Valour's Choice (17 page)

They wouldn’t, but that could be dealt with later. It was more important now to get them moving, to give them enough to do that they wouldn’t start thinking about the situation. Which, as far as she could tell, didn’t bear thinking about.

“Staff Sergeant?”

Halfway out the hatch to the central axis, Torin turned. Grieving for her dead assistant, Madame Britt had broken the central feather in her crest. “Ma’am?”

“This one wonders if it wouldn’t be safer to stay with the VTA?”

“No. The engines were hit. The mud is containing most of the leakage for the moment, but that won’t last. We have to get clear.”

“This one wonders if there is not enemy outside.”

“Not according to the scanners, ma’am. But I’m heading out there now to check.” She offered the only bit of comfort she had. “Don’t worry. You’re with the Marines.”

* * *

The fireteams were waiting for her by the forward hatch. They’d managed to put together modified combat gear out of the limited supplies in the armory: helmets, vests, and belts over dress uniforms. The three heavy gunners were carrying KC-12s and, although the upper body exoskeletons they wore provided less than half of their usual amendments, they looked happier than they had since leaving the station.

Ressk stepped away from the panel as she approached. “Ship’s scanners say there’s nothing out there, Staff. Well, nothing alive bigger than two-and-a-half centimeters anyway.”

“Right. Let’s open it up and take a look.”

Hollice tossed her a helmet, and she put it on as the hatch slid open.

The VTA’s moving parts were not particularly thrilled to be moving. The reason became obvious as mud first trickled and then poured through the opening.

The Marines retreated.

“Topside’s not supposed to be buried!”

“Get back here.” Torin braced herself against the flood, and by the time she finished speaking it was over. Mud had filled the corridor ankle-deep, but the hatch was clear and the sky outside was a brilliant blue. “It was just debris from the landing.” Ignoring the unpleasant sucking sounds, Torin stepped outside, flipping her helmet scanner down over her left eye. The grid remained empty. “Area’s clear. Now let’s find a way off this thing before that leakage gets worse and we run out of original chromosomes.”

“This reminds me of a meal I had once,” Binti muttered as they waded back to the hatch.

Ressk lifted his boot and stared down at the dripping, viscous brown mess ruining his shine. “I don’t want to hear any more comments about what I eat if this reminds you of a meal.”

“Specifically, it reminds me of a couple of hours after the meal.”

“I needed to hear that?”

The area immediately around the VTA was a desolate, dripping mess. Beyond that was swamp. Torin sent teams out along both of the broad delta wings and up to the bow to scan for dry land. There wasn’t much point in abandoning ship if it didn’t improve the situation.

* * *

“All right, I’m getting something.” Squinting through his helmet scanner, Hollice ran the terrain program through one more time with the magnification on full. “That way.”

Squatting at the edge of the wing, Binti stared out at destruction that looked no different than any of the rest and then up at the corporal. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. That way. Twenty meters, then there’s a ridge. We can follow it all the way to high ground.”

“Your helmet’s fukked, Hollice.” Juan pointed his weapon along the line indicated. “I can see twenty meters and there’s no ridge.”

“There’s a ridge, it’s just covered in more
serley
mud.” Ressk flipped his own scanner up and sighed. “And the way our day’s been going, it’ll be the only way out.”

* * *

Mud lapped at the edge of the wing. Either they’d hit bottom or the broader surfaces were keeping them from sinking any deeper. Since the result was the same, it didn’t matter much to Torin either way. The ridge would get them out of the swamp, but getting to the ridge...

“Never an engineer around when you need one,” she muttered, glancing up at the sky. Just after noon. The sky was still clear, but at this time of the year in this part of the world, it usually rained after dark. Traveling with wounded and civilians, they had to be able to put up shelters by then. “Aylex!”

Head turned into the breeze, the di’Taykan started. “Staff?”

“You’re the closest thing to an engineer we’ve got.”

“I am?”

“You came up with a way to get us over that canyon back on Junnas.”

“Well, yeah, but I could see the other side. This stuff...” He waved out at the mud. “It all looks the same. The scanners are all that’s telling us there’s solid land out there. I can’t even smell a difference.”

