across the Muddy in half a dozen places. They've cut the
5th to pieces. New Chicago thinks that those cats have been bringing
troops in from space all along despite the agreement by both sides not
to do so. And now they have us way outnumbered." The Major's voice
held a thin edge of hysteria.
"Is there any action along our front, Major?" Terrence asked quickly,
hoping to stop the flow of talk before Chapelle's hysteria
communicated itself to the enlisted men who were sitting or lying
about the command post.
"Not yet; just patrols across the river so far. We've got to get out,
O'Mara, and get out fast. They'll be all over us if we don't. The
Colonel says for Norton to have everything ready to go. He wants the
depot destroyed. Everything's got to go, everything we can't take
along. The _Sun Maid_ won't have time for more than one trip. He wants
the HQ company and the civilians on board by tomorrow morning at the
latest."
"What about the Rifles, sir?"
"What? The what?"
"The native troops, sir. The Narakan Rifles." Terrence grated.
"The Rifles? Good God, man! We haven't time for nonsense. The Rifles
are only Greenbacks, aren't they? You get Norton started burning those
stores."
Terrence put down the microphone very carefully to keep from slamming
it down and stalked back into his quarters. Angrily he began to take
his radiation clothing from its hooks on the wall.
"What the devil is eating you?" demanded Bill Fielding.
"We're pulling out, lock, stock and barrel," Terrence told him.
"Pulling out? Whoweee! I knew Mrs. Fielding didn't raise her boy to be
a fried egg. Goodbye, Dust Bin! Hello, New Chi!" Bill was up on his
hands and knees pounding on his cot. "But what's the matter with you?
You like this place?"
"They're leaving the Rifles," Terrence said, zipping up his protective
coveralls as he left the room.