Imperial Guard (14 page)

“Nope. Looked like he was high on some kind of zombie juice.”

“No kidding! You could have busted him right on the spot! Nothing could have helped him!”

“You may be right. Maybe I should have. I might regret not stuffing the bum before he could cause us any trouble.”

Brogan sat down heavily. “I can’t believe this is happening to me. Of all places in the known universe, why did that jackass have to end up in my unit? And an Imperial Guard at that. I wonder how many strings his family had to pull to get that accomplished? Well, the Moguls are a powerful family, so I’ve got to be more careful. I’ve already made his brother my enemy. Now this lousy excuse for a soldier is probably going to cause me trouble, too.

“Tell you what, Manazes,” Brogan said, getting up off his cot, “I’m going to run over to the Club and see if Darkhow is there. I’ve got to find out what’s going on. Maybe he can give an assist.”

*

“From the look of your ugly mug, my guess is you haven’t brought good news,” observed Manazes when Brogan returned from the Officer’s Club. “I suppose we’re stuck with the royal creep.”

Brogan threw his jacket on the cot and sat down hard. “The Company’s stuck with him alright, but
you
aren’t. You get your wish to return to Earth, you big lug.”

“CIO School?” Manazes sat up abruptly, all levity gone.

“Yep. The Top is cutting your orders right now. You report to the shuttle in two hours. You just have time to pack and turn in your combat gear. Something big is up,” continued Brogan. “A ship just brought in replacement troops and is heading straight back to Earth with the wounded and lucky stiffs like you.”

Manazes shook his head. “This is what I’ve been hoping for, Captain. But I can’t leave now, not with that worthless Mogul here and a bunch of green troops to boot. You need me. This may be the big push we’ve been hearing about, and you need all the experienced help you can get. This war may be over soon, and I can go to CIO School then.”

“No go, Manazes. You’ve got to go now, or wait almost two years for the next enlisted class. And you know you can’t get any more promotions until you graduate. You want to be a lieutenant all your life?” Brogan put on a grin.

“No, I don’t. But I’m not going to leave when you need me the most. You’ll probably go and get yourself killed if I’m not here to look after you. When are we moving out?”

Brogan stood up authoritatively. “The Company moves out at ten hundred hours tomorrow morning. But you are leaving on that ship if I have to tie you up and carry you on board myself!”

“Captain, it ain’t right! You need me in this operation! That Mogul pup will be dead weight, and things are likely to get pretty hot out there.”

“Manazes, I appreciate your concern. But that is my problem, not yours. Your problem is getting through CIO School in one piece. Then you can race off to die for the Emperor in some other great and glorious cause. Now get your gear packed up and report to your transport. That’s an order, mister!”

Brogan began walking out of the room, then he turned and said, “I will miss you, though.” And with that he was gone.

*

That night Brogan returned to his bunk and read a scan that had arrived from home. It came in on the ship that brought Josh Mogul and the other reinforcements. The scan contained film footage of his brothers and sisters and parents and an audio recording made by his mother. As he ran the scan Brogan realized that the passage of time was making his brothers and sisters strangers to him. The musical voice of his mother stirred a longing for home far stronger than he had imagined possible. Memories tugged at the edges of his mind: the dusty, sweet smell of freshly cut wheat; the sharp stubble ripping at bare feet; the aroma of lilacs at the back door.

His mother’s narration continued. “Then John married that youngest Müller girl—Anna. They have a farm over near the mountains. You wouldn’t believe how the number of farms has grown since you left. All the prairie right up to the mountains is almost all under cultivation.”

Brogan recalled the few camping trips he had made to those mountains. Once again he could smell the fish frying over an open fire in the crisp mountain air at dawn.

“Mary and her husband live in town. They had such a nice wedding last week. I wish you could have been here. Hasn’t Mathias grown? He looks just like you did when you were fifteen. But we don’t have to worry about Mathias becoming a soldier. He’s entering Deacons School next year in preparation for the ministry. Father finally has a disciple of the Orthodox Mennonite Church.

