Chapter 23

"Anny! Anny!" A faint voice was calling her. It was nearly swallowed up by a painful ringing in her ears. Pain. Not just her ears hurt. Just about everything else did, too. Hands, arms, legs, back…head.

"Anny!" The voice sort of sounded like Jer… Where was…? Jer!

Her eyes popped open and there he was, bending over her. But half his face was covered in blood and his expression was that of a crazy man. She was lying on her back, half propped up by Jer. Smoke was in her eyes and lungs and debris was scattered all around her. Her dress greens were now covered in a tan dust.

"Are you all right?" She could tell that Jer was screaming, but his voice seemed far away.

"I think so," she shouted back. She did a quick inventory of arms and legs; nothing appeared to be missing or broken. She took a deep breath and coughed out smoke, but there were no sharp pains so hopefully no ribs were broken. Ines Da Silva was sitting a few meters away, looking dazedly at blood on her arms and legs. She didn't appear seriously hurt. But what had happened…?

"It must have been a bomb!" Jer pointed back, back at the church. The memory of the windows exploding outward returned to Anny and she pulled out of Jer's grasp and struggled to her feet.

"The church! My men are in there!"

"Anny! Wait!"

But she couldn't wait. Her men… all the wedding guests… She staggered forward, past people sprawled on the ground, past people running, past people screaming. All civilians. No uniforms. She nearly tripped over her sword so she wrenched the belt loose and let it drop. Her stunned ears were recovering and the noise was becoming much sharper, much closer, much more urgent. She reached the church. The heavy walls had survived the blast, but all the windows were gone and roof tiles were scattered everywhere along with splintered beams and rafter. The smoke was thinning out and now she could hear sirens and alarms in the distance. Milagres did have emergency services again, but they needed to get the Barrayaran sapper company here, too! She tried her wristcom, but all the response she could get was: We know! We know! We're on the way!

Stumbling over debris, she and Jer reached the main doorway. It was choked with rubble; the roof and the upper floors had collapsed. She started grabbing things and dragging them away from the opening. Jer was next to her and she spared him a quick look. He had a nasty cut on his scalp, which accounted for the blood on his face, but he seemed unharmed otherwise. More people joined them and they soon had a bucket-brigade passing debris from hand to hand. They found the first casualty, a local woman, her festive holiday dress torn, tattered and covered with grime. But she was alive; they uncovered her and carefully pulled her out. Medical personnel were arriving now and she was turned over to them.

Anny was able to see through gaps in the debris into the main part of the church. There didn't seem to be any fire, thankfully, and the dust and smoke was dispersing, but the large space was piled high with rubble; the whole roof had come down. She was gasping for breath and sweat streamed down her face as she continued to work; she tore open her tunic. How many people had been inside? How many of her people? Too many, too many. The sappers arrived and she was pulled aside to make room for them. They had hand-tractors and soon the rubble was coming out in a stream. More casualties, some in uniform, began to emerge. A triage unit and first aid station was being set up on the square and Jer dragged her over there. She didn't want to go, but there was nothing more she could do at the church except get in the way.

"Got to get your head patched up," she said to Jer.

"Yeah. You, too."

"What?"

"You've got blood all over your face, Anny." Automatically her hand went to her face, but when she took it away it was no bloodier than it had been. Must have dried. Now that the adrenalin high was passing, she felt very dizzy and suddenly had no energy left at all. She and Jer slumped down on the ground near the first aid station and waited. Emergency personnel were scurrying around and laying out equipment. Bodies on stretchers started accumulating and medtechs bent over them with scanners. A medical lift-van landed and Anny cringed when she saw them unloading cryo-pods—several of which were called for immediately. This was going to be bad. She started to shudder. Would she have any platoon left at all?

She saw Chris Tropio and Chris saw her at the same moment. The woman ran over to her. "You okay?" she demanded.

"I think so. Cuts and bruises for both of us, but nothing worse, I don't think."

"All right, you both sit tight and I'll get someone to take a look at you when this settles down."

"How… how bad is it, Chris?"

"Don't know yet. Bad enough. Gotta go." She ran back.

She and Jer sat there for a while, their pain growing. In a moment of inspiration, Jer grabbed a passing sapper and requisitioned the first aid kit off his belt. A Synergine tablet for each of them made a world of difference. A couple of water bottles and some towels snatched from the triage area and they managed to treat each other's wounds and get cleaned up a bit. After an hour or so, a med tech did spare them a minute, but he just approved of what they had already done and left again.

Casualties had been emerging from the rubble in a steady stream. Some were being treated on the spot, some were whisked away in ambulances, and some—too many—were being put into cryo-pods. Anny, staring at the pods, forced herself to remember that there had been a lot of civilians in the church; these weren't all her men. She tried to get closer to the triage, to see who was being brought out, but she was shooed away. There was now a heavy perimeter of men in armor. Crowds of spectators had assembled on the far side of the square.

"Maybe… maybe we ought to get back to base," suggested Jer after a while. He was right: there wasn't a damn thing useful she could do here and they were just in the way. But she couldn't force herself to leave.

A little while later, Alby arrived and found them. He looked enormously relieved. "There you are! Thank God! I couldn't find you anywhere on the casualty list and I was afraid…"

"You've got a casualty list?" demanded Anny, grabbing him by the arm.

"Yeah, I hacked into the central medical computer. But it's not complete and they keep updating it…" He looked to where the sappers were still hauling rubble out of the church.

"Let me see!" Alby glanced at Jer and then pulled out his compad, fiddled with it for a moment and then handed it to her. Her eyes didn't want to focus on the information that flowed before them and her brain hiccupped over the unfamiliar names of the civilians. And then there were all sorts of strange medical shorthand and acronyms that made no sense to her next to the names. What the hell did SET-STB-TRN mean? She nearly threw the 'pad away in frustration. She wanted to scream: how many of my men are dead?

