by Vance Huxley
“Deep cover.” Her voice deepened a bit. “The Horseman wants it kept deep.”
“Good enough.”
Bobby sat back and tried to work out what to do about the young woman. He’d brought her to keep Hood alive and flick Ellis, expecting to leave her behind at the end. Then Margaret had come with them, helping Bobby to support Hood during the last dash. If any Super knew Bobby had brought in a Pleb woman, he’d shoot her or Margaret would end up in the spam house. She’d be cleaning Trooper’s quarters in the day and servicing Troopers at night which wasn’t much of a thanks for saving Hood. He owed her for that. That basted Ellis would turn Margaret in just so he could give her a good pooching in the spam house and rub it in Bobby’s face. She’d have to disappear before that arse opened his flap though the Corp wouldn’t dare do that until he’d got safely away from Siflis.
At least trying to work out where to hide a young woman in a Trooper base kept Bobby occupied. The Super showed up before they got back, to speak very quietly to Bobby. “I’m told that’s a spook.”
“Yes. Deep cover. Broke it to get us out so I feel responsible, and a bit nervous about The Horseman.” Bobby smiled. “Might be best if none of us noticed him being here?”
The Super looked long and hard at Bobby, then glanced at Margaret. “You want to say anything?” Margaret shook her head, firmly. “All right, Beebi. On your head.” The Super left and Bobby heaved a sigh of relief.
* * *
Thirty minutes later the carriers were unloading and he started sweating again. Bobby caught hold of Siflis and Bells. “Get Margaret and Hood into the bog. Tell Hood he needs to go. Tell her she needs to help him. Now and quickly. Then clear the bogs of Troopers.”
It wasn’t that simple because Sandman followed, he’d turned out to be too bledrin smart by half. Bobby turned stop the Corp. “I’m going to do something that will put you in a Gaza Taxi if you’re involved.”
“Again? Tell you what, I’ll help but I want that notsi shotgun. You don’t need it now you’re a Sarge.” Sandman grinned, the stupid basted.
Bobby shrugged. “I need the bog clear for five minutes.”
Sandman glanced at Margaret helping Hood through the door. “All of you in five minutes? She’ll never manage it.”
“No, you bledrin eejit. She’s going to disappear, else where will they put her?”
The Corp looked at the door thoughtfully. “Yeah. She saved my ass so I’m in. Ellis will open his flap.”
Bobby smirked. “In five he’ll never find her.”
“This I’ve got to see.” Sandman waved over one of his surviving men. “This is Attica. He’s sound, my word on it.” He turned to the approaching Trooper. “Hey, Attic, we need the bogs to ourselves for a few minutes. A meeting of the unruly, but we need a blind man on the door.”
“Oke.” The Trooper put on an innocent expression. “Never saw nobody go in or out, sir. Bogs were out of order. Terrible mess it was, sir.”
Three confused Troopers came out doing up their flies as Bobby went in. The Basteds and Margaret were stood in the middle of the floor, looking puzzled. Bobby gestured to one of the stalls. “Get in there Margaret, and get undressed.” Her hood went back and she looked warily from one to the other. “Then put this uniform on.” Bobby proffered some of the gear stripped from the dead men. “You are whoever it says on those tags and these are your Trooper uniform. Come on, sharpish.”
Margaret looked at the stalls and back. Ah, Bobby had got used to not having a door on them. “Sandman, you’re a big lad. Stand in front will you?” Everyone looked at the stalls, Margaret, and Sandman, and realised. Though Bells surprised Bobby when even he turned away.
Four minutes later a slightly built Trooper with his face covered in camo paint helped Hood out of the bogs and over to the ambulances. Then Trooper Nathaniel Wright came back to meet Sergeant Bobby B as he exited the bogs, limping to disguise her walk. Bobby, Bells and Siflis took her into their quarters where Bobby explained. “You live in here. There’s supposed to be eight in here but we aren’t very welcoming so there’s just us four. Five now. Long term we’ll work it out, but for now we’ll bring you food and keep you out of sight.”