“Ever since the rebellion, the church has been modifying its stand on military service and on allegiance to the Empire. Your joining the Fusiliers helped lead them to recognize military service as the duty of a good citizen. So your father and some other men organized a new church by researching Mennonite history in an effort to return to their religious heritage.

“Luke is ten now and doing very well in school. It doesn’t look like Luke will be a farmer, either. I guess John may be the only one left in the family. Rachel was only a baby when you left. Isn’t she a young lady now? I can’t believe it’s already been seven years! I wish we could write you more often, but we can’t afford to have our own scan recorder. We have to use one of the recorders at John’s church.”

Brogan made a mental note to send his mother another recorder. The first one must have gotten lost in transit. He also didn’t understand why they were so strapped for money when he had been sending a significant part of his wages home for years.

“Timothy, do you remember that nice Adriel Swartz?”

He certainly did. He hadn’t entirely been able to get her off his mind these last six years. He recalled the rescue incident on the freighter, her auburn hair flying in defiance, her brown eyes blazing, her slender body pinned under the rebel.

“Apparently she’s gone off to some dreadful place called Peru II, where they’re having some horrible civil war or something. I hope you’re not there.”

Brogan jerked bolt upright.
Adriel here? That’s amazing! I wonder where she is?
Then another thought struck a chord.
Ma must not have gotten my last scan yet, if she doesn’t know I’m on Peru II.

“You probably know that she joined the Relief Corps as a nurse. But I do hope she’s alright. Her parents are concerned about her safety. Well, John insisted on taking some footage of me, so here I am. I know I don’t look quite myself. I was feeling a little tired when this was taken.”

Brogan was taken aback. He was shocked at how much older his mother looked.
She couldn’t have changed so much in a few years!
Her hair was a bedraggled gray, and deep creases lined face and hands. Only her eyes still held the life and energy he remembered so well.

“Think of us at home, dear, and if it happens that we never see you here again, we will be together again at the Master’s feet. God bless you, son.”

Brogan put down the scan. His mother’s comments greatly troubled him, as did her appearance. Trying to read between the lines only made matters worse. He tried to shake the feeling that he would never see her again, but it persisted. He determined that he would get leave time to visit his family as soon as this conflict was over.

His thoughts turned again to Adriel. To his knowledge she was not with the Relief Corps that was helping the Imperial forces. And he certainly hoped that she was not aiding the enemy forces. If so, it could be bad for her when the war ended, for the Empire was sure to win. Brogan shrugged it off.
Well, it’s not my problem anyway. She didn’t want my help six years ago, and she’s certain not to want it now.

Brogan decided he’d turn in early. Tomorrow was a big day, and the extra sleep wouldn’t hurt. But Brogan’s sleep was troubled. He dreamed that he was racing toward the distant mountains of Cirrus. But the wheat kept wrapping around his legs, whipping at them and slowing him down. Smoke billowed around him, and he realized that he was running from a wheat fire set by Josh Mogul. The mountains meant safety; his mother was there and so was Adriel. But he felt he was running in slow motion. Mogul was laughing at him. He was not going to make it. The flames began licking at his legs. Brogan was surprised that he felt no pain. The mocking face of Mogul grew larger and more hideous as the flames engulfed him.

Brogan lurched awake drenched in sweat. His heart was racing, and his head was swirling. “Most vivid dream I ever had,” he mumbled as he got up to change into some dry clothes.

The sky was beginning to lighten, so Brogan decided to stay up and get a head start on getting the company ready to shove off. It would help him get his mind off the dream, which had made him apprehensive for the first time since his very first operation.
I’ll just have to be more careful than ever before, pay attention to details, and be thinking all the time.

The men needed a cursory check, even though the platoon leaders had already done that. A second check by the company commander was a morale booster, for it confirmed the good job already done. Then he had a gaggle of details to go over with the first sergeant before he briefed his officers about the approaching mission. Shrugging off his forebodings, Brogan grabbed a bite to eat and launched into the myriad details of getting a combat company ready for action.

