M.Y.T.H. Inc In Action m-9

by Robert Asprin

  In response, Tananda just nods slow-like. To my eye, she seems less than thrilled with the idea ... especially after hearin' how serious Don Bruce takes promises.

  "You know how the Boss is when it comes to dames," I sez, quick-like. "Slower'n a bail bondsman what's been stung three times runnin'."

  I am tryin' to draw attention away from Tananda, but the Don is ignorin' me and starin' at her instead.

  "Say ... are you okay?" he sez, misreadin' her signals. "It looks like you've been takin' more than your share of lumps in this operation."

  "I'm just a little tired," she sez, flashin' a quick smile. "You're right, though. I'm not getting any younger, and I'm not sure how many more nights like this I can take."

  "Why don't you head on back to Big Julie's and hook up with Chumley?" I sez. "We're gettin' transferred out of here, and there's not much you'll be able to do on your own realizin' the shape you're in."

  'Transferred?"

  "That's right," Nunzio sez. "We've been promoted and transferred to headquarters. It seems the Mob isn't the only ones who can spot leadership potential."

  As an indication of the physical and nervous stress of the night we have been through, I do not have the energy to even think about throttiin' him.

  Chapter Fifteen:

  "An army travels on its paperwork!"

  -J. CARLSON

  "WELL, SERGEANT GUIDO, you and your squad come highly recommended. Yes, highly recommended indeed!"

  "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

  Okay, so I am layin' it on a little thick. Considerin' the number of officers I'm seein' here at headquarters, however, it seems like the wisest attitude for an enlisted type like me to assume ... which is to say one step up from grovelin'.

  "Well," he sez, settin' our files to one side and startin' to rummage through the other stacks of paper on his desk, "let's see what we can find for you in the way of assignments."

  Actually, I would be surprised if he can find his feet in this office. It has only been a few times that I have seen so much paper stuffed into as little space as there is in this office ... and most of the other times was in the offices I poked into while lookin' for this one. There is paper stacked everywhere, on the chairs and on the floor, on the window ledges and on the tops of file cabinets ... not to mention the stacks set on the top of already filed paper in the open drawers of said cabinets. There are also, of course, assorted piles of paper on the desktop of the officer I am speakin' to, and it is through these stacks he is currently rummagin'.

  "Ah! Here's something," he sez, pausin' to peer at one of the sheets he has been rifflin' through. "What would you say to my assigning you and your crew as sanitation engineers."

  "As what?"

  "You know." he sez, "digging and filling latrines."

  It occurs to me that while there might be some potential for disruptin' the army from such a position, it is not a route I would be particularly eager to take. You see, Nunzio still ribs me about my work with the Realistic Doggie Doodle with Lifelike Aroma that Actually Sticks to Your Hands on my last assignment for M.Y.T.H. Inc., and I would therefore prefer to avoid workin' with variations on the real thing this time around.

  "It sounds like a stinkin' detail ... sir," I sez, the words sort of slippin' out.

  I try to recover by addin' "... if you'll forgive the play on words ... sir."

  That's so he'll know I read.

  I expect him to get a bit upset at my forthrightness, but instead he just gives a little shrug.

  "Of course it is," he sez with refreshin' honesty. "But remember where you are, Sergeant. This is Headquarters ... the brains of the army. It only stands to reason that most of that brain power is devoted to finding nicer, cushier assignments for the owners of those brains ... which is to say the place is armpit deep in politics ... if I make myself clear."

  "Not really, sir."

  The officer sighs.

  "Let me try to explain it this way. Here, everybody knows somebody, and uses their connections to get the best jobs. The higher the connections, the better the jobs. You and your squad, on the other hand, have just arrived and consequently know nobody ... which means that for a while, you'll have to content yourselves with the jobs no one else wants. I expect that as you make connections, you'll get better duties, but for the time being that's the way it is."

  I consider mentionin' my connections with the Mob, but decide they will be of little value in this circumstantial and may even be construed as a threat. Then something else occurs to me.