“Why? There are women out there.” Margaret looked at the beds apprehensively.
“Those women clean the quarters in the day, and they work in the spam palace at night. If any Super sees you, that’s where they’ll put you. That or shoot you.” Bobby really didn’t want to be more specific, and everyone knew what a spam palace was.
No they didn’t. “What is a spam palace? What sort of work is it?”
“It’s a place for women. For the men. For the Troopers who want to meet a woman.” The snigger from Bells didn’t help but meant that Margaret got it. They all knew because she suddenly looked anywhere but the three of them and blushed. After that Margaret became very keen to stay out of sight until Bobby worked something out, not even objecting when Bells gave her a Trooper haircut with a knife.
* * *
The debrief turned out to be simple. Bobby handed over the little disc, and the orders on his buzzer and recorded on the radio were copied. He had his forearm re-bandaged and the base medic reckoned the bone had only been cracked. Bells would get metal in his arm, Hood would get most of a metal leg, and Siflis would get away with losing a toe. The rest of their wounds were just meat. The injections of Kwikheal could deal with that and any infection after the bullets or fragments were dug out. Everyone had gained even more interesting scars but that came with the job. The survivors were placed on leave though they were kept in the base.
Meanwhile fresh Trooper Units came in from outside the area and swept through the housing complexes. The new Troopers worked by the rules, only using flechettes, but the sheer number of casualties over the last two days seemed to have taken the fire out of the Plebs. Eventually the rebels or rioters were broken with the minimum of additional damage to buildings and plant. The surviving Plebs, the ones who could prove they weren’t involved, went back to work. Any who couldn’t prove their innocence went to work camps though the Troopers assumed that some of them would end up in the new crop of Timers. The bulldozers moved in and rebuilding started.
Bells only needed a plate in his arm, to keep the forearm bones in place and replace some of them. Within a week he could use his arm but wasn’t allowed to put a lot of strain on the repair for another few weeks until the Kwikheal finished the job. He made a few hints about having a woman handy in the quarters, but Bobby put it to him straight. Margaret saved Hood, which made her off-limits unless she actually offered.
Bobby knew the real problem. Bells didn’t rate the Trooper Divas and every week or two the squad made time on a patrol to let him visit one of the sleeker Pleb Divas. Now he couldn’t get a bit of variety, even with a woman three beds down. Bells backed off though he still eyed her up when Margaret couldn’t see him.
Though Bells didn’t do that as much after Hood arrived back in the barracks because she took up nursing duties again. Hood exercised as much as possible with a leg missing and while pumped full of painkillers and Kwikheal. He had to clip his new leg onto the bio-metal interface plate four times a day to let the nerves and wiring mesh, but while laid down so he didn’t strain the healing join. Margaret usually clipped and unclipped his leg because it was easier if someone else lined it up. The rest of the time Hood hopped around one-legged.
* * *
Bobby and Siflis were bored after a couple of weeks, just hanging about healing and eating and the healing didn’t take long with Kwikheal. Neither of them neglected exercise or keeping their fighting skills honed either sparring or on the ranges, and probably overdid it to keep occupied. Then Margaret learnt enough to really train, which certainly relieved some of the boredom. Siflis treated her like a sister. He even let drop his own sister used to beat the crap out of him three out of four. Now he wanted Magpie up to that sort of standard.
Margaret now answered to Magpie, a good nickname for a T
rooper that wouldn’t attract attention if overheard. She said most people called her Maggie so she’d respond to Magpie without thought. Siflis came up with Magpie, meaning the Trooper might be ‘one for sorrow’ in the rhyme so bledrin dangerous, or a thieving shite, but either worked. Every day Bobby and Siflis taught Magpie how the Trooper unit worked and how to act like one of the men. Most of the talking happened as she sweated, using weights or exercises to toughen her up. She practiced hand to hand with and without knives or knuckles in the quarters, as well as having a crash course in how other weapons worked.
