Red Shift

“Anything. We’re fighting a different war. You’ve one chance, if you’re smart, and there’s one way to know you won’t be double-crossed. That applies at all times.”

“All mates: all we’ve got,” said Macey. “All we need.”

“What was it you pulled on the guard?” said Magoo. “I’ve marched with you five years and never saw. What was it?”

“No,” said Macey, hugging himself.

“Aw, don’t be like that. We’re your mates, goofball.” He tried to wrestle with him.

Logan’s boot came down on Magoo’s wrist. “I’ll kill any man who touches Macey’s gear. No question. A military order. Acknowledge.”

“Affirmative,” said the Ninth.

They withdrew slowly, hiding their tracks. Buzzard led, Macey held the mule and Logan covered the rear. They swung into deep forest away from the road. It was quiet in the forest, as if sanctuary moved with them.

They halted at the lip of a steep river valley. “The Dane,” said Buzzard. “It’s fordable.”

Face climbed a tree. “We’re on course,” he said when he came down. “Sanctuary bearing three-five-zero, and a mountain, bearing one-three-zero, estimated eleven clicks. But we’ll need to swing south to avoid towns. They’ll be full of Cats wanting protection right now, so we’d better watch out when we cross the Sandbach road. There’ll be heavy traffic.”

“Mountain status,” said Logan.

“Isolated peak,” said Buzzard. “Mow Cop. Ridge running north. Gap near Bosley, where Cats have federal permission to fortify a camp. Suggest ideal, but cold, sir.”

“We’d seen them coming.”

“Militarily strong, good water, but severe exposure.”

“Right,” said Logan. “Maintain present bearing. Cross Sandbach road, then swing for Mow Cop. And I want me a Cat village before dark.”

“We could reach Mow Cop in daylight, sir.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“How big a village, sir?”

“Big enough to equip us, not too big to take.”

They crossed all tracks, followed none.

“Mow Cop bearing eight-zero,” said Face, “ten clicks. And I smelt smoke: wind one-seven-zero.”

“Report,” Logan said to Buzzard.

Buzzard went up the tree. “Domestic,” he said.

“Not a raid?”

“Negative.”

“Distance?”

“Estimated three clicks.”

“Tether and blindfold the mule,” Logan said to Macey. “Magoo, Face, go see that village. Full logistics and report back before dusk.”

“Yessir.”

“You all right, kid?” said Logan.

“I guess so.”

“We’ll be depending on you. Your mates. You won’t chicken?”

“I hope not, sir.”

“Kip down: Buzzard and I’ll stand to.”

“What do you plan?” said Buzzard.

“I don’t know yet,” said Logan.

“Why smash that snake? Sure, they were the Mothers, but I’ve never known you violate gods. Even Magoo was shook up. Hit the infrastructure, yeh, but in the Ninth we always said Logan—”

“In the Ninth we still say.”

“Sir?”

“We still say, we still think, we still do. The Ninth functions.”

“Yessir.”

“Sound more convinced.”

“I’d just like to report,” said Buzzard, “that if we’re the Ninth, we’re understrength.”

“I can’t sleep, sir,” said Macey.

“Lie quiet: rest.”

“What are you figuring on?” said Buzzard.

“I don’t know yet,” said Logan.

Face and Magoo returned.

“Small settlement,” said Face. “I’ve seen it before. Called Barthomley. Cats. One roundhut: two, three others: estimated twenty men plus families. Situated on low mound, stream to the north at foot called Wulvarn. One gate, shut, guarded: simple ditch and stockade. Four sentries in all. Ditch filled with green thorns.”

“Attitude,” said Logan.