Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Planet Stories January 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
Narakan Rifles, About Face!
By JAN SMITH
Those crazy, sloppy, frog-like Narakans ... all thumbs andsix-inch skulls ... relics of the Suzi swamps. Untilfour-fisted Lt. Terrence O'Mara moved among them—lethal,dangerous, with a steady purpose flaming in his volcaniceyes.
errence O'Mara lay flat on his back trying to keep his big body asstill as possible. Despite the fact that he was stripped to hisregulation shorts, a large pool of sweat had formed on the cotunderneath him. The only movement he permitted himself was anoccasional pursing of his lips as he dragged on a cigarette and sent aswirl of smoke upward through the heavy humid air. Then he would justlie there watching as the smoke crept up to mingle with the largedrops of water that were forming on the concrete of the command post.
"Damn! Damn Naraka, anyway! Outpost of civilization! Who'd want theblasted place except the Rumi?"
At the words, Terrence moved his head just a fraction of an inch andhis eyes only a little farther to look across the room to where BillFielding was twisting and turning on his cot. All he could see of theother man was the wet outline of his body under a once white sheet anda hand that every so often reached into a bucket of water on thefloor and then replaced a soaking T-shirt over a red head.
"You'll feel it less if you lie still," Terrence said, distressed atthe necessity for talking.
"Feel it less! My God, listen to the man! What difference does it makeif you lie still or move around or even run around in the suns like abloody Greenback? Dust Bin will get you one way or another ... and ifit doesn't, the Rumi will."
The visible hand lifted the T-shirt and began to pop salt tablets intoan open mouth like they were so many peppermints.
"I wonder where Norton is. Out reviewing the troops?"
"Reviewing, my eye. He's up at Government House sitting in that coolliving room drinking one of Mrs. Wilson's icy drinks and admiring Mrs.Wilson's shapely legs. From a discreet distance, of course. Beingtemporary Commanding Officer of even Dust Bin has its privileges!"
There was a rattle of drums and the blare of one or two off-keyinstruments from outside.
"Then why," asked Terrence, "are those poor beggars marching up anddown in this blasted heat?"
"The Greenbacks? They love it! It would take more than a little heatto get under those inch-thick skins of theirs. They like to playsoldier when it's a hundred and thirty under water."
There were a few more straggling notes and then the semblance of amarch began.
"Listen to that, will you?" Fielding moaned, "They can't even keeptime with a drum! They can't march, they can't shoot, they can't breakdown a Banning; they're all thumbs and six-inch thick skulls. 'Trainlocal forces to take over'! Bah! Did those desk jockeys back in NewChicago ever see a Greenback? Did they ever try to teach a Narakan tofix a bayonet to the proper end of a rifle or to fire a blaster in theright direction?"