They found, as they penetrated deeper into the savage-infested
hinterlands of the Empire of the Great Nobles, that the armor fended off
more than just snakes. Hardly a day passed but one or more of the men
would hear the sharp _spang!_ of a blowgun-driven dart as it slammed
ineffectually against his armored back or chest. At first, some of the
men wanted to charge into the surrounding forest, whence the darts came,
and punish the sniping aliens, but the commander would have none of it.
"Stick together," he ordered. "They'll do worse to us if we're split up
in this jungle. Those blowgun darts aren't going to hurt you as long as
they're hitting steel. Ignore them and keep moving."
They kept moving.
Around them, the jungle chattered and muttered, and, occasionally,
screamed. Clouds of insects, great and small, hummed and buzzed through
the air. They subsided only when the drizzling rains came, and then
lifted again from their resting places when the sun came out to raise
steamy vapors from the moist ground.
It was not an easy march. Before many days had passed, the men's feet
were cracked and blistered from the effects of fungus, dampness, and
constant marching. The compact military marching order which had
characterized the first few days of march had long since deteriorated
into a straggling column, where the weaker were supported by the
stronger.
Three more men died. One simply dropped in his tracks. He was dead
before anyone could touch him. Insect bite? Disease? No one knew.
Another had been even less fortunate. A lionlike carnivore had leaped on
him during the night and clawed him badly before one of his companions
blasted the thing with a power weapon. Three days later, the wounded man
was begging to be killed; one arm and one leg were gangrenous. But he
died while begging, thus sparing any would-be executioner from an
unpleasant duty.
The third man simply failed to show up for roll call one morning. He was
never seen again.
But the rest of the column, with dauntless courage, followed the lead of
their commander.
* * * * *
It was hard to read their expressions, those reddened eyes that peered
at him from swollen, bearded faces. But he knew his own face looked no
different.
"We all knew this wasn't going to be a fancy-dress ball when we came,"
he said. "Nobody said this was going to be the easiest way in the world
to get rich."
The commander was sitting on one of the carriers, his eyes watching the
men, who were lined up in front of him. His voice was purposely held
low, but it carried well.
"The marching has been difficult, but now we're really going to see what
we're made of.
"We all need a rest, and we all deserve one. But when I lie down to
rest, I'm going to do it in a halfway decent bed, with some good, solid
food in my belly.
"Here's the way the picture looks: An hour's march from here, there's a
good-sized village." He swung partially away from them and pointed
south. "I think we have earned that town and everything in it."
He swung back, facing them. There was a wolfish grin on his face.
"There's gold there, too. Not much, really, compared with what we'll get
later on, but enough to whet our appetites."
The men's faces were beginning to change now, in spite of the swelling.
"I don't think we need worry too much about the savages that are living
there now. With God on our side, I hardly see how we can fail."
He went on, telling them how they would attack the town, the disposition
of men, the use of the carriers, and so forth. By the time he was
through, every man there was as eager as he to move in. When he finished
speaking, they set up a cheer:
"For the Emperor and the Universal Assembly!"
* * * * *
The natives of the small village had heard that some sort of terrible
beings were approaching through the jungle. Word had come from the
people of the forest that the strange monsters were impervious to darts,
and that they had huge dragons with them which were terrifying even to
look at. They were clad in metal and made queer noises as they moved.
The village chieftain called his advisers together to ponder the
situation. What should they do with these strange things? What were the
invaders' intentions?
Obviously, the things must be hostile. Therefore, there were only two
courses open--fight or flee. The chieftain and his men decided to fight.
It would have been a good thing if there had only been some Imperial
troops in the vicinity, but all the troops were farther south, where a
civil war was raging over the right of succession of the Greatest
Noble.
Nevertheless, there were two thousand fighting men in the village--well,
two thousand men at any rate, and they would certainly all fight,
although some were rather young and a few were too old for any really
hard fighting. On the other hand, it would probably not come to that,
since the strangers were outnumbered by at least three to one.
The chieftain gave his orders for the defense of the village.
* * * * *
The invading Earthmen approached the small town cautiously from the
west. The commander had his men spread out a little, but not so much
that they could be separated. He saw the aliens grouped around the
square, boxlike buildings, watching and waiting for trouble.
"We'll give them trouble," the commander whispered softly. He waited
until his troops were properly deployed, then he gave the signal for the
charge.
The carriers went in first, thundering directly into the massed alien
warriors. Each carrier-man fired a single shot from his power weapon,
and then went to work with his carrier, running down the terrified
aliens, and swinging a sword with one hand while he guided with the
other. The commander went in with that first charge, aiming his own
carrier toward the center of the fray. He had some raw, untrained men
with him, and he believed in teaching by example.
The aliens recoiled at the onslaught of what they took to be horrible
living monsters that were unlike anything ever seen before.
Then the commander's infantry charged in. The shock effect of the
carriers had been enough to disorganize the aliens, but the battle was
not over yet by a long shot.
There were yells from other parts of the village as some of the other
defenders, hearing the sounds of battle, came running to reinforce the
home guard. Better than fifteen hundred men were converging on the spot.
The invading Earthmen moved in rapidly against the armed natives,
beating them back by the sheer ferocity of their attack. Weapons of
steel clashed against weapons of bronze and wood.
The power weapons were used only sparingly; only when the necessity to
save a life was greater than the necessity to conserve weapon charges
was a shot fired.
The commander, from the center of the fray, took a glance around the
area. One glance was enough.
"They're dropping back!" he bellowed, his voice carrying well above the
din of the battle, "Keep 'em moving!" He singled out one of his officers
at a distance, and yelled: "Hernan! Get a couple of men to cover that
street!" He waved toward one of the narrow streets that ran off to one
side. The others were already being attended to.
The commander jerked around swiftly as one of the natives grabbed hold
of the carrier and tried to hack at the commander with a bronze sword.
The commander spitted him neatly on his blade and withdrew it just in
time to parry another attack from the other side.
By this time, the reinforcements from the other parts of the village
were beginning to come in from the side streets, but they were a little
late. The warriors in the square--what was left of them--had panicked.
In an effort to get away from the terrible monsters with their deadly
blades and their fire-spitting weapons, they were leaving by the same
channels that the reinforcements were coming in by, and the resultant
jam-up was disastrous. The panic communicated itself like wildfire, but
no one could move fast enough to get away from the sweeping, stabbing,
glittering blades of the invading Earthmen.
"All right," the commander yelled, "we've got 'em on the run now! Break
up into squads of three and clear those streets! Clear 'em out! Keep 'em
moving!"
After that, it was the work of minutes to clear the town.
The commander brought his carrier to a dead stop, reached out with his
sword, and snagged a bit of cloth from one of the fallen native
warriors. He began to wipe the blade of his weapon as Lieutenant
commander Hernan pulled up beside him.
"Casualties?" the commander asked Hernan without looking up from his
work.
"Six wounded, no dead," said Hernan. "Or did you want me to count the
aliens, too?"
The commander shook his head. "No. Get a detail to clear out the
carrion, and then tell Frater Vincent I want to talk to him. We'll have
to start teaching these people the Truth."