“Hurry it up,” Merriman piped, impatience nudging his voice into the falsetto ranges. “You’ll have to be sharper than this when you’re fighting for Terra.”
“Excuse me, sir.” Benger held up his hand. “There must be some mistake—we’re from Earth.”
“I know that, you fool.”
Benger glanced around him in perplexity. “But you just said we’d be fighting for some place I never even…”
“Are you trying to be funny?” Merriman moved closer to Benger and read his name badge.
“Give yourself three tweaks, Benger.”
While the unfortunate Benger was administering his own punishment, Peace had time to look more closely at Merriman and was dismayed to see that, underneath the grease and grime of battle, the lieutenant was a baby-faced youth of about eighteen. He had blue eyes of an idealistic clarity, and girlish lips which were permanently parted to reveal exceptionally large square teeth, and if he had been honed and tempered and toughened by his time in the front line it certainly did not show. Peace was beginning to feel anxious about serving under someone as inexperienced as Merriman when he noticed a tantalizing aroma drifting in the air. He sniffed at it disbelievingly.
“We can’t delay any longer.” Merriman gazed critically at his men, who stared back over the rims of their improvised masks. “It’s too bad you don’t even have goggles to protect your eyes.
That stuff out there really goes for the eyes.”
“Excuse me, sir.” Peace raised a tentative hand. “It smells like tobacco smoke.”
Merriman nodded. “Quick work, Peace—that’s exactly what it is.”
“Ordinary tobacco smoke, sir.”
“There’s no such thing as ordinary tobacco smoke, Peace,” Merriman said impatiently, the ellipse of his mouth changing position slightly with respect to the wall of teeth behind it. “It all stunts your growth. It’s all carcinogenic, and did you know that, weight for weight, nicotine is practically the deadliest poison known to man?”
“It doesn’t bother me, sir—I like it.”
“You mean … you’re a smoker?”
“Yes, sir, I think so, sir.”
“Goodness gracious!” Merriman’s lips tightened in disapproval and actually succeeded in meeting for an instant, but the outward pressure of the teeth within was too great and after a convulsive twitch his mouth sprang open once more. Peace was reminded of somebody struggling to close the zip on an overfull holdall.
“Goodness gracious!” Merriman repeated, relieving his anger by what he apparently regarded as strong language. “A victim of the weed! You’ll have no stamina. No wind. What sort of wretches is Terra reduced to sending us?”
“You’ve said it again, sir,” Benger put in doggedly. “Are you sure there isn’t a mistake? We’re definitely from Earth and not from…”
“Six more tweaks, Benger,” Merriman snapped without turning his head. “All right, you men, we’ve wasted enough time. Follow me!”
He pulled his gas mask up over his face and flung open the metal door. Blue-white smoke wreathed outside, occasionally lit up by orange flashes, and there was the sound of explosions and old-fashioned gunfire. Merriman, quite unnecessarily, windmilled his right arm once in slow motion—a signal which Peace was certain had been culled from twentieth-century war movies, dropped into a crouch and ran forward. His squad of recruits nervously adopted similar attitudes and scuttled along behind him. Ryan, plumply incongruous in his green glitter suit, was snorting with effort before he had taken a dozen paces, and Benger, who was still tweaking himself, kept leaping in the air and emitting yelps of pain.
Peace heard the ship’s door clang shut behind him. He glanced back and saw the long metal structure sail up into the sky in a blurred arc described by fast-fading images of itself. In a second it had vanished, leaving him no recourse but to follow his companions into whatever straits a sardonic destiny had prepared for them.
4
At first Peace felt too self-conscious to double himself over, but he was quickly persuaded otherwise by the whine of metal fragments slicing through the air close at hand. He tried creeping after the others, but the roominess of his boots meant that he had a tendency to crawl right out of them, and he was reduced to proceeding in a hunkered down position, giving a grotesque imitation of a Ukranian dancer. The boots had proved extremely troublesome despite their splendid appearance, and he began to wish he had retained his snug-fitting civilian shoes.
From the lowly position Peace was able to see little of his surroundings, but his squad was moving across open ground which was uniformly covered with a single species of broadleaved plant. The only agreeable thing about the environment was the abundance of tobacco smoke, and he gratefully inhaled its fragrance while he laboured to catch up on the others. As the minutes went by he began to perspire with his efforts, and then came the realization that this was no localized gas attack. The Ulphans had made a tactical blunder in believing the nicotine-laden smoke would incapacitate all Earthmen, but the scale of their operation suggested they had no need to worry.
Peace risked standing up in an attempt to see the enemy. A warm breeze momentarily lifted the curtain of haze and he glimpsed an undulating plain, covered with the same yellowish vegetation from which protruded several low conical hills. One of the cones appeared to be glowing a rather pretty shade of pink. Entranced by this first vision of an alien planet, Peace shaded his eyes for a better look, scarcely noticing the abrupt swarming of metal hornets in his vicinity.
“Get down, you fool,” Merriman shouted. “You’re drawing their fire.”
Peace dropped into the cover of the vegetation and churned his way forward to where the rest of the squad had taken shelter behind some fresh earthworks. About twenty legionaries were already huddled there, a few wearing gasmasks, and Peace eyed them with interest. Apart from Lieutenant Merriman, who hardly counted, these were the first combat veterans he had seen, and even the filthiness of their clothing and equipment invested them with a rugged glamour. For their part, the veterans appeared not to notice the arrival of reinforcements. A captain who was with them began striding towards Merriman. He paused as he came close to Peace, and the part of his face not covered by his mask showed unmistakable contempt.
“Why are you crouching there like a frightened rabbit?” His eyes had triangulated on Peace.
“What sort of soldier are you? What has proud Terra come to?”
Peace began to salute, then changed his mind. “It was Lieutenant Merriman, sir. He told me…”
“Don’t try to blame an officer of the Legion for your lack of guts,” the captain hissed. “By Jupiter, you’re not fit to live on proud Terra, but I’ll make sure you die for her. That’s a promise.” He crawled away without waiting for a reply.
“Yes, sir,” Peace quavered to the captain’s departing figure.
“Tough luck,” Benger said, approaching on his hands and knees. His expression of sympathy was quickly ousted by one of puzzlement. “Hey, Warren, where’s this Terra these characters keep talking about?”
“How the hell would I know?” Peace was too alarmed by the new turn of events to be interested in the petty worries of others.
“It means Earth,” put in one of the battle-stained legionaries. “All officers say Terra when they mean Earth. Nobody knows why, but you better get used to it. And the ones that call it proud Terra are the worst.” His eyes flickered meaningfully in Peace’s direction.
Peace shivered. “Do you think the captain meant what he said? Has he got me down on his list?”