Shadows, стр. 30
Oddly, as the life drained out of the man’s eyes, the vicious satisfaction Cutter had felt when killing the Waffen-SS wasn’t there. The man may not have been a supporter of the F’ahdn at all; he might simply have been defending his home. Even if he had served the F’ahdn and satrap, it was likely the only life he’d ever known. On R’Bak, those autocrats represented order in his life, and Cutter was the invader. Sure, the Lost Soldiers were trying to help these people throw off the yoke of servitude to those who stripped them of their greatest wealth, the planet’s medicinals, but how could the dead man have known that?
“Suukamanu’s dead,” Sergeant Riidono said. “He didn’t feel it.”
Cutter stood over the gunman’s body, feeling the sun burning the back of his hands and didn’t answer right away. If he knew how to do anything well it was kill, but keeping men alive was a different story. “Spread the word: new procedure. From here on, check every body—man, woman, or child—to make sure they’re dead.”
“And if they’re not?”
“If they’re unarmed, tell ’em to get lost.”
“What if they’ve got a gun?”
“Kill ’em.”
“Sir?”
Whatever his motivation, the gunman who killed Suukamanu had been the enemy, and living enemies could only be given two choices, surrender or death. Any trace of compassion vanished from Cutter’s mind, so the determined scowl he gave Riidono underscored the absolute certainty in his voice. “This is close quarters urban combat, Sergeant. Hesitation gets men killed. I’ve lost two men today; I don’t intend to lose any more. We can’t guess why people might conceal a weapon; we can only operate on the assumption they mean to use it against us. Don’t let ’em.”
Riidono swallowed hard. Cutter’s platoon had never seen his true ruthless side, the genuine version that only emerged during combat. “I understand, Captain. I’ll spread the word.”
* * * * *
Chapter 13
After they double-checked all the bodies within their perimeter, First Squad refilled their canteens from the well. The surrounding wall was made of rough, waist-high stones, fitted with the usual overhead crank-and-bucket to bring water to the surface. Leaning over to see how deep the water might be, Cutter noticed rusty iron rings set into the stone: probably to simplify descending to retrieve dropped items, particularly pollutants. What surprised him was the circular lattice grill about twenty feet down, with a central opening for the bucket to pass through. Perhaps it was to catch things like dead animals—or incautious children—that fell down the shaft.
“Militia headed this way!” called a sentry from a narrow alley on the plaza’s western side.
“I need a number!” replied Sergeant Riidono before Cutter could ask the same question.
“Ten or more, and they heard me. They’re fifty feet from my position.”
“Same here,” yelled another sentry, this one located a hundred feet down a wide street to the south. “At least a dozen armed men. One is wearing red paint, and the others have a red mark down their noses.”
“Red paint?” Cutter asked Riidono. “Another tribe?”
“Yes, sir. Just like blue paint: it means a militia leader favored by the F’ahdn. They get special privileges and a share in the harvest in return for their loyalty and support. People know to leave them alone. They are quite powerful here in the city. To use your words, he is another high value target.”
Cutter had seconds to consider the tactical situation. Earlier, they had discussed the possibility of sending men onto the roofs, both for a firing advantage and to keep the enemy from doing the same thing. The problem was their unfamiliarity with the buildings they were moving through. On Earth, Cutter would have called the Outer City a slum, and the houses shanties or shacks, even though they were partly made from stone. Only a few had a second story, and many had collapsed walls from a lack of quality mortar. The roofs were in even worse shape and couldn’t be trusted to support a man’s weight.
“Is that militia from Imsurmik?” Cutter asked.
“No, sir. The F’ahdn doesn’t like having too many armed men in the city except during special times. There aren’t that many J’Stull here; the F’ahdn fears a revolt. He trusts no one and sees enemies everywhere.”
“Good. That means they don’t know the ground any better than we do,” Cutter said. “Or which roofs might hold a man’s weight. That makes it a two-dimensional fight.”
“I don’t—”
Cutter held up a hand. “The main assault will come from there,” he said, pointing to a broad street running north. “We’ve already got fire teams in place against incursions from the south and west. Deploy the third fire team to block that north road, and use the other three men there, at the eastern exit, to cover our retreat.”
“Are you sure, Captain?” Riidono peered over his shoulder at the empty road to the north. The first shot came from the western attack group.
“Moorefield’s men hold the road, and that gives the enemy too little room to assemble for an attack. Moorefield’s men would see them and engage. That’s why they’re trying to drive us north, probably into an ambush. When we don’t bite, they’ll move on the plaza. Hold your positions as long as possible, then retreat in stages to the east.”
“What about you, sir?”
Cutter changed the magazine and charged the Thompson. “I’ll be in the well.”
* * *
Behind him, Yukannak heard the sounds of battle approaching the intersection of the cache tunnel and the main one. Zeesar had told him the entrance to the