Shadows, стр. 22
“We move out as we practiced it,” Cutter said, sidling down the draw in a crouch. “Do not forget our primary mission, do you understand me? We are here to identify and apprehend persons of interest who might have information about what the satrap, other J’Stull, or the Harvesters are planning. After the attack on your homes, those plans might also include wiping out the rest of you with their heavy weapons. And even if some of you escape, what chance do you have of surviving the Sear without food, water, or shelter?”
Without waiting for anyone else to speak, Platoon Sergeant Riidono half-stood, keeping his head below the lip of the draw. Although the nearest buildings were hundreds of yards away, Cutter had drilled into them that you couldn’t take anything for granted when your life was at stake. Cutter had always wondered how his platoon sergeants knew exactly when to jump in, and figured it was an instinct you were born with. Either you had it, or you didn’t.
“All of you know he is right,” he said with a tone Cutter associated with far more seasoned non-coms. “Imsurmik is a big city, and that plateau is cut through with tunnels and caverns; most of you have seen them from the inside when we traded with the F’ahdn or brought goods to the marketplace. The shevfashli could be anywhere. There are less than fifty of us and thousands of them. Your best chance of finding her is to find somebody who knows where they took her. That won’t be a kr’it monger or a leather tanner; it will be somebody with fancy paint and nice robes, or maybe a J’Stull soldier trying to slip out of the city. Find them and we might find the shevfashli.”
Naanni couldn’t quite let it go. One of the youngest, his eyes were brimming with tears. “What if she’s…what if they did something to her?”
“Then we will hunt down and kill the men responsible,” Cutter said, baring his teeth for emphasis. “You know my words are true, you saw what I did to the rapist back in your village. I will gladly kill such men wherever I find them, but first I must find them.” He looked at each man, and, once he was certain he had their attention, Cutter continued, “I believe in the fighting spirit inside each and every one of you. We’ll operate in three fire teams, as planned. First, we’ll cross the bridge and meet up with Moorefield’s people and take up firing positions in those houses to the right of the road.”
“The ones with the fields to their east?” asked Riidono.
“Yes. From there, we’ll augment Moorefield’s firepower as needed. Then we’ll leapfrog forward. Fire Teams One and Two, you stay with me at that point. Fire Team Three, you follow Sergeant Riidono and occupy those first buildings on the left. They’re about two hundred feet further north, and there’s a blind spot where we can’t give supporting fire. More of Moorefield’s men are holding the road outside the Outer City near the gate, but there aren’t many of them and we could draw fire from any direction, so be on your toes.”
Sergeant Riidono held up a hand to interrupt. “Won’t that slow us down, sir, if we try to run on our toes?”
Cutter blinked. In 1944, he would have chewed out the wise guy, both for interrupting him and for making such a stupid joke. But it was two hundred years later, on a world he previously couldn’t have conceived existed, and so he laughed. He couldn’t help himself. All of the pent-up nervous tension came out in a few seconds of laughing so hard it hurt. Some of his men laughed with him, but most just looked confused.
“It’s just a saying, Sergeant, an expression that means be alert.”
“Oh. Thank you. I am sorry, Captain.”
Cutter chuckled and wiped away tears. “Don’t be. I haven’t laughed in a long time. All right; any more questions?” Nobody spoke, and Cutter’s smile fell away. “Remember what those people did to your friends and family. Go find your shevfashli, and if anybody shoots at you, kill ’em.”
* * *
Like every soldier he’d ever known, Cutter dreaded the first moment of exposure to enemy fire. Old clips of Doughboys going over the top in World War One invariably included one where the first man to show his face toppled back into the trench after being stitched with machine gun fire. Given that image, it amazed him that anybody would ever be first, yet, as leader of more than a dozen combat virgins, he had no choice except to go first. “Lead and they will follow” was what he’d been taught, and he prayed it held true with his new group.
It did.
Cutter didn’t wait to see if his men followed as he climbed out of the draw. He jogged toward the bridge some forty yards distant. A broad river valley with shallow banks fifty yards across held sluggish water filling less than half that width. The worsening drought and rising heat leeched moisture from both soil and river, like a parasite draining its host of blood. Built of heavy stone to withstand high and rushing water, Cutter eyed the bridge supports for cover in case he drew fire.
Despite the plan to keep the population inside the city until they could be screened by his men, Moorefield didn’t have any troops to accomplish such a goal. In twos and threes, people ran from the outlying homes toward the bridge, mostly