They never did blow up the sunken gunships. Even before Jerym had a chance to question the cadets, hover vehicles came into sight down the road: a column of armored assault vehicles loaded with marines from the Klestronu bivouac—apparently two companies of them.
Second Platoon and the cadets, totalling fifty-four men and boys, went over the rim of the riverbank, fired their remaining STA missiles at the enemy, then threw weapons, equipment, helmets, and their remaining satchel charges into the river in order to swim for it. They were neither situated nor equipped for a serious fight with a force like that. The unexpected intensity of their brief rocket attack, though, plus Klestronu caution, allowed them to get across the river without being closed on. Then they separated again, cadets from troopers, into the jungle, into the evening, the troopers to find their way to places where floaters could pick them up.
One cadet went with 2nd Platoon. Their mapbooks and radios were at the bottom of the Spice; his radio and local knowledge would help them get picked up. Also with 2nd Platoon went H Company's thirty-two survivors; five of them, wounded, were carried on makeshift stretchers. The early part of the night they slept in the jungle; without their visors, it was too dark beneath the forest roof to travel. Later, when a moon came up, they pushed on, along the river bank where visibility, if poor, was not impossible. Jerym wished he had eyes like a T'swi's.
It was close to dawn when they reached another farming district. Two CPCs waited at the back edge of a pasture, and the troopers crowded aboard. The cadet left them then, to trot to one of the farmsteads where he could get a meal and a few hours' sleep in the hay.
On their return to Headquarters Company, 2nd Platoon slept much of the day. When they got up, they mustered beneath the trees with 1st Platoon, along with H Company's unwounded survivors. The wounded had been ported back to Iryala already. Romlar assigned thirteen H Company troopers to 2nd Platoon, bringing it to full strength, and the other fourteen to bolster 1st Platoon.
Then he dismissed them, except for the two platoon leaders. Romlar took them to the command tent, where Jorrie Renhaus and a T'swa major were waiting, the T'swi being Colonel Jil-Zat's EO from the constantly moving cadet HQ. Major Dho-Kat had arrived the night before in a scout floater.
"Jarnol, Alsnor," Romlar said to the platoon leaders, "something's come up, and we're planning a major action. The Klestroni aren't what you'd call innovative, but their flagship's engineering section is modifying a pair of shuttles for ground attack purposes. Lotta found out last night. Their idea is to instrument one of them as a stratospheric observation platform. And to modify both of them for dropping bombs.
"If we let them pull this off, we'll be up against a weapon we can't get at. This whole region will be under constant surveillance, and it'll be a lot harder to conceal our movements and positions."
The teenaged colonel looked over his people, his friends, then went on as calmly and casually as if he were talking about a proposed ball game.
"I expected that if we reduced their gunships enough, we could move around more openly, maybe get them to bring troops into the jungle after us, where we could whip them good. I also thought it just might break their commodore's will to persist. But according to Lotta, he's developed a kind of grim resolution to leave Terfreya only on a victory. Which is just the opposite of our purpose.
"They seem to think the modifications won't take long—a week, maybe two or three if they have problems—and they've already flown marine ordnance officers back up to help design the bombs and get them built.
"So now's the time to do something decisive. To run them off. Here's what I've got in mind. . . ."
Six days later, his strike teams were ready. His plan was three-faceted but not intricate. Any one of its three operations could shock and hurt the Klestroni, regardless of the success or failure of the others. If all were successful, they'd hurt him critically.
Preparation had required considerable floater traffic, and with less than usual caution, for supply hauls to headquarters from the outgate sites. More combat personnel carriers were ported in.
Now it was night in the jungle. Handlamps, pointed more or less groundward and on low intensity, moved here and there to light the final preparations. There were several troopers with pole charges, and seventy cadets who'd been flown in to Romlar's headquarters. Fourteen cadets, selected for prepuberty voices and features, were dressed as girls, in party clothes provided by farm families. Their wigs, customized in Landfall on one-day's notice and teleported, were held to fresh-shaved scalps by a theatrical adhesive.
Preparation had been as careful as time allowed. The fourteen had had very little opportunity to observe teenaged females, so Coyn Carrmak had been flown in from 1st Battalion to help Lotta inspect and coach them. According to a couple of troopers who'd known Carrmak in their days "outside," he'd been somewhat of a ladies' man. He and Lotta drilled the pretenders in appropriate walks and mannerisms.
The other skills they'd need on their mission they already possessed, very highly developed.
In their shoulder bags, beneath cosmetics, mirrors, and tissues, they carried automatic pistols and spare clips, with blast slugs. And one fragmentation grenade each, in case capture was imminent. Two carried additional grenades.
The other fifty-six cadets wore black uniforms especially dyed and ported in for this night mission. A number of them carried rocket launchers and rockets, and several had blast hoses. The rest carried rifles.
When the cadets were ready, Romlar went into his command tent, where a photomap at maximum scale already occupied his computer screen. At such a short distance, teleport targeting was highly accurate, but in this case the target had been built after the map photography was done, and was shown on the map only in a pen approximation. So Renhaus knelt on the platform of the small teleport, peering through, ready to coach Romlar's targeting.
Romlar hit it almost at once, then gave the word, and the "girls" went through the gate. When the last had stepped through, he retargeted and sent the other cadets through.
Again he retargeted, one of the troopers signalling as if greater precision was needed. The trooper raised a hand to halt him; then they waited, Romlar's eyes on his watch, for several minutes. Finally, "Now!" he said. The trooper activated the fuse on his pole charge and shoved it through the gate. On the headquarters side they couldn't hear the explosion.
