The Eternity Brigade Read Free Page A

few tall buildings and only a scattering of residences. As a result, it had fared better than some other, more important target areas. Only a couple of structures had suffered even minor damage, there were no casualties lying about, and the streets were quite passable.
    Probably too passable, Hawker thought, surveying the scene with a professional eye. The enemy could march a battalion through these streets, and all we’ve got is a ten-man squad to stop them. He was already making mental notes of the most effective places to use his grenades to block the streets, should it be necessary.
    They came to a halt and the squad leader broke them down into two-man teams, each to patrol its own area within the sector. Since the Spardian was the only squad member Hawker could communicate with, he found himself teamed up with her again. They said little as they marched out to their post, at the most forward area of the sector. Hawker surmised his squad leader wasn’t happy having someone he couldn’t talk to, and had purposely assigned him to the front lines. Hawker was the most expendable person in the group.
    He and the Spardian woman scouted their area and quickly found a secure vantage point in a narrow stairway leading down to a cellar. Peering over the top they had an almost unobstructed view of the street in both directions, while being reasonably safe themselves. With that accomplished, they settled in to wait.
    He tried to talk some more with the woman, to find out whether she knew any more of the situation than he did. Their mutual command of the Vandik language, however, was only good enough for the most basic communication, and the woman was not very talkative anyway. Perhaps she resented being sacrificed at the front lines merely because she was the only one who could communicate with Hawker. She told him tersely that she, like he, was a dub, and that the sergeant had only sketched the situation briefly. Then she reverted to sullen silence, implying Hawker should do the same.
    Hawker settled back against the wall and waited for the enemy to make its move. He’d learned long ago that a soldier has to cherish any quiet moment he can find. From the way this battle seemed to be going, things wouldn’t be quiet for long.
    He pawed through the mess kit they’d given him, looking for a cigarette. It was, by now, a vain hope; he hadn’t seen any tobacco for centuries. There were other drugs to act as mild stimulants or euphoriants, but he’d never found them quite the same. Damn! You wouldn’t think it was that hard to dub a fucking cigarette, would you?
    He sighed. The army never did anything right; why should he have expected them to start with that?
    There were three tubes of the pasty stuff they called food. Each tube was a different color, and each had a written description in a language Hawker couldn’t read. He wasn’t particularly hungry at the moment—resurrection always re-created him at a state halfway between lunch and dinner—but he’d learned to grab a meal when he could. Hawker sucked on the tubes of paste, still reflecting that it would have been just as easy for them to dub good food. But he was probably going to die soon anyway.
    Two of the tubes filled him up, and h e was debating whether to open the third when his partner tensed. He hadn’t seen any motion upstairs himself, but the Spardian was facing the opposite direction. Hawker quickly stuck the unopened tube back in his kit, fastened it securely to his belt, and took up his energy rifle.
    Any animosity the Spardian felt toward him vanished now. The alien woman spoke a few words into the comm on her wrist, letting the squad leader know something was happening here, then raised her own weapon in readiness. Cautiously she crept up the stairs until the top of her head was barely even with ground level. Hawker was content to let her take the lead in these matters; his spirit of adventure had evaporated long ago.
    The Spardian motioned for him to