by Vance Huxley
“Covering fire, Hood. Short bursts.” The big man raised his carbin, firing blindly down the corridor but only bursts as instructed. Bobby looked around. The only bodies between the barricades were the Trooper from inside the room and Mickey. Mickey had been shredded by the two grenade blasts, one from each direction. “Siflis, what’s over the barricade?”
“Two bodies. The Super but without his jacket, and a Trooper who must have caught some of the blast. I gave him a GV.” Siflis meant a burst to the head, not a syringe.
“Only three. Shite. They dived over the second barricade to escape the grenade.”
“Not that bad really.” Hood sounded downright cheerful. “They’re down to seven now and some of those running were definitely looking rough. One was being half-carried, one was nursing his arm and one dragged a leg.” He peeked over the barricade. “They’ve gone.”
“We might be down to nine because Bells is hit, or eight if the Frog Super acts up. You two move bins. Move bins and make that barricade the highest one, not this one behind us.” Bobby rolled back over the taller barricade and looked up the corridor. “Bells is alive. It looks bloody but an arm so not GV bad.” He crawled back on hands and knees, keeping below the barricade in case someone sprayed flechettes down the corridor. “How is it, Bells?”
“A metal job I reckon. Soon as possible?” True enough because something solid had hit his arm, tearing it open as well as breaking the bone. “Green needle please.” The bared teeth in his pale face wasn’t a smile.
Bobby smiled at the joke because Troopers didn’t carry a green needle. He hadn’t known Supers did. “Let me tie that off.” He pulled out a dressing and a bandage, binding a bayonet and scabbard tight to the mess as a splint.
“Wake me when you’re….” Bells fainted.
“What happened? We heard grenades and the Super sent me.”
Bobby looked up and Fleur’s face and carbin barrel peeked round the junction into the cross corridor. “An attack by the Rangers and Shivas. Mickey is dead and Bells is hurt bad. Can you give me a hand to shift him?”
“Merde! That means just one Super. He will be your boss.” She crawled forward and hooked an arm under one armpit, then helped Bobby drag Bells back up the corridor. Fleur glanced back at the barricade. “Someone shot flechettes up the other corridor towards the lasers. Our Super told us to get ready for attack from both sides instead of coming to help you. He said you were making a deal with the Rangers to sell us.”
“We tried for a contract, one that included you as fighters. We’d be screwed if you hadn’t told us about bins, because we can’t get food released from the rocket. Neither can they even though they’ve got the engines.” Fleur stared, shocked, and Bobby shrugged. “We didn’t trust your Super enough to tell you we were in contact with Control, not yet.”
She nodded, a quick, sharp, unhappy one. “I understand. I’m not happy but I understand. Why didn’t you make a contract?”
“The Troopers changed their minds. They realised we’d got more food than them, or found food, and the arses got greedy.” Bobby sighed. “They got a big solid bullet into Mickey, then an argument kicked off and the Rangers topped the Shiva’s Super.” Bobby laughed. “Mickey took a painkiller and went viral, ran down the corridor with a grenade. There’s three bodies including their Super back there, so seven left.” They pulled Bells round the corner and stood, and Bobby used his tapper com. “Hood. Leave Siflis as guard.” He needed the big man to help lift Bells. They could use a shelf as a stretcher. “Bring packs. Leave ammo.” Even if the Rangers deciphered the tapper, they’d only know the guard had plenty of ammo but the packs and food were gone. Bobby assumed the Rangers would end up in charge. Apart from the Shivas Super, the only voices negotiating had been American.
The pair turned at a stream of definitely unhappy French, and Fleur braced into attention. “My Supervisor demands you tell him what happened.”
“Tell him.”
After an exchange in French the Super turned to Bobby and spouted something. Bobby shrugged. The Frog shouted at Fleur. “He says he is in charge. You must show respect.”
“I haven’t topped him?” Fleur stared and Bobby took pity on her. “Tell him Beebi’s Basteds are sloppy soldiers and this is as good as I can manage. I need medical help for the wounded.”
More French, more shouting and Bobby’s trigger finger twitched but Pepee stood two metres away with a shotgun, near enough to get plastic buckshot through a Trooper jacket. “You will get the man to a bed, then report. He wants to know what ammunition and food you have, and where are the officer’s quarters?”
