Fellburg suggested. “Just do like we say, and you’ll all be fine. Now switch the
H-twenty-seven to F range and lock onto a surface transmission that you’ll pick
up at twenty-eight point-three megahertz. Then reprogram the descent profile and
follow the beam down to where it takes us, okay?”
30
PRIVATE SALLAKAR OF THE KROAXIAN INFANTRY INHALED deeply from the effort of
climbing the rise and coughed as his coolant system switched over to
reverse-flow to eject the intake of dust raised by the foot soldiers ahead of
him. Mumbling profanities and curses at the dust, the desert, the army, and the
seemingly endless distance to Carthogia, he moved to one side and stopped to
look back at the long column of infantry and cavalry regiments, fireball
throwers, war chariots, and supply wagons snaking its way back and out of sight
among the rounded dunes and low scarps of the Meracasine. It was going to be the
real thing this time, he reflected glumly. He had tangled before with the
Carthogians in border skirmishes, and the experience hadn’t left him restless
with impatience and wild with enthusiasm to meet them again. Oh yes, the
officers had sounded very confident, as usual, and been full of assurances that
the new weapons would make short work of the Carthogians; but Sallakar had heard
too much of that kind of talk before. It was easy to tell everyone not to worry
when you knew you’d have a fast mount underneath you to get you out of trouble
if it all went wrong. Oh, yes indeed, it was fine for them to talk.
But—according to the barracks gossip, anyway—the cavalry captain, Horazzorgio,
hadn’t been doing so much talking since he’d chased after a Carthogian
undercover unit and come back minus his whole company, and an arm and an eye to
boot. Oh no! Now that didn’t sound like opposition likely to allow itself be
made short work of.
He moved a hand to feel the cold, hard lines of the newly introduced projectile
hurler that was slung across his back—the product, so he and the others had been
told, of many twelve-brights of labor carried out in secret by some of the best
artisans and craftsmen in Kroaxia. Oh yes, it was a nice-looking piece of
workmanship, and yes, it had seemed effective enough in the hurriedly improvised
training sessions that they had been rushed through, with everything left until
the last minute as usual —probably for security reasons—but what did that prove?
Only that somebody had discovered how to make better weapons. The Carthogians
had good artisans too. If the Kroaxians could do it, why couldn’t the
Carthogians? No reason at all. In fact, from what Sallakar had seen in the past,
the Carthogians were more than likely to have done it first. And that would be
something the officers wouldn’t tell us about, he thought to himself. Oh no,
they’d never tell the troops about something like that.
“Sallakar, what the ‘ell d’yer think yer a-doin’ of? ‘Avin’ a nice nap there,
are yer?” the voice of Sergeant Bergolod bellowed from farther back down the
line. “Get fell back in.”
“Go fornicate with yourself,” Sallakar muttered as he hitched his pack into a
more comfortable position and rejoined the column at a gap next to Moxeff.
“You must find your delight in serving extra watch-duty, Sallakar,” Moxeff
murmured. “Is it the tranquillity of contemplating the desert in solitude at
early bright that attracts you so? And to think, I had no idea you were of such
poetic disposition.”
“A plague of rusts and poxes upon this desert!” Sallakar spat. “Thrice have I
crossed it now, and each time its breadth doubles.”
“More likely the quality of thy temper halves.”
“Your constitution is unaffected by this heat, no doubt,” Sallakar said.
“Pleasantly dry and refreshing after Kroaxia’s debilitatingly humid air,” Moxeff
agreed.
“Zounds! Your own admission disqualifies the sole excuse left you for your
insufferable temperament.”
“You should save such peevishness to vent upon the Carthogians,” Moxeff advised.
“In truth I do believe you welcome combat as you relish the desert heat. And do
you thrive also on breathing this carborundum powder, and conserving one bucket