  "Is General Badaxe available, sir?"

  This gets the officer's attention.

  "You know General Badaxe?" he sez from under sky-high eyebrows.

  "Not to any great extent, sir." I admit. "We just met once in passin'."

  "Oh. Well, he is here at Headquarters, of course. I think you'll find that he's indisposed, however ... at least he has been for the last couple of weeks."

  "Would that indisposition by any chance be female, sir? Extra, extra large ... a lot of makeup and jewelry?"

  This earns me a lot harder look from the officer before he answers.

  "As a matter of fact, yes," he sez at last. "You seem remarkably well informed for someone who has just arrived at Headquarters ... or do you' know the ... young lady as well?"

  For several reasons I figure it would be wisest not to admit the true relationship Nunzio and me has with Massha.

  "She was with the general when I met him at court, sir," I sez, sorta truthfully.

  "You've been to the Royal Court?"

  "Yes sir ... but it was a while back ... just before the king married Queen Hemlock."

  "I see," the officer sez, thoughtful-like, then sets the paper he was holdin' aside and starts rummagin' again.

  "Well in that case, perhaps I can find something a bit more pleasant in the way of an assignment."

  "Take your time sir," I sez. "I can understand how things can be a bit disorganized with the general gone so much."

  "Not really," the officer sez, absentminded-like. "If anything, they're going smoother."

  "Excuse me? ... sir?"

  "What? Oh," he sez, returnin' his concentration to the situational at hand. "Well, I probably shouldn't say anything, but since you already know some of the personalities involved ..."

  He pauses to glance around like someone might be loiterin' among the stacks of paper ... which considerin' their height is a real possibility.

  "If you know General Badaxe, then you probably already know that while he is a more than adequate leader, he is rather inflexible in his attitudes as to how things should be done. That is, he wants things done his way, whether there is a better way of doing things or not."

  This description sounds like everyone in the army I've met above the rank of corporal, but I content myself with noddin' in agreement.

  "Well, a lot of us officers who came on board during the current expansion drive originally served under Big Julie back when he led the invasion of Possiltum. In some ways it's nice because it guaranteed us rank in the Possiltum army, but it also means we know there are other ways of doing things than the way General Badaxe wants ... lots better ways. The trouble is, until now we haven't been able to implement any changes or improvements without disobeying orders from the general."

  "And now?" I urge, not even botherin' to add a "sir" to it.

  "Now, with the general 'indisposed,'" the officer smiles, gettin' a little lost in his own thoughts, "we're left pretty much on our own, Which means we get to do things our way for a change. If Badaxe stays out of our hair for another few weeks, we should have this army whipped into shape so we can really get down to business. I'll tell you, serving under Big Julie might have been a pain from time to time, but that man sure knows how to run an army. I wonder how he's doing now that he's retired?"

  "Last time I saw him, he was doin' great."

  If I had said God himself was walkin' through the door I couldn't have gotten a bigger reaction from the officer
. He sits up straight sudden-like, and his eyes lose their dreamy focus and center on me ... though I notice they are buggin' out a little.

  "You know Big Julie?" he sez in kind of a reverent whisper. "When was the last time you talked with him?"

  "A couple weeks back," I sez. "Just before Nunzio and me enlisted. We was sippin' some wine with him and some friends over at his villa."

  "You were a guest at his villa? Tell me, is it ..."

  The officer breaks off and shakes his head like a dog.

  "Excuse me, sergeant," he sez, in much more normal tones. "I didn't mean to pry. It's just that ... well, Big Julie is something of a legend around Headquarters. I was a junior officer when I served under him, and never met him personally ... just saw him a couple of times during reviews and inspections."

  "That's too bad," I sez, with real sympathy.

  "He's really a great guy. You'd like him ... sir." I finally remembers I was talkin' to an officer, and my "sir" seemed to remind him of why I was in his office in the first place.