"Lieutenant? Lieutenant Payne?" She twitched and spun around. A med tech was standing there.

"What is it?"

"Uh, could you come with me? We've got a situation."

She numbly followed after the tech, Jer and Alby tagging along behind. They reached the tents that had been erected to give the triage area shelter and Chris Tropio met her there. "Anny…" she said, her face a mask.

"Chris! What is it?"

"Anny… it's Jac."

A moan escaped her lips. She'd been agonizing over the fate of her dog-robber all during the long wait. She'd expected to find him in the rubble by the doors. He'd held her place in line and he should have been right there. But when they hadn't found him, she hoped that maybe he'd gotten clear and they just hadn't seen him. "Is he… is he…?"

"He's clinically dead, Anny," said Chris. "Massive trauma to his head and chest…"

"Can't you put him in cryo?" cried Anny. "Fix him up…?"

"We can, and I've got him prepped. But…"

"But what?"

"He's specifically requested on his medical information form not to be put in cryo. I… I don't have any authority of override that request."

"Oh no…" It felt to Anny like someone was squeezing her throat shut.

"But that's crazy!" exclaimed Alby. "He's not that old! Just in his sixties!"

"Maybe," said Chris. "But it's his right, Alby. I shouldn't even be asking Anny about this, but I just… hell I don't know why I'm doing this, I just thought…" Chris' reserve broke down and she turned away.

Tears started in Anny's eyes, but she couldn't make a sound. She clutched at Jer. "Is there any way to repair the damage without putting him in cryo?" asked Jer.

Tropio shook her head. "Not really. Half his internal organs are going to have to be regrown. And then there's the damage to his brain. We'd have to keep him on full life support for months and his instruction won't allow that, either. Full recovery… full recovery could take longer than he'd live naturally. Anny… Anny, what do you want me to do?"

Anny clung to Jer to keep from toppling over. Why are you even asking me? She screamed silently. It's not my decision! But it had become her decision. It would be her decision even if she refused to decide. She could save Jac… No, she could keep Jac alive, but that wasn't the same thing as saving him. She could keep him alive and hope that the doctors could put him back together. But there were no guarantees. Cryo revival was always problematic, even when the subject was young. Even when there was no serious brain damage. She remembered filling out her own medical request form and she'd checked the yes box next to the cryo question with hardly a thought. She was young with sixty or eighty or a hundred years of life ahead of her. Why wouldn't she want cryo treatment if necessary? There would be plenty of time for recovery.

But what if she was Jac's age? Would years and years of therapy, only to die anyway, without ever regaining anything like a normal life, be worth it? Was that what Jac was thinking? Was that what Jac wanted? He's already told us what he wanted.

"Anny?"

Tears were streaming down her face now, but she stood upright and looked straight at Chris. "Let him go. He'd want to make the transfer."

Tropio nodded. "I'm sorry, Anny." Then she turned away.

"Anny, I'm so sorry," said Jer. She just put her head against his shoulder, afraid to try and say more.

"Transfer?" asked Alby quietly, confused, crying.

"To the White Battalion."

[Scene Break]

"It was a trinary catalyst type explosive, sir," said the regimental engineering officer. "A type we haven't encountered before. We've adjusted our sensors and we'll spot it next time, but…" the man shrugged.

Alby snarled silently. The battle between bombers and security forces was a never-ending cycle. Modern sensors could easily spot the tell-tale elements in all the old, traditional chemical explosives. So the bombers were always coming up with new combinations that would read as completely harmless and normal on sensors—until it was time to detonate. Sensors could be re-adjusted each time a new combination was encountered, but by then the bombers would be using something else.

"This is very sophisticated stuff, sir," continued the engineer. "Not something that can be cooked up in a local lab. Clearly this was provided by the EnBees."

Colonel Fetherbay nodded grimly. He looked around the table at the staff meeting and his eyes settled on Captain Hopkins, just to Alby's right. "Any clues on how it was done, Captain?"

Hopkins shook his head. "Not really, sir. We know the bomb was concealed inside the church altar, but it could have been placed there days or weeks before the wedding. There was nothing secret about the date, after all. Most of the church staff were killed in the blast—they were standing right there—and none of the survivors we've questioned know anything. But the message is pretty damn clear, sir."

"It certainly is," agreed Fetherbay. "To us and to the local population."

"Yes sir," said Hopkins. "It's pretty obvious now that our arrival on Tamborete took the EnBees by surprise and they didn't have any immediate resistance plans in place. That's why the pacification program was going so smoothly. But now, now it seems that they've gotten their act together and are prepared to strike back at us—and at any locals who cooperate with us."

"Yeah", murmured Alby, "and you can't get more cooperative than marrying one of us." The bride and groom had both been killed, blown to bits in the blast.

"Yes, Mr. Vorsworth," said the Colonel. "But I doubt that we'll see any more weddings for a while."

"That's probably true, sir," said Hopkins, "Many of the locals have been frightened—as they were intended to be—but many of the others are truly angry about this. Angry at the Enbees. We may be able to take advantage of that."

Fetherbay looked thoughtful. "Perhaps. Do you have any specific suggestions, Captain?"

"Well, sir, me and my people have been talking about this," he glanced at Alby. "The natural reaction for both us and the locals would be to step back, draw apart. We'll each be blaming the others for our losses as much as we'll blame the EnBees. If there just hadn't been a wedding, if we hadn't let ourselves get close, this wouldn't have happened; that sort of thing."