“Your point?”

He stared at her for a moment, then he sighed. “I suppose I could shoot a cable across to those stumps and string a bridge off that.”

“Do what you have to. Remember, we’ve got wounded to evac, and it’s got to hold four Dornagain.” His eyes widened, but Torin kept talking, preventing the protest. Protesting wouldn’t change the fact that whatever he built had to stand up to the slow-moving weight of four very large responsibilities. “Corporal Ng, you’re in charge of the work detail. Defer to Private Aylex when it comes to the actual construction.” For a moment, she indulged baser instincts by wishing that one of the Dornagain had died instead of the birdboned Rakva and then reminded herself that the Dornagain could eat more of the local food and weren’t likely to blow away in the first bad storm. Not to mention that one of them had just saved her life. “I’ll send out as much help as I can. Corporal Hollice, as soon as there’s a way across, I want your team on recon. Check back when you’ve gone a kilometer up the ridge. Let’s go people, we’re running out of time.”

“Uh, Staff.”

“What is it, Aylex?”

“What am I supposed to build a bridge of?”

Torin snorted and stamped one foot, her bootheel ringing against the metal skin of the VTA. “You’re standing on a few tons of scrap. Improvise.”

Her implant chimed as she stepped back into the muddy corridor.

*Contamination levels now at 2.9 and rising.*

“Oh, shut up.”

“Staff?”

“Not you. Just go get the cables.”

The civilian compartment had the appearance of a jumble sale with gear piled haphazardly on every conceivable surface and various arguments in progress. Captain Daniels lay on a stretcher by the door beside the covered body of the young Rakva—their island of quiet a foreboding contrast to the surrounding noise. Frowning, Torin knelt beside her and touched fingers to her throat. She was still alive. Torin straightened, feeling lighter by a life, then leaned forward again to examine the straps holding her in place. They almost looked like...

“Webbing. We felt it would better hold her without impairing her circulation. Dr. Leor is quite concemed about her,” the ambassador continued, when Torin looked up. “We are watching her while the doctor sees to the other injured.”

“Thank you.” Webbing... Standing, she pulled her helmet off and tucked it under one arm. “Madame Ambassador, I apologize in advance if this is insulting, but I’ve got Marines out on the wing attempting to bridge twenty meters of essentially bottomless mud and...” All eight eyes were focused on her. She stared down the multiple reflections accusing her of breaking every rule of protocol in the book. “...a little webbing might help a whole lot.”

“We don’t see how.”

Fortunately staff sergeants were stronger than a little embarrassment. If they weren’t, that incredible night spent with Lieutenant Jarret would’ve been truly unfortunate. Torin gestured toward the improvised cell. “It holds things together.”

Two eyestalks turned. “Yes, it does.”

A few moments later, one of the ambassador’s assistants was scurrying out to the wing followed by the slowly moving bulk of Strength of Arm. With the blessings of her ambassador, the Dornagain had volunteered her services. “If you think strength will be needed,” she’d added shyly.

Torin stood once again by the hole in the barricade and watched Cri Sawyes watching her. “You’re taking this very well,” she said after a moment.

The tip of his tail drew a figure eight in the air. “Thisss isss no more than a temporary inconvenience. You will need me out there to sssurvive.”

“I can survive without you.” From the single flicker of his tongue, that seemed to amuse him.
Next time he sticks it out, I’m tying a knot in it.

“I have no doubt you can sssurvive, Ssstaff Sssergeant, but you have wounded and civiliansss, and for them to sssurvive you’ll need my help.”

Torin glanced from Captain Daniels, lying too still by the hatch, to the Charge d’Affaires and her young assistant adding yet another container to their pile of gear and realized Cri Sawyes was not merely offering to help carry things through the mud. “We’re still in the wilderness preserve, aren’t we?”

“Yesss.”

“Your wild boys will investigate the crash.”

“Yesss.”

“Will we be in any danger from them?”

“That dependsss on how you answer their challenge.” He leaned forward, claws digging into a seat back, face so close to the hole that she thought she could feel the heat of his breath on her cheek. “I am not your enemy.”

