There was another change of plan that afternoon.  We were to move the Starduster  to the hospital rather than risk moving the patients before it was necessary.  At dawn we got going, the oddly transformed Starduster passing slowly through the town that wasn't a town anymore, to Muisenaiel's HQ beyond.  The command car bumped over rubble as we passed the remnants of the broken tanks which we'd labored to shift and crunched through cinders and debris in what had been the main street of Kauchmaunliw.  The place still stank of death and burning.

We passed a truncated and blackened telegraph pole from which a corpse dangled.  Checnecaiel said laconically, "A looter, sir."

"Have you had many?"

"A few.  He was one of the first.  He discourages the others, as they say."

Every now and then Checnecaiel's obviously broader than average education showed through.  For a locally trained lower echelon officer of a newly independent and somewhat backward nation he was surprisingly well-versed in military matters.  It seemed a pity that he'd been given so little room to do his own thinking but was still tied by the bonds of discipline.

I saw a sign on a blackened yet still standing storefront and a soldier who stood in front of the door, cradling a gun.  "Will you stop a minute, Captain?  May I go in there?"

"It's off limits, Mr. Drake." Again, the flash of an unexpected phrase.

"Yes, and we both know why."

I got out of the car without waiting for any more objections and gestured to the soldier to let me by.  Checnecaiel entered the ruined premises behind me.  I picked my way through a jumble of fallen stock, farm implements, clothing, magazines, household stuff, all the usual clutter of an upcountry store, to a locked glass-fronted cupboard towards the back.  The glass was shattered now, and the doors buckled with heat.  I took a hunting knife from a display rack, inserted the point just below the lock, and pushed smartly sideways.  There was a dry snap and the doors sagged open.  There wasn't much of a choice, just six shotguns: four of them were Soviet-era combat models and there was also and a Canadian pump action.  The rest, unfortunately, were fire damaged goods.

I picked up a KS-23, a large caliber gun capable of firing a 23 mm round, equating to a 6.27 gauge using the British and American standards of shotgun gauges, and laid it on the counter.  Then I began to attack the warped drawers below the gun rack, praying that I'd find what I wanted, and did so; two packs of double-o buckshot, magnum size.  Each shell carried nine lead pellets, a third of an inch in diameter, and capable of dropping a 200-pound dear.  And a deer is harder to kill than a man.

I dumped the shells next to the gun, added a can of gun oil, then as an afterthought searched for a scabbard for the hunting knife and put that with the rest.  Checnecaiel watched without comment.  Then I tore a piece of paper from a signed pad on the counter, scribbled a note, and dropped it into the open till.  I slammed the till drawer shut and walked out of the store with my collection.

"Are you going to hang me for a looter, Captain?  That was an IOU I put in the cash till.  The owner can claim from British Aerospace."

"If he's still alive, you mean," said Checnecaiel dryly.

He watched as I ripped open a pack of shells and began loading up the shotgun.  "Are you expecting trouble at the hospital, Mr. Drake?"

"You're a soldier. You ought to know that an unloaded gun is just a piece of scrap iron.  Let's just say that I may be expecting trouble---and leave it there.  You might not be around to get me out of it."

"Please do not wave it about, then.  I will not ask you for a permit; I am not a policeman.  I authorize you to hold it.  I would feel the same, myself."

He surprised me by his acquiescence.  I had expected him to make it tough for me, but I was determined to go no further without any kind of personal weapon.  I made sure the safety catch was on and then laid the gun down by the side of my seat.  "You have some pretty fine weapons yourself," I said.  "One of my men was casting an envious eye on your Polish PM-63 'Rak'.  Keep a close eye on all your guns, Captain; I don't want any of them to go missing."  It was Dara Duddy I was thinking of.  Something had made me think quite a while ago that I'd always be happier if he stayed unarmed.

"I will take care.  Take your own precautions, please," Checnecaiel said, and we drove on to catch up with Starduster.

I guess you call the setup at Muisenaiel's a field hospital.  Everyone seemed to have been moved out of the buildings into a field, and nurses scurried about their business.  To me it just looked like a lot of people dying in the open air.  Last time I'd only seen the offices, and all this was pretty terrifying.

After a while I began to see order in the apparent chaos.  Way over at one end were a lot of people, sitting or walking about, some supported by friends.  

Scattered cooking fires sent plumes of smoke into the air.  In the field were rows of makeshift beds with friends and families in attendance.  Hastily erected plastic screens hid what I assumed to be the worst cases, or maybe they were latrines.  In the middle of the field were tables around which moved nurses in rumpled uniforms.  A stretcher was being lifted onto a table presided over by Dr. Muisenaiel.  At another, Sister Matthew, frail and leaning on a stick, was directing a nurse in a bandaging operation.  I couldn't see Sister Anna anywhere.

