by Rick Shelley
The curious steward whistled. “We been listening to the complink traffic, mates. Sit yourselves down.
We’ll bring your tucker out. You blokes done enough work.”
“Thanks,” David said, sitting at the table next to the cooks and stewards.
“A lot of your men hurt?” one of the cooks asked.
“Too many,” Sean said when the sergeant showed no inclination to answer. ‘ ‘One killed and the rest of our squad in hospital, all but the three of us. The whole platoon’s been hit hard. They’re being brought up for a breather.”
“But we’ve taken full payment,” Jacky said grimly.
“Not full yet,” David said, his voice little more than a whisper. “Won’t be full payment until we’ve cleaned Buchanan of Feddies.”
Three stewards marched out from behind the serving line with trays heaped with food. A fourth steward wheeled the tea cart over from the sergeant majors’ table in the corner.
“You want more of anything, just give a shout,” one of the stewards said. “On the house, so to speak.”
David looked at the tray in front of him and grinned. “We eat any more than this, you’ll have to call the medical orderlies. We’ll explode.”
“That’s okay,” the steward said. “It’s time for us to get back to work anyhow, so we’ll be out of the way.”
His mates burst out laughing.
A half hour later, there was little food left on any of the trays. David and his companions had declined refills, except for tea, coffee, and juice. With his stomach full, David felt too lethargic even to push back from the table. He continued to pick at the serving of chips on his plate, even though they had long since gone cold.
“Three o’ these a day and soon enough we couldn’t even get into field skins,” Jacky said. He had given up trying to finish the food on his tray.
“It’s a good job we’ve got a day or two before we go back down,” David said. “We wouldn’t be able to move worth a damn today.”
Sean was still eating. Almost as short and thin as Jacky, Sean was drawing stares from his companions.
Once, Jacky even leaned to the side to make sure that Sean hadn’t dumped a portion of his food on the deck.
“Where the bleedin’ hell you puttin’ all that chow?” Jacky asked finally. “It ain’t normal.”
“When I’m hungry, I eat,” Sean said.
“We get back to Buckingham, we’re going to enter you in the eating contests,” Jacky said. “You’ll make the whole squad rich. Your size, we’ll get good odds and clean up.”
“First, we’ve got to get back to Buckingham.” Sean set his fork on the tray and leaned back. His appetite was, quite obviously, gone.
“You all right, lad?” David asked, very softly.
“I don’t know, Sarge,” Sean said. “I really don’t know.” He stared at Jacky for an instant, then looked back to Spencer. “I was just getting over being scared.”
“We all get scared,” Jacky said, before David could say the same thing. “Be unnatural not to get scared with all that hell goin’ on.”
“He’s right,” David said. “I’ve been in the RM for fifteen years, and I still get scared, every time we go into combat, whether it’s Feddies or halfarmed farmers.”
“How do you deal with it?” Sean asked. “Down there, I was sure I was going to freeze up, almost any second.”
“But you didn’t” David said. “That’s what’s important. Deal with it? I don’t know that there’s anything anyone can tell you about that. We all have to find that inside ourselves.”
“I can tell you one thing,” Jacky said, and he waited until Sean turned his eyes toward him before he continued. “That fear, that’s why we spend so bleedin’ much time trainin’. The RM wants to make sure that the drill is etched in our heads so deep that we can do what we’re supposed to do even when we’re too scared pissless to think it out.”
David stared at Jacky through that speech. “Instead of going back to civie street, Jacky, you should be thinking about a career in the RM.”
Jacky shook his head and wouldn’t look at David. “Not me. I’m too much a civilian at heart.”
“Humor me, lad. Give it a thought. You do have the makings.”
27
The crew of the admiral”s gig was already aboard when Ian escorted Prince William to the hangar bay.
The shuttle was housed well forward in Sheffield, only a short walk from flag country. This hangar was just large enough for the one boat.
