The Merrimack Event (Shieldclads Book 1)

by David Tatum

  “Deal,” Chris said, brightening immediately.

  “So, are you going to complain about me actually making you get some sleep, now?”

  “Of course,” Chris grinned. “I always have fun fighting with you... and complaining when you win an argument. But I’ll try and get some sleep, anyway, just for you.”

  “Thanks,” Rachel sighed in relief. “I was afraid I’d have to tie you up to get you into bed.”

  Chris raised a teasing eyebrow. “Oh, wait... can I go for that option, instead?”

  They both suddenly realized how daring that comment had been at the same time, and both blushed at the same time. Chris opened his mouth to retract his comment, but Rachel beat him to it.

  “Not yet,” Rachel said. “You’re too tired, and I don’t feel up to it. Maybe someday.”

  Chris looked at her closely for a moment. “Maybe.”

  “Hey, back there,” Weber’s voice echoed over the loudspeakers. “You two might want to get ready to dock. If you’ll wait, I’ll walk with you back to the cabin. It’s the end of my shift.”

  Rachel tapped the intercom button. “Sure thing.” She grinned at Chris. “I might need someone to help me if our other passenger tries to run.”

  Chris laughed. “Come on, let’s get ready to dock. We can fight later.”

  “Promise?” Rachel grinned.

  ——————————

  Schubert entered their cabin, trading ‘shifts’ with Weber. They had agreed to keep a close eye on both Rachel and Chris, but Weber needed to get back to work. It seemed their attention had not gone unnoticed, but Chris was waiting to ask any questions until they were alone.

  When they saw that Rachel was safely inside their cabin and heard the water for the shower running, Chris turned to Schubert. “Hey, I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I noticed Lauren was on high alert walking us here,” he explained. “Was that your doing?”

  “Kinda,” Schubert answered cautiously. “Why?”

  “Good thinking. I want you to keep it up,” Chris instructed. This was definitely an order, and he was definitely not joking about it.

  “Eh?”

  “Listen, Wolf,” Chris said seriously. “I was hoping to get the Chihuahua airtight before those thugs who attacked my Rache are released from the brig. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like I’m going to be able to do that. I want you to make sure that they can’t even talk to her if I’m not around when they get out.”

  “Not a problem,” Schubert said. Then, something clicked in his mind. I can’t believe my ears. Did he just call her “My Rache?” How interesting... I wonder if he even realizes he said it. “I plan to look after the both of you.”

  Chris stared at the door to the shower, frowning. “You know, I arranged special permission for her to have extended use of the lounge because I knew they might try something. I thought that would be enough to stop them, but I was wrong.”

  Schubert snorted. “I’d say it worked well enough. Since they had to attack her in that public of a place, Rache was in a position to defend herself from their assault without repercussions.”

  “I doubt they were really drunk,” Chris replied, a thoughtful look on his face. “I called the guards about the incident while I was over at the Chihuahua. I asked them a number of questions. Yes, the scent of alcohol was all over them. I also saw the surveillance tapes of the incident. Their clothes were soaked in the stuff... but only Kobe was showing any outward signs of drunkenness. Even he seemed mostly in control of himself... no, I think their alleged drunkenness was just a cover story. Unfortunately, security didn’t bother doing a blood test on them after they admitted they were drunk. The guards don’t expect crewmen to admit to being drunk aboard ship when they aren’t.”

  Schubert frowned. “Okay, so they weren’t drunk. Then why did they attack her in public?”

  “I don’t know, but I doubt the mastermind behind this incident is the same one who managed to set you up before the party. The MOs are slightly different. They’re in cahoots, though.”

  “Farmburg?” Schubert suggested hopefully.

  “Never met him, so I can’t be sure,” Chris said. “We’d better start looking into him. Starting with that incident you’ve never told me about. Wolf, what really happened at that bar?”

  “Ah,” Schubert said. “Well, see, I’d rather not.”

  “I know he said something you think will upset me, Wolf,” Chris noted. “I just want to know what that something was.”

