Modesitt, L.E. - The Forever Hero 03 - The Endless Twilight by Modesitt L.E

Author:Modesitt, L.E.
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf

"Yes, Force Leader," he answered noncommittally.

"Where are you going with that 'ruptor?"

"Back off patrol. To turn it into the armory."

"Not through camp center. Around the perimeter."

"Yes, Force Leader."

Gerswin turned and let his seemingly tired steps carry him back toward the perimeter, waiting until the big but junior officer had lost sight of him in the gathering gloom and increasing snow.

He pursed his lips. Worrying about whether troops carried disruptors through camp center was scarcely the priority setting one would expect of a rebel command facing an approaching DomSec force with the worst of the winter chill yet to strike.

Whether rebel or DomSec, military or civilian, all Forsenians seemed to share a concern with procedures and routine, sometimes to the apparent exclusion of reality.

The man who wore the white furs of a scout sighed. He knew he had learned a great deal from his experiences on the chill planet, but at the moment he was not exactly certain why he had bothered. Not that it would be long before he left, but that bothered him as well.

The armory was a crude bunker whose entrance was shielded from the snow with a small sport tent.

Gerswin stepped inside. A thin and graying man in fraying Imperial winter whites stood inside, glaring at a weapon on a flat bench.

"Log it in, soldier." He did not look up.

"New weapon," offered Gerwin.

The rebel armorer looked up. His eyes widened a touch.

"Where did you get that?"

"The DomSecs were a bit careless."

"Energy level?"

"About ninety percent."

115

"I don't think I'll ask. Wish we had more like you. Your name?"

"Volunza."

"Oh, you're that one. The scout."

Gerswin nodded.

The older man returned his attention to the disassembled laser, as if Gerswin were not even in the bunker. Gerswin racked up the disrupter, added it to the listing, and used the small stencil gun to etch a number on the butt plate.

He slipped back out into the snowy evening, drifting toward the center of the encampment, listening, occasionally stopping, picking up fragments of conversations.

"When I was with the Twelfth on Herrara . . ."

"Not at all like the Service . . . not at all . . ."

”. . . always think the Impies do it best . . ."

He paused, then turned toward the mess tents.

As the smell of burned corbu wafted toward him, he changed direction again and moved toward the command center, easing up toward the guards outside Torbushni's tent.

"Volunza! What did you bring in today, old man?"

"'Ruptor. Guess the DomSecs are getting even more careless. Don't seem to care." Gerswin nodded toward the commander's tent. "What goes with the commander?"

The guard looked down at the packed snow, then around the pathways before answering, his voice low. "Now, old Torbi thinks that the DomSecs won't attack, just circle and wait. Circle and wait for us to try to get out. Try to starve us out."

"Might be right."

"Sure he's right. What did they cook tonight?"

Gerswin smiled. "Burned corbu."

"Same as yesterday. And the day before." Salnki spat into the snow to his right. "Except for you scouts, nothing happens.

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