“I’ll show him in a minute, once Bells is sorted. Suggest that he sets up a barricade like that one to protect the air lock in the other corridor. Tell him why. If three or four of you head down that way there can only be one man at most so he’ll run.” That took two or three exchanges and then some more shouting before the Frog stalked back up the corridor, followed by Pepee. The triumphant glance from the Putes Sergeant-chef confirmed that Bobby would get no help there. Pepee had just become the senior NCO of Beebi’s Basteds. Bobby watched them go. “Will he do it, the barricade?”
“Yes, Pepee will encourage him now she knows about the other Troopers wanting to stop us, and that you can talk to the rocket. What will you do?” Fleur didn’t look sure about Bobby obeying her Super.
“Just what he said because I need to know about ammo anyway, especially what we captured. Is Pepee a fighter or just a Diva?” If Pepee couldn’t fight Bobby didn’t care if she dropped with the Super, because after that display the dick had to go.
“She is a fighter, a real Trooper, but she also protects the Super and pooches for him. That’s her job. Why?”
“Just nosy. While I sort this out, can you teach Magpie some French?” Fleur looked curious but nodded. “Here’s what I want Magpie to learn, then tell him that it’s strategic weapon time and give him this to put on the table in his room.” Bobby handed Fleur the electrical kit from inside Mickey’s jacket. Fleur repeated the message and the words Magpie should learn, looking more and more puzzled, but in the end she smiled just a little and set off to do as she’d been asked.
By then Hood had arrived with three captured packs, though one had been shredded. “There’s water and ammo in here, but not much food.” Hood brandished carbins. “I brought two carbins to match this captured ammo, and I’ve got that foot-gun but there’s only one toe left. Siflis is using Ranger ammo right now. A bit like old times.”
“Only one toe left? Shite. The fourth one must be what hit Bells. Someone picked the leg up after I shot the arse who used it on Mickey.” Bobby frowned. “That excuse for a rifle you’ve got, will the frangible rounds go through a head?”
“Yeah, though maybe not through. If I pick my spot the round will go in, and then it’s brain soup time. You want me to shoot the Frog Super?” Hood grinned. “I haven’t shot a Frog Super for years.”
“No. We’ve got to kill the Frog for something that seems reasonable, or we lose Pepee as well because she’ll shoot back. I’d like to keep her as an extra fighter.” Bobby grinned. “Magpie should deal with the Frog without any bother but if Pepee doesn’t swallow it, be ready because I’d rather lose her than Magpie. Now let’s get Bells onto a shelf and stretcher him to a bed.”
* * *
Bobby took his time, both to calm down a bit and to give Magpie time to learn her lines. When he saw her climb the ladder to the room she shared with Hood, Bobby walked down the corridor to the Putes. He produced the crappiest salute he thought could still be recognised as one, but didn’t bother to brace to attention. “Tell his dickship I’ll take him to the officer’s quarters now, and give him the report.”
Fleur translated, but probably not literally since the Super smiled. Pepee frowned so she’d understood, but she didn’t cause trouble. French shouting became a Fleur translation. “Your Supervisor wants you to start acting like a real Trooper. You must learn to stand to attentio
n and salute properly. He says you must have learned in training.”
“Nope. We killed a shitload of Frog Supers and were promoted to Trooper before we learned drill or saluting.” That really was the truth, but he didn’t think Fleur would translate exactly. Pepee’s lip twitched so maybe she knew, or believed him. Beebi’s Basteds did have a rep for topping Supers.
They exchanged more French, until Fleur turned back to Bobby. “You must try harder.” Her eyelid flickered in a wink. “Lead us to the officer’s quarters and arrange warm food.”
As he turned to go Bobby noted that Pepee had her shotgun aimed in his direction, so he walked up the corridor nice and steady and unthreatening. At least Bells wouldn’t go viral because he hadn’t come round yet. Siflis would be on guard so he wouldn’t say the wrong thing. Hood would be in place by now. Bobby breathed evenly, slowing his pulse and keeping calm, because if this went wrong he’d have to drop Pepee and then the Super. As they approached the open area in the centre, Bobby turned his head. “Do you have a spy with you, a spook?”