  “I’d still rather not say,” Schubert said. “It... you need the context to understand.”

  “Wolf,” Chris said. “I haven’t pushed you, before, because I knew you’ve been afraid of what I’d think of whatever he said, but now I have to insist. We don’t have the luxury of sparing my feelings – this is a safety concern, now.”

  Schubert sighed. “Essentially, they were insulting you and Rachel. What they were saying didn’t matter. It wasn’t what he said, but how he said it.”

  “Quit dancing around the subject, Wolf. What did he say?”

  “He... he implied that you and Rachel were having, uh, an indecent relationship.” Chris frowned slightly, but gestured impatiently for him to go on. “He claimed Rachel was easy, and made crude remarks about the two of you.”

  Chris shrugged. “He’s not the first person to do that – and many people do it to my face. That’s okay – Rachel and I can both deal with it, and have. Don’t tell me that was the only thing he said. If you started a fight just because he said that, I’m disappointed in you, Wolf.”

  Schubert sighed hesitantly. “Chris, I honestly think... well, you really do like Rachel, right? If I was into that sort of thing, I’d try my hand at matchmaking the two of you....”

  Chris snorted. “Trust me, you aren’t the only one. I... might not object to the idea, but I’m not really sure how she feels. I don’t really have time to figure her out right now, at any rate.”

  Schubert laughed at that. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. The two of you are made for each other.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Chris laughed. “But I’m not going to say I’ve never thought about it. But you’re distracting me – what, exactly, did Farmburg say about us?”

  Schubert frowned. “I don’t remember his exact words. He called Rache a ‘whore’ and you a ‘sick bastard’ was making me angry, but it wasn’t what caused me to plunk him. I’m not really sure what it was.”

  Chris nodded. “Okay. That’s a start. He was insulting me... and Rache.” There was a steel in his voice that Schubert had never heard before. “But why was he doing it? Did he just come up to you and start tossing out insults, or what?”

  “Well, he was over at a barstool when I’d arrived. He seemed to be intent on his hand comp when I got there, but even though I’d never seen him before he seemed to notice me when I came in,” Wolf mused. “I never really thought of it, before, but it seemed as if he was trying to remember me from somewhere. At any rate, I ignored him, ordered a single beer and downed it. When I returned to the bar to get another drink he was talking to an audience of other bar patrons about you guys. Then he started bringing me into it. He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me into the crowd, demanding that I talk about what I knew about the two of you.”

  “Hmm,” Chris said, developing a slight twitch as Farmburg’s words were relayed. “When he grabbed you, was he acting drunk? If so, how strong was the alcohol smell on him?”

  “Well, he certainly seemed drunk,” Schubert said. “His words were slurred and he was staggering about. But the bar itself smelled so strongly of beer that I wouldn’t have noticed if there was any on his breath.”

  “Interesting,” Chris said. “Very interesting. Was he acting drunk before he saw you?”

  Schubert tried to remember back to that night, but his memories from before the fight weren’t very distinct. “He seemed pretty sober at first, I think. Then again he was
pretty focused on his hand comp, so it was hard to tell.”

  “He wasn’t drunk either, was he?” Chris said. “No, he wouldn’t have been. He must have been waiting for you, or at least someone like you. He wanted to pick a fight, and used getting drunk as a way to escape a court martial for it. In fact, it sounds quite a bit like how Rachel was attacked in the lounge.” He paused. “The question is why, though. You say you’ve never met Farmburg before in your life?”

  “Not that I recall,” Schubert noted. “He certainly didn’t look at all familiar.”

  Chris nodded. “Curious. Well, then... when we’ve got the Chihuahua up and running, let’s check into the personnel database. See if there’s anything there that’ll show what he’s up to. This is obviously more than just a simple misunderstanding in a bar, and I intend to find out exactly what’s going on.” The water stopped running, letting the two of them know Rachel had finished her shower and would be out soon. “In the meantime, Wolf... I want you to arrange some kind of security for us.”

  “Not a problem,” Schubert agreed. “Don’t worry, Chris. I’ve already got plans in place to keep you and ‘your Rache’ safe.”