  "Now that I think of it," he sez, pullin' some papers off the top of one of his stacks, "there is something here that I could assign you and your crew to. Would you like to take over running one of our supply depots?"

  This sounds like just what we need to do the most damage to the army's attempts to reorganize. I also notice that the officer is now askin' me about which assignment I want.

  "That sounds fine, sir."

  "Good," he sez, startin' to scribble on the sheets. "We have a whole supply crew in the infirmary right now—got a bad batch of chili or something. Anyway, I'll just put you and your squad in there as replacements, and when they get out, they can take the sanitation engineer slots."

  It occurs to me that these other guys are gonna be less than thrilled with their new assignment, but that, of course, is not my problem. Still, it will be a good idea if for a while we keep a lookout for anyone tryin' to sneak up on us from the downwind side.

  "Thank you sir," I sez, and mean it.

  "Just report to Supply Depot Number Thirteen and you'll be all set."

  "Yes sir ... ummm ... is it far? I mean, I got my crew outside and we got all our gear with us ..."

  "Just flag down one of the wagons going your way and hitch a ride," he sez. "One of the nicer things about working at Headquarters ... with the supply depots right here is that there are lots of wagons around. You'll rarely have to walk anywhere."

  "Yes sir. Thank you again, sir."

  "Oh ... Sergeant Guido?"

  "Sir?" I sez, turning' back to him.

  He is pushin' a stack of papers across his desk toward me that must weigh more than twenty pounds.

  "Since you'll be riding, you might as well take this with you instead of waiting for it to be delivered by courier."

  "I ... I don't understand, sir," I sez, eyein' this mountain of dead weight suspiciously like it was a distant relative arrivin' unannounced. "Do you want I should store this for you over at the depot?"

  "Of course not," the officer sez, givin' a little laugh. "This is for your requisition and inventory forms."

  I am likin' this less and less the more I hear.

  "You mean we gotta fill all this out just to move somethin' in or out of the depot ... sir?"

  "You misunderstand me, sergeant," he sez quick-like. "These aren't the forms themselves."

  I experience a quick flood of relief.

  "... These are just the instructions for filling out the forms!"

  The relief I had been feelin' disappears like a single shot of whiskey in a big bowl of watered-down punch.

  "The instructions," I echoes weakly, starin' at the pile.

  All of a sudden this assignment is not lookin' as good as it had a few minutes ago.

  The officer notices the expression on my face.

  "Come, come now, sergeant," he sez, givin' me what I guess is supposed to be a fatherly smile. "It's not as bad as it looks."

  "It isn't?"

  "No. It's really quite simple once you get the hang of it. Just read these instructions all the way through, then follow everything they say to the letter, and everything will be fine."

  "If you say so, sir," I sez, unconvinced.

  "Yes, I do say so ... sergeant," he sez, givin' up his sales effort. "I told you we were going to get things under control and to do that, proper documentation is vital. It may look like a lot of needless hassle, but believe me, unless all the paperwork for supplies is filled out correctly, the best of armies will bog down and become ineffective."

  "Yes sir. Thank you, sir."

  With that, I salute and get out of his office quick ... takin' the stack of paper with me, of course. All of a sudden, my depression over seein' the massive list of instructions disappears. Instead, I am feelin' a degree of optimism I have not felt since the Boss sent us on this assignment without realizin' what he was doin', the officer has just made our job a lot easier.

  "Without proper paperwork," he had said, "the army will bog down and cease to be effective ..." and, as you know, the effectiveness of the army was a matter of no small concern to me and Nunzio.

  Chapter Sixteen:

  "So what's wrong with following established procedures?"

  -M. GORBACHEV

  THE WAREHOUSE WHICH was Supply Depot Number Thirteen was truly immense, which is to say it was big. In fact, it was so huge that youse got the feelin' that if the weather turned bad, they could move all the stuff out of here and have the war indoors. The only trouble with that idea was that by the time they got everythin' moved out, odds are they would have forgotten what it was they was fightin' about in the first place ... but even if they could remember, they'd probably be too tired to want to fight about it.

