He had held his own back on Parker’s Planet, learning the bigger boys’ techniques and turning it around on them. No one got the better of a Wolfe. No one should. Involuntarily his upper lip drew back, showing his teeth. Suddenly, he caught Borden staring at him.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“With respect, I don’t like the look on your face, sir,” the officer said. “You … looked for a moment like you might bite someone.”
“Nothing like that. I just had an idea,” he replied, unable to keep from grinning ferally. “I was just thinking that you learn a lot about coping with life from living with your peer group. Were you ever at sleepaway camp?” Borden nodded. “Ever heard of the Vortex?”
“… No …”
“Well,” Wolfe said, flicking out another bedsheet with practiced hands. “Watch and learn.”
She did watch, respect dawning on her face for the first time.
“Sir, we can’t do that?”
Daivid was in no mood to argue. “This is an order. If I have to earn the privilege from you I’ll do it later. For now, just do it.”
Borden watched him again, as he took all the bedclothes off Ewanowski’s bunk and remade it deftly. “No, sir, you’ve earned this one just for teaching me something new. I never saw that before.”
“Good.” Daivid made sure she knew all the steps, then turned her loose to work on her own. The tall woman’s hands were even more adept than his. Very shortly, the two of them had remade all the beds on one side of the room, and were starting on the other.
“What’s wrong with Lizzie?” Wolfe wondered aloud. “It’s in your bio. At least, it’s a derivative of one of your middle names.…”
“With all due respect, sir,” Borden’s voice returned to its original ice-cold tone of the day before, “I don’t care for the implication. Everyone in this unit has a combat name, a handle. If you perused the records you have seen them all noted. Mine is not Lizzie.”
In his mildest voice, Daivid said, “I just thought it was a nickname, lieutenant. No offense intended.” He bent all of his natural charm on her, smiling warmly, willing her to thaw out. As one of the only people in the company to prove a trusted ally, he didn’t want to lose her good will. In some lights he knew his yellow-hazel eyes could turn a mellow gold. He’d used the effect to beguile treats out of schoolmates, and less innocent favors out of dates. “Please. I’ve been here less than a day. You’ll have to let me have more than one gotcha.”
Borden hesitated. “Well …”
Daivid fluttered his eyelashes. “Pretty please?”
A brief smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Aye, sir. Sorry to be so quick on the trigger. You’ve walked into an ancient minefield.”
A bright ping! from the cleanerbots informed him that they had finished their assignments. Daivid went to inspect. All the windows glistened, the tabletops and even the locker tops had been cleared and wiped, and the lavatories looked pristine enough to do surgery on. The barracks was clean.
On the other hand, he wasn’t. His neatly pressed dress uniform was now a mass of crumples and smudges from bumping into the edges of the bunks. It was a quarter to eleven. There wasn’t time left to put the uniform through a full pressing cycle. He would be lucky if the box could sponge off the dirt spots. He felt his temper rising all over again. He glanced up at Borden.
“Lieutenant, why did they go off without cleaning up? Don’t they want to look good for the brass? You’d think that they would want to gain some points, not lose them. Don’t they give a damn?”
Borden hesitated, her cool eyes wary. “Permission to speak freely?”
Wolfe nodded.
“With respect, we,” and Wolfe understood that he wasn’t part of the ‘we’ yet, “really don’t give a damn.”
Wolfe eyed her. “Then why are you helping me?”
The harsh face softened just a little. “Permission to continue speaking freely? Because I feel sorry for you. You’re so gung-ho. You’re an idealist.” Pain etched itself between the perfect eyebrows, then smoothed out again. “I almost remember what that high feels like, before it got wrung out of me by … circumstances.” Ouch. That stung Daivid, remembering the bogus reasons that he had been sent here to X-Ray. The others all had similar stories to tell, probably worse than his. He had been sheltered from a lot of bad treatment because of the command’s fear of his family. He promised himself he would read the personnel records in more detail as soon as he could. “The others sort of feel sorry for you, too.”
