That question hung unanswered by Cortez's staff.
''Ain't you guys ever used hand trucks or wagons?'' the hostage that had put in his own thoughts asked.
''And you are?'' Cortez asked.
''Abe, sir,'' the old-timer said, getting to his feet. ''Abe Lincoln Corminski if you want all my folks saddled me with. Abe does fine for most.''
Another of the hostages, a woman about his age, kicked him. ''Abe dearest, you always did talk too much. You quit doing the thinking for these no-good layabouts.''
''But, honey, I figure if I get these folks up north quicker, they'll run into whoever is hunting them and this thing will get settled one way or the other, and I can get you back home.''
The woman kicked him again, and grumbled something under her breath that sounded like ''thickheaded old fool.''
Cortez motioned the man to him … and out of kicking range of the woman he would bet money was his wife.
''And just what kind of hand wagons or trucks are you talking about?'' he asked, as the man came to him. He had yellow teeth and bad breath. On further consideration, Cortez took a step back.
''Well, if you take one of the axles off of these trucks—the ones that go straight through, not two-piece ones—and you put a flat bed on it and a shank out with handles or something and you pull it, a man can haul a lot if it's rolling along on a couple of wheels,'' the guy said, folding his arms and preening himself on his expertise on hauling things.
Cortez glanced at his lieutenant commanding the Fusiliers' engineering platoon. He'd stooped down to eye the undercarriage of the combat rigs the Guard had been riding in.
He stood and shook his head. ''Can't use any axles from those rigs. Each wheel has its own suspension.'' He didn't point out that practically all of the six- and eight-wheeled rigs had flat tires as well.
''Not those fancy, duded-up things. You need a simple rig that will do a hard day's work. Like those.'' Abe pointed up the causeway to where the First and Third Companies' transport lay gathering dust and heat from the day.
The last truck in line looked to have two axles that went all the way through, from one flat tire to the other equally flat one. Cortez turned and led his staff up the kilometer or so to where the truck line started. Yep, most of the local trucks had one straight-through axle holding up the rear.
They also had a lot of flat tires.
''Just how do you propose getting the axles off?'' the engineering officer asked. ''And then how are we going to put together wagon beds to carry our gear?''
''You got some tools don't you?'' Abe said dryly, giving the young officer a sidewise look. ''They said you were an engineering officer, I seem to remember.''
The lieutenant turned beet red and looked ready to say something that would not go over well.
Cortez stepped in. ''Let's say that knocking together a handcart was not one of the requirements for him to graduate from his college, shall we?''
The local made a sour face and shook his head. ''Not much of a school,'' he muttered.
That didn't put oil on the rapidly troubling waters. Cortez cleared his throat to stop the rumblings among his staff. ''Lieutenant, go get your team and tools. Abe, why don't you go see if any of the hostages are willing to join you in showing us how to knock together these handcarts.''
Abe didn't move. ''Just out of the kindness of their hearts, you say. Knock together what some folks risked their lives to knock silly.'' The farmer folded his arms and didn't move.
Captain Afonin flipped the cover off his automatic's holster. Colonel Cortez gave his head a quick shake and leaned over to put an arm around Abe. His breath did stink. ''Let's say that you and your local friends are able to help us with our wheel problem. I say that you can tell them that I'll let them start walking back the way you came. That sound good?''
''Very good, sir. Now, if the man of the house helps you, what you say to the poor woman of the house also walking south?''
Cortez's eyebrows rose. The guy was wheedling him!
''You really want that harpy turned loose. I should think you'd want us to shoot her.''
''She's a mite bit noisy at times, but a guy can get used to that. Kind of come to expect it.''
Cortez held his breath and leaned closer. ''What say you start getting your farmer friends together now, and I don't shoot your shrew of a wife right now?'' Done, Cortez shoved the man at the nearest knot of hostages.
Abe went without a backward glance. That was good, ‘cause Cortez might otherwise have shot him. Here and there, a hostage stood. Most stayed seated and gave the standing ones a lot of lip. One woman sat back down.
''Captain Afonin,'' Cortez said.
The company commander whipped out his automatic and fired a round in the air. Talk stopped. Captain Afonin got the standing ones headed for a truck, then followed Abe as he headed for other clumps of hostages for his little talk.
It went quicker after that.
Most of the trucks had lumber on their beds, either as the bed itself or to protect the metal below. Between the locals and the engineers, they got several long chunks of board into a tripod-and-pulley arrangement good enough to lift some trucks off their axles. Getting the axles out was not an easy task; most tires were determinedly not round.
The process was not without its mishaps. One engineer had his leg crushed when a tripod collapsed and a truck came down early. Several arms were broken. Grim thoughts that Cortez was starting to have about sabotage hung like a deadly cloud over the process as the casualty count grew higher. But that count stayed about even between those in green and the locals. In the end it was dead even at five each, and he resnapped the cover to his sidearm.
Tires proved to be the limiting factor. None of the axles they recovered could take a tire from a Guard rig. Most of the local rigs had been shot up pretty well, even the spare tires. The final tally came in at eight single-axle carts.
The sun was edging below the horizon about the time both the tangle net started to crack and fall off its victims and the wagons were loaded with as much food, ammunition, and water as they would carry. A squad was delegated to protecting the rest.
Cortez got his command to the north end of the causeway and then set his troops to digging fighting holes to sleep in. Ten freed hostages started their way south. The remaining forty were cuffed sitting up to the wagons they would pull in the morning.
The night guards got a serious talking-to. ''If anything moves in your line of fire, kill it.'' Grim faced, they took in their orders.
The night was broken regularly by gunfire. Winged and four-legged critters that caught a guard's attention died without firing a shot in retaliation. Sleep was not all that plentiful, but as dawn came up the next morning, the camp was secure.
27
Kris finally got a chance to talk to Jack around sunset. He risked rigging a tight-beam to the Wasp, which immediately passed it along to Kris.
''How'd Short Stop One go?'' was Kris's first question.
''Surprisingly close to plan,'' Jack answered happily. ''In one wild minute my fifty Marines pretty much took down every truck they had. They're all afoot now.''
''They get anyone?''
''Winged a private who didn't get his butt down low enough when Cortez rewarded us with one of the noisiest mad minutes I ever hope to encounter. I thought these broom trees were tough, but they shot several of them up so badly they kind of came sliding down into the mud low and slow. 'Twas sad to see such giants laid low.''
''Just so long as none of us got laid low.''