Not
her
enemy. Which didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t the Confederation’s enemy, did it? “Stay there for now. I’ve got enough to worry about.”

Nostrils flared, he reared back, throat pouch expanding. “I have told you thossse were not our misssilesss, I have told you I am not your enemy, and ssstill you worry about what I may do? I tell you now for the lassst time that unless sssussspicion wearsss away my ssself-control, you and your people are in no danger from me!”

Half-turned away, Torin paused and came to a decision. “I believe you.”

His throat pouch deflated so quickly he sneezed.

“Even if it
was
a Silsviss missile, you certainly didn’t fire it. But there are another thirty-five Marines who may not see it that way,” she continued, “and, right now, I don’t have time to change their minds. You stay there, and I guarantee no one’ll take a shot at you. You start wandering around...” She shrugged.

“I will ssstay here.” His tongue flickered again and her hand rose; she forced it back down before anything came of it.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She’d taken two steps toward the argument in the middle of the room when her implant chimed.

*Lieutenant Jarret has regained consciousness.*

*Contamination levels now at 3.1 and rising.*

* * *

Torin stepped into the troop compartment and stopped dead. Outwardly, she was surveying the activity, inwardly, she was drawing strength from being back where she belonged; no matter how bad it looked.
I should have been here...

The right wall had buckled. Impact had loosened one of the sleds and it had slammed through from the vehicle bay. There were four body bags lying beside the wreckage and three stretchers beside them. Not exactly encouraging for the three injured but the best use of the available space. Two of the three were clearly sedated; the doctor was bending over the third. One of the two corpsmen was finishing a wrist-to-elbow field dressing on the arm of a corporal from Sergeant Chou’s squad, and the other was putting together a second pack from the medical supply locker. There were field packs against the left wall and the armory hatch was open. She couldn’t see the lieutenant.

She
could
see Corporal Conn, and she thanked any gods who were listening that she didn’t have to tell a four-year-old why her daddy wasn’t coming home.

“Staff.”

She took another step into the compartment and turned. “Mike.”

Sergeant Glicksohn held out his slate. “You want to download the full report?”

Reaching down she thumbed her input but didn’t bother actually looking at the screen. “Highlights?”

“Sergeant Trey, Privates Drake...”

Did he die with his dice in his hand, she wondered.

“...and Damon...”

Probably reading when it happened. Torin had approved extra memory for her slate so she could carry more books.

“...and Corporal Sutton are dead.”

She’d been planning on scheduling his sergeant’s exam the day General Morris had given them their new orders. With Sergeant Trey dead, he’d have probably gotten a field promotion. Except that he was dead, too.

Torin added their names to the others she’d started carrying since she got her third hook. She knew there wasn’t anything she could have done even if she’d been in the troop compartment, but that knowledge made her feel no less responsible.

“We had eight other injuries, three serious.” His lips pressed into a thin line, then he snarled, “Haysole got both legs caught, the stupid bastard.”

The doctor shifted position and Torin caught her first sight of turquoise hair lying still and unmoving. Before she could ask for an explanation, Mike spat it out, the words growing louder and crowding up against each other as he spoke.

“He was in the sled with Trey. They strapped in there, but that didn’t do them any good when we hit ground.” One fist slammed against the back of a seat. “Should have been in his seat. Goddamn di’Taykan, can’t keep it in their pants...” Torin laid her hand on his arm, and the diatribe cut off like she’d touched a switch.

The sergeant drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Doc says he’ll get new legs and a trip home.” He lifted his head and met her gaze. “All we have to do is keep him alive until someone comes to get us. But the
Berganitan’s
gone and the Silsviss are shooting at us, so who the fuk is that going to be?”

“It’s not our fault.”

“He’s in my squad. I should’ve tied him to his seat.”

“We’ll keep him alive.”

“Goddamned right we will.” He drew in another deep breath and seemed to exhale his anger with it, his voice sounding no more than weary when he added, “Ceremonial duties, my ass.”

*Contamination levels now at 3.5 and rising.*

“You heard.”

He nodded. “I heard.”

“Get the stretchers topside before it gets any worse. Then I want half the able-bodied humping packs and the other half working on the bridge. Put the walking wounded on guard.”