Intrepid

23

Colonel Cortez adjusted his body armor as he stepped down from his command vehicle's control center and let the door slam shut. Major Zhukov approached him but did not salute.

That was nice of him.

There were snipers out here; Cortez could feel them on the back of his neck. The young major was restraining himself from sending them a message. ''Here's the man you want. Kill him and make me commander here.'' Cortez wondered if by sundown today he might wish someone had put him out of his misery.

He certainly hoped for a happier ending.

Ten paces off waited the four company commanders; Cortez waved them to him. Captain Afonin was the only one in full battle gear. He led the company of Guard Fusiliers. His record was spotless, lacking only combat experience. If he survived the coming battle, he would be far ahead of his peers in the race for a general's star. The young man's grin showed he knew all that and was eager to begin.

The other captains' white smocks and white berets showed where the gold crosses had been removed from them. The two youngest of them greeted their colonel with scowls as if they wanted to continue the debate about wearing something that glinted so brightly in the sun … and made them such targets.

Promotion in the Lord's Ever Victorious Host was as much by theological catechism as by military skills. As far as Colonel Cortez was concerned, these first two had memorized far too much catechism and not spent nearly enough time in the field getting their white smocks dirty.

Cortez watched with more interest the advance of the third captain. Older, passed over twice, Colonel Cortez had insisted that he get to select at least one of the Host's company commanders. He'd placed his bet on Captain Joshua Sawyer and given him Third Company. With luck, the man would soldier on with Cortez long after this little affair was a happy memory.

Then again, officers of the Ever Victorious were notoriously sentimental about their monthly formation in ranks on the parade field before the temple. If Captain Sawyer could not break that habit, he'd probably retire as a captain in forty years.

As the two Ever Victorious captains halted before the colonel, they saluted as smartly as any toy soldier.

''Drop those salutes,'' Cortez exploded. The two captains paled as they hurriedly got their offending hands down. Captain Sawyer came to a halt, no sign that he had intended to salute. Then again, his timing might just have been lucky.

''Are you trying to get me killed?'' Cortez growled in a harsh whisper. If possible, the younger captain turned even whiter, and his brace stiffened to board straight.

The other officer didn't let any starch out of his brace, but his face did show, if for only a moment's flash, an unhealthy curiosity about Cortez's future. Cortez moved fluidly to stand nose to nose with that officer. He pointed to the swamp ahead. ''Out there is perfect ambush ground. You see it?''

''Sir, yes, sir,'' said both captains, the older leading the younger by half a beat. Captain Sawyer blinked as he studied the ground. He nodded ever so slightly.

''There are snipers looking us over even as we talk. Snipers who can put a bullet in your brain from eight hundred meters. Who do you think those snipers most want to brain?''

The two young captains stood speechless. Apparently, this was not part of their catechism.

''Officers,'' Captain Sawyer observed dryly.

''You go ahead and listen to that man, you boys,'' came in a soft cackle. A sergeant under arms was leading ten more hostages to the front of the line. One was a gray-haired old lady who seemed to know the basics of field craft. At least more basics than these two captains.

''You listen, and quit making such stupid fool mistakes,'' she said as she passed them, her gray eyes looking for all the world like an exasperated DI, even with all the lines of age and wear.

Where are these locals from? Cortez asked himself, yet again. But he had a JO to educate and a rage to keep warm.

''Good God in heaven,'' Cortez went on. The psalm singers had protested the use of that phrase, but Cortez's Spanish-Catholic heritage found nothing blasphemous about one of the few simple declarative sentences that he and the psalm singers could agree on. Now he put a full storm behind it. ''If I see another officer saluting or being saluted, the saluter will be shot. If not by some sniper, then likely by me. Do you understand?''

The rote lead-in got the rote answer from all three New Jerusalem officers. ''Sir, yes, sir.''

''Good. Captain,'' Cortez began, choosing the one who'd seemed far too interested in identifying Cortez for a sniper. ''Quick march your company up to where the minesweeping detail is on the causeway. You are the vanguard. Advance your force, keeping watch for anything in the water beside the road or in the trees of this swamp. Understood?''

''Yes, sir!'' the New Jerusalem officer said … and just managed to suppress a salute.

When he did nothing further, Cortez gave him a fish eye.

''Ah, yes, sir, ah, you want me to go do it now?'' the captain stuttered in his excitement and confusion.

''If I wanted it tomorrow, I'd have told you tomorrow.''

''Yes, sir. Yessir.'' Again, he just barely avoided saluting Cortez before running off for his command.

''You think he'll remember his orders, sir?'' Zhukov asked.

''They were simple enough. And I'm sure a good XO will drop by to help him remember, is that not so?''

''Definitely, sir.''

''First and Third Companies will be the main force. Mount half your troops in the available trucks. Have them keep their rifles ready and their eyes peeled for anything in the water or along the swamp beside us. Understood?''

''Yes, sir,'' came from both captains.

''Sawyer, your Third Company will advance first. I will keep my command rig with you.''

''Yes, sir. My troops will lay down their lives for the command tabernacle,'' came out sounding catechism rote.

Cortez didn't much care for the defeatist undertones, but he let it go with a wave of his hand. Certainly, he would find more important lessons to teach this man today.

''Captain Afonin, your company will be the rear guard. Keep well back. If there is an ambush out there, I don't want us to make it easy for them to get all of us in it. If they spring an ambush on us, you spread out and take them on the flank. If we get past the ambush and they snap it on you, I will do the same.''

Captain Afonin eyed the two New Jerusalem company commanders, seemed to find little weight in the prospects of their coming to his rescue, but let the conclusion pass unstated and just nodded. ''Stay spread out, eyes open, and rifles locked and cocked, sir. No problem.''

''Good, then let's do it.''

The Guard officers turned to go about their duty, as did Captain Sawyer. The youngest captain seemed taken back. ''Aren't we going to end in prayer?'' he stammered.

''God help the poor fool that tries to take a bite out of us,'' Major Zhukov said. ''That enough for you, ‘cause it's about all I got time for.'' Eyes wide, the young captain hastened to catch up with Captain Sawyer.

His officers sent on their way to do his bidding, Cortez boarded his command rig. Settled comfortably, he studied the lay of the land ahead. After a full two minutes, he decided that the disorganized milling about outside did not meet with his satisfaction. He only had to shout once to get the first psalm-singing company dogs trotting out to reinforce the mine-clearance team.

Five minutes later, Sawyer's company was ready to move out. The Fusilier corporal driving Cortez's command vehicle slid it easily into the lead of that truck line.

Cortez pulled his helmet down over his eyes and prepared to receive whatever was coming his way.