  ——————————

  “Well, that’s done,” Nathan Priest said, finishing the last line of his release form. “It’s about time. How many forms is that, again?”

  “Twenty-nine,” Franco Kobe muttered dangerously. “Twenty-nine of the longest, most complicated forms I’ve ever seen. In triplicate. And on paper, too.”

  Sergio Ramsey, who had shown up to sign them out, grinned wryly. “I think it’s supposed to be part of your punishment. We should have gone to Joel, first – he would’ve figured out something better for us to do.”

  “Oh, shut up,” Nathan moaned, handing his forms to the guard and glancing over at Kobe, who was still working on the paperwork. “You’re only gloating because you weren’t caught.”

  Sergio shrugged. “Hurry up. Joel said for me to call him as soon as you got out.”

  “Not right away,” Franco insisted, finishing his last form. “I need to go back to my cabin, first. I want a shower, some clean clothes, and a bit of rest. Then we can talk to Joel.”

  “Fine,” Sergio said. “But you’ll have to explain to him why you took so long getting in touch with him.”

  “It’ll be worth it just to take that shower,” Nathan sighed. “These transports don’t maintain their brigs very well. None of the plumbing worked.”

  Sergio shook his head mockingly. “Geez. And that, on top of having to deal with all of the injuries that one old man and a cute little girl gave you.”

  “That ‘old man’ is an Army officer with over forty years of hand-to-hand training and experience. He’s probably one of the best in the fleet, and he’s pretty well built, to boot,” Nathan groused.

  “And Ms. Katz is no ‘cute little girl,’” Franco added, fingering his bandaged nose gingerly. “She’s tough. I’m not sure we could have taken her even if the Army man hadn’t interfered.”

  “Quit being a wiseass,” Nathan grumped. “I’m tired of this place, and the more you argue the longer we stay here.”

  “Then you’re both ready? It’s about time!” Sergio said. “Let’s go. I don’t want to keep Joel waiting any longer than we have to.”

  The trio made their way through the corridors in relative silence. Nathan and Franco had to move slowly, thanks to their injuries, and Sergio had to stay patient as he walked with them. With some determination, however, they made it to Cabin Four, Deck Seven without any stops. Nathan and Franco made no attempt to hide their joy at finally getting somewhere that they could get clean, they surged ahead of the uninjured Sergio and darted inside.

  The sight that greeted them brought them up short.

  “What the hell?” Nathan exclaimed as Franco cringed in terror.

  There were several dozen people present, alongside card games, dice games, loud music, couples dancing, beer, snacks, and more. The sound-proof partition in one part of the room was raised, obscuring several of the bunks, but most of the furniture in the rest of the room had been removed. Their foot lockers weren’t readily visible, and even the bunks were nowhere to be seen.

  “I’ll see your eighty yen, and raise you another twenty,” a Marine said.

  “Call,” a second said, tossing in a chip.

  A third approached the new arrivals. “Hey, you here for the poker tournament or the party?” he asked. He was the only one in full uniform, and his rank appeared to be that of sergeant.

  “Err, neither,” Nathan said. “We live here... or I thought we did.”

  Hearing that, a feminine hand that had been buried underneath yet another Marine raised itself. Pushing him away, Linda Flint sat up and waved.

  “Hey, roomies!” she gasped out, panting. She straightened out her clothes before getting to her feet and walking over to the door. The Marine she had been with looked disappointed, but got up with a resigned shrug and joined some other men who were setting up some tables.

  “What is going on?” Sergio demanded, fists clenched.

  “Oh, sorry,” Flint answered, feigning sympathy. “I thought you knew.”

  “Knew what?” he replied.

  “Hey, when we first came to the cabin, I warned everyone that I was obliged to host a poker game for the Marines once a week,” she said.

  “This is a lot more than just a poker game,” Nathan whinged, gesturing to the crowd.

  “True,” Flint admitted. “See, you were in the brig the whole time, but poor old Chris was just working his tail off trying to get the Chihuahua ready for us to transfer there as soon as possible. He overworked himself, so Captain Burkhard ordered him to bed.

