Jerry Pournelle - West of Honor

We stood there watching as the colonists were herded into the prison building. It took nearly an hour to get all 2000 inside. Finally the gates were closed. Ogilvie gave more orders and the marines scabbarded their bayonets, then formed into columns of eight and marched down the road.

"Well, fellow musketeers," I said. "Here we go. We're to follow up the hill, and there's apparently no transport."

"What about my ordnance?" Deane asked.

I shrugged. "Apparently arrangements will be made. In any event it's John Christian Falkenberg's problem. Ours not to reason why-"

"Ours but to watch for deserters," Louis Bonneyman broke in. "And we'd best get at it. Is your sidearm loaded?"

"Oh, come on, Louis," Deane said.

"Notice," Louis replied. "See how Falkenberg has formed up the troops. Recall that their baggage is still aboard. You may not like Falkenberg, Deane, but you will admit that he is thorough."

"As it happens, Louis is right," I said. "Falkenberg did say something about deserters. But he didn't think there'd be any."

"There you are," Louis sniffed. "He takes no chances, that one."

"Except with us," Deane Knowles said.

"What do you mean by that?" Louis let the smile fade and lifted an eyebrow at Deane.

"Oh, nothing," Deane said. "Not much Falkenberg could do about it anyway. But I don't suppose you chaps know what the local garrison commander asked for?"

"No, of course not," Louis said.

"How did you find out?" I asked.

"Simple. When you want to know something military, talk to the sergeants."

"Well?" Louis demanded.

Deane grinned. "Come on, we'll get too far behind. Looks as if we really will march all the way up the hill, doesn't it? Not even transport for officers. Shameful."

"Damn your eyes, Deane!" I said.

Knowles shrugged. "Well, the governor asked for a full regiment and a destroyer. Instead of a regiment and a warship he got us. Might be interesting if he really needed a regiment, eh? Coming, fellows?"

I've a head like a concertina,

and I think I'm going to die,

and I'm here in the clink for a thunderin' drink,

and blackin' the corporal's eye…

"Picturesque," Louis said. "They sing well, don't they?"

"Shut up and walk," Deane told him. "It's bloody hot."

I didn't find it so bad. It was hot. No question about that, and undress blues were never designed for route marches on hot planets. Still, it could have been worse. We might have turned out in body armor.

There was no problem with the troops. They marched and sang like regulars, even if half of them were recruits and the rest were guardhouse cases. If any of them had ideas of running, they never showed them.

With another man's cloak underneath of my head,

and a beautiful view of the yard,

it's thirty days fine, with bread and no wine,

for Drunk and Resistin' the Guard!

Mad drunk and Resistin' the Guard!

"Curious," Louis intoned. "Half of them have never seen a guardhouse."

"I expect they'll find out soon enough," Deane replied. "Lord love us, will you look at that?"

He gestured at a row of cheap adobe houses along the river bank. There wasn't much doubt about what they sold. The girls were dressed for hot weather, and they sat in the windows and waved at the troopers going by.

"I thought Arrarat was full of Holy Joes," Louis Bonneyman marvelled. "Well, we will have no difficulty finding any troopers who run. First night, anyway."

The harbor area was just north of a wide river that fanned into a delta east of the city. The road wound just inland from the harbor; and the city formed a high bluff to our right as we marched. It seemed a long way before we arrived at the turnoff to the city gate.

There were facilities for servicing the space shuttle and some riverboat docks and warehouses, but it seemed to me there wasn't a lot of activity, and I wondered why. As far as I could remember there weren't any railroads on Arrarat, nor many highways, and I couldn't remember seeing any airfields.

After marching a kilometer inland we made a sharp right turn and followed another road up the bluff. There was a rabbit warren of crumbling houses and alleys along the bluff, followed by a clear area in front of the high city wall. Militia in drab coveralls manned a guardhouse at the city gate. Other militiamen patrolled the wall. Inside the gate was Harmony, another warren of houses and shops not much different from those outside but a little better kept up.

There was a clear area for 30 meters on each side of the main road, and beyond that was chaos. Market stalls, houses, tailor shops, electronics shops, a smithy with hand bellows and forge, a shop that wound electric motors and another that sold solar cells, a pottery with a kick wheel where a woman shaped cups from clay, a silversmith, a scissors grinder-the variety was overwhelming, and so was the contrast between the modern and the things reminiscent of Frontierland.

There were anachronisms everywhere, but I was used to them. The military services were shot through with contrasts. Part of it was the state of development out in the colonies-many of them had no industrial base, and some didn't want any to begin with. If you didn't bring it with you, you wouldn't have it. But there was another reason. CoDominium Intelligence licensed all scientific research and tried to suppress anything that could have military value. The US-Soviet alliance was in control and wasn't about to let any new discoveries upset the balance. They couldn't stop everything, but they didn't have to, so long as the Grand Senate controlled everyone's r amp;d budget and could tinker with the patent laws.

We all knew it couldn't last, but we didn't want to think about that. Back on Earth the US and Soviet governments hated each other. The only thing they hated more was the idea that someone else, like the Chinese or Japanese or United Emirates, would become strong enough to tell them what to do. The Fleet guards an uneasy peace built on an uneasy alliance.

The people of Harmony came in all races and colors, and I heard a dozen languages shouted from shop to shop. Everyone worked either outside his house or from a market stall. When we marched past, people stopped work and waved at us. One old man came out of a tailor shop and took off his broad-brimmed hat. "God bless you, soldiers," he shouted. "We love you."

"Now that's what we joined up for," Deane said. "Not to herd a bunch of losers halfway across the galaxy-"

"Twenty parsecs isn't halfway across the galaxy," I told him.

He made faces at me.

"I wonder why they're all so glad to see us?" Louis asked. "And they look hungry. How does one become so thin in an agricultural paradise?"

"Incredible," Deane said. "Louis, you really must learn to pay attention to important details. Such as reading the station roster of the garrison here."

"And when could I have done that?" Bonneyman demanded. "Falkenberg had us working 12 hours a day-"

"So you use the other 12," Deane said.

"And what, O brilliant one, didst thou learn from the station roster?" I asked.

"That the garrison commander is over 70, and he has one 63-year-old major on his staff, as well as a 62-year-old captain. That the youngest marine officer on Arrarat is over 60, and the only junior officers are militia."

"Bah. A retirement post," Bonneyman said. "So why did they ask for a regiment?"

"Don't be silly, Louis," Deane said. "Because they've run into something they can't handle with their militia and their superannuated officers, of course."

"Meaning we'll have to," I said. Only of course we didn't have a regiment, only less than 1000 marines, three junior officers, a captain with the Military Cross, and-well, and nothing, unless the local militia was capable of something. "The heroes have arrived."