Tales from the Academy

Chapter 9

"Hold still, you miserable sack of oats!" Anny pulled sharply on the reins in hopes that would get the horse's attention, but the beast just spun in a circle, defeating her attempts to get a steady shot at the targets.

For an instant, her pistol was pointed directly at a cringing scorekeeper, but she didn't fire. The man was in no danger: the pistols only fired blanks and their accuracy was determined by a low-powered laser mounted next to the barrel. A tragic accident a decade earlier had brought about that change. A good thing, too, or Alby Vorsworth might well murder half the officials on the equestrian course.

Anny's horse finally settled down enough that she could draw a bead on the six man-sized targets about fifty meters away. She fired off the shots as rapidly as she could and she was reasonably certain she had hit all of them, but there was no time to wait and find out. "Okay, you want to run, so run!" she cried, digging her spurs into the horse's flanks. The beast sprang away, nearly leaving Anny behind. She hung on and fortunately the animal headed in the right direction. With all the practice runs by all the classes, the critter could probably do this in its sleep.

At a full gallop, they charged up hills and down dales, splashed across streams and wove between the trees, Anny ducking to avoid low-hanging limbs. She reached the next target range and reined in the horse and reached for her pistol. She cursed under her breath when she saw Hal Lindvig, one of her teammates, on foot and chasing after his horse. There was nothing she could do to help him under the rules, so she maneuvered her horse where she wanted it—and for once the horse consented—and fired off her shots. For some reason, this time the noise startled the animal and it reared up, almost forcing Anny to join Lindvig afoot. She stayed aboard somehow and got it under control again and headed down the trail toward the finish. She galloped across the line and brought her horse to a stop next to a bored-looking scorekeeper.

"Name?" he asked.

"Payne, C Company."

"Twenty-two minutes, four seconds." He entered it into his computer pad and paid no further attention to her. She moved off to where the horses were being collected and dismounted. Glancing back, she saw Lindvig emerge from the course and at least he was back on his horse. She spent the next half-hour walking her mount to cool it off and then gave it a rub-down and turned it over to the handlers. From there she headed back to the main spectator area where she would find the rest of her team. She was the last rider for C Company—or she would have been if Lindvig hadn't fallen off—so everyone else was there. They didn't look very happy—not that she expected them to be. She spotted Alby with his ever-present computer pad. "So, how'd we do?" she asked.

"Well, everyone finished," he replied. "No dead or wounded left on the field of battle, so I suppose you could count that as a major victory."

"Alby… how'd we do?"

"Pretty bad. Well, terrible to be brutally honest. There are still two more teams to go in the Equestrian, but unless there are any big surprises there, we are now in sixth place among the First Form companies."

"Sixth!" she groaned. "We had been in first!"

"I warned you. And we're only in sixth because we did so well in the first three events. But, hey, no need to look so glum: if we do as well as we hope tomorrow, we can still win."

"Really?"

"Yup. As I predicted, G Company is in first place. We need to beat them by ten minutes and eighteen seconds in the Howitzer Haul to win."

"We can do that," said Jer emphatically and then looked around to make sure they couldn't be overheard.

"Yes we can," said Anny. "And we will." She sat down on the grass with the others and pretended to watch the huge video monitor that was displaying the ongoing events of the Pentathlon. It was Day Four of the competition and the first day for the senior class. On the first day the First Form companies had competed alone in the Obstacle Course and scarcely anyone else had even paid attention. C Company's team had won the event and that was a great way to start off. On the second day the Second Form companies did the Obstacle Course and the First Form moved on to the Long-Distance Run. They had come in second and it was a close second, so they were still in first place on Day Two. Day Three saw the Third Form companies join the cycle and First Form moved to the Rifle Competition. They had done really well there, better even than they'd hoped. Although a lot of the non-Vor cadets transferred into C Company weren't the best at shining shoes or polishing brass or making their beds the regulation way, many of them were from the hinterlands and knew how to shoot. Anny scored a personal best of ninety-six out of a hundred and C Company extended its lead.

They had given all of it back today, of course, but they had known this was going to happen. They all put on cheerful, confident faces, but Anny suspected they were all as worried underneath as she was. One slip, just one tiny little mistake and we're finished.