  There was racks of stuff everywhere, with aisles big enough to drive a wagon down scattered around so as to carve everythin' into a series of islands, and lots of tunnels and crawlspaces twistin' their way into each of the islands. It occurred to me upon first viewin' this expanse that it was gonna be a perfect base of operation for us, as when and if anythin' went wrong, it would make one whale of a hideout. This thought was amplified when we discovered that the crew what had worked here before us had apparently opted to live on-site, as there were a lot of "nests" and hole-ups around the warehouse furnished with cots and hammocks and pillows and other stuff obliviously filched from the piles of supplies.

  In short, it was a sweet setup, and the crew loses no time settlin' in, after some of them scattered and went explorin' to find out just what sort of stuff we have inherited to ride herd on while a couple of us tried to make sense out of the paperwork and charts heaped up on the desks.

  "Hoo-ey!" Shu Flie sez, emergin' from the stacks with his brother at his side. "I've never seen so much stuff in one place! They got everything here!"

  "A lot of it's pretty old, though," Hy Flie sez. "We had newer stuff than some of this junk back on the farm ... and most of that stuff is still around from Pop Flie."

  "Pop Flie?" I sez before I has a chance to think about whether or not I really wants to hear the answer.

  "That's our grandpa," Shu explains. "Course, sometimes we call him ..."

  "I get the picture," I sez, interruptin' before he can explain any more.

  It occurs to me to make a point of not ever visitin' the Flie residence.

  "What I can't figure," Junebug sez, joinin' our discussion, "is how they keep track of all this stuff. I mean, there doesn't seem to be any order or scheme to how things are stored. It's like they just keep pushing the old pile further back and stack the new stuff in front as it comes in without any effort to group things by category."

  This sounds uncomfortably like the beginnin' of an idea which could improve our efficiency ... which is, of course, the last thing my cousin and me want to see happen. Sneakin' a glance at Nunzio, I can see he's thinkin' the same thing, and catchin' my eye he gives a little shake of his head to confirm that observational.

  "Ummm ... I don't guess it is such
a bad system, Junebug," I sez, thinkin' fast. "I mean, would you want to rearrange all this stuff to make room for each new shipment as it comes in?"

  "You could get around that by leaving extra room in each storage category," he sez, not backin' off from his idea. "We gotta do something to organize this mess. Otherwise, we'll be spending all our time just trying to locate each item when we have to fill an order. I can't see how they've been operating around here without some kind of system."

  "They've got a system all right," Spellin' Bee sez, lookin' up from the Forms Instruction Manual he was readin'. "The problem is, they've got so much duplicate paperwork to fill out they probably never had any time left over to try to organize the warehouse itself! I can't believe they expect us to fill out all these forms for every item in and out of inventory."

  What the officer told me flashes across my mind, and it gives me an idea.

  "Do you think you can come up with a better trackin' system. Bee?" I sez.

  "Probably," he sez, shuttin' the instruction manual. "Let's see ... we'd need some sort of floor map ... two of them actually, one so we know what's already here and where it is, and a second to establish the redefined areas ... and then a simple In/Out Log so we could track the movement of items ..."

  "Okay," I interrupts, "get started on it. Figure out what we're gonna have to do and what you'll need in the way of information."

  This, of course, earns me a hard look from Nunzio.

  "I ... If you say so, Guido," Bee sez, hesitantly, glancin' at the instruction manual. "But shouldn't we be following the established procedures?"

  "Just go ahead and work up your plan," I sez. "We'll worry about fillin' out the army paperwork after we get this place functionin' the way we think it should."

  "Okay," Bee shrugs. "Come here a second, guys, and I'll show you what I need. If you can start mapping out what's already here, I can start roughing out an In/Out Log, and ..."

  "Excuse me, Sergeant Guido," Nunzio sez. "Can I have a word with you ... in private?"