Fleur translated. “No, why?”
“We have a spook because our commanders don’t trust me.” Bobby knew when that had been translated because of the laugh.
“Who is it?”
“Magpie, and he wants to talk to your Super about contacting the reinforcements, and arranging a contract.” Bobby wished he could cross something, though it had never worked yet.
Fleur’s translation didn’t have the same tone as the original, but the words alone were arrogant enough. “I will meet with him. There is no need for contracts because I am the only officer.”
“He’s an officer but not in our chain of command.” Bobby started to sweat a little, and hoped this held up long enough. Stopping by the balcony, Bobby raised his voice. “Officer Magpie. The Supervisor will speak to you.”
Magpie came out in her skinsuit, but kept her collar up over her hair. Bobby managed to keep his smile down to a twitch. The skinsuit wasn’t tight enough to show her figure but would open all the way down the front for a strategic surprise. Magpie wore no weapons, but her sleeves weren’t sealed at the cuffs. “Par toi-meme. Je suis un espion. J’ai une radio.”
Bobby already knew what Magpie said. “Meet me alone. I’m a spy. I’ve got a radio.”
The Super rattled something, and Fleur translated for Bobby, which meant Magpie didn’t have to confess she didn’t understand. “Not alone. You will tell me out here.”
“Je suis un espion. Par toi-meme.” Magpie impressed Bobby, she must have actually learned what the Frog stuff meant if she’d changed it round.
The Frog must have realised a spy might want to tell him secrets. “Pepee will check the room.” The French Sergeant-chef climbed up the ladder.
Moving aside, Magpie turned around once to show Pepee she hadn’t a gun or knife behind her back. The Sergeant-chef went into the room briefly, then came out smiling. Fleur translated. “He has a radio.”
The Super climbed the ladder, pointing his shotgun at Magpie while instructing Pepee. Fleur translated again despite a dirty look from Pepee. “You watch everyone else.” He nodded towards the door. “Go in first, Magpie, and be careful or I will shoot.” This glance from Pepee as Fleur translated seemed more puzzled than annoyed. The pair went inside and the Frog closed the door. Bobby ignored the surreptitious glances from Fleur, keeping himself loose but ready to move. If the shotgun went off in there he’d leave Pepee to Hood, and point his shotgun at the door.
A piercing scream rang out, high-pitched, a woman, then a second. The third cut off short and Bobby raised the shotgun, ready to kill the basted Super. But when the door opened Magpie stood there. Bobby tried not to smile because her skinsuit hung wide open all the way down the front, and everyone finally got to see Magpie’s strategic underwear. Bells would be really pissed that he’d missed it though Magpie wasn’t smiling, she looked furious and brandished a bloody knife. “I am not some Frog Super’s poochy!” She gestured away down the corridor. “Only Hood gets into my underwear, once we’re up to it.”
Fleur’s shocked face broke into a huge smile, which she quickly stifled. She would be realising why a Trooper had learned to say, “Vous me donnez Beebi trois bandes? Bien Poochy? J’aime le douleur.” A man might ask for Beebi’s three stripes, but wouldn’t offer a good pooching because he liked the pain. That and flashing her strategic underwear had got Magpie inside the shotgun, where her sleeve knife did the rest. Pepee hesitated for long moments, until Bobby half expected Hood to top her just to be safe, but her shotgun barrels dropped at last. Magpie turned towards her. “I thought you were supposed to pooch the basted whenever he felt randy?”
Pepee looked away and down and probably would have blushed if she’d been lighter coloured as laughter rang out from behind Bobby. Baiser de la Mort, Kiss of Death, the blonde usually called Baiser, looked and sounded delighted. Turning to Bobby, Fleur laughed at last. “A woman? All Rosbif Troopers are men! I thought Magpie might be a pede, one who likes the men. He is a pretty boy.”
“Strategic weapon.” Bobby grinned back at her.
Mischief sparkled in her eyes. “Eh, Pepee, maybe we should show Beebi our strategic weapon?” Fleur didn’t wait for a reply; she reached down and undid her Trooper leggings, then dropped them. Bobby stared because she wore shorts, and the legs below the metal connector band looked real. Bobby almost reached out to touch, because the curves and the stockings couldn’t be real. They had to be metal because he’d seen the Frogs in space and in training without legs.