Once again the flames engulfed him. This time, however, the pain was real.
But dreams aren’t supposed to have pain,
Brogan reasoned. Josh Mogul was laughing as the flames ate his body and filled him with agony. Then Brogan felt a coolness. Along with the coolness came a soothing voice he knew—Adriel’s! The flames fell back before her soft cadence. He became dimly aware of someone speaking warm tones beside his bed.
I can’t be in bed,
protested Brogan.
I’m on a mission with my men.
His jumbled thoughts drifted back to the conflict.

*

“Captain, the flankers sweeping the south ridge report no enemy contact,” reported Johnston. First Lieutenant Johnston had succeeded Manazes as XO. He was a competent officer but still a little uncertain in his new position.

“Very good, Johnston,” responded Brogan. That was good news in a way, but Brogan was concerned. He had expected to run across enemy troops by now, and being in the dark about their whereabouts was almost as bad as being in a pitched battle. The flanker droids had come up empty in spite of continual sweeps with heat seekers, enhanced optical scans, and audio snoopers. But Brogan was as aware as anyone of the many defensive ways to confuse such technology. He had reached the point where he must make a difficult decision.

“Johnston, we’re going to have to send a platoon to sweep the point and precede us as a vanguard into the mining village. I hope my suspicions prove wrong, but I’m afraid that the enemy has prior knowledge of our destination and has dug in and camouflaged themselves from droid sweeps. But if I’m right, we need advance men to flush ’em out before the whole company is trapped. Have Lieutenant Mogul report to me at once.”

“Yes, sir.” Johnston hurried off to find the new replacement.

It had become quickly evident that Mogul was an unreliable officer. Because of that Brogan had given him the best platoon sergeant he had. To this point he had also given him the safe and easy assignments. But Brogan couldn’t continue to allow Fourth Platoon to sit back and take it easy while the other platoons took all the risks. Morale was primary in combat, and if the other platoons felt he was playing favorites, the whole unit would suffer. Still, he didn’t want to make a mistake he would later regret. Now he believed he had finally come up with an assignment Mogul would not be able to botch.

Soon the surly Imperial Guardsman arrived with Johnston. “Lieutenant Josh Mogul reporting as ordered, Captain.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I have a vital assignment for your platoon. I suspect that an enemy force has dug in somewhere in advance of our line of march. It will be your task to take low-level flyers and advance ahead of the main column, scouting the terrain in an attempt to expose the enemy. Should you fail to make contact with rebel forces, you will continue into the mining village of Carrera and secure it until the rest of the company arrives. Any questions?”

“You bet I have questions!” Mogul’s face was puckered up, and his posture was tense. “What do you think you’re doing sending me on a suicide mission? You got no right trying to kill me off just ’cause you hate nobility.” Mogul had caught wind of the rumor of Brogan’s long-standing feud with Carl Mogul, and Josh had interpreted that to mean that Brogan hated all Moguls and would do anything to get back at the family.

Brogan’s face darkened at Mogul’s blatant insubordination. “I do not tolerate such an attitude in any of my officers, nobility or not! It is your duty to obey orders and take risks the same as everyone else. I do not look favorably on cowardly displays in my command!”

Mogul took a step forward and clenched his fists. “You calling me a coward?”

Brogan used all his will power to maintain composure and professionalism. “I’m not calling you anything, mister. I’m giving you a chance to obey orders. If you choose not to, you will be court marshaled and escorted back to main base to be locked up while you await trial. Which is it to be, Lieutenant?”

Mogul looked around, unsure of himself. Slowly his features softened as he began to realize that he would not be able to bully his commanding officer. He would just have to think of some other way out of this. Suddenly he saluted Brogan and said, “I’ll deploy my men at once, sir.”

“Very good, Lieutenant. Carry on.”