  “Turns out we’re getting the ship up and running faster than Chris feared – she’ll be ready in just a more couple hours. It’s mostly due to his going above and beyond the call of duty, so we’re arranging a surprise commissioning party for him. We raised the partitions around his bed, added some cushioning we got from our bunks to help baffle the sound, and started getting the party together.”

  Sergio nodded slowly. “Okay. That... kind of makes sense. But where’s our stuff?”

  “Your foot lockers are over there, safe and sound,” Linda said, pointing to a cluttered corner of the room. “Locked up tight, so if you want anything out of them you’re out of luck. If there was anything else of yours lying around here, we didn’t find it.”

  “Why didn’t you guys tell me?” Sergio asked. “I would’ve been able to help these two prepare for this thing.”

  “Oh, that’s simple,” Flint said, smiling dangerously. “We just don’t like you.”

  CHAPTER XI

  EAS Gnat

  Beccera sighed, continuing his stretching exercise as he prepared for his martial arts exercises. If there was going to be one disadvantage to this assignment, it was the lack of a gym in which to exercise. Most naval ships had them, but not transports. Transports, even though they were occasionally called upon to haul large numbers of personnel, were devoid of any of the luxuries most ships had. There used to be one in the Chihuahua, but it had been removed in order to make space for the new gravity control system. He would be without a gym for the duration of this assignment.

  In place of a gym, he was forced to take his exercise in the cramped confines of his cabin. While this was sufficient for some very basic work, it didn’t allow for most of his routine. He was tempted to just let his conditioning go, not expecting to need to be in fighting shape much longer, but he loved the physical activity too much. Which was partly why he’d so enjoyed pounding the hell out of those creeps in the lounge the other day – he’d finally had a chance to cut loose and stretch his muscles.

  He was comforted to learn, in that fight, that at least some of the Navy officers knew how to fight. Not the ones he’d trashed, but the girl he fought alongside actually knew her stuff.

  A buzzing at the door drew him out of his thoughts, and so he quickly step
ped out of his stance. Grabbing a towel to wipe off the nonexistent sweat on his brow, he opened the door.

  “Hello, Colonel,” a Marine corporal greeted him, saluting promptly. “I’m here to remind you of the commissioning party the Marines are throwing in Cabin Four of Deck Seven and to provide you with an escort.”

  Beccera blinked. “Party? Oh, yeah. I’d forgotten about that. Give me a minute and I’ll join you.”

  Tossing his towel to one side, he started pulling on his shirt. The corporal looked around with mild curiosity, noticing the katana in its stand lying on the desk. Beccera finished dressing and joined him.

  “This way, sir,” the corporal said, gesturing with his hand, and Beccera followed him out of the room. “I noticed your sword, sir.”

  “Oh?” Beccera grunted noncommittally.

  “Do you practice much?”

  “Not as much as I’d like to,” Beccera admitted. “I’d prefer at least an hour a day, but I’m usually only able to practice about fifteen minutes every other day. I suppose it doesn’t matter too much, though – when am I likely to actually need it?”

  “You very well might, soon, sir,” the corporal suggested cautiously. “We’re Marines – we use swords all the time.”

  Beccera looked interested. “I thought they were just decorative parts of your uniform. Aren’t they?”

  “They’re quite functional, sir, and not very decorative at all. Mine is little more than a slab of metal with a monomolecular edged blade on one end.”

  “Seems rather archaic,” Beccera said. “When would you ever use a sword in battle? You normally use sonic weaponry, correct?”

  “We do, sir,” the Marine answered. “Sonics are a very valuable part of our arsenal. Explosive propellant guns are forbidden aboard warships for any number of reasons. Firearms without explosive propellant ammunition don’t even pierce the standard uniform emergency biosuits the regular Navy personnel wear, much less Marine-grade combat armor.”

  “Okay, I understand that,” Beccera replied. “But sonic weapons would work even through most combat armor. So what’s with the swords?”