“Then why aren’t they here?” Daivid asked reasonably.
Her eyebrows went up. “Permission to express an opinion? Because you gave them an order.”
Daivid felt outraged. “What? But that’s my job! And it’s theirs to obey!”
“Yeah, it is, in a way, but you haven’t earned the right. The one thing that’s missing in any military is a way to make sure that officers are worthy of leading the troops under them. You’ve read history—officers used to be nobles, who bought their commissions. The peasants under them didn’t have any choice but to follow. It didn’t matter if the officers could lead their way out of a one-way door. Times have changed over the last few millennia. With few exceptions, the service has been all volunteer. We’re better educated, more experienced, and have more to offer than any army humankind has been able to muster since they started carrying sticks and stones. You’ve got guys in here who have been in the service since long before you were born. Look at Jones. How old do you think he is?”
Wolfe thought about the chunky man, mentally counted the few white hairs shot through the dark curls. “Fifty.”
“Seventy-two. He’s been in fifty years. He’s going to go easier on you than a five-year spacer will, but why should he? He’s buried about one officer every other year since he joined up.”
Wolfe brushed at his tunic thoughtfully. “I had no idea troopers thought that way. Every other unit I’ve been in everyone is so young and inexperienced. All our officers were older than we were, and their CO’s were older and had been in longer than they had.”
The look Borden gave him had sympathy in it. “Well, the real thing is more messy than that. Once you really get out into the void you’ll be serving with sixty-year-old recruits and twenty-year-old colonels. Nothing wrong with that. But if it was me walking in here I’d download the company records as a bedtime book. Sir.”
“Don’t mess with them, huh?”
“In my personal opinion. Sir.”
“Well, that’s good advice, but it goes both ways,” Wolfe said, straightening his shoulders. “I’m here to do a job, and I’m serious about it, so they’re going to have to respect that. If we have a little rough going on the maiden voyage, so be it.”
“Fine, sir,” Borden said tonelessly. “We’ll see who breaks first.”
“Yes, we will, lieutenant,” Wolfe said, with some satisfaction as Thielind led the sheepish-looking troopers back into the barracks. “Remember the Vortex.” He smiled at the smug looks on the faces of his company as they looked around at the spotless room. Throwing salutes toward the officers they shrugged out of their fatigues and headed for the showers to clean up. “Where’d you find ‘em, ensign?”
“Oh, usual place,” Thielind replied vaguely. “Permission to tidy up, sir?”
“Granted,” Daivid said. “Let’s make this an inspection to remember.”
O O O
“Very nice, very nice,” Mason said, ambling slowly through the room. She wore white gloves that all but fluoresced in the acid lights. Occasionally, she ran a finger over the top of a doorjamb or underneath a bed frame. Not a mark. The cleanerbots had done a good job. Daivid had done a hasty steam on his uniform tunic, hoping to hide most of the stains with a layer of soapcream. It would only convince if she didn’t look too closely. A lot of things were going on underneath the surface in this unit. Mason might have locked them all up if she had had an inkling.
He marched stiffly behind h
er, pausing with hands folded behind his back every time she paused. The Cockroaches had turned out decently, though in everyday uniforms instead of dress. When he had started to fulminate over the omission, Thielind had caught his eye and dragged a forefinger across his throat. Wolfe had stopped his protest in mid-syllable. He would get an explanation from the ensign later. It was the only change upon which Mason commented.
“Though it is a restday,” she amended. “And I didn’t give you much time to polish up your best bibs and tuckers, did I?”
“Er, no, ma’am,” Wolfe said, without intonation. He knew that his troopers were watching him, trying to guess what he was thinking, and wondering why he wasn’t mad. The commander avoided the packing crate at the end of the room, which informed Wolfe that she knew its contents and had decided there were better battles to fight. At his insistence the Cockroaches had turned off the heating element before she had arrived, so the still wasn’t emitting either telltale steam or its burbling sound. No sense in throwing the commander’s kind omission directly in her face. Mason went out the back door to the armory, where she praised the spotlessness of the company’s weaponry and battle armor. One more pass through the barracks, and the commander swung around smartly to face him.