Mogul turned on his heel and hurried off to organize and brief his men. Brogan, though full of misgivings, began to feel hopeful.
Come on, Brogan, how could anyone mess up this assignment? It’s as simple as putting one foot in front of the other.
Still, he couldn’t shake the premonition of disaster.

“Johnston, give the men a half-hour rest break. We’ll move out again after we’ve given Mogul time to clear the next two kilometers.” The terrain in this part of Peru II was a military challenge. It was forested, piedmont-type country broken by streams and rivulets and clogged with underbrush, briars, and saplings. The continual gullies and knolls made great potential concealment for enemy units. Droid sweeps and lasers were not very effective. Visual and thermal surveillance from the orbiting laser platform was not much help either. This time they had to advance the hard way.

After half an hour, Brogan made radio contact with Fourth Platoon and discovered that they had progressed about one and a half kilometers. Switching on the command channel, Brogan ordered the platoon leaders to close up their columns and move out. He wanted to make it to Carrera, still about eight clicks away, before nightfall.

Alpha Company of the Imperial Fusiliers moved out with the precision of action that comes from long practice. Each move and rush was performed as if it had been rehearsed, and indeed it had. Alpha Company was the best on Peru II. It had a high percentage of veterans who were constantly drilled in the science of warfare. They were well trained and well fed. They were the elite.

They faced an enemy that was competent yet ill equipped. But Alpha Company had not become complacent or overconfident. They practiced their trade as if they were up against the fiercest foes in the galaxy. First Platoon advanced with Brogan’s command staff in the center. Second Platoon had the left flank and Third Platoon the right. Second and Third Platoons moved forward about a half-click away from the central column. Fourth Platoon had been given orders to deploy into three vanguard groups, one in front of each of the advancing columns. Mogul was in the center group.

By the time Alpha Company had covered four kilometers, Brogan began to breathe a little easier. Flankers had still reported no enemy contact, and the orbiting platform’s periodic, routine checks had also come up empty. Suddenly Johnston, who was in the van of the Platoon, stopped, and confused movement and voices brought Brogan to the alert.

He ran forward and shouted, “What is it?”

“Captain,” the XO shouted urgently. “We’ve run into Fourth Platoon! They’ve stopped. They’re not sweeping in advance of the company!”

Brogan felt a chill of fear. “Form a perimeter! Dig in! Link up! ASAP! Your lives may depend on it!” Brogan was furious and more frightened than he had ever been in his life. He fired off additional orders, trying desperately to assume some sort of defensive position.
I should have never put Mogul on this job!
he chastened himself.

Brogan had a sinking feeling in his gut. But he was a superior leader. Never showing his apprehension, he continued thinking at lightening speed, doing what he could to retrieve some advantage from their rapidly deteriorating position. He had to assume that enemy troops were nearby and already alerted to their position.

Brogan screamed at his aide. “Find Mogul, and get him over here! Now!” The aide took off running while First Platoon began defensive preparations.

“Com! Alert Second and Third Platoons of our situation. Have them close up with our column and set up a defensive perimeter. And call those droids in from their flanker positions.”

Brogan turned and saw Mogul being escorted toward him. He started toward him with long strides. “What are you doing here, Mogul? Your dereliction of duty has put this unit is extreme jeopardy.”

Mogul’s face was full of hate, and his tone of voice was belligerent. “I figured I’d taken enough chances for awhile, so I stopped my group. But the other two vanguard groups are still advancing. What’s wrong with that?”

“Johnston!” Brogan turned toward the XO. “Put this officer in restraints and place two guards over him. He’s under . . .”

Brogan never finished his sentence. The whole world, it seemed, dissolved into flame and flying debris. The ground trembled, and the entire area was torn apart by intense bombardment. Brogan was thrown violently to the ground. He wanted to shout orders, but his mouth wouldn’t respond, and he couldn’t move his body. In the back of his head a dark cloud threatened to overtake his last vestige of consciousness.