Fetherbay nodded. "Increased surveillance, less interaction, more restrictions, more suspicion."

"Yes, sir, exactly. And by doing so, we'd be giving the EnBees exactly what they want: a wedge driven between us and the locals. So what if we don't do that, don't do what the EnBees want us to do? Instead of drawing away, what if we get closer? Help the locals rebuild their church…"

"We were going to do that anyway," interjected the engineer.

"Yes, but we should get more involved, make it a real community—and I mean the community of the 61st—project. And we should have representatives at the funeral services for the locals and we should invite them to ours. Make their grief ours and ours theirs. Show them that we care and that we are with them for the long haul."

"An interesting idea, Captain," said Fetherbay. "But won't that make our security problems even worse?"

"Yes, sir, that's the risk. We would be making ourselves more vulnerable to future attacks. At least in the short term. But if we can get more of the locals on our side—I mean really on our side, not just pretending to be—it could help enormously in the long term."

"And sir," said Alby, speaking up, "if we plan our activities carefully, we should still be able to maintain a certain level of security. I've been working on some plans."

Fetherbay slowly nodded his head. "All right, put together a proposal and I'll take a look. I think the idea for the funerals is a good one and we'll go ahead with that in any case. But the local rites will be an obvious target. We'll need to really be on our toes, people!"

"Yes, sir," said Alby and everyone else around the table.

"In the meantime," continued Fetherbay, "we continue to pick up the pieces." He consulted his computer. "Eleven dead, nine more in cryo, and thirty-two other casualties. C Company has taken a beating. Again. But, on the bright side, there's a supply convoy due next week and it will be bringing over a hundred replacements for the regiment. Most of those will have to go to C Company, but there will be enough to get us all nearly back to full strength. But keep an eye on the newbies! Most of them are going to be keyed up and wanting to shoot anything that moves. Itching for action, just the way a lot of us were when we first got here. They have to be made to understand that the locals are not the enemy. But at the same time, they have to realize that there may well be enemies hiding among the locals. It's a tricky balancing act and it's up to us to make it work. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." The officers stood and began to disperse. Alby returned to his own cubicle. He'd have to help Hopkins put together the new proposal, but that wouldn't stop him from working on his own analysis of the situation. Hopkins had not been able to get much of anything from BEF HQ, but the information he'd gotten from Izabella was providing some interesting grist for his mill. Nothing glaring had emerged, but he felt like he was making some progress.

Right here! Right under our noses!

[Scene Break]

"Okay, people we've got quite a job ahead of us," said Captain Vorstang. "We've got forty-one replacements to get integrated into the company. I'm told," he paused to let that word sink in, "that all of these men are trained and fully qualified in the Mark XI battle armor. But we aren't going to make any assumptions! Check them out! Find out what they really know and what they are bluffing about. The good news is that we've been relieved of all other duties for the next two weeks to do this. So that means two weeks of drill, drill, drill!"

Anny nodded in satisfaction. The fact was that they all needed the drill. Occupation duty had not left much time for the standard training that an assault regiment usually got. They were all getting soft. And, she thought grimly, it was leaving them too much time to think about what had happened. The empty bunks, the empty places at the mess tables might be filled up again, but the loss was still an unhealed wound on the company. She clenched her jaw and refused to think about it.

"One other bit of good news, that you are all aware of," continued Vorstang, "is the absolutely miraculous return to us of Ensign Milroy." He paused and gestured to the new man at the table. Except he wasn't new. Anny had met him on her second day with the 61st. He used to be the commander of the platoon that was now hers. There was some polite applause which Anny joined. "It's not all that common for an NCO to get sent to officer candidate school, but for him to make it through and actually get sent back to the same regiment he came from is almost unheard of. But for him to be sent to the same battalion and the same company, well! At that point it truly does enter into the realm of the miraculous."

"Just lucky, sir," said Milroy, blushing pink. "But it's good to be back. Real good, sir."

"Good to have you. But now that you are here, what do I do with you?"

"I'll serve in any position you want, sir."

"Yes… I suppose I could use you in the company HQ, but we could also push the miraculous to its absolute limits and put you back with your old platoon."

Anny immediately came alert. Milroy's old platoon was her platoon now! Vorstang's gaze swung her way but went right on past to rest on the man sitting next to her.

"Mr. Vorstuban, you've done very well under Lieutenant Payne's tutorage. Would you object to shifting to First Platoon and giving Mr. Milroy a turn with her?"

Vorstuban looked surprised and a little disappointed, but he shook his head. "No sir, no objection at all. Who am I to stand in the way of a miracle?"

"Good. Lieutenant Payne, Ensign Milroy works for you now, okay?"

"Certainly, sir," she said automatically. But inside she was far less certain. This could be… awkward. "He'll be a great help in whipping the newbies into shape."

"Excellent. All right, we all have our work cut out for us. But that will begin tomorrow. Today we have another duty to perform, as you are all aware. The company will assemble at 1350. Dress greens. Dismissed."

They stood up and Anny looked to Vorstuban. He held out his hand. "It's been a pleasure working with you, Lieutenant. I've learned a lot, and thank you."

She shook it and nodded. "It was good working with you, too. Good luck with your new post." Milroy approached them, looking a bit uncomfortable.

"I didn't mean to break up your team," he said. "Sorry about that."

"It's all right," said Vorstuban. "We've only been a team for a couple of months. And Dahlberg's a good guy; we'll get along. And it's not like I'm going far."

Anny smiled and nodded. She was going to miss working with Vorstuban. She remembered how leery she had been of him to start, but he'd worked out fine. He moved off, leaving her facing Milroy. "Good to see you again… Ensign." She extended her hand.

