The school was over, and there was no more conversation with Falkenberg. The helicopter flew low over the jungle, sometimes maneuvering between the trees. Tanith's small moon came up, but was no more than a blur above the clouds. Sometimes when the helicopter banked sharply Lysander could see the jungle below, but as no more than a darkness even blacker than the clouds above.
After one violent maneuver, Lysander felt Harv's nudge. He gestured toward his helmet. Lysander set one of the channels to Harv's headset frequency.
"How does he see?" Harv said.
"Radar, I suppose," Lysander said, but he wondered, since radar might be detected from a distance. "IR? I don't know, but I'm glad I'm not flying it."
"He's pretty good," Harv conceded.
"Yes." I suppose he is, Lysander thought, and wondered what would have happened if Fuller had bribed his way to Sparta. Where would he have gone? His natural talents as a pilot might have brought him to an airline, or a wealthy mine owner in need of a chauffeur. He'd never have had a chance to become a Spartan officer.
The helicopter flew on, and despite its violent maneuverings, Lysander fell asleep.
Village Ledoux seemed crowded. The villagers had already prepared shelters for the helicopters. As soon as the passengers were out of the planes, a hundred men grabbed each one and carried it under a thatch-roofed structure. Mats were unrolled to form walls, and the helicopter vanished.
In moments the equipment was unloaded, and they followed the villagers into the dense jungle. Lysander felt rather than saw the thick growth around him. Then he was at the water's edge. A score of small flat-bottomed boats were pulled up against the shore.
Falkenberg's NCOs gestured. The recoilless rifle was loaded into the first boat. After a moment, Lieutenant Mace climbed in with it and lay flat on the bottom of the boat. A tall, dark civilian gestured, and the boatman poled the boat away from the shore. In seconds it vanished into the underbrush.
The next boat held lumpy gear, including what Lysander thought was a sea sled. It was sent into the night. Boat after boat was loaded and sent off. Mortars and mortar bombs. Communications gear. Radar antennae. Everything went swiftly and soon the equipment was gone. Then came the soldiers. Then it was Lysander's turn. He and Harv lay flat in the boat, and waited.
The boatman's pole had a sort of paddle blade so that it could be used as a scull as well as to pole the boat. There was so little light that Lysander couldn't see the boatman's face.
He knew it would be a long way, and tried to sleep, but despite his training he couldn't. Thoughts came and went. Pictures of himself killed, or wounded. Harv falling. Falkenberg lying bleeding on the ground. What if I'm left in charge? Lysander wondered. No chance of that, or was there?
Ursula. What would happen to her? He thought of Melissa back on Sparta. Everyone assumed they'd marry. So had he. Now he wasn't so sure. Melissa was his friend, he could talk to her. They'd been a lot of places together, and twice they'd made love. The first time for both of them. He liked her a lot. She was easy to be with, and of course she was a full citizen. She'd be a good mother, and a good partner in government. That's not love, he thought. And so what? What is love? Am I in love with Ursula? I want her. I want to be with her.
What would Melissa think if he brought Ursula to Sparta? Would she understand? No. Neither would his father. No, it was ridiculous. There was no place for Ursula in the palace.
And why not? Kings in history books had mistresses. But the kings of Sparta weren't real kings, not like the old kings of France. There wasn't any Divine Right in the Spartan constitution. The kings of Sparta didn't have to grub for office by kissing babies, but they were supposed to be better trained, and better qualified than anyone else. Or at least as well qualified. They were also supposed to have children, legitimate children, children who would inherit positions of leadership. That way Sparta's leaders would have a long view of things, look to the next generation and not just the next election.
And we're supposed to be moral, whatever that means. Set an example for the people. Keeping a mistress isn't much of an example. The Council would find out, and there'd be hell to pay. And even if the Council would accept Ursula, Melissa never would.
So? Give up Melissa. Marry Ursula. He chuckled aloud, and felt a quick pressure from Harv's foot to remind him to be quiet.
It really was impossible. The Council would want genetic tables and family history, information Ursula probably didn't have, and they wouldn't be likely to approve if she did have it. Suppose they liked her ancestry? She'd still have to qualify for citizenship. Even as bright as she is, starting at her age it could take years. If she'd do it at all. No. Ursula won't be going back to Sparta with me.
He didn't like that thought.
Change the subject.
He could hear the water streaming past beneath the hull of the pirogue. It was pitch dark in the jungle. Dark in here, but we're not invisible. Not to radar. Is someone looking at us right now? Falkenberg must have detection equipment. What if he does? What can we do? If they find us, they can take us. We don't have enough people or ammunition to hold out very long.