When the last two First Form companies finished their runs on the Equestrian Course, they were called back into ranks. Sergeant Byrne marched them back toward campus. Just as they neared the barracks, a loud roar from overhead had them all looking up. A phalanx of five assault shuttles screamed past a few hundred meters above the treetops. The center shuttle was bigger and painted blue and red, a glittering gold crest blazoned the side. They disappeared in the direction of the Academy's landing field. "He's early," said Byrne.

"Sir?" said Anny.

"The Emperor, or at least that's his shuttle, I assume he's aboard. He usually shows up for the last two or three days of the Pentathlon. He's early this year."

I wonder why?

On the parade ground, Sergeant Byrne called them to attention, looked them over and then stood back. "Tomorrow's the big day. Stand by each other and you'll come through fine. But no matter what happens tomorrow, you've all earned the right to feel mighty proud of yourselves for what you've done. Now go and get some rest. Dis-missed!" The company broke ranks and headed for the mess hall.

The other First Form companies were either already there or filed in shortly after. The companies leading the Pentathlon were all loud and boisterous, regaling their comrades with their glorious exploits. The cadets of G Company were in first place and were, thus, the loudest. By some bit of cosmic irony, Anny's old nemesis, Olaf Levey, was now in G Company and apparently the team leader. The last thing in the world she wanted right now was to talk to him, but unfortunately he spotted her and came sauntering over with a batch of his friends.

"Well, well," he chortled, "it's C Company and its Amazon leader! You made quite a spectacle out there today. I trust you learned why riding is considered a sport for gentlemen?"

"Really?" said Alby Vorsworth. He consulted his computer pad. "I guess that's why you weren't on G Company's equestrian team, then, eh, Olaf?"

Levey's face reddened and he clenched his fists. "I yielded my spot to men I knew were better riders," he said stiffly. "As any true Vor would! But your rabble must have been truly desperate to let you anywhere near a horse, Worth!"

"At least I didn't fall off," replied Alby. "But speaking of falls, I'm sure you've heard about how the bigger they are, the harder they fall. And if they were talking about egos, you've got a hell of a fall coming, Levey."

"Ha! You're living in a dream world! All of you! It's over and you know it! You may as well start writing out your resignations right now—unless you come to your senses and get rid of the Payne that's causing all your troubles!"

"You just wait!" cried Cadet Gerhardt. "Wait until you see what—mmmpf!" Jer Naddel clapped a hand over Gerhart's mouth.

"Wait until I see what?" demanded Levey with a huge smirk.

"What real loyalty can accomplish," said Patric Mederov, stepping in between Gerhardt and Levey. Anny breathed a sigh of relief over the distraction.

"You've given your loyalty to someone who isn't worthy of it," snapped Levey, but he eyed Mederov warily. Patric was nearly a head taller and much stronger.

"Come on, guys," said Anny. "We've got a big day tomorrow. Let's eat." The two groups backed off and ended up eating on opposite sides of the mess hall. Anny quietly warned everyone to watch their mouths and then left for the evening. She went back to her own little cottage, marveling at the lack of sentries: ImpSec apparently had not seen any need to post one of its men there and there was no duty company this week. She did all her chores and went to bed early. Despite her worries, she slept like the dead.

[Scene Break]

The morning dawned bright and clear for the First Form's Howitzer Haul competition. Despite the lack of interest in their earlier events, Anny suspected there would be quite a few spectators to watch them today. The potential for amusing disasters would be a strong draw if for no other reason. The company formed up and marched off to the competition area. They got there plenty early since they would be in the third group. Normally, the teams went in the order of their scoring so far in the competition. The tenth and ninth place teams would compete against each other first and so on down to the first and second place teams, one of which would probably be the overall winner. Since they were in sixth place, they would be matched with the fifth place team. Sergeant Bryne let them break ranks and relax. The tenth and ninth place teams were getting their gear ready, even though they weren't scheduled to start for nearly an hour. It would probably be noon before C Company had its turn.

"Uh, ooohhh…" said Jer suddenly.

"What?" asked Anny.

"Look there." Anny followed his pointing finger and to her surprise and dismay she saw Cadet Fallon walking in their direction accompanied by Sergeant Major Szytko.

"What the hell's he doing here?" demanded Alby.

"I don't know."

"Well, don't panic," said Jer. "If he spilled the beans now it would hurt the other teams more than it would help. Remember what a mess it was the first time we tried it. With no chance to practice, the other teams would be fools to try our method."

"Unless they file a protest and get our method banned or something," said Alby.

"Always looking on the bright side, Alby," said Jer.