“Morning, Your Highness, Commander Shrikes,” Lieutenant Miko Balaski said when his passengers boarded the shuttle. Miko had been Admiral Truscott’s pilot longer than Ian had been on staff. “We’re ready to go as soon as you’re strapped in. Sorry to rush you, but if we don’t get out of here double quick, we’ll have to wait until after the next launch and recovery of Spacehawks. That could hold us up for a half hour.”
“Then, by all means, let’s be off,” Prince William said.
“We can see to the strapping in,” Ian told the pilot. “Give us forty five seconds and we’ll be ready to go.”
“As you say, sir.” Balaski checked to make sure that the hangar crew had secured the hatch and retracted the ramp. Then he moved forward to the cockpit.
Ian gestured the prince to one of the plush seats. “I assume you remember the drill?”
“Quite,” William replied. He dropped into the nearest seat and pulled out straps, connecting the harness with the ease of long familiarity.
Ian sat across from him and did his own buckling. He was sure that it was less then fortyfive seconds before he flipped an intercom switch and said, “All secure back here.”
“We’re on our way then,” Balaski replied from the cockpit.
Ian sat back and looked out the porthole on the far side of the cabin. A large section of the hangar’s outer bulkhead rolled out of the way, exposing the shuttle to open space. Two telescoping pistons moved the shuttle out of its hangar, clear of the ship, and the shuttle passengers lost Sheffield’s gravity. Ian adjusted his seat straps the final little bit to keep him securely in place.
With quick blasts of compressed gas, the shuttle was pushed farther away from Sheffield’s hull. The launching booms were retracted. The hangar door slid shut.
“On our own now, gentlemen,” Balaski said over the intercom. “There’ll be a short delay while we do our farewell dance.”
“Our what?” the prince asked softly.
“Lieutenant Balaski fancies himself a comedian,” Ian said. “He’s talking about using attitude jets to get clear of the hull before he fires the main rockets.”
“Is it just our pilot or has the slang changed that much since I served?” The shuttle was already moving, dropping below and falling back along Sheffield.
“I think it’s mostly Balaski,” Ian said. “He tries to find a different way to say it every time we go out. The admiral gets a kick out of it. Usually.”
William laughed. “Yes, I can imagine that there would be times when such levity would be less than welcome.”
Ian chuckled. “Now and then. If I get a chance, I try to give Miko a little warning. But when the admiral’s in a mood, I don’t always have a chance.” The shuttle turned and pointed toward Victoria. There was a short pause before the shuttle’s main rockets came on, initially at minimum power, building gradually for a short time, then cutting out as the shuttle rotated into the proper attitude for docking with the second ship.
Prince William pressed the intercom button. “Lieutenant Balaski, could you rotate us a little so we can see the surface?”
“Port or starboard, sir?” Miko asked.
“Er, port, if you would.” The words were hardly out of his mouth before the shuttle started to rotate.
Miko stopped it at precisely the right moment to give the prince a clear view of the settled area of Buchanan, not that anything was really visible of those settlements.
“The clear weather is ending,” Ian
said. There were thin clouds showing against the first light of morning, and a glance to the west, out over the shore and ocean, showed heavier clouds moving into the area. ‘
‘The Marines might get wet before the day’s done.”
“Shouldn’t make all that much difference,” William said. “I’ve tested the field skins they use.” He stopped talking when he saw the look of surprise on Ian’s face. ‘ ‘It’s not all affairs of state and fancy dress balls, you know. Between the skins and their helmets, it wouldn’t much matter if the Marines had to operate underwater.”
“Until one of them raised his visor to scratch,” Ian suggested, and the prince laughed.
“Does the admiral insist on comedians for all his staff positions?”
“He blames the first lord of the Admiralty for that,” Ian said, keeping a straight face. “He swears that Sir John sends him nothing but misfits and comedians. But have a guess who gave everyone on staff bath talc laced with itching powder last Boxing Day.”
This time, the prince fetched up against his seat straps, he laughed so hard. “You did it again. You set me up for that one.”
“I beg to differ,” Ian said, struggling to keep from laughing himself. “You were the one who asked about comedians.”
