"Sneak up in the dark. They have spears and a few stolen guns. Usually
they don't have cartridges for them but you can't count on that. But
they have ... witches."
Orsino snorted. He was getting very hungry indeed. "Do you know any of
the local plants we might eat?"
The jaygee said confidently: "I guess we can get by on roots until
morning."
Orsino dubiously pulled up a shrub, dabbed clods off its root and tasted
it. It tasted exactly like a root. He sighed and changed the subject.
"What do we do with the fifties when I get them both off the mount?"
"The jeep mount breaks down some damn way or other into two low-mount
tripods. See if you can figure it out while I get the fire going."
The jaygee had a small, smoky fire barely going in twenty minutes.
Orsino was still struggling with the jeep gun mount. It came apart, but
it couldn't go together again. The jaygee strolled over at last
contemptuously to lend a hand. He couldn't make it work either.
Two lost tempers and four split fingernails later it developed the
"elevating screw" really held the two front legs on and that you
elevated by adjusting the rear tripod leg. "A hell of an officer you
are," Orsino sulked.
It began to rain, putting the fire out with a hiss. They wound up prone
under the jeep, not on speaking terms, each tending a gun, each
presumably responsible for 180 degrees of perimeter.
* * * * *
Charles was fairly dry, except for a trickle of icy water following a
contour that meandered to his left knee. After an hour of
eye-straining--nothing to be seen--and ear-straining--only the patter of
rain--he heard a snore and kicked the jaygee.
The jaygee cursed wearily and said: "I guess we'd better talk to keep
awake."
"_I'm_ not having any trouble, pirate."
"Oh, knock it off--where do you get that pirate bit, gangster?"
"You're outlaws, aren't you?"
"Like hell we are. _You're_ the outlaws. You rebelled against the
lawfully constituted North American Government. Just because you
won--for the time being--doesn't mean you were right."
"The fact that we won does mean that we were right. The fact that your
so-called Government lives by raiding and scavenging off us means you
were wrong. God, the things I've seen since I joined up with you thugs!"
"I'll bet. Respect for the home, sanctity of marriage, sexual morality,
law and order--you never saw anything like that back home, did you
gangster?" He looked very smug.
Orsino clenched his teeth. "Somebody's been telling you a pack of lies,"
he said. "There's just as much home and family life and morality and
order back in Syndic Territory as there is here. And probably a lot
more."
"Bull. I've seen intelligence reports; I know how you people live. Are
you telling me you don't have sexual promiscuity? Polygamy? Polyandry?
Open gambling? Uncontrolled liquor trade? Corruption and shakedowns?"
Orsino squinted along the barrel of the gun into the rain. "Look," he
said, "take me as an average young man from Syndic Territory. I know
maybe a hundred people. I know just three women and two men who are what
you'd call promiscuous. I know one family with two wives and one
husband. I don't really know any people personally who go in for
polyandry, but I've met three casually. And the rest are ordinary
middle-aged couples."
"Ah-_hah_! Middle-aged! Do you mean to tell me you're just leaving out
anybody under middle age when you talk about morality?"
"Naturally," Charles said, baffled. "Wouldn't you?"
The only answer was a snort.
"What are bupers?" Charles asked.
"Bu-Pers," the jaygee said distinctly. "Bureau of Personnel, North
American Navy."
"What do you do there?"
"What _would_ a personnel bureau do?" the jaygee said patiently. "We
recruit, classify, assign, promote and train personnel."
"Paperwork, huh? No wonder you don't know how to shoot or drive."
"If I didn't need you to cover my back, I'd shove this MG down your
silly throat. For your information, gangster, all officers do a tour of
duty on paperwork before they're assigned to their permanent branch. I'm
going into the pigboats."
"Why?"
"Family. My father commands a sub. He's Captain Van Dellen."
_Oh, God. Van Dellen._ The sub commander Grinnel--and he--had murdered.
The kid hadn't heard yet that his father had been "lost" in an emergency
dive.
* * * * *
The rain ceased to fall; the pattering drizzle gave way to irregular,
splashing drops from leaves and branches.
"Van Dellen," Charles said. "There's something you ought to know."
"It'll keep," the jaygee answered in a grim whisper. The bolt of his gun
clicked. "I hear them out there."