Then Margaret spent some time on the ranges as Magpie. The nickname meant never having to use her adopted name which would stop anyone who knew Nathaniel Wright from realising he’d had a face transplant. Margaret’s face caused problems but luckily she hadn’t been petite or pretty, and a faint application of camo looked as if she almost needed a shave. A few men looked effeminate anyway but those men were usually good with knives or fists because of the shite they got from other Troopers. Hopefully others would assume the same about Magpie, until the squad could actually make her dangerous. Sergeant Bobby B added Trooper Nathaniel Wright to his squad, officially. A sergeant should have more men, and Trooper Wright’s old Corporal died on the way to the tram station, so the paperwork went through without making waves.
So far nobody had given Bobby the extra four squads to match his rank, which suited Bobby just fine right up until he found out why. The banging on the door startled them all. Magpie went and laid on her bed with her back to the room while Bobby opened up. The Sergeant had a dozen Troopers with him, all tooled up, and a grim look on his face. All of them were strangers, not from 3914 SSAB-Tata. “Are you the alleged Sergeant One Bobby B, aka Beebi?”
“You know I am, and there’s no alleged about it.” Bobby put a hand behind him and waved it to stop Bells starting anything. “What’s the problem?”
“You are under arrest.”
That caught Bobby out. “What for?”
“I don’t know and don’t care though the word is you dumped a Super, left him to die.” His voice confirmed the Sarge didn’t care, but he’d got orders so that didn’t help.
Bobby’s mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. “Bulsh. I had orders and handed them in.”
“You are to bring your recorder, as evidence.”
Bobby opened his mouth to point out it everything on it had been copied into the record, but the sergeant had his orders. “What else do I need?”
“These men will empty your locker. Please open it or we are authorised to break the lock.” A little gleam showed in the Sergeant’s eye at that.
“I’ll open it.” The basteds would make a real mess of the job on purpose and if the locker ended up trashed, Bobby would end up with the bill. Two Troopers gathered everything into sacks, including what lay on top. They checked under the mattress and pillows, and checked the empty beds.
“Notsi? Naughty boy.” They’d found non-standard knives, ammo, and several firearms which was why the Supers usually leaked news of an inspection, otherwise all their Troopers would be locked up. The Troopers only took Bobby’s notsi so he shrugged. The sergeant gestured to the door.
“Beebi?” Bells came up on his toes, ready to go.
“No, let me find out what it’s all about.” More to the point the dozen Troopers were fully armed and primed to go, and Bells, Siflis and Hood weren’t. “It’ll be some mix-up with the paperwork.” Though Bobby didn’t think so, not with three squads of Troopers from a different unit sent to arrest him. Not that there were many left of the old unit, because another of the wounded had carked it and three were crippled past anything metal could fix. Twenty-four out of a hundred and forty if the rest of the wounded made it, the whole unit including Sandman’s six men only made a Sergeant’s file now.
* * *
Unexpectedly, Bobby wasn’t roughed up in the stockade, even when he stripped to be scanned. He put on the orange suit as instructed, before being put in a cell on his own without any more information on charges. There he stayed, listening to the drunks moan and puke, until the following day. His defence lawyer arrived mid-morning, a full Manager, not even an assistant Manager which raised a few alarms in Bobby’s head. A Super usually acted for Troopers, or sometimes just a clerk.
“You are in a lot of trouble, Acting-Sergeant.”
“What for sir?” Bobby kept it very polite. It wouldn’t be smart to start flickin the man who would hopefully clear this up.
“You are charged with deserting a wounded Super, leaving him for the enemy, and it’s a good thing for you that he died. If the Plebs had taken him alive and paraded a Super through the complex you’d be dead already.”
“I didn’t desert him, sir. I had clear orders, sir. They were transmitted, and on a disc, and on my own recorder.” Bobby didn’t understand. Had the Super screwed him after all? “They couldn’t have taken him alive, because I left him a pistol and two carbins.”
“What!” The Manager looked up from the file, jerked out of his studiously bored pose.
Bobby shrugged. “He asked for something so he could eat a bullet when the Plebs came through the door. So that his signal would stop and you’d call down hell on his position.”
