"Beat it, damn you," Court said."I’m not dead yet. "
The ugly bird opened and closed its beak with a snap, as if to say, "That’s okay, I’ll wait."
Court pegged a rock at it and missed, but the vulture vacated its perch above him with an irate squawk. He heard the rock bouncing down the slope, starting a brief, miniature avalanche as it dislodged smaller stones which skittered down with a pattering sound, and then all was still again. But only for a moment. Court froze as he heard the sounds of somebody or something climbing up the slope towards him. It could be animal or man. Please, thought Court, let it be an animal, even a hungry tiger, anything but a Ghazi tribesman. He only had one bullet. It might be enough to stop one Ghazi, but its sound could bring others. He lay perfectly still, afraid to move, unable to. He heard the sound of labored breathing.
His sweaty hands clenched around the stock of his rifle, bringing it around in front of him, bayonet pointed toward the sound. The white-robed figure stepped into view. Court held his breath. The face beneath the turban was in shadow, but as the Ghazi turned toward him, Court gasped involuntarily. The moonlight revealed the dark skin of an Afridi tribesman, but the features were his own. In the same instant, his doppelganger" s breath hissed out and he muttered a most un-Islamic oath.
"Sweet Jesus!"
Half convinced he was delirious, Court kept the rifle pointed at the apparition and said, "Who are you""
The Ghazi stared at him. "Thomas Court," he said. "Sergeant, U. S. Army Temporal Corps."
"Yes, I" m Court, but how-" and somehow he suddenly knew that the man had not recognised him, but rather had answered his question. Just as suddenly, he realised the man was going to kill him. They both fired at the same time. The echoes of their shots rolled against the rock walls of the Khyber Pass and died away in stillness.
Chapter 1
Colonel Moses Forrester, commander of the First Division of the United States Army Temporal Corps, was unaccustomed to wearing his full dress uniform in his own quarters, but the status of his visitor demanded it. It was the first time Forrester had ever met face to face with the director general of the Referee Corps. If the fact of the meeting was unusual in itself, the circumstances of it were even more so. The meeting was top secret and there were armed guards stationed outside in the corridor and by the lift tubes. The entire floor of the Command Staff BOQ where Forrester was quartered had been sealed off, and the other officers billeted there had been given orders to be elsewhere between 1900 and 2100 hours. The director general had been supplied with the coordinates to clock directly into Forrester" s living room. He arrived with his personal bodyguards, who took up stations just inside the entrance to the living room and in the foyer, by the front door.
The man who merited such treatment was thin and frail, his aged face deeply lined, his head bald, like Forrester’s. He wore a simple, two-piece white suit with the small gold and platinum medallion of his office worn as an amulet around his neck. Compared to Forrester’s bull-like physique, the director general’s frame looked emaciated, but his light gray eyes were bright with vitality and intelligence.
"Colonel Forrester, I’m pleased to meet you. I am Director General Vargas." His voice was soft and low, with a flowing, soothing quality.
"Sir!’ said Forrester, snapping to attention. "This is an honour. "
Vargas nodded once, accepting the compliment. "Please, Colonel, stand at ease. We shall dispense with protocol henceforth. We have important matters to discuss. Do sit down."
Forrester waited until Vargas sat down on the couch before he took the chair opposite, across the low glass coffee table. "May I offer you anything, sir""
"No, thank you," Vargas said. "I will come right to the point. The conversation we are about to have is, of course, classified."
"I understand, sir."
"Which personnel make up your best historical adjustment team"" said Vargas.
Forrester replied without hesitation. "That would be my executive officer, Lieutenant Colonel Lucas Priest; Lieutenant Finn Delaney, and Sergeant Andre Cross."
Vargas pursed his lips and nodded. "If we may speak candidly, strictly off the record, I would like to ask you some questions about these personnel."
"Certainly, sir."
"Their record speaks for itself, yet I am struck by the incongruity of Lieutenant Colonel Priest’s being a model officer and Lieutenant Delaney’s disciplinary record."
Forrester said nothing.
"You have no response"" said Vargas.
"I’m waiting for a question, sir."
Vargas smiled. "How very diplomatic of you, Colonel. Very well, then. How is it that the finest officer under your command is teamed with a man who has one of the worst records of offences in the entire Temporal Corps, a man who in civilian life might well have been a convicted felon""
"With all due respect, sir," said Forrester, "there is absolutely no evidence to support such a conclusion. Granted, Lieutenant Delaney has a disastrous disciplinary record. Calling him a maverick would be a gross understatement. However, I would like to point out that every one of his disciplinary offences occurred in Plus Time, not in the field on the Minus side. And, frankly, I am far more concerned with his performance in the field. I would also like to underscore the nature of those offences. "
"Drunk and disorderly," said Vargas. "Numerous incidences of direct disobedience to specific orders. Even more numerous incidences of striking superior officers. Insubordination. Etcetera, etcetera."
"Exactly my point, sir," said Forrester, wondering where the discussion was leading. The director general was clearly familiar with the records. The question was, why should he have taken the trouble" What could possibly be so important that the director general of the Referee Corps would personally review the dossiers of an adjustment team"
"I don’t dispute that Lieutenant Delaney holds the record for the most reductions in grade of any soldier in the Temporal Corps," he continued. "But that’s only looking at it one way. He also holds the record for the most promotions for outstanding service in the field. There are soldiers, such as Lieutenant Colonel Priest, who possess qualities and temperaments that make them excellent officers in the field as well as on the parade ground, if you follow my meaning."
Vargas nodded.
"Others, such as Lieutenant Delaney, possess qualities and temperaments that clash violently with the exigencies of the military infrastructure." Forrester paused. "This does not necessarily make them bad soldiers. In some. cases these are people whose abilities are under-utilised, who possess personality traits that result in their being suffocated by military bureaucracy. Their personalities render it difficult, if not impossible, for them to follow the orders of officers who are superior to them only in rank. Yet at the same time, these are people who would be even less comfortable in civilian life. They are soldiers first and foremost. In the proper role, and with the right commander, they can excel. "
"Meaning no offence, Colonel," Vargas said, "but are you quite certain such a description fits Lieutenant Delaney" "
"Like a glove, sir. You can’t take a man like Delaney and put him behind a desk. He’s a veteran of numerous temporal campaigns. If you demand parade ground spit and polish of him, and expect him to jump like a monkey on a stick every time some light colonel half his age says "Boo," you have a ripe candidate for a court-martial. On the other hand if you put him in the field where he belongs and give him an opportunity to show initiative, you have a T. E. Lawrence or an Otto Skor-zeny. If Delaney wasn’t worth his weight in gold as a commando, I’d have had his ass a long time ago-begging your pardon, sir. The fact that he coldclocks an occasional first lieutenant fresh out of OCS, or gets into a drunken barroom brawl, is of less interest to me than the fact that he’s a first-rate soldier when the chips are down. You can’t take a fighting cock and put him in a henhouse and expect him to lay eggs. If I want a man in the field calling the shots, I’ll pick Priest. If I want someone at my back, I’ll take Delaney. If I can have them both, I’ll bring you results, as their record shows."