Prince William took a deep breath, then another, fighting the urge to start laughing again. “I really must find a way to show my, ah, appreciation, Shrikes. Perhaps I should ask my brother to appoint you his naval attache. He could use a wit like yours around the palace.”
“Well, half a wit is better than none,” Ian said, and that was too much. This time he couldn’t hold back his own laughter. ” I’m sorry,” he said when he could talk coherently again. “It must be your fault though. I don’t get like this most times. My wife says I have no sense of humor at all.”
“Perhaps you should spend more time at home,” William suggested.
That was enough to sober Ian’s mood. “She says that too.” He shrugged. “But you know how it is for a serving officer. I”ve been home more than usual since I became Admiral Truscott’s aide, but even so, there have been inspection trips and so forth. And now this.”
“Ah, yes,” William said. “I do know what it’s like. At times, duty is more a shackle than a badge.”
Victoria had been briefed to expect them. Captain Reya Naughton came to the shuttle bay to welcome Prince William aboard, omitting the full court honors they would have been forced to suffer through if he had been making an official visit as a member of the Privy Council.
“Can I offer you breakfast, sir?” Captain Naughton asked after Ian performed the introductions.
“No, thank you very much, Captain,” William said. “We ate before leaving Sheffield. We’re just here to visit a patient in your casualty ward.”
“The local man?”
“Doug Weintraub, a member of Buchanan’s Planetary Commission,” the prince said, emphasizing the title.
“Not to mention being a genuine hero for his deeds in defense of his homeland.”
“As you say, sir,” Captain Naughton said, needing an instant to cover her irritation at being corrected.
“Ah, Captain,” Ian said, recognizing that it was time for him to act as a buffer. “We really don’t want to put you to any trouble. If you could have someone escort us to the Marine casualty ward, we’ll be out of your way as quickly as possible.”
The look Captain Naughton gave Ian wasn’t quite relief, but Ian decided that it would do.
Dr. Ahmed Nassir greeted them when they reached Victoria” s hospital. “Mr. Weintraub has just been moved from a trauma tube to a recovery bed. The nurses are getting him situated now. A matter of a few minutes?”
“Of course, Doctor,” William said. “We have no desire to interfere with Mr. Weintraub’s comfort or treatment. You’ve been quite occupied, I take it?”
“Quite,” Nassir said. “But we’re on top of it all, sir. Once we get a patient into a trauma tube alive, he stays that way.”
William nodded affably. ‘ ‘No one has any doubts about the treatment patients receive in a naval medical facility, Doctor. You do know that His Majesty has always insisted that his personal physician be a naval surgeon?”
“I did not know that, sir,” Nassir replied, his voice a trifle softer, “but I am pleased to hear it.”
“If we have time after our chat with Mr. Weintraub, I’d like the opportunity to speak with some of the Marines you’ve treated after the night’s action—with your permission.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“I’ll do my best to avoid getting in the way, Doctor. If I do, you and your staff should feel free to tell me to get my bloody arse out of the way.”
Nassir blinked several times, clearly put off stride by the mild vulgarity.
“He means that, Doctor,” Ian put in. “We’re here completely at your sufferance. And that is a direct quote from Admiral Truscott.”
“I’m certain we can accommodate you, sir,” Nassir said, nodding to the prince. “Mr. Weintraub should be settled now. If you’ll come with me?”
Doug Weintraub was busy scratching at areas he had been unable to reach in the trauma tube. The other wounded Marines of Spencer’s first squad were all watching him, laughing and making comments, instead of providing the distractions that might have eased the need to scratch. The arrival of visitors stopped the laughter, and the new attraction allowed Doug to stop scratching, for a moment at least. Dr. Nassir was the only one of the three men that the patients recognized.
“Mr. Weintraub, this is His Highness, Prince William Albert, Duke of Haven,” the doctor said, introducing him formally. “And Commander Ian Shrikes, aide to Admiral Truscott, the task force commander. Gentlemen, Mr. Doug Weintraub of Buchanan.” Doug pushed himself up a little higher against his pillows.
“Thank you, Doctor,” William said. “We’ll do fine now. Don’t let us keep you from your work.”
