The Long War

It was when Lieutenant Sam Allen came down from the twain, the last to land, and the Benjamin Franklin popped away stepwise with a soft implosion of air, that the real trouble started.

Allen was in charge of the small chalk of marines attached to this expedition. As his own guys stood around, evidently feeling a little lost in this latest new world just like the sailors, Allen started badgering Specialist Jennifer Wang. “So where’s our equipment?”

Wang already had her own pack off her back and was working her radio and locator gear. “Lieutenant, our gear was supposed to be landed within a half-mile, not on top of us—”

“I know that. Which way, Specialist?”

Nathan knew that the equipment drop, a bunch of trunks in rope nets, had radio beacons to alert the arriving troops of its location. But Wang looked confused. She worked touchscreens, and even twisted dials on a very old-fashioned-looking radio receiver. All she picked up was squawking music, a clatter of guitars.

Midshipman Jason Santorini, listening in, grinned. “Chuck Berry. My dad’s favourite. Mint stuff, even if it is like a hundred years old, or something.”

“That’s just some dumb local station,” growled Allen. “Some kid in his barn… Turn it off.”

Wang complied.

Ensign Toby Fox was a small guy, and more nervous than the rest. Now, before Nathan had a chance to get hold of the situation, Fox was the one who was unwise enough to ask Allen, “So, Lieutenant, where is our stuff?”

Allen turned on him. “In the wrong fucking place. Isn’t it obvious?”

“Actually it’s probably in the wrong, umm, fucking world, Lieutenant,” Wang put in. “Or I’d be picking up its bleep by now.”

By checking rosters, they soon figured it out. The drop had been made at another town, New Scarsdale, the “county” seat.

Wang said, “There’s your error, sir. Scarsdale is over on 101,752.”

Allen said, “Whereas this dump—”

Fox checked his milspec Earth counter. “Right now we’re on 101,754, sir. Where we were supposed to be.”

Somebody had miscounted the stepwise worlds. Nathan suspected miscommunication between the two command lines, the Navy crew and the marines, Datum-born, Datum-trained crew who weren’t used to thinking in terms of planning for operating across different stepwise worlds in the first place. It happened.

“What a screw-up,” Allen raged. “And those damn Navy boys stepped on without checking they got the rendezvous right.”

Everybody else just stood around, too nervous to be the one to reply. Somewhere something growled, a huge bear maybe, a deep rumble like an earth tremor, and they gathered closer together.

“OK, OK,” Allen said. “We need to send a runner. Get that ship back here, and bring us to the gear, or the gear to us.” He poked a finger at random. “You, McKibben. Get your Stepper out and get moving—”

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” said the man, “no can do. I left behind my Stepper.”

“You did what?… OK, who the hell else is here in Earth One Hundred Thousand and Shit without the most elementary and obvious piece of kit of all, a Stepper to get him home again?”

They all looked at each other.

It was an obvious omission, Nathan thought. They were putting on a show of force here; they had come down lightly armed but wearing flak-vests, load-bearing harnesses, and packs with general gear and ammo, and whatever specialist stuff they had to carry. Anyone with any experience knew the score. From the K-pot on your head to the combat boots on your feet, it was a heavy load, and you left behind whatever you didn’t specifically need for the mission. They were only supposed to have been down here, in this small town in this one peaceful world, for a couple of hours. Why carry a Stepper box? Which, built to military specification, was a heavy, robust piece of kit.

Turned out none of them had a Stepper. Not Nathan, not even the Lieutenant, and nobody dared grin at that. Nathan hadn’t the nerve to meet Allen’s eyes.

Then one of the guys asked his buddy if he had some water to spare because he was getting thirsty in the heat, but the other guy didn’t. Turned out none of them had brought water either, because that was all supposed to be in the drop. Not even Nathan, not even the Lieutenant. There was a stream not far away, you could hear it running. But these were all Datum-born types who had had drummed into them from childhood that you didn’t drink the local water, not without an iodine tablet in it at least, and none of them had even that.

Not even Nathan, not even the Lieutenant.

Allen prowled around, his fists clenched, looking as if he needed somebody to punch. “All right, then. All right. So we go to this dump Reboot, and start from there. Agreed, Commander Boss?”

Nathan nodded.

“Which way, Wang?”