“Congratulations, Lieutenant Wolfe,” she beamed. “Everything looks top drawer. A robot couldn’t have done better. Anything I ought to know about?”
“Most of the infrastructure is in pretty good repair, ma’am,” Wolfe replied. “Most of the fixtures show a lot of wear, but they’re working. With one exception, I’m afraid: the plumbing in my quarters seems to have no pressure.”
One of the Cockroaches cleared his throat loudly. The trooper next to him hit him in the ribs with her elbow, never breaking her parade-ground stare.
Commander Mason glanced at her aide, who recorded a note. “I think you’ll find that your water problems are largely due to the unstable ground conditions here, lieutenant,” she said. “I have heard that complaint a lot. But maintenance will be out to take a look at it, and see if there’s anything they can do. Anything else?”
“No, ma’am. Everything’s shipshape.” Mason was openly relieved. “Good! You have done well on your first day, Lieutenant. I’m very pleased to see that you have everything under control so soon.” She raised her voice so everyone could hear. “That makes it much easier for me to inform you that I’ve got your orders for your first mission with X-Ray platoon.” The others looked wary, but Daivid felt pleased. A chance to prove himself, already!
“May I ask what it is, ma’am?” he asked, mentally kicking himself because he knew how eager he sounded.
Mason looked grave. “I’m afraid the orders are sealed until you are aboard the transport that’s coming for you, lieutenant.” A groan erupted from the company. Daivid frowned, and Mason started nervously. Perhaps he was jumping the gun. Borden said he was too gung-ho. Slide it down a little, he warned himself.
“Aye, ma’am.”
The commander glanced at the adjutant who waited by her elbow. “Five days, ma’am.”
“The Eastwood will be here in five days,” Mason repeated. “Get your unit ready. Again, well done, lieutenant.”
The commander and her entourage marched out of the barracks. Wolfe almost enjoyed the aura of worried anticipation around him as he surveyed his company.
“We passed,” he said, presenting a bland countenance. “I’ll expect a little more cooperation from the rest of you next time. Borden, Thielind, Lin, will you come to my office with me?”
“Aye, sir!” the two junior officers chimed.
Back straight, he marched out of the door with the others behind him.
“You know what?” Injaru asked the others, before he was quite out of hearing range, “I figured out why he’s not in the Family business. He doesn’t kick ass. He’s too soft. We got away with it!”
“Yeah,” Meyers smirked. “It sure was nice of him to make our beds for us.”
Certain none of them could see his face by then, Wolfe allowed himself a grin.
***
Chapter 4
“Sit down, please,” Wolfe invited the three veterans. On the table he set a carafe of white lightning that he had abstracted from the still while he and Borden were cleaning up. “Drink?”
“No, thanks, sir,” Borden said. Lin shook her head silently.
“Too early,” Thielind agreed. “Lunch is in an hour. What’s up, looey?”
Daivid settled himself down in the chair behind the desk. “You’ve already figured out I’m as green as they come, but I got one good piece of advice when I shipped out from my last posting. My commander told me to trust the experienced officers and the top noncom in my unit, so that’s what I am doing. Let me put myself in your hands. I’m a newbie. Hell, I haven’t been here a day yet. You’ve been around here for years. What can I do to help keep this unit running, or get it running better? I’ve noticed the morale around here sucks. How can I help raise it? What does X-Ray really need? What do you need?”
“Need?” Thielind’s open face showed astonishment, then pleasure. “Really?”
Borden tented her hands together and leaned forward. “Sir, we need everything.”
Wolfe blinked. “Everything?”
“Everything,” Lin affirmed.
