He's performing for the recording equipment, Mazer realized. He's covering China's butt in case we're also broadcasting radio chatter. Mazer played along, eager to do whatever was necessary to keep the Chinese help coming.

"Thank you for getting here as soon as you could. We have wounded. Where should we take them?"

"There's a ridge to the northeast. An old farming barn at its peak. We'll use that as a temporary hospital. I'm sending you the coordinates now."

There was a chime, and the data appeared in the holofield.

Reinhardt gave a thumbs-up, signaling that he had the coordinates. Then he turned the HERC northeast.

"Good luck," said Shenzu. Then he clicked off the holo.

"Maybe they won't shoot us down after all," said Reinhardt.

"Fingers crossed," said Mazer.

They flew for three klicks until they reached the coordinates. The barn proved to be two buildings, one an actual barn and the other a wide hut that was likely the farmhouse. Both were made of bamboo and thatch and local timber, weathered and worn and faded in the sun. A strong gust of wind seemed capable of blowing them both over, but they were apparently stronger than they looked. They stood atop a wide ridge of terraced rice fields filled with water. In the morning sun, the water glistened, making the terraces look like giant staircases of glass. The wind in Mazer's face was light and cool and free of dust, carrying with it the sweet, green smells of the jungle to the west. To his right a flock of sparrows swooped down into the valley. It was quiet and peaceful and felt like a world away from the lander.

Reinhardt set the HERC down between the two buildings on an access road. An old pickup truck, with its hood up, was parked nearby, rusted and dented and tilting to one side, a few leafy vines twisting up the side of it. A dead relic.

The barn was to the right. It was three-sided, open in the front, with two water buffalo tied up inside beside a few bales of hay. Crude hand tools and farming implements hung on nails along the interior wall.

Mazer got out and took Bingwen into his arms. Patu ran ahead to the farmhouse and banged on the door. No one answered. The door was unlocked. Mazer carried Bingwen inside. The house was empty. A single room, twenty meters squared, void of any furniture. It smelled of smoke and age and dust. Holes like windows in the far wall offered a sweeping view of the valley.

Mazer lay Bingwen down on the concrete floor and told him to lie still.

The grandfather thanked Mazer profusely. Mazer noted how the old man struggled to walk and the bandages wrapped around the man's chest.

"You're hurt."

The old man shrugged. "I'm old. The two go together."

Mazer went back to the HERC for the Med-Assist. He returned, cut the man's bandages away, and scanned his chest. "Two cracked ribs."

"I could have told you that without the fancy equipment," said the old man.

Mazer pulled a handful of pill packets from the kit and offered them to the old man. "Take these for the pain."

The old man waved them away. "I'll be fine."

Mazer took the man's hand and closed the old, weathered fingers around the pill packets. "Your hands are withered with arthritis. Your chest probably burns with every breath. These pills speed the healing and help you rest. Your body needs both. Save your strength to care for Bingwen. Don't argue. And here, take these."

Mazer emptied his pockets of his rations and pulled two emergency water bags from the kit. "This should hold you until the doctors arrive."

The old man accepted the items, his eyes wet, and nodded his thanks.

"Mazer!"

It was Patu, shouting from the HERC. "We've got to move."

Mazer hurried outside and climbed aboard. Reinhardt had them up before Mazer was buckled.

"The lander," said Patu. "It's opening."

CHAPTER 14

India

Captain Wit O'Toole stepped out of the command tent and into the frigid morning air of the Kashmir Valley roughly 350 kilometers west of the Chinese border. To the east the sun was just beginning to rise over the outer Himalayas, casting long shadows across the valley floor and bathing Wit in a golden glow. Soon this would all be snow, a thick blanket of white that would cover the landscape until next summer. But for now it was steep green meadows and thick pine forests and vibrant wildflowers living out their brief existence before the snows came. It was a sight Wit would never tire of seeing. Earth in its purest form. No industry, no buildings, no people. Just mountains and green and a river at the bottom. It was breathtaking and beautiful and worth fighting for.

Tags: Orson Scott Card The First Formic War Science Fiction
Source: readsnovelonline.net