But as Fallon got closer, it didn't look as though he was any happier to be here than they were to see him. He looked distinctly uncomfortable and cast a nervous glance in their direction. Szytko took him over to meet with Sergeant Byrne but they couldn't hear what was said. By this time most of the company had gathered to watch and there were more than a few grumbles of outrage. After a minute or two Szytko moved aside and Byrne brought Fallon over to them. "Cadet Fallon has something to say to you," said Byrne. He motioned the young man forward.

Fallon stood there nervously and then said: "I'm sorry for what I tried to do. I haven't told anyone about what you're up to. I want to be back on the team."

"Like hell!" cried Cadet Gerhardt.

"Not bloody likely!" added Alby. The others added similar or even less polite comments.

"Why should we trust you?" asked Anny after things had settled down.

"You don't have any reason to, I'll admit," said Fallon, his face reddening. "But I give you my word I won't betray you… my name's word."

"What?" exclaimed Anny. A quiet gasp came from the assembled cadets.

"I give you my word as Vorfallon that I will not betray you and will serve the company faithfully."

Anny just stared at him, shocked into silence. Finally, someone from behind her said: "We still can't trust him!"

"We don't have any choice," said Alby, looking very somber. "None at all."

"No… we don't," said Anny slowly. And it was true: they didn't. A Vor had given them his name's word, a binding oath among the Vor class. In theory, he would die before breaking such an oath, although certainly many a Vor had broken them over the centuries. But more importantly, they couldn't refuse to accept his word, not without being as thoroughly disgraced as any oathbreaker.

"Betray and serve are words open to interpretation," said Jer. "Let's be a little more specific, shall we? Do you swear to do everything you can to help us win the Howitzer Haul competition today and promise to do nothing to help any of the other teams?"

"Yes," said Fallon.

"On your name's word?"

"On my name's word."

Jer raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Good enough for me. I'm not happy, mind you, but it would be a legal contract on Komarr."

"It's good enough for me, too," said Alby.

"And me," said Anny with a small sigh. "Welcome back, Mr. Fallon. But might I ask you why?"

Fallon glanced in Sergeant Major Szytko's direction. "It's a long story. Too long for right now."

"Well, you might trust all this Vor crap," said Cadet Gerhart angrily. "But I'm going to be keeping a close watch on you, Fallon! One false move and…"

"There won't be any false moves," said Alby. "But just to be sure, I'm switching you to Ammo Carrier #1, Mr. Fallon." He had his computer pad out and was entering data. Anny nodded: they had one spare ammo carrier, just in case of mishaps, so even if Fallon deliberately dropped his load in a creek or something, they still had a safety margin. And once his ammo was expended at the first target…

"Just carry your ammo and stay the hell away from the gun after that, understood?" said Alby.

"Right. I understand," said Fallon. He clearly followed the line of reasoning. With that settled, the company dispersed again to await the start of the competition. The conversations were considerably more animated than they had been before. Fallon sat down by himself, Anny stayed with Jer, Alby and Patric.

"Can we really trust him?" asked Patric.

"I hope so," said Anny. "In fact, I think we probably can."

"But why would he change sides so suddenly?"

"Maybe he wasn't all that willing a spy to begin with," said Alby. "The other Vor might have put all sorts of pressure on him. Fallon's family doesn't have much influence at all, so it would be easy to twist his arm."

"Maybe," said Anny. "Well, I'll ask him later—when this is all over."

"Hell, what now?" said Jer suddenly. Anny looked up and saw that Olaf Levey was heading their way with one of the Pentathlon officials, an officer in undress greens. A chill went through her. What if Levey had found out about their plan and just as Alby had said was trying to get the technique banned? From the smirk on Levey's face it seemed a distinct possibility.

But the official looked bored and he walked right up to them. "C Company?" he asked. They nodded. "The G Company team is offering a challenge match in the Howitzer Haul. If you accept you'll be paired with them for the last run of the day. The other team that would have been paired with G Company has already yielded its spot. Do you accept?" Anny breathed a silent sigh of relief. Apparently, Levey just wanted the satisfaction of beating them face-to-face. Well! That was fine!

"We accept, sir," said Anny. The official looked the tiniest bit surprised to be getting the reply from her and his eyes darted to the others, but when they said nothing or just nodded, he shrugged and made an entry into his computer pad.

"You'll be in the fifth pairing. Make sure you're all here no later than 1400. You step off around 1500."

"We'll be ready, sir."

