Lord of Janissaries Read Free Page A

came from one of the creatures in bright coveralls. “You must act. Now.”
    “What about our weapons?”
    “Bring them. Bring all of your equipment,” Grey-coveralls said. “But quickly. When the Cubans are close enough to see us clearly, we must be gone. With or without you and your men.”
    “That’s no choice at all, Cap’n,” Corporal Mason said. “Better them than the Cubans.” The trooper’s voice was flat and without emotion.
    “I’d thought of that,” Rick said. He stood another moment in indecision, but he had made up his mind. “All right.”
    “Quickly,” the alien urged.
    “Sure. Come on, Mason—”
    “You will leave him here,” Grey-coveralls said. “As an earnest of your good intentions.”
    “Now, wait just a damned minute—”
    “It’s okay, Captain,” Mason said. “I’m as safe here as out there.”
    “All right.” Rick went back to the doorway. It opened for him. When he reached the entry chamber, another door opened on the side opposite the entrance to the chamber where the aliens sat. He saw a large empty compartment, more than fifty feet long and perhaps fifteen wide.
    “Have the men go in there with their weapons,” a voice said. It seemed to speak from the walls, but there was no sign of a speaker grille.
    Rick jumped out of the ship and ran to his command post. Half the troops—perhaps more—had gathered there to stare at the ship. They stood clutching rifles and grenades for what comfort weapons could give.
    “I did not entirely expect to see you again,” Lieutenant Parsons said. “Welcome back.”
    “Thanks. We’ve got no time at all. Get the men aboard. Men, weapons, food, equipment, everything. Fast.”
    “But—” Sergeant Elliot was stammering. Rick had never seen the big sergeant confused before.
    “That’s a CIA ship,” Rick said. He spoke loudly so that many of the troops could hear him. “Secret stuff. They’ve come to get us out, but they don’t want the Cubans to see the ship, so we’ve got to load up quickly. Now move it.”
    “Sir!” Elliot ran over to the mortar emplacement, and some of the other troops gathered their gear and headed for the ship. Rick didn’t know if he had fooled them or not, but the “CIA ship” explanation seemed the easiest and fastest way to handle the situation.
    Parsons looked at him with raised eyebrows. His expression said clearly that he knew Rick was a liar. Then he shrugged and began urging the men onto the ship. Sergeant Elliot rounded up more.
    Good troops, Rick thought. And each one had probably made the same decision: They knew what the Cubans could do. This was at least a chance.
    The mortar team ran by with their tube, followed by others with the base and packs of mortar bombs. Men grabbed boxes and bandoliers of ammunition, stuffed their pockets with grenades. They were going aboard well armed.
    Not, Rick thought, that it will do a hell of a lot of good. Weapons won’t make us safer. But they do make us feel safer, and that’s important.
    “What is this nonsense?” Parsons demanded in a low voice. “You know that is not—”
    “Can it. Hold onto the questions.” Rick held up his hand and gestured toward the south. There was sporadic firing down there, some of it much closer than Hendrix could possibly be. The Cubans were mopping up the last pockets of resistance before coming up the hill. “Hendrix has had it,” Rick said. “His last orders were to get as many men out as we could. Got a better way?”
    “No. But—”
    “But nothing. That ship won’t wait, and we can’t do anything for Hendrix and his people.” Fear and a sense of guilt at abandoning their wounded made Rick speak more sharply than he had intended. “Shut up and get the men aboard. There’s no time for talk.”
    André Parsons shrugged. “As you say. But there are questions you will answer.”
    “Don’t I know it. Christ, André, don’t argue. Just do it. Please.”
    “Very well.” He went out to assist in