David Weber - The Road to Hell

Fozak chan Gyulair had the hands-and the Talent-to take full advantage of his weapon’s capabilities.

“Don’t See anyone moving around near them at the moment,” chan Jethos continued, his voice taking on a faintly singsong note as he closed his physical eyes to focus more fully on his own Talent. He was chan Gyulair’s regular spotter, with a Talent which was relatively short ranged but capable of very fine degrees of discrimination over the range it had.

“Just let me know if that changes,” chan Gyulair said flatly.

* * *

“Who’s got lookout duty this afternoon?” Nyk Phiery asked.

He was the squad shield for 1st Squad, 2nd Platoon, C Company, 2nd Battalion, 451st Regiment, of the Union of Arcana Army, and he didn’t sound happy.

“That would be Dhugahl, I believe,” Sword Kilvyn Forstmir replied. “Why?”

“Because it’s an hour past chow time and no one’s relieved Jelmart and Vermahka. They’re getting a little hungry , Sword.”

Forstmir frowned, and not at the bite in Phiery’s voice. The 1st Squad leader did his best to keep his own people on their toes and sharp, just as Forstmir tried to do for the entire understrength platoon, but both of them were fighting-and losing-an uphill battle. It wasn’t surprising the platoon should feel thoroughly crapped on, stuck out here at the arse-end of nowhere and under canvas in the middle of a northern Yanko winter. It was the most miserable, godsforsaken assignment Forstmir had ever caught, and gods knew he’d caught more than a few in the course of his fifteen-year career. And it didn’t help that every member of the platoon knew Commander of One Hundred Thimanus Gorzalt, C Company’s CO, had chosen them for this blissful duty because he’d taken a profound dislike to Commander of Fifty Zakar Ustmyn.

Forstmir wasn’t supposed to know that, but it would be a cold day in Shartahk’s hell when a platoon sword didn’t know everything that might affect his platoon. Forstmir knew all about the feud between Gorzalt and Ustmyn. He also knew Thousand Carthos had left Gorzalt-who might most kindly be described as a bit of a dud as an officer-to keep an eye on the “backdoor” portal between Nairsom and New Uromath because he’d figured not even Gorzalt could do much harm stuck way out here. It wasn’t as if the dragon-less Sharonians were coming pouring through Nairsom anytime soon, after all, especially when they had their hands full with Two Thousand Harshu and the rest of the AEF in Traisum. Unfortunately, Gorzalt seemed to be aware of Carthos’ reasoning, and he resented the hells out of it. And, also unfortunately, Commander of Fifty Ustmyn was not the most socially adroit youngster to ever don the Union of Arcana’s uniform. In fact, he was pretty mal adroit, when you came down to it, and he’d managed to put his foot squarely on Gorzalt’s injured pride in an overheard conversation with one of the company’s other fifties.

Now, personally, Forstmir couldn’t fault Ustmyn’s opinion of their CO, but he wished to Seiknora that the fifty had been able to keep his mouth shut when Gorzalt was in hearing range. And, truth be told, the sword was more than a little pissed off with his own fifty at the moment, too. Zakar Ustmyn was only twenty-three, but he was generally serious about doing his job and did it one hell of a lot better than Gorzalt did his. At the moment, though, he was spending most of his time resenting Gorzalt’s decision to stick him out in the wreckage of the old Sharonian fort-under canvas-while the rest of the company not only enjoyed a much nicer (and far better sheltered) campsite on the local equivalent of the Jerdyn River, six miles away, but also monopolized the limited number of chansyu huts Thousand Carthos had left behind. In fact, Ustmyn was spending far more time resenting the unfairness of it all than thinking about his own responsibilities.

Forstmir didn’t mind kicking the platoon’s arse when it needed kicking. After all, everyone knew the senior noncoms actually ran the Army while the officers simply commanded it! But he did like to think that his own fifty had at least some notion of which arses needed kicking and why. At the moment, it appeared Ustmyn neither had nor wanted a clue about that. And there was always someone like Shield Mahk Dhugahl, 2nd Squad’s leader, who’d see just how far he could exploit a superior’s lack of interest.

“I’ll go kick Dhugahl’s arse up between his ears,” he told Phiery now. “Tell Jelmart and Vermahka that their reliefs’ll be on the way shortly. Very shortly.”

* * *

“Not a sound.” Junior-Armsman Saith chan Kilvaryk’s voice was barely audible, but none of 2nd Squad’s men had any trouble understanding him. “The Senior said he’d have your guts for boot laces if anybody gives this away, but I wouldn’t worry about him. First you’d have to live through what I’ll do to you.”

The squad nodded as one. They didn’t really think chan Kilvaryk would murder them out of hand…but they weren’t prepared to place any bets on that.

“All right,” the junior-armsman said after sweeping his dark eyes back and forth across them for several seconds. “Chan Nysik, a lot of this is on you. You need to get into position fast.”

“Gotcha, Junior.”

Chan Nysik was a couple of years older than chan Kilvaryk, and while he’d never had any ambition to rise above his present rank of Armsman 1/c, he was as solid and reliable as the rocky crags of his native Mulgethia’s mountains. He was also very tall and powerfully built. The Faraika machine-gun weighed over a hundred and twenty pounds, but he carried it with little apparent effort while his assistant made heavy going of its tripod, which weighed barely fifty. Now he gave chan Kilvaryk a lazy, confident smile.

“Don’t you worry, Junior,” he said. “Once Larthy and me are in position with old Maragleth”-he hefted the machine gun in his arms with a smile which showed a missing tooth-“ain’t none of them Arcanans getting past us.”

“Glad to hear it,” chan Kilvaryk said dryly. He gave his entire squad one more beady-eyed look, then jerked his head in a “follow me” gesture, turned on his heel, and started forward.

* * *

“I hope this works as well as I’ve convinced everyone else it will, Doc,” Grithair chan Mahsdyr muttered to the man beside him as his company moved forward.

Platoon-Captain Fezar chan Birhahl, Gold Company’s senior healer, snorted in amusement.

“Well, you certainly didn’t sound to me as if you had any doubts about it, Sir,” he said.

“Of course I didn’t!” Chan Mahsdyr shook his head. “First thing they teach you is to always sound like you know what you’re doing even if you don’t have a clue. In this case, I’m pretty sure I do have a clue. I’m just not sure what else I have.”

“Surprise, for one thing,” chan Birhahl replied much more seriously, and chan Mahsdyr grunted.

“Looks like it, anyway,” he acknowledged. “And that’s the most dangerous weapon there is, really, when you come down to it.”

Chan Birhahl was a healer, but he’d been around soldiers who weren’t healers long enough to understand exactly what the company-captain meant, and he nodded in agreement.

All the Distance Viewers attached to Gold Company agreed that both the Arcanans in the ruins of Fort Rensar and those in the far more substantial-and comfortable-permanent bivouac in the valley of the Graystone River showed absolutely no awareness that there were any Sharonians in their vicinity. It was remotely possible they knew all about Gold Company and were setting some sort of subtle trap based on yet another unknown magical ability, but it seemed unlikely. This was one of the times when chan Mahsdyr passionately wished that he had at least a touch of the Distance Viewer Talent himself and could have avoided the need to rely on the reports of the observations of others.