TheKatynForest was reduced to scale in the closed repair dock. Even a small starship so dwarfed the norms of human habitation that the vessel had taken down cables and a few balconies during the last kilometers of its passage. Ortschugin, cursing in Russian, had let his bows overhang the escorting troop carrier when it slowed for crowds of amazed spectators. The spacer would not feel safe again until he had rung his command into stardrive once more. That was at least days in the future, even with only minimal repairs to the vessel… but Captain Ortschugin had no desire to add even a minute where it was unnecessary.
"Point that thing somewhere else," Sergeant Hummel said to a disembarking Federal soldier, "or I'll feed it to you." With her finger, she gestured away the assault rifle the man carried awkwardly.
Ten kilometers beyond the current Front, they had paused to load a Federal platoon. The Praha authorities had been at best confused by the reports Lieutenant Albrecht Waldstejn had been sending in clear through attempted Rube jamming. The authorities were not so confused that they would permit a TrojanHorse into the heart of their supply system, however. The platoon had verified that the starship was what her passengers had claimed… but thelook of the mercenaries had bothered the Cecach troops very much. It was not so much that the men and women of the Company looked murderous. It was more that they looked as if they did notcare how many more they killed.
If there was any truth to half the stories they told, mostly to one another, the mercenaries really did not care.
HoldThree was open. A cat-walk had been run out to disembark first the indigs, then the Company. The last of the Cecach soldiers marched off in a column of fours past the platoon already drawn up within the dock. Some of them glanced back nervously.
"Waldstejn, Albrecht W E," shouted the leader of the waiting unit. His voice echoed in the enclosed dock without losing any of its sneering arrogance.' 'Number W-nine-three-nine-five-one-''
"That's me," said Albrecht Waldstejn. He was third in the sluggish file of mercenaries. Stepping past Hummel and Powers, the Cecach officer walked toward the speaker.
"-five-two-eight," the speaker concluded loudly. Two of the soldiers with him dropped their gun muzzles to cover the returned lieutenant. Their commander looked up from the long print-out in his hand. "Waldstejn?" he demanded. "What kind of uniform is that?"
Albrecht Waldstejn did not need the brassards or the strack uniforms to identify the unit arrayed to greet them as part of Morale Section. The chain-dogs had always frightened him, even before he was conscripted. Their brief was limited in theory to members of the armed services, but many of them shared with their Republican opponents the belief that righteousness took precedence to human distinctions.
They seemed less frightening now, to a man who in the past week had learned that death took precedence even to righteousness.
"It's what there was available," the Lieutenant said mildly. He fingered the off-planet synthetic. It was already losing its coppery tone to take on the shadows of the dock interior. "Christ knows, it looks better than the one I was blown through the bushes in."
The Morale Section officer was a colonel, though his name tag was too dim to be read. He slapped Waldstejn across the face. "Watch your tongue, soldier!" he said. "You're in enough trouble already!"
There was a pause in the shuffling of boots behind Waldstejn, a restive silence like that of a cat tensing to spring. The Cecach lieutenant turned."Stand easy\" he shouted. He managed not to add the curse that would have brought another blow- and what he was praying he could avoid. Wald-stejn's cheek burned. His body trembled with the lightness he had never thought to feel after they reached safety, reached Praha. "Standeasy, I say!"
The mercenaries' weapons were closer to use than the crisply-uniformed chain-dogs realized. None of the hands Waldstejn glanced across were thumbing guns to safe again, but there was a slight relaxation. The line began to move again.
The Colonel blinked. He had been startled by the incident, but he did not understand it. He glanced back at his print-out-names and ranks, Waldstejn could see now, and enough of them to be the entire complement of the 522nd Garrison Battalion. "All right," the Colonel said, "all members of the Cecach garrison of Smiricky #4, front and center! Cecach Armed Forces only!"
Pavel Hodicky was just crossing the catwalk between Troopers Hoybrin and Dwyer. Like his lieutenant, Hodicky had been issued a uniform from the Company stores aboard theKatynForest. Before the Private could speak, Churchie Dwyer's palm swung across his mouth. Albrecht Waldstejn was saying loudly, "Sir, I was the only member of the battalion not to turn traitor. The rest of these troops are off-planet volunteers, under contract to the government."
