The one with a sword emblem on his helmet spoke through amplifiers. “You are Lieutenant Marten Kluge, 2nd Patloon/10th Company/93rd Battalion?”
“I am.”
“Report.”
In short, concise sentences—the way he’d been trained to speak to Highborn—Marten told the two giants what had happened.
After he was finished, the two giants glanced at each other, their dark visors revealing nothing. Marten felt like a naughty child, and that made him angry. But here, in front of these two, he struggled to suppress his anger.
“Why didn’t you fire at the enemy?” asked the giant with the sword emblem.
“They surprised us.”
“So you threw yourself down?”
“Yes,” said Marten.
“An act of cowardice.”
“No,” said Marten. “It was one of survival.”
“You will not raise your voice to us.”
Marten hung his head. “I’m sorry.”
“Cowardice,” repeated the giant.
“Perhaps even retreat in face of the enemy,” suggested the other.
“Which is punishable by death,” said the first.
Marten looked up. The two armored giants decided his fate. His only weapon was his wits. “May I speak?” he asked.
The dark visors stared at him.
“Speak,” said the first, the one with the sword emblem on his helmet.
“Captain Sigmir shot and killed both Kamikazes. It was due to his misfortune of having taken off his helmet and gorget that he died. I reacted instinctively. And I might add that my storm group had just taken an enemy bunker.”
“That is immaterial.”
“You’ll find that my storm group is the most decorated in the 4th FEC Army.”
“Meaningless.”
“Surely not,” Marten argued. “You Highborn are said to honor valor. If my unit is the most valorous, then surely I, as its leader, must be also.”
The two giants considered that. Then the first one said, “If what you say is true, your act of… I will not say cowardice. Rather, cunning, is deplorable.”
“I don’t understand,” said Marten.
“You dropped to the ground in the hopes that your Lot Six commander would be killed.”
“I’ve been in battle too long to think that,” Marten said, his stomach knotting at their implacable will. “In fact, I’ve never heard of two Japanese killing a Highborn.”
“Say rather: a Lot Six specimen.”
“Captain Sigmir isn’t a Highborn?” asked Marten.
The two nine foot giants said nothing. Finally, the first one’s amplifier crackled. “We are superiors.”
“Why explain anything to him?” asked the second.
“So he understands his insolence and why he must die.”
“Does my battle record mean so little?” asked Marten, sweat oozing out of his armpits. “Is there no way that I might gain honor among you?”
Again, they were silent, as if he spoke nonsense and they tried to decipher his possible meanings.
“Show us your hand,” said the first.
Marten shucked off his gauntlet and showed them the number two tattooed onto the back of his hand.
“He has risen above himself,” said the second.
“So it seems,” said the first. “Preman—” The giant suddenly tilted his armored head, no doubt listening to an incoming radio message. A few seconds later he said, “Your Lot Six Captain will deal with you upon his return.”
As easy as that, they granted him life. Marten’s knees almost buckled, but he locked them and refused to kneel before them.
They turned and clanked to the other two Highborn. Together the Highborn bounded away with Sigmir, their twenty-millimeter cannons barking at an unseen enemy as they leaped toward the rear lines.
Omi strode to Marten, who felt limp, drained, surprised to be alive.
The tough Korean studied him closely.
“I didn’t understand half of what they were saying,” Marten explained. “But I understood they look at me as if I’m subhuman. And you know what?”
The ex-gunman grunted.
“I’m beginning to take that personally.”
11.
They learned that one of the new and improved features of Highborn was a gland that squirted Suspend into the brain at the moment of death. Thus, drugs had frozen Sigmir’s brain when he died. No damage had been done because of his lack of oxygen. At least so went the theory.
Three nights later, the Slumlords huddled in an underground garage, sitting on chunks of concrete as they cooked their suppers. Suddenly the talking stopped. Man after man looked up, amazed and fearful at what he saw.
Dressed in gleaming new combat armor, Sigmir strode among them. A fresh scar showed where the shrapnel had torn out his throat. He moved with purpose and force. His eyes glittered more darkly than ever and the corner of his mouth twitched as if he considered a joke that only he knew. There seemed to be a new grimness about him, a feeling that a dead man had joined them. Some of the storm troopers shivered as he marched past, a few crossed themselves with a long-forbidden religious gesture.
Captain Sigmir strode to where Marten sat.
Upon seeing the newly resurrected captain, Marten stared for only a moment. Then he jumped to attention and saluted smartly. “Glad to have you back, sir,” Marten said, who kept the quaver and more than a bit of hatred out of his voice.
Sigmir peered at him, the odd twitch never leaving the corner of his mouth. Finally, after an uncomfortable length of time, Sigmir whispered hoarsely, “Prepare for a dawn assault, Lieutenant.”
“Sir?”
“I will be the first into the merculite missile battery.”
“…Yes, sir.”
Sigmir examined those who stared at him in shock and fear. “Do any here doubt me?”
No one spoke.
“Nothing will stop me,” wheezed Sigmir. “Not death, not the enemy, not the lack of guts in my men.” Once more, he examined them. Then he turned and strode to where the Colonel conferred with the other Lot Six captains.
“He’s a vampire,” whispered Turbo.
“I don’t know about that,” said Stick, who had yet to touch his food. “But he don’t die.”
“He’s going to kill us,” Omi said moodily.
“Why do you think that?” asked Marten.
“I’ve seen that look before. He’s mad, stark raving nuts. And if he has to kill us all to get what he wants then he’s going to do it.”
“We’ll see,” said Marten.
12.
8 May 2350
The Pre-Operation Togo military conference: 10.26 A.M.
Participants: Enkov, Hawthorne, Shell (Commander, Orbital Sector), Kitamura (Field Marshal, Japan Sector), Ulrich (Air Marshal, Strategic Command East), O’Connor (Admiral, Pacific Fleet), Green (Colonel-General, Replacement Army East).
Enkov: Commander Shell, please report upon the situation.
Shelclass="underline" Delicate, Lord Director, but theoretically promising. According to our best information, two Doom Stars and other ancillary spacecraft still hold their station in Mars orbit. A Doom Star guards Venus, one has gone to refit at the Mercury construction yard and one is unaccounted for. We suspect but have not yet located the Doom Star in Earth or in the Moon’s orbit. Concerning enemy Near-Earth Orbital deployment, three laser stations continue to search and destroy targets of opportunity, as do two of their missile stations. Three Highborn orbital fighter platforms are dedicated to the present Japanese campaign and are in stationary orbit here, here and here.
Hawthorne: Adherence to our space strategy of scattering and therefore maintaining what is left of our deep-space vessels has forced the Highborn to garrison each of their planets with a Doom Star.
Enkov: That is an imprecise statement, General Hawthorne. They control the near orbit of each of the said planets, but not the planets themselves.