Away from this area were two newly filled in trenches and a third trench standing open.  Slowly I walked across to look at it.  It had been half filled with loose earth and stones and scattered with lime.  A single naked foot protruded and I choked on the acridity of the chloride of lime which did not quite hide the stench of decay.

I turned away with sweat banding my forehead, and it had nothing to do with the morning sun.

Checnecaiel's car had gone but a man was standing waiting for me.  He was smallish and very weathered, wearing shorts and a torn denim jacket; his left arm was in a sling and his face was covered with abrasions.  

"Drake?" he said huskily.

"Right."

"You might remember me if I were cleaner.  I'm Saisek Kesefadirrel.  We met in the Dunin Club not long ago."

I did remember him but not as he was right now.  Then he had been a neat, hard-working little man, dapper and immaculate, with snapping blue eyes that gave a friendly gleam in a walnut face.  Now the skin was pasty under the surface and the eyes had become old and faded.  He went on, "Perhaps I'd have been better off if I'd stayed there---and perhaps not.  What the hell is going on here?  I understand you're moving everyone out.  That right?"

I said, "I could say that I was glad to see you, but they're not quite the right words under the circumstances."

He moved his arm and winced.  "Got a broken arm---hurts like a sonofabitch.  But I survived."  He nodded towards the open grave. "Unlike some of my fellow countrymen."

"Why are you here?"

"I run beef on the high ground up past Khentulga.  I brought a truck down here for servicing three days ago.  I was standing on what was the hotel balcony watching the troops go by when all hell broke loose.  Are you really going to evacuate the hospital up to Khentulga?"

"We're going to try."

"Can I come along?  My home's up that way.  My wife will be worrying."

I tried to imagine what it would be like to be a woman on a remote farm in the Zarmarian uplands with a war breaking out and a husband vanished into a bombed-out town and failed.  Then I had another, more practical thought.  He'd know the Khentulga route backwards.

"You'd be more than welcome.  We can find you a meal, maybe---and a warm beer."

"Great!" His warm smile lit the weary eyes.

"Mr. Drake!"

I turned to see Dr. Mu approaching.  "Damned good comrade, him," Kesefadirrel muttered.

The doctor looked wearier than ever; his eyes were sunken deep into his head and his cheeks were hollow. I judged he was driving himself too hard and made a mental note to see if Sister Anna could get him to slow down.  Come to that, she likely needed slowing down herself.

"We lost fifteen in the night," Dr. Mu said.  "The worst cases, naturally."

"Are you practicing---what do they call it---triage?" Kesefadirrel mumured.

I knew about that.  Triage was a grisly business used in many armies but perfected by the French at Dien Bien Phu.  The idea that the wounded were sorted into 3 categories; lightly wounded, medium but salvageable, and hopeless.  The lightly wounded were the first to get treatment so they could be pushed back into action quickly. And it saved on badly needed medical supplies.  But it also meant that a lot of others died who might have been saved; a coldly logical, strictly military solution to a medical problem.

"Nothing of the kind," snapped Muisenaiel. "They had the best attention, but they still died. This is not an army. Even you, Mr. Kesefadirrel, waited your turn."

"I'm sorry.  You're right, of course."

Dr. Mu turned to me.  "I see you've prepared the convoy for us, Mr. Drake."  we glanced over to the distant, cloth-draped rig.  "I have seen what you've done and am most grateful."

"Have you seen your new OR?  You'd be surprised at how much Sister Anna has achieved."

"I would not be surprised at all.  I know her."

I asked, "What's your worst problem right now, Doctor?"

"All those who had extensive burns or severe wounds are already dead or will die soon--later today, I would think.  Now the death rate will fall rapidly.  But it will rise again in two days."

"Why?"

"Sepsis.  I would give a fortune for ten gallons of old-fashioned carbolic.  We have no disinfectants left, and we're running out of sterile bandaging.  Operating on a patient in these conditions is like signing his death warrant.  I cannot heal with my knife at times like these."

I felt helpless; I had no medical knowledge and sympathy seemed a pretty useless commodity.  I offered the only thing I had.  "We'll get you all to Khentulga as fast as possible, Doctor. We can start in the evening, when it's cooler, and travel through the night.  Mr. Kesefadirrel will be invaluable, knowing the road so well."

The doctor nodded and went back to his work.

I'd never made a doctor, not even a bad one, because I guess I'm too squeamish.  Medical friends have told me it's something you get used to, but I doubt if I ever could.  I'm tough enough at boardroom and even field politics, but blood and gore?  That's another story.  What we loaded onto Starduster weren't people but cocooned bundles of pain.  The burn cases were the worst.  It was a long and bitter job, but we did it, and when we had got everyone aboard somewhere or other, and as comfortable as possible, I went in search of Muisenaiel.

I found him with Sister Anna, and as I approached, she was saying in a stern voice, "Now don't argue, Dr. Mu. I said I'll stay.  It's all arranged."  She turned to me and said in no less stern a tone.  "Try and get him to have some rest, Mr. Drake.  And you, too. All of you." 