This isn't getting me anywhere. What is? Why am I here? Life consists of doing one's job. Is this my job? What is? The thoughts whirled through his head until he forced them away.
"Prince." Harv's voice was low and urgent. "We're here."
It was still dark, but there was faint grey light in the clouds above. Lysander climbed out of the boat. His left leg was asleep, and he rubbed it gently.
As soon as he was off the boat, the boatman backed it away from the shore, turned, and poled upstream. In moments the boat had vanished.
"This way," someone whispered. A shadowy figure led the way. Their footsteps squished in soft mud. Once Lysander's boot went in above the ankle, and there was a loud sucking noise when he pulled it out. There still wasn't enough light to see anything, only flint grey directly above the jungle canopy. Harv followed silently.
Lysander thought they'd walked half a kilometer when his guide stopped.
"Over here, sir. Under the tarp," the trooper whispered.
Lysander knelt to feel the edge of a tarp directly in front of him. He crawled under. It was stifling hot under there. When he was all the way under he felt the ground sloping down slightly. The tiny glow of a map projector was blinding.
Falkenberg, Lieutenant Mace, and a sergeant lay under the tarp, all facing a central area where the sergeant had projected a chart.
"Sergeant Miscowsky, my aide, Cornet Prince," Falkenberg said. His voice was low but unstrained. "Mr. Prince, you will study this chart. Sergeant—"
"Sir." Miscowsky reached out into the holographic image. "This is the coast. We're back inland, here. The stream we came in on is behind us. It runs south some more before it turns west into the bay." He touched his helmet and the view changed. "OK, this is us again, coast there. The jungle ends about a klick to the west here. Then there's just over three klicks of cleared hills, farmlands mostly, and Rochemont Manor. That sits on what passes for a big hill here, sort of a low mound. We were able to pick up lots of details on that area. Antenna farms here, and here. Some sheds here, I think they have heavy mortars under them but I can't be sure. They went to a lot of effort to hide everything from the satellites."
"How about the antennas?" Mace asked.
"Got a break on those, sir," Miscowsky said. "Leastwise this set of 'em. About two hours ago, after the satellite was past maybe twenty minutes, they peeled back the roof of this shed here. This thing that looks like a grape arbor is a frame the roof slides onto. Inside are search and surveillance antennas, no question about it, they showed up good in passive IR, and they put out a strong K-band search pattern too. Good thing we was dug in good." Miscowsky touched his helmet and the projected scene changed to a dark outline. "I got a good camera set up at the edge of the jungle, but there's not enough light to see anything yet."
"We have about an hour before Captain Fast starts Operation Hijack," Falkenberg said. "Call it another ten minutes after that for Barton to find out we're on the move. You'll want to get your observations fast, because after that we'll want to be dug in good. We don't want them to suspect we're here. Without surprise we might as well not be."
"Yes, sir," Mace said. "Shouldn't be a problem. Miscowsky, tell us what you've done for emergency shelters."
"Sir. We can't dig in without them seeing us, but I figure it's going to get thick when they do find out we're here. Seemed to me we'll need some shelter, so I rigged primacord around trees, here, and here. Soon as it's sure they know we're here, we'll drop those trees in a box pattern. Got a couple of shells dug in just in the center of the box, they'll help make it deeper. Not what I like, but it ought to make a storm cellar. I've got another crew doing the same thing over here." He pointed again, and a second area turned red in the hologram.
"Good work," Mace said. "Be sure all troops are warned."
Lysander studied the red areas in the projection. "I'll tell Middleton," he said.
"Right," Falkenberg said. "Pity we don't know what they're using to protect their guns. Sergeant, when they opened that antenna shed, did you get any estimate on what it's made of?"
"IR signature says wood, Colonel. Maybe there's something under it, but I don't think it's armor."
"Right. Probably nothing but wood. Mr. Mace, what's your opinion? Can we take those antennas out in the first salvo?"
"Yes, sir, I think we can."
"Of course we don't know where they keep their spares," Falkenberg said. "Even so, they'll be blind for a while. Mr. Mace, it's your tactical command, but my recommendation is to give target priority to the antennas. Hit them, then the CP if we can find it. Then go for the guns when they start shooting at us."
"Yes, sir."
"That's assuming you don't have a higher priority target," Falkenberg said. He leaned closer to the holographic projection. "Show me the docking area. Thank you. What is this structure?"
"Pretty big for a boat house," Mace said.
"Not likely a boat house, not on Tanith, sir," Miscowsky said. "Colonel, I never noticed until we got here and took a good look, but they've got solar screens all over that place, more than a farm that size would have. Lots of juice. I think they're making hydrogen and LOX, and where else would they store it but near the docks?"
