27

Eastern slopes of the Bloodstone Range

Rockspire Mountains, Northwind

June, 3133; local summer

The Northwind infantry was on the road again for the second time in as many weeks. The first time had proved to be a matter of “hurry up and wait.” Will Elliot and his comrades had come tumbling out of their barracks in the pre-dawn hours at their Sergeants’ urgings, collected their weapons and equipment, and hastened onto transports—only to find themselves cooling their heels several hours later in holding camps that were, presumably, closer to where somebody in charge believed that the front lines might eventually be.

This time, Will thought, matters appeared more serious. Word had spread even before reveille that the Steel Wolves’ DropShips had come down somewhere on the far side of the Rockspires, and nobody was foolish enough to think that the Wolves were going to stay where they’d landed. The encampment had boiled over into organized chaos at the news, and by breakfast time the mess tents were full of speculation. Will hadn’t heard anything official yet, but it didn’t take an old soldier to know that if the Wolves were down on Northwind then somebody would be going out to stop them.

He left the mess tent with his belly full of the comfort that came from hot tea and oatmeal porridge, and paused a moment to sniff the morning air. Here in the midst of the Highlanders’ encampment in the Rockspire foothills, scents of fuel and torn earth predominated, but behind it all he could smell rain coming—not today, and probably not tomorrow, but before three days were out for sure. And if fighting in bad weather was anywhere near as bad as simply hiking and camping in it could sometimes be, then Highlanders and Wolves alike were in for an uncomfortable time.

An idea stirred into life at the back of his mind. It had something to do with how the instructors in boot camp had talked about showing initiative, but mostly it came from knowing that he’d driven every road and tramped along every trail in this part of the Rockspires, from the time he was old enough to be let out alone without a keeper.

He spotted his fellow scout/snipers Jock Gordon and Lexa McIntosh coming out of the mess tent and took it for a good omen.

“Hey,” he said. “Jock, Lexa—come with me.”

They joined him, Jock looking amiable and obliging as usual and Lexa—who was not as much of a trusting nature as her larger male companions—looking dubious.

“What’s up?” she asked.

Will gestured toward the looming mountains, their lower slopes given a rosy tint by the early morning sun.

“Those hills are where I grew up,” he said. “I used to earn my living at being somebody who knew his way around them. And now some Wolf Clan bastard thinks he’s going to come through there and take over.”

“I don’t like it either,” Lexa said. “But what’s your point?”

“Point is, we’re scouts. It says so right on our shoulder patches. Jock, do you think you could get us a vehicle—some kind of truck, or one of the Foxes if you can find one?”

“Without orders?” Jock asked dubiously. “Nobody’s said we can—”

“Nobody so far has said that we can’t, either,” Will said. “As long as they don’t, we’re all right. I’m going to find the Sergeant, get the intel, then—”

The high-pitched warble of an announcement tone came over the air, followed by an amplified voice. “All troopers, form ranks, by unit. All troopers…”

“Now’s when they tell us what we can and can’t do,” said Lexa. She sounded disappointed.

“Damn,” Will said. “Company quarters, then, and let’s be sharp about it.”

“Do you still want me to see about that truck?” Jock asked.

Will thought for a moment. “Go ahead. The two of you scrounge whatever you can and meet me at the assembly area. If they tell us we have to sit tight and do nothing, you can always take everything back and say that the Sergeant didn’t want it after all.”

“What Sergeant?”

“The one we’re not asking permission from because he might say no if we did,” Will said.

A sharp gust of wind blew up the loose dirt around him as he spoke. He tasted the earth, his native land. He didn’t need a map of these mountains. If he could get out of camp, he could find the Steel Wolves no matter where they hid.

Feeling disgruntled, he made his way to the scout/sniper assembly area. Master Sergeant Murray was already there, watching the soldiers as they assembled.

“Private Elliot!” he said. “Good to see you. You’re new, but all your instructors say that you’re a promising lad.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Will said. He kept his face blank, a useful skill in dealing with Sergeants, and one that he’d already possessed when he joined the infantry. Maintaining a straight face and keeping his private thoughts private in the company of wealthy, powerful, and frequently stupid wilderness tourists had been part of his job for years. “Thank you.”

“Now here’s the drill,” Murray continued. “Find the Wolves. Engage, and report.”

By now Will had been in the infantry long enough to understand that being thought promising by one’s superiors was at best a mixed blessing—even, or perhaps especially, when their ideas coincided with one’s own.

“That’s it?” he asked.

“It’ll have to be enough,” Murray said. “We’re understrength, and we’re spread out all over New Lanark because we couldn’t depend on the Wolves being polite and landing where we wanted them to. Now the first thing we need to know is what exactly we’re up against. Who’s out there, how many of them, where they are, where they’re going. I know you paid attention in boot camp, so you know the drill.”

Good thing the Sergeant doesn’t know what I thought in boot camp, Will thought. Aloud, he said, “I have one of our lads I can send out looking for a vehicle. Is there any extra stuff that I can throw onto it?”

“We don’t have much,” Murray said. “Take what you need, but your main task involves rifles and radios.”

“Got both of those.”

A shout came from behind them, and the muted-windstorm sound of a hovercraft moving over loose dirt. Will turned and saw Jock Gordon pulling up with a Fox armored car. With its two front-mounted Voelkers 200 machine guns and its Diverse Optics Extended Range Medium Laser, the Fox was an excellent choice for a reconnaissance mission—far better than the toothless cargo truck Will had been expecting.

“I hope you signed a requisition to get that,” Will said, mindful of the presence beside him of Master Sergeant Murray.

“I would have if anybody had been looking,” Jock said.

“I’ll mark it to you,” Murray said. Will thought that the Master Sergeant looked amused. “Don’t worry.”

The Master Sergeant moved on. As soon as Murray was out of earshot, Lexa McIntosh emerged from around the corner of the nearest tent, carrying a heavy particle gun under one arm and dragging behind her a case of demolition charges that had to have weighed almost as much as she did.

“Got room in the Fox for this stuff?” she asked. “It’s all I could find lying about loose.”

“We’ll make room,” Will said. “We might find something that needs blowing up, and be glad that we brought it. Now we have to get going.”

He swung himself onto the Fox’s superstructure. “Mount up,” he said. “Let’s ride.”