Robert Adams - The Witch Goddess

“One thing of significance that I noticed on the second patrol, that day, the one over the hills to the east of that gap—” Suddenly Corbett broke off short and leaned forward, his dark eyes on the twitching Braun.

“… killed you, killed you, fin’ly killed you, damned bitch-dog, you…” Braun was mumbling, still delirious. “… all these years, cen’tries, been nothing but trouble, tsuris for me since damned day I met you, dirty cunt… rid of you at last… bitch on wheels… my project , took all the credit for my goddam project… you and that asshole Sternheimer, got him hot for you, you cooze, fucked him a few times and the shmuck let you take all the credit for my project.

“You tried to kill me, damn you, but I did kill you… nobody… never ever know… hope the Ganiks eat you! No-good whore, fuck anybody… everybody but me. Oh, Erica, my love, my love, why do you treat me this way…”

Then the unconscious man .drifted off into a spate of meaningless mumbles, interspersed with moans, while his sweat-drenched face contracted, relaxed, then contracted again.

“Gumpner,” said Corbett quietly, “you heard?”

“Yes, sir,” the noncom answered just as quietly.

“Whether he lives to get back or dies before he does, you are not to breathe a single word of what he just said—not to any of the men, not to anyone back at Broomtown base, not to anyone from the Center, and especially not to him. Hear me?”

“Yes, sir. But, sir, if he killed Dr. Arenstein… ?”

Corbett laid a hand on his shoulder, looked him dead in the eyes and said slowly, “Yes, Gumpner, I am as certain as I am that I’m sitting here that Dr. Braun did do just what he said he did. Cowards can be highly dangerous, and he is a very intelligent coward. Moreover, he is cunning, and were he confronted with the words that just came from his own lips, he’d most likely swear that he was babbling in his delirium. He very well could have been doing just that, too… but I don’t believe it. “If he lives to get back, remember, he is a member of the Council of Directors, the men and women who run and have run the Center for centuries. Now, Dave Sternheimer doesn’t like Braun any better than Braun likes him, but that wouldn’t save your neck if it got about that you were slandering a member of the Council. Whether or not what you were saying was true doesn’t matter. They’d see you dead, Sergeant.

“Please heed my orders, on this matter Gumpner. Your father and I were very close friends, and your granddad, too.

For Gumpner, there could be but the one reply—“Yes, this sorry secret to your grave, let your report parallel mine—Dr. Erica Arenstein died of unavoidable enemy action, period.

“Will you do this for me, Gumpner?”

For Gumpner, there could be but the one reply,—“Yes, sir.”

With the rising of the sun, Corbett had one of the cookpots filled with water from the spring-fed pool and put over a fire to boil. Into it he dropped such of the surgical instruments as he knew how to use. When the water was boiling, he ladled off some of it into another pot, adding just enough of the icy water from the pool to enable him to immerse his hands in it. Then, with strong soap and a small, stiff-bristled brush, he scrubbed his hands and forearms thoroughly for nearly ten minutes, ending by waving them back and forth to air-dry, rather than using a possibly dirty cloth for the purpose.

When the pot had been boiling for a full half hour—this including extra time for the fact that more water had had to be added on two occasions—the officer used a long pair of forceps to remove the sterilized instruments onto a towel soaked with alcohol.

At his direction, Gumpner and Sergeant Cabell cut away the filthy encrusted bandages and removed the splints from Dr. Braun’s leg, then swabbed it from crotch to toes with more of the alcohol from the medical packs.

Not entirely trusting the drugs he had early injected, Corbett had had long stakes hammered deeply into the soil in three places, then had lashed the ankle of Braun’s good leg and his two wrists to them. In addition—for Corbett was experienced at performing vital field-surgery with little or no anesthetics available and knew what to expect from his patients—two brawny troopers had been assigned to keep the doctor’s body still, and another to hold the ankle of the injured leg.

Major Corbett’s first really good look at the shiny-skinned, terribly discolored and hideously swollen leg truly frightened him with the cold dash of realization of just how little he really knew of medicine or surgery. But he set his teeth and his resolve, rationalizing that Braun would assuredly die unless something was done. Even one chance out of a hundred that Corbett would fumble his way to the proper procedure must be better than no chance at all.

He began his incision as high up on the leg as the swelling and discoloration extended, glad that he had the foresight to strip to the waist and cover the front of his trousers with a linen apron when the incision commenced to gush foul, greenish pus. He also was glad that he had taken the security precautions, for despite the injected drugs and the stakes and lashings, it was all that the three brawny troopers could do to keep the shrieking patient still enough for Corbett to do what he must.

Seated against a rock, under the guard of a trooper, old Johnny Skinhead watched the procedure fascinatedly. He had fancied himself an expert at the refinements of torture until he witnessed this session. He could not shake off the grim presentiment that he would be the next man to be lashed out between those stakes and subjected to protracted torment at the bloody hands of the tall, beardless Ahrmehnee. He shuddered and unconsciously wet his tattered breeches.

When even hard pressure brought forth only blood and clear, odorless serum, Corbett sponged out the entire length and depth of the opening with hydrogen peroxide—it was either that or alcohol, for they were the only antiseptics remaining in the medical-supply packs—then began the long job of suturing closed the lips of the gaping wound.

But no sooner was he done than he made the discovery that in order to do a thorough job, in order to completely drain the leg, it was going to be necessary to open the inner surface of the limb as well. He debated resting for a while before undertaking the second part of the messy business, but decided it was best to get on with it.

Eventually, it all had been done. Both of the incisions had been swabbed out, sutured, fitted with drains and freshly bandaged. With the replacement of the splint, Corbett gave Braun another injection, had him untied, bathed—in the excesses of his agony, the scientist had befouled himself with both feces and urine—then bedded down warmly and left under the watchful eyes of a couple of troopers.

“He’s in the hands of God, now,” the weary officer told Gumpner and Cabell. “We’ve done all that we can for him.” Silently, to himself, he added, “I just hope the bastard appreciates it, but he probably won’t, knowing him.”

Pointedly leaving Erica all of Long Willy’s knives and the deceased leader’s longsword, Lee-Roy and Abner dragged out the two bodies and dumped them near to that of Strong Tom. At her command, they found and toted over a battered armed chair, plunked it in front of the cabin which had been Long Willy’s, then gently steadied the young woman until she was seated in it, cradling the rifle in her lap and clad only in her breeches, since they had not as yet located her boots and Other clothing.

Then, one at a time, they ran down and dragged before her the other bullies, those who had accepted Long Willy’s invitation to rape her. Erica shot each of the Ganiks, most of them either low in the belly or, like Strong Tom, in the groin. Two, who managed to tear free from Lee-Roy and Abner and try to run, she shot through the kidney.