"And you," he said shaking it. "I hope the boys behaved for you. I kept in touch as much as I could and I didn't hear of anything that was too alarming."

Anny laughed. "No, that warning you gave them before you left seemed to do the trick. They've been great." Her expression darkened. "But I'm afraid I've gotten your platoon pretty banged up. I'm sorry."

"Not my platoon, Lieutenant, it's yours. I spent a few years with those chuckleheads, but we never saw any combat. Just not the same thing at all. And from what I've been hearing around here, they would have been banged up a lot worse if you hadn't been in charge."

Anny shrugged. "We've had some hard times, but we're still here." She motioned Milroy out the door of the command module and they slowly walked toward the platoon's barracks. "We've got a bunch of replacements to fold into the platoon. You spent the whole trip out here with them. How are they? What sort of training have they had?"

"They're all trained assault troopers. At least they have some experience using the armor and the basic drills. Or so their general records say. Unfortunately, they shipped us out here on a supply ship, not an assault transport or even on a navy warship. It didn't have any training facilities at all."

Anny's jaw dropped in dismay. "None?"

"Nothing worthy of the name. I was the ranking man of our group, so I had them doing PT in the bunk rooms and passageways. Physically they aren't in bad shape. But it's been four months since any of them—including me—has been in a suit of armor. We're all badly out of practice."

"You've had years of experience before that. But most of these newbies are younger, aren't they? Relatively new to the service?"

"A lot of them, yeah. But there are a few older men. Normally that might be a good thing, but I'm not so sure."

"Why?"

"Well, with a four month trip with nothing much to do, the men got pretty bored in spite of anything I could come up with." Anny nodded, yeah, that would be a hell of a thing to have to deal with. "Maintaining discipline wasn't easy and frankly, I had more trouble with the older men than the younger. I didn't have authorization to look at their personal records, but I wouldn't be surprised if some units took advantage of the request for replacements to get rid of some of their screw-up."

"Oh joy. Well, now that they are officially assigned to us I can damn well look at their records," said Anny. "If we've got any chronic trouble-makers we'll find out and… deal with it."

"Yes, sir," said Milroy, grinning. The grin faded and he asked: "How's Kay working out?"

"Good. He was a bit of a problem at first. I think… I think he'd gotten used to working in your shadow for so long that he didn't know how to become the top sergeant in the platoon."

"I was afraid of that," said Milroy, nodding. "He's a good man, but never really was able to take charge."

"He's grown into the position, though," said Anny. "He's had to, and he hasn't muffed it. But Ensign," she paused and looked straight at him. "You can't let him backslide. He's the platoon sergeant now, not you. You're an officer now and some things just aren't your job anymore."

Milroy looked thoughtful. "Yes, sir. That got mentioned to me a few times at OCS. More than a few."

"And the fact that most of the men remember you and like you is going to be awkward, too. You can't slip back into the old familiarity. That's going to be hard, but you have to do it."

"That was mentioned a few times, too, sir. It's a common problem for mustangs."

Anny grinned. "Okay, no more lectures!" They had reached the platoon area and already men had recognized Milroy. They called to others and a crowd was starting to gather. "I'll leave you to get reacquainted. But don't let things get too jolly. We've got serious duty this afternoon."

Milroy saluted her and went to join his old platoon. Anny watched for a moment and then walked away. She went to the mess hall and got some lunch. Milroy would work out fine, she decided. She'd miss Vorstuban a bit, but she thought she could work with Milroy. At least he knew his way around a platoon and around battle armor. These new replacements worried her though. She pulled out her compad while she ate and called up the records of the older men who had been assigned to her. Nothing really jumped out at her. No 'guardhouse rats' or chronic malingerers as far as the records showed. No outstanding service, either, though. Well, they'd have to keep an eye on them. She wondered how they'd react when they found their platoon commander was a woman? Well, the others would certainly straighten them out if they had any problems with it! A warm glow filled her. It really was her platoon, just as Milroy had said. They were her men and she could count on them.

She just wished she could take better care of them. Most of the wounded men from the assault on Milagres had returned to the platoon by now, but there was a gaping hole left by the bombing. Over a third of the men in her platoon were replacements who didn't know her and she didn't know them.

And she missed the ones who were gone for good.

She thought back to that conversation she'd had with Lord Vorkosigan in her junior year. How you dealt with losing men under your command. She'd learned to come to terms with it; learned during that nightmare on Dounby and the beaches of Milagres. But it would never be easy for her. She supposed that was a good thing. The idea of losing a man and not caring about it… she hoped she never reached that stage. But it hurt.

She finished her meal and went back to her quarters. They were a mess, which only reinforced the sense of loss. Jac would never have let her quarters get in such a state, but she hadn't been able to force herself to get another dog-robber. It was just too soon. She started straightening up and at the same time laying out her dress greens. She'd had to send them to the cleaners after… after what had happened. They'd done a good job and all the dust and blood was gone from them. They'd managed to mend the small tears left by the flying glass, too. But she never had found her sword and belt. They were gone for good apparently. So she'd had to borrow one from a man she knew in second battalion. She'd put in a requisition for a new one, but those were among the few things the armada hadn't brought replacements for. It would be months before it could arrive. She'd managed to find a black ribbon, which was now wrapped around the hilt.

Eventually it was time and she dressed herself. Her peaked cap was her spare; the usual one had been run over by a rescue vehicle and was beyond repair. She hoped she wouldn't lose this one. The company was just starting to form when she reached their street. All the usual good humor and jocularity was missing as they fell into ranks. The new men looked nervous; the veterans looked grim. Milroy was there in his own dress greens and nodded to her. Sergeant Kay confirmed that everyone was there and reported that fact to First Sergeant Nikolaidis. Vorstang called the company to attention and Anny took her spot with the file closers, Milroy a few paces to her left.

