"How does it look from the military point of view, Lieutenant?"
The man, near the end of his strength, lifted his hands and almost gave a shrug for an answer, controlling himself only at the last instant. He pulled him self erect. "We are having less trouble from the populace. All of our men are withdrawn from the streets, and either on the walls or guarding the camp here. A lot of people are sick, that takes the fight out of them, the rest seem sort of dazed. The enemy outside has been moving into attacking positions and I think we can expect a heavy attack at any time now, probably at dawn."
"What makes you say that?"
"The equipment they've brought up. More ballistae of all sizes. Steam-powered rams, bridging material, grappling towers. They are ready for a concerted effort and they have the men and equipment for the job."
"Can you stop the attack when it comes?"
"Not for long, sir. We might with the aid of the people in the city, but they are more than useless. We shall have to guard against them as well. There are just not enough of our troops to man the walls. If you will pardon my suggesting it, we are faced with two possible solutions. One, we can call for more troops. The technicians have set up a transmatter and a larger one can be brought through and assembled. Secondly, we can withdraw. Any defense here will be costly of men — on both sides — and equipment. The Gudaegin are tremendous fighters and never stop until they have won."
"If we leave — what happens to the people of the city?"
The lieutenant looked uncomfortable. "It's hard to say, but, I imagine, if they're sick—"
"They will all be killed. I don't think much of that as a solution, Lieutenant. And we can't take them back to base, there isn't room for a cityful of sick people. And there are no other quarantine stations that can handle them. The situation is beginning to look a little grim."
Their silence, their downcast expressions, echoed only agreement. There seemed no simple way out of the situation. A number of people were going to die no matter what they decided. These deaths would be a black mark on the record of the EPC. Perhaps an other training film would be made about their mistakes, warning others not to repeat them.
"We are not beaten yet," Jan told them, when no one else elected to speak. "I have some other plans that may alter the situation. Carry on as you have been doing and by dawn I will let you know. Lieutenant, if you would remain I would like to talk to you."
Jan waited until the others had filed silently out and the door was closed before he spoke. "I want a volunteer, Lieutenant, a good soldier who is a professional fighting man. I am going outside of the city and I am going to need some skilled help—"
"You can't do that, sir! You're in command."
"Since I am in command there is nothing to stop me, is there? The mission I have in mind needs a young and fairly expendable medical man, for which I qualify well. The medical teams do not need me now and you can man the defenses whether I am here or not. If I get into trouble a call to headquarters can send a more highly qualified EPC man through in a few minutes. So there really is no reason why I should not go, is there?"
The lieutenant reluctantly agreed — although he did not like it — and went out in search of a volunteer. Jan was loading equipment into a pack when there was a knock on the door.
"I was told to report to you, sir," the soldier said, saluting. Jan had seen him before, a big man with a neck like a tree trunk, who nevertheless moved quickly as a cat. He was weighted with combat gear and looked ready for anything.
"What's your name?"
"Plendir, private, EPC Guard, sir.
"Weren't you wearing a sergeant's stripes a few days ago?"
"I was, sir, and not for the first time. Field demotion. Drink and fighting. Not our own men, sir. Locals. About fifteen of them jumped me. Most still in hospital, sir."
"I hope you are as good as you say, Plendir. Ready to go with me outside of the city?"
"Yes, sir." His stony expression did not change.
"Good. But it's not as suicidal as it sounds. We're not going over the wall, but we'll exit by the transmatter we used when we first hit this planet. That should put us some miles behind the enemy troops. I want to capture one of them. Do you think it can be done?"
"Sounds like an interesting job, sir," Plendir said, almost smiling at the thought.
Jan slipped on his pack and they went to the tech section. Bright lights flooded the temporary structure and a generator whined steadily in the background, supplying the operating current for the equipment and for recharging the vehicles' high-density batteries. They stepped over cables and walked around equipment to the familiar slab shape of a personnel transmatter screen.
"Has it been checked out?" Jan asked a passing tech.
"To the last decimal place and locked on frequency, sir."
Jan made a note of the transmatter's code on the inside of his wrist, and Plendir automatically did the same. Until they had the call number memorized they did not want to risk being locked out of the city.
"If I might make a suggestion?" Plendir asked, as Jan punched the code for the other transmatter on the keyboard.
"What is it?"
"We are, so to speak, going into my area of operation now. We have no idea of who or what might be waiting on the other side. I go through first and roll left. You come after me as quickly as you can and dive right. Then we are both through and down low and looking things over."
"Just as you say, Plendir. But we are far enough from the enemy troops so I don't think we have to worry."
The soldier raised his eyebrows slightly, but otherwise did not answer. When the operation light came on he waved Jan forward — then dived headfirst at the screen. Jan jumped right after him, ready to hit the ground.
Cold air, black night, a sharp explosion, and something heavy hitting the ground next to him. Jan dropped; harder than he had planned, driving the air from his lungs. By the time he had gasped and lifted his head to look around the brief battle was over. A man lay on the ground near him, slumped and unconscious, and another was near the crouching Plendir, rolling and moaning softly. A cloud of gas, barely visible in the starlight, was drifting away from three other motionless figures. There was a crackling in the brush that lessened and died away.
"All clear, sir. They were on guard here, but I was maybe expecting them and they weren't expecting me. Not just then, if you know what I mean. That one by you may be dead, couldn't help it, me or him. But this one has a broken wing and the others are gassed. Will any of them do?"
"The wounded one will be best, let me look at him." Jan stood and swung off his pack. "Some of them got away, didn't they?"
"Yes, sir. They'll be bringing back their friends. How long will you need?"
"Fifteen minutes should do it. Think we can manage that much?"
"Probably. But I'll give you all the time I can. Need help with him before I take a look around?"
"Yes, just one second."
The prisoner winced away from the harsh light. Outside of his metal helm he did not look very soldierly, dressed in coarse cloth and half-cured furs. He tried to scrabble away when Jan touched his arm, but the sudden appearance of the point of a trench knife just in front of his eyes changed his mind. Jan was quick. He slipped an inflatable cast over the arm, set the bones through the flexible fabric, then triggered the pressure. It blew up with a quick hiss, holding the broken arm rigid and secure.