David Weber - Hell Hath No Fury

"Understood." Harshu stepped over close beside the Air Force officer, gazing at the same sketch.

"To be honest," the two thousand went on, after a moment, "I never expected that we'd get much farther than we already have without taking substantial casualties of our own. I'm inclined to think now that I was overly pessimistic in that respect, given how decisively your combat strikes have been shutting them down before we ever have to go in on the ground. I don't really want to do anything to change that, like sending in some sort of conventional assault instead. But if they do have any of our people inside, then we can't justify not trying to get them out-or, even worse, possibly killing them ourselves-

simply because we might risk a few more casualties in a rescue attempt."

"I agree, Sir," Toralk said firmly, although he was strongly tempted to point out that even if they hadn't suffered very many casualties in human terms, the dragons they'd lost had been more than merely painful. The diversion of both transports and battle dragons he'd been forced to make to Five Hundred Mala to support Carthos' independent advance hadn't helped his force availability any either, of course.

"How soon can you give me an operations plan?" Harshu asked.

"Probably by lunchtime, Sir." Toralk shrugged. "As I say, I'd feel better with a SpecOps company to lead the way, but this is a fairly standard scenario. We spend a lot of time planning and executing these on the fly in our normal training exercises, and we've learned a lot about these people, too."

"Good. It's going to take us a full day to get our transports moved into striking range and rested, anyway.

Can you do your planning while we're actually in the air?"

"No, Sir," Toralk said with fairly massive understatement. "But what I can do is hold a small planning staff right where we are while we put the ops plan together. Then I can load them all onto a single transport and catch up with you sometime this evening. We'll have to leave the transport behind to rest while the rest of the attack kicks off, but the availability of a single transport dragon either way isn't going to make or break the op."

"Good," Harshu repeated. "Good! I'll be looking forward to seeing your plan."

"Good, Syrail. Good!" Folsar chan Tergis Said enthusiastically as he Watched the crystal-clear imagery of something physically seen through someone else's eyes. "I've known Voices three times your age who wouldn't have gotten it that clear. I think you're finally getting the hang of it."

The Fort Ghartoun Voice could Feel Syrail Targal's pleasure at the compliment. A pleasure due in no small part to the fact that the thirteen-year-old boy knew that it was deserved.

"You know, Folsar," Syrail Said back, "you really are a pretty good teacher."

"Am I?" chan Tergis chuckled. "Just between you and me? I'd rather be sitting in a school somewhere a lot closer to Sharona than being stuck out here."

"Well, I'm just as happy you're here."

"Thanks … I think," chan Tergis Said dryly.

The truth was that chan Tergis had been a teacher-and a good one-in one of the private Talent academies before his weakness for distilled grain products landed him in the uniform of the PAAF. He wasn't above occasionally bewailing the change in his fortunes, although-while he wasn't prepared to admit it to anyone (including himself, most of the time)-he actually rather enjoyed his present life. Oh, he really did miss the amenities of the home universe or the more developed of the colonized universes.

But he also knew that his drinking problem-and the fact that it was a problem simply could not be denied-was far more difficult for him to deal with in those universes.

Funny, he thought on a level carefully shielded from young Syrail. Two-thirds of the drinking problems in the military happen out here in one of the frontier postings. I guess some folks miss the bright lights enough that sheer boredom gets them. Me, I think seeing all this empty, unspoiled breathing space takes the pressure off, somehow.

He didn't know if that was the truth, or if he was fooling himself, and it didn't really matter. He'd been sober for almost a full year this time, and he'd discovered that he really liked Regiment-Captain Velvelig. There was a lot more humor and warmth hidden behind that Arpathian facade than most people would ever realize. Besides, the "can't-make-me-a-soldier" game was ever so much more fun with a CO who understood the rules!

"Mom's calling me, Folsar," Syrail Said, and the imagery of the view from his window which he'd been sending to chan Tergis disappeared abruptly. "I think I may have left a few chores undone this morning.

"

"Haven't you figured out yet that you can't fib to another Voice?" chan Tergis replied with a chuckle.

"You don't just think you left them undone."

"Well, maybe not," Syrail admitted sheepishly. "Bye!"

The boy withdrew, and chan Tergis sat up in the straight backed chair beside his small desk and opened his eyes.

Syrail was a good kid. He reminded chan Tergis of his own youngest cousin, as a matter of fact, although Syrail's Talent was considerably stronger. In fact, it was a shame, bordering on something worse than that, that he was stuck out here in Thermyn. There weren't more than a couple of thousand people in and around Fort Ghartoun and the surrounding countryside. No one-unless it was Regiment- Captain Velvelig-had any hard and fast official numbers for Thermyn's population, but however many people there were, there weren't enough to have a proper Talent academy, and Syrail's Voice really needed training.

Fortunately, the boy's family's cabin was less than thirty miles from Fort Ghartoun. That was close enough that chan Tergis had caught the telltale involuntary Voice transmissions of an extraordinarily powerful Talent just coming into its own. It hadn't taken him long to track down the source, although he had been a bit surprised by Syrail's youth. Generally, a Talent as strong as Syrail's didn't truly begin manifesting until its possessor was at least fifteen or sixteen years old. Which probably explained why his parents hadn't worried about having him tested for Talent before they headed out to Thermyn. After all, Syrail had been only twelve when they set out, and they were due to return to Sharona in only a few more months.

Syrail's father, who was also named Syrail, although he usually went by his nickname, "Kersai," which meant "redhead" in his native Tadewian, was a geologist, employed by the Fairnos Consortium, who'd been assigned to the preliminary survey of the Sky Blood Lode in Thermyn. Even though the basic geology was identical in every universe, there were almost always minor variations. Landslides limited to individual universes, or forest fires, or floods, or any number of purely local factors could affect plans to develop something like the huge silver deposits.

In this case, the altitude differential between the Thermyn and Failcham sides of the portal had produced more of that than usual. It was fortunate that this portal had obviously been here literally for centuries, if not longer. There were ample clues as to what must have happened to the local geography and flora and fauna when that savage tidal bore of furnace-hot, kiln-dry wind from the Ricathian Desert came ripping through it and blasted straight into the western face of the Sky Blood Mountains. The local plant life had recovered, masking the worst of the inter-universal sandblasting under fully mature forest, but there were still spectacular expanses of naked, wind-blasted rock where the lash of the portal blast had scourged the flesh from the mountains' bones.

Kersai was young for the responsibility of dealing with that sort of "minor variation," but he was also smart and hardworking, and from everything chan Tergis had been able to discern, he'd done a first-rate job. In fact, he, his wife Raysith, and Syrail were going to be heading back to Sharona in just a few days, at least three months ahead of their original schedule, for a well-deserved vacation and promotion. Chan Tergis had already discussed young Syrail's need for additional training with his parents, and although neither Kersai nor Raysith was very strongly Talented, they were obviously delighted by his enthusiastic praise for what Syrail had already accomplished.