They marched out to the parade ground and joined the other companies of the battalion. The regimental band was there, too, but they all had their instruments reversed and their drums were muffled and draped in black. On the far side of the field was a crowd of civilians, people from the town who had been invited. The battalion was formed and Major Vorglanov ordered bayonets to be fixed and arms reversed. The men tucked their rifles under their left arms with butts up and the bayonets pointed to the rear. It was an awkward position and, thankfully, rarely used. It was used while escorting condemned prisoners…

… and for funerals.

Anny reversed her sword in the same fashion, then they faced right and slowly marched around the parade ground. Slowly, for they used the agonizingly slow 70-steps to the minute pace reserved for these occasions. A single drum kept the beat.

After an eternity, they reached the area where the civilians were waiting. A few dozen troopers from the other battalions, also in dress greens, were acting as their escorts. A much more heavily armed perimeter was also in place out of sight. The ceremony here was an obvious target for the EnBees, just as the funerals for the civilian dead had been the week before. But nothing had happened there and hopefully nothing would happen here, either.

The ancient and elaborate bronze bowl used by the regiment for offerings had been set up on its wrought iron tripod and the battalion halted facing it. A and D companies wheeled in to form a 3-sided square with the civilians watching through the open end. They were put at parade rest. The official part of the ceremony was brief. Major Vorglanov simply read the names and ranks of the men who had died. Nothing more. What else was needed? Everyone here knew what had happened. The men had died for Barrayar and the Empire. What more needed to be said?

Then they were called to attention and presented arms as a bugler played Last Post, the traditional call for this occasion. It was a sad and mournful tune and Anny saw in her mind's eye the ghostly ranks of the White Battalion welcoming its new transfers. She bit down on her tongue hard and blinked furiously to keep the tears in her eyes from finding her cheeks.

The call ended and they were put back at parade rest. The battalion sergeant major then lit the wood that had been placed in the bowl. It flared up and burned cleanly. Major Vorglanov approached, put something into the bowl which made a bit of smoke, saluted and then stepped aside. Several other men of the battalion staff did likewise. What came next was in stark contrast to the strictly regimented movements that had just happened. Now men left the ranks if they wanted to and joined a line forming in front of the offering bowl. Friends of the dead, squadmates, anyone who felt the need. About a hundred did so and Anny joined the line. Each one had their own reasons, their own offerings, their own words to say, but it was personal, private. Anny eventually reached the front, took the ribbon from her borrowed sword, and fed it to the flames. She said a silent prayer for her men and then: "I'm sorry Jac. I'll make sure Polly knows she's not grieving alone." Then she saluted and returned to her place.

As the last of the men in uniform made their offerings, Anny was pleased and a little surprised to see some of the civilians joining the line and making offerings of their own. This was not the Novo Pavean way of doing things, but they did it anyway. Only a dozen or so, but from the murmurs around her, she could see that the battalion approved.

Finally, it was over and Vorglanov dismissed the battalion from right there. The ranks broke up and most of the men headed back to their barracks. A few, perhaps too self-conscious to do it in front of everyone, approached the bowl and now made their own offering, or just gave a salute. Others went and mingled with the civilians. Anny walked over herself, wanting to thank them for coming.

As she did so, she was pleased to see Ines Da Silva heading her way. The teacher still had a few bandages visible, but seemed otherwise healthy. But she did look troubled. "Lieutenant Payne…" she began.

"Please, call me Anny."

"Oh… all right… Anny. And you can call me Ines."

"Good. Thank you for coming, Ines."

"And thank you and the others who came to our own funerals. It made a big impression on people." She paused and looked around. "Can we speak in private? I wanted to talk to you the other week, but we were… interrupted."

"Sure." She led her away to a reasonably private spot. "What is it?"

Now Da Silva appeared to be very troubled. She looked around and then said in a low voice: "There is something I have never told you, Anny."

Anny shrugged. "I'm sure there are a lot of things we've never told each other. But what's this about?"

"This is difficult. You see…. You see, I have an older brother, and he has been working for the EnBees."

"What?" exclaimed Anny in shock.

"Yes, it's true, I'm ashamed to say. He is not part of their regular forces, but when the war started, he sided with them. He's in one of their resistance cells."

"You mean here? On Tamborete?"

"Yes. He had moved to another island for a while, but he's back here now."

"Why are you telling me this? Has he contacted you? Do you know where he is?" Does she want to turn him in? Her own brother?

"I don't know where he is now, but he has a means of contacting me. Anny, this is important. He is sick of this war. Sick of the things that have happened. The church bombing. He and many others with him want to end the fighting. But the EnBee regulars, the secret police, they won't quit. So he and his comrades are willing to switch sides, willing to tell what they know of the EnBee's plans and bases."

Anny's brain was spinning. This could be a huge opportunity! "But… but that's wonderful! How..?"

"Yes, the how is the big problem, Anny," said Da Silva."As you can imagine, they must be very careful. If the EnBees had any inkling, my brother and his friends would be dead. Perhaps me, too. But at the same time, they do not trust the rebel government, either."

Anny nodded. Yes, she could understand that! The revolutionary government was showing little mercy to EnBees or 'loyalists' who fell into their hands. She wasn't sure how the Alliance had managed to keep the government's thugs off Tamborete, but anyone wishing to surrender or switch sides was walking on very thin ice. "I can see that, but why are you talking to me about this? He should go and talk to the Colonel."

"No, my brother will not trust your colonel or any other of your officers."

"Then what…?"

"My brother wants someone he can trust." Da Silva stared straight into her eyes. "I told him he can trust you."