The Morale Section officer looked from Waldstejn to the soldiers who had broken out of Smiricky #4 with him. More of the men than not had shaved when they got theopportunity, and all the troopers wore fresh uniforms. They were still a savage, alien presence eying the Colonel and the crisplooking platoon with him. "Right," the Colonel said. He found he had to clear his throat before he could add, "Who's in charge of you lot, then?"
There was a pause too brief to be called hesitation. Hussein ben Mehdi strolled forward. His left thumb was hooked in his equipment belt. It seemed natural enough that his right palm would rest on the grip of his holstered grenade launcher. "I am," he said in a drawl which emphasized disdain instead of volume. "Since the native battalion we were supposed to be supporting decided to turn coat and murder our Colonel. What seems to be the problem?"
The chain-dog commander blinked again. Ben Mehdi's moustache was its precise line again despite the thin welt of pink scar tissue angling across his face. His tone of suave superiority, coupled with the implications of the words themselves, shook an officer who was used to deference from even generals with line commands. "Ah," he said, "your men will accompany Captain Kolovrat here to the Transit Barracks for reassignment. Stack your weapons. They'll be returned to you when required."
Someone in the Company rank cursed audibly. Lieutenant ben Mehdi gave a chuckle which sounded more natural to others than it seemed to be to him. His mind was quivering with memories of the tank that howled and shuddered as he fired down its intake duct. "I'm afraid that won't be possible-" he gestured as if he could not recall Federal rank insignia and saw no reason that he should- "Captain. We'll continue to billet ourselves on the starship here. I'll be obliged if you'll make arrangements for our commissary-" he paused-"and for proper bedding, yes."
"Who in thehell do you think you are, soldier?" the Colonel roared.
"I think we're-" and ben Mehdi's peremptory gesture brought the three sergeants forward. Jensen's face-shield down even in the dimness of the dock-"the people whose contracts you broke, Mr. Government!"
"We didn't-" the Colonel began. Around him guns pointed at the mercenary sergeants, then wavered as Morale Section soldiers met eyes as flat as the reflective face-shield.
"Captain, you put us in a position of danger in which we were attacked by Federal troops," the Lieutenant said flatly."By Cecach Armed Forces. That's a breach of contract, pure and simple. All deals are off until we've made a composition of damages with the hiring authority."
It was a flawless performance, thought Albrecht Waldstejn. He supposed that it would usually have been acted out in a conference room, with Colonel Fasolini there to provide the bulk and bluster. Individually the three sergeants were the faces of Death. Together, they were the Furies, and their silence had lowered over the Cecach platoon as surely as Colonel Fasolini must have done in dozens of meetings with dress uniforms.
"There are three bulk carriers in port that seem to have been converted to carry troops," said Sergeant Jensen. His lips, cracked and gummy behind the shield, caused him to enunciate with great care.
"Yeah, just how many other contract soldiers are there right here in Praha?" rasped Sergeant Hummel. She pointed a finger at the Morale Section officer. Her slung weapon waggled also, its barrel parallel to the line of her forearm.
"And don't think the units at the Front haven't heard how Federal troops turned on us," added Sergeant Mboko somberly. "Praha wasn't the only place we talked to when we sailed through the lines."
The Cecach Colonel was opening his mouth to speak. Before he could do so, Lieutenantben Mehdi applied the counter-stroke to the whip-saw. "Of course," he said, "we don't hold youpersonally responsible, Captain… but until legal responsibility is determined, I think you'll agree that matters had best be left to your superiors."
The Colonel turned abruptly. "Take that one away!" he snarled to the pair of soldiers holding Albrecht Waldstejn. As sharply, he whipped back around to ben Mehdi, but he did not meet the mercenary's eyes. "For the time being, you can remain aboard," he muttered. "Someone will see about rations and bedding."
"Some problem about Captain Waldstejn, I see?" said Hussein ben Mehdi. He thumbed idly toward the sound of boots echoing out the rear of the enclosed dock.
"LieutenantWaldstejn," snapped the Morale Section officer. He was out of the quicksand and his arrogance had returned in full force. "And there's no problem, no. An internal matter which even hired killers can understand, I suppose."
Ben Mehdi raised his lip and an eyebrow instead of asking the question out loud.
"The 522nd had orders to defend its positions to the last man," said the Cecach colonel in a rising voice. "Lieutenant Waldstejn instead chose to retreat."
"Evenyour sort shoot soldiers who desert in the face of the enemy, don't you?"