Роберт Хайнлайн: Starship Troopers

I stared at it. “Is this map reliable?”

The engineer officer glanced at the senser, then said very quietly to me, “Of course it is, you idiot! What are you trying to do? Upset him?”

They left while I was studying it. The artist-engineer had done double sketching and the box had combined them into a stereo picture of the first thousand feet under the surface. I was so bemused by it that I had to be reminded to take the platoon out of “freeze” — then I withdrew the ground listeners from the crater, pulled two men from each squad and gave them bearings from that infernal map to have them listen along the Bug highway and over the town.

I reported it to Blackie. He cut me off as I started to describe the Bug tunnels by co-ordinates. “Major Landry relayed a facsimile to me. Just give me co-ordinates of your listening posts.”

I did so. He said, “Not bad, Johnnie. But not quite what I want, either. You’ve placed more listeners than you need over their mapped tunnels. String four of them along that Bug race track, place four more in a diamond around their town. That leaves you four. Place one in the triangle formed by your right rear corner and the main tunnel; the other three go in the larger area on the other side of the tunnel.”

“Yes, sir.” I added, “Captain, can we depend on this map?”

“What’s troubling you?”

“Well… it seems like magic. Uh, black magic.”

“Oh. Look, son, I’ve got a special message from the Sky Marshal to you. He says to tell you that map is official… and that he will worry about everything else so that you can give full time to your platoon. Follow me?”

“Uh, yes, Captain.”

“But the Bugs can burrow mighty fast, so you give special attention to the listening posts outside the area of the tunnels. Any noise from those four outside posts louder than a butterfly’s roar is to be reported at once, regardless of its nature.”

“Yes, sir.”

“When they burrow, it makes a noise like frying bacon — in case you’ve never heard it. Stop your patrol sweeps. Leave one man on visual observation of the crater. Let half your platoon sleep for two hours, while the other half pairs off to take turns listening.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You may see some more combat engineers. Here’s the revised plan. A sapper company will blast down and cork that main tunnel where it comes nearest the surface, either at your left flank, or beyond in ‘Head Hunter’ territory. At the same time another engineer company will do the same where that tunnel branches about thirty miles off to your right in the First Regiment’s bailiwick. When the corks are in, a long chunk of their main street and a biggish settlement will be cut off. Meanwhile, the same sort of thing will be going on a lot of other places. Thereafter — we’ll see. Either the Bugs break through to the surface and we have a pitched battle, or they sit tight and we go down after them, a sector at a time.”

“I see.” I wasn’t sure that I did, but I understood my part: rearrange my listening posts; let half my platoon sleep. Then a Bug hunt — on the surface if we were lucky, underground if we had to.

“Have your flank make contact with that sapper company when it arrives. Help ’em if they want help.”

“Right, Cap’n,” I agreed heartily. Combat engineers are almost as good an outfit as the infantry; it’s a pleasure to work with them. In a pinch they fight, maybe not expertly but bravely. Or they go ahead with their work, not even lifting their heads while a battle rages around them. They have an unofficial, very cynical and very ancient motto: “First we dig ’em, then we die in ’em,” to supplement their official motto: “Can do!” Both mottoes are literal truth.

“Get on it, son.”

Twelve listening posts meant that I could put a half squad at each post, either a corporal or his lance, plus three privates, then allow two of each group of four to sleep while the other two took turns listening. Navarre and the other section chaser could watch the crater and sleep, turn about, while section sergeants could take turns in charge of the platoon. The redisposition took no more than ten minutes once I had detailed the plan and given out bearings to the sergeants; nobody had to move very far. I warned everybody to keep eyes open for a company of engineers. As soon as each section reported its listening posts in operation I clicked to the wide circuit: “Odd numbers! Lie down, prepare to sleep… one… two… three… four… five — sleep!”

A suit is not a bed, but it will do. One good thing about hypno preparation for combat is that, in the unlikely event of a chance to rest, a man can be put to sleep instantly by post-hypnotic command triggered by someone who is not a hypnotist — and awakened just as instantly, alert and ready to fight. It is a life-saver, because a man can get so exhausted in battle that he shoots at things that aren’t there and can’t see what he should be fighting.

But I had no intention of sleeping. I had not been told to — and I had not asked. The very thought of sleeping when I knew that perhaps many thousands of Bugs were only a few hundred feet away made my stomach jump. Maybe that senser was infallible, perhaps the Bugs could not reach us without alerting our listening posts.

Maybe — But I didn’t want to chance it.

I clicked to my private circuit. “Sarge —”

“Yes, sir.”

“You might as well get a nap. I’ll be on watch. Lie down and prepare to sleep… one… two —”

“Excuse me, sir. I have a suggestion.”

“Yes?”

“If I understand the revised plan, no action is expected for the next four hours. You could take a nap now, and then —”

“Forget it, Sarge! I am not going to sleep. I am going to make the rounds of the listening posts and watch for that sapper company.”

“Very well, sir.”

“I’ll check number three while I’m here. You stay here with Brumby and catch some rest while I —”

“Johnnie!”

I broke off. “Yes, Captain?” Had the Old Man been listening?

“Are your posts all set?”

“Yes, Captain, and my odd numbers are sleeping. I am about to inspect each post. Then —”

“Let your sergeant do it. I want you to rest.”

“But, Captain —”

“Lie down. That’s a direct order. Prepare to sleep… one… two… three — Johnnie! ”

“Captain, with your permission, I would like to inspect my posts first. Then I’ll rest, if you say so, but I would rather remain awake. I —”

Blackie guffawed in my ear. “Look, son, you’ve slept for an hour and ten minutes.”

“Sir?”

“Check the time.” I did so — and felt foolish. “You wide-awake, son?”

“Yes, sir. I think so.”

“Things have speeded up. Call your odd numbers and put your even numbers to sleep. With luck, they may get an hour. So swap ’em around, inspect your posts, and call me back.”

I did so and started my rounds without a word to my platoon sergeant. I was annoyed at both him and Blackie — at my company commander because I resented being put to sleep against my wishes; and as for my platoon sergeant, I had a dirty hunch that it wouldn’t have been done if he weren’t the real boss and myself just a figurehead.

But after I had checked posts number three and one (no sounds of any sort, both were forward of the Bug area), I cooled down. After all, blaming a sergeant, even a fleet sergeant, for something a captain did was silly. “Sarge —”

“Yes, Mr. Rico?”

“Do you want to catch a nap with the even numbers? I’ll wake you a minute or two before I wake them.”

He hesitated slightly. “Sir, I’d like to inspect the listening posts myself.”