Anny's mouth fell open.

[Scene Break]

Ivan Vorpatril growled in frustration as his comconsole pinged. Another interruption. At this rate he was never going to get these damn reports done! He hit the key and said: "Yes?"

"Lord Vorpatril," said the image that materialized. It was Vorpinski's secretary. "The Ambassador asks you to join him immediately in Conference Room B."

"Immediately?"

"Yes, my lord, he'll be waiting for you." Ivan's eyebrows rose. There was no meeting scheduled today; this must be something new. What had happened? He closed down his comconsole and left his office. Conference Room B was several buildings away and he walked briskly through the compound. His path took him along the edge of the huge military base that had been constructed. Huge, but now largely deserted except for supply personnel. Most of the combat units that had once been based here were now out, dispersed among the locals, in the new pacification strategy. A strategy that did appear to be producing some results. Maybe Vorpinski had good news.

He reached the conference room and was impressed to see not only Vorpinski, but General Vordanov and several senior members of their respective staffs. Definitely something important going on.

"Ah, Ivan,' said Vorpinski. "Have a seat." He did as directed and looked at his boss expectantly. "We have some interesting news, Ivan, and I'm afraid I'm going to have to impose on you to volunteer for a rather ticklish job."

In other words, you've already volunteered me. Great. "Of course, sir. What's it all about?"

"A major opportunity has arisen," said Vordanov. "It could significantly affect the course of the war."

Sounds dangerous…

"Yes," said Vorpinski. "This is what has happened: a group of EnBee irregulars has offered to turn their coats if they can get the right deal. They claim to represent hundreds of guerillas and also to have information on the locations and plans of many of the EnBee regular forces."

"That could be quite a coup, sir" agreed Ivan. "But where do I fit into this?" He was afraid he knew.

"Well, these irregulars are, quite naturally, very worried about retribution, both from the EnBees and from President Rodrigues' crowd. They are insisting on some guarantees."

"What sort of guarantees, sir?"

"Well, the main one is personal assurances of their safety from a high-ranking Vor. They seem to be aware of our system of honor and the value we place on a name's-word. I'm perfectly willing to give them my word. So are General Vordanov and Admiral Vorburke. Unfortunately, they are insisting on a face-to-face meeting and getting that word in person."

Oh shit…

"Admiral Vorburke is out at the wormhole entrance with the fleet and he's absolutely vetoed either myself or the general going to this meeting."

"So he wants me…?"

"Your position within the Vor is actually higher than that of any of us here," said Vorpinski in a manner that Ivan supposed was meant to be flattering and reassuring, but which was anything but. "So you would be acceptable to the insurgents in that regard. And your position within our chain of command makes you…"

Expendable?

"… more flexible as to the duties you can undertake."

"We realize that there are risks involved," said Vordranov, "but we are making every effort to minimize them. The meeting will take place in the town of Milagres on the island of Tamborete. We won't know the exact meeting place until the last moment—the insurgents insist upon that—but it will allow us to put up a secure perimeter around the town. You will be escorted by one officer, a Lieutenant Payne, whom I believe you know."

Anny Payne! Well, at least she's competent…

"Uh, why her, sir?"

"The insurgents contacted us through a local friend of Payne's, a sister of one of them, apparently."

"So, has this sister been questioned, sir?"

"Yes, with fast-penta. As far as she knows, everything is above board. But," Vordranov shrugged "that doesn't mean much. If any sort of treachery is being contemplated, they'd hardly tell her."

"This could be extremely important, Ivan," said Vorpinski, leaning closer. "I'm sure we can count on you to carry through with it."

Ivan knew he was trapped. There wasn't any choice at all.

"Of course, sir."

Tej, quite predictably, wasn't happy.

"But why does it have to be you?" she demanded when he told her about the mission. "They've got hundreds of Vor officers who could do it!"

"I've explained why! Believe me, I'm no happier about this than you are, but Vorpinski is insisting and there's no way I can refuse!" She was fuming, but he forced himself to stay calm. "And it will probably be a cakewalk. There will be plenty of security all around me. And if this works, it might mean we can get out of here a lot sooner."

That seemed to make an impression. "Really? How soon?"

"They are fast tracking this. The meeting is in two days and if we can smash a few major EnBee bases with the information we are supposed to get, it could give us a big enough boost to start drawing down our forces. Once this stops being a major operation, the need for a major diplomatic presence ought to go away and hopefully we can go away, too."

"Well, that would be good. But you leave in just two days?"

"No, I leave in the morning. I need to get there sooner to go over the mission with the forces there and get as much preparation as I can."

"And that Lieutenant Payne will be there to protect you? I remember her. She's good, isn't she?"

Ivan decided to not tell Tej that Payne's task wasn't exactly to be his bodyguard. Instead he just said: "Yeah, she's good. I'll be fine."

"But you are leaving in the morning? So we just have tonight?"

Ivan smiled and put his arms around her. "Yeah. Just tonight. So let's make the most of it, eh?"

The next day found him on an assault shuttle for the short hop to Tamborete. It took less than ten minutes to go from the base north of the capital of Araxa to the Barrayaran base outside the town of Milagres. A small crowd of officers was there to meet him, led by the regiment's colonel. Anny Payne was there, too. Colonel Fetherbay greeted him warmly and shook his hand. "Welcome to Tamborete, my lord." He introduced his staff, then a major who was from the BEF G2 office, and finally Payne. "I believe you've met the Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Colonel, I used to bump into her around Vorkosigan House; then we worked together briefly to come up with some fire-fighting procedures after the big forest fire. Good to see you again, Lieutenant." They shook hands.