Borden nodded. “Yup. You wanted to know why we weren’t wearing dress whites today. Ours are falling apart. I haven’t had new ones in five years. Some of the others have gone longer. Supply always puts us off when we ask, saying that the request is going up the chain of command. Same goes for everything else. We need new field uniforms, updated weapons, updated software for the weapons, better communication gear … I guess we’re okay on the condition of our body armor, but the CBS,Ps are bad, and Supply refuses to replace them. We’ve had the same units for almost eight months, now. They’re supposed to be rotated every three months of use.” Borden pushed her infopad towards the lieutenant, who frowned at the list.
Compression Body Stocking, Personal, was a neck-to-heels weblike garment that went on bare skin underneath the padded lining of combat armor. Its sensors read environmental data coming from outside and kept blood flowing out to the extremities, especially in deep-space conflicts, by means of gentle peristaltic pressure. His CBS,P had been worn on only three missions of a few days each. From the litany of missions the others had given him, theirs had seen service for more than ten times that long. By comparison, his was brand, spanking new.
“That’s outrageous,” Wolfe sputtered. “CBS,Ps are vital! They might be all that keeps you alive if your armor malfunctions.”
Lin shook her head in pity. “Sir, they don’t care if we come back alive, remember? We’re an ancillary scout platoon, officially. Unofficially, well, this is where old troublemakers go to die.”
Borden’s bleak voice interrupted the master chief’s. “We’ve made the request about once a week since we got back from our last mission, three months ago. If we only have five days until we ship out again, then those are our top priority. The others won’t matter if we don’t have fresh webs.”
Resolutely, Wolfe shoved his infopad so the transfer eye faced Borden’s. “Give me the whole list. I’ll get new units for the company, and then we’ll see about the rest.”
“That,” Thielind said, with his ready smile, “will do a lot to help morale.”
O O O
“New CO of the Cockroaches?” the supply master chief asked, as he scrolled down the list on Daivid’s infopad. He had thick, red-tinted hair that contrasted violently with his ruddy-pink complexion and red irised eyes. His round belly strained against his gray-blue uniform tunic. “Welcome, I guess.”
“Thanks,” Daivid said, leaning over to read along with him. They were in the supply office, a square stub attached to the front of the vast warehouse that held everything from paperclips to armor-plated personnel carriers. “Will you be able to lend me a loader to get all these supplies to the transport, or do you deliver everything
but the clothes directly to our transport?”
“Not so fast, not so fast!” Master Chief Sargus said, holding up a thick-fingered hand. “It’s restday, admiral. You asking to see me, I thought this was urgent.”
Daivid frowned. “Some of it is urgent. We’re shipping in a few days.”
“Uh-huh, so I hear.” Sargus scrolled through the list again. “Well, I’ve got some of this, but some, maybe not. There’s a hold against some of my stock for the other units here, see?”
Wolfe sighed. He had dealt with supply officers before. The game they always played bored him silly, but it seemed as though every one of them had gone through a training class in the same technique and insisted on using it. ‘Obstruct, deny, refuse’ was the unspoken motto of Supply Corps. “Right, and if you give it to me, then you’ll be out of it, and you’ll have to reorder. Is that it?”
“Right you are, admiral,” Sargus agreed, with a grin that showed big square teeth. Daivid was surprised they weren’t tinted red, too, but, no, they were gleaming yellow. The guy looked like a tropical island shirt. “No can do. And then what would I tell my other customers?”
“You’ll tell them you gave them to me, because I asked,” Daivid said, dropping his voice slightly.
“Yeah? And why would I do that?”
“Because I did ask. And while you’re looking for the general list, why don’t you see if you can find me some extra rounds for my Dockery 5002?” Suddenly moving closer to the counter, Daivid eased a sidearm out of his holster just so the big man could get a look at the maker’s name, then briefly, just for shock value, the end of the barrel. He let his eyes flash dangerously, a glint of the gold showing. Sargus took an involuntary step backward as Daivid put the barrel practically up the other man’s nose. “Isn’t she a beauty? Eleven-millimeter select-fire machine pistol with a 20 round magazine? Caseless ammunition. With a suppressor like that no one would ever hear you die.”
Strong Arm Tactics Page 6