"You wish!" snorted Levey. "Ready to lose!" The official just rolled his eyes and walked off, his duty done.

"Your ego's showing again, Olaf," said Alby. "Be careful you don't trip over it."

"And you're a disgrace to the whole Vor class!" snapped Levey. "Your father and grandfather won't live forever! And when they're gone who's going to watch out for you then?" Levey turned and stalked off before Alby could think of a reply, but then pulled up short when he caught sight of Cadet Fallon. The two stared at each other for an instant, but then Fallon turned away. Levey shot a puzzled glance back in Anny's direction and then frowned and left.

"Whew!" said Jer. "I was afraid that the jig was up!"

"No, we're fine," said Anny, "even if we do have six hours to wait now."

It was a very long six hours.

The first pair of teams went out and they watched their progress on the big video monitors in the spectator area. Both teams put on a very workmanlike performance and there were no surprises. The teams used the standard bridging methods that had been used for fifty years and got their guns across the gorge in pieces without mishap. They crossed the finish lines about an hour after they started—not very good times, but for the last place teams the goal was to finish at all. They didn't see much of next teams' runs because today the senior class was beginning its competition and the video monitors switched to follow their activities on the obstacle course. But each team that went out was carrying the standard gear and finished in about the expected times.

All except F Company. They tried something clever and paid the price. They attempted to send the gun carriage and the wheels across the gorge in a single load. But the main cable sagged so much under the added weight the carriage hung up on the opposite lip of the gorge and got stuck there. This was amusing enough that the man in charge of the video monitors switched them back to the Howitzer Haul. It took F Company nearly an hour to get their gun freed from its predicament and then get back on the course. Their finishing time was so bad they dropped from fourth place to last and many of the spectators—mostly older officers—had a good laugh at their expense.

"That could be us if we're not lucky," said Jer

"If we're careful, luck will have nothing to do with it," said Anny. She hoped she was right.

Noontime came and they broke out the field rations they had brought with them. They seemed unusually tasty and Anny almost laughed out loud when she looked at the wrapper. They were made by the company owned by Lord Mark Vorkosigan, the Lord Auditor's clone brother. She'd heard all about that enterprise during her stay at Vorkosigan House, but this was the first she'd heard that they was making rations for the military now. Her comrades were also commenting on the improvement and she had to restrain herself from telling them where they had come from. C Company: powered by bug vomit!

As she finished up her meal, Jer suddenly nudged her. She looked up and saw a small group of people in civilian clothes, carrying bags of gear talking to one of the officials. He shook his head, but then shrugged and pointed in their direction. The people came over and stared at them like they were exhibits in a zoo. They unpacked some items and then one of them stood a few meters away with his back to Anny and started speaking at the others.

"In addition to all the usual pageantry of the Vorbarra Pentathlon, this year's competition has a new and unprecedented addition: Andreanne Payne, the Academy's first female cadet, is not only taking part, but is actually the team captain for her company. While their team isn't expected to win top honors, her mere presence makes this a special event. Sadly, we're not permitted to speak with any of the cadets, but you can see Cadet Payne behind us…"

It's a news crew! She realized in surprise. "Who elected me team captain?" asked Anny after they finished up and moved on.

"Well, you are, aren't you?" asked Jer.

"Not that I was told." Jer, Alby and Patric just smiled at her.

At last it was time for them to get ready. They went to their locker and pulled out their gear and checked it over very carefully. Every pulley, every meter of line was inspected and tested. No slip-ups today! The ammo carriers went over to the armored ordnance van and were issued their rounds, which were placed in their carrying backpacks, two per man. Everyone watched Cadet Fallon closely, but he did exactly as he was supposed to. The gun haulers checked out their harnesses and the gun, itself. The superstitious ones in the company were happy that it was a different gun than the one used by the ill-fated F Company. Anny ran back and forth between groups trying to supervise everything. She had no specific task during the competition but would be giving the orders. I guess I really am the captain. It wasn't something she'd planned for or aspired to, it had just happened. Finally, when all was ready, they moved to the start line.

Immediately, they began to attract attention: they were not carrying the long metal poles for the tripods, nor the parts for the foot bridge. People began to point and talk excitedly. It wasn't long before Cadet Levey came over. "Forgotten something, haven't you?" he asked. He tried to act as arrogant as ever, but there was a nervousness in his eyes.

"Nope, we've got everything we need to beat you," said Jer.

"What are you planning to do? Fly over the gorge?"