A ground car took them to the regimental HQ in the center of the town. Then Fetherbay led them to a meeting room where they proceeded to go over the security arrangements that had been arranged. A major named Danilov made the presentation. "Ever since we knew this meeting was to take place, we've had the town under the tightest surveillance. Sensor pick-ups on the taller buildings, at street corners and multiple drones overhead. A lot of that was already in place, and we were already beefing things up after the church bombing, but we've increased it even more for this. We've got most of 2nd Battalion forming a perimeter and at checkpoints on all the roads. We're assuming that whoever is coming to the meeting is already inside the town, but we are doing our best to make sure no surprises come in from outside in the meantime."

"That looks good," said Ivan, looking over a schematic display. "But how is the meeting supposed to take place?"

"The Da Silva woman will be the intermediary. They will contact her. She will then come here and take you and Lieutenant Payne to the meeting place."

"The insurgents have demanded that no direct surveillance be placed on Da Silva and we've honored that," growled the G2 Major. "Of course, we have drones overhead and the moment she leaves her house, we'll know she's on the way here. But until she actually takes you to the meeting place, we won't know where it is."

"Once we do know where you are going," continued Danilov, "we will create a perimeter about a block away from the site. They are permitting wristcoms with the transmitters disabled except for a screamer circuit. Hit that button and we can have someone to you in thirty seconds. You'll have earbugs so we can keep you informed of anything that might be going on around you. You'll have incoming, but they are insisting on no outgoing com."

Ivan nodded. He didn't like it, but it was an understandable restriction. "Any other electronics allowed? Compads? Recorders?" He was concerned about how much he might have to remember in his head. He had a good memory, but if this meeting was so damn important he wanted to get things right.

"No. They say they will supply you with a recorder once you are there that will allow you to keep an audio record of the meeting. It will also have their own demands on it. We'd like to put trackers on you, but the insurgents said no and even though we've got some that are darn hard to detect, our higher-ups have also said no. They don't want anything to screw this up."

That made sense, he supposed, but it also left Payne and himself flapping in the wind if something went seriously wrong. An awful lot could happen in thirty seconds. They went over a few other details but Ivan couldn't see anything that had been left undone. Or at least anything that was allowed. He hated this sort of thing. Why wasn't Miles here? He'd love it.

When the meeting wrapped up, they got back into the ground car and Ivan was given a quick tour of the town. Not for sightseeing, but to familiarize himself with the place—just in case. It was a sensible precaution. If it did hit the fan and he managed to get out of the meeting place, it would be good to know which way to run.

Then it was back to the headquarters and a rather nice dinner in the officers' mess. He hadn't attended anything like this in a long while and he was surprised at the nostalgia it produced. He'd only briefly been assigned to an actual regiment, early in his career, but he'd been invited by friends to many a regimental dinner over the years. Some had been quite memorable—and a few had sufficient liquor to leave no memory at all. This one was of the more restrained variety but he found himself enjoying it quite a lot. The 61st were good hosts and he nearly forgot what he was going to have to do on the morrow.

He was interested to see how well Payne managed to fit in. It must have been damn awkward for her at first, but she seemed to have overcome that. She acted like almost any other officer and those around her treated her like any other officer—almost. The differences were subtle, but they were there. Ivan had been at some dinners where—if there were no women present—things got pretty coarse, not to say lewd and disgusting. Not so here. The men—and Payne—told jokes and laughed and sang, but it all stayed pretty clean. How much of that was due to Payne's presence, he wasn't sure. Sometimes a colonel imposed his own brand of propriety on his officers. Fetherbay didn't seem like a prude, but you never knew. There was sufficient booze to allow him to relax and have a good time, although when they drank a traditional toast to 'absent friends' you could have heard a pin drop. This regiment had paid in full.

The evening was concluded early, of course, as they all had a big day coming up. Ivan's pleasant buzz faded very quickly as he was shown to his quarters and his worries returned. He called Tej and reassured her that everything was going to be fine and paid husbandly attention to ten minutes of her telling him to be careful. It took him quite a while to fall asleep.

They had him up before dawn. He showered, dressed and breakfasted with Fetherbay, Payne, a few other officers. He did a double-take at Payne because she was wearing civies; some sort of local outfit that looked rather fetching on her. And then it was wait. All they knew was that sometime today the Da Silva woman would arrive to take them to the meeting. They didn't know when anymore than they knew where, so they were obliged to be ready and waiting the whole damn day. Fetherbay and the others mostly had things to keep them occupied so he spent most of the time chatting with Anny, who also had nothing else to do. Most of their talk revolved around his Aunt Cordelia and his Cousin Miles and their families, since that was their common point of reference. Anny did tell a hilarious story about what Alby Vorsworth had done to some rival cadets during an Academy simulator exercise and Ivan responded with a few choice tales of some of Miles' less glorious escapades. But somehow their talk kept coming back to the current mission.

"So you think we can trust this Da Silva?" Ivan asked for about the fifth time.

"I think so," said Anny, also for the fifth time. "She's been questioned under fast-penta, but of course if her brother was lying to her…"

"She'd pass the lie on to us, believing it to be true and the fast-penta wouldn't catch her," nodded Ivan. "Yeah, that's always the problem."

The morning was passed and it was nearly noon when an excited officer burst in on them. "She's on the move!" he exclaimed. They jumped up, glad the waiting was over, and joined Fetherbay and his staff in their command center.

"She left her house a couple of minutes ago and is headed in this general direction, although not on a straight line," said Major Danilov. They had a drone-supplied overhead view on a screen and the image of Da Silva was highlighted.

"Anything else going on?" asked Ivan.

"No. Nothing out of the ordinary. It's the local weekend, of course, so there are more people on the streets."