The Manager looked worried, which didn’t help Bobby’s peace of mind. “You shouldn’t know about the signal. How do you know?”
“The Super told me, to explain about calling down hell to cover our escape. He wanted survivors.” The Manager didn’t look convinced. “He said he’d been a Super too long and didn’t see why we had to die. The orders are on all the records.”
“No they aren’t.” Bobby stared open-mouthed as the Manager carried on. “The only orders that could be recovered were the original ones telling you to go it alone, you and your squad. Those were superseded by HQ when you were sent back.” The Manager tapped the file in front of him. “There are charges here for destruction of property since those orders were no longer in force. I hadn’t mentioned them since they are negligible in comparison.”
“What about the radio message, the orders to the Copter, the disc…” Bobby ran down as the Manager shook his head.
“According to HQ, the Copter attack went in for you to break out with the Supervisor, not to leave him behind. Their recording equipment malfunctioned after that so there’s nothing on disc. Your disc, the one you brought out, has been damaged beyond recovery as has the record on your personal equipment. Apparently you came close to a massive electrical discharge and some heavy magnetic influences somewhere, or you lied and tried to cover your tracks.”
“My buzzer recorder and wrist comp worked fine right up to when I got arrested. The radio messages to HQ?” Bobby didn’t need the Manager to shake his head because Bobby realised he’d been well and truly stitched. Not by the Super, so it had to be the dick at HQ who’d sent the squad back in.
“There’s no record on their gear. The Super at HQ is adamant that the orders were to get your Super out, and that was the whole plan and the only one. The Supervisor in the armour is being charged with endangering his equipment by waiting once he knew the Super wasn’t coming.” The Manager gave a little smile. “He is quoting the orders you played back to him as a defence over claims for property damage. Swears you aimed the cannon.”
“I did.” Bobby reckoned that even if he went down over this, the Super had pulled out a score of Troopers by waiting.
“If you could get the spook to testify, that might help.”
“The spook disappeared when we unloaded.” Bobby smiled, just a little one. “You could ask The Horseman’s lot?”
A real smile answered him. “That lot won’t confirm they actually belong to their own unit.” The smile disappeared again. “There is also a woman, a Pleb? There is a suggestion that she’s a spy for the Plebs and used you to penetrate the base.”
“She was a random meeting that got us out of trouble. Elli, Corporal Ellis will be the one who’ll know where she went since
he was sniffing her skirt.” Bobby thought that’s who had opened his trap, so may as well throw some shite that way. “She wasn’t in the troop carrier I got into, so I’ve no idea if she even made it that far.”
“I’ll mention that.”
“Corporal Ellis was also near enough to know what the Super planned, and that he was alive and conscious when we left.” Bobby knew he was grasping at straws, but tried anyway. “If we were running out don’t you think the Super might have used the two carbins and ammo I gave him. On us?”
“Corporal Ellis?” The Manager opened the file and read something. “He claims that you excluded him from all discussions with the Super, who was probably unconscious by the time you left.” The Manager read some more. “According to this you threatened to kill Ellis and his men if he didn’t obey you.”
“I threatened to kill him and three of the men if they raped the woman who was getting us out of there.” Bobby sighed. “Though if I’m locked up and those four are loose, I bet none of the rest are answering questions.”
“You Troopers never do, not about other Troopers. Corporal Ellis and three men have one story, you and your four Troopers have another.” The Manager rubbed at his chin and read some more while Bobby absorbed the news that Magpie had given evidence. “This is a mess. I don’t like the idea of so much evidence going missing. It’s a good thing for you that the charges involve the death of a Super, and that you have been involved in the deaths of others.”
“No I haven’t.” Bobby answered automatically, though he didn’t think it mattered any more.
“There’s a question mark over the fate of your previous Supervisors, especially the last one. Questions about why he went up on the roof, and why he then seems to have jumped?” That came with absolutely no smile.
“I was in the canteen when it happened, in plain view of at least thirty people including several sergeants and a Super.” Bobby thought that would be old history now.