“Hrrrm.” He cleared his throat. “Are the stockings real?”
“Some are, and some of us have them etched in the metal. Which do you want?”
Bobby laughed. “I really don’t care.” He dragged his eyes up and met Fleur’s laughing brown ones. “Bells will have a heart attack.”
“Bledrin wonderful. They get real legs and I’m stuck with these.” Magpie pointed at her generic legs, definitely not female even if hers were slim to match her build. “If one of you carks it, I want her metal.”
“They won’t fit. I’ll bet the Frog connections are different.” Bobby didn’t want Magpie arranging an accident to get better looking legs.
“I can dream.” Magpie raised her voice. “Hood, come and help me with the trash. Then you can adjust my underwear where that Frog got a bit handy.” From the look on Hood’s face the Super might be lucky to be already dead, though Bobby doubted the Frog got hands-on. Pepee moved forward, looked in the door, winced, and turned to climb slowly down the ladder.
She moved over to talk quietly to the other two. Fleur shook her head, but Pepee insisted until the pair produced small knives, cut off their rank badges, and exchanged them. Fleur saw Bobby watching and came across to explain. “Pepee says she is not a proper sergeant-chef, that she is the Super’s poochy like your Magpie said. I usually run our equipe, our squad. That is how we always work, Les Putes, but now she says we need a proper sergeant-chef to deal with Beebi Basted. I have been dealing with you up to now, so it is my job. Oui?”
“I’m good with that.” Bobby did feel relieved, because dealing with Pepee might have been a bit awkward now. “Can you all speak Anglic?”
“Yes. Some speak Anglic better than others, and others speak better Allemande. One of our jobs is to go over the border, find a Diva bar and try to get an officer on his own. Then we do the same as Magpie but without the screaming. Though I think Baiser liked the screams.” Bobby glanced at a smiling Baiser, now displaying a pair of real-looking legs, and remembered. She’d been the one crying out last night. Last night? This had all happened in no time, before they’d done much more than have breakfast.
“I’d better go and let Siflis know what happened, then we can sit down and decide how to organise the place.” He turned to go. “Ah, right. There’s another secret we were working up to. You’d better know now because you’ll be wandering all over, in fact you may as well move into these rooms.” Bobby only had three fit T
roopers, and so did Fleur, so keeping the eight of them separate while guarding and looking after wounded just wasn’t practical. “Follow me up to the top balcony.”
* * *
Fleur stared out of the captain’s room. “Merde! When were you going to tell me?”
“As soon as your Super had carked it?” Bobby shrugged. “He didn’t tell Mickey his name or make a proper contract so we weren’t really trusting.”
“Oui. I understand.” She waved a hand at the view of the bridge from the captain’s window. “C’est magnifique. Is there no way to get in?”
“Only past those lasers or probably through that hole in the floor, and I’d rather have reinforcements first. The marks on the corridor floor back there were from a laser and it melted a knife.” Bobby raised his hand to scratch at a tiny mark on the window but it seemed to be on the other side. “What the?” A fluorescent green lizard with gold flecks and a red stripe under its throat ran across the glass, paused to eat the speck, and darted away. “Pets? Pests? No, the place had no air or heat.”
“They must have lived somewhere and the dirt must be food. That might be a way of keeping the house clean?” Fleur shook her head, her eyes wide with wonder. “I could believe anything just now.” She looked around the room. “Will this be your room now?”
“No, none of us wanted to be stranded up here. It made more sense to be on the first balcony with those bins for defence.”
“Le bitte would have moved in here. We don’t know his name, just Adjutant-chef. Maybe Pepee does.” Fleur frowned in thought. “You called your Supervisor Mickey. Why not his last name, or Super?”
“He was called Steven McKay. Mickey is his squad name.” Bobby chuckled. “He was really proud about that, having a squad name and being a part of Beebi’s Basteds. I think that’s why he did it, took a Gaza Taxi. He would have carked it anyway but wanted to die properly like a Beebi’s Basted.” Bobby jumped as Fleur gave him one of those quick ammee kisses but on the lips.