He wanted to tell Johnston to fall back before it was too late. Their hurried defenses were incomplete and now useless. But he couldn’t make his mouth work. Johnston ordered a medic to Brogan’s side. The medic treated Brogan’s wounds, but he was only dimly aware of it. His mind was screaming at Johnston to retreat and regroup. But the XO hesitated too long. When he finally ordered the retreat, the rebels were overrunning their positions.

The medic now gone, either to retreat or to tend to someone else, Brogan watched in horror as the enemy troops mopped up the last vestiges of resistance. He watched Johnston and those near him dissolve in a blast of light from a heavy laser rifle. Brogan tried to block out the jubilant voices of the victors as they coursed through the trees blasting the stragglers. He had never felt so agonizingly helpless in his life.

Brogan tilted his head and looked down his cheek. An officer came into view—a major. “Check the bodies,” he ordered. “If you find any alive, kill ’em! Let that be a lesson to all who side with the tyrant.”

As he surveyed the carnage, the major’s gaze passed over Brogan’s prostrate form, then jerked back to focus on his face. They locked eyes. The major threw up his arm. “Wait a minute! That one there, the officer, take him to our righteous medicos. They’re always complaining that we don’t bring them enough Imperial troopers to practice on,” he sneered. “Let ’em test their skills on this specimen. Anyway, who knows? If we keep him alive, he might come in handy some day.”

Rough hands rolled Brogan onto a self-propelled stretcher, and for the first time he felt agonizing pain. The black cloud hovering at the back of his mind swept over him as in a storm, and the once sturdy soldier knew no more. But before losing consciousness, Brogan thought he saw a Fusilier slipping unnoticed through the trees—a Fusilier with red pips on his collar.

*

The dreamy recollection dissolved, and Brogan felt himself falling deeper into the void, falling and spinning through darkness. Slowly the darkness lessened, and he saw a pinpoint of light far, far away. But the light grew at an astonishing rate of speed, as though Brogan were traveling faster than he ever had before. Suddenly overwhelming brightness fell upon him, and Brogan wondered why he wasn’t blinded by it. He came to rest on a floor of marble that seemed almost transparent. Everything gave the impression of translucence, as though this place had no real existence, specially made for his benefit for a brief space of time.

As Brogan turned to survey his new surroundings, his eyes fell on a magnificent throne of pure ivory. On the throne was a form emanating a light so dazzling that he could not look at it. As he turned his eyes away, he noticed others present. They were facing the one on the throne with rapt attention, seemingly impervious to the intense light. Brogan thought that he should know what they were doing, but he did not.

Then, as if by a prearranged signal, all those present turned and focused their attention on the solitary, bewildered figure of Timothy Brogan. Instantly Brogan felt like a worm pinned to a dissection tray, small and insignificant. A huge golden scale appeared before the throne, suspended in midair and perfectly balanced. The figure on the throne spoke, and a voice of supreme authority filled the place.

“No record of Timothy Brogan has been found in the sacred Book. Let him, therefore, be judged according to his deeds, as all must be who are not covered by the holy covenant.”

Brogan was seized by a fear and apprehension greater than any he had ever known. He knew implicitly that his eternal destiny hung in the balance. One by one witnesses stepped forward to condemn him. True, he had tried to live a decent life and to stand up for what was right. Sure, he had done the right thing and waited till after harvest to run away from home. But he
had
run away. He had faithfully and unselfishly sent the bulk of his salary back home for years but had rejected what was most important to his family.

The memories began crowding in
—memories of lies and deception toward his parents, of ambition for the wrong reasons, of his rejection of the faith, of sole reliance on his own intellect and abilities, of living for himself. Before this Brogan felt he had accomplished a lot with his life, but they were now revealed to him as wasted years of self-pursuit. The balance came crashing down against him, and his fate was sealed.

His whole being filled with dread at the prospect of what lay ahead. Desperately he snatched at ways to change the inevitable, but he came up empty. He longed for a second chance.
But why do I deserve one?

Brogan answered his own question.
Because it’s me!
But he knew that this would not suffice. He awaited the verdict.