Read Online On the Oceans of Eternity by S. M. Stirling - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: S. M. Stirling
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trot. The wind was from the east, blowing their own hot dust onto their backs; even at the head of the column O’Rourke could feel it seeping gritty down his collar and getting between his teeth. There were a lot of birds in the sky. This was the season northern Europe’s flocks left for their winter quarters, crossing over from Thrace via the Dardanelles; eagles, herons, storks, in clumps and drifts and singly.
For a moment he wished they’d bring some of their weather with them, then crossed himself to avert the omen. The fall rains would start soon enough. Dust was bad. Mud was worse when you had to move, especially if you had to move in a hurry. Nobody in this part of the world built all-weather roads. Nobody except William Walker ...
A line of Marines covered the eastern approach to the Nantucketer base, waiting with their rifles ready behind low sangars of stone. O’Rourke nodded approval. Beyond that the little base was bustling; several Conestoga wagons and native two-wheel oxcarts, pyramids of boxed supplies, of barley in sacks and wicker baskets and big pottery storage pithoi. Working parties bustled about. Marines in khaki trousers and boots and T-shirts, Hittite auxiliaries in kilts and callused bare feet.
A wiry twentysomething woman with a brown crew cut came up and saluted; he’d have thought her indecently young for the rank, if he hadn’t rocketed up from captain to colonel in about two years himself. Between the breakneck expansion of the Corps in the last couple of years, casualties, and officers getting siphoned off for everything from training local allied troops to running crude-oil stills, promotions were rapid if you had what it took. He was a little short of thirty himself, and Brigadier Hollard only a few years his senior, and this baby captain wouldn’t have been twelve when the Event hit—he couldn’t remember if she was Island-born or an adoptee.
“Captain Cecilie Barnes, Colonel. First Combat Engineers,” she said; the bare skin of arms and neck glistened with sweat, her cotton T-shirt stuck to what it covered, and she was as dirt-streaked as her command. “Is the battalion close behind? We’re about ready to start on the bridge, the river’s nearly breast-deep already, and once the rains get going ...”
He returned the salute, then swung down from the saddle and stripped off his gloves. A Marine from the escort came up to take the bridle; before the man led the horse away O’Rourke stroked Fancy’s nose and fed him a couple of candied dates to keep him out of a snapping-and-kicking mood.
“There’ll be no battalion, Captain,” he said. “And no bridge.”
“Sir, we were told to get ready for—”
“I know. The enemy got frisky a little north of here, and we had to put the battalion in to stop them—quite a shindy. The siege of Troy isn’t going well. Not enough weapons or supplies in the city. That’s freeing up enemy forces to probe inland. If the city falls, the fertilizer hits the winnowing fan for true.”
Barnes frowned. “Sir?” she said hopefully. “We’ve seen the Emancipator taking in equipment for Troy ...”
“Only a few tons at a time, and we can’t risk any more nights—too much else for it to do and too hard to replace. Walker’s been bringing in more of his troops, and more of those Ringapi devils. Giving them more guns, as well, which is how he’s getting them here. I dropped by to—”
The heliograph blinked from the hillside again. O’Rourke could read the message as well as any ... enemy force in sight, numbers several hundred.
“—to give you a hand setting up the defenses,” he said. This base had just gone from a forward supply depot to the penultimate front line.
The garrison in Troy was supposed to be buying time for the First Marines; the First was in the westlands to buy time for the expeditionary force as a whole. He only hoped the people back home were doing something valuable with it.
“Heather! Lucy!”
For a moment he wished they’d bring some of their weather with them, then crossed himself to avert the omen. The fall rains would start soon enough. Dust was bad. Mud was worse when you had to move, especially if you had to move in a hurry. Nobody in this part of the world built all-weather roads. Nobody except William Walker ...
A line of Marines covered the eastern approach to the Nantucketer base, waiting with their rifles ready behind low sangars of stone. O’Rourke nodded approval. Beyond that the little base was bustling; several Conestoga wagons and native two-wheel oxcarts, pyramids of boxed supplies, of barley in sacks and wicker baskets and big pottery storage pithoi. Working parties bustled about. Marines in khaki trousers and boots and T-shirts, Hittite auxiliaries in kilts and callused bare feet.
A wiry twentysomething woman with a brown crew cut came up and saluted; he’d have thought her indecently young for the rank, if he hadn’t rocketed up from captain to colonel in about two years himself. Between the breakneck expansion of the Corps in the last couple of years, casualties, and officers getting siphoned off for everything from training local allied troops to running crude-oil stills, promotions were rapid if you had what it took. He was a little short of thirty himself, and Brigadier Hollard only a few years his senior, and this baby captain wouldn’t have been twelve when the Event hit—he couldn’t remember if she was Island-born or an adoptee.
“Captain Cecilie Barnes, Colonel. First Combat Engineers,” she said; the bare skin of arms and neck glistened with sweat, her cotton T-shirt stuck to what it covered, and she was as dirt-streaked as her command. “Is the battalion close behind? We’re about ready to start on the bridge, the river’s nearly breast-deep already, and once the rains get going ...”
He returned the salute, then swung down from the saddle and stripped off his gloves. A Marine from the escort came up to take the bridle; before the man led the horse away O’Rourke stroked Fancy’s nose and fed him a couple of candied dates to keep him out of a snapping-and-kicking mood.
“There’ll be no battalion, Captain,” he said. “And no bridge.”
“Sir, we were told to get ready for—”
“I know. The enemy got frisky a little north of here, and we had to put the battalion in to stop them—quite a shindy. The siege of Troy isn’t going well. Not enough weapons or supplies in the city. That’s freeing up enemy forces to probe inland. If the city falls, the fertilizer hits the winnowing fan for true.”
Barnes frowned. “Sir?” she said hopefully. “We’ve seen the Emancipator taking in equipment for Troy ...”
“Only a few tons at a time, and we can’t risk any more nights—too much else for it to do and too hard to replace. Walker’s been bringing in more of his troops, and more of those Ringapi devils. Giving them more guns, as well, which is how he’s getting them here. I dropped by to—”
The heliograph blinked from the hillside again. O’Rourke could read the message as well as any ... enemy force in sight, numbers several hundred.
“—to give you a hand setting up the defenses,” he said. This base had just gone from a forward supply depot to the penultimate front line.
The garrison in Troy was supposed to be buying time for the First Marines; the First was in the westlands to buy time for the expeditionary force as a whole. He only hoped the people back home were doing something valuable with it.
“Heather! Lucy!”
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