As they watched, Da Silva slowly worked her way through the crowds and took a roundabout route that gradually got closer and closer to the HQ. "Has anyone thought that this might just be a clever way of having her deliver a bomb in here?" asked Ivan.

"She's not going to be allowed inside the force field," replied Danilov. "She'll be scanned outside and then you two go out to meet here. Get ready; looks like she'll be here in another five minutes."

Ivan used the opportunity to visit the restroom one last time and then joined Payne and the others near the front door. The word came that Da Silva had arrived, been scanned and was clean. Fetherbay shook their hands and wished them luck and they went through the portal in the force field and out into the sunshine. Da Silva was there waiting for them.

"Good morning, Anny," said the woman with a strained smile. "Ready for your tour?"

"Ah, yes, Ines," replied Anny. "Let me introduce my friend, Ivan. He'd like to join us, if that's okay?"

"I'd be honored. Please to meet you, Ivan." She extended her hand and Ivan took it and bowed over it. This was all a carefully choreographed ruse, of course, demanded by the insurgents to hopefully fool any hostile watcher who might be out there. If everything was as it was supposed to be, they were taking a huge risk.

"Pleased to meet you, Ines. Shall we go?"

She led them away from the HQ building and then, somewhat to Ivan's surprise, took them on a tour of the town. He—and pretty much everyone else—had been expecting a circuitous, but fairly direct journey to the meeting place. But that was not to be. They walked and walked and were shown the sights. They went in to a number of different places like the library, the small local museum, a restaurant where they actually ate lunch, a shopping bazaar. Da Silva chatted away like some true tour guide and ignored any subtle questions from him or Anny about when they were going to get to where they were supposed to go. Every time they entered some place a security perimeter would close in, only to have to be hastily called back again when they left. Ivan could hear the frustration of the watching officers by their comments that came through on his ear bug. Half the afternoon was gone by and they were still walking. Ivan was getting annoyed. Security was fine, but this was ridiculous. The thought struck Ivan that maybe Da Silva didn't know where they were going either! Maybe she had been given a list of places to go and told the contact would take place at one of them. Great, if the insurgents got cold feet, they might waste the whole day and never accomplish anything!

"Oh, here is the school where I work," said Da Silva, pointing to a large structure set back from the street. "Would you like to see inside?"

"Uh… sure," said Ivan, half-tempted to say no and see what happened.

"Yes," said Anny, playing along.

"Okay, they are entering the school," said someone over his earbug. "No occupants detected. Get ready to close in—again."

They went up some steps and through the front doors, Da Silva still talking like a tour guide. She pointed out the main office and the cafeteria and auditorium without stopping. Then she turned down a long corridor lined with classrooms.

"Heads up!" said the ear bug suddenly. "A new contact just went through the front doors! Single contact. Running. He made it in before we had the perimeter set!"

Anny and Ivan both stopped in their tracks and looked back. Da Silva took a few steps and looked at them in puzzlement.

"Uh, I thought I heard something," said Ivan lamely.

But a moment later he did hear something: the sound of running feet. A few seconds after that, a small boy careened around the corner and shouted breathlessly: "Anny! Ms. Da Silva! Hi! What are you doing here?"

"Paulo!" said Anny sharply. "What are you doing here?"

"I was on the playground when I saw you! So I followed you in. It's the weekend! Why are you in the school? Why aren't you wearing your uniform?"

"Uh, your teacher was giving me and my friend a tour…"

"Neat! Can I come along?"

Ivan glanced at Da Silva, fully expecting her to send the kid packing, but he froze when he saw the expression on the woman's face. Every drop of color had drained from her complexion and she was rigid as a statue.

It's here! The meeting is going to be here! He caught Anny's attention and silently directed her to Da Silva. She saw it too. So the woman did know where the meeting was and it was here. Good. About time!

Da Silva regained control of herself, glanced at Ivan and Anny, looked behind her for a moment, and then, to his complete surprise, said: "Yes, Paulo, yes, why don't you come with us? I was just going to show Anny's friend our classroom."

Ivan could see that Anny was as gobsmacked as he was. Bring the kid to the meeting? Was she crazy or…? Maybe the insurgents have their own perimeter set up! We can come in, but not leave until they're satisfied! That was a bit alarming, but not all that unexpected actually. So the boy was stuck here.

"Ines…?" said Anny, confused.

"Come on, right this way." She led them down the hall to a door which she unlocked. She ushered them through and closed the door again.

Ivan looked around what appeared to be an ordinary school classroom. The drapes were drawn across the windows and it was dark after the bright afternoon sun outside. It took him a moment to see the figure sitting at the back of the room. Sensors hadn't picked up anyone else here… Stealth suit. The figure was wearing a suit that would block off any normal thermal or audio emission that a good sensor drone could use to see a person right through the roof or walls. Ivan forced himself to stay calm. This could be perfectly legitimate: the insurgents had every reason to want to remain anonymous until a deal was struck. He couldn't afford to screw this up by panicking. He forced his hand to stay away from the wristcom.

"Ines, what is this? Why the kid?" came a low voice.

"No choice. We'll adapt."

"Ines? Is this your brother?" asked Anny.

The only answer they got was for a door at the rear of the classroom to open and for three more stealth-suited men to emerge. They all had objects in their hands…

"Ines! What's going on?" demanded Anny. Ivan started backing towards the door.

The woman turned to face them, her face grim.

"Sorry, Anny," she said.

He was fumbling for the screamer button on his wristcom when there were three superimposed pops of compressed gas and something sharp stung Ivan in the chest. He looked down and had an instant to see a tiny dart stuck in him. Then he was falling and darkness swallowed him up.