"Yup," replied Alby. "Cadet Fallon brought back a weather balloon from Kyrill Island and we're gonna fill it with all your hot air and float right across!" Levey snorted, but he cast a glance in Fallon's direction before returning to his own team.

C Company wheeled its gun up to the starting line and got ready to go. About half the company was directly involved with pulling the gun. The rest were hauling ammo or the equipment for the gorge crossing. Without the long tripod poles or the footbridge, they had managed to spread out the load so that these cadets could move pretty quickly. Anny hoped they could outdistance the G Company men and get a head start on the crossing.

Levey's challenge had handed them one piece of good fortune: as the challenged, they could pick which of the two courses they wanted to run on. Each course was as nearly identical as they could be made, but the trees on the right-hand course near the gorge were placed just a bit better for their purposes than on the left-hand course. They had practiced on each course, but had been hoping to get the right-hand one. Now they could just choose the one they wanted. And in one last bit of pre-event jitters, Alby and Jer had made a scouting expedition that morning to make sure the trees hadn't been cut down or blown over or sucked into some other dimension.

"Teams, take your positions!" shouted the official. They were already in their positions, but now they tensed for the start. The official looked them over and raised his starter's pistol.

"This is it, guys," said Anny. "Just like a drill."

Pow! They were off.

They shot forward like horses out of a starting gate. The twenty main haulers were harnessed like horses, too. Patric Mederov was the biggest and strongest man in the company, so he was the center lead hauler. Several guides were in front, looking out for obstructions and making sure the haulers were going the right direction. Everyone else followed along, most carrying burdens of their own. The first few hundred meters were just a straight run and they got up a pretty good speed. But then there was a sharp turn and they nearly took it too fast, the gun rising precariously on one wheel.

"Take it easy, guys," called Anny. "Not too fast, not too slow."

After the turn they hit the first series of hills. These were just steep mounds of compacted dirt about three meters high that the course went up and then down again in a washboard-like sequence. The trick here was to maintain the right momentum. Not enough and you would stall partway up and lose time. Too much and you might lose control coming down again. And that was a real danger beyond just costing time: a 1,500 kilogram pack howitzer, out of control, could crush someone unable to get out of the way. There were ropes attached to the rear and sides of the gun where cadets could act as brakes, if necessary, but serious injuries had happened all-too frequently over the years. Anny was determined that no such thing would happen today!

They made it over the first four humps in good order, but got stalled on the last one. Muscles strained and shoulders were applied and they were over and down and on the flat again. The same thing happened on the next series of hills, but only a few seconds were lost and then they were approaching the first target range. They steered the gun onto the firing platform and then turned it around so the muzzle was pointing downrange. The team members carrying the other gear kept right on going. Jer Naddel had shown an affinity for hitting targets with the howitzer, so he was their gunner. He threw himself into position and squinted through the sight, spinning the aiming wheels like mad to line it up on target. Cadet Fallon was in his position and the loaders pulled the shells out of his carrying rig.

Anny grimaced when she heard the crack of G Company's gun a few seconds before the first round was slammed into the breach of their own. It doesn't matter! The gorge crossing is what counts! Jer and the gun crew fired off the five rounds in a matter of seconds, the howitzer recoiling sharply with each discharge despite the light load and empty projectiles.

"Go! Go! Go!"

The haulers pulled the gun away and back on the course again. The next section was rougher, winding through trees, over ditches and into mud holes. Here they discovered the disadvantage of being the last group: many of the muddy areas had been churned to a sticky goo by the previous teams. Still, they managed to get past without too much lost time, although they were covered with mud to the knees by the time they were through. They reached the second target range and this time they got their first shot off a few seconds before they heard the report of the G Company gun. Good! They'd picked up some time in the mud.

"Come on, move!"

Back onto the trail, they pulled toward the gorge. It wasn't far and they arrived in just a minute or so. Their teammates were already hard at work, and the G Company counterparts had barely begun. Alby and two other cadets had climbed a dozen meters up a large tree on this side and some of others had scrambled across the gorge and were sending men up another tree over there. Both trees were well back from the edge of the gorge so they were over a hundred meters apart—an impossible distance for any hemp rope that was light enough to carry easily, but well within the capacity of the new synthetics. Anny directed the haulers to move the gun over next to the tree Alby was in.