"Hmm. As far as we can tell, Norton Star carries Talin class landers," Falkenberg said. "Just barely have the legs to make orbit from a sea launch. They'll need all the fuel they can get—all right, Miscowsky, I'll buy that, you've located the fuel facility." Falkenberg studied the hologram again. "And these will be barns?"
"Yes, sir. These two are cattle barns. This one's for horses. The ones set up above are farm worker barracks."
"The horses have better facilities. All right." Falkenberg studied the holographic display another few moments, then looked up. "Mr. Prince, you and Mace look as if you're melting. Come to that, I find it pretty warm myself. All right, everyone take ten minutes to cool off. Get outside and loosen up your equipment. Ventilate properly. Then I'll want you again. Under here, I'm afraid. We've gone to this much trouble to keep Barton's troops from knowing about us, no point in taking chances now. Ten minutes, gentlemen. Meanwhile, Sergeant, I have a task for your SAS team."
The sky was dull grey. There still wasn't enough light to see objects, but when he knelt Lysander could just tell where the lumpy tarp was, and he thought he could see someone approaching from the other side. He winced at the thought of the stifling heat, then crawled under. Mace and Janowitz were already there. A moment later Falkenberg joined them.
"Gentlemen. No doubt you're wondering what I'm doing here when I could be back at headquarters." He waited a moment, and when there was no answer, Falkenberg chuckled. "Only you're too polite to say so. To begin, Lieutenant Mace, I did not come here because of any lack of confidence in your ability to control the situation."
"Thank you, sir." Mace's voice was flat.
"In fact, there's not a lot for you to control," Falkenberg said. "We've laid our plans. The headquarters staff can carry out their end. You and Janowitz are more than competent to bring off your part. It's a good plan, and we have sufficient forces. With no more than ordinary luck we'll accomplish the objective. Cripple the landing ship and take Rochemont."
"Yes, sir." Mace said.
Falkenberg touched his helmet and the holographic image of the Rochemont area sprang up between them. "Unfortunately, given the enemy's position here, doing that is likely to be expensive, in lives and money. Anyone disagree?"
Lysander frowned at the projected map. "No, sir. And there's a chance it won't work at all. Or that they'll destroy the borloi."
"Exactly. So," Falkenberg said. "We have the best plan we can think of, but it's hardly an elegant solution to our problem. I've come to see if we can pass a miracle."
"Sir?"
"No battle plan survives contact with the enemy," Falkenberg said. "That's the elder Moltke, but the principle had been known for a long time when he said it."
"Wasn't Cannae according to plan?" Lysander asked.
"Yes, Mr. Prince. Of course Cannae required the Romans' cooperation. Commanders have been trying to duplicate Hannibal's success ever since. Most haven't done so, because the enemy generally won't be as obliging as Gaius Terentius Varro was. Certainly Major Barton won't be. On the other hand, Hannibal was in Italy in the first place because the Romans believed it impossible to cross the Alps with an army. Surprise can do a very great deal."
"Yes sir?"
"Let's look at the situation. First, the objective. What is our objective, Mr. Mace?"
"Sir? Ah. To capture the borloi."
"Correct," Falkenberg said. "Not to capture Rochemont, but to get possession of several tons of borshite juice. What's the first requirement for that, Mr. Janowitz?"
"Well, to keep them from moving it somewhere else while we get enough troops in place to take Rochemont," Lieutenant Janowitz said. "Which is where we come in."
"Right. That's the plan. Of course, it's the expensive way. Is there another?"
The officers peered at the maps and photographs. "I sure don't see how we can get the stuff without taking Rochemont," Lieutenant Mace said.
"Yet we think they are going to pack it into a landing boat," Falkenberg said. "If we could take that boat after they've loaded it—"
"Yes, sir, we've all been thinking of that all the way here, but there's no way," Lieutenant Mace said. "Colonel, the minute that landing boat comes in, they won't try to hide anything. They'll have those radars sweeping every inch of ground around Rochemont. They probably already have trip wires. Mine fields too."
"Besides," Lieutenant Janowitz said. "Even if we could take the landing boat, what would we do with it?"
"One thing at a time," Falkenberg said. "If you had that boat, Mr. Prince, what would you do with it?"
"Fly it to the capital," Lysander said.
"Fly? And who'd do that?" Mace demanded.
"I could."
"Precisely," Falkenberg said. "As it happens, Mr. Prince has had quite extensive training. He is one of the three qualified landing boat pilots in the Regiment."