Over the next several minutes they repeated this with several more pole charges. Then Romlar got up and rotated his shoulders, swung his arms. Uncharacteristically he'd gotten tense. There'd been a lot of details to handle, and he'd been hurried.
Now the first two teams were committed, the first operation well underway, and all he had to wait for was the rising of the lesser moon to start the next.
In the darkness, twelve combat personnel carriers sat hidden by trees in creek beds, waiting for orders to take off. Each held two squads of troopers, fully manned up and wearing parachutes and arm webbing.
Shortly after the White T'swa arrived on Terfreya, the Klestroni had established two regimental field bases about twenty miles from their main base near Lonyer City. One northeast, one southeast. Miles from any sizeable jungle as well, these were fenced and had sentry fields, bunkers, minefields, and anti-aircraft batteries. One of the four remaining Klestronu gunships was stationed at each; the other two were at the main base.
Romlar had assigned three manned-up platoons to attack each compound. When the order came, the troopers would jump, body-glide over the compounds, and open their chutes at low elevations. Every second man carried a blast hose, the others rifles, all supplied with blast slugs instead of the solid rounds preferred in jungle righting. Every man's grenade pocket held fragmentation grenades.
Waiting, they didn't talk much.
The men of 2nd Platoon sat or lay around near Romlar's command tent, waiting for the word. With their H Company survivors, they numbered forty-two, including Jerym and his platoon sergeant, Warden. The T'swa major who'd arrived with the cadets was squatting in the darkness outside the tent, and Jerym squatted down next to him.
"Do you T'swa ever get nervous?" Jerym asked.
The major chuckled. "Occasionally. When neutrality slips a bit. There are things we do then to calm ourselves."
"Such as?"
"A momentary transfer of attention to the 'I' outside this universe usually provides the necessary perspective."
"Outside the universe. The Ostrak people call it the balcony," Jerym said.
The T'swi chuckled. "That is a suitable way of talking about it."
"They taught us to do that too," Jerym said thoughtfully. "Look at the 'I' in the balcony. 'Turn around and look at yourself,' they say. But it's easy to forget—for me, anyway. Till about a year ago I usually felt lousy—mad, resentful, guilty, hopeless—take your choice. What I feel now, when I'm not feeling good, is only a shadow of how it used to be, so I don't always remember to do something about it."
He paused. "We were supposed to get a lot more training when we got to Tyss—training in the T'sel, including meditation, as well as in military know-how. Maybe we will yet, when we're done here."
Dho-Kat gazed mildly at the teenaged Iryalan. "May I evaluate your troopers for you?"
"Sure. Go ahead."
"You do very well indeed, both as warriors and as human beings. I have associated closely with the people of several worlds—allies and adversaries belonging to various cultures and subcultures. With the exception of the cadets, none of them were your equals, or even approached you, as warriors or with regard to sanity. Or general happiness."
Jerym contemplated that for a few seconds, then asked, "How far are we from being T'swa? Really?"
Jerym felt more than saw the smile. "Speaking strictly," Dho-Kat said, "T'swa is a word used to describe human beings of a particular planet with a particular history and culture. But the beings in this universe who are being T'swa, who are playing the role of T'swa, are of precisely the same nature as those who have taken the role of Iryalans. Or of Klestroni. Those who, by intention or default, play the role of victim, do not differ in their nature from those who have taken the role of hero.
"You are Iryalans, the new Iryalans. At last the Iryalan culture is changing, and that change is accelerating. I suspect it approaches the point beyond which it cannot be defeated by internal factors. And if The Movement succeeds, as seems probable, the result will be beyond even that which Kristal visualizes."
It seemed to Jerym that the T'swi was talking as much to himself now as to his listener, examining his perspectives as he voiced them.
"Culture on Iryala and in the Confederation as a whole will take forms which ours on Tyss cannot. It will grow a new richness and splendor. In future lives, if you choose, you will take part in that, as I may." He laughed softly. "Or you may decide to spend a quiet life in a monastery on the backwater world of Tyss. That could be pleasant."
He squatted silent for a few seconds while Jerym waited. "By the circumstance of birth, you will never be T'swa in this lifetime," Dho-Kat finished. "But you have no need to be. You are truly exceptional warriors, tested and proven in combat. Think of yourself, if you wish, as 'honorary T'swa'; those of us here on Terfreya would agree without hesitation."
Jerym peered at the powerful black man squatting in the jungle night, and shook his head admiringly. "Major," he said, "you are something."
"As are you, Lieutenant."
"But suppose—even if we send the Klestroni home with a bloody nose and his tail between his legs—suppose they lead an imperial fleet back here in eight or ten years. A fleet that can destroy ours thirty times over. What then?"
"What indeed? If that should happen, perhaps they will land on Iryala and conquer it, and from there rule the Confederation. But the T'sel would not die, not on Tyss and not on Iryala. Eventually it would conquer the conqueror. Meanwhile for a time, perhaps a long time, lives would be less comfortable, their roles perhaps less free. But they would be very interesting."
Someone stepped into the door of the tent, and Dho-Kat got to his feet. "But that is at most a future script which may never be played," he went on. "Meanwhile you have the now, the present to enjoy—this night, this war, this world. Within the hour you will go into battle leading men who know well how to fight and take joy in it, against opponents who are better than many you might encounter.
"Go into combat with the thought that you are already dead, that it simply has not happened yet, and enjoy the battle."
The man in the door stepped outside then, and with a handlamp started off down the hill toward the scouts, Dho-Kat following. Jerym too got up, limbered his knees and joined his troopers, digesting what the T'swi had said.
One part especially had stayed with him— "Go into battle with the thought that you are already dead. . . ." Considering 2nd Platoon's assignment for the night, it seemed a realistic assumption.