"By mass executions?"
"Terror is a most effective method. The rank and file might as well stay more afraid of my men than they are of the Yal for as long as possible."
Rance didn't like the way he used the term "rank and file." "So what's the compromise?"
"That I let you onto one of the next e-vacs out, you topmen and the longtimers that you brought with you. In return, you let me run things my way."
Rance had known that it would probably come to this kind of deal.
"We need to get out as many of our experienced men as we can."
"You already brought your longtimers. They're the ones you need. They'll be the foundations on which you'll build your new battle groups."
This last remark caused Hark to start paying attention. He'd been one of the men who had followed Rance and Dyrkin into the control room, but up to that point he'd been standing in the background, not altogether grasping what was going on. After Maltov's remark about foundations, it had all fallen into place. Rance's abrupt departure from the battlefield and the fact that he'd taken the four of them with him hadn't been a matter of either self-preservation or mutual respect. He hadn't been bucking the Therem. Quite the reverse, he'd been acting exactly according to his programming. He was getting out his best men. After the Therem had gar-baged one army, these survivors would be the seeds from which a new one would be created. If Hark was angry at anyone, it was at himself for believing that anything could happen at random. Everything was planned.
Rance and Maltov were still in confrontation. Despite the armed men all around him, Maltov seemed to be getting the edge.
"So, do we have our compromise?"
Rance slowly nodded. It was probably the best deal that he'd get. The longtimers would certainly hate him for selling out the bulk of the men, but they'd have to share the guilt. They were getting out, too-if Maltov didn't double-cross all of them. /
"Yeah. It's a deal. When do we get an e-vac?"
"We'll go to the command dome and find out."
"Together?"
Maltov reached for his helmet. "Right.'4
Outside, Kalgol and the ten troopers were still holding the entrance to the bunker. A heavy tropical rain was falling, and the men were up to their knees in a mist of spray. Water was streaming from their suits. The hilltop landing area was rapidly turning into a desolate sea of mud.
"This ain't going to help matters any."
There was a brief conference between Rance and the other topmen, and then the whole party of troopers, plus Maltov and an escort of six field police, set off for the command dome. As they splashed their way through the mud, Rance kept everyone bunched up. If they were close to the commandant, they were probably safe from a sneak attack by the headhunters.
They were almost exactly halfway between the bunker and the dome when the alarms went off.
"Enemy in the wire, third quadrant!"
The command channel suddenly came alive with voices.
"They're throwing everything at this one point! We can't hold them; we're spread too thin." "What is it? Chibas?"
"I can't take no more! I can't take no more!" "Cut that out!"
"There's men in among them!" "It must be some of our boys making a break for it!" "They're in gray camouflage armor, and they're firing at us."
"What the hell is going on over there?"
"There's men! Men fighting with the enemy!"
There was the sound of an explosion, and the shouting stopped. The troopers had halted. Rance was looking at Maltov.
"I suppose you expect us to go charging over there and plug the hole."
"If we're overrun, nobody will get off."
"Are you sending in your men?"
Maltov spoke into his communicator. "All available men! Go immediately to hold that breach in the third quadrant perimeter!"
He actually smiled at Rance. "Your move."
"You're right, goddamm it!"
Rance turned and faced the men. "Okay, you heard it. Let's shag it! Let's secure their forsaken perimeter for them. I want to see these men that have gone over to the enemy."
There was a good deal of cursing, but no one disobeyed the order.
"Come on! At the double! Fan out and don't bunch up. You all know the routine."
The men struggled through the quagmire, heading for the smoke and steam that were already billowing up from the firelight on the perimeter. They came under sporadic fire but kept on going. A man was hit and went down. Rance was glad that it wasn't one of his. He didn't want to lose any of his longtimers in these last minutes.
"They're hitting on a very narrow front. Maybe there ain't too many of them!"
"Don't count on it."
Rance didn't push his men too hard. There were a number of other squads converging on the same point. He didn't see why they should be the first to get there. The odds were that the first to arrive would be slaughtered.
"Easy now! Don't get crazy."
There were figures coming toward them out of the rain. Visibility was so poor that it was hard to make out exactly who or what they were, but they seemed roughly human in shape. Then they started firing. The flashes were those of Yal weapons. So these were the renegades. Another man went down. It was Dacker. Rance cursed. The troopers were returning fire. The human figures were halted in their tracks. One by one, they were cut down. At least Rance had the satisfaction of knowing that his longtimers were better than whatever these things were. A voice from the wire came over their communicators.
"They're pulling back! The chibas are pulling back!"
Just then the rain stopped. The troopers walked slowly forward. The mud sucked at their feet and ankles, and moisture hung like a hot shroud. Rance stopped beside Dacker. The trooper was quite dead. Half his chest was missing, and his suit was slowly curling away from his lifeless flesh. As Rance watched, the suit stopped moving. It, too, had died. There were bodies all over, but everyone was making for the ones in the now mangled, fungus-gray armor. Everyone wanted to know who they were. Men bent over and pulled helmets from these strange corpses.
Renchett was the first of the squad to reach a body. "Hey, Rance, get a load of this."
They were not renegades. There were marked differences between the men who fought for the Therem and these creatures. Their skins were close to orange, and their eyes had a strange slitted configuration. Either they used some sort of depilatory or they had never grown hair on their heads. They were obviously human, but equally obviously they were a different race.
"Where the hell did they come from?"
"The Yal must have bred them."
"Yeah, but why?"
"Why do the Therem use us?"
Renchett was silently shaking his head. "Maybe they captured one of the home worlds and used its inhabitants."
"Surely they'd look more like us." Hark had a thought. "Maybe the Yal took them from the Earth when they were first forced to leave it." "The Earth?"
"The original world. Our original world."
Rance walked slowly over to where Hark was standing. "What do you know about the Earth?"
Hark gave a slight shrug. "A woman told me."
"You shouldn't believe everything women tell you."
It was the worn-out topman response, and the moment Rance had said it, he felt a little stupid.
Hark just looked away. "I believe this."
Renchett was bending over one of the bodies. "You know what I think?"
"What?"
"It was probably these assholes that skinned those corpses back in the jungle."
Renchett had his knife out. He was about to carve off an ear. Rance stopped him.
"There'll be no more mutilation."
Hark was still deep in thought.
"You all know what else this means," he said slowly. "It means that we've started fighting our own kind. There are men on both sides in this damned war. Men are fighting each other for aliens that most of them will never even see."