"Sir? I'm hardly qualified. I've done the training, yes, sir—"
"Three flights, I believe? Takeoff, atmosphere flying, and landing from orbit. You're the best qualified pilot we have, actually."
"Well, if you say so, sir. Uh—Colonel, who are the other two?"
"Captain Svoboda. And me."
"Colonel—" Lieutenant Mace drew in his breath. "Colonel, just what do you have in mind?"
"About what you think, Mr. Mace. A miracle. A small change in Major Barton's plans."
Lysander looked at the projected charts of Rochemont's defenses. "With respect, Colonel, it would take a miracle. Granted I—we could fly that boat out of here, how do we capture it? We can't even get to it."
"That's certainly what Barton thinks," Falkenberg said. "Just as the Romans believed Hannibal couldn't get to them from North Africa."
"Colonel, the Alps is one thing, that field's another. They're bound to have radars sweeping that whole area right now."
"They do," Miscowsky said. "Random intervals, but often enough to keep anyone from getting across those fields. Even my squad couldn't make it."
"Precisely," Falkenberg said. "They're watching the fields. Makes them feel safe. But I doubt they have sonars—"
"Sonar?" Miscowsky said. "Colonel, you ain't thinking of swimming over there? Colonel, everybody knows you don't swim on Tanith! You'd be breakfast for a nessie before you got halfway!"
"Everyone agrees? You can't get past the nessies?" Falkenberg asked. "Good. I'm sure Barton believes it as well."
"Believes it because it's true, Colonel," Miscowsky said. "I don't know much about this crazy planet, but I know that! Sir, it ain't a matter of guts, or firepower. It wouldn't be easy to fight off a nessie, but maybe you could do that, only Barton's people would sure as hell know you did it! And the damn nessie might win the fight anyway."
"My analysis precisely, Sergeant," Falkenberg said. "I came to that conclusion before we left headquarters." He reached into his battle armor and produced a tape cassette. "We can't fight nessies, but perhaps we can avoid them. I had an advantage over you, Sergeant. Being at headquarters I could do some research. More precisely, find out who has already done the research. I called in Mrs. Chang and asked who knew the most about nessies. It turns out there is one team that does nothing but study them."
Falkenberg slapped the tape against his palm. "I got the reports and read them, then I had Mrs. Chang download this from the governor's data banks. It's a tape of nessie calls."
Lysander frowned. "Sir?"
"Feeding calls, mostly. As it happens, there were two deep diving sea sleds in the regimental quartermaster stores. When we loaded the choppers I brought them, and two scuba outfits," Falkenberg said. "Now suppose that we put this tape into an amplifier on a sea sled. I also have tapes of the sounds of crippled prey. Calls and swimming sounds. Put those in the sled, too. Now suppose we send that sea sled on autopilot out into the bay. Make part of that sled's load a dead porker. A bleeding dead porker. When it gets out a way, turn on the tapes."
Lysander nodded to himself. "And while the nessies are following that, we take the other sled over to the dock area. It might work, but won't the landing boat cause problems? How do nessies react to something like that? Will they even hear the tapes?"
"I don't know, Mr. Prince," Falkenberg said. "I don't propose to wait that long. My notion was to get over there while it's still dark. There seem to be ample places to hide."
"A porker isn't all that big," Lieutenant Mace said. "What happens when the nessies finish yours off?"
"Minigrenades," Falkenberg said. "Several of them in the porker, and more outside on the sled. They may not kill any nessies, but they'll wound a couple."
"And nessies are cannibals," Mace said. "Feeding frenzy. You sure don't want to be near that—"
"And won't be," Falkenberg said. "That will happen a couple of klicks out in the bay. We'll be much nearer the shore."
"We," Lysander said.
"I had presumed you'd volunteer," Falkenberg said. "If not, it's no discredit. The notion of swimming out among those creatures isn't exactly pleasant. McClaren will volunteer."
"Oh, I'm going, Colonel. That's not the problem."
"What is?"
"Harv will have to come."
"We only have two sets of scuba gear."
"That's enough. Colonel, you're needed here."
"That's for sure," Lieutenant Mace said.
"Mr. Prince—"
"Colonel, for God's sake! We're talking about swimming three klicks, then hiding out to wait for the landing boat. After that we have to take the boat. With all respect, Colonel, that's stuff Harv and I can do a lot better than you."
"Mr. Prince—"
"Colonel, you're twice my age. More. How long has it been since you took out a sentry? I'd never have thought this up, but Harv and I can sure do it better than you can."
"He's right, Colonel," Miscowsky said. "Only, about this Harv, maybe I ought to go instead—"
Falkenberg laughed softly. "Leave it, Sergeant. Mr. Prince, your point is made. Good luck."