She marched off across the field without waiting for an answer, heading for one of Checnecaiel's trucks which stood isolated from the rest in the comparative shade of two pines.  Two soldiers leaned casually against it and close by three white bundles lay on the ground.  Two Zarmarians squatted over, waving their hands constantly to keep the flies away.

I said, "What that all about?"

"Those are the last of the bad burn cases, tree of them.  Two men and a woman.  They can't be moved.  Sister Anna will stay with them and comfort them in their dying.  When they're dead the soldiers will bury them.  Then they'll bring her to join us.  I can't persuade her otherwise."

I looked at the stiff-backed figure walking away.  "She's quite a lady."

"Yes. Very stubborn."

Coming from him that was absurd, almost enough to make me smile but not quite.  I said, "We're all set to move. I'm about to check with Cliff Giles. Are you ready to board, Doctor?"

"Yes, I suppose so."  We both glanced briefly around at the desolation, the bloodstained earth, the abandoned beds and fireplaces, the debris and impedimenta of human life strewn all around.   There had been no time to tidy up, and no reason either.  The crows, the rats, the feral cats could have it all.

I went in search of Cliff Giles.  He had been very quiet all day, looking punch-drunk like a concussed boxer after a losing fight.  He did his job all right, but he did it almost as if by memory.  Nick Spalding was forming a superb backup for him, covering up whatever weaknesses he sensed in his boss, though he was doubtless motivated more by his faith in Andy Hale.

"Dr. Mu's coming aboard," I told him. "That's the last of it.  We're ready to get under way any time you're ready."

He'd planned to push on well into and maybe through the night.  He had not had time to scout out the road very far ahead, but he had the previous surveys to go by, and there were no sharp bends or steep gradients in the next twenty miles or so.  Up as far as the next river course there were no foreseeable problems.  That river lay between us and Khentulga which was a damn shame, but all things being equal, we shouldn't have too much trouble.  All things weren't equal, though; somewhere a border war was probably still being fought, but in the complete absence of any news on that score the only smart thing to do was to ignore it.  We'd heard no further aircraft activity and the airport itself, a mile or so outside the town, was reported by Checnecaiel to be totally deserted.

 'Right, we'll get moving. I hope to God these damn cloth and plastic roofs don't become a nuisance." He didn't say it, but I could hear in his voice the phrase, "Or these people either." Not the man to depend on kindness, but at least his concern for Starduster would keep him attentive.

I drove the hire car.  Kesefadirrel and I were in front and between us a Zarmarian nurse.  She was not on the rig as she had injured a leg.  In the back were four of the walking, or rather riding, wounded, 3 of them teenage children.

As I pulled out to drive to my assigned space, ahead of Starduster and among the troop trucks, I asked the girl:¿​​​​​​​Alrrasal zuruwn ar?" (Zarmarian for "Do you speak English?")

"Yes. I speak English very well."

"Will you tell these people behind to yell out if I do anything to hurt them?  I'll try to drive carefully."

She half turned and spoke in Zarmarian over her shoulder.

"What's your name, honey?"

"Jira Gurferhaiel."

"Can you drive a car, Jira?"

"Yes, I can.  But with my leg, I would have to go slowly."

I laughed briefly.  "Don't sweat it, slowly is what we'll all be doing.  If necessary, you can take over.  Mr. Kesefadirrel can't do much with that arm of his, though I guess he could stand on a foot pedal if he had to."

Checnecaiel's staff car passed us, and I remembered something. I honked and when he stopped, I jumped out and ran to retrieve the shotgun and pack of shells from his car.  Walking past us with his tractor, Dara Duddy stopped dead and looked at the gun with interest.

"Hey, Mr. Drake.  You got yourself a shooter.  Now what about me?"

"You gonna kill someone, Dara?"

He shrugged. '"Hell no, Mr. Drake.  It's just that I feel naked being in a war and me without a gun."

I grinned.  "Get your own fig leaf."

He went on and I got back into my car, feeling another slight ripple of unease.  Kesefadirrel also eyed the weapon quizzically but said nothing as I stowed it with some difficulty, down alongside the driving seat.  Behind us the whole convoy (except for Starduster, whose turbines fired up with a wheeeeeeeeeee!) was breaking into the gutteral growls that signified engines churning to life, blue smoke belching from exhaust pipes.  I stuck my head out of the car window and listened.

My imagination was bat-shit crazy now.  Had there really been cries of pain from the sick and injured people on Starduster, I would never have been able to hear them over the rumbling of the military transports.  But my stomach clenched in sympathy as I visualized the shuddering, lurching torment of Starduster's movement under their bodies.  I caught Jira Gurferhaiel's eyes and knew that she was thinking the exact same thing.

It had to be done.  I shrugged, put the car in gear, and moved out.  Vehicle by vehicle the entire procession pulled away from the hospital and the ruins of Kauchmaunliw.392Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡThv7iiBjAk
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