A light-weight line was tossed across the gorge and this was used to pull the heavier main cable. It was dragged over to the far tree and the end was tied securely to it at a height of about five meters above the ground. Once that was done, another light line was used to carry the other end of the cable up to Alby and his helpers in their tree. The cable was fed through a set of pulleys and then passed between a fork in the tree and the end tossed back down to the waiting hands below. There was a lot of slack in the cable that had to be taken up. The husky gun haulers, led by Patric, seized hold and pulled. They quickly had the slack out of it, but now they had to really put some tension into it. They pulled with all of their might, grunting and groaning. Anny dashed over to the edge of the gorge, trying to judge the strain. The far tree was actually starting to bend a bit. She looked up at Alby; he had a locking mechanism fastened around the cable to secure it in place. He waved at her.

"Looks good from here!" he shouted. She looked to Patric and his crew: they weren't making any more progress. Okay, this would have to do.

"All right! Lock it!" she cried to Alby. He latched down the mechanism and the pullers relaxed. The tree leaned slightly once the strain was transferred to it. The main cable was now stretched tight as a fiddle string. "Good! Get the gun hooked up!"

While some of the team had been working to get the main cable strung, others had removed the pull harness from the howitzer and attached a lifting rig that would hold it securely. Lines were now run through the pulleys that Alby had installed on the main cable. There was one pulley that was for lifting and it was attached to another that just rode on the main cable like a trolley. This was secured to the tree to keep the whole assembly from rolling away until they were ready. They had to lift the gun up almost to the height of the cable. Once the line was sent back down again, Patric and his crew grabbed hold and pulled again.

One-and-a-half metric tons of cannon slowly left the ground and headed skyward. "Heave! Heave!" the pullers chanted in unison. The pulleys squeaked and the lines gave off strange creaking sounds, but they held and the gun moved up in a series of jerks. Five meters, ten meters, nearly there… One more heave…

The gun didn't move.

"Another half-meter!" cried Alby. There was another locking mechanism on the pulley, but it wouldn't engage until the gun reached the right height. "You're almost there! Keep pulling!"

"We are pulling!" gasped Patric. "It's stuck!"

"More men on the rope!" cried Anny, running over to them. Two or three cadets added their strength, but that was all that could fit. Any more would just get in the way of those already pulling. The gun moved up a tiny bit more, but refused to go the rest of the way. Damn! They could lower the gun down and reset the lock, but that would cost precious time, and they needed every centimeter of height they could get. Anny ran around the straining mass of cadets trying to figure out what to do.

"Give me a boost!" She spun around and Cadet Fallon was standing there. He pointed to the cable just above the clutching fists of Patric Mederov. Patric was actually completely off the ground, adding all his weight to the effort, but it wasn't enough. If another person could grab on just above that point…

Anny made a split-second decision. She said: "Okay!" and bent over locking her fingers together like a stirrup. Fallon backed off a few steps and then sprinted toward her. His foot went in her hands, his hands on her shoulders, he sprang, she heaved, and up he went. Anny stumbled backwards but Fallon seized the cable just above Patric and let his weight jerk downward. There was an alarming squeal from the pulley overhead, but the howitzer lurched upward and there was a loud click.

"You got it!" screamed Alby. "The gun is secure!" A groaning cheer went up from the pullers as they let go and stumbled away. The howitzer hung fifteen meters above them. A pair of guide lines came down from the sides of the gun and these were used to stop any spin and get it pointing the proper direction: toward the gorge. Alby sat on the tree limb with a small mallet, ready to hit the release mechanism that would send everything sliding down the cable and, hopefully, across the gorge.

Anny ran back and forth surveying everything in a last check. It all looked good. Taking a deep breath she shouted to Alby:

"All right! Let 'er go!"

Alby gave it a whack, but nothing happened. He reared up and hit it again. There was a crack like a rifle shot and the release popped open. Immediately, the whole assembly began to move. The pulleys and the gun rolled down the cable, faster and faster until it was moving at what seemed a terrifying velocity. No one breathed as the gun flew over the gorge. The cable was sagging and Anny's heart stopped beating when it looked as though the gun would smash into the far edge. But it cleared by centimeters, hit the bank beyond, bounced, and then careened crazily along the ground until it came to rest, nearly at the foot of the far tree. For one more instant there wasn't a sound from anyone and then every member of C Company was cheering at the top of their lungs.

"It worked! It worked! We did it!"

"We're not done yet!" screamed Anny above the tumult. "Come on! Move! Move!"