“I’m available if you need me.” Nassir nodded to the prince and left.
“Mr. Weintraub, I’ve been waiting for a chance to meet you since I first began to hear of your exploits,”
William said. “I regret that it has to be under these circumstances.”
“You can’t possibly regret it more than I do,” Doug said, earning a quickly stifled laugh from the Marines around him.
The prince chuckled as well and glanced at Ian.
“Not my fault at all,” Ian said quickly.
“Fault?” Doug asked.
“Nothing at all,” William said, smiling as broadly as he could. ‘ ‘Commander Shrikes has contrived to surround me with comedians, I think. It has put me quite off my pace. I apologize, sir.”
“I’m still not sure I have any idea what’s going on,” Doug said. “But then, I’ve never been around royalty.
I have no idea what the proper etiquette is.”
“Etiquette is best reserved for proper stuffy formal occasions,” William said. “Patients in hospitals never have to worry about it. Sometimes I envy that freedom.”
“He’s a right bloke, ain’t he?” one of the Marines whispered. Ian took a quick glance but couldn’t decide who had said it. Prince William overheard the comment though.
“Thank you,” he said, smiling at the group of Marines on that side. ‘ ‘I take that as high praise from men such as yourselves.”
“They’re all good men,” Doug said. “Wasn’t for them, I might not have made it tonight.”
“I meant what I said,” William assured him. “Just because my father was king of the Second Commonwealth doesn’t mean I have to be six kinds of bastard.”
“You’re egging them on now,” Ian told the prince in a stage whisper when the Marines started laughing again.
“It’s contagious, I told you,” William reminded Ian. “And I’m afraid we’re giving Mr. Weintraub the wrong impression.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what to make of you,” Doug said, not hiding his bewilderment. ‘ ‘It makes me w
onder if they haven’t stuck me in Bedlam instead of a casualty ward.”
“A little levity can work wonders,” the prince said. “It’s just hard to measure it out properly at times.” He shook his head. “And I fear we’re starting out on the wrong foot.”
“It might help to have a seat,” Ian suggested. He moved a chair around for William, then hooked a chair for himself.
“Right, that saves the stiff necks,” William said. Then he shook his head. “There I go again. I’d best start from scratch.” When that elicited more laughs, he looked genuinely bewildered. He chose to ignore the response.
“There were a couple of reasons for this visit,” William said, taking a deep breath to settle himself. ‘ ‘One is purely personal and unofficial, the other rather more official. As to the first, I simply wanted to meet you. Any man who does as much for his homeland as you have is a man worthy of all the respect in the universe. To have the daring and foresight to send off that message rocket the way you did was an achievement by itself, one that will have such farreaching consequences that we can scarcely imagine them at present. But that was merely your starting point and not your grand finale. You are indeed a hero, sir, and a patriot in all of the best senses.”
Doug needed a moment to find his voice. The prince had spoken levelly, leaving Doug no doubt about his sincerity. “Thank you,” he said, barely in a whisper. “But I can’t say that there was any great heroism in it.
Buchanan is my home. Doing what I could to protect it was really nothing more than some primal instinct.
Had I thought before I acted, I doubt that I would have done any of it.”
“That doesn’t lessen the value of the act, but I won’t press the matter,” William said.
“Uh, you said there was also an official reason for your visit?” Doug prompted.
“Ah, yes,” William said. “I’m here to make an offer to you, to the government of Buchanan, that is. An offer, not a demand. I want you to be absolutely clear on that. I’m not here to state a price for our assistance, or to pressure you into doing anything that you and your compatriots don’t honestly believe is in your own best interests. It might even be better if you don’t formally consider this offer until the Federation has been completely suppressed or evicted. The offer is for Buchanan to join the Second Commonwealth as a full member world, with all of the rights and duties that implies. Membership in the Commonwealth is only achieved through the unforced desire of the population and government of a world. We make no claim of sovereignty after the fashion of the Federation. We’re a voluntary association of sovereign worlds, banding together for security and mutual benefit.” He managed an embarrassed smile. “Sorry if that sounds like memorized electioneering.”
