Orders Is Orders by L. Ron Hubbard Read Free Book Online Page B

“Quick!”
    Toughey hauled the keg into the gloom, upended it and waited for the girl to seat
     herself. But she had other ideas. She perched herself on a rock beside a pool of water
     and took off what was left of her slippers. With a voluptuous sigh of pure pleasure,
     she slid her feet into the cool water.
    “What’s up?” said Toughey, turning his sling and sliding his left arm into it. He
     worked his bolt and stood facing the outside edge of the bridge.
    “About two hundred Chinese cavalry,” replied Mitchell. “They’re coming this way. Maybe
     we’ll be lucky enough to have them pass up this stream for a watering place.”
    “Would they do anything to us?” said the girl.
    “We can’t take that chance,” said Mitchell. “Without orders, anything is liable to
     happen.”
    “I thought you had orders.”
    He shook his head. “I had to give them up at the first Japanese PC we hit.”
    The clatter of hoofs, the clink of sabers and the creak of leather came from afar,
     growing louder. Toughey took his arm out of the sling and fixed his bayonet. Mitchell
     unbuckled the flap of his holster.
    The bridge trembled and the amplified sound was deafening. Dust and stones showered
     down on either side for an interminable time. Finally the rear guard was over and
     gone and the hoofbeats were swallowed by distance.
    Toughey unfixed his bayonet, slung his rifle across his back, took off his cap and
     selected a cigarette. He sat down on the keg, puffing thoughtfully.
    Mitchell went up on the road and looked down the hill, but it was now much too dark
     below to see anything. He came back.
    “We might as well eat before we go on.”
    “Go on?” said the girl faintly. “Gosh, don’t you guys ever get tired? Listen, maybe
     a moon will come up later on. Let’s take a little shut-eye and then hike about mid—”
    “If you don’t mind,” said Mitchell mildly, “I’ll make our plans.”
    “I was thinking,” she protested, “that if there was two hundred cavalry, there might
     be more along the road.”
    “That’s a chance we’ve got to take,” said Mitchell. “We can find other places to duck.”
    He slid his pack off his shoulders and she watched for him to flex his arms and stretch.
     But he didn’t. He acted as though the pack weighed a pound and no more. Disappointed,
     she watched him bring forth some of the provender he had foraged along the way—some
     peanuts and a few chunks of bread.
    They fell to on the chow and cleaned it up. The girl was silent as she ate but as
     soon as she had finished, it was plain that she had been spending her time in thought.
    “Listen, mister,” she said, “if you was to take me to the nearest point out, my old
     man could make it worth your while. Did I tell you he was the soybean king?”
    “No,” said Mitchell. “Is he?”
    “Sure. He can write his check for a million any old day. Now if you boys would just
     quit this everlasting march, march, march and put me someplace where I could be taken
     care of—”
    “Save it,” said Mitchell. “There’s no such place. I realize your feet are practically
     on the ground but we can’t slow down and still make Shunkien by Saturday. Here it
     is Wednesday night and we’ve only got tomorrow and Friday to make most of our time.”
    “Maybe you can get a car someplace. I’m telling you, mister, if my old man—”
    “Please,” said Mitchell.
    “Maybe you don’t think my old man is the soybean king,” she said indignantly.
    “No, I don’t,” replied Mitchell.
    She was shocked. “You mean you don’t believe me?”
    “I mean just that. Quit pulling the line. You’re Dawn LeMontraine, the fan dancer.”
    “How . . . how did you find that out?”
    “You left your purse in the car, and now that I’ve told you, you can have it back.”
     He gave it to her and her fingers were eager as she opened it.
    She powdered her nose and rouged her lips and made herself very attractive. Mitchell,
     looking at