The cadets came back to the senses and got to work. The rules required them to take every last bit of equipment with them, so they had to pack up everything and get it all across the gorge. Fortunately, taking it all apart was a lot easier than putting it together had been. Alby released the main cable and it was pulled across to the other side. Patric and his team scrambled down into the gorge and pulled themselves up the other side on a couple of ropes that had been let down for them. Alby and his helpers slid down from their perch and everyone else grabbed up any loose gear and followed Patric. Anny looked around for any stray items, but didn't find anything.

"Anny! Come on!" cried Jer. "Let's go!" She was the last one across and pulled up the rope behind her. She coiled it up and slung it over her shoulder. The howitzer and most of the others were already gone by this time. She glanced over at G Company: to her astonishment they were just getting their foot bridge secured! They hadn't even gotten the poles for their second tripod across the gorge yet! God! We must have done this all in ten minutes! It felt like an hour! As she turned to sprint after her team, she noticed Cadet Levey shouting at one of the officials, pointing in her direction and then waving his arms and jumping up and down. She ran down the trail with an enormous grin on her face.

She had fallen behind and she had to catch up. Their official time would depend on when the last member of the team crossed the finish line and she wasn't about to cost them any seconds! Still, she heard the crack of the howitzer at the last target range before she emerged from the trees. They were done firing and back on the trail just as she arrived.

"Another hundred meters!" screamed Alby. "Go! Go! Go!"

The finish line was just ahead and everyone who still had breath to spare started to cheer. Anny darted next to Patric and grabbed hold of his harness and helped drag him across the line. They were almost run over by their own speeding howitzer, but managed to stop it with no injuries. They all collapsed on the ground, gasping and grinning ear to ear.

Only then did they look around.

A huge crowd had gathered. The bleachers had overflowed and filled the area around the finish line. A lot of them were cadets from teams not currently competing, but there also many officers in undress greens and even some civilians. Most of them seemed to be cheering and applauding. The announcer could barely be heard above the noise:

"The C Company team has finished in twenty-seven minutes, forty-two seconds, a new Academy record! And it looks like G Company is trying a desperation move in hopes of making up some of the time!"

Their eyes were drawn to the huge video monitors and Anny saw that it was true. Despite the object lesson provided by F Company that morning, G Company was trying to take their gun across in just two pieces, the carriage with the wheels still attached and then the gun tube.

"They'll never make it," said Jer.

Nor did they. The gun hung up, just the way F Company's had, although it took G Company far less time to free it.

"Okay, folks," said Alby, looking at his computer pad. "We have all the other companies beat and unless G Company teleports across the finish line in about thirty seconds, we've got this in the bag!"

The official commentator figured this out at about the same moment, and the scores and times were superimposed over a close-up of a foaming–at-the-mouth Olaf Levey. The clock was ticking down to a C Company victory. They started to chant:

"Five… four… three… two… one…" The cheers erupted anew as the number reached zero.

"C Company has won the First Form competition at this year's Vorbarra Pentathlon," said the announcer, but no one needed to tell them that.

They sat there, physically drained, but emotionally filled, exulting in their accomplishment. Sergeant Byrne came over to join them, with an uncharacteristic smile on his face. Anny looked around hoping to spot Sergeant Major Szytko, but she couldn't find him in all the mob. We kicked their asses, Sergeant Major.

Eventually, G Company dragged itself across the finish line, but the time they had lost on their desperation move dropped them to seventh place overall. Things slowly began to quiet down and Sergeant Byrne reminded them that they still had to clean and stow all of their gear. This produced a groan, but they slowly pulled themselves up and got to work.

They were interrupted almost immediately when an officer trotted up and demanded: "Where's the C Company team captain?"

Everyone froze and looked around. Then Jer pointed at Anny. Alby and Patric did the same. A few moments later everyone was pointing at her. "I guess that's me, sir," she said.

"Well, follow me to the judges' stand, cadet. A protest has been filed against you."

"What?" cried a dozen people at once. But the officer didn't reply and Anny was obliged to follow along. Oh no, what now?

The eyes of the whole crowd seemed to be following her and the noise had almost stopped. She reached the raised platform and trotted up the steps, her eyes wide. There were a dozen officers there, including the Commandant, several generals and at least two admirals. A harried-looking major with a computer pad seemed to be caught between them. Over in one corner was a red-faced Olaf Levey. He caught sight of her and gave a nasty sneer. But no one else seemed to be paying any attention to her.

"It was an entirely illegal action!" said one of the generals. "They should be disqualified!"

"Sir, as I tried to explain," said the major, "there is nothing in the rules forbidding what they did…"

"I don't care what's in the rule book! This violates the spirit of the event! It is supposed to simulate a mountain campaign!"

"There are no trees in the mountains?" asked the Commandant in an innocent tone.

"Not in every location!" snapped the general.

"But surely if there were trees, they would use them, wouldn't they?" asked one of the admirals.

"That's not the point!"

"Well, what is the point, Johann?"

"It's not fair to the other teams!"

"Why not? They could do this too, if they had thought of it."

"It's the tradition, damn it! If we start letting in things like this, what next? Lift vans?" The officers all started talking at once. It seemed like they were fairly evenly split, for and against. Could they disqualify us? After all this work? Anny started to quiver. Tired muscles? Terror? The major was being browbeaten from all sides and he seemed as uncomfortable as Anny felt. But who was in charge? Who had the final say?

"I'm warning you," said the general, "if you don't put a stop to this right now, all the upper class teams are going to try to use this and without a chance to practice, someone's going to get killed!"

That seemed to make an impression, and the voices supporting C Company faltered. They're going to do it. They're going to take it all away…

"What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?" A soft, but penetrating voice entered the mix and all the others were instantly silenced. Anny spun around.

Even without the escort of armsmen in Vorbarra colors, Anny would have instantly recognized the tall, dark figure that had silently mounted the judge's platform.

"Sire!" a dozen voices blurted out in unison. Anny kept her mouth shut and just goggled, suddenly very aware of her sweat and mud-stained fatigues.

No one answered the Emperor's question, so he asked again: "Is there a problem? When this much brass assembles in one spot, there has to be a problem."

"Uh…"

"That is, Sire…"

"A protest has been lodged against the C Company team, Sire," blurted the major. "We… we're trying to figure it out, Sire."

"A protest? What sort of protest? I was watching and I can't recall seeing anything illegal. Unconventional, to be sure, but not illegal."

That opened the floodgates and all the generals and admirals began to talk at once. The Emperor stood silently, taking it all in. For one instant his gaze fixed on Anny, but his expression revealed nothing. Finally, the officers paused for breath.

"Major," said the Emperor. "You say that there is nothing in the rules against this?"

"No, Sire, nothing that I could find."

"And you, General Vorzarren, you object on the grounds of tradition?"

"Yes, Sire! And safety as well!"

"Well, tradition is a fine thing, most of the time," said the Emperor. "But we're training future officers here, General. Surely, you wouldn't want those officers to ignore superior methods simply because they go against tradition. Seems to me that's a good way to lose wars."

"I didn't mean that, Sire!" protested Vorzarren. "But there's still the safety issue!"

"True, that can't be ignored. Uh, Major…"

"Hanley, Sire!"

"As I recall, Major Hanley, by tradition…" The emperor paused and glanced pointedly at General Vorzarren. "By tradition, the Emperor holds the honorary position as chief official at the Pentathlon, isn't that correct?"

"Yes, Sire! You have the final say in any disputed ruling!" The Major looked enormously relieved. Someone to pass the buck to!

"Very well. Then my ruling is that the results of today's event shall stand." Anny was so relieved that she missed the next few words. "…remains the winner. But for safety sake, all the other classes will not be permitted to use this new technique—or anything similar—in the upcoming competitions over the next three days. As for the future, well, you can make new rules or just cut down all those trees."

"But, Sire!" said Vorzarren, looking at Anny angrily. "This… these… plebes set a new all-time record! By nearly ten minutes! It will be in the record books!"

A small smile flickered across the Emperor's face. "You may have to put an asterisk next to them in the book, General. But for now, let's see what happens." He nodded to the Major, who bowed back with a look of gratitude. Then the Emperor turned to Anny. "Congratulations, cadet. That was ingenious. Please pass along my compliments to your team. And I'll see you at the awards ceremony on Saturday."

Anny was so flustered, that she nearly dropped a curtsey instead of bowing. She caught herself at the last instant. "Thank you, Sire. Thank you, very much!" As she straightened up she saw a fuming Olaf Levey on the opposite side of the platform. She retreated as quickly as she dared and fairly ran back to her company.

She got there just as the announcer confirmed their victory. She didn't have a chance to say anything before they hoisted her up on their shoulders and